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cloudteawrites · 3 years

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chapter: six ( 15.5k ) rating: mature (death, past abuse, eventual smut) genre: mystery | romance | hurt/comfort tags: bts x reader | ot7 x reader | hybrid | poly summary: when an estranged uncle leaves you his massive fortune you wonder if the universe is playing a joke on you. when that fortune comes with seven hybrids, you know for sure that it is. << first < previous | next > last >>

what is hybrid marking

8.2 million results.

While scent mixing (heretofore referred to as ‘scenting’) is temporary and lasts a maximum of twelve hours if left undisturbed, scent marking (‘marking’ in common parlance) is semi-permanent. A ‘mark’ is created when the pheromones present in a hybrid’s bodily fluids are applied directly to their markee’s skin. When said chemical compounds seep below the epidermis and bond to the sweat glands found within the dermal layer of the skin, the target has been officially ‘marked’. Between domesticated hybrids and their human caretakers, this is most commonly done by applying hybrid saliva to the skin of the neck, where a human’s scent tends to be strongest. While the behavior involved in marking resembles some aspects of human foreplay, it is a non-sexual expression of mutual trust and affection. It is important to note that most hybrids of age are able to mitigate the oral secretion of pheromones and cannot mark accidentally-

“How do I look?”

The sound of Jimin’s voice makes you jump. You fumble with your phone, trying to exit out of the website, shove it in your pocket and look at the leopard hybrid’s outfit at the same time.

“You look great!” You tell him once the device is safely tucked away.

He rolls his eyes at you. “You’ve said that about everything I’ve shown you.”

You had, but only because it was true. No matter what the trio of hybrids tried on, they all looked great. You weren’t sure what it was, but seeing them in something other than neutral sweat suits made them look even better than they already had. You were discovering they all had unique senses of fashion too. Taehyung preferred earth tones, soft fabrics and slouchy cardigans, Yoongi tended toward plaid overshirts and dark denim and Jimin had just come out of the dressing room in his sixth button down and second pair of chelsea boots.

When the four of you had arrived at the mall that afternoon, you’d told them to go wild and call you when they were ready to check out. There was an entire section of the shopping center that catered specifically to hybrids and you were certain they’d be able to find everything they needed and more. You’d been all set to sequester yourself in a booth in the food court and indulge your hybrid research habit, but Taehyung had fixed you with a forlorn look the moment you tried to part with them and Jimin had insisted that you personally review every piece of clothing he put on. You wouldn’t deny that you were having fun, but surreptitiously trying to google what every little thing they did meant without getting caught was getting harder and harder.

Jimin breezes past you to the semi-circle of mirrors on the far end of the fitting rooms, brushing his tail against your shins as he passes. That was another thing that had changed. Since the talk you’d had with the boys last night, it seemed like they were always finding some excuse to touch you or brush up against you . You didn’t know if it was a manifestation of their cat genes or them just wanting physical reassurance that you were there, but it seemed like every time you turned around there was a tail curling around your calf or a nose tip against your ear or a shoulder brushing your own. You were practically wreathed in them. Even Yoongi hadn’t seemed to mind when your fingertips had brushed against each other at breakfast when you’d passed him the juice. You didn’t know if you should count that as progress, but you want to.

You’re not entirely used to physical contact and nearly every time Taehyung rubs his cheek on the top of your head or Jimin reaches out to link your fingers together, you jump. It feels strange, to have people be so blatantly physically affectionate with you. It’s not like you dislike it, exactly, it’ll just take some getting used to. Whatever adjustments you need to make, you know you’ll need to make them quickly. You don’t think the hybrids will give up on friendly hugs just because you never initiate them first.

“Y/N-ah,”Jimin calls, catching your attention. He’s twisting this way and that on the platform, trying to catch his reflection in every possible angle. He hums in disappointment as he turns back to the front, tail waving behind him. “This collar,” he says, tugging on the offending band of bright green plastic around his neck, “-is ruining my outfit. We’ll need to get real ones today.”

You feel like a stone has settled in your stomach. Your shoulders sag, but if the leopard hybrid notices, he doesn’t say anything. “Yeah,” you reply. “Yeah, you’re right.” In truth, you’d hoped to put it off for a little while longer. Collaring and leashing a hybrid had always seemed odd to you. After all, weren’t they people too? The law was the law, you knew, but something about publicly and visibly marking someone as property...well, the morality of it was gray at best. The temporary collars had provided you with a stay from the inevitable, but there was no avoiding it any longer, you supposed. They’d have to get collars.

“I saw a store for them a couple shops down,” Taehyung supplies as he steps out of his dressing room in a white linen shirt and cream drawstring pants. “We could go there?”

“That works for me...Taehyung, one of your buttons is in the wrong hole.”

The tiger hybrid squints down at his shirt, feels blindly for the hole he missed, but can’t seem to find it.

“No,” you tell him. “Not that one, the other- do you just want me to fix it?”

He pauses and looks up at you for a solid three seconds before giving a single, slow nod.

You come to stand in front of him and start undoing the buttons from the top. There’s only four of them but each one you pop open reveals more and more of his honey brown skin and prominent collar bones. Your fingers brush his skin accidentally and he chuffs happily, one hand resting on your lower back as you start buttoning him up again. Heat starts crawling up your neck unbidden. Even through the fabric of your t-shirt, you can feel the warmth of his palm, how long his fingers are. He presses you closer until your arms are nearly flat against your chest as you try to finish buttoning him up. It’s hard to move squished between the insistent pressure of his hand and the- surprisingly- hard line of his body, but you make do. “There!” You pat him gently on the chest as you finish the last button. “All done.”

He dips forward and rubs his cheek against your forehead, rumbling so deep in his chest that the vibrations pass into you. “Thank you.” He releases you and pulls away, but as he does, his lips brush against your hairline. You try not to read too deep into it.

The tiger hybrid sidles over to his friend in the mirror, wrapping his arms around the smaller man’s waist and dipping his head into his neck. Jimin reaches back and scratches behind one of his ears and your heart swells in your chest. It was nice to see them be so openly affectionate with each other. They’re so close in a way you can’t even begin to understand. It’s beautiful.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you thumb the screen to life. An incoming call from Mr. Seo. “You guys keep trying stuff on,” you tell the pair, already standing to make your way out of the dressing room. “I’ve gotta take this.” They both call at you to hurry back and you give them a shout of assent as you rush away.

The second you’re outside the store, you answer. “Hello?”

“Ms. L/N,” Mr. Seo’s voice crackles on the other end of the line. “I trust you’ve settled in well.” It isn’t a question and the tone of his voice makes it clear that he doesn’t wish to spend what precious time he has exchanging pleasantries with you.

“Yeah, everything’s okay.” Everything had most certainly not been okay when you’d emergency dialed him two days ago about the tiger on your couch. The text he’d sent you back six hours later had told you to figure it out. You had and you knew you weren’t his responsibility, but him tossing you in the deep end was still a sore spot for you.

“There’s been a change of plans.”

You grimace. Straight to it, then. “What’s going on?”

“Black Mountain Canines- the company your uncle purchased two of the hybrids from- changed their pick-up date. They want you to come get them in person today.”

“Pick-up?” You frown. “No, they were supposed to drop them off.”

“They were,” Mr. Seo confirms, “But it’s apparently no longer profitable for them to drive all the way into Seoul to hand-deliver two of their charges. They also claim they’re incurring additional expenses by feeding and housing two hybrids who’ve already been purchased, but we’ll see about that when we arrive.”

Your anxiety spikes and your fingers wrap tighter around your phone. You’d promised the boys a whole day out. All you’d done so far was get them phones of their own and furniture for their room. There was still so much to do, so much to see. “What about Yoongi and Jimin and Taehyung?” You blurt out.

Mr. Seo sighs and his breath crackles over the receiver. “Those are the cats, I assume? I suggest you let them know sooner rather than later that they’ll have to share their space.” There’s a flurry of movement on his end of the line, the sound of someone calling his name and papers shuffling. “I have to go; they need me to look over some case files.” He tells you. “I’ll be at Haneul Tower to pick you up in three hours. Be downstairs waiting.”And the line clicks off.

You sigh and hang up. What were you going to tell the boys? Day one of your new friendship and you were already breaking promises.

“Trouble?” Yoongi’s voice right behind you makes you flinch and whirl on him. His ears press back against his head and he takes a step back at your sudden movements.

“Sorry!” You tell him, forcing your spine to relax. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there; I thought you were still shopping. ”

“I can tell,” he snarks, but there’s no heat behind it. His eyes trace the line of your shoulders, still tense and flick to the phone in your hand. “I dropped my stuff at the register. What’s going on?”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, nerves making your stomach ache. “C’mon,” you tell him, walking back into the store. “Let’s pay and grab some lunch. I’ll tell you when we sit down.” He follows after you a few paces behind, trying not to let worry prick in him at the anxious shift in your scent. Something was about to change, he was sure, and not entirely for the better.

Twenty minutes later, the four of you are sitting in the food court, a mess of shopping bags at your feet and a bowl of tteokbokki between you. Yoongi and Jimin had picked out all the fish cakes first and were bickering good-naturedly over who the last one should go to, but Taehyung seemed content to just gnaw at his rice cakes. You’d hardly touched anything, your eyes flicking back to the time on your phone. 1:20 P.M. Two hours and forty minutes ‘til Mr. Seo would be at your apartment to pick you up and bring you to get two more of the hybrids your uncle had bought. You push a rice cake around on your paper plate with the end of your chopstick. Well, no point delaying the inevitable.

“Hey, guys?” You call softly. Three pairs of ears swivel toward you immediately. The words die in your throat and your tongue feels like lead as they look at you, all their eyes focused and expectant. You clear your throat and force yourself to continue. “So...you know how I…” You search for the right word, but there’s really no other way to say it. “...inherited you guys from my uncle?”

Taehyung’s eyes flick toward Jimin and the leopard hybrid brushes his tail against the tiger’s. Silent communication you couldn’t even begin to decipher. “Yeah,” Yoongi says, tossing his chopsticks down and leaning back in his chair. “I told them.”

That was right. What you’d blurted out at Yoongi yesterday on the street you had yet to disclose to his juniors. “Thanks, Yoongi,” You tell him, meaning every word of it. He’d spared you from yet another uncomfortable conversation.

“...For what it’s worth, we’re glad it’s you,” Taehyung tells you, his tail twining around your ankle under the table. He looks at his hyungs for confirmation and when neither of them deny it, he settles his amber gaze back on you. “We like being here with you, even if you didn’t pick us. It’s...It’s nice.”

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips at his words. He beams at you, his boxy smile soft despite the sharp incisors poking his bottom lip. “I like having you guys around, too,” you admit, taking the time to meet each of their eyes. Jimin purrs as you look at him, the corners of his mouth curling. When your gaze meets Yoongi’s, his ears twitch but he doesn’t look away. He doesn’t blink either, just holds your stare with an intensity that makes heat crawl up your neck. You suddenly remember the warm stretch of his body over your’s, the sensation of his lips against your neck. You snatch your eyes away and cough to cover your lapse in speech. “It would’ve been scary, I think, if I had to deal with all this alone.”

You couldn’t even imagine it.That clinically clean apartment with its blank white walls and its imposing emptiness would have driven you down until you couldn’t stand it anymore. You’d always had a little pit of loneliness inside you. You didn’t know how long it’d been there. Maybe it always had been, a seed of something sad and dark at the core of your soul. You’d done well keeping it contained. You felt it in your goshiwon, but your room was small. It couldn’t grow beyond your keeping. In Oliver’s penthouse, it would’ve had endless room to sprawl and with no one to clip it back, you would’ve choked to death on vines of doubt.

“There are others,” you tell them, before you can down spiral into the mire of your own thoughts. “He bought other hybrids before he died. They weren’t supposed to be coming until next week but their company wants me to come get them today.”

The mood at the table shifts almost immediately. Taehyung’s ears and tail sag, Jimin’s smile goes sharp at the edges and Yoongi’s lip curls. “How many others?” He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You notice he does that when he’s nervous or uncomfortable. It’s a defense mechanism, no matter how at ease it makes him seem.

“Four,” you answer and the bobcat hybrid’s ears tilt back in irritation. “Two are coming home today and the other two toward the end of next week.” Jimin doesn’t say anything, but you see the tip of his tail flicking back and forth. He’s annoyed. Taehyung drops a hand onto the smaller hybrid’s back and rubs circles in it, trying to soothe him.

“Maybe it’ll be okay?” The tiger hybrid offers. He’s trying his best to be diplomatic, but you hear the strain in the deep timbre of his voice. “Having other cats around again might be nice. We used to live with a lot back at the center…”

You wince. “...they’re canines.” Almost immediately, all of their ears go flat against their skulls and they hiss in unison. Yoongi stifles himself the quickest, setting a hand on Jimin’s knee and squeezing to get the leopard hybrid to get a hold of himself.

“Hybrids of different species don’t play well together,” he explains. “Especially not when our animals are solitary in the wild. The only reason Jimin, Tae and I are able to stand sharing the same territory is because we’ve known each other since we were kids and we’ve had to do it before.”

Before? A question forms in the back of your mind, but now isn’t the time to ask it.

“We don’t like sharing what’s ours,” Jimin continues for his hyung, interlocking his fingers with yours on the plastic table top. “It’s instinctual.”

“I know, I know.” You squeeze his hand lightly, trying to reassure him. “But the apartment is big; can’t you avoid each other starting out?”

All three of them give you a strange look and Jimin’s lips curl in a way that isn’t quite a smile. “...right,” he purrs, a little delayed. “The apartment.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, anxiety sinking its claws into you. “I’m really sorry to spring this on you guys, I know it’s not great, but…” Your shoulders sag. “I don’t want to have promised someone a home and rip the rug out from under them, you know?” You knew what that felt like. You wouldn’t wish that feeling on your worst enemy. “I’m just...I’m worried that they’re not being treated well.”

“They were up for sale,” Yoongi drawls. “They definitely aren’t.”

The taxi ride back to Haneul Tower is uncomfortably quiet. Jimin still holds your hand and Taehyung still leans on your shoulder, but nobody says a word. You help them carry their bags upstairs and drop them off in the master bedroom. You’d told them they could have separate rooms if they wanted, but they’d insisted on sharing, so you thought it was only fair that they get the largest room in the penthouse. Clothes went onto hangars and into closets and before you knew it, there were only ten minutes until Mr. Seo’s arrival.

“You don’t have to go,” Taehyung huffs. He’s got you wrapped in a bear- well, you suppose a tiger hug and his cheek is mashed against the top of your head. You don’t even think he’s actively scenting you at this point, just keeping you from leaving. “Send your assistant instead and stay here with us.”

You let out a puff of laughter and pat the hybrid on the back in a way you hope is soothing. “Mr. Seo isn’t my assistant, buddy, he’s my uncle’s attorney.” You give a little tug away from him and he lets you go, albeit with a sad little mrow that makes him sound just like a disappointed cat. “I couldn’t ask him to do that. The only reason he’s coming is because they broke the contract. And I can’t drive.”

The look Taehyung gives you is so downtrodden that you toy with the idea of calling the whole day off and staying with them- but no. You can’t bail out now, especially not with what you’d put Mr. Seo through when the first group of hybrids were delivered. “I’ll be back before you know it,” You tell him with a steadfast smile.

“You’d better,” Jimin says, nudging the taller hybrid out of the way. Taehyung gives a half-hearted growl, but settles as Yoongi squeezes his shoulder. “The longer you’re away, the longer you’ll have to sit in the stench of those mutts.”

You frown. “Jimin-”

“Only joking,” He soothes, bringing both of your hands up to his cheeks. You don’t believe him, but you don’t press it. The leopard hybrid nuzzles into your palms, purring happily at the feeling of your skin against his. Your palms nearly burn from how warm he is. You feel a warm puff of air against your fingers and tense as Jimin presses all ten of them against his lips.

“Jimin.” Yoongi’s voice is hard, but his junior’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile, one of his incisors pricking at the pad of your index finger.

“Hurry back,” he murmurs. You try not to shiver at the feeling of his plush lips moving against your oversensitive fingertips.

“I’ll do my best!” You say, a pained smile tugging your lips apart. He hums in response and drops your hands, his fingers trailing across yours as he lets you go.

“Hyung,” he calls over his shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Y/N-ah?”

“Don’t let them scent you.” Is all Yoongi says as he breezes toward the stairs. “You know better now.”

It’s as much as you were expecting. “I’ll see you guys later,” You tell them as you head out the door. “Finish setting your phones up and text me if you need anything!”

True to his word, Mr. Seo is parked out front at 4 o’clock on the dot. You haven’t seen him in a little over a week and you’d almost forgotten how imposing he was. He cuts a sharp figure against the backdrop of the bustling street, dressed in all black and leaning against a brand new Buick Enclave. The poor valet stationed at the front door looks like he’s been trying to work up the courage to ask to park his car for the past twenty minutes and sags in relief as you start heading over.

The lawyer dips his head in acknowledgement at you and checks his watch. “Miracle of miracles,” he says, popping open the passenger side door for you. “You’re on time.”

“I was late one time,” you huff, sliding past him and into your seat.

“And that was enough,” he snips back, closing your door before you can come up with a retort. You grumble to yourself, but don’t press him. You know he’s right. He’d gone out of his way to help you and you’d put him out.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him as he settles into his seat and reaches for his seatbelt. “It won’t happen again; I know you’ve got other things to do.”

He stills and looks at you over the gold frames of his glasses. For a long moment he holds your gaze, unblinking. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Had you done something wrong?

Finally Mr. Seo blinks and finishes buckling himself in. “I apologize for staring, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard you correctly.” He push starts his car and pulls away from the curb. “I never thought I’d see the day a L/N would apologize to me.” He edges the car into the steady stream of Seoul traffic and you’re off, zooming toward the freeway.

Silence fills the car again, but as Mr. Seo takes on-ramp, you work up the courage to ask your question. “Did Oliver never apologize to you?”

Mr. Seo snorts and it’s such an undignified sound that you almost can’t believe it comes from him. “You could tell your uncle the sky was blue and he’d argue that it was red until he was. And your grandfather-” He seems to catch himself, reigning back whatever meager bits of his personality had managed to slip through the cracks in his normally flawless veneer. You’re all ears.

Up until a week and a half ago, you hadn’t known you had any family, much less an uncle who owned buildings and bugattis. Now you were finding out that you had a grandfather too. “What about my grandfather?” The word feels strange in your mouth. It’d been years since you’d followed the word ‘my’ up with any type of familial relation.

Mr. Seo cuts his eyes at you, and flicks them back to the front. “Nothing,” he replies, clearly done talking about him. “I spoke out of turn.” He reaches forward and turns on the radio, the sound of national news filling the silence.

You pout and slouch in your seat, disappointment setting in as the promise of new information slipped out of your grasp.

The rest of the drive is easy. Mr. Seo takes the highway out of Seoul and up into the foothills but you’re asleep before he even finds the exit. You’d slept more in the past two days than you had in the previous three weeks, but it seemed like years of bad habits were catching up to you.

Last night, you’d passed out halfway through the second movie snuggled up between Jimin and Taehyung. They’d been so warm and soft and the quiet thrumming of their heartbeats had lulled you to sleep before you knew what was happening.You’d woken up with them still curled around you and -maybe most surprising of all- Yoongi plating breakfast in the kitchen.

Still, it seemed even twelve hours of the best sleep you’d gotten in years and a peaceful morning devoid of stress -for the most part- hadn’t been enough.

You wake up just as the asphalt transitions into gravel, the sound of it crunching under the tires and the car’s shaking waking you up. You’re bleary-eyed and confused, but a sign up ahead snaps you to wakefulness. Standing like a guardian over a chain link fence topped with barbed wire is a metal sign, imposing as it is tall: Black Mountain K-9s, written in stark font.

“We’re here,” Mr. Seo says, as if it’s not obvious. He kills the engine and without its purring to distract you, you feel nerves starting to boil in your belly. What kind of place was this? You half expect sinister organ music to kick on and lightning to start flashing from black clouds. Neither of those things happen, though. The sky remains startlingly clear and the only things you can pick up are the sounds of whistles being blown, dozens of people doing call and response, and one voice, louder than all the others screaming for people to ‘Run faster! Get those knees up!’

You pop the door and step out of the car before Mr. Seo can open it for you and head around to the nose of the car, taking in the compound.

“This facility produces some of the highest caliber bodyguards in the country,” He says, coming to stand beside you. The attorney rebuttons his suit jacket and flicks his sleeves up before settling his arms over his chest. “Politicians, celebrities, even a few former presidents all have hybrids from this training center.”

“It looks more like a prison,” You remark, nodding toward the barbed wire. “First big cat hybrids, now this...Why didn’t Oliver just get regular pets if he was lonely? Was he worried someone was after him?”

“Anything I can tell you would be pure speculation,” He replies, walking away from you and heading for the callbox. “Your uncle very rarely confided in me.”

“But you were his attorney.”

For just a second, the tight grip Mr. Seo has on his composure slips. His lips press together and his shoulders sag- but just as quickly as it’d lapsed, his mask is in place again. “Yes,” he says after a beat. “I was.” And he presses the button on the call box before you can pester him with any more questions about the dead men he’d known.

The call box crackles to life, speakers squealing with feedback. You flinch and slap your hands over your ears to protect them from the splitting sound. Mr. Seo doesn’t react at all and you’re stunned, wondering how he can stand it.

“Seo Seunghan and Y/N L/N for Lim Hangyeol.”

The person on the other end doesn’t respond. The speaker cuts and a second later, the metal gate before you starts rolling to the side, pushed by invisible hands. It’s like a curtain going up at the theater.

Before you lies a wide, dusty yard, devoid of any plant life. The thick-trunked trees and lush grasses of the surrounding mountainside had been stripped down to the roots here. All that remains are a few weeds poking out around the base of the long metal buildings that ring the fence, and even those seem like an intrusion. People are making use of the space in whatever way they can. A group of people with matching cropped black ears and docked tails run past you in four straight lines, all perfectly in step with each other. Over to your right, there’s a pack of teenagers working in pairs to scale a ten-foot tall sheer wooden wall and in the center of the field, twenty kids are running through taekwondo forms, supervised by a widely smiling instructor.

You’re in awe of it all. Every single person is like a cog in a well-oiled machine, all in the same black tactical pants and compression shirt. You’d never seen so many hybrids in one place before and certainly not all of the same breed.

Mr. Seo places a hand in the center of your back, steering you away from staring and toward a squat cement building.You let him lead you.

“When we get inside,” the lawyer begins, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. “Let me speak first. If we can get him to admit to breaching the contract right away, it’ll be much easier to get him to agree to a settlement.”

You frown at that. “Why would we settle?” You ask him. “It’s not like I need the money.”

“It’s a matter of principle, Ms. L/N.” He sighs, pulling open the heavy metal door and ushering you into the building. “He did something wrong, and it’s most easy for him to bear the brunt of atonement financially. Without requiring damages be paid for breaches, contract law would collapse.”

“Can’t you just have him apologize?”

Mr. Seo’s mouth twists up like he’s just tasted something unpleasant. “As you attorney, it is my duty to advise you against accepting restitution in the form of an apology. You’ll get a reputation for being a pushover.”

You wanted to be anything but. “Alright, alright,” you concede, “Do whatever you think is best.”

The building you’ve ducked into seems to be an office. Along one wall are a set of metal folding chairs doing their best impression of a waiting room. Along the other is a metal door covered in peeling paint and one suspicious dent bearing a plaque that reads ‘DIRECTOR LIM’. Set between you and it is a desk covered in a mess of paperwork. An old desktop stands among it like an island in the ocean and middle aged hybrid woman in coke bottle glasses is hunched before it, tapping away at the keyboard at a mind-boggling speed. One of her ears twitches as the pair of you approach.

“Take a seat,” she orders in a reedy voice, not bothering to look up from her work. “The Director will be with you shortly.”

“Send them in, Eunjung!” Someone shouts from behind the metal door just as she’s finished. She doesn’t look up or stop typing or even acknowledge you two again. Mr. Seo takes it upon himself to breeze past her desk and open the door for you.

The office is militaristically organized, all right angles and bare metal surfaces. There’s a black leather couch that’d seen better days to your left as you enter, a half empty water cooler to your right. Bookshelves lined with trophies and textbooks dominate the western wall. You scan the titles as you pass: Predatory Instinct: The Teaching and Training Canines, The Utility of Force, On Raising Hybrids, The Art of War, all dangerous and daunting as the man they belonged to.

