#foxes and fate winter fluff

[twisted-tales-of-all]

Until We Meet Again

Summary: Although San is left alone to watch the shrine after his friends move onto the next plane, he faces someone who reminds him of his past love. Pairing: Naga!Choi San x afab!reader Genre: Fluff, one-shot, event, rated PG Tropes: reincarnation, fated lovers Word Count: 3.5K Contains: discussion of death and past lives, sense of not belonging due to bullying/othering (essentially racism) A/N: Apologies for the lack of banner and poor editing. I've been in quite a slump recently, but wanted to ensure I finished up this piece for the spring event. Please check out all the other pieces submitted as well!

Although he's grown accustomed to the lack of visitors, San finds himself exceptionally bored as the cold weather melts away into the beginnings of this spring. Decidedly, he exits his usual post within the forgotten shrine for a walk in the nearby gardens. Despite donning his human form, people can clearly tell that he's different. Feeling everybody's judgemental looks, he tries his best to focus on the well-trimmed stylized bushes and the pruned bunches of flowers that dared to bloom this close to winter's edge.

"Mommy, why are his eyes like that?" A child asks far too loud for their mother's liking, who rushes away with them quickly.

With a sigh, San brings a hand to his temple. Immediately greeted by the cool touch of scales, he only grows more frustrated by the clear differences between him and the humans. Despite his intense respect towards the deity who made him their shrine guardian, he cannot help the feelings of resentment in giving him this specific form. So often, guardians get beautiful animal forms - cats, foxes, dogs - but his deity did not follow these typical choices. Instead, San got the powers and form of a snake. Thanks to various stories about evil snake monsters - Quetzalcoatl, Leviathan, nagas, lamias, gorgons, etc. - most humans steered clear of the shrine for fear of a malevolent deity.

Finding his attempt at a calming walk frustrating, San turns on his heel and heads back towards his home, unaware of the pair of curious eyes watching the whole ordeal. Unlike the judgemental glares of most people in the garden, you look on with an almost naive sense of genuine curiosity. You've heard stories of the guardian spirits of shrines, but this is your first time seeing one. Guided by your urge to learn more about the stranger, you secretly follow his path to the shrine. You witness him drop his human disguise to reveal a far more snake-like appearance before phasing through the closed panels of the shrine, disappearing completely from view.

After a few blinks to reassure yourself that you aren't in a strange dream, you head back to the garden as you think about how to meet him again. As you pass by the flowers he admired earlier, you notice the winter jasmines and smile.

"Elegance and graace; symbolizing good fortune." Repeating the text from a book you read on flower symbolism, you decide exactly how to approach the interesting snake man.

Carefully reviewing your notes over the next few days, you coax a flower away from its friends, thanking it for blooming beautifully to help you. You bring it with you as you make your way to the quiet shrine. Despite not knowing anything about the deity honored there, you respectfully perform a basic prayer to them. After, you feel the presence of someone - or, rather, something - there with you. Trying to hide your smile, you present the carnation upon the stone slab resting between you and the shrine.

"I don't know whether you know the meaning of flowers, but I think it must be fate that you were admiring the winter jasmines. I have a feeling you are similar to them: elegant and graceful. Even if nobody else can see you as anything but a monster because you look different, I refuse to judge you like that. If you'd please, I hope you accept this flower as a testament to my fascination of you. I'd like to get to know you more. Maybe a name, to start."

He doesn't greet you, but you pique his curiosity with your flower knowledge. Peeking through the shutters while hidden by invisibility magic, he commits your image to memory. However, he doesn't have to go searching for you like he expected, as you return to the shrine the following day. For the first time in over a decade, San opens the shutters, allowing you to see the representation of his deity.

Very androgynous, the long-haired figure stands there, dressed in an ornately decorated red and black hanbok. Next to them, a small dragon reaches the height of their knees, threatening whoever it may be. You study the visual, trying to locate anything that might identify what kind of god they are.

With the same intensity, San studies you, wondering whether you have ill intent in coming to the shrine. Today, as well, he remains hidden from you, but he quickly chooses a plant for you. Using his powers, he commands a breeze to drop the mint at your feet.

After a chuckle, you pick it up and question the choice, "This could mean so many different things. I wonder which you thought of when choosing it for me. Are you suspicious of me, or maybe openminded and interested in me? Or maybe you just think I'm a stroke of good luck! Have I healed your loneliness? Give me some more information here!"

Before he realizes it, a smile creeps across his face. Your knowledge and playfulness entice him. Moving out of view and lifting his invisibility, he walks out of the shrubbery and clears his throat to get your attention. As you turn, you're greeted by his human form once again.

"Nice to meet you. You don't have to put up that disguise, y'know. Just be comfortable; I'm not scared. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way."

"How...? You- How are you so nonchalant about it?"

Tilting your head in confusion, you remind him of a small puppy, naive and trusting in a horribly untrusting world. He can't help but laugh, at your naivety and at himself for suspecting you of ill intent.

"You can call me San. That's the name Bo-in gave me when they took me under their wing."

"Nice to officially meet you, San. Is Bo-in the name of your deity? What did their powers entail?"

"Balance, mostly. Water to fire; earth to sky; shadow to light. Ensuring nothing overpowered its counterpart. They brought me and Soo-ah to their temple, teaching us and granting us our own powers after some time. When it was time for Bo-in to move on from this world, they knew that dragons would soon be hunted, so Soo-ah remained by their side while I stayed to watch over the shrine."

As he talks, his disguise slowly fades away, showing his growing comfort around you. He continues by explaining that Bo-in gave both pupils more unique creature forms than typical spirit guides. Although he doesn't mention why, you assume that it was another attempt to balance things out. From choosing one man and one woman, giving them names that balance, and bringing one while leaving the other, everything was truly done in the name of balance.

While you enjoy learning everything, you have to get home, as the sun has almost made its full path through the sky. As you say your goodbyes, you promise to return another day in the near future.

"Y/N," he calls after you've taken a few steps. "Thank you."

"Hm?"

"Just... thank you."

He'll never say it aloud. Never admit that you remind him of her. If he admits it, he'll have to acknowledge his feelings once again, after all this time. He'd have to recognize that he thanked you for returning to him and repairing his trust in humanity. That he can feel Bo-in looking down on him and smiling as everything goes according to plan.

"Y/N isn't Soo-ah." He says it aloud to convince himself and snap at his god for planning it.

When he rises the next morning, a bright red flower rests beside him. Since nobody has access to his magical abode, he immediately deduces it as a message from Bo-in. Wiping the residual sleepiness from his eyes and sitting up straight, San picks up the crimson petals to identify them. Camellia.

"Is this a joke, Bo-in? I only know two meanings behind the red camellia: love and a graceful death. What could you-?"

As it hits him, the words stop flowing. There's no way that's what they mean, right? But what else could this particular flower mean? Is it really a confirmation of Soo-ah's return? Hers is the only graceful death he can think of. Not to mention his love for her over all these centuries still holding strong.

The next time you go to meet San, you want to bring out another plant, but you can't figure out any that stand out, so you ask the local florist to choose a meaningful flower for you, essentially leaving the choice up to fate. When he comes back with a bright red flower that you don't know the meaning of, you find it quite a good match to your new friend, whose hair radiates a similar tone. Especially so after the florist explains that camellias are often used to symbolize overcoming adversity. After learning his story the day prior, you decide that this flower fits perfectly. Thanking him, you pay for the flower and begin heading towards Bo-in's shrine.

As you arrive, you're shocked by how grim the area feels. Usually bustling with greenery and a freshness in the air, you become overwhelmed by the thick, heavy air. Looking around at the bushes, it appears as if a tornado had focused its chaos upon the small pavilion. Dropping the flower, you rush to the shrine, tearing the shutters open and calling out for San.

"Quit your yapping."

Hearing a voice above you, you search the trees for a sign of him but cannot find one.

"San, come here. What happened?"

Plopping down behind you, he answers vaguely, "Bo-in is testing me."

With the momentum of the spin to face him, you nearly trip over your own two feet. Expecting to find his face at its normal height, you look around confused when that isn't the case.

"Down here."

You feel a light pressure on your foot and look down to find a red and brown snake atop it. Your gut reaction is to jump and kick it away, but you manage to stop yourself knowing that the creature is your friend.

"I can't change. Bo-in left me a flower, and, after a few hours, I felt my control over my powers weakening at a rapid rate. Now I'm here."

Squatting down, you hold a hand to the snake to bring him up to your level again. He wraps his scaly body around your arm, keeping his head near your palm. You try not to smile at his appearance, but it creeps through anyway.

"Laugh all you want." He huffs.

"I'm not laughing! I just think you're cute like this, that's all."

If a snake could blush, you're certain you'd see it right now. Tripping over his words and looking anywhere else but your face, San fails to respond to your comment. Your comment clearly flusters him, so you make a note to compliment him more in all of his various forms.

"So, what do we have to do to get you out of this form? It isn't some 'true love's kiss' type thing, is it?"

Although you were joking entirely, the silence that follows makes your heart drop a bit.

Eventually, he answers, "I sure hope not." Turning away from you and constricting more around your arm, he adds, "Let's try anything else before we assume that's the solution."

"You... don't have a clue?"

"No. Bo-in left the flower and then this happened. Nothing else. No clues."

Suddenly reminded of the flower you brought him, you look around to find it. He catches sight of its vibrant hue and everything immediately clicks in his mind.

"That's a camellia, isn't it?"

You hum in agreement as you bend down to pick it up, adding, "I didn't know much about it, but the florist told me that it's a sign of overcoming adversity. After hearing your life story, I-"

"That's the flower Bo-in left me."

"How strange. Do you think it means something?"

"Y/N." He pauses, and the emphasis in his voice sends a shiver up your spine, "That flower screams Soo-ah. It means perishing with grace, and symbolizes a strong, long-lasting love."

A strong gust blows at you, harshly ripping a few petals from their pistil. San carefully watches where they land, hoping for a coincidence rather than another part of Bo-in's scheme. Despite his wishes, however, each petal lands precisely in the center of the place it softly floats to the small pond, the shrine's entrance, and the zen garden.

"Water, earth, and air. With a flower as vibrant as flames."

Slowly, you approach the petal at the entrance. Looking in, there's now a cloudy but reflective surface in place of Bo-in's engraved likeness. Focusing on your reflection, you find a completely different image. Rather than you holding a snake, you see two people holding hands. You quickly identify San despite the longer dark hair and wedding-style suit, but you don't recognize the other figure who matches in an elegant white dress with red and gold jewelry. As you move, she moves with you, but this definitely isn't your own reflection.

"That's Soo-ah, isn't it?"

"You're Soo-ah, Y/N." Another booming voice responds before the snake in your hand gets the chance.

Quickly, you spin on your heel. There, just as androgynous as the carving, stands Bo-in. Despite the initial shock, standing there together feels normal. Comfortable. Familiar.

"It's like San says. Although your memories have been wiped upon reincarnation, you were once Soo-ah. Somehow, you were drawn back to this place despite my best attempts to keep you away. Therefore, as I promised you before approving the reincarnation, I will offer my explicit approval for your love. As a gift, I can also return your memories to you, should you want them back."