Lim Hangyeol is the most grizzled man you’ve ever seen and the only other human besides yourself and Mr. Seo in the compound, it seems. He looks like a drill sergeant from an old action movie, his salt and pepper hair buzzed short and his face craggy with frown lines. There’s a semicircle of pockmark scars marring the skin of his right cheek and as you get closer, you realize they’re teeth marks. You shoot a concerned look to Mr. Seo, but he’s more focused on giving the director a shallow bow than allaying any of your fears.

“Director,” He says, straightening back up. “Thank you for having us-”

“Spare me the bullshit,” The older man orders, kicking back his office chair and sinking back into it. “Take a seat. Let’s talk business.”

A cold smile settles on your attorney’s lips and you see a cord twitching in his jaw, but he merely nods and replies in a breezy voice, “Of course.”

The two of you do as you told, settling into two metal chairs in front of his desk. These ones are nicer than the folding ones in the waiting room, but no more comfortable. You try to slide yours forward only to find that it’s bolted to the floor.

“Stops the dogs from throwin’ em when they get bad news,” Director Lim tells you as you uselessly tug at the legs. “Got tired of replacing windows.”

You grimace. If the awards on the bookshelf, what Mr. Seo had told you and the dozens of hybrids running boot camp drills outside were any indication, the man before you must’ve had some idea what he was doing. You didn’t end up providing security for high profile public figures without a smidge of credibility, you knew, but the bite marks on his cheek, the little crack about people throwing chairs at him and the way he’d referred to them as ‘dogs’ didn’t inspire confidence in you.

This was your first time visiting a place that produced hybrids, you realized. You’d never even been into a shelter before and certainly not a breeding center. Were they all like this? Devoid of anything soft or comforting, rigid with rules and regulations? Had Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung come from a place like this? You don’t know and you’re not sure you’d like the answer if you did.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us on such short notice,” Mr. Seo starts, popping open the hinges on his briefcase and pulling out a few sheaves of paper. “After the sudden cancellation of your company’s contract with Ms. L/N, I was concerned for the state of our business relationship.” He slides one of the packets across the desk to the director.

“If I remember correctly,” Director Lim says, scanning the lines of ink and unintelligible legalese, “Me and your boss signed for delivery, not me and whoever this little girl is you brought.”

Your eyes narrow and your lips curl, but before you can give voice to the nasty thing crawling up your throat, Mr. Seo gives a subtle shake of his head and taps you twice on the knee, out of eyeshot of the director. You grumble, but cage it behind your teeth.

“See?” The man jabs one gnarled finger at the page, right over your late uncle’s flourishing signature. “It says it right there: L/N Oliver. Last I checked, he was dead. I’m not holding on to a dead man’s dogs. ”

That same muscle tenses in Mr. Seo’s jaw. “The contract states that Black Mountain Canines would deliver the hybrids my client purchased to his residence on December the eighteenth and that they would be received by a proxy if he was unavailable. You were made aware of the fact that he was unavailable, as well as the fact that he now has a proxy-

“I’ll pay the goddamn fine!” The Director barks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Christ above, I don’t know why he wanted those two fuck-ups in the first place, but I don’t want them on my property a second longer.”

You shoot Mr. Seo a look of confusion, but he just watches, blasé, as the Director rifles through his desk drawers. The man finds what he’s looking for and drops two manila folders on top of the contract. “The pair of them are useless. If it weren’t for my reputation, I’d’ve had them both sent to shelters years ago. Or put down, but you know how touchy the law is about that.”

“I don’t.” You say, your voice edging dangerously close to a snarl. It slips out before you can stop it. Mr. Seo shoots you a warning look and you ball your fists up in your sweater sleeves, fingernails biting crescent moons into your palms with the effort of keeping your mouth shut.

You can’t stand this man, you decide. He’s awful. You should’ve known that from the moment you saw elementary school aged hybrids stumbling through taekwondo drills with their ears taped and bandages on their tails. You’re going to take whatever hybrids Oliver bought, get them the fuck out of there and never look back.

If Director Lim had heard you growl at him, he gives no sign of it, just flips open the folders. “To be honest, I should be paying you to take them off my hands. They’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since they aged out of training. I told your uncle he could have his pick of the litter for what he was paying, but he wanted a wide-eyed buffoon and a mutt who’d rip your hand off soon as look at you.” Clipped to the insides are photos of two men, staring back at you in black and white.

One has the same black and tan cropped ears as every other hybrid you’ve seen thus far. Unlike them, he’s smiling. His eyes are little upturned crescent moons and he beams at you through the photo paper. There’s so much light in his face it’s nearly blinding.

The other is not nearly as inviting. The photo is taken at an odd angle and it’s blurry at the edges, like whoever took it was much shorter than the subject and had to zoom in to even get the shot. His ears, larger than any of the other hybrids and longer furred, are pinned back against his head. His jaw is clenched and he glowers down into the lens, one eye soot black and the other piercing blue.

There are stats listed on the pages behind their photos: height, weight, shot records and the like. Among them, you see their call signs, highlighted in yellow: Hope and Monster.

“I don’t know where I went wrong with him,” the director says, tapping Hope’s photo. “He went through all the training, passed all the tests, but when it comes down to it, he just doesn’t have the instinct.” He gives a single shake of his head, clicks the tip of his tongue against his teeth. “No one wants a guard dog that’d sooner talk an intruder’s ear off than actually guard what he’s supposed to. He’s not good for much but nannying the pups, but he’s too soft on them too.”

A light bulb clicks on and you realize the hybrid in question had been the one instructing the kids outside in the center of the yard, his tail wagging a mile a minute as they completed another form correctly.

“Now this bastard…” the director continues, jamming a finger onto the second photo with so much force, it rattled the cup of pens on his desk. “Is my biggest failure.” He crosses his arms and kicks back in his chair, his dislike of the hybrid in question obvious. “His mother was the cornerstone of this facility for nearly a decade. I sold her pups to assemblymen and actors alike. Centers around the country wanted pups with her genetics. If it weren’t for her, we’d never have grown to this size.” He sounds wistful as he spreads his hands out, gesturing around himself like a king taking in his holdings. “But all good things come to an end,” He sighs. “A pack of wild hybrids settled a little higher up on the mountain.” His face darkens and his lips twist. “Wolves,” he snarls with all the disdain he can muster.

“All that about them being noble and self-sacrificing? Complete and utter bullshit,” He scoffs. “They’re transient lowlifes who’d slit your throat as soon as look at you. At first I didn’t care. They stayed on their side of the mountain and I stayed on mine, but then they started sneaking down here at night to steal my food and fuck my dogs. By the time I managed to get the cops out here, they’d cleared out and my top breeder had gone with them.”

He let out a low chuckle and shook his head. “I tell you, I thought I was ruined. But wouldn’t you know it, she came stumbling back here six months later, barefoot and howling to be let in and heavy with some wild thing’s pup.” Director Lim snaps both the folders shut and slides them to you across the desk. “The thing about breeding hybrids is, the money’s all in the bloodlines. No one wants a dog with mystery genetics. The only way to solve that problem is to cut it off at the root- but it was already too late by the time she got here.”

You feel sick to your stomach. You hope he isn’t implying what you think he is- that hybrid children he hadn’t planned out himself were mistakes in need of correction- but you know he is. Deep in your gut you know.

“And she spoiled him. She let him run roughshod over everyone and everybody in this compound. I tried telling her wild hybrids need a firmer hand- he certainly did if we were gonna break that wolf he’s got inside him, but she wouldn’t hear it. I tried to crop him with the other pups his age, he gave me these,” he said, gesturing to the teeth marks in his cheeks. “We keep him shut up away from the others, now, in the back when he can’t bother anyone. He gets his meals delivered but we don’t ever let him out.” The grizzled man shakes his head. “A drain on resources is what he is.”

“And his mother?” You ask, quietly.

“Eunjung?” he questions. “You met her on the way in.” The director stands and unclips a ring of keys from his belt buckle, making his way around the desk and gesturing for you and Mr. Seo to follow. “I’ve got her doing desk work now. Gotta keep her close so she doesn’t cause any more trouble.” He pushes open the door to his office, barks something at his secretary and steps outside, not looking back to see if you two are following.

You shoot Mr. Seo a look before you stand and he meets it, evenly. “We’ll discuss this in the car,” he says, stuffing papers back into his briefcase and flicking the clasps shut. Oh, you most certainly will discuss ‘it’ in the car.

You don’t really know what it is or where to even begin. The kids with bandaged ears? The fact that Director Lim seemingly decided who was allowed to see the sun and who wasn’t? You think back to the conversation you’d had with Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi last night. Right now, it seems years away, in some unreachable, idyllic past before you knew how breeding centers worked and how security hybrids were made. You feel foolish. Who were you to try to get them to let go of their pain and their hurt? If what they’d been through was even a little like what was going on here, they wouldn’t be able to for a long time. You’re angry. You’re disgusted. You are unquantifiably fucking sad.

You pass Eunjung on your way out. In your time in the director’s office, she’s pulled her ash brown hair into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. Peeking out of the collar of her sweatshirt you can see a faded scar in the shape of a ring, little puncture marks pale and glossy. It looked similar to the one on the director’s cheek, but this one was a complete circle and not ragged at all, like she’d stayed completely still while it was given. Teeth marks.

You swallow. You want to do something, to give her some words of encouragement, but you have no idea what to say. You still don’t as you slow to a stop beside her desk, but you open your mouth to speak anyway. “I’m sorry,” You tell her, with all the sincerity in your heart.

She doesn’t answer, but one cropped ear flicks toward you and her fingers slow in their incessant race across her keyboard.

You turn to go. Mr. Seo was holding the door open for you and you can hear the director barking orders at a group of trainees to run an obstacle course faster. Just as you set foot over the threshold, she speaks. Her voice is so quiet, you have to strain to hear her over the steady clack-click-clack of her nails on the keys.

“He likes green things,” she says, not looking up from her work. “And old books.”

You look over your shoulder at her. Her face is a mask of neutrality, her eyes clear and her mouth set in a relaxed line. She looks fine, but there’s an ocean of meaning behind her words. You see her, just for a moment, as she’d been all those years ago, barefoot in the snow and begging for shelter, her stomach full with one of the moon’s own children. You commit the sight of her to memory. Then you turn and you go.

The director is waiting outside, shielding his eyes from the sun and regaling Mr. Seo with some long-winded explanation on the best way to treat hip dysplasia in Doberman hybrids. “Where to?” you ask, effectively cutting him off mid-sentence.

The man gives you a disgruntled look but despite the anxiety you feel spiking in your belly, you meet it evenly. Once upon a time, anyone in a position of authority looking at you the way he was would’ve sent you into a tailspin of self-doubt and nerves, leaving you shivering as your heartbeat thrummed in your ears, warning you of non-existent danger. If you were honest, it still did- but you didn’t have the luxury of running away and hiding anymore, not when there were people who needed you.

“Hope’s bags are in the barracks. He just needs to grab them, and he can be on his merry way,” The direction grunts. “Monster’s still locked up, so I’ll-”

“I’ll go.” You can feel Mr. Seo stiffen beside you.

“Ms. Y/N-”

“If he’s really that aggressive,” you start, your eyes not leaving the director’s for a moment. “Wouldn’t it be better for me to meet him now instead of when we’re packed into a car on a two hour car ride?” Director Lim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t falter. You hold your hand out for the key. Your boldness surprises you. He drops the key ring into your open palm and you wrap your fingers around it, stuffing it in your pocket before he can snatch them back. You turn on your heels and march off in the direction he tilts his head in, nothing but a hiss of your name from Mr. Seo’s lips to accompany you.

You walk quickly, eyes straight and willing your legs to go faster with every stride. It’s a long way across the compound but the less time you spend walking, the less time you have to stew in anxiety. None of the hybrids training in little packs spread across the yard pay you any mind- except for Hope.

Your path takes you directly behind the group of kids he’s working with. You give them a wide berth, not wanting to disturb them, but you get a little distracted. Your steps slow for just a moment as you drink him in. He’s tall- the same height as Taehyung, if you’re judging it right, but there’s an ease about him the tiger hybrid hasn’t yet mastered. Everything about Taehyung is pulled in. He’s always coiled tight, like he’s preparing to spring forward at any moment, all his energy drawn into the center of his being. Even last night, when you’d been cuddled up with him on the couch, he’d pulled you tight against his side, shifting and rearranging himself til you both fit on one cushion. He’d held you tight through both films, his tail curled around the both of you and his spine tight, like if he let himself relax for a moment, you’d both turn to dust on the wind.

Hope has no such fear. Everything about him is spread wide open, from the heart-shaped smile on his lips to his arms as he demonstrates a series of punches to his little pack of students. They all watch him with rapt attention, ears perked up and bandaged tails wagging. One of them asks him a question and he laughs, ruffles their hair. He laughs in a way you’ve never seen before, shoulders shaking like he can’t contain the force of it alone. It makes your heart flip.

His ears twitch, picking up the change in the cadence of your footsteps. He looks up and your eyes meet for the first time. He looks surprised to see you, for a moment, face blank- but then it melts into a soft smile, brimming with affection you’ve done nothing to earn. You snatch your gaze away and fix it to the dirt in front of you, embarrassed at being caught. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him cock his head to the side in confusion, but he doesn’t go after you. All the better, you’re all but running away from him now.

You shuffle across the compound in a blur of scuffed sneakers and frayed nerves. You barely give yourself time to look up at the small cinder block building before you, shoving the key in the padlock before you can lose what unearned confidence you have left. You twist it, yank the rusted thing open, take a deep breath and enter.

You don’t know what you’d been expecting, but it’s certainly not what you find. The way Director Lim had spoken about him and this place, you’d been expecting cobwebs on the ceiling, blood spatters on the wall and rusty nails on the floor. What’s before you is almost entirely the opposite.

The room is a veritable Eden.

There are vines climbing every available wall, wrapping around structural posts and digging their way between concrete blocks. Every surface is crammed full of flowering plants in makeshift pots: lilies in old water jugs, violets in a worn out boot, black-eyed susans dripping orange petals from an upturned helmet. The floor is in a similar state, ferns and foxgloves turning what little space around his bed there is into a meadow. It’s beautiful.

“He likes green things,” you marvel, stepping into the room and pushing the door shut behind you. It seemed every living thing that’d been uprooted to expand the compound had found a second life here, sheltered from the Director’s violence. Maybe the hybrid who lived here had too.

A plant different from all the others catches your eye. It’s set up on the cardboard box serving as his bedside table and it’s the only one in a real pot from what you can tell. It looks just like a miniature tree, complete with knobs on it’s trunk and tiny leaves. You let out a little sound of wonder and crouch in front of it, your fingers reaching out on their own to trail across the delicate branches-

A massive hand wraps around your wrist, stopping you cold. “Don’t touch that.”

You hadn’t heard him approach, but now you knew he was there. You could feel his presence behind you, heavy and warm. He’s looming over you. You swallow and make your arm go limp in his grip. No need to give him a reason. “I won’t,” You tell him. “Will you please let go of my wrist?”

He drops your arm without protest and relief floods your body. You weren’t sure if there was a hybrid version of lockjaw and you certainly weren’t itching to find out. You sit back on your heels and struggle to your feet, still hyper aware of the person behind you, his eyes boring holes into the back of your head. By the time you turn around, he’s back where he came from, standing in the entrance for a bathroom you hadn’t seen, half hidden behind a curtain of vines.

He looks different than the others. You’d been expecting that, but the full-length fluffy tail held stiffly behind his back and the long-furred ears pointed away from you are still a surprise. His fur, instead of being in rigid black and tan points, is marked by whorls of black, brown and gray. Instead of the lean musculature all the other hybrids had -all trim waists and narrow ankles- he’s sturdier, his shoulders broad and the veins in his forearms popping as he clenches his fists. He’s looking at you with that mismatched glare, his chin tilted toward his chest and his eyes shining aquamarine and obsidian.

“If you’re new,” he starts, voice raspy. “They should’ve told you: you’re supposed to knock before you come in.”

“No, I’m not-”

“You can leave the food over there.” He nods toward a little plastic folding table jammed into one corner. It’s the one surface in his room that’s devoid of plants and there’s nothing on it besides a metal cafeteria tray, licked clean. “I won’t move when your back is turned.”

“I’m not here to deliver your food.”

He frowns, brows drawing together as his shoulders tense. “Then why are you…?”

You ball your hands up in your sweater sleeves and turn to face him full on. “I’m here to take you home with me.” You tell him. “They didn’t tell you?”

He laughs, but it’s a cold sound, devoid of joy. “Nobody tells me anything.”

Based on the short conversation you’d had with Director Lim, his sudden cancellation of contracts and the way he seemed ready to bulldoze over anything and everyone that didn’t fit his agenda, he didn’t seem the sharing type. Still it was hard to believe he hadn’t told him he’d be leaving the compound that’s been his home for over twenty years.

“You don’t have to come with me,” you add, softly. “If you don’t want to. I know I’m a stranger. But you can leave-”

“I can’t go anywhere.” He taps the collar around his neck. At first, you’d thought it was the same as the ones every other hybrid had been wearing. You can see now that it isn’t. Theirs had all been leather with thin silver buckles holding them in place. His was leather too, but the band was broader and double-layered. There’s a little box on the side with hinges and a small drawing of a lighting bolt. A shock collar.

Your stomach turns.

You take a slow step toward him, but the second you do, his ears go flat against his head and he pulls his lips back, revealing sharp teeth. You freeze, hands held up and the keys dangling from your thumb. “I have the keys,” you say, extending them toward him.

His eyes flick from your face, to the keys in your hand and back again, like he doesn’t believe what’s happening, like he can’t believe you’d actually want him free. The silence drags out into a little eternity before he speaks again. “If I try to unlock it, it’ll shock me.”

You blink up at him and risk another slow step forward, hoping you’ve caught his meaning correctly. This time, he doesn’t growl but his ears stay pinned back as he watches you through narrowed eyes. You close the distance between the two of you.

When you were six, your mom scraped together enough money to take you to Busan for your birthday. You’d spent the day down at the beach, building sand castles with sea shell windows and wading through tide pools. After the sun had set, someone had set off fireworks and you’d watched them cuddled up in your mom’s arms, eyes wide and filled with a riot of colors you had no name for. It’s strange, you know. The ocean is miles away, but that’s what he smells like: the sea and the sand, and the last curls of smoke from homemade bottle rockets. He smells like that day.

You lift your hands to the clasp on his neck and slide the key home. You twist it and the collar falls to the ground, a monster that can’t hurt him anymore. His skin is warm under your fingers, but puckered with scar tissue. There’s a ring of it around his neck, branching with whatever current had run through him in different directions. There’s no way this was legal, no way anyone with half a heart could treat another person like this. Your fingers trail one of the splits over his adam’s apple and he swallows beneath your touch, snatching your wrist again.

“Dont.” His voice is cold. You blink, shaking off whatever spell you’d been under and shuffle back quickly, eager to give him space. He cradles his throat with one long-fingered hand, massaging the skin. He rolls his neck and you look away. You shouldn’t stare; the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable. “I’ll go with you,” he rasps, answering the question before you can ask it again.

You gape for a second. You really hadn’t expected it to be that easy. “Really?” You can’t stop a note of relief from creeping into your voice.

“Anywhere’s better than here.” He answers back. So, you were a means to an end. It doesn’t bother you. You’ll be whatever you need to be to get him away from this place and that man who seemed to only want to drive him down.

“Do you need time to pack, or-?”

He gives a firm shake of his head. “There’s nothing from this place I want to keep.” And that’s the end of it. You push open the door and stride back out into the cold mountain air, trying your best to exude the confidence you know you lack. The hybrid slinks behind you, head hunched between his shoulders and every step stiff. He hesitates at the threshold and looks up at you, uncertainty written in the rigid line of his spine. He’s nervous. He has every right to be.

How long had he spent in that little cinderblock room, shut away from every living thing? How long had he spent being told that he was a monster? You didn’t believe it, not for one second. No one who was as violent as the director had painted him out to be could’ve raised that garden.

He leans out of the door frame, sniffs the air and lurches forward, out of the shadow of his room, His shoulders bunch up even higher around his head and he goes stiff like he’s waiting for a shock or a shot or a shout- but none comes. The sun is still shining and he’s barefoot in the sand, standing for the first time in years under the open sky. He exhales in a short puff and it looks like he’s going to walk beside you- but he turns on his heels on goes back inside.

You make a little noise of distress in the back of your throat. Had he changed his mind? Did he not want to come with you anymore? You go to call his name out of concern- but realize you don’t know it. All you have is the call sign he’d been given and you sure as fuck aren’t calling him ‘Monster’. You don’t have to flounder for long. He comes back out two seconds later, cradling the bonsai that’d caught your attention to his chest.

“I’ll take this,” he mutters, shuffling into place behind you. You can’t smother the smile that starts tugging at your lips. Yeah, no one hateful would hold a little tree with as much tenderness as an infant.

You give him a little nod. “There’s a terrace where I live,” you tell him, starting your trek across the yard once again. “It’s got a garden and a little greenhouse on it. It’s not very big, and it’s not as pretty as your’s, but you could grow new things there, if you wanted.”

His ears twitch in response, but he keeps his glower firmly focused on the plant in his arms as he shuffles along beside you. It’s then you notice he’s barefoot. “Do you wanna go back and get your shoes?” You ask, trying to make the question sound as innocuous as possible.

“Don’t have any,” he grumbles back. “Don’t need them; I never go outside.”

Alright, that was understandable. Your first stop when you got back into the city would be a shoe store to get him a pair to wear- or maybe not with the way he kept flinching every time a whistle blew and his ears were swivelling like satellites at each new sound that reached them. You chew the inside of your lip. You don’t want to ask, but you know you should. Better to rip the bandaid off now, than get surprised later. “How long were you shut in for?”

“Fourteen.” He bites out.

“...weeks?” You venture. There's a hopeful uptick at the end of your words. Even that would’ve been horrible, even that would be worthy of the litany of profanity you’re mentally lobbing at Director Lim- but it’s still better than the truth.

The hybrid cuts a flat look at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Years.”

A wall of your scent hits him like a freight train, vacillating between the thick, cloying odor of sadness and the burn of anger. His nose wrinkles at it, brows drawing together in confusion.

However little you might’ve known about hybrids, however limited your view of them was, you knew they weren’t supposed to be locked up. Domesticated hybrids like hamsters and cats might’ve been fine inside a house all day, assuming they still had regular interaction with people- but dogs weren’t. And he was half wolf. Wild, he’d have had dozens of square miles to roam over, and he’d been limited to a four-by-four yard room for fourteen years. Your goshiwon was a similar size, but it hadn’t been your whole world. All he’d had was one tiny window and what narrow view he’d managed to glimpse in the doorway when his meals were delivered.

You open your mouth to say something, anything, but you’re cut off by a scream of delight and a snarl keying up in the hybrid next to you’s chest. Your jaw snaps shut with a click.

A few yards ahead, there’s a group of kids wrestling in a massive pile. They’re all giggling and rolling over each other, tails wagging a mile a minute as they play bite and make grabs for the person at the center of their puppy pile. A head of black hair and a pair of cropped ears pop up and you see that it’s Hope, smiling bright as the sun as his students try to pin him.

“You can’t leave!” One particularly determined kid yips, adamantly pushing his shoulder back to the sand. “Who’s gonna teach us?”

Hope just laughs.”Lisa is gonna teach you with the older kids-“

A chorus of disappointed barks and howls breaks out. “Ms. Lisa’s classes are too hard!” A little girl complains.

“Yeah!” Someone else chimes in. “And she’s strict!”

The hybrid ruffles both kid’s hair affectionately, careful of their bandaged ears. “Just because she won’t let you get away with skipping night practice doesn’t mean she’s strict,” he laughs. He’s only met with more grumbles and complaints.

It warms your heart to see. Even if these kids were at the mercy of their director -for now, at least- it was good that they had him to rely on. Your eyes meet and the sheer force of light in his face makes your own heat up. You look away, but he’s spotted you. He disentangles himself from the mess of kids and draws himself up to his full height. He’s in the same uniform he was in before, albeit with a black tactical bag now strapped to his back. He takes a step toward you and the wolfdog hybrid's ears go flat against his skull. He’s not deterred. “Joonie?” It takes you a second to realize he’s talking to the hybrid next to you. “Kim Namjoon, is that you?” Hope takes one step forward and the hybrid - Namjoon - takes a step back to counter him. Hope looks like he’s going to advance again, but a small pair of hands wrapped around one of his own stops him.

A little girl is holding on to him. She can’t be more than six years old. Her tail is still long and her ears are still floppy and she looks so small in her child-sized boots and cargo pants. “Mr. Hobi,” she whines, her head craned back to look up at him. “Please don’t go.”