"Bo-in, revert this magic." Annoyed, San blurts out, interrupting the conversation. "I'd like to change this form again. It is awkward to stay like this while you both have physical human forms."

Despite the interruption, Bo-in appears unfazed, holding out a hand for San to slither onto. A dim light radiates from their palm and surrounds the small snake. Shortly after, San returns to a humanoid form. This interaction buys you some additional time to comprehend the situation and figure out how to answer such a difficult question.

Bo-in returns focus to you, "Have you decided, Soo-ah?"

A shiver runs up your spine, making you twitch from the discomfort. Although you understand that you're Soo-ah's reincarnation, being addressed by her name irks you. You haven't been Soo-ah in decades. You've been yourself all these years, not her. Meeting San was coincidental, even if there might've been outside forces influencing you to do certain things.

With this revelation, you decide, "I appreciate your offer, Bo-in, but suddenly acquiring memories from a past life feels like something that the human mind cannot handle. It'd likely send me down a spiral about my identity. I have to reject your offer."

A smile creeps onto Bo-in's face as you talk, but it's San who speaks first, "Man, you really ARE the same person."

Confused, your wide-eyed gaze hops back and forth between the two people in front of you. Neither cares to give any further context, and Bo-in confuses you even more by breaking out into bellowing laughter without comment. San quickly joins, and soon their laughs are too contagious to avoid. Although you can't pinpoint the reason for the laughter, it lightens the load in your heart.

Shortly after the laughter settles, Bo-in says goodbye and wishes you both luck. Leaving you and San alone, the air tenses again. You quickly go to apologize for not reviving Soo-ah's memories, thinking that may be why things feel awkward. However, before you can say three words, you feel lips on yours and hands cupping your cheeks. Your face heats up from the sudden affection, but you also melt into the sensation. You've been on your own for so long that you didn't realize how much you longed for someone to kiss you.

The interaction feels quick, but San pulls away with a heavy breath. The air is thick and warm between you, and you can't find the words to say after such a sudden interaction, but the silence that follows feels fresh, as if the kiss extended into the depths of your souls. When his breathing returns to normal, the silence finally breaks.

"I'd apologize, but I actually don't regret it."

You can't help but laugh. His confident aura lends to the cockiness of his comment, but he fully jokes. Despite his words, you know he's sorry for the sudden invasion of your personal space.

"Don't worry, San. I enjoyed it. You don't need to apologize."

"Okay, good. I mean, surely it must've felt like all those plays describe, right? Where you're swept off your feet by the man of your dreams."

Rolling your eyes, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of any answer whatsoever. Instead, you change the subject, asking him to adapt a little to the current culture. Although he finds current technology difficult to manage, you convince him to trade in the flower-passing messaging for a simple flip phone.

After suggesting that you'll be back next time with a phone, you give him a hug and take your leave. He kisses your forehead, and you think about it the whole trip home. You can feel the smile etched across your face. It's not just your lips either; you just know there's a twinkle in your eyes and more light on your full face. Although unusual, you rationalize it with the thought that it's simply because it's been too long.

It takes a while for him to adjust to the phone, but once he does, you'd be easily convinced that he never puts it down. Multiple calls daily make you glad you didn't teach him how to message people. Meetings become more frequent and in new places as you show him some of your favorite places. Slowly but surely, he begins adjusting to the lifestyle you've known.

Although he's had a few slip-ups, calling you Soo-ah a few times, he immediately corrects himself and apologizes each time. You understand that you likely resemble her in numerous ways, so you don't get upset. And, just as you intended by refusing your past life memories, San begins falling for Y/N rather than simply seeing Soo-ah in you. The name swaps happen less and eventually completely fade away. You feel it in his demeanor, too. Rather than being restrictive and apologetic about his feelings, his confidence soars, and his actions towards you feel fuller, more genuine and complete.

A few months pass; the next season comes. You barely even notice before San points it out.

"The colors of spring are wonderful, but there's a serenity that comes with the beginning of summer. Don't you think?"

Caught off-guard by the sudden question, you look around so you can respond. Expecting the cleanness that comes when all the flowers of spring fall to the ground and get whisked away by the wind, you actually find yourself stuck staring at a rarity. Once something unrecognizable to you, your eyes catch onto a camellia. However, this one isn't as striking as the red one from before. Rather, as if someone stripped the color clean out, this lone flower stands a bright white, still managing to stand out against the browns and yellows of the season's transition.

Shocked at your silence, San follows your unwavering gaze to the bush. When he catches sight of it, his eyes widen, and he curses under his breath. Even without knowing the specifics behind the various color meanings of this flower, something about the striking white feels haunting to you. You remind yourself that the flower means long-lasting, mutual love, but San's words ring in your head: it means perishing with grace. Is it a bad omen? Bo-In hasn't interfered since that day, so there's no way they'd speak to you now, right? Is it a warning? Are you overreacting?

"San..."

"They don't bloom this late. It shouldn't exist." Flatly, your boyfriend declares, a poorly-hidden concern painted upon his face.

Standing up from the bench, you approach the flower with San trailing a step behind you. Reaching out and touching it, the whole thing falls apart. Characteristic of camellias, the petals and sepals all collapse together at the slightest touch of your finger. With your arm frozen in position, you turn your head to the boy on your left, shooting him a concerned look.

Placing an arm around your shoulders, he files through a dozen statements to try and reassure you both that it's pure coincidence with no meaning. Even though you're certain both of you have worries in the back of your mind, you drop your arm and the topic all at once. Bouncing back into a happy state, you begin walking away and finally answer the question from earlier to segue into a new conversation.

"Summer really gives off that sense of a new beginning. Everything is changing, just like us. I think it's really appreciated in the cycle of seasons."