He falters. His eyes flick from the pair of you back down to her, then he crouches, holds both of her hands in his. “I have to, Sowon-ah,” he says softly.

She sniffles pitifully and juts out her lower lip.”But why?”

It’s a fair question. You’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have to come with you if he doesn’t want to, but he beats you to the punch. “Because it’s my job, sweetheart,” he tells her, smiling softly.

“Y-your job is to teach us,” she hiccups back, face growing blotchy as tears well up in her eyes. Hope swipes one of them away with his thumbs.

“I teach you so you can grow up well and protect your person, right?” She nods, little hands balling the fabric of her cargo pants up in her fists. “Right. Well this,” he continues, turning and looking at you with a soft smile. “Is my person. And I’ve gotta go make sure she stays safe.”

You feel your heart jump into your throat. He’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky and you don’t deserve it. You’ve done nothing to warrant that much unearned loyalty. Sowon rubs at her eyes with the back of her hands and Hope pulls her into a tight hug.

“Ah, don’t cry, Sowon! You’ve gotta make sure you get stronger so someone takes you home, okay? You don’t wanna get old and still be here like me, right?” He squeezes her and goes to stand, but gets mobbed by his students again, all wanting their own hugs and making him swear to write them letters. It takes another five minutes of tearful goodbyes and Director Lim approaching for them to turn him loose.

“Get back to your training, all of you!” He barks, stomping out of the office and slamming the door, Mr. Seo on his heels. The kids scatter to the four winds almost instantly, not wanting to be underfoot for whatever scolding the director was about to deal out. Hope’s face remains the same but you catch his ears droop just a little as his students leave him. The wolfdog hybrid- Namjoon, you remind yourself- on the other hand has his ears flat against his skull. A growl bubbles up in his chest and rips past his lips. It’s a dark, full bodied thing that has you taking a step back and Hope shrinking with a whine.

“Joonie-” he pleads.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” All the fur on Namjoon’s body is standing on end, from the points of his ears to the tip of his tail. Even his hair has fluffed out. His mismatched eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl that reveals his incisors and all that fury, all that rage, is leveled on Director Lim.

To his credit, the grizzled man doesn’t shrink back an inch before the enraged hybrid. His lips twist and he yanks a little remote out of his pocket, mashing a red button in the center. Namjoon flinches, his hands fly to his neck- but nothing happens. The shock collar is gone and the director has no power over him anymore.

The man in question’s eyes widen, flicking between the remote to the column of Namjoon’s throat, now devoid of his one element of control. “Where’s his collar?” He demands. “How the hell did you get your collar off?” He advances on the tall hybrid, his hand in the air and though he doesn’t stop snarling, Namjoon ducks his head, anticipating the blow.

You don’t know what moves you. Maybe it’s Hope pleading for it all to ‘stop, just stop!’. Maybit’s how Namjoon knows exactly how to move when he’s about to get hit. Maybe it’s your own lack of self-preservation. Whatever it is, you blink and you’re in front of Namjoon, your hand up and clutching the director’s forearm, stopping him from striking the hybrid behind you. You’re not strong enough to stop him, not fully. Your elbow buckles in and you stumble back, your back pressing into the wolfdog hybrid’s chest.

The director yells something at you, red flooding his face. You can’t hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart. You force a dry swallow down your throat, put on your bravest face and glare up at him. “Don’t hurt him anymore.”

He reaches out with his free hand to tug you out of the way, but before he can touch you, Hope is there. He presses close to your side and holds the director’s wrist firm, his eyes on the sand and his shoulders hunched up by his ears.

Director Lim looks angry enough to spit. “Hell of a time for you to grow a backbone,” he snarls at Hope, making the doberman hybrid flinch. “I want all four of you off my property now.” He snatched his arms free and you don’t miss the nasty glare he casts at Namjoon. “And if this mutt ever shows his face around here again, I’ll-”

“Director Lim,” Mr. Seo cuts in, his voice cool. “You’ve made yourself clear; we’ll leave. You needn’t make threats.” There’s an underlying warning in the attorney’s voice. The director locks his jaw.

“Get out.” He breathes. Hope ducks around him, his head low and his docked tail pressed close to his back. If he could tuck it, you think he would. You follow after him, eyes fixed straight ahead and your back ramrod straight. He might’ve scared the shit out of you, but you weren’t going to let him see that. Mr. Seo fixes you with a hard look and the second you’re within arms reach, he presses a hand to your back and ushers you toward the gate. The only one who remains is Namjoon.

He looks like his anger has rooted him to the spot. His ears are still flat against his head, his lip still curled.

“Do it, boy,” the director taunts. “Give me a reason-”

“Namjoon.” At the sound of his name, his ears prick up and you turn around. It’d come not from Hope- which you’d expected, seeing as he seemed to be the only one who actually knew his fellow hybrid’s name- but from the open door of the office building where Eunjung stood. She looks at him, her expression unreadable and he stares back. All the tension in his body has shifted and for a moment, you think he’s going to spring toward her and fall into her arms- but she gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head and his face hardens. His arms tighten around his bonsai. You think you know, now, why it was the only plant in his room that had a pot.

“Go,” she says and all the tension leaves him. His shoulders curve in and he drags himself past the director, out from the fence and toward Mr. Seo’s car. There’s something final about the way the gate rolls shut after him. If you hadn’t known better, you’d’ve sworn you heard him whine as it locked.

The car ride down the mountain is...interesting to say the least. Hope insists that the seating arrangements inside the Buick be done to his specifications,( “You’ve gotta sit in the middle,” he tells you, pointing to the narrow center seat. “And Joonie and I will sit on either side of you to protect you in case we crash!” His tail is wagging a mile a minute behind him. You’re surprised it can move that much, given how short it is. Mr. Seo looks affronted at the unintentional jab at his driving and Namjoon just looks irritated. “I told you to stop calling me that.”) and he keeps throwing an arm across your middle everytime the car hits a bump. You’re going down the side of a mountain. There are a lot of bumps. He also keeps pressing his nose against the glass of his window, ears pricked up and trying to take in every tree that passes by. Namjoon, on the other hand, slouches back in his seat, his body curved around his plant and ever so slightly away from you. He still watches the world pass by, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of you or speak- which would be fine if anyone else would. Hope seems to be doing his best to appear stoic and alert every time you look at him and Mr. Seo seems comfortable with the quiet. So, you’re left to ride the two hours back to Seoul in silence.

You almost cry with relief when your phone buzzes with an incoming text. You fish the device out of your pocket, thumb it to life and scan your notifications.

Unknown Sender [7:13 PM] where are you

You frown. Very few people had your number or any reason to text you. You’re about to chalk it up to a wrong number when the second text rolls in.

Unknown Sender [7:14 PM] it’s yoongi

Now that’s a surprise. When you’d hurriedly told the boys to text you, you’d been expecting Jimin to urge you to hurry or for Taehyung to ask for updates, not for their hyung to check your progress. A little smile pricks at your lips as you rush to reply

You [7:14 PM] We’re on the way back now!

Unknown Sender has been changed to Yoongi

Yoongi [7:14 PM] can i call

You bite the inside of your lip, suddenly nervous. You know there’s no reason to be. After all, you tell yourself, what’s scary about a pair of roommates talking on the phone? You give him the go ahead and not three seconds after the delivered notification pops up, you get a call. You answer it on speaker.

“...Hello?”

“Did you just start driving?” Yoongi’s voice is thick with sleep, like he’s just woken up. It’s different than normal, his usual smooth drawl gone gravelly.

“Y-yeah,” you reply, trying to ignore the way Hope is watching you out of the corner of his eyes and Namjoon’s ears have swiveled back toward you. “It’s gonna be awhile, still. Are Taehyung and Jimin-”

“They’re fine; They ate dinner earlier and they’ll be asleep til you get back.” He yawns and you picture him slouched on the couch, his hair mashed up on one side and his face puffy. “Why do you sound nervous?”

“I’m not,” you counter. It’s a blatant lie and he knows it. He hums in doubt, but doesn’t press you.

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Do you want me to text you when we’re close?” It’s an innocuous question. There’s no reason you can see for him to pause as long as he does. For a second you think you’ve lost him- after all, mountains aren’t known for having great reception- but then you hear his breath fan over the receiver.

“...Yeah.”

You give a little nod you know he can’t see. “Okay.” He makes a little noise of assent and then his line clicks off. You hang up. Just as you do, another text comes through.

Yoongi [7:16 PM] don’t let them scent you

“Who was that?” Hope asks in a small voice, pulling you away from your phone screen and Yoongi’s insistence that you remain scent-free. His tone is open, but you can tell by the way his knee is bouncing that he really, really wants to know. “Is that your husband?”

The bark of laughter that rips past your lips is out before you can think to stop it. Namjoon flinches and you wince at him in apology, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. Hope is frowning at you in confusion, his head cocked slightly to the side. You force yourself to calm and answer him. “No, Yoongi is not my husband.” You weren’t sure if you even really qualified as friends at this point. “He’s another hybrid that lives with me.”

Hope perks up in his seat. “You have another hybrid? Director Lim always told us that once we left the center, we’d be alone.” Your expression sours at the mention of the ill-tempered man and you shake your head.

“No, there’s a lot of hybrids in Seoul,” you tell him, eager to dispel some of his misconceptions. “The three that live with me are named Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung. Yoongi’s around your age, I think. Jimin and Taehyung are younger.” The doberman hybrid sits at rapt attention, soaking up every bit of information you give him and waiting eagerly for more. What else could you tell him about them? You remember the boys’ reaction that morning when you told them you’d be bringing dog hybrids home. “...They’re all felines,” you say, slowly, trying to gauge their reactions.

“So that’s why you smell like that.” It’s the first words Namjoon’s spoken since you all piled into the car. You turn to him, but he’s not looking at you.

“What do you-?”

“You smell like other hybrids,” Hope says, covering for him. “But I’ve never smelled any that weren’t other dogs before.” He leans closer, his seatbelt stretching. You tense and lean away from him, but he’s not deterred. The tip of his nose brushes your neck and you have to fight off a shiver as he breathes you in. “They smell the same…” he starts, his breath fanning over your throat. “...but different? And one of them isn’t as strong as the others-” He presses closer, trying to catch the scent that’s eluding him. You make a noise of mild distress and lean further back, pressing into the solid wall that is Namjoon.

“Hoseok, let it go .” Hoseok. That was his real name then. To your surprise, the dog hybrid pulls back as instructed, settling back into his seat without so much as a whine.

“I’ve never met a cat before,” he muses, turning his attention back to the window. “I hope they’re nice.”

You think about the chorus of hisses you’d been met with when you told the boys they’d have to share their space. You hope so too.

It’s 9:30 by the time Mr. Seo drops you off back in front of your building. He wishes you a good night and promises to call later in the week to discuss Black Mountain Canines. You’re not sure if there’s anyone to report him to or anything you can do, but you want to try. What you’d seen at the compound was wrong any way you looked at it. It made you sick to leave anyone there knowing how the director treated Namjoon and Hoseok. No one was useless. No one deserved to be locked away for years at a time for the sheer crime of existing. You’d make them see that.

The moment you step out of the car, Hoseok is all wide smiles and exclamations. “Woah, you live here?” he asks, tilting his head back to take in all fifty-one floors of Haneul Tower in their sparkling, glass-paned glory.

“Yeah,” you tell him, handing him his bag. In his excitement to get out of the car, he’d abandoned it and Mr. Seo had nearly driven away with it. “But I just moved in a couple days ago, so it’s still pretty empty.”

Hoseok nods, scanning the windows like he’ll be able to pick out which one’s your’s. Behind you, Namjoon is lingering on the sidewalk.

He’s still got his bonsai clutched close to his chest and he’s hunched down around it like he’s trying to stop unseen hands from picking at it. His shoulders are bunched up by his ears, and he flinches with every car horn, every siren that comes to you on the wind. He’d grown up in the mountains and spent the better part of his life indoors. It only made sense that he’d be sensitive to the sounds of the city.

“Is there a security system?” Hoseok asks, still enamored with the building. “How many entrances does your apartment have?”

“Just one second,” you tell him, forehead wrinkling as you take in Namjoon. You slide slowly toward the wolfdog, not wanting to startle him. “Namjoon?” He flinches when you call his name, head whipping toward you. “Do you wanna go inside? I know it’s new, but it’ll be quieter, I think.”

His mismatched eyes flick from you, to Hoseok, to the building and back to you before settling firmly on the concrete at his feet. He seems different than he had in the mountains. He’s smaller, quieter, less sure of himself. Was it because this is all new territory for him? Or had the snarling hybrid in the mountains just been a roll he was forced to play, the mythic monster to the director’s tyrant king.

“You don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to,” you tell him, in a voice you hope is reassuring. “We can wait, if you need to.”

“I’ll wait with you, Joonie,” Hope chimes in, giving the larger hybrid the same soft smile he’d given his students earlier.

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “It...it’s fine,” he mutters, “We can go in, I just…” He takes a few hesitant steps forward and huddles closer to you. There’s still an inch between you, but it’s closer than you’d thought he’d come.

You peer up at him. “Okay?” You ask. He gives a single nod and your little group moves through the double doors and into the lobby.

It’s quieter at this time of night. You don’t recognize the woman standing behind the reception desk. There’s no one really around except one man, pacing the width of the lobby looking thoroughly put out. You can’t really see his face, but there’s something familiar about the slant of his body. He whirls around as the glass doors click shut and you catch sight of a fringe of gray hair, pointed ears, narrowed yellow eyes and an all too familiar pout.

Yoongi.

“Fuck.” You’d completely forgotten to text him. Judging by the look on his face as he stalks toward you, he wasn’t happy about it. To his credit, Hoseok does his best to guard you, sliding in front of you and pushing you behind him. You can’t see Yoongi’s ears beneath the hat he’s wearing but if his curled lip and narrowed eyes are any indicator, they’re pinned straight back.

“Move.” He snarls at the doberman hybrid. Hoseok is taller than he is, but the closer Yoongi gets to him, the smaller he seems to shrink. There’s fire in the bobcat hybrid’s eyes. Hope whimpers and slinks out of his way, ears low.

You wince. “Heeeeey, Yoongi. I’m sorry I forg-“ before you can even finish the sentence, he tugs you toward him by the shoulders. His face roves your neck, sniffing in earnest as he tries to pick up the scent of the other hybrids on you. All is well until he reaches the right side of your throat and grazes over the exact spot Hoseok had nosed earlier. He pulls away slowly, his shoulders tight. His head turns slowly to the doberman hybrid, mechanical.

“You.” He hisses at the other hybrid with so much virulence it makes your blood run cold. He takes one step toward him, teeth bared in a snarl, but Namjoon slides in front of him bumping him back. A growl bubbles in the bobcat hybrid’s chest and the wolfdog matches it, both their ears pinned flat against their skulls.

“Hey-” If either of them hear you, they don’t react. They’re too focused on having a staring contest. “Hey!” You push between them, a hand on either of their chests. Namjoon snarls as you touch him and Yoongi looks ready to skin him alive for that alone. He pushes against your hand, trying to get closer to the taller hybrid. You ball your hand up in the fabric of his shirt. “Stop it!” The receptionist already has the lobby phone in her hand. She’s whispering earnestly into it and you’re sure security will be on the way any second. You exhale and squeeze your eyes shut. “Everybody, elevator.”

Yoongi hurls an accusatory finger in Hoseok’s direction. “These fucking-”

“Yoongi, please,” you plead. That gets him to stop. His arm falls to his side and he glowers down at you for a few seconds before stalking over to the elevators and slamming the up button. “I’m sorry,” you murmur to Hoseok and Namjoon. The smaller of the two hybrids is still hunched in on himself and the taller has Yoongi fixed in his mismatched gaze, his lips curled in anger.

This was not the way you wanted this to go. You’d wanted them to have time to settle before you discussed next steps and gave them the same talk you’d given the felines, but it didn’t look like that was in the cards. You don’t know what’s gotten into Yoongi. You’d thought the bobcat hybrid was calm, cool and collected, completely unflappable in the face of anything. Apparently not. He seemed upset that some of Hoseok’s scent had gotten on you, but there’d been no way to help that. You’d been packed in a car with him and Namjoon for two hours. It was inevitable, wasn’t it?

“It’s not okay,” you tell them, wanting them to know you didn’t condone the way Yoongi had acted. “I don’t...I don’t know why he’s acting like this; he doesn’t normally. Do you wanna go up separately?”

It’s Hoseok who answers. “No, we’ll go up together,” he assures you with a small nod. “If...maybe if we get used to each other, it’ll be okay?”

You’re not optimistic, but you give him a pained smile you hope is reassuring. “Yeah, maybe?” You cast a look back over your shoulders. Yoongi is waiting by the elevators, his arms crossed over his chest and his tail flicking in irritation. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Well, there was no avoiding it. “Come on,” you tell them. “Just...keep to the other side, for now. I’ll stand between you and him.”

The four of you pile into the elevator, all tucked into your own corners. It’s strange, you think. It’s never seemed small until now. Hoseok keeps casting worried looks over at you, Namjoon keeps subtly shifting closer and Yoongi is still glowering at the both of them, angry for a reason you can’t quantify.

“If it helps,” Hoseok starts softly, his voice an intrusion in the awkward silence. “I really didn’t mean to, honestly-”

“Don’t apologize.” Namjoon counters. “If it bothers him that much, he can speak up”

You don’t know what they’re talking about. It’s too late that you realize the canines aren’t addressing you. Suddenly, Yoongi’s fingers are hooked through one of your belt loops. He yanks you backwards and you stumble, falling against the length of his body. “My bad,” You shoot out, before the hybrid can hiss at you. “I just lost my bala-” The words die on your tongue as Yoongi fixes his mouth to the soft skin of your throat. The elevator goes quiet.

The canine hybrids avert their eyes almost instantaneously, instinct telling them they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be. Yoongi keeps them fixed firmly in his sights, a dark growl bubbling in his throat.

Your fingers flex uselessly at your sides, hands clenching unclenching as the hybrid works over the sensitive skin of your neck with his teeth and tongue. ‘Don’t make a noise,’ you plead with yourself. ‘This isn’t what it feels like. Don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise, don’t make a noise-’ Yoongi’s incisors graze over a vein and a little whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it. The grip he has on your hips becomes bruising. You feel your legs turning to jelly beneath you. Any more of what he was doing, and they’d have to mop you up off the elevator floor. You force your throat to swallow. “Y-Yoongi, I think that’s enough-” You don’t know if he hears you over the noise he’s making, so you lace your fingers through his and untangle them from your hips. He releases you with a wet pop and you slap a hand over the skin he’d marked. Heat floods your face and a smirk spreads across Yoongi’s, his teeth flashing at the canines. He leans in again to rub his nose against the mark he’d made- but a hand on his chest stops him.

“Can you stop?” You ask in a small voice. Honestly, you’re embarrassed. Regardless of what the articles said about mark-making being platonic, it doesn’t feel friendly. It feels possessive and mean and you don’t like it. “I’m sorry I didn’t text you like you asked, but what is with you today?” Yoongi’s expression changes from smug satisfaction to confusion and then surprise, like he hadn’t expected you to protest. “I know what I said about you being ready but…” You rub a hand over the mark, wiping away saliva and your sweat. The bobcat hybrid visibly deflates. The elevator chimes for the fiftieth floor and the doors roll open slowly. You rush out before any of them can and start punching the code in your door with shaky fingers. You don’t know what to say. You’re tired and stressed and you don’t know what’s going on. Was this about the apartment? You knew the felines wouldn’t be happy about sharing their space, but why had Yoongi gone this far?

“Y/N…” He trails after you, his ears drooping. You shake your head, You can’t talk to him right now.

“In the morning,” you tell him as the door swings open. “We’ll talk about it in the morning.” You can’t deal with everything that’s happened today, and Yoongi flipping out and getting the canines settled. You weren’t that good at juggling.

By the grace of all that’s merciful, Taehyung and Jimin are still asleep when you walk in. You’d need to have an extended meet and greet tomorrow, you decide. Maybe do some icebreakers or team building exercises. If they reacted anything like their hyung did, you were in for one hell of an adjustment period.

Hoseok and Namjoon trail you into the penthouse warily, sniffing the air. You want to give them time to explore and get their bearings, they deserve that, but with the way Yoongi still seems agitated when they venture anywhere but exactly in your steps, that’ll need to be saved until tomorrow morning too. You give them the most spartan tour you can muster up and show them each to a guest room, promising to order them furniture and get them the things they need tomorrow.

By the time you collapse into your own bed, it’s damn near 11. You groan and drag a pillow over your face as you ask the universe for the thousandth time why it had decided to continuously kick your ass. Having three hybrids had been hard enough. Having five of all different species was likely to prove impossible and having seven was going to be a sisyphean task you’d had no training for. You groan and kick your feet in the air, allowing yourself the brief respite of a temper tantrum before crawling under your covers and flicking the lamp off. Maybe in your dreams there’d be no stress and no snarling hybrids with behavior you couldn’t explain.

#thebtswritersclub #hybridbtsnetwork #bts fic #bts x reader #bts x y/n #hybrid!bts #ot7 x reader #seokjin x reader #namjoon x reader #jhope x reader #yoongi x reader #jungkook x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader

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onmyyan · 3 years

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Hi its me again. I love your writing and the fact that there isn't as much abuse like there is in others. It reminds me of old yandere stories were it was genuine lovesickness. Anyway, how do you think jjba yanderes would react to a darling that is taller and more muscular than them by quite a bit. You can do whoever you like I don't mind.

A/N: Omg ily🥺 it means a lot you said all that because I really love this genre it’s my comfort trope anyway thank you for the request n I hope ya like it!! Kira should be a trigger warning in an of itself but dw he’s just weird, not mean. Mentions of his past ‘girlfriends’, a curse word or two, lil suggestive in someplace’s Mista murks a few people, tw//gun violence

Characters: Pt2 Joseph, Josuke, Kira, Mista

Joseph was used to looking down on people, standing at a proud 6’5” he was literally and figuratively knocked on his ass when he’d first laid eyes on you, his immediate thought was you were a forgotten pillarman coming from nowhere to get revenge for your masters only to quickly realize you were just a stallion. You were strong enough to put him on his back after one too many cheeky comments. Unafraid to speak your mind and keep him in check, You would stare down at him with that mind melting smirk, all too aware of his frustrations, you assumed he was just being a man, ashamed to be outclassed by someone other than himself, oh honey how wrong you were. You enjoyed teasing the behemoth of a man as no one else really could, at least not as well as you did, throughout your little jabs and snark he always had a retort, a response on the tip of his tongue, eager to do this dance of yours until one of you broke, to you he was a way too cocky dangerously self assured pretty boy who was entertainingly easy to rile up, but to Joseph, you were his everything. Someone he could proudly take home to Granny Erina once he’d finally tamed you. He had a plan, a three step plan to steal your heart just as you’d done his, and this little game of who could annoy the other the most was just step 1. “It’s been fun JoJo but you’re gonna have to find someone else to bother.” You’d jokingly said one day out of the blue, an odd friendship had formed through the month you’d been in town and it felt wrong to leave without notice, an act of kindness you’d learn to regret. “Is this one of your famous jokes (Y/n)? Not so funny to play with a mans heart like that I nearly believed you.” He finished with a scoff, his signature smirk not reaching his eyes. “It’s true Joseph, my flight leaves tomorrow, I didn’t wanna leave without saying goodbye, because as much as we fuck around you’re pretty fun to hang out with.” Your sincerity almost made him feel bad about rushing the next few steps of his plan, he’d have to cram months of planning into a night but he’d accomplished more with less time on his side. He huffed, his grin stretched wide across his handsome features. “Then we outta make tonight count eh?” A thick arm was tossed around your neck, you had to bend awkwardly for this to be possible much to your amusement. “Okay you weirdo, whatever you say.” You let him lead you around town with a grin, unaware you’d be missing that plane, and any other one you tried to take without him.

Josuke watched you eat with the dopiest grin on his face, he’d spent an extra hour in the mirror this morning in preparation for your first official date! Well you didn’t exactly know it it was a date and Okayasu was eating rather messily beside you two but still! You’d actually agreed to come to Toni’s with him! You’d been an enigma since you transferred to the bizarre town, choosing to keep to yourself, and despite the intimidating height and mass you possessed, he saw through your act in seconds. There was a huge softie under all that muscle, he’d watched you enough to know this as a fact, you were a gem and he was intent on showing you his appreciation and adoration for the rest of his days, a vow he’d silently taken the day you’d stolen his heart, the moment was brief in reality but it lasted forever in his mind, you smiled at him in passing, he could feel time slow down, everyone around you faded in the background, a backdrop to the beginning of your story. He could imagine telling your kids how you’d met, something about the way you’d stare down at him, eyes sharp and attentive, like you truly listened when people spoke, your laugh was loud when it was real and every time he heard it he felt 10 years added to his lifespan. At the same time that icky feeling at another person making you laugh was conflicting, he’d never been in love before but he suddenly understood why his mom had never given up on his dad, love was weird but he wouldn’t give it up for anything. You’d accidentally snapped your chopsticks laughing too hard at a joke he’d tossed out, your face scrunched in embarrassment before chuckling at yourself and switching to a fork, his stand came out on its own, pocketing the shards to fix later, a new item for his ever growing collection, what a cute little memento from your first date! His thoughts swirled happily with the stories you’d be telling your kids. Thankfully neither of you noticed his little pickpocket moment, dangerous plans forming as he stared at you with those misleadingly soft puppy dog eyes.

Kira could die in this moment, happily I might add, as your firm but soft hand was wrapped oh so deliciously around his throat threatening to crush it with ease at the slightest movement. He’d been watching you for a while now, the longest he’d ever spent on someone he didn’t plan to kill, it become sort of hobby he’d picked up recently, the morally upsetting activity bringing peace to his day to day, usually he used his stand to carefully observe your routine, eager to learn all he could about his future spouses likes and desires, but he was getting greedy. Of course he could always introduce himself but he resisted, knowing there was a time and place to get exactly what he wanted. He liked to think he knew everything about you by now, your favorite color, how you liked your coffee, your love for cats, but he didn’t anticipate this. You were much more observant than he’d given you credit for, while you couldn’t see his stand you could sense yourself being watched, and seeing the large blonde lurking indiscriminately in the crowds throughout the day was enough to set you off. So you trailed off into the less crowded parts of town quickly entering an alleyway, he followed in pure confusion only to be roughly slammed into the wall, his stand came out on reflex but simply stared at his attacker, it seemed almost confused as what to do. “Why the hell are you following me pretty boy?” His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the feel of your fingers tightening, god he’d never felt this rush of exhilaration, none of his past ‘girlfriends’ could pull such an illicit reaction from him with a simple touch. When he didn’t answer you simply scoffed and tossed him aside like it was nothing. You left with a threat to stay out of your sight, yet all he could do was smile, the faint imprint of your fingers burned in his skin deliciously, how lucky could one man get?

Mista observed you with hungry eyes. His stare was unapologetically locked on your form. He made no intention to hide his attraction for you. The day you’d joined Buccarati’s crew was the day his world flipped. He assumed his new teammate would be no one to fuck with based on what Bruno told him about your stand, but when you walked in? Needing to bend down slightly just to enter the doorway had him sweating in his seat. He didn’t know what to say as he watched you happily interact with his fellow teammates, immediately you blended with the group, but all that was running through his mind were all the fun things you could do with those muscles. He usually stayed silent around you, not out of dislike as one would assume from his piercing gaze, but fear of accidentally voicing one of those nasty thoughts kept him quiet. You didn’t seem to mind though, always including him in the conversation, you even understood his very valid fear of that dreaded number! How could god plop such a perfect person in his lap and expect him to not do anything about it? Alas, Bruno had specifically told them not to make you uncomfortable with any flirting so he bit his tongue. Your aura was calming, a contrast to your powerful stand, speaking of, he couldn’t get his under control. Whenever they could Sex Pistols was out and all over you. They climbed and clamored for your attention, thankfully you didn’t seem to mind, always entertained their antics when you could, even giving each one a small peck when they wouldn’t let you leave for a mission without Mista, to say he was done for was an understatement, it took one mission going foul for his resistance to snap. His stand moved faster than it ever had, piercing the skulls of the idiots who brought you pain. He left the last one slowly bleeding out kneeling down to wipe the matted hair from your forehead, “You okay baby? Don’t worry honey I’ll make the bastard hurt.” He spoke not breaking eye contact, his hand pointed behind him, grip steady as he unloaded in the poor fool who thought it was a good idea to make you bleed, the wound was small, not even deep enough to trouble Giorno but that didn’t matter to Guido, any slight against you was disrespecting the future parent of his children, and what kind of man would he be if he didn’t defend your honor?

#yandere jjba #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere jojo x reader #yandere Joseph #yandere josuke #yandere Kira yoshikage #kira yoshikage #josuke higashitaka #yandere x y/n #yandere imagine #yandere x reader #yandere mista #guido mista #yandere Joseph Jostar

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Sunscreen (Frankie Morales x f!Reader)

Summary: You take a trip with Frankie and his three idiotic best friends. They find an interesting purchase in the gift shop.

W/C: 2.9k

Warnings: language, implied sexual content, lots of innuendo and flirting

A/N: HI!!! this is the first fic of the Beyond The Sea series Rach and I are writing! I can’t wait for everyone to read these! I also love @mandoalorian for doing this with me and putting up with my shit!

and happy birthday to the man behind it all!! lots of love for Pedro on this day <3

The moment Frankie steps off the plane and into the hot weather, he feels instantly at peace. He’d never even heard of St. Kitts before Santiago brought it up a few months ago, but as he looks around, he’s already thinking this might have to be the place he brings you on your honeymoon someday, once he gets the courage to propose.

Your bright laughter rings out behind him, a few steps higher as you walk down the stairs for deplaning. “It’s gorgeous,” you grin, wrapping your arms around Frankie’s neck from behind and pressing a loud kiss to his cheek.

“Shut the fuck up and keep it moving,” a loud voice calls from further behind Frankie- it’s Santiago, grumpy from the somewhat-long flight. The energetic man hates sitting still for too long. “You two can make out at the hotel. There’s a whole plane behind us.”

Sighing, you walked along until both you and Frankie had your feet on solid ground. Frankie pulls you into his side with a strong arm, kissing the top of your head and grinning at the way he can already feel a little sweat forming on his brow. God, it’s fucking hot. He loves it. It’s not the grueling heat that plagued the men when they were at boot camp all those years ago; it’s not the sticky humidity that makes Frankie’s curls turn to tufts of frizz beneath his ball cap. It’s just right, he thinks, as a cool breeze rushes through and moves the still heat of the tarmac. “Welcome to paradise, baby,” Frankie grins as he slides his hand down your arm until your fingers lace together.

The resort is beautiful. The lobby is open-aired and gorgeous, with high ceilings and marbled floors. You bounce excitedly alongside Frankie as the two of you walk in, the other three men trailing behind. Benny makes comments to Will about how the two of you are about to be insufferable, and Frankie turns and shoots him a glare.

After you check in, you drag your luggage up to the highest floor. The other three men go to their respective hotel room next door, and Frankie opens the door to your room for you.

As soon as you walk inside, your breath is taken away by the large window, showing you the expanse of the Caribbean Sea, glimmering turquoise. A hand reaches up to cover your mouth, eyes watering as you look up at Frankie. “Oh my god,” you murmur and drop your bags, rushing over.

Frankie had planned this moment. He knew you’d never seen the ocean before just moments ago, but knew you’d love it. You’ve always loved water, loved swimming in pools and creeks and any body of water you could find. The two of you had kept your little window shut during the flight, preventing you from any sneak peeks. “You like it?” he asks as he walks after you, where your face and hands are pressed to the glass.

With eyes sparkling from tears, you turn to him with a grin. “It’s gorgeous.”

“You know there’s a balcony right there,” he teases, putting a hand on your waist and pointing to the side where there’s a sliding glass door. “I’m an idiot,” you laugh and rush over to open it. You step out into the warm air once again, and the smell of sea salt fills your lungs. You can hear the rushing of the ocean, the way it crashes against the shore.

Frankie steps out after you, removing the flannel over his t-shirt. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I think you’re an ocean kind of girl,” he tells you quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I think you’re right,” you agree and grin, kissing the side of his face.

The peaceful moment is interrupted, as always, by a loud whoop from Benny. The sliding door on the balcony over flies open and out rush the Miller brothers and Santiago. “It’s fuckin’ amazing!” Benny laughs as he grips the railing tight, leaning out over it.

“Calm down, Ben,” Will laughs but steps out as well, resting his forearms on the railing. “Look at that. The lovebirds beat us to it.”

“Ah, damn, so they can’t fuck out here now,” Santi teases, causing you to make a face of annoyance.

You lean back against Frankie and roll your eyes. “I was just telling Fish I’ve never seen the ocean,” you admit, placing your hands on his forearms and tracing the strong skin with the pads of your thumbs.

“Really?” All three men ask in sync, surprised.

You nod and shrug. “Parents never took me as a kid or anything, and I’ve never really left the Midwest before I met you fuckers,” you chuckle as you watch the white-capped waves rolling along out in the water.

“Well, you’re welcome,” Santiago grins over at you. It was his whole idea to come, and you’re sure you’ll never hear the end of it. “Could’ve mentioned it sooner though.”

“Didn’t think it mattered,” you shrug, smiling at the way you can feel Frankie’s chest bounce with a laugh. “Come on, let’s go to the beach,” you turn in Frankie’s arms and ask him with a grin, eyes wide with excitement.

“Sure thing, babe,” he nods and steals one more kiss before the two of you walk back into the hotel room.

There’s a voice from the other balcony before Frankie slides the door shut. “We’re going to the bar,” Santi yells. “Meet us there after!”

“What the fuck is this?” Will Miller’s gruff voice conveys across the gift shop, to where you’re admiring a shibori-dyed garment.

Looking up, you hear Benny’s loud laugh. “No way. Why would they even make this shit?” You wander over to where the four men have congregated, all staring at something in Will’s hands.

Santiago does the work for the three of you who have yet to see it and reads the label on the bottle aloud. “Seduction: pheromone sunscreen.” He laughs, absolutely in disbelief. “Awaken her passion with this pheromone-infused tanning lotion. Contains a masculine fragrance and the male pheromone, to attract a female. Damn. Does it work?” He asks the woman behind the counter, who shrugs in response.

Frankie picks up the bottle, and Will grabs another, reading the fine print. “Why in the hell did someone think this was necessary?”

You shrug and lean against him to read it too. “I don’t know. Probably for guys like Will who are desperate,” you tease, earning a playful shove that pushes you into Frankie and makes you lose your balance for a moment. “Fucker,” you mutter and steady yourself on your boyfriend’s arm.

“I’m buying it,” Santiago announces and puts it on the check-out counter. “Fish, I’m going to steal your girl with this,” he declares and pulls you into his side. “The power of the pheromone sunscreen.”

Laughing, you allow it to happen. “Maybe it’ll be irresistible, I don’t know.”

“Hey, don’t awaken my girl’s passion, man,” Frankie whines teasingly and pulls you back, wrapping both arms around you protectively. “If you’re using it, Santi, I’m using it too. It’s only fair.”

“It’s only fair if you don’t,” he shoots back. “She already loves you. It’s not like it’s gonna make her think you’re hotter. It’s only fair if I do it alone, and you’re the control.”

“Hi, I’m not a lab rat,” you speak up and push Santiago’s chest teasingly. “Try it on yourself and see if you can make other girls around here fall in love with you. Better yet, like I said, put it on Will. That’s a real test.”

The quietest of the men is your favorite to tease, mainly because of how he takes it. “You’ve never been in the ocean. I will personally make sure you never get to,” he threatens, lunging after you and making you squeal and dodge it.

“Is it working?” Santiago asks, giving you a full body twirl. You have to admit, the man is good-looking: you’ve always known it, and his glistening abs definitely emphasize it. Sadly for him, nothing about the pheromone sunscreen is making him unbearably attractive in your eyes. Your eyes are hidden behind mirrored sunglasses as you look at him, but you pull them down to roll your eyes at the ridiculous man.

“No,” you say with a sweet smile, taking Frankie’s hand from where it rests on his chest. He’s lying next to you in the two-seat cabana, wearing his swim trunks and ever-present ball cap. “I like this one still,” you grin as you run your eyes up and down his body.

Frankie grins back at you. “Maybe I’ll have to try that shit out,” he laughs, adjusting his hat. “If it’s so seductive, I wouldn’t mind having you all over me.”

Santiago makes a gagging noise and wanders down the beach, to where the Miller boys are playing sand volleyball a hundred yards or so away. “You know that you don’t need that for me to be all over you, baby,” you grin and lean over to give him a kiss. “Can we go swim?” You ask, sitting up and putting your sunglasses on your head.

Frankie sighs softly. This cabana was just getting comfortable. “I was thinking we could tan first,” he says, cracking his neck. “But if you want to, let’s go.”

You squeal and hop up, taking off the sunglasses before tugging on your bikini top and adjusting the bra. Frankie ogles your chest in the swimsuit and you smack his arm. “Francisco Morales, cut that out or I’m going to sit you back down and suck your dick right now.”

Frankie gulps. “Is that an offer, or-”

“Come on, Fishie,” you laugh. Grabbing his arm, you take off running through the sand, leaving him to follow. You both grin as the sand flies around you, the warm wind brushing against your skin. When you reach the edge of the water, you stand at the edge for a second and let the water rush over your feet and ankles. You look up at Frankie with big and confused eyes. “The water is so warm,” you laugh, slightly confused as you wade a little deeper.

“It’s the Caribbean Sea, babe,” Frankie chuckles, walking backwards and holding your hands, leading you deeper into the water.

“I guess,” you chuckle as the warm water surrounds more and more of your legs. “I suppose I just- Frankie!”

Note to self: never turn your back on the ocean, you mentally conclude as a wave hits Frankie from behind and knocks him over, into the salty and sandy water. You laugh a little as he falls over with a large splash, squealing as the water sprays you. He comes up a moment later, shaking his head to get the water out of your eyes. “Come on in, it’s really warm,” he tells you with a laugh, spitting the salty sea water out of his mouth. It’s only about thigh deep now, and you look down at him and wade a little deeper. He swims out and you follow, grinning.

“Hey, Frankie,” you ask, when the water reaches your navel.

“Yeah, babe?” he asks, confused when you drop your hands.

“Catch me!” You squeal as you jump onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms catch you, but he purposely falls backwards until the both of you are under the crystal-clear water.

When you surface, you wipe your face. “That wasn’t what I meant by catch me,” you laugh, swimming over to your boyfriend, who’s surfaced in a shoulder-deep area.

“Doesn’t matter. Now you went all the way under,” he grins at you. “Now you’ve really swam in the ocean- swam? Swum?”

“Have been in,” you offer, laughing and wading over to him. You wrap your arms around his neck, then your legs, and his arms encircle your middle. “It doesn’t matter. I love you so fucking much, Frankie,” you tell him with a wide grin, looking over his shoulder at the waves further out.

“I love you too, baby,” he mumbles and kisses you. His lips taste like the salt water the two of you have been submerged in. His hands grip your hips as he wanders through the water, you hanging off of him like a koala.

You rest your face in his neck, admiring the scent of seawater and sunscreen and Frankie’s skin. Frankie starts singing a terrible version of the Piña Colada Song, making you laugh and press a loving kiss to the side of his face. “Is this your way of telling me you want to hit the bar?” You tease and squeeze him a little tighter.

“Maybe. You know I hate the flying part of getting here.” It’s ironic, you’ve always thought, but you suppose it makes sense that Frankie doesn’t really like airplanes. Helicopters are and always have been his forte, and it’s a feeling you understand: when he isn’t the one flying, he gets antsy. Things are out of his control, and he doesn’t like that. “I just need a strong drink and some lovin’ from you and I think I can finally relax.”

You grin and pull back, kissing him happily for a moment before pulling back and grinning. “Well, one part of that accomplished,” you grin. A realization hits you and you gasp. “Oh my god. You’re Fishie, and you’re in the ocean,” you laugh. “How did you ever get that name?” You ask, suddenly curious.

Frankie shakes his head, his hair starting to curl as it dries. The salty water makes it even wavier. “Doesn’t matter.”

You shrug and rest your head in his neck. You sigh and enjoy the feeling of Frankie’s arms and the warm water, the way a breeze rushes past and makes the back of your neck chilly from the drops of water resting there. Frankie mindlessly watches the other three men playing volleyball, wandering around the water with you. “Frankie?” You murmur into his skin.

“Yeah baby?”

“This has already been the best vacation ever, and it’s the first full day,” you tell him and remove yourself from his body, standing next to him in the water.

He grins and kisses you softly, wrapping an arm around your side to keep you close. “I fully agree.”

The two of you wander up to the shore a while later, plopping back down in your cabana. Will has gone to the bar and comes back with tropical drinks for each of you, which you hold in one hand and sip, your boyfriend’s hand in your other one.

A while later, Santi and Benny run back, covered in sweat from the heat and the game. “How about now, huh?” He asks you, flexing his arms, grinning.

You play into it, gasping and sitting up straight. “Oh, Santi,” you coo seductively, pouting. The face drops immediately. “Nope. Not working.” “Ah, should’ve figured. Anyone attracted to Fish would have weird preferences,” he shakes his head.

Frankie takes the alcohol-saturated lime from the rim of his drink and throws it at him, which makes a smack noise as it makes contact with Santiago’s chest. “Fuck off.”

“I will do no such thing,” Santi grins at him and plops down in the chair next to him. “My sole job here is to pester you two lovebirds and ruin your wonderful vacation.”

Benny, ever the prankster, sneaks up behind Santiago and pours a glass of ice water from the bar over his head. Santiago practically squeals at the sensation and Benny launches off into a run. Santiago follows. “You little shit! Just because you’re a fighter doesn’t mean I’ll kick your ass, Benjamin!”

The two of them occupied and Will up at the bathroom, you sigh as you roll over onto your stomach. “Frankie baby, will you sunscreen my back?” you ask him, propping yourself up on your arms.

“Sure thing,” he nods, sitting up and grabbing the bottle from your beach bag. He gets up and squirts some in his palms before working it into your lower legs, then your upper thighs. When he reaches your ass, he takes a few liberties in squeezing it. “That’s not how you put on sunscreen, flyboy,” you tease and giggle at the motions.

“Just got carried away,” he chuckles and works at your lower back, then your shoulders and arms. “There. All good.”

“Thanks, baby,” you coo and kiss him softly when he sits back down. “You want some too?” He nods, flopping onto his back. You repeat what he did, standing and working on his legs.

The further you get up his thighs, you can hear his breath hitch slightly, the wet swim trunks sticking tight to a hardening crotch. “Frankie,” you coo, working your hands up beneath the fabric.

“Sorry,” he winces, willing himself to force the growing erection down. Naturally, it doesn’t work.

You giggle softly, working some sunscreen into his stomach. “Don’t be. Pull up that shade, baby,” you tell him, referring to the shade that can completely cover the cabana when pulled up.

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckles as you pull his swim trunks down just enough. “Guess I didn’t need that stupid pheromone sunscreen,” he murmurs hurriedly as the shade covers the both of you.

Beyond The Sea Masterlist

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aellynera · 3 years

Text

Word of Mouth (Santiago Garcia x Reader)

WORD OF MOUTH

(This has been sitting in my WIPs for-ev-errrrr and I finally got in the mood to finish it, since I haven’t written Santi in a while and I missed him. It’s nothing too involved, just a slice-of-life kind of deal, but I do like the way it turned out. Comments, likes, and reblogs always appreciated!)

I think this one came out as GN!Reader (I’ve read over it a few times but if I’m wrong please let me know.)

Word Count: 2340

Summary: It’s not that Santiago is mad about it, exactly; it’s more that he doesn’t like the way it happened.

Warnings: Some cursing. Some angst. Some fluff. Argument. Two people being stubborn. As always possible lack of proofreading.

Santiago comes off duty and returns to your on-base housing, and he stays quiet for far too long. Usually he greets you with a kiss, or at least a hello, but this time he doesn’t do anything. He doesn’t say a word as he goes into the bedroom, peels off his fatigues, and changes into a plain black t-shirt and plain khaki cargo pants.

He doesn’t say a single word.

“Um, hello to you too,” you call out, getting up to follow him. “How was your day?”

He just shrugs and shakes his head slightly. You get the same response when you ask him if anything interesting happened today, how training went, or if he’s hungry.

You haven’t seen him for most of the day, different assignments and different meetings keeping you apart while on duty, but you just know. From his silence and the way he’s acting, you just know. You’ve been trying to find the right way to bring it up, the right time to mention it, and clearly, that time is going to be now whether you like it or not.

He’s found out.

Even when different assignments keep you apart, you do work on the same base and everyone knows you’re together, even if you never officially said anything. It’s really no one’s business but it’s not really a secret, and you live together, so people just assume. And anything work-related was never unknown for long. Word has gotten back to Santiago, and from the looks of it, it has also gotten to him.

The fact that you can’t actually read his expression is what concerns you the most.

You sit down on the side of the bed and sigh again. “Frankie told you.”

Someone who had been in that early morning meeting with you, a particular someone Santiago identified as a best friend, certainty couldn’t keep it to himself. You make a mental note to have a very, very strict conversation with one Francisco “Catfish” Morales the next time you see him.

Santiago considers calling Frankie, so he can repeat exactly what he told Santiago this afternoon, after you’d already gone back home for the day. Instead he finally decides to answer you, his voice flat and dangerous.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“It’s my job,” you reply evenly.

“It’s your job if you get assigned to it,” he runs a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s not your job if you volunteer for it. That’s a choice.”

You furrow your brow at him. “Semantics.”

“Selection,” he responds, voice clipped.

You rest your head on your fingertips, four on your forehead and thumb on your cheekbone. “I’m the best person for this mission. and.. it’s not like it’s never come up before. We’ve had this conversation, Santi, we’ve talked about this exact scenario, and you even said that no one was more…”

Santiago raises an eyebrow. “Hypothetical and actual are not the same thing.”

“So, hypothetically, I’m not actually qualified to do this?”

“Actually, you should let someone else be the flag-waver this time.”

“The flag-waver?”

“What, now this hypothetically has nothing to do with being a goddamn hero?”

Your head snaps up and your eyes narrow at him. He glares in return.

“Actually,” you start, but Santiago’s short, humorless laugh cuts you off.

This time, your words drag through the tension like dull razors through styrofoam. “Actually,” you repeat, “this has zero to do with being a fucking hero and everything to do with the fact that no one else could get this done the right way and it is my goddamn duty to do what I signed up for.”

“There is no right way that this isn’t going to be an absolute shitshow.” The venom in his voice is like ice in your veins.

“Thank you for having so much faith in me and my abilities, Santiago.”

Silence falls on the room for a few long minutes as you both fight to check your emotions. You understand he’s angry - and maybe scared, although he’ll never admit it - and he knows you’re absolutely right on all accounts - although he is not ready to admit it.

You break the silence, voice tuned down and level. “Look, I wanted to tell you myself, but I didn’t see you all day. I didn’t want you to find out like this. Frankie shouldn’t have gotten involved. But I am going on this mission. I...I don’t want you to be mad about it.”

He looks at you for a moment, and this time you can read his expression, but it almost makes it worse. It’s a combination of worry, sadness, understanding, and yes, traces of anger. It’s not a look that suits him.

You shift in your spot on the edge of the mattress.

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed,” he says softly, then turns and walks from the room.

Oh. Shit.

***

The rest of the evening passes in a thick, uncomfortable silence. It’s been hours since your confrontation in the bedroom, and the fullness of night has fallen without a single other word being spoken between you.

You spend the night in bed alone, and Santiago makes himself mostly uncomfortable on the couch.

Morning breaks and you pull yourself from the confines of the comforter. Not that you had been sleeping very well anyway. It was warm under the covers, temperature wise, but it somehow felt so cold, and you haven't slept well. Your mind refused to calm down.

You shower and dress, going through your morning routine almost on autopilot. As you wash your face and glance into the mirror, one side of your mouth pulls up into a sad smirk as you recall Santiago’s last words from the night before.

Not mad, disappointed.

Your parents used to say that, when you’d done something against the rules, potentially stupid, and possibly morally questionable. It always seemed to hurt more than actually having them be mad at you, and you wince as you realize adulthood has done nothing to change that feeling.

You and Santiago have your fair share of arguments. Usually they’re not serious, even kind of playful. You both like to talk and you both like to be right, so a little verbal battle isn’t uncommon. But you’re still running the previous night’s...it wasn’t a conversation, but was it really a fight? Was it even an argument? No category really seems to fit, and this one just feels different.

You go downstairs and expect to find Santi on the couch, it’s still early, but as soon as you hit the bottom of the steps, the smell of freshly brewed coffee assaults your nose.

He hands you a mug full of the dark brown liquid as you enter the kitchen. You take it with a nod of thanks and he nods back. But he still doesn’t say a word.

It’s a good sign though. At least, you hope it is, anyway.