"Just like us... You're right. Here's to our new start with the season change."

[moobell55]

The Thunder Of The Storm (Will Never Match The Thunder Of My Heart)

~A very sweet fic about married life with Evajacks including the Fox children, fluff with a tiny bit of angst, and a bit of childhood trama~

The Prince Of Hearts would proudly claim he had never feared anything in his long existence. He was a ruthless killer who claimed countless lives simply because he had the need too.

What possibly could a Fate who lived a millennium fear?

But Jacks the husband and father learned he had many things to fear in his life. Like one of his children getting hurt, they were so young and the world was so big compared to them. He feared him or his wife getting sick and leaving their children orphaned just like Jacks was when he was a boy.

But one fear remained from his childhood, one that he never seemed to get rid of no matter how well he hid it.

And as the distant sound of thunder began to close in around The Hollow Jacks once again felt like the scared little boy desperate looking for shelter in the woods. Each low rumble brought chills and painful memories across his body.

The feel of his small coat becomes drenched among the rain, his bare feet gathering small cuts from the frozen and cold ground. The rumbles of his empty stomach went unheard for once as the sky roared in anger.

But most of all, the sound of the storm ragging outside returned the feelings of his childhood loneliness he hadn't felt in years.

It wasn't like he cursed years where he roamed Valenda, searching for his (seemingly) mythical true love to free him of his misery. This was the emptiness of his childhood, where he had no parents to care for him or even siblings to care for.

And even looking at his slumbering wife, who peacefully slept unbothered the cracks of lighting, he still felt the sense of dread.

He wanted to wake her, but she needed to rest.

She'd been feeling unwell lately and Jacks had a small suspicion that his dear wife was pregnant with the forth addition to the Fox household.

Jacks decided he could wait out the storm if he needed to, he had dozens of times before. But it felt different now than it used to. Now he had a wife who loved every inch of his existence, and the most perfect children in the world who Jacks couldn't possibly love more.

He hadn't felt like this in ages it seemed like, a bit over eight years, at least not since he first met Evangeline.

Evangeline, his wonderful Evangeline.

Evangeline loved him and cared for him every day like it was their last. She stayed with him, fought for him like he fought for her if not harder. Who gave him a family of his own to love, so he'd never know this kind of despair another day in his life.

Jacks was nearly so lost into his thoughts and memories that he almost didn't hear the small group of footsteps running through the hall.

It seemed to be that all three of his Kits were up and awake because of the storm.

He quickly slid out from under the warmth of their bed, before quickly placing a kiss against his slumbering wife's head.

The Hollow's floor was cold, winter had fallen over the kingdom in the last week and the grounds were already covered in snow. Quickly he turned the door and was met with the sight of all three of his children standing outside the door.

Eleanor the oldest of the three was standing in the front, her braid was coming out of her golden blonde locks and tiredness shown across her face.

As thunder cracked overhead the small girl flinched, and her two brothers drew closer to her.

Max and Teddy were more visible with their fear, and dried tears shown on their identical faces that made Jacks heart hurt.

Quickly he pulled all three children into his arms and held them tightly, he could hear their frantically beating hearts and wondered if they matched his own.

No words needed to be exchanged in this moment, his children were tired and scared and Jacks pushed his fears away the minute he heard the patter of feet.

His children needed protecting so nothing else could possibly ever matter as much.

Carefully he walked back into his and Evangeline's dimly lit room, only a few candles sat by the window sill.

He gently placed his children on his side of the bed, laying the twins closest to Evangeline and Eleanor right next to them.

He then carefully slid into the bed next to them in the small amount of space left for him. He would've given them his entire half it he could, but he needed to hold them right now as much as they needed his comfort.

His long arms carefully wrapped as far as they could around them, he wouldn't mind his arms being half dead in the morning.

Another crack of thunder boomed overhead and Eleanor buried her face into her fathers chest, whilst the small twins tightly held Jacks arm.

Slowly the storm seemed to die down, leaving only the sounds of the calming rain.

And as quickly as they had awaken the Fox children had once again drifted off to the land of dreams.

Teddy's soft snores filled the room, while Max began to move in his sleep, and Eleanor was busy drooling across Jacks favorite pillow.

He quickly lifted his head to see Evangeline who had been roused from her sleep for a brief minute to give him a soft smile. Before quickly lying her head back down to join their children.

Jacks heart felt heavy, dread no longer filled his chest.

Instead was a brilliant sense of love and joy that had only increased every day in his life for the past eight years.

And Jacks knew this feeling would never stop growing, everyday he was thankful that he'd been lucky enough to win Evangeline's heart.

That she loved him, and she gave him a family to so he'd never know loneliness again.

And at last with peace in his heart Jacks diffed off with his family into a peaceful slumber.

Knowing that the sweetest dream he could ever have was the one he lives everyday with Evangeline and their children.

Finish

Notes

-Baby Fox's are often referred to as "Kits, Pups or Cubs", I thought Kits sounded the best.

-I head-cannon Jacks as calling their kids and being like "Oh these are my Kits."

-Eleanor is about 5 in this story and her name is based of the Former Empress Elentine who Jacks was "Friends" within Caravel

-Max is named after Evangeline father Maximilian, he's the second oldest Fox child and Teddy's identical twin

-Teddy's name isn't based off of any character in particular but I thought it sounded cute

[firstprince-ao3feed]

this year i will fall

this year i will fall https://ift.tt/aWAoTye by Anonymous Henry has many regrets in his life, but leaving the ice rink after a literal run in with the potential love of his life without even obtaining his name may be his biggest. With his family visiting for the holidays for the first time and ever-present work deadlines looming, he's too busy to think about how to engineer his own happy ending worthy of the novels he edits. But what if fate has other ideas? Words: 9880, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Alex Claremont-Diaz, Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Percy "Pez" Okonjo, Beatrice Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz, Nora Holleran Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, June Claremont-Diaz/Nora Holleran, (background) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Meet-Cute, Fluff and Smut, POV Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Smut, Feelings, Pining, Christmas, Winter via AO3 works tagged 'Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor' https://ift.tt/vqmI0Yh December 14, 2023 at 02:48PM

[chim-aera]

winter

I want to bleed my colors dry. to wither and writhe into nothingness, palid skin stretched too thin like canvas portrait, like feathers over a wing bone.