You sip from your mug as he turns back to the stove, pushing some stuff around in a frying pan. It smells like bacon and potatoes and your stomach grumbles in protest, and you’re not sure but you think you can see the corners of Santi’s mouth turn up just a little.

Also a good sign. Maybe.

You sit down at your usual spot at the table and play with the handle on the mug. You offer him a singular glance and then stare back into your drink. Clearly he’s not going to be the one to talk first. You sigh.

This is not the first time he’s done this. Santiago is a good man, the best you know, and he’s honorable and decent and so fucking kind, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned since living with him, it’s he’s damn stubborn and can be a petulant brat when he wants to. And in typical macho hero Santiago Garcia style, he will not be the first one to cave after an argument, especially when he thinks he’s right.

You’ll give him shit for it later, when all the animosity has worn off, but for now, you’re going to have to cut the tension. You’ve never been good with silence and it’s only been one night and now this brief bit of morning and it’s starting to get to you.

And okay, maybe you’re not always the best at communicating with him, either. So you’ll be the first to break, this time.

You sigh again. “Santi…”

He turns his head slightly, away from his work at the stove, and glances at you. An eyebrow goes up.

“Are we going to talk about this? For real?” you ask.

He shrugs and turns back to the contents of the pan.

A frustrated growl erupts from your chest as you push your chair back and take the three steps over to the stove. You grab the handle and push the pan off the heat, snapping the burner off as you do, and then whirl and stare at Santi. He narrows his eyes and takes a step back, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter by the sink.

“Please say something to me,” you bite out. God, he’s so frustrating sometimes. “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it first, but you cannot be upset with me for doing my goddamn job. For doing what I signed up to do. Just...fucking talk to me. Please.”

This time it’s Santi who sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair and massages a spot on the back of his neck. “I told you, I’m not mad.”

“Okay,” you nod, “but you really also can’t be disappointed.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t just be...wait, what?”

“I said,” he says, uncrossing his arms slowly and reaching for one of your hands, “I’m not.”

You just blink at him and bite your bottom lip.

“I just...I don’t like the thought of you being out there without me.” Your mouth opens to retort but he holds up a hand to stop you, and you close it again and he continues. “I know you can do this, I know you’re totally capable and you can handle yourself, you could probably kick my ass on any given day in sparring, but...I just…” his voice trails off and he turns to stare out the kitchen window.

You squeeze his hand firmly and pull his attention back to you. He looks so handsome, his hair still tousled slightly from sleep and his t-shirt wrinkled from being on the couch all night, but he also really does look troubled and it makes your heart drop. “What is it, Santi?”

“There’s always a danger with any mission,” he says softly. “And it just kills me that I can’t protect you. I just want to protect you and have you come back safe.”

Then he’s pulling you into his arms and burying his face in your neck, and you feel wet spots on your collarbone and it makes tears prick at your eyes too. Santi shakes slightly in your arms and you whisper soft, soothing words into his hair.

He’ll never admit it, but you know. He’s scared.

Because he’s not wrong. This mission has the potential to go sideways and tits-up at the same time, and then flip over backwards for good measure. And you have to admit, although you’re not going to admit it to him because that would likely make it so much worse, that you’d give anything to have him on this mission with you. But you can’t. You can just do your job and do it well, prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

A common mantra in your line of work. One that you always stick to.

But you have so much more to lose this time, and Santi does too, and your breakfast is forgotten as you take him by the hand and drag him back up to your bedroom. You lead him to the bed and lie down on your side, pull him down with you, and curl up into his side. He just wraps his arms around you and holds on like you’re a lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.”

“I’m going to come back to you,” you trace your fingers over his dog tags.

“I know,” he kisses under your ear.

You hope you’re telling the truth. He hopes you’re telling the truth. You both hold each other like it might be the last time, even though it won’t because you’re not leaving for several days, but you’re both acutely aware that you have no way of actually knowing when it might really be the last time.

So you just hold each other silently for a while, until a thought occurs to you and you huff out a gentle laugh.

“What?” Santi asks you, peering at you with heavy lids and stupidly long lashes.

You lean up to kiss him on the nose. “Wanna help me run some strategy?”

His answer is cut off by the very insistent complaint from your stomach. He quirks an eyebrow. “Wanna have a breakfast meeting?”

You giggle. “Probably a good idea.”

Santi plants a kiss on your lips and then gets up, holding out a hand to pull you off the bed and you stand, stretching your arms over your head. He goes to the doorway and says, “I’ll go finish making the food. Meet you at the table in 20, Lieutenant.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” you smile at him.

He moves to leave, and then calls out, “Oh, and Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Santiago?” you roll your eyes, another giggle escaping your lips.

He sticks his head back in the door, just for a moment, just long enough to take all of you in with a look of adoration, and mouths the words “I love you.” Then he turns and goes downstairs.

And you know you can handle - no, you will handle - anything that might happen, and your heart soars.

~end~

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sardonicallys · 3 years

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𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗮 𝗺𝗼𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗳𝘂𝗹

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𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jisung + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Smut, PWP, Comic Relief

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, sort of sub!Jisung, kind of exhibitionist but not with intention

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You're distracting Jisung while he's working and he wouldn't have minded it much if it was only you.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2,055

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: This was supposed to be a drabble but the longer I let this marinate, the more I wanted to write.

For something as perceptive as the human eye — of course in conjunction with the logical reasoning of the brain — it had a tendency to selectively hide away things that seemed...Unnecessary, to say the least.

The way your nose disappeared simply because your eyes found that it was only taking up space from your vision, or the way your mouth was around Jisung's length as he struggled to choke out responses to Chan who was standing just a ways away, in front of the desk that cloaked you. Hollowing out your cheeks with care, you quietly lined your tongue along the underside behind the guise of music all while Jisung's grip on the back of your head grew tighter; it wasn't his idea but he seemed easy to convince according to his current reaction.

"The down beat sounds kind of weird after I mastered it, something with the frequency I swear, so just when you have time can you look at it?" Brows furrowed, he nodded simply with his free hand over his mouth — mimicking the way someone may have looked when deep in thought and he was but not over the beat Chan was droning on about. Right now, he used his palm as a silencer, his mouth tempted to gun out every sound that bubbled to his lips and drained back down his throat. Hell, he couldn't even hear the track clearly as you scraped your teeth along his skin, fingers digging into his inner thighs, with full intention to tease him.

The silence created an awkward breath between the two conversing, "...You're quiet today, you alright?"

"Yeah!" Yelping out a strangled groan suddenly as you let him hit the back of your throat, it took everything in you not to smile, "Yeah, all good. Thanks, I'll look in a second. You can go now. Bye."

"Uh...Okay. I'll check on you later."

"Uh huh sounds good. Bye."

As the door frame clasped the wooden plane finally, Jisung abruptly wheeled the chair backwards as you tumbled into his lap, mouth releasing him with a loud pop before you expelled a bout of giggles in response to his flushed face, "Really?!"

Adjusting yourself between his thighs you shrugged your shoulders before pressing your tongue flat along the protruding vein, stiffening the pressure you applied as Jisung attempted to keep a straight face, "You're kinda loud Ji, so that's on you."

"Please don't get us in trouble again," it's sort of a plead. You rolled your eyes as you playfully traced the tip of his length along your swollen lips, "You act like Mr. Christopher Bang is gonna scold us for being bad kids."

"He has," Jisung reminded you as you took his length back in your mouth, letting the vibrations of your laughter work its magic as the boy shivered, hissing with narrowed eyes as warning since he couldn't really make use of coherent and comprehensive sentences.

This wouldn't be the first time you and Jisung were almost caught fucking in the communal studio — not to mention the times you two were actually caught. Your favorite being the instance Jisung was so close that even though Chan had walked in, absolutely mortified, and the two boys shared a literal look of pure horror, Jisung didn't — couldn't — stop fucking into you cause he wasn't about to let his orgasm run. With your head tipped back at the sudden interruption, you remember Chan looking like he had completely blacked out in place as the blood had dispersed from his face.

"He's seen worse," mumbling as you caught your breath, you realize your words fall on deaf ears as the haze clouded his eyes in a way that indicated he was swirling in euphoria. An impish grin played on your lips as you pumped him gently with your hand, "...But if you really want me to stop, I can wait."

The internal duel leaked onto his face as perpetuating turmoil plagued his heavy expression all while he combated with his moral obligation and lust filled desires. The latter won, it always won, and he responded curtly, "Don't stop."

"You got it," easing back into your ministrations, carefully pushing your tongue past your lips as you took Jisung as far back as you could fit, you stole a moment to peer up at him while you set a pace to row back and forth. Sometimes this was to be coy but most of the time this was your excuse to drink the desperate expression he had on his face, like he was some hormonal teenage kid, and he never once had a different reaction painted across his parted lips and dazed, glassy eyes. Always the expressive one, it was what made blowing Jisung your favorite hobby that came just slightly under riding him. Just conscious enough to lazily comb through your hair, you felt his fingers gently rest at the back of your head and you knew what was coming the moment you dragged back. Preparing for the impactful force, you squeezed your eyes shut and Jisung pushed you down with haste. You would have choked if you hadn't heard the knob on the door turn once more, the chair wheeling forward as you just barely inched back enough not to be completely run over. Playfully bringing your mouth closer, Jisung grabbed your jaw with one hand to stop you, holding you in place as you released a soft breath in defeat.

"Ji, can I borrow the drum pad and your pop filter? I just want to record something real quick," Changbin mumbled out while dropping on the couch just inches away from the desk, though he wasn't really paying attention, typing something out on his phone. You could see Jisung's frustration as he awkwardly shoved himself back into his pants before relinquishing an exasperated sigh, "Hold on."

The shuffling does nothing to hide the sound of Changbin's soles hitting the floor, indicating he had removed his shoes and likely propped his feet up on the cushions, and you get cozy in your space as you tucked your bottom lip in between your teeth — concealing your laughter just imagining Jisung's face. It's exactly as you imagined too, the stem between his brows prevalent from how close they're tensed, the corners of his lips downcast, and the usual honey that swirled in his eyes pure obsidian. Changbin isn't looking — he hasn't been the whole time he entered the room, tapping away on his phone as Jisung returned to his chair, wheeling back and forth impatiently, "Didn't you say you were going to record something?"

"Damn kicking me out already," Cracking a grin across his lips, you could hear Changbin readjust in his seat while he sighed out a little chuckle. Jisung returns it with silence. More silence, and you abruptly heard the screech of soles on the wooden flooring before the slight attitude bit through the older boy's voice, "I got it, I got it. Geez, what crawled up your ass and died?"

Apparently unfinished blow, but he didn't need to know that.

Listening as the door clasp clicked into place, you finally released your spell of laughter before crawling out and sprawling on the floor, your chest hiccuping in an effort to catch the air that you recycled back and forth through your giggles. Elbow rested on the arm of the chair, Jisung was cradling his cheek while watching you with amusement, "...Having fun?"

"Yeah," sitting up, you combed your fingers through your hair while dusting off any debris you might have attracted.

"And all by yourself huh?" Jisung pouted at you, half joking and half not, with intent to urge you to help him finish. As you stood in front of him, he draped his arms just below your hips while peering up at you, his head tilted as if the question itself was not rhetoric.

"I could let you in on it, since you were so nice and well behaved," cupping his cheeks, you mimicked his expression before pushing your knee between his legs, applying just enough pressure to make him hiss. The feigned innocence all but disappeared as Jisung clenched his teeth, "Well you better decide before someone else walks in."

Fair.

Moving your knee to sit snug beside his outer hip, you hiked your other leg up for it to mirror. Settling comfortably in his lap, you could feel his impatience succumb him as he began hastily thrusting up against you, creating his own friction any way he could. Peering down as if you were curious to what he was doing, you pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, nuzzling your nose against his but in contrast, matching his rhythm. The pleasant hums that left his lips alone were enough to have you arch against him.

"Did you plan to edge me or something?"

"Trust me, I wish I did."

Jisung doesn't like your answer, frowning before transferring it to your lips and letting it linger on your tongue. Fingers through his freshly dyed hair, you feel one another's breaths between the careful bites and licks that you ensued. Earlier, you may have been the one in control, but now you were just as careless as Jisung. Standing, you hurriedly began peeling off your jeans, leaving them askew on the floor as you returned to his lap, little moans escaping your mouth as Jisung's teeth grazed your clavicle. Reaching past the waistband of his sweats, you gripped his length as a strangled breath departed from his lips while your other hand nudged away the fabric, "...You couldn't be more gentle huh?"

"Sorry, Ji," your halfhearted apology earned you an eye roll as his hands went to grip your behind, helping you balance as you shifted your panties over and swung your hips like a pendulum against the tip of his cock. Jisung can't be bothered to look at you in the eyes, so mesmerized by — maybe — finally getting his dick wet, you gently lowered yourself down, feeling your nerves surge down your inner thighs at the stretch. Head rolled back, you steadied your breath but not before throwing Jisung a little shit for his impatience, "...Don't finish too early."

"You wish," confidence oozed through his lips as he huffed out a hearty groan. Bottoming out, he reclined against the chair and grabbed the hem of your shirt, stuffing it between your teeth as you rolled your eyes. For some reason, he always got off on watching himself fuck you. You never really understood it, but to each their own. Biting down on the fabric, you both attempted to move at the same time and you couldn't help but feel a sense of foolishness for telling him to hold it in cause you weren't sure how long you could last at this point either.

Finally managing to adjust, the throbbing you felt between your legs a mix of both of your anticipation, you lifted your hips before experimentally easing back down. It electrified you instantly as you pressed your forehead against Jisung's, moaning to your heart's content while appreciating the soundproofing installed all along the walls. You wanted to drag this out, let the wax melt and trickle, but he didn't. Almost as soon as you figured out your pace, he picked up the tempo and you were choking out moan after moan along the percussion of your skin meeting.

Your body went stiff the instant you heard the soft raps at the door contrast the timbre of your hips were meeting, immediately climbing off Jisung's lap before he had a chance to relive Chan's ultimate nightmare. Without waiting for a response, you managed to duck down when the door forced open. Speak of the devil, Chan shut the door behind him before leisurely falling into the couch. Jisung was sitting upright, tensed and just barely back to his reality as he attempted a response, "I haven't had a chance to—"

"...Wait what, she still hasn't finished blowing you?"

Jisung is absolutely mortified but you? Death by laughter as your symphonic giggling rang in everyone's ears. Rolling his eyes, the younger boy looked directly at you, "See, I told you."

"I'm going to leave again, so hurry it up because I need the mix to be finalized and you two are taking way too long."

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javierpinme · 3 years

Text

Part One: New Beginnings

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Infidelity, angst, friends to lovers, mentions of alcohol

Rating: M (might change)

Summary: You’ve lived in a small town for half of your life and nothings really changed until it did. Moving halfway across the country you find lasting friendships and a love you needed at the exactly the right time.

A/N: There is not a ton of Frankie in this one since I wanted to set the tone for the reader before they meet! They don’t see/meet each other until near the end (or do they?) I wanted to build the reader’s relationships with the people in her life as there will more parts.

AO3

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It’s hard to build friendships as an adult without being under the pretense of school or college. It’s especially difficult when you decide to move across the country. Away from your family and friends, but it’s what you needed. Seeing the same four walls you lived in, that same greasy diner that was always your go-to after one too many tequila shots the night before, and that one ex from high school that you’d really rather forget while running errands were making you feel complacent. Wake up. Drink. Eat. Work. Sleep. Repeat. You’ve spent most of your life here. You weren’t about to spend the rest of it here. So, you did something completely unlike you. You packed up your life and moved. The house was beautiful. You’d never owned anything in your life; just rented so this is a major upgrade for you. The first sight that greets you is the stairs after living in a first floor unit for most of your life. The house isn’t in perfect shape, but it’s yours which is all that matters.

The movers have left so you finally had the place to yourself. You couldn’t help the defeated sigh that fell from your mouth at the sight of all the boxes. If your sister and friends were here you’d probably be knee deep in pizza and wine while attempting to build furniture. You gave your brain the space to let that thought sink in, but you craved the freedom so you didn’t let that sit too long. You came here to build your own memories; no room for regrets now. So, the first thing you decide to acclimate yourself with is the closest liquor store and that is how you met Hannah.

The first thing you hear after getting lost reading a wine label is a loud oof before slamming into somebody. You only barely managed to catch the bottle before it became one with the outdated tile.

“I am SO sorry! I’m not even going to lie to you I was not watching where I was going. Are you okay? You didn’t drop anything did you?”

You manage to form a sentence between your scrambled apologies in between. The first thing you notice when you look at the face standing in front of you is how pretty she is. That typical blonde hair and blue eyes type that reminds you of the girls you went to high school with. You wince. Stop it.

“Oh, I’m okay! It was more the residual shock of it really. You must really need that bottle because you were just about ready to run me over in your pursuit to the cash register. Cheating ex or bad date?”

She says with a laugh while pointing at the wine still in your hand. Oh, she’s nice. You immediately feel guilty for that initial judgment when first looking at her.

“Oh, neither. I just moved here and need sustenance to unpack. Who knew you could fit your entire life into boxes?” You mirror her laugh.

“I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone. Walk around the neighborhood and find the necessities which is how I ended up here.” You say with a twirl in your finger.

"Ah, the one down the street that's just begging to be demolished?" She says while snapping her fingers with a mischievous smile.

"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's old, but she's got character." You can't help the lopsided grin you give her. She hasn't even seen the dream kitchen with those beautiful green cabinets.

“Hey, well if you need help with that-“ her eyes shifting to the bottle, “I live right down the street so I can come over. I know moving somewhere unfamiliar can be a little daunting especially if you’re alone.” You can’t help the wide smile forming at her sweet gesture.

“And to help me unpack right?” You raise an eyebrow.

“I mean I’m better at draining a bottle, but if it’s necessary I will work for food and drinks. But, if I’m going to help you we are going to need way more than that.”

She finishes her sentence grabbing more bottles while traveling through the aisles. The sound of you’ve got to try this one and this one’s local in between aisle changes filling the store. You assure her that she is not off the hook with helping even with the promise of the “best merlot you’ve ever had in your life.”

Bags filling both of your hands and way too much alcohol for just two people to consume you make your way up the steps. Hannah pauses and looks up at the house.

“I was right. It should have been demolished. Will the porch cave in before I make it inside?” She says with skepticism at the foundation of your new home.

“Probably eventually but-“ you turn around to face her, “she’ll last for now. Come on, I haven’t even showed you the best part!”

You open your door and make your way inside leaving the door open for her to follow. You faintly hear from the kitchen “I seriously doubt that”, and you can’t help your chuckle at the remark.

You’ve always wanted a fixer upper; probably from all the HGTV shows you immersed yourself in as a child and the fact you’ve only ever lived in apartments. The first and only thing you managed to unpack first was your wine glasses. You definitely made a point to label them in big writing while packing up back home. A decision you are patting yourself on the back for now.

“So, do you like pizza? I know a good place. Pizza and wine should always be paired with move-in days. Oh, you’re right. This is probably the only good part of your house.”

Hannah leaned on the counter next you before shifting to test the weight taking in the scene of your kitchen.

“Love pizza. It’s not there yet, but I definitely have some plans with it; starting with keeping the color of those cabinets.”

In between sips of your glasses of wine you start to collaborate over your ideas of making it functional and aesthetically pleasing.

It didn’t take very long to start building friendships with the people in your area. You even started joining Sunday brunches and you were overly ecstatic finding out that bottomless mimosas existed. They didn’t have these at the diners back home. They even started assisting you with choosing paint swatches and going to Home Depot because you just had try that DIY project of making your own lounge chair that you found scrolling on Youtube.

“I think your measurements are a little off.”

Alex, probably one of your favorites of the group, mirrors the tilt of your head with his arms crossed. He co-owns a woodworking business with his husband so you wanted him there for any adjustments and moral support. Unfortunately for you, he wanted you to learn first which really meant fail.

You grimace at your handiwork and say, “yeah, I think maybe I should stick with what I’m good at.”

With a breathy laugh he adds, “give yourself some credit. You managed to tear up the carpet in the living room AND still able to keep the original hardwood. That’s no easy feat.”

You’ve somehow managed to create a whole support system in the little time that you’ve spent here. You’ve finally had the time and resources to create your own little touches that make your house now a home.

“Hannah, can’t we just stay in tonight? I’ve already been defeated twice by the light fixture in the living and my fingers are still tingling from the faulty power box. I’m really not in the mood.”

You give her the biggest puppy eyes you can manage while exaggeratingly lifting you fingers.

“Oh no, you’re going out to the bar tonight. You’ve been here for months and you really need to get yourself out there. You’re hot. Own it. Besides, it’s just you and me so there’s no pressure.”

She says with a swat to your ass and a push towards your closet. The only response you can add to that is Hmph.

The bar is nice enough with the dim lighting and it’s not so loud that you can’t hear yourself talk. Hannah insisted you wear one of your nicer dresses, but you wanted to feel like yourself so you opted for a t-shirt tucked into light wash jeans. If you were going to meet anyone tonight you wanted to set the standard for anything that could happen at the start. You’re still nursing your second beer while Hannah is on her third shot of the night. You feel a presence to your right and a sharp pinch to your thigh on your left. Hannah is of course attempting to alert you to the attractive man on the other side of you as if you didn’t notice. You turn around with a pained look on your face to her which she just shrugs off before making herself scarce.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Your attention is brought back to the man to your right. He is very cute in a boyish kind of way and you briefly wonder if he’s talking to someone else. He’s dressed like he just got out of a business meeting, but his rolled sleeves are definitely doing something for you.

“Sure. What’s your name?” You say with the flirtiest smile you can muster.

“Joey. Nice to meet you.”

God, his smile must do wonders for his conquests. It’s working for you quite honestly. You completely lose track of time talking to him and see out of the corner of your eye Hannah leaving the bar holding onto a man with salt and pepper hair and scruff. Looks like she got lucky too. She gives you a wink as she walks out the door and you look to see where he was sitting in case you need to remember faces. Seems like he was out with some of his friends, but you didn’t get a thorough look because your attention is immediately brought back to Joey. You set a reminder for yourself to check in with her before you go to bed tonight.

It’s been a constant date after date and you were really beginning to develop feelings for him. Sure, you always tried to convince him you didn’t need to be wooed with all these extravagant dates. You were just happy to spend time with him. You didn’t need to go to a fancy restaurant to tell you that. It just wasn’t your style, but it made him happy so you went along with it. You had initially assumed him to be a one night stand, but you were pleasantly surprised to hear from him the next day asking to take you out dinner.

Your muscles in your stomach are straining from how hard you’re laughing at America’s Funniest Home Videos on the TV. Joey is sitting next to you on the couch with takeout cartons loitered all over your coffee table. The living room is starting to lose its natural lighting due to the day coming to a close; the only light source in the room being the lamp sitting on the end table next to the couch and the glow from the TV. You notice Joey looking at you with a far off look.

“What’s wrong?” You ask with a furrow in your brow. “Nothing.” His face shifting to a more pleasant tone once he turns back to the TV. The two of you had settled into a routine at your house. You had even introduced him to your friends and they really seemed to enjoy spending time with him. It was easy for them to fall for his charms as you did.

“Come on, hurry up. You’re supposed to be helping me pick out an outfit for tonight!”

Hannah still continued to see the man from the bar, Santi, his friends called him.

“If I’m supposed to be helping you pick an outfit then why are we in the lingerie section?” You ask with a sly grin on your face.

“That’s for after, of course. Gotta keep it interesting.”

Her laugh followed by her adding some bras and panties to her hands. You agreed to come with her tonight to officially meet him and his friends. You’ve heard enough about him from her. Some very intimate details as well. They weren’t exactly exclusive to each other and as far as you knew they were dating other people which you respected. You were nervous about meeting them, but you knew it was only a matter of time until Hannah would want to do this. You trusted her judgment and you were already comfortable that it was going to be in the bar you usually ventured out to.

In her words, “your only forms of entertainment can’t just be your home projects, Joey and me, you know? You deserve to have fun too and these guys will show you a good time I promise” while ringing up her purchases.

You barely manage to make it through the door of the bar before you feel a breeze next to you from her speeding to Santi with a kiss. You lovingly shake your head at her dramatic antics and make your way over to the table. It’s a little awkward at first since Hannah still had yet to let go of the man sitting next to her and you didn’t know how to start a conversation with these men with what was going on next to you.

“Sorry. I’m Santi, but everyone calls me Pope.”

He reaches over to shake your hand with a tone that is definitely not apologetic at all, but you find it amusing. You like him already. You can definitely see why Hannah was interested, but not your type.

He starts introducing his friends off to you. Will. He seems like the more mellow type of the group and his call sign is Ironhead. Benny is just Benny since he’s the baby of the group.

“He’s the menace of all of us so watch out for this one.” Will ruffles his brother’s hair for added measure which Benny recoils from.

Then, Frankie, they call him Catfish. Oh he’s handsome, but not in the boyish way that Joey is. He’s handsome in a more ruggish kind of way and you can’t seem to break eye contact from him. Your eyes don’t know where to go first so they travel from his deep brown eyes, to the bare patches on the beard he can’t seem to grow that you find yourself wanting to kiss, and to the curls peeking out of his standard heating oil hat. You find yourself itching to take that hat off and run your fingers through the nape of his hair. Stop. He’s the more reserved one in the group which makes sense since he really hasn’t fully spoken more than a few words at a time to you. You can’t control the side glances you keep shooting at him throughout the night. You’re just appreciating the view and maybe conjuring up a few very much domestic fantasies in your head. Liar.

You excuse yourself to go to the bathroom to get a grip on your emotions. Tilting your head at your reflection you point an accusing finger “get yourself together. You ca—.“ You jump at the intrusion of an elderly woman walking into the otherwise empty bathroom; a quizzical look forming on her face from your actions. Your nervous laugh gets the best of you. “It isn’t what it- I don’t always do this.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to explain yourself since she’s already closed the stall before you even got the chance to finish your sentence. You find yourself even more flustered leaving the bathroom than before going into it. This is going to be a long night.

***

Frankie was nervous when Santi first told him that Hannah would be bringing a friend. He remembers you from the night Santi first left with her. How could he forget? You had his attention the moment you stepped into the bar, but by the time he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you another guy had already swooped in. It wasn’t that surprising considering and it was probably for the best. He really wasn’t in any headspace to be in a relationship. His eyes followed you when you left to go to the bathroom in a hurry and he could just feel Santi’s eyes burning into him. He knew. You were exactly his type and he hoped to whoever was up above that he would just leave him to his hopeless crush without interfering.

***

You sit down at the table preparing to come up with some segway into the conversation between everyone when Santi breaks it with a loud clap calling your name out. “So, are you seeing anyone?”

You miss the glare that Frankie shoots him and the embarrassed groan he makes. You don’t miss the warning tone Will gives when calling Santi’s name out, but you get the feeling you’re not entitled to know what that’s about.

“Yes, I am.” Why does it feel so wrong to say that? “His name is Joey.” Hannah chimes in while rubbing Santi’s shoulders.

You also miss the sight of Frankie’s shoulders deflating at that piece of information. Your answer seems to satisfy Santi since he drops it after that and moves on to a different topic. “Benny, when’s your next fight?” It’s Friday apparently and all the guys along with Hannah are going to support him.

Will shifts towards you and says, “you can come if you want.” You cringe on the inside; your insecurities getting the best of you. If you want. They’re only inviting you because you’re there at the moment. “Maybe.” You won’t.

Somehow, Hannah has convinced you to go out with them a second time. “Come on, you can bring Joey since you’re so nervous! Please bring him,” she says with pleading eyes.

“I’m not nervous!” Liar. There is a sliver of truth to her statement, but you don’t want to tell her the reason for your nerves is seeing Frankie again. Yet here you were sitting in a booth with Joey across from Hannah and the rest of the guys.

“Jesus Hannah, he’s not going anywhere.”

You say with a loud laugh at her not so subtle PDA with Santi. “Sorry.” She said with a swipe of trying to remove her lipstick from Santi’s face; her smile never leaving her face. Frankie hasn’t looked at you at all tonight and you can’t help but wonder what you did wrong. You see those eyes crinkle and that cute dimple when he’s dedicating his attention to everyone else at the table, but disappears when his eyes go in your general direction.

At some point the guys and Hannah walk off to buy more drinks leaving you with Joey. He’s hasn’t hid his disinterest of the night at all even when the guys were trying to include him.

“Why are you so grumpy?” “I’m not.” His deep sigh a dead giveaway to his sour mood. “I’m just not vibing with them that’s all.” His eyes following the guys by single file line as he said it. You assure him that you can leave soon which after an hour or so you do.

Tonight’s events must have tired you out more than you thought because you’re fighting yawns the entire ride to Joey’s apartment. You don’t usually spend time here since he prefers staying at your place, but his place was a lot closer to the bar. The minute you walk inside you walk straight to his bedroom so you can promptly pass out as Joey showers. As you start to pull back the blankets something catches your eye. That’s not mine. Your heart rate is starting to speed up at the thought that’s forming in your mind. You reach down and grab a bra that was haphazardly thrown on the floor. The thing is you’d recognize that bra anywhere because you were there when she bought it; the day you were meeting Santi for the first time. You almost didn’t hear the water being shut off in the bathroom and the footsteps coming into the bedroom.

“Hey, what’s goin o—“

His eyes follow where you’re looking and then back up to your face. He’s not even trying to defend himself or come up with some shitty excuse that wouldn’t work anyway.

“How long?” Your voice is barely managing to stay steady while still staring at the incriminating evidence of your betrayal.

“How long, Joey?” His hesitation gives you your answer. It’s been a while.

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vegalocity · 3 years

Note

Fluff 1/11 for that civilian Spicynoodles with Red being a fashion designer and Xiaotian being a model? (Like, right after Macaque hears Xiaotian quits so the entire time he's sending more and more frantic texts.)

Dialogue starters

1.“Is that my shirt?” “You mean our shirt?”

11.“I’m so proud of you.”

ngl this AU is a lot of fun

“What are you doing?”

“Updating my instagram. Need to let the stans know i’m backing a better brand now.”

“Ah.”

Xiaotian leaned back on the bed, his phone held up with the flashlight on as a prop, facing a far more professional camera as the remote shudder went off. An Influencer trick for the ages. Pretending something is a mirror shot when really it’s just a second camera.

Red Son watched his lover/fake honeypot/new business partner get the angle right, fuss over the filter and all that stuff models had to worry about in the age of social media as he leaned back slightly on his designing board. (Xiaotian already had a drawer at his easel for the comics he dabbled in in his spare time) and contemplated just how this would all fall out.

He was more than thankful that Xiaotian had not only informed him right out the gate that Six Ears and by extension the entire Macaque label, was built on the skeletons of stolen ideas that independent designers had gotten poached from them under the guise of an outreach program Red Son had foolishly applied for to get the Firey Cloud label out there, but had also been looking for an excuse to ditch Six Ears and decided to bring his own clout to back up Red Son’s label instead. However, he couldn’t help but be worried that that might be bad for his lover’s career in the long run. He didn’t have much to worry about, being assumed eventual heir to the Flower Fruit Label (with one of his foster fathers being the founder and CEO Sun fucking Wukong) but he seemed to really enjoy modelling and he would feel terrible if Xiaotian’s self made identity was thrown away because he’d decided to help Red Son out and got blackballed because Six Ears decided to take some revenge.

“Is that my shirt?” it wasn’t even one of the shirts he’d made himself, it was just some cheap T-shirt from a three pack from fresh out of school when he couldn’t afford enough spare fabric to make his own clothes. (getting cut off from his family had its own setbacks; he’d never even touched the clearance section before getting out of school and deciding to become a designer, but in his defence a lot of his early work was upcycling anyway so it all worked out in the long run)

“You mean our shirt?”

“You’re really uploading instagram pictures of you in a clearance rack T Shirt?”

“Nobody will notice, I’m doing it for the Firey Cloud Jacket.” he was indeed wearing the jacket with the design label on it. Though Red Son had only made that one for himself, it was more of a gentle hope for himself, that one day his brand would be big enough that a relatively simple jacket with the label logo would someday be enough to mean something.

And to Xiaotian it already was.

And that made something warm settle in his chest.

Xiaotian huffed and glanced back at his phone, sticking out his tongue in distaste.

“Guess whose texting me?”

“Six Ears?”

“‘Xiaotian this is an out of season prank right?’ ‘Are you playing long con or something?’ ‘Seriously i need a check in’ Like bitch read my fucking letter of resignation again; maybe since ‘I don’t agree with your business practices and am morally obligated to leave’ wasn’t clear enough, I should have just put ‘I’m fucking your newest competition’!”

He laughed like the whole thing was personally amusing and Red Son found himself settling behind the model and peeking over his shoulder at the response he was typing out.

“Ah, you’re going to keep professional about it?” He made sure his tone sounded as comically astonished as possible and Xiaotian stuck his tongue out at him. So Red Son followed that up with a “I’m so proud of you!” and a patronising pat on the head.

“You’re such a bastard.” Xiaotian huffed, but the grin still stretched across his own face belied his amusement.

“You love it.”

“Damn, caught me.”

There wasn’t much silence to be had as Xiaotian scrolled through his social media, periodically interrupted by more and more frantic/enraged texts from his former boss. And a single text from one of his fathers. A simple ‘glad you’re free of that bastard, have fun working indie’ which was responded to with a simple ‘I will!’

“Aaah! Check your online stats Red, I’ve already got like… so many likes on that promo shot!”

Send me stuff!

#letters to vega #vega writes stories too #dialogue starters #spicynoodleshipping #civillian AU #Model and Designer AU

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Aspiration. Yandere Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

click here for part 2!

Watching others has always been a hobby of yours.

There’s a lot to be learned from observing and watching how people behave and interact. Whether it be for your own simple amusement, or for the sake of gathering information. While some may find it creepy to keep such a keen eye out for others, you don’t look at it that way. Understanding human nature has an endless list of advantages, after all.

It started as a small side project. When you’d stumble across information on the Phantom Troupe online that wasn’t at a ridiculous price, you found yourself looking more into them. Possible members, possible motivations, surface level stuff. The more you looked into the more you descended into a minor obsession. Questions plagued your mind about their goals, the theories you found too shallow for your taste.

Through carefully studying their past hits, you came to the conclusion there were no patterns to be found. Nailing down the next possible heist felt like searching for a needle in a haystack, a part of you losing hope at the prospect of ever being in the same area as them.

So you busied yourself in other ways. From digging through hours of forums and pricey information, you pieced together the most possible members. While they’re all unique in their own right, the apple of your eye has always been their mysterious leader. There have been no solid leads on his real name, much to your chagrin.

But the leaked autopsies from what’s assumed to be his victims are fascinating. The cause of death was always different! For most nen users who kill, the method of death was typically similar with minor discrepancies. But for whoever this leader was, it almost felt like he had an unlimited amount of abilities. Was that even possible?

The morality of his actions had never been a strong concern of yours. Wanting nothing more than an opportunity to learn more about him, you brainstormed all you could on how to gain any form of contact. That’s when you got the idea of posting information online yourself, but not about the Troupe.

From guessing where they might strike next, you posted on hunter websites about information that they might find helpful. Important figures to expect at the events, bodyguard’s abilities that had been confirmed from previous employers. Whether or not the Troupe actually looked and used the information is a mystery, but the prospect of assisting them felt… thrilling. Like you were almost a part of them yourself.

That leads you to where you are now. A mini road trip of sorts, your last exit approaching fast.

The Troupe’s realm of possibilities stretched throughout the entire globe, but never close enough where you could investigate in person. But that all changed when rumors of some of the strongest hunters being hired popped up, for a museum exhibit that would be opening tonight. In your city, nonetheless!

Securing an invitation to the event was a tedious matter, but the possible payoff was enough to keep you motivated. Though being in attendance for too long could be risky if they do actually strike, running surveillance throughout the area would be easier without having to sneak around bouncers.

Checking your glove department, you find a blurry photo that serves as your hope. It had been posted on a hunter information website earlier today, a credible one at that. Even if obtaining it cost you a pretty jenny, you didn’t think much of it. In the image is what’s believed to be one of the members. A girl wearing a dark turtleneck with equally dark, short hair.

Having driven around the back of the museum, you lean back into your chair. Stretching your aching muscles, you see why this area is such a hot spot. While the actual exhibit itself didn’t interest you much, it’s evident a lot of effort went into preparing this event. Limousines had lined the entrance, important individuals emerging in expensive outfits; waiting to be escorted inside.

It’s quieter back here though, with no flashing cameras and chatty socialites. The silence gives you the opportunity to think through your plan once more.

‘I shouldn’t go in unless one of the bodyguards gets suspicious at my loitering. If I’m lucky, maybe, just maybe… I’ll see the Troupe tonight. And their mysterious leader.’

Rolling down your windows, you keep a sharp eye on your surroundings. Boredom never gets the opportunity to set in, your own rapidly beating heart never once slowing down. Having flung yourself into a possible lion’s den, the last thing you need to do is relax your concentration; it could be the death of you.

The exhibit opens at 8:00, and it’s currently 7:30.

The exhaustion from the day starts to weigh on you against your will. All the preparation and anxiety leads to your eyelids feeling heavy, leading you to lightly slap your face. The last thing you need to do is loosen your concentration. That’s when you suddenly feel a strange sensation.

Perking up almost immediately, your rapidly eyes dart around for the source of this ominous feeling. Only to find nothing out of the ordinary, your car is the only one in this parking lot. Checking your mirrors again, you catch a glimpse of what appears to be dark fabric.

‘Am I just imagining things?’

As far as you see, you have a finite amount of options ahead of you. One, to ignore whatever it is you just saw. Two, to drive off as fast as you can. Three, activating your En to see if anyone is in your immediate area. Staying without doing anything doesn’t feel wise in the slightest, and driving away wouldn’t matter if it is indeed the Phantom Troupe. They’ll catch up to you before you can set any solid distance.

That leaves using your En.

It’s risky, but everything about this trip is. Taking a deep, shaky breath, you close your eyes. Activating your En, you feel nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe everything is getting to you after all? It is late, after all. There’s always the possibility that they’re out of your range, but if you were able to see it in your mirror they couldn’t have been that far away.

“So you are a nen user after all?” An unknown voice breaks any semblance of peace you have, scurrying your mind into action.

Snapping your head to your left, your eyes widen at the sight of a stranger. Not bothering to take a second look, you immediately react by going to start your car. Before you get the opportunity, your car door is pried off by them with ease; their presence threatening. Hands twitching over your keys, you realize they’re faster than you are.

“There’s no need to be hasty,” A deep voice says next to you. “Move back, slowly. What happens to you all depends on your next actions.”

All you can hear is a mantra of cursing within your own mind. Leaning back as you were told, you hesitantly look to see who your possible assailant is. Much to your surprise, it looks to be a young man around your own age. Wearing a long, leather coat with fur; raven black hair slicked back.

‘Could this really be…?’

Given the tense situation, this individual doesn’t seem perturbed in the slightest. Is this the confidence a Troupe member normally exudes, if that’s who this is? You can’t help but feel a sense of admiration, that would undoubtedly be stronger if not for the dire circumstance.

He helps himself to your glove department, rummaging through your insurance information.

“Ah, your name is [First] then?” he inquires, finally breaking some of the tension in the air.

It’s a rhetorical question, so you don’t humor him with a proper response. He studies your defensive position with analytical eyes, taking in as much information about you as you are about him. You get the feeling that in comparison to him, you’re more of an open book.

“Do you want my wallet too?” you can’t help but inquire with sarcasm, almost immediately regretting it as his eyes widen. Why you can’t ever keep your mouth shut is beyond you, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“This gives me all I need to know for the time being,” he states with minor indifference, waving your insurance paper with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Humming in response to his words, you can’t help but throw in another cheap quip. “Something tells me you’re not a police officer.”

He laughs in good humor at your biting words. “Well, you’d be correct.”

Before you’re given the opportunity to ask who this person is, he speaks as if he knew what you were intending to ask.

“I’m surprised you don’t know who I am, [First]. Seeing as you’ve dedicated so much time into researching me.” With this, he places the paper back into the glove compartment with a click. Giving you his full attention, you feel like every aspect of you is being scrutinized. It takes all your will power to hold eye contact, his dark eyes unlike anything you’ve even seen before.

Mouth agape, you speak without thinking. “I take it my VPNs weren’t good enough then.”

Another chuckle leaves his lips at your comment.

“At first they were. Shalnark had difficulty finding out your identity for a while, but everything can always be traced back to its source,” he leans closer to you, tilting his head. “You’ve been an enigma to me to say the least.”

“I feel like I should be saying that, not you.” you mumble breathlessly, the reality of the situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. This is either the worst prank in existence, or you’re actually speaking face to face with a member of the Phantom Troupe. While them tracking you down was always an unfortunate possibility in the back of your mind, you never paid much attention to it.

“You’re free to say what you like. I don’t have any intention of killing you… unless you try something stupid,” he explains to you, straightening his posture. “But you haven’t given me reason to believe you’d do that.”

A shaky sigh leaves your lips, your attention turning from him to the fists in your lap. Everything in your body is screaming to run, to do something, but you know it’ll be for naught. While he said he wouldn’t kill you, it’s not nearly enough to comfort you. There are fates worse than death, after all.

“Don’t you have a crown to steal or something? Why waste time with me if you’re not going to kill me?”

He blinks at your question, before amusing you with an answer. “I’ll get to that later. I’m more interested in seeing what you’re going to do, if I’m being honest.”

“What I’m going to do…?” you repeat his words back aloud, hoping it’ll help you process the information better.

Knitting your eyebrows together, your mind races to make sense of the implications in his words. This must be how jesters used to feel back in the day, you surmise. Is he expecting you to do something entertaining? Well, given as there’s a solid chance you’re going to be dead in five minutes, why not.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Since I’m likely dying soon, why not tell me your name? It’d be cool to know that much in the afterlife.”

He considers your words, before responding. “Didn’t I say that as long as you don’t act foolishly I don’t intend on killing you?”

“I figured talking this much to a Phantom Troupe member counted towards my ‘acting foolishly’ points.”

“Maybe it does, yes. And to answer your previous question, but my name is Chrollo.”

The name is one you’ve never heard before. Despite only having met Chrollo a few minutes prior to now, you feel that his foreign name suits him well. Practicing the pronunciation on your tongue in a low tone, you feel a sense of pride at having uncovered this newfound information. It’s more than anyone else has learned.

Chrollo looks down at his watch briefly, before returning his attention back to you. It’s uneasy being incapable of hiding your feelings as well as he does, but you still try your best. Straightening your posture, you try to think of what to say next. This situation is one you never expected to be in. If you had known this would’ve happened, you would’ve prepared some questions at least…

He’s toying with you, you know that much. But it doesn’t seem to have any malicious intent behind it. Rather, a genuine intrigue towards your motives. It could just be hopeful thinking, but you feel like Chrollo wants something from you. Though you’re unsure what.

“Since I shared my name with you, I believe it’s only fair if I asked you a question of my own,” Chrollo insists, your heart racing for whatever comes next. “Why is it you spend so much time assisting the Spider?”

You blink. It’s actually a question that you’ve seen before in responses to your posts. People wondering if you were just messing with others by spreading false information, or if you’re an undercover hunter trying to fool the Troupe or something. The question never really sat right with you, since you couldn’t give a good answer to it yourself.

But now that you have a captive audience, you need to think of a coherent response. Vocalizing feelings that you don’t even understand yourself, while under pressure, is certainly anxiety inducing.

Placing a finger to your chin, you articulate your response to the best of your abilities. “I don’t think I have a solid reason. I just found you guys interesting, in a way. No one really knows your motivations, for example. It just adds this mystery element.”

Chrollo takes in your answer with a slight frown, seemingly not expecting such an unsure response. Since you have no reason to lie at this point, you assume he doesn’t think you’re being untruthful. He’ll undoubtedly call you out on it if he thought you were being dishonest.

“And what do you think our motivations are?” Chrollo continues to press, not settling until you give a satisfactory response.

‘He really isn’t letting me off the hook easily, is he?’

“Well, that’s always been a hot topic. Typically people guess that you do it to spite the rich, or to assert power. I even read one theory that you guys were under a curse and the only way to be free is to steal rare items for the person who cursed you! Weird stuff.” you let out a shaky ramble, scratching your neck with an airy laugh.

“Is that what you believe then?”

“Not really,” comes your response with a dismissive wave. “I could be wrong, but… I’ve always thought that there isn’t a special motivation. That you do what you want, only for the sake of doing it. There doesn’t always need to be a solid reason for a person’s actions. Sometimes… people just do things.”

Much to your surprise, Chrollo’s interest remains on you despite your long-winded rant. Why your opinion means anything in the slightest to him is still beyond you, but he seems to be taking in every word seriously.

“For the sake of doing it, huh…?” Chrollo repeats your words back to you, considering them himself. Whatever you said must've struck a chord, as he appears in deep thought by your side. A few moments of tense silence go by, causing you to frown.

‘Hopefully I didn’t upset him. I didn’t think I said anything that bad, though.’

“You may be right,” Chrollo breaks the brief silence, causing you to jump. “You’re a very strange person, [First].”

“S-strange? I don’t think you have room to talk,” you blurt out before you can think twice, Chrollo smiling in good nature at your curt response. “I guess you’re kinda right though. Any normal person wouldn’t have been in this situation. I think.”

“Anyways… since we’re doing some question give and take here, I have some of my own. If that’s okay with you.”

Amusement flickers in his eyes at your unabashed interest. “Do your worst.”

“So, there’s always been rumors of one member that I’ve found to be the most intriguing. I’ve seen the most speculation that it’s the leader of the Troupe, but of course no one really knows for sure.” you begin to ponder aloud, Chrollo letting out a soft chuckle at the word leader.

“Basically, the cause of death is almost always different! I’ve heard of people having a few different types of Hatsu, but never more than two or three. It’s almost like his nen is having unlimited nen abilities? I don’t know, it’s just really fascinating. That’s the only reason that could explain it.”

“Anyways, you’re probably not too keen on sharing Troupe abilities with a stranger. But like… blink twice if I’m right. Throw me a bone here.”

Throughout your entire explanation, you paid extra attention to picking up body language. Just anything to see if Chrollo would subconsciously give a hint or two towards your theory being correct. But his ability to control himself is unparalleled. He only looks highly entertained at everything you say.

“You’re almost right,” Chrollo confirms, making your eyes widen in surprise. “I would know. I’m the boss of the Troupe, after all.”

His last sentence repeats like a mantra in your mind, your jaw loosening as you realize the full impact of them.

Not only are you speaking to a member of the Phantom Troupe, but you’re speaking to their leader? This definitely wasn’t what you were expecting when you woke up today. Had you have known you were speaking to the leader, you may have been more polite.

‘Oh god I’m so fucked.’

“Okay, uh, Mr. Chrollo. Sir. I now just realized I’m definitely gonna be disposed of. So. I have a business proposition. I have a pet cat at home, and if I die, he’s gonna starve. If it’s not too much trouble, can you set him up with like a meal service or something? Here, let me get my venmo…”

“I’m still not planning on killing you,” Chrollo refutes with a shake of his head at your insistence on the matter. “Though I suppose it’s understandable why you would be worried about that.”

“So torture it is then?”

“It hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Oh…”

Pursing your lips, you lean back into your seat with a deep sigh. This entire ordeal has been the most stressful time of your life, if not the most notable. The sides of your head feel like they’re pushing against your brain, a massive headache on the way. Sliding down in your seat, your eyes flicker to the time.

7:43.

‘It’s felt like hours! Only thirteen minutes, huh? I guess time doesn’t fly when you’re speaking to a murderer.’

“I do believe it’s my turn to ask you a question now.” Chrollo states, leaning back into the passenger’s seat as if it were his own car. The way he speaks commands such respect, you wonder if it would be impossible for anyone to refute him. You certainly weren’t going to test your luck.

At your lack of rebuttal, he continues. “Why go through all this trouble if not for money? Or prestige?”

‘Why is he so intent on giving me a midlife crisis?’

“If I had wanted money I would’ve posted detrimental information about you guys,” you respond with an unnatural ease. “But most of the people who do that end up dying. And prestige? Who cares what a bunch of strangers think about me. It’s not gonna do me any good at the end of the day.”

Shaking your head at the thought, you continue. “No, none of those things matter that much. I only wanted to appease my own curiosity. To learn what others tried, only to succeed where they had failed.”

Chrollo hums in response to your heartfelt words. He takes a moment to consider them himself, before leaning in closer to you. At the sudden, unexpected movement; you can’t help but flinch.

Instead of causing you any harm, he gently places a strand of stray hair behind your ear. Your face ignites in warmth at the tender gesture, your tongue failing to form any coherent words. His cologne almost dulls your senses, overwhelming presence leaving your eyes wide as saucers.

He looks at you with a knowing smile, before retracting his hand and sitting back in the seat. Your hand shakily touches the same area he did, in wild disbelief.

‘What just happened? Am I dreaming?’