I wish I could go cold. ice smooth, snow soft, perfection.

I want to blot out the ink that seeps into my skull and stains my soul I want to be pure. not chaste, not demure, but tooth sharp and glistening.

but I am a creature of earth, clay, metal. rotting leaves and broken bark, branches creaking, snapping underfoot like brittle bones I'm all autumn sunlight fading and dying out in a blaze of glory I am not winter moonlit or owl calls, or perhaps I'm neither.

soft.

gossamer and down fluff, the peeping of a nearly hatched fledgling, moonflowers kissed by frost.

I've always found a solace in the quiet, in the emptiness of winter's solitude.

sharp.

like wolf teeth, like talons, icicles dripping frigid waters into my lungs, let the fragments crystallize into my diaphragm like shining shards of sunlight blessed by holy hands.

I want to be wind quick, light like downed leaves fluttering to surface, but I am down trodden and dead set to the center of the earth with this horrid heaviness that sets into my spine.

let me unwind it, uncoil, go still and pliant like a snake unfurling it's body before it is about to strike.

but I do not long for violence, perhaps, sometimes I wished I was sinking my bite into an enemy and not always myself but at every chance I have I shrink away and bow my head.

I do not want to be Ouroboros, how am I the enigma, the paradigm of Laelaps chasing her quarry endless for eternity. I am my own Teumissian fox. will I always be prey?

no. I am something else. soot smoke blackened, crescent moons hanging so low it seems you could leap and take a bite out of them. let them glint and glimmer in my teeth like the metal I never used, like the perfection I never achieved or even tried too. watch as it drips and trickles down my chin through the gaps and sharpness of my molars, like an overripe orange.

oh there are so many metaphors.

I am haunted, but not like a church or a graveyard, no, haunted like a forest is. all fox bark laughter all shining eyes too cold, too pale, too dead. all bonfire embers, stamped into molten melted marrow, a maudlin cry for a swift end or a bitter truth. like Icarus all golden and glowing and bloody and bruised as he descended from the heavens.

oh I speak of that a lot, don't I? I am but some hollow nesting screech owl, some tyto with her wings are ruffled pulling out my own down yet sobbing for softness.

I am all raccoon claws, cautious and clawing, a deer with it's antlers on wrong. rubbing into oak trees and hawthorn, a meager attempt to shed my misery but shedding my skull instead.

I am not some diaphanous figure all mirrors and marbles, I am fractured like glass, like ice too thin, like dirt mixed in snow, soil, dark and earthy, the sharp stinging scent of evergreens and torch light. of burning books and candles with their wicks cut too short.

burning bright, but oh, oh so fast.

someone take these words from my mouth they rest heavy, heavy on my tongue like a sinner's prayer. oh I've been pleading since creation by some divine hands, Mother, do you take me?

I feel I've been seeking to be Persephone but I'm forever fated to be Cailleach instead. a bitter irony really. Crone, show me your ways.

I am chasing my own tail again. tracing my steps and my spell circles, the rings on my fingers feel like extra bones, like battle claws, like power. on cold, withering, trembling skin.

I'm so pallid recently, maybe I really am washing myself dry of any color or clause. a useless conjunction of a cacophony of condolences and curiosities.

I am all sharp eyes, smudged smoky, copper hair, breaking, brittle, bleeding into sunsets, maybe morrow. maybe flames. maybe nothing.

I am not all wheat soft, Ceres, mother. I've always been a volatile little thing, soft spoken yet sharp toothed. grinning like a Jack o' lantern, lost like a rambler, oh how I do ramble, waiting for some Willow o' Wisps to guide me, to fate or future, death or demise, I'll let them decide.

what am I? I'm folk tales, child, something old and young, something creaking and clawing, yet aching for some gentleness, quilt soft and blanketed in snow and snapdragons, but I will try, try oh so hard to be gentle, like a bear folding in its claws so they stab into its pawpads.

or maybe I've never been fierce. maybe I'm a rabbit, crying wolf at the moon until Diana takes pity and gives me my own set of fangs.

a deer who's been shot too many times that the arrows form spikes, turned eldritch and ethereal by my own suffering.

maybe I was never a beast. a creature, perhaps, a ghost. a memory, an illusion.

watching as friends, as acquaintances out grew me, so that I disappeared all fleeting and flurrying like snow that melts too quickly, passing me by with a smile and hand shake and a blossom in my palm like an imaginary friend, I look down to see my hand bleeding and inside my cupped fist in all it's cruel amusement is a bloodied, crumpled forget me not.

let me run. oh gods, let me run. let me run on stumbling shaking legs fleet footed and furious, until the archers cannot touch me.

funny, how I tried to pick up a bow. so maybe, just maybe I'd no longer be prey, but I set it down just as quickly. I always go so soft. so easily.

no brutal backlashes, no cries and screams of terror of rage, of horror and this deep rooted fear that has set its home in my ribcage.

no, where is my anger, goddess? because it seems I am more sacrificial lamb then wolf snapping its jaw as the hunter takes the final blow. I am the deer purposely putting its head into the noose. what? It is better to choose then let myself be slain again.

perhaps I am beastly, but in the way the dragon was, Saint George was not saintly then again it is funny how that word is supposed to mean holy but how far, far it is from that. that story has always left a bitter, putrid taste in my throat like gunsmoke and bile.

a serpent, of course, like Tiamat, Leviathan, watch as she curls into herself, for the knight to plunge his spear into heart, her tongue lolling past fangs, her eyes blazing in fear as the hollowness fills her her pupils.

I have always been that dragon.

a griffin, perhaps. no. more sympathised then dragons, but I have never been one like that. gilded feathers curved beaks shining like rubies and redwood. why are they guarding their treasures, while dragons hoard theirs?

I have always been that dragon, my father's sins, my father's horrors. he sheds his cloak and wishes to drape it over my shoulder so I wear it as my own I shrink back hissing and clawing like an animal cornered.

my eyes glow red in headlights.

there is something wrong with me.

isn't there?

my father is empty and howling like wind through rocks and flames rising as the screams reverberate.

my mother is all hidden battlegrounds, a silent sort of scorn, an inner maelstrom, a pain she inflicts and suffers every breath.

am I both?

but I am no Lich nor Leviathan.

oh call me Seraphina. cut me deep and watch my blood, all silver and shining stain the earth, see the wing bone at my shoulder blade, see the crescents, the moon marks, the scales. oh those god awful scales how I've tried clawing them out but they only set deeper.

what am I?

I've spent so much time creeping hunched through shadows I forget that light stings me. Quasimodo, how I always found solace in him.

I too would fall, but they'd step back, just like they had with him.

oh, there's a sweetness in your sorrow, an endearment in your enigmas. oh? then why don't you stay? instead of disregarding me like some sullied shrapnel of what I could have been.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

how the words rot in my mouth like a carcass dipped in honey. my own throat has tendrils, ivy and hellebore, the wolfsbane stains my eyes, the monk'shood is sewn into my being.

I'm all horrors and hilarity. an amusing combination. Baba Yaga and the maiden all rolled into one.

I've been talking for too long, or perhaps I've just forgotten my voice so the words are all stretched thin and snapping as I roll my sentences around on my tongue.

all poisoned sweetness, mellea verba a serpentis lingua.

but I have always been Eve and never Lilith.

the wildness in my veins is tameable, and oh how I hate the duality.

the softness and sharpness tearing at each other's throats. a wolf and a lamb wearing each other's coats.

but yes.

I wish to be soft, and cool, and glistening.

peaceful and preferable, like a cold snap in July.

but I've always been a muddy Autumn's child. so let me wear my crown of fungus let me don my cloak of wool.

revels and merriment, laugh and spit. make your jests of me, go on, but let me do it willingly. I will be your favorite fool, and I will grin at you as you make me your jester.

but I will hold out, no prideful princes or some knavish king. no I'll wait. perhaps the cold will take me, if you lot won't.

I've heard on smoke-plumes and chickadee chatter the Lord of Winter is far kinder, to things like me. so here I'll wait.

and when he comes I'll look up at him, all moon-eyed and mirth full.

"are you cold, my darling?"

my lips, frigid and frozen will nevertheless form a smile, as the breath curls around my forehead, as he removes his cloak and sword, one gesture of a savior, one gesture of my end. the chess move has never been mine, but my answer is but the catalyst, and as I remain, curled against a treetrunk, a willow or pine, perhaps, all shivering and shaking, I'll reply, my eyes dancing with unseen firelight.

"no, not at all, my Lord."

[hyacinthmenace]

hey psst psst hey- want some pronouns? have mine

{#; red's pronoun master doc}

they/them

he/him

she/her

ae/aer

ze/zer

icar/icarus

thes/theseus

it/its 

📍;; fox neos 🦊

fox/foxes

dagger/dagger's

trick/trick's

rust/rust's 

thorn/thorn's

vix/vixen

fen/fennec

kon/kons

vul/vulpes

vos/voses

kit/kit's

pup/pup's 

yip/yip's [if close]

cub/cub's [if close]

paw/paw's

fur/fur's

arc/arctic 

snow/snows

wi/winter

claw/claw's

bite/bite's

pounce/pounce's

pass/passerine

berry/berry's 

dawn/dusk 

den/den's

burr/burrough

bury/buries

kit/kitsune

click/click's

pop/pops

🦊/🦊s

📍;; fall/nature neos 🍁

fun/fungi

sal/salmon

ri/river

wisp/wisp's

haunt/haunts

will/willow

aut/autumn

pumpkin/pumpkins

rain/rain's

fall/fall's 

leaf/leaf's

candle/candles

hol/hollow

garden/garden's

flower/flower's

lav/lavender

🪻/🪻s

🍁/🍁s

📍;; space neos 💫

sol/solar

cae/caer

lun/lunar

sun/sun's

space/spaces 

cae/caer

star/star's

shine/shine's

astro/astrology 

star/star's

🔆/🔆s

💫/💫s

📍;; light/fire neos 🔥

lan/lantern 

light/light's

ash/ashes

emb/ember

smoke/smoke's

flick/flicker

wick/wicks

hearth/hearthes

🕯/🕯s

📍;; magical neos 🔮

curse/curses

gold/golds

pur/purple

fate/fate's

de/demon

jinx/jinx's

emerald/emerald's

luck/luck's

love/love's

sor/sorrow

card/card's

hex/hexes

ace/ace's

tale/tale's

phan/phantom

7/7s

4/4s

👑/👑s

📍;; flying neos 🪶

cor/corvid

av/avian

wing/winged

feather/feather's 

mag/magpie

beet/beetle

scar/scarab

el/elytra

fly/flight

thun/thunder

storm/storm's

🪶/🪶s

📍;; mechanical neos ⚙

0/1 

whirr/whirrs 

cy/cyber

tick/tock

steam/steams

gear/gears

copp/copper

cog/cogs

goggle/goggles

📍;; feline neos 🐾

cat/cat's

fel/feline

bap/bop

whisker/whiskers

play/playful

purr/purrs

fluff/fluffs

mew/mew's

🐾/🐾s

[criesinmultifandommess]

Hold Me Close, Hold Me Tight

Info: Cuddling with the DSMP

Warnings: attempts at tooth-rotting fluff

Notes: can be seen as romantic, but I mainly wrote these as platonic because sometimes you just need some hugs from your homies, yk?