“To be truthful, I’ve known about you for a while before now, [First]. I’d been intending on meeting you at some point. It just so happened that everything fell into place the way it did.” Chrollo informs you, serving only to befuddle your feelings further.

“You’ve fascinated me in the same way I have you. Observation can serve an important purpose, but I’d longed to pick your brain in person instead. Thank you for indulging me.”

“I-I really don’t know what to say,” you stutter out in response, swallowing thickly. “I knew spending ten dollars on a VPN wasn’t going be enough.”

“I would’ve found you regardless.”

‘Good god what is happening? When did breathing become so difficult?’

“Oh... well that’s... good to know I think?”

Chrollo looks at his watch yet again, and you wonder if it means anything detrimental for you. Realistically speaking he probably needs to rekindle with the rest of his group before performing whatever heist they have planned.

“It looks like our time together has almost run out,” Chrollo says, a soft sigh leaving his lips. “I hadn’t realize how much time went by.”

Your hunch now confirmed, you once again go over your options. Should he try to do anything to you, there’s still a chance you could make it to the front of the museum in time to alert the bodyguards. If you’re crafty enough, that is. Whether or not you can think coherently in this state is up in the air, as your eyes flicker momentarily to the door handle.

Hand twitching, you exhale shakily at the thought of your backup plan. What else is there for you to do? Although you’re afraid to test out who’s faster, since you get the feeling it isn’t you.

Chrollo shakes his head at your obvious thoughts, reaching forward to lock the doors with a dreadful click.

‘There goes that idea.’

“Still thinking of how to get away, hm?” he asks in a chiding tone, a blush returning to your cheeks at his words. Chrollo seems capable of reading you without even having to try, as frustrating as that is.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do exactly?” you counter, your words coming out shakier than you had hoped. The underlying sarcasm is still there, even with your waning tone.

“You could come with me instead.” Chrollo offers, in a way that seems too genuine to make any shred of sense.

“What?” you choke out, spluttering at the implications of his words.

“Exactly as I said. I’m interested in you, and you know enough now to be considered dangerous,” Chrollo states as if it were obvious. “I know I phrased it like a question, but it’s not exactly a choice."

“In that case, I can’t really say no can I?” you mumble, grasping your hand to hopefully stop it from shaking. Control of your body had slipped through the cracks, leaving you in a constant state of alertness.

“You could, but I wouldn’t recommend it,” Chrollo looks at you in a way that shows he’s already won. “Instead, you’ll do this.”

“I already have someone monitoring you here -- so running won’t do you any good. Sit here and wait for me to come back. You can do that, can’t you?”

Biting your lip, all you can do is nod your head. It’s better than dying, you figure.

Chrollo seems content enough with your obedience, sliding over to leave the same way he had came in. Before he leaves you to your own thoughts, he offers a final quip.

“We’ll have a lot more discuss while we travel together, [First].”

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo imagine #chrollo lucilfer x reader #HunterXHunter #Hunter X Hunter #hunter x hunter imagines #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagine #yandere #yandere hxh #hxh imagine #hxh #my stuff #commissions

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love-peterparker · 3 years

Text

In Extremis || Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: After the reveal of Spider-Man’s secret identity and the release of Quentin Beck’s murder video, there isn’t a lot going right for Peter Parker. But he has you.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, protests and rallies, mentions of murder, a gun that is never shot, and some hair description for Y/N for plot purposes (but it should still be generic enough).

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: I’m first a Captain America and Agent Carter fan, and I wanted to recreate what makes their relationship so special, but with Peter and Y/N… ‘cuz I also love Peter Parker. I really loved writing this, and I hope you enjoy it.

Also, thanks to @marvelouspeterparker, @sinisterspidey (she actually has a blurb called I’ll Follow You and it builds off of Spider-Man’s identity reveal) and @stuckonspidey for answering my anon asks for general writing tips and Peter’s character. And @spideyspeaches with her kind words after reading one of the final drafts of this fic. Lastly, a special thanks to @peterbenjiparker encouraging me with this fic and for making me so emotional with her series Invisible String (Read this!... but only if your heart can take it) that I needed to write something. This story has nothing to do with it, but it does make some small generic references to her fic, and I would like to think that Y/N and Peter are soulmates in this story.

***

This takes place in a universe where a FFH-esque identity reveal happens when Y/N and Peter are young adults.

***

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

Peter rarely admits it, but you say it all the time. When you hit a dead end in the Avenger’s database. When checking for your gun before leaving another safehouse. When reaching for him in the dark of night.

This fucking city didn’t deserve him.

It had been over a year since Peter’s identity as Spider-Man was revealed and the dubious video of Quentin Beck’s murder was released. But it felt like a lifetime.

These two Peter problems were like ivy. They rooted, twisted, and spread. Winding into chokeholds around their victims.

But heroes knew how to play with fire.

Peter’s identity was dealt with in a straightforward fashion. Plenty villains who would do anything to exact revenge on Spider-Man, but they would have to find Peter Parker and identify his loved ones first. And for someone like Peter? Well, it was going to take some time.

To you, Peter was lifegiving. A shining ray of golden hope. You fell to sleep and rose to press kisses into his face. To cherish and hold. To share tears. But to the world, or even New York City? He was a nobody, one who couldn’t even hold a steady job.

You all worked fast while the wicked played catch-up. The Avengers searched and wiped all, but ultimately little personal information Peter had on the internet, as well anything that might connect him to your shared inner circle. Everyone was given an Avenger’s signal watch. And both you and May opted to move as a precaution. May to Brooklyn. You to Avenger’s Tower.

The case of Quentin Beck’s murder was a much more grinding process. Through polished superhero reputations, the lawyers secured an Avenger’s Tower house arrest during court proceedings. An overwhelming amount of evidence in Peter’s favor was gathered. Press conferences were held. Speeches were given. And when it all seemed like it was too much for too long, you and Peter would lie in bed, arms and legs entangled, whispering that everything would turn out all right. Good will win. You just had to keep going.

It was taxing, but not impossible. And just when you all thought you were pulling at the end of the thread with the jury in your favor, the ground beneath you crumbles into nothingness. You spiral and crash into a labyrinth, lush and high-walled. Maybe this was the way out- oh wait, you’ve been here- or have you? You all turn and turn only to face a new dead end. A new set of incriminating videos were released. Spider-Man’s videos took the spotlight, but videos of Wanda and Bucky were also revealed. The streets of New York bustled in whispers.

Can we really trust these heroes? What if these videos are the truth?

And what happens when these powerful people think they are right when they are wrong?

When public protests against Earth’s heroes sprouted and jury members started to disappear, it was clear that the whoever or whatever was behind this had greater motives and powerful allies. It was time to buy time.

Everyone had tried to convince Peter to go into hiding somewhere else. Anywhere else. He had enough super-friends where anywhere was possible. Lay low while everyone else above ground scrambled to unweave this massive web of lies. But Peter was infuriatingly adamant that New York, regardless of her wavering loyalties, was his to protect.

So two months ago, he started bouncing around New York City, investigating when he could, and making polarizing headlines with every swing he took.

You tried to continue as if Peter was still by your side. After being terminated from your junior journalist job for “suspect ties to Spider-Man,” Spider-Man became your mission. You originally attended press conferences and rallies as moral support, but after Peter’s first awkward mumbles of a speech, it was painfully clear that he needed a new voice. The public herself needed a normal person who interacted with superheroes. Who better than Spider-Man’s girlfriend? But after the last kidnapping attempt and the Avengers’ numbers shrinking, it was clear that this wouldn’t last. The world now knew who you were too.

The thick ivy had caught up, and you were on fire.

But to hell with it because there was no universe where you would be leaving this nightmare without him. So the next time you looked in the mirror, you donned short red hair and heavy eyeliner.

Days were spent questioning possible witnesses. Nights were spent in the light of a computer. And when you could barely drag yourself to continue, moments were spent staring at your beautiful boy’s picture. He needed you.

You had only heard from him twice since he went into hiding, though there were a few times answered unknown number calls would lead to abstract rustling and distinct web shooter noises. To those, you always whispered “I love you,” before hanging up.

That was until last night, when you noticed small slip of paper in the crack of the window of the safehouse you had been staying at. Only a time and an address were written, in messy, but undeniably Parker script.

You spent the next day visiting arbitrary places in the Bronx, trying to determine if anyone was following you and collecting items in an unsuspecting backpack.

It was a balancing act between comfort and practicalities. An extra stealth suit. A waterproof jacket you both shared. Protein bars. Extra web fluid and a first-aid kit. A hefty wad of cash, just in case. And in the smallest pocket, things to help him in the darkest days to come. Letters from you, May, Ned, and your other friends. A few packs of gummy bears. And a picture of you and him, laughing in Central Park on one of your many dates. Sunlight casting halos on your heads. Bright. Carefree. Brimming with love.

Your heart cried and cried and cried, begging for those days.

But they were gone. And as much as you didn’t want to admit it, so were the people in that picture.

You travelled to the building location and made your way to the rooftop. Rows and rows of white sheets were hung, all whipping in the wind to dry.

A small smile graced your lips. You had to hand it to him. He was smart.

You folded yourself into one of the corners of the rooftop, gun in hand and waited. Eerie silence slowly lulling you to…

You woke up to the soft footsteps, sleepy eyes registering a shadowy figure behind one of the bedsheets.

“Hans?” you whispered, pointing your gun with a finger on the trigger.

“Leia,” the figured replied, equally hushed. The shadow lifted the curtain. It took a second to register, but it was really him. You raced towards each other, quick hold each other, beaming. Today, you existed in the same place at the same time.

“That was so stupid. I can’t believe you got me to do that,” you laughed, pressing your face into him, holding him tightly as if he could disappear at any moment.

“Oh, come on, you loved it!” he quipped. You hummed in appreciation.

“True, but I love you more.” His eyes brightened at your confession, pink dusting his cheeks.

“I know.” You shook your head, smiling at his response before turning your head and taking in who he had become. Gone were the luxurious curls, replaced with a buzzcut. A pair of fake glasses perched on his nose in further attempts to conceal his identity. Hallowed eyes. His skin tinted gray from the stress. You ran your fingers through the fuzz on his head, massaging his scalp. A sigh escaped his lips, eyes fluttering shut, with hands reaching to caress yours.

“You cut your hair.”

“You did too.” His fingers danced in the ends of your own tresses. A sad smile furnished your face.

“It had to be done,” you replied, before pressing your lips to his cheek and gently removing yourself from his embrace to get your laptop. “We need to get started. We’ve found a lot since you left.”

With his head on your shoulder, fingers laced with yours, and your laptop on your lap, you recounted the on-going investigation to him. The deep web that just kept going and going. Your theories and suspects. And when that was done, you kept talking. How Aunt May and his friends were fine but missing him. How the remaining Avengers were fairing. Peter was oddly quiet, sharing only a few thoughts here and there, but you attributed it to his weariness.

As the sun continued to dip, the silences between sentences stretched, but you mustered more words. As if your sentences were the delicate string that grounded him to you.

“Y/N,” he interrupted. You looked at him and hummed in reply. He began playing with your fingers, eyes never meeting your own. “I love you more than I ever I thought I could, and I’m really thankful for everything you’ve done. And you’ve done so much. Like, I don’t know if I would have even made it this far without you, but here you are, and well, you can’t keep doing this.” You cocked your head, before shaking your head, hair rustling.

“What? Peter, we are getting somewhere! I just need to visit the-“ He lets go of your hand, fingers clenching into trembling fists.

“No, no more visits. No more investigating. This can’t be your life. When this started, we thought there was a way out. But it’s been over a year. Clearly whoever or whatever is doing this won’t stop until we’re all gone. This may never stop. I can’t have you throwing away your life for me. Hell, I don’t even know when I’ll see you aga-“

“Peter,” you cut him off, your voice pitched lower in concern, “Where is this coming from? We’re gonna make it. It is just a matter of-”

“I can’t give you what you deserve! I’m Spider-Man, so we don’t get to have a house and two kids! We get this-, this fucking disaster! I live like this because I have to. I don’t get a choice. And you shouldn’t be stupid enough where you are doing the same thing!”

Your mouth fell open, ready to spit back poison when he looked at you. It was in his eyes. Behind the falling tears and redness was the glint of insecurity that Peter had always carried. This was the child whose parents died. The teenager who didn’t stop his Uncle Ben from getting killed. Who held Tony Stark in his last moments. The man who was on the run.

The hero who would never stop giving to a world who would never stop taking.

Your thoughts frenzied. If you held on to him too tightly, he would resist. The more he would thrash, determined to save you while slowly sacrificing himself until there was nothing left. Your brain was frozen, so your heart gave you the words-

“Marry me.”

Peter’s eyes widen before retracting into a tight furrow, scrunching his nose.

“What?! No! Did you not hear anything I just said-“

“I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you. The one thing you never get to doubt in the world is us. So, I’m gonna ask you again; will you,” you took his hand, went to one knee, and let your voice soften as you held his gaze, “Peter Parker, marry me?”

You both bathed in silence. His chocolate doe eyes boring straight into yours, searching for truth. The thought that maybe you had gone about this the wrong way started to crawl into your mind, but then a smile slowly creeped onto his face, bright red with blush. More salt-water pooled in his eyes. He pulled you into a near lung-constricting embrace, smothering wet kisses into every inch of your face. Mine. Mine. Mine. You could practically hear his thoughts as you basked in each kiss. I missed you. I love you. And oh my god, you’re here to stay.

“What did I ever-, I have no idea know what I ever did to ever deserve you.” A smirked formed on your lips.

“Is that a yes?” The gold stars in his eyes shined at your playfulness. There was the man you always loved.

“Yes, yes, oh god yes. I do, Mrs. Parker,” he said pulling you in for a passionate kiss. And you both stayed there, melting into the ground beneath you. Breathing each other in as moments passed. Tender “I love you’s” flowing generously from both of your lips. As if the world had vanished and all that existed was you and him, and him and you, and this understanding that this, this was a love until death do you part.

Peter was the one to break the string of kisses, leaving you to chase his lips before touching his forehead with your own. His breath hot on your face. “I- , if you go to my lab there is a secret compartment. In my desk. The code is your birthday. I was going to ask you myself, but then, well… this.” You chuckled as he stumbled on his words.

“I’ll get it as soon as I can.” You both leaned in to close the gap again when a cacophony of sirens and lights echoed in the streets below.

Frustration filled Peter’s eyes as he sat up. “Shit. I-, I gotta go. Are you gonna be okay?” You let out a shallow breath, but quickly forced a smile.

“Go get’em.” And with the whip of his webs, he was gone.

You sat there for a moment, taking in the new quiet. Your fingers graced your lips, still warm with the memory of his. A lightness had settled in your chest, and with every breathe you could feel it pulse stronger.

Because no matter what it took, no matter how long the wait, there was two things for certain.

He was going to protect the city. And you were going to save your husband.

#In Extremis #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker one shot #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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painted-crow · 3 years

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hey so i'm looking to figure my sorting out. i'm p sure of my secondary but honestly i've gone in circles so many times that i'd believe anything lmao

so i guess to start like. i'm fairly sure i'm an idealist, but with a twist. i care about making the world a better place-- i'm kinda infamous among my friends for being a little TOO outspoken about my opinions. on a small scale, i have strong opinions about a lot of things, but on a larger scale... idk. i don't think any one person can know what an ideal world looks like cause there really is no such thing. there are literally countless variables when it comes to implementing even small systems, countless ways to fuck it up, so i don't think i'd be choosing some grand ideal over the people i love anytime soon.

that being said, i think my idealist streak gets directed into something else most of the time. i'm very focused on understanding myself to a fault. i want to know why i do the things i do, why i believe certain things over others. when it comes to my beliefs about the world, they're strong but take it or leave it, but when it comes to myself they are not a good idea to push. i've ended relationships over not feeling like myself with them or feeling like i'm losing myself or they're pushing me to be someone i'm not. i make strong instant decisions about what the "right" thing to do is when it comes to how it impacts my perception of myself, especially with intimate relationships (i'm a lot less impulsive with things like friends and things i'm less personally involved in). i NEED to know who i am, way more than i care about any one specific person or thing. obviously i love people very deeply and would do just about anything to have both, but if i don't know who i am, if i'm not true to myself, then i have nothing. losing people happens.

the issue is, because i'm prone to doing that and not thinking as much about how it'll impact people, i've been called selfish a lot over my lifetime. recently i've started thinking more about how my actions impact people and their feelings, and i'm feeling a lot more torn. i want to do what i want to do, what i feel is best, but i feel immature for doing it a lot. i've started worrying a lot about being a bad person and hurting people, and i've been thinking about how the "right" way to be is. i went through a phase where i was repressing myself to make the "moral" choice, but i just felt so flat. ultimately i realized that it doesn't really matter how good i am if i have to repress myself to get there, cause then all it is is performance. tldr is i feel super guilty for making "selfish" choices rn, especially as i've gotten more aware of other peoples' feelings.

what i think is probably going on is that i'm an idealist primary with a badger model, but i'm not sure between lion and bird, and i'm still open to badger. pretty sure i'm not a snake.

the section on my secondary's gonna be a lot shorter, sorry this got so long! so i'm p sure i'm a badger secondary. considered lion and snake secondary too. whatever i am, i have a p loud lion model over it. i've always had a gift for making people trust me, for acting. i kinda blend in and become what i need to to both help them and get them off my back so i can do what i need to do. i have a serious passion for helping people with tough love (i like to think of myself as a p good advice giver, since i can both tell people what they need to hear and really get in their shoes and be kind where other people might not). i think i judge myself the least when i can kinda toe that line between pushing boundaries and stepping back-- i track where peoples' boundaries are constantly so i can push them to the limit without stepping over them. i'm very fluid when it comes to presentation in reality, even though i think people actually think of me as kinda controversial. i tend to see people who are ACTUALLY overstepping boundaries as lowkey selfish at times, even though i also really respect them. i like to do things the "right" way as long as i give a shit about them. the catch is, i don't want to blend into the background, and i don't think i do. a partner of mine called me a fox cause he noticed the way i constantly toe that line where i can get people to notice me and still keep them off my back, still make them comfortable. i'm also NOT a planner. people constantly give me shit for only ever feeling things out in the moment, and honestly thinking about the future freaks me out. i don't want to plan how i do shit i'd rather just get in the zone and figure it out from there. tldr i'm pretty sure i'm a badger secondary? but i could be convinced of snake. definitely see elements of both but my gut's telling me badger so take that how you will

anyway! thank you so much for taking the time to answer this, i know it's a lot.

also sorry one thing i forgot to add about my secondary! i think my lion model got so loud because when i do the shifty presentation thing, i have a tendency to lose myself and start perceiving myself as whatever i'm presenting. it's made it really hard to figure out who i actually am and so i started just being as clear about it as possible.

for my primary, i really care a lot about being right. i try to take every side into consideration to make sure i get the best conclusion. i can be super stubborn when it comes to certain things, but i don't want to just... hold to perceptions that are wrong. that being said it's important to me to trust my gut and i take it as a big input. i'm very felt out for most things, don't really have a strong system of how to be. i really wanna be able to trust myself but i just don't. i have a big habit of relying on other people to tell me what to think, which is uh. yeah.

Primary

You're a Bird primary with a Lion model, and you're trying on some Badger ideals. That's one of the easier Sorts I've done, lol! Possibly because your primary and models actually House match mine :p

Your reasoning process screams Bird xD and so does your writing style and just the length of the ask. Birds love self-analysis, it's part of how we make sure our systems stay as close to true as we can make them.

You've got some Lion too, but it's a model. It sounds like your Lion and your Bird have come into conflict before, and like most Birds with Lion models, it bugs the snot out of you when your Lion's intuition (which is important data!) doesn't line up with what your Bird knows.

You've prioritized Bird's conclusions before, but (as with many Birds) you don't entirely trust your own system and you're wondering if your Lion might have been right and you should give its reasoning more weight.

Also, you're consciously deciding that maybe Badgers' way of doing things is more moral than yours, and you're pulling in some of those ideals. That doesn't make you a Badger primary. Birds are notorious for this kind of thing actually 😂

The line between whether some ideals you've pulled into your Bird system vs. what counts as a model is fuzzy. It's up to you really, how important those pieces of Badger are to you.

For me, I think the line might be--is it wired into your sense of self on its own, or does it get filtered through your Bird and Lion? It really sounds like your Lion is a strong part of your sense of self: if you ignore its advice, you feel not totally like yourself. You don't have to feel all your models equally strongly, but thinking of it that way might help.

(It's also hard because Birds often feel like they kind of are their systems, or they are their ability to reason, that's a core part of their identity. ...It's complicated.)

Secondary

You sound really really Snakey. I'm not sure where you're getting Badger, actually!

Badgers are more than the mirroring ability. They also bury themselves in work or community, and it can sometimes look like they're neck deep in so many responsibilities that they couldn't possibly handle any more problems--and then they do have a problem, they do need something, and they stand up and all that stuff they were buried in turns out to be armor and tools.

Snakes, otoh, are improvisational and tend to be very aware of their surroundings. Unlike Badgers, the Snake brand of social shapeshifting involves a lot of keeping track of other people's reactions to what they're doing--trying something and then watching the response, then adjusting, rinse and repeat. You turn yourself into exactly the right person for this situation.

Badger mirroring is usually simpler. You reflect the other person's energy back at them: it's an empathetic response that says we're alike, I accept you, you're safe. A lot of Badgers do this without thinking--it can be hard to turn off.

Snakes also don't go in for prep work as much, it tends to trip them up (Snakes with Badger or Bird models notwithstanding). They're Improvisational secondaries, unlike Bird and Badger which are Built and rely heavily on some form of preparation.

The Lion model sounds legit, but just check for yourself: you might be learning to use Snake's neutral state. Snakes will sometimes drop all their layers of acting and maneuvering and suddenly they're just themselves. Different Snakes have different relationships with neutral state. For some Snakes, it's a relief to drop the mask; for others, it feels vulnerable and they only trust certain people with their full authenticity.

It does sound like you really admire Lion secondaries, though, so you might indeed have a model there! This is just something else you could check on.

Hope that helps!

- Paint

#first post in a while huh folks #gotta remember how to tag...#ravenclaw primary #gryffindor primary model #slytherin secondary #gryffindor secondary model #asks #paint speaks #sortinghatchats

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physicalturian · 3 years

Text

[18+] Words of pleasure - Law x F!Reader - Part 6

[No spoilers] [Modern AU - College AU] [She/her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone +18] Words : 6246 Archive of our own

Warning : Power play / Dom/sub Dynamics / Control / Stranger / Flirting / Fluff / Awkwardness / Mirrors / Anxiety … If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask

– Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

There was a short silence, I let out a nervous chuckle before going for random sounds leaving my mouth as I tried to pick up my dignity off the floor. When I was about to cover up, Law hummed. “I’d say the neck, but it all depends on the situation…” He looked at me from the corner of his eyes and smirked, “Faces are very expressive and help understand what the person’s thinking about. But, so does the whole body language.” Drumming his fingers over the wheel, he made a pondering face and smirked as he continued.

“But the neck, very sensitive. Very fragile, and yet it has one of the most important roles. Protecting all those nerves, to send the information to the brain- to let one have access to the neck is to let yourself be vulnerable…” I listened to him intently, no knowing if it was hot or slightly threatening but which ever it was, it made me very aware of my neck and I had hard time not moving my hand there.

Lightening the mood, he chuckled and asked me what mine was. “Oh, hm… I never really gave it a thought…” I lied, of course. I knew very well that the entire human body had so much appeal, but I also knew my preferences. Still, I was not going to answer that quickly to him, I had to make it look like I was giving it a thought. When it seemed appropriate, I answered, “Probably hands. Just like the body language, it says a lot about the person.” And it’s fucking hot. “If the person takes care of them, if they’re more into manual work, if they have bad habits… scars… The tattoos also…” I trailed off, biting the inside of my cheek in apprehension of what he’d say.

With a scoff, I heard him softly ask. “And do tell me, what do my hands tell you?” I tried to think, but I was simply thinking they were pretty, and he was hot. So, I gave it a deeper thought, then opted for more of a flirty approach. I could fix that weird question, make it worth it, right?

“I can barely see them from here, I’d have to get a closer look.” While I said it in a flirty manner, I tried to coat it with a bit of humor, just to give myself a chance to escape. Chuckling, he did not answer. Instead, he pulled up in my street before parking and maneuvering now to not do it when leaving. When we stopped moving, I was going to leave quickly to not die of embarrassment from his lack of response but couldn’t with all the food and drinks on my lap. “Are you in a rush?” He asked with a smug smile as he took his things from lap after unbuckling his seat belt.