Bad

ask and ye shall recieve, basically

pre-Egg Bad loves physical affection and actively seeks it out

post-Egg Bad would not care but would take it anyway

Puffy

would deffo be the kind to love it when you run your fingers through her hair

Dream

most likey a touchy person

Foolish

very cuddly, will never refuse (except when he's working on a build, but even then he'll pause his work for a bit)

shark noses are sensitive, and totems have fairly large noses, so

Fundy

soft fur <3

like cuddling a warm blanket

foxes can purr so don't be surprised if he starts making sounds

probably will be embarassed by this, so make sure you reassure him

George

avoids affection

but accepts his fate when you corner him

just grab him tbh

he might struggle for a bit but he'll eventually come to terms with it

Hannah

avoid her rose thorns and it'll be fine

Karl

very willing to recieve cuddles

also loves to instigate them too

Quackity

teases you for wanting cuddles for a bit before hugging you

"lmao you want hugs? needy smh"

Ranboo

does not understand why you'd want to cuddle him

is the type to constantly ask "is this okay?"

Sapnap

warm body makes for good hugs

especially in the winter

Techno

slightly awkward and stiff when you first ask, but gets used to it

Tommy

"you want to do what??"

he'd pretend he hates it

but everyone knows he secretly loves it

Tubbo

so enthusiastic, very much so

likes headpats and headbutting

Wilbur

doesn't really mind cuddles

will sing to you if you want

what he sings depends on his mood though

[zaggerthebloodyangel]

Fox of Remnant Chapter Release

A wish. His wish and dreams were placed into the hands of another. And their wish was for him to live peacefully. It seemed Fate was a cruel mistress and still had plans to use him for her gains. No more! He will fight against these chains that shackled and bind him!

Genre: Action, Angst, Romance, Drama, Humor, Fluff, Suspense, Hurt/Comfort, Thriller

Pairing: Naruto/Blake/Weiss

Rating: Mature

Content: Crime Fighting, Forced Marriage Anti-Faunus Racism, (RWBY) Naruto Turns Into a Faunus, Sexual Content (Two Brief Romance Scenes), Alternate Universe - RWBY Canon Divergence

Volume III - Chapter IX Summary - After confronting Corsac, Blake comes face to face with her past. Qrow finds more than he bargains for at the police station. And Winter confronts her past.

[raevenlywrites]

Find the Word

Thanks for the tag @elizahgodswood! I’m tagging back @writeunderthecloudsandmoonlight @iridescentpython @sword-of-stars and anyone else who would like to do this!

Your Words to Find: pleasant, frown, believe, friend, fury, rotten

I’m gonna hide them under a drop cut, cause this many words made this post loooooong. I’m also gonna go ahead and tag F&F’s tag list, cause I bet you guys will like the excerpts here :3

Pleasant and frown occurred in the same passage, which admittedly doesn’t bode well for this instance of pleasant :P

Lia frowned harder at him. “What precedent are we setting today? Tybee wanting to play host?”

Adiran thought for a minute while he got down the cocoa mix. “How the Court of The In Between celebrates Night’s Reign. Tybee is kind hearted by nature. He and Cordelia both. They want our Night’s Reign to be festive, and full of love and charity.” His eyes seemed to go distant as he stirred. “In some courts, Night’s Reign is far more grim.”

“Grim?” Lia asked, confused. “How in the world do you make Christmas grim?”

“I didn’t say Christmas.” Every word was careful, empty. Too neutral to be anything but put on. “I said Night’s Reign. The season of darkness isn’t always met with shining lights. Some courts venerate the darker aspects.”

The kettle whistled, and Adiran seemed to shake himself. “It’s not pleasant, and nothing something I’d like to see coloring our Night’s Reign. Ask me about it again after the Longest Night has passed.”

Believe

“Will you two chill out?” Gil barked. He shook himself, turning back to Jenna with a tired smile. “Don’t mind them, they’ve been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Dumb. They mean well, they’re just a little much--” that last clearly directed at the pair of siblings.

Neither of them looked particularly chagrined.

“Gil and I can walk you back to your apartment and look over it with you,” Adiran added. “It would make us feel better, knowing that you’re alright.”

Jenna glanced at the half eaten meal on the table. “I really don’t want to interrupt more than I already have.”

Gil cast the siblings a disparaging glance. “Believe me, Jenna. You’d be doing me a favor. Some time away from this chaos would be most refreshing.”

Friend

They had just settled into their meal when there was a knock at the door.

Lia glanced around, but everyone seemed just as confused as she was.

She started to rise since she was closest to the door when another knock came, but Tybee motioned her to stay sitting.

Theo was at the door, and Lia never saw her move, she was just suddenly there.

She opened the door, her expression anything but friendly. Whatever was on the other side of the door didn’t seem encouraging since she just kept staring. When no sound came from whoever had knocked, Theo half barked, “State your business.”

Fury Surprisingly, not a lot of fury in my just for fun winter fluff. I had to go all the way back into the first draft of Foxes and Fate to find it

“She didn’t ask for any of this!”