Giving him a side glance, I realized how close his face was from mine and couldn’t help but glance at his lips before forcing myself to lean back and open the car door. “Well I am hungry-“ I swore under by breath when I felt a pull from the belt when I leaned forward to leave, it was quickly released after I heard the unclasping. Law had done it for me, surprising me at the same time. Almost falling forward, I held onto the car door for a sec before stepping outside.

I could hear his laugh echo when he left the car, and slammed the door shut, making sure to lock it. “Do you want me to hold your things while you take your keys-“ He stopped mid-sentence when he felt my bag nudge his side, “Take them, they’re in the back pocket. I would have done it myself, but you’ve bought me quite a lot, so it’s on you.” He made a confused sound and asked me if I was sure.

“Are you scared you’ll find drugs? Or is it maybe pads and tampons that’d be the problem?” He was going to reply, but I continued, “There’s none of that, I think there are biscuits wrappers at best. And my wallet,” I shrugged before trying to nod his way, over my shoulder. “Give me your food, I’ll hold it while you open my bag.”

“Your hands are full-“ He said, but I interrupted him, “My mouth isn’t, come on give me your stuff.” I closed my mouth for a second, taking in what I had said before feeling my face heat up. I shook my head as I sighed, hoping he’d ignore it, but as he handed me his small bag with probably pastries in it, he spoke. “I was going to say something,” He started, giving me his pack that I held between my teeth. It was almost weightless. “But you’re clearly doing such a good job at embarrassing yourself, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

With the paper bag still in mouth, I spoke through my teeth, “Fuck you, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

He looked over his shoulder and quirked a brow before replying, “Do I? You’ve been pretty insistent on sharing how hot you think I am, I can almost imagine how bad you want to fuck me.” After unlocking the building, he grabbed the paper bag from my mouth and grinned in a cocky way. It made me want to slap him across the face, but also take him against the wall, maybe the latter more than the other one. But I did none of those and simply huffed.

“I think you’re the one who’s whipped, you did stalk me through my friends to bring me food.” I said over my shoulder, stopping in front of the elevator and using my elbow to push the button.

The man hummed as if considering what I had said, then gave me a look I couldn’t describe. It seemed intense, but not sultry, maybe even confused, lost. “As I said, I am familiar with studying for a long period of time. It’s a boost, moral support. So, don’t be ungrateful like that, you sound like a brat.” It seemed I had ticked him off by saying that, I could see it by the frown decorating his forehead.

But that frown was also accompanied but a delicate blush. I did not argue back, instead we stepped inside the elevator silently. Did I keep that silence? No. I could have kept the drowning, deafening silence that surrounded us, but I did not want him to feel uncomfortable. That is the reason I gave myself to talk more.

“You’re right, thank you for the food and the company. How much do I owe you?”

Looking down at me, his frown dissipated as a small smile drew itself on his lips. “Do you ever accept gifts without questioning?” He scoffed before adding I didn’t owe him anything. I was going to speak up when he did, at the same time and I let him. “I have a better idea; you know what would make my day?” I believe it was rhetorical, but as we left the elevator, I answered jokingly. “Your day has been made since the moment you saw me.”

He did not lose any time and replied with a smirk, “And yours, since I called you this morning, but who’s keeping track?”

A loud cackle left my mouth, it wasn’t elegant in any way. I had not expected him to be funny like that, though maybe he was just catching me by surprise more than being actually funny. I wasn’t sure yet, but there was this bubbly feeling my guts that assured me he was not a bad guy. “I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t not-enjoyable. But do tell me, what would make your day?” I asked before gesturing for him to open the door, telling him which key it was. I held his paper bag between my teeth once more, as he opened it before he grabbed it from me.

“If you admitted you want to see me in my hospital coat-“

I cut him off once I had put everything on the dining table, and freed his hands, “At best, a hospital gown to see that ass, but I am never admitting having a ‘doctor kink’, alright?” With everything laid on the table, I turned around to look at him and made a grimace, “Actually I take it back, this is just a nice get together, I swear I don’t want to see your ass that desperately, ok? Take a seat, doc.” I blurted out, realizing what I had said was more something I’d say jokingly. But I meant some of it, I did want to see him in his full glory.

This time, he did not make any witty comeback. Instead, he took a good look at me a moment, then grabbed my chin and turned it a bit before sliding his finger right under my jaw. He was checking my pulse, then said, “How about you take a deep breath and relax? You said it yourself, it’s just a nice get together, I’ll even sit at the opposite of you if I make you that nervous.” He suggested as he let go of me and pulled up a chair to sit on.

“No, no, don’t-“ I pulled up the one right next to him, maybe even scooting it a bit closer to him, our knees touching. My face was warming up slowly, remembering the interaction that happened seconds ago. “I’ll be honest, and you guessed it, I’m slightly nervous but maybe it’s because I’m into you. Not desperate, but you’re clearly a sight for sore eyes and you’re funny. You keep me on my toes, it’s fun.”

I did not expect him to react like that, but the man in front of me seemed to have been flustered for a moment. He tried to hide it by focusing his gaze on the paper bag in front of him as he opened it to grab its content. “You make it so easy for me to make innuendos, but I’ll let you have your wholesome moment.”

Nudging his knee with mine, I huffed and started checking all the food he had bought. While doing so, he continued talking, getting my attention by bumping his foot against mine. “I think there’s still something you need to tell me,” He started, earning a panicked look from me while I slowly put the food down, gulping. “Do I? I mean, fire way,”

Delicately, he leaned on his hand, resting his elbow on the table, and grinned. “What do my hands tell you about me?” I never sighed so loudly, hoping he had dropped the topic. But he seemed keen on knowing that, or maybe simply tease me for saying I preferred hands. “First things first, you gotta stop teasing me about the hands- You said neck! And maybe it was a bit hot, but also threatening, you gave it a thought and a deep one at that.” When I was done, I placed my hand, palm up, on the table and made a grabbing motion. “Come on, give me your hand, let me take a look.”

When he did, I realized how big his hands were but also how slender his fingers were. I could see it without needing them so close, but now that I took a good look… The thought of wearing it as a necklace crossed my mind, I ignored it. I then started observing his hand, turning it delicately in mine, brushing my thumb over some spots. “You have a little bump on your ring finger, so you either write a lot or draw,” I hummed a moment, “Your nails are probably cut so short for practicality, since you probably have to wear gloves and stuff…”

“The tattoos, they confuse me. Maybe you were a bit of a rebel when you were younger, because clearly they’re not professional-“ I looked up at him with an apologetic look, hoping I hadn’t offended him, “But it’s pretty! I’m not judging, just-“ He huffed a laugh and tried to grab my hand gently, only for me to keep holding it as if it was the most precious thing I had seen. “I was indeed very shitty when I was younger.”

Grinning mischievously, I jabbed, “Because that has changed? You still seem like a little shit to me,” Then I breathed out with a smile, “I’m not done though, your hands are slightly calloused but not a lot, so maybe you go to the gym or one of your hobby is more manual?” It was a rhetorical question, but he hummed to tell me to continue. I ate a bit and continued, “Also they are some very faint tan lines on your fingers…” Seemingly amazed, a smile drew itself on the corner of my mouth, “Do you wear rings? I mean, it’s faint, I can barely see it so maybe I’m wrong-“

“I can’t really wear them when I work, but yes. Sometimes I do wear them, I believe you also noticed I wore earrings. Couldn’t get your eyes off those last night, could you?” It was my cue to let go of his hand and fully face the food in front of me instead of the beautiful, arrogant, man next to me. It made him laugh when I groaned and told him to eat in peace. Showing me his empty paper bag, he said, “I’m done, you’re the one who’s been distracted, dear.”

“Right, then if you’re done, let me eat.” Glancing his way, he was staring right back at me with a smug smile, I made it my sole goal to avoid his gaze but after a moment he spoke up, “If you’re into me, you’ll have to look at me more than that, you know.” I almost choked on my food as I turned my head slowly towards him, “If you’re going to use everything I say, against me…” I trailed off and smirked, but rapidly discontinued my idea, “I was going to flirt back and say your name, you know… because you’ll use it against me and- but! I’m genuinely too tired for that- You know you’re exhausting?”

He threw his head back and let out the prettiest laugh I’ve ever heard, while running his hands through his hair. “You really do say whatever crosses your mind, it’s endearing.” He grinned and crossed his arms over the table leaning forward, this time. It was like he was emphasizing that he was listening intently. “I’ll stop flirting for today if you’d like, do tell me more about yourself,” he then said my name in a low tone.

“You start, I’m still eating Law- I thought you cared about my health and here you are, distracting me.” My tone was falsely dramatic, yet Law seemed taken aback, if not embarrassed, for a second. His gaze fleeting to the side before he leaned back on his chair and crossed his legs. “What would you like to know?” He grumbled, a hand moving to fidget with his earring, but since he wasn’t wearing any, he moved it back to his chest.

“Well… you said you were a little shit when you were younger so… How does one go from troublemaker to doctor?” I resumed eating after asking him, there was a clear change in his attitude. His relaxed demeanor seemed to have suddenly tensed, but he hid it and huffed a laugh. “I studied. You know it does require a lot of years to become a doctor-“ he stopped mid-way through his sentence when he saw the look I was giving him. A deadpanned look, to tell him to not fuck around, I knew full well the number of years it took, and that was not my question.

Sucking his teeth in, he sighed. “It’s not a fun story, but I’ll tell you about it one day,“ Interrupting him, I apologized, “Sorry, then how about I go entirely off topic? Here,” Pushing the paper bags away from me, I smiled at him kindly, “What’s your favourite book genre? If you read any, that is,” An almost-shy laugh escaped his lips and just like that he started talking about a certain comic series he was fan of. I listened intently as he passionately talked about, I would sometimes interrupt him to ask a few questions when I’d get confused and he’d clear things up.

He had the most adorable look on his face the more he talked about it, almost like it was the first time someone let him rant about it. After a moment, we started talking about other things we each liked when we were younger. I learnt that he wanted to become a doctor since he was very young. He did not elaborate on the topic much, except that he would always try to sneak inside his parents’ consultation room to see what was going on.

It’s only after a few attempts that his dad chose to give him books to read and focus on, instead of putting all his energy into trying to break inside the consultation room. That’s when little Law found his interest in medicine, at least part of it. There was an untold reason he had yet to share, but I was not going to prod. “You were pretty determined; I’d even say you were cute, but you were probably a demon.” Was what I said to him when he mentioned that short story.

As if on cue, he smirked and started, “I am still pretty determined, I always get what I want,“ I completely ignored is start at a flirtatious exchange and said, “Good, then work for it, I think we were having a very nice conversation here, my turn to talk about my past ok?” Then I resumed after he said to go on, and that he was very intrigued on what kind of kid I was.

I told him the reason why I chose the studies I did, even mentioned my family, how I was raised and what I wanted to become when I was a child. Since it was only the first ‘date’ I had with the man, and maybe I was getting ahead of myself, I tried to keep off the more serious topics: the ones that needed more trust before being shared. The conversation still went on smoothly.

I always liked listening to people’s story, so it felt weird when this time someone was listening to mine with as much interest as I did. When he kept asking questions, not nosy ones, or giving short but nice comments, I’d stutter. I’d feel my pulse quicken every time but ignored it. After all, he wasn’t going anything special, he was simply… invested.

“Oh, I forgot the most important question, pardner. Are you ready?” He nodded, smiling behind the hand on which he was resting his chin. “It’ll say a lot about who you are, don’t know if you’re ready to bare yourself like that yet-“ “Just ask the question, I won’t answer if I don’t want to.”

Placing my hands in front of me in a faux-defensive manner, perhaps even in a calming manner, I whispered “Easy there, cowboy” to which, Law rolled his eyes, asking me wordlessly to go on.

“Right, do you have any pets?”

There was a silence. He moved his hands from his lips to his cheeks, his eyes riveted on mine, not looking away. “That’s your one-million-dollar question?” He breathed out, his smile betraying his annoyance that was but an act. I started arguing on how having pets, or not, depending on the situation could say a lot about the person. “We usually have a cat here, but she’s always away. Or in Robin’s room, we called her Vagabonde.”

Straightening himself on the chair, he pulled out his phone, careful not to show me his screen and started scrolling on it, while talking. “I do have a dog, his name is Bepo. And before you ask, I know I don’t have that much free time, so I let him stay with my neighbor who’s basically in love with him.” When he found the picture he wanted, he showed it to me, and there it was on the screen, a big white fluffy Samoyed. I couldn’t help but notice the most adorable smile on his face before he turned the screen around, he stared at the screen a bit longer before locking his phone. The man was clearly in love with his dog, and it was the cutest thing I’d ever seen.

“He’s very energetic, and he sleeps with me. Since my neighbor has trouble sleeping, she does not mind when I come get him late. I pay her for it, even though she says she’d do it for free. What does it say about me?” Right when I was about to reply, the alarm on his phone went off, it was time for him to go. He helped me clean everything up in a hurry, then we made our way to the door.

We both stopped at the entrance, perhaps wanting to say something more but not knowing what. I took the leap, and poked his arm, “I think it says that you’re a lot less intimidating, you like cute things, and I can’t wait for Thursday. I would also love to meet Bepo, maybe take a nap with him-“ I grinned widely when he frowned, laughing at his almost offended reaction, and continued, “and you, since clearly I won’t be able to separate the both of you.”

He did not reply for a few second, then he smiled. “You’re right, I do love cute things. I can’t help but try to get them for myself,” The tension that had disappeared while talking about our lives, had suddenly return, I could hear my blood pumping in my ears. Law raised his hand to rest it on my jaw as he gazed down at me with the faintest smile, I did not know what to do. This was supposed to be a quick fuck with a pretty boy, but he clearly had charms and I couldn’t untangle myself from the effects he had on me.

It’s when his nose brushed against mine that I realized how close he was, and where this was going. Our lips where ghosting over one another, I could almost feel his hair, brushing against my chin. I wanted to pull him close and finally break the tension that had installed between us. But when I was about to kiss him, he pulled back just enough so that our lips couldn’t meet and breathed, “See you on Thursday then.” Then he pressed a light kiss on my cheek before turning around and waving at me.

I stood there, stunned. This asshole knew what he was doing, and he was having too much fun with it. But that moment made it clear I was not the only one interested, and it was like a win for me. At least I knew he’d keep is promises of a good fuck on Thursday, seeing how much he was into me.

Shaking the daydreaming away, I got back inside and waited until he was downstairs to unlock the door with the intercom. When I saw his car drive away on the small screen, I let out a sigh of relief and moved back to my room where I slumped on my bed, exhausted. “Thursday can’t come any faster.” Rolling on my back, I grabbed my phone and considered sending a text to Law. But would I even say? ‘Nice kiss attempt, left me wanting more’? ‘Damn, you got me horny with just that, can’t wait to see what them hands do, cowboy’?

Cringing, I opted not to text him. The man was probably busy, I hardly think doctors only fill in paperwork every day. Running my hands over my face, I groaned into my palms before sitting back up. “Sure, he’s hot, but maybe he’s not a good fuck.” I hummed in agreement with myself, “I did not have any feedback about his feats, maybe he’s single because he sucks.” I nodded to myself again, before remembering he told me he did fuck. A lot. I let myself fall back on the bed, closing my eyes as I pondered longer.

I did not know where the date would take place, but as I gave it a deeper thought, I also started thinking more and more of what we’d do once we’d get to his place. I remembered he said we’d have to make a detour by his place anyway because he’d have to get changed… But he seemed like he had plans for us. Or maybe we’d just…

Arrive at his place, it’d look minimalistic, he clearly was not one for sentimental stuff. He’d tell me to wait as he’d get changed in his room, leaving it ajar so that I could catch a glimpse of his body. He wouldn’t be in scrubs; those were taken way before leaving the hospital but… I like the idea of him wearing one anyway, it reminded me of HandSurgeon and for some reason it got me going.

As he’d take off his shirt, he’d look over his shoulder and smile smugly at me, before asking if I was enjoying the show. If I were bold enough, I’d tell him I’d rather join the show to which he’d grin and tell me to join him. A heated make out session would ensue, then I’d push him to the bed, straddle his lap and unbuckle his belt.

“I think we should keep it close by, for later use,” He said, mentioning the belt, before gripping me tightly under the thighs and flipping me around so that he was on top. Once there, he slid his hands from my side to my arms, that he lifted over my head before leaning over, a toothy grin on his lips. “You’re not even fighting it, so obedient.” His lithe fingers wrapped themselves around my wrists caressing them gently, then he reached behind me towards the bed headboard, and I heard a metallic sound. Suddenly, I was restrained. Around my wrists, comfortable, leather handcuffs, tied to the bed headboard by lengthy chains.

“Belts aren’t the best restraints, but I am prepared…” He gripped his belt tightly, twisting it in his hands. “It’s however a great whip,” I was startled when the leather touched my stomach, my shirt had been removed, somehow, at some point. Law was now wearing black latex gloves, his sleeves rolled up while he was still fully dressed. I thought he had taken his shirt off earlier but… “Don’t start thinking, enjoy it. That’s what you want, right? To give up control, let yourself get loose,” I think I nodded.

He let the belt travel all over my body, I was only in my undergarments. And he was taking his time to make sure to touch each and every inch of my body. Like a predator observing its pray, he was walking around the bed at a slow pace, the leather belt grazing my skin ever so lightly. But it was enough to make me want more, it was enough to make me contract my muscles in apprehension when he’d raised the belt. I did not know if he was going to strike, I don’t know what mood he was in, but I liked the thrill. “Look at you, all spread up and ready, quiet…”

His gloved hand was now gripping my chin tightly, forcing me look up at him. “You’ve been tamed so well, you’re not talking until told to.” He breathed against my lips. I felt one of his hand traveled from my chest to between my legs, under my underwear and slowly, he pressed a finger against my clit. Then between my lower lips, only teasing my hole. Over and over again. Surprised, I only gasped and tried to look at him, but he moved to murmur right next to my ear, “But I think I want to hear you, loud and clear. Why don’t you be a good girl, and stop holding back, mmm?” I let out a breath I did not know I was holding and started panting.

The nerves, the anticipation, the excitement, all of it was let out through shaky breathing as he’d touch me then-

Startling awake, I heard my phone ring and scrambled to my senses, trying to find it. I heard a thud at my feet and bent over to look what it was, only to realize it was my phone. Quickly grabbing it, I picked it up and put it to my ear. “Yep?”

“So, how was your date with Law?” I heard Robin ask, I could also hear the grin on her face.

“I don’t know if I should thank you or curse you, Rob. But for now… it was nice, I liked it… Although it was odd to see him on my campus at first, still is a bit weird when I think about it but, you know, it’s the thought that matters, right?”

Giggling, the black-haired woman on the other end of the line could be heard shooing someone away before answering, “Well, he did have to fight Nami. She was very much against the idea, but he said he wanted to make you feel comfortable for Thursday. So that it’s not a stressful first date, you know?”

So, he did give it a thought, the fact that I was studying only gave him the opportunity to come by. I wonder what his excuse would have been if I hadn’t been studying the entire day. Focusing back on the conversation, I gave Robin more details of what happened. I considered not telling her about the almost kiss, but she was clearly in for the gossip. So, I told her, except I didn’t tell her I wish more would have happened. How I still wondered what his lips would feel like against mine, and how I’m curious of how they’d feel against my skin, barely grazing it, his stubble following each delicate touch. The latter being something I’d hopefully find out on Thursday.

When everything had been said, and she had told me about her day, we hung up and I was left with the remnant of my hot dream.

I stared at nothing for a moment, considering my options. I could work on some assignments, I could distract myself, or I could… Open discord and see if HandSurgeon was busy. Not for something too exhausting, no, but for a little bit of fun.

So, I did.

Edelweiss: fun game to suggest

Edelweiss: no one around me, but still, you get a picture of me

Edelweiss: you don’t have to send anything… although I wouldn’t mind much

Edelweiss: then, fun times?

Edelweiss: I’m bored and I don’t know… maybe we could do something

Drumming my fingers on the back of my phone, smacking my lips a few times. I can’t believe I was growing impatient for such thing.

Minutes passed, I started bouncing my leg with anticipation, forcing myself to not send more messages in case he was busy. I remembered he had said he’d be more busy this week, but I did not know his schedule, maybe he was free now.

I felt my phone vibrate in my hand and saw a message on discord. I opened the app excitedly,

HandSurgeon: I have to get going, I’ll be off for a few hours. Then, odds are that I’ll pass out when I get home, I’m sorry dear.

HandSurgeon: But, I am not refusing pictures of my girl. If that’s what you’re suggesting. If you are, I’ll give you a few instructions on how to take them.

Edelweiss: I am suggesting that yes… I have a mirror…

HandSurgeon: You’ve read my mind. On your knees in front of it, naked. One with legs spread, the other not. Don’t be shy and grab your breasts as you do so, feeling yourself as you’re doing a private photoshoot just for me. Your hand traveling down, caressing your stomach to stop just between your legs.

HandSurgeon: Your free hand gripping your beautifully stricken thighs, remembering how much of a disobedient girl you’ve been last night. How much you’ve learnt since, how good you’ll be for me.

HandSurgeon: So good you won’t touch yourself until I’m back and free to take care of you. And if I’m not back before Wednesday… well then, that someone better fuck you better than I can make you feel even though I’m not with you.

HandSurgeon: And if you don’t fuck by then, no touching.

HandSurgeon: Be good for me Edelweiss, see you. Let your creativity run wild.

Edelweiss: Yes sir, see you then.

Closing the app, I saw my reflection in the, now, locked screen. It’s only then that I realized I was slightly pouting. I made a weird face and quickly got out of bed then took a good look at the long mirror next to my desk. “Well, it shows too much personal shit, I’ll have to move it.” I mumbled before rolling up my sleeves and using my strength the best I could I moving it to the side of my bed. The reflective part was facing my window, so I closed the blinds, and it was neutral enough to not give any information about me.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this,” I panted, while coming back from the bathroom with a cleaning spray, “If I’m going to send proper nudes, I ain’t sending them with a dirty mirror…” I grumbled, tiring myself already from the wild movements I did to really get the glass clean. The squeaky sound of the towel against the glass was all that I could hear, along by long breathing as I thoroughly scrubbed it.

Once it was done, and I was settled, naked in front of it, I felt a shiver ran down my spine. Being in this position and being able to see how I look… I felt utterly exposed, which made sense considering I was naked. But the idea that I was doing all of this, just for that stranger, it felt odd. I liked that feeling, but was I allowed to feel that pride, that joy, from making myself pretty for a stranger? Was that objectification? Huffing, I told myself that I didn’t care because I liked feeling god. I did follow his instructions and took the picture how he had asked, but then I took some liberties.

I found one of my favourite sexy outfit and put it on, making sure it highlighted my assets.

Giving myself a once over in the lengthy mirror, I made a thinking face. Since Law teased me earlier, I could perhaps tease him back? Show him what he’d get Thursday, what he’d have to wait for. But then again, was I willing to be the first one to send a text after the coffee date? And have that first text to be a daring picture of me?

Licking my lips, I pondered a bit longer. Then thought I could make it just enough to have him want more. I moved to my desk and leaned against it, my butt resting on it. I then angled the phone to show my face where I gave my best flirtatious smile, the outfit I was wearing showed off my cleavage and my neck, so I made sure he could see the latter clearly, knowing he liked it.

Taking the picture, I hesitated upon seeing the final result. The boldness I got from sending HandSurgeon naked pictures was starting to fade. I had to act fast if I didn’t want to chicken out, so I sent it to Law quickly, that way I couldn’t go back. It was followed by a message.

You: Thursday, right? Not that your opinion matters, but how does this outfit sound for that research?

I made a face at that text. “I wish I could take it back, it’s so bad, god it’s so bad.” I looked away and sighed, then looked back at my phone and sighed louder, and looked away again, “I’ll just leave it at that, I’ll put the phone down and wait for an answer. Yeah, yeah…”

Having convinced myself to relax, I managed to not touch my phone for the rest of the evening. I did spend that evening working on some stuff, since there was no distraction to steer me away from actually getting shit done and ended up being productive.

Since both the men I had started talking to recently were busy, and my friends away, I had the most boring night.

I had forgotten about the text I had sent by submerging myself with work, but when all was done and I was alone in my bed with my thoughts, I remembered and cringed. When I checked if I had any reply, and saw nothing, I felt a knot form itself in my stomach but tried to rationalize. ‘It’s ok, it’s alright, he’s probably still at work, maybe he fell asleep, we’ll see tomorrow’ Was my last thought before falling asleep.

When I woke up in the morning, the knot only tightened, and I felt more anxious than ever. Once again, I thought maybe I shouldn’t have done that.

[Part 7]

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