Gil threw his hands in the air, pillow falling to the floor as he waved about. Tybee gave him the space for his theatrics. Gods knew he’d learned them from the best—himself. Sure enough, Gil rose to his feet, trying to pace in a wagon barely high enough for him to properly stand. Tybee stretched out on his bunk, keeping low.

“She was just out painting, and I poured my stupid storms all over her paintings and now she’s caught up in this big web and no matter what I do there’s no way to win! If I win I lose her, and if you win--”

“And if I win,” Tybee cut in, “all I want is her mantle. I said last night I don’t care about what happens to the girl.”

Gil glared at him, the fury of the storm raging in his eyes. Tybee ignored it.

Rotten gives me a chance to show of Mirabella the gargoyle, which delights me

“You know,” he said slowly, “it never occurred to me, but I really should have had you help me look at the other gargoyles, Mirabella.”

Her ears pressed flat to her head, a clear sign of annoyance in any species. Tybee flicked her ear tufts lightly, earning him a small hiss.

“I don’t think she liked that idea.” Rhia half laughed.

“I don’t think she likes the idea of sharing attention,” Tybee said. He scooped her up, cuddling her close despite her whuff of protest. “I think the little darling is a spoiled rotten brat, yes she is.”

“If spoiled I be, I learned it from thee.” Mirabella growled, but her attempts to squirm away were halfhearted.

Foxes and Fate Tag list (as always, feel free to ask to be added or removed as you like, no worries) ((also also if you’ve asked to be added to this list and don’t see your name, please let me know! This is what I *think* is the most recent list, but I could be wrong. It’s been a week for brain fog))

@lordkingsmith @mariahwritesstuff @silver-wields-a-pen @jessiwritesbad @writinginslowmotion @alessia-writes @abalonetea @worldbuildingwren @soupopoireau @livvywrites @adie-dee

[lexsssu]

𝐻𝑖𝑠 (𝑆𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑐𝘩𝑒)

TAGS: Scaramouche/F!reader, domestic fluff, original child character, oneshot Ao3 ver.

The pitter patter of tiny feet echoed across the extravagant Winter Palace, the passing Fatui making sure to swiftly move away from the little figure’s path lest they injure him. Archon’s know what fate awaits them if so much as a scratch appears on the little prince’s body. None of them fancied death by electrocution any time soon and knowing his father, it won’t be a slow death either.

Despite the lingering fear in the back of their minds, some of them, particularly the women-folk, were unable to stop themselves from staring as the child scampered by. How could they resist when he was the most adorable child they’d ever seen in their lives?

From his shiny navy hair, wide dark blue eyes, button nose, and smooth pinchable cheeks, Toshiaki was the apple in everyone’s eye. His cuteness factor was raised even more as he held his favorite stuffed fox doll in his arms while he traversed the palace, seemingly knowing exactly which corridors to turn and paths to take.

As he neared a certain door, one could hear the disturbing sound of a thousand birds chirping as the smell of ozone seeped through the cracks and filled the air. All the other passing Fatui quickly vacated the premises at the early warning signs of what could be a massacre. Everyone knew that once you entered that door, your life would be in grave danger because of the fickle yet ruthless Harbinger that called the room his office.

“...you insolent worm! Did I give you permission to open your filthy mo—”

“...Papa?”

The noise of a thousand chirping birds abates along with the suffocating scent of ozone that filled the room as the tiny little boy entered with his plushie in tow. Innocent eyes blinked up at the young man at the center, surrounded by several Fatui recruits who seemed to be a single word away from soiling themselves in fear.

“Did you and Mama miss Papa already, Toshi-kun?”

As if a switch was flipped, Scaramouche’ personality seemed to do a complete 180 as he scooped up the toddler into his arms, pinching the chubby cheeks full of soft baby fat that tempted everyone to see if it really was as soft as it looked.

However, the Harbinger would likely kill anyone who dared touch his son without permission so no one aside from him and his wife plus the Tsaritsa could touch the child.

“Mama says it's time for wunch!”

“Oh? It’s that time already? Guess Papa has to cut his meeting short then. We don’t want to keep Mama waiting after all,” he glared at his subordinates who were practically petrified with fear, an eerie purple glow manifesting in his eyes that immediately sent them all running out through the door.

“Mama made sushi an’ gyudon today!” The toothy grin the Harbinger received from his precious son almost brought tears to his eyes, so awed and brimming with fatherly love for this child.

Despite his cynical outlook on life and his infamous reputation, the Inazuman was utterly weak when it came to the mother-son pair whom he loved more than anything in the world. Why, if they asked him to burn the world down he’d gladly do it if it meant putting a smile on their faces.

“Oh~? Then we better get going already. Mama’s sushi and gyudon are the best in all of Teyvat after all.”

“Mmm! We gots to get back before the sushi bandits try to take our sushi away!”

“You’re right! And who knows, they might even try to take Mama hostage while we’re away!”

A gasp of surprise and a look of horror decorated Toshiaki’s cherubic face, clutching his plush even tighter at the thought of anyone taking away his mama. “Papa, let’s go already! Before they take Mama away!”

The Fatui grunts made sure to stay out of their way as Scaramouche and Toshiaki speed-walked out of his office and towards their suite within the palace. Tsaritsa knows that there’d be hell to pay if any one of them tries to involve themselves with the moody Harbinger’s family.

The last person who tried to do that...let’s just say that they’re in a better place now.

Funnily enough however, despite his reputation there really was no denying that the 6th Harbinger was handsome and his child was just as adorable. They looked more like a pair of brothers rather than father and son with how youthful Scaramouche looked, but no one ever said that to his face.

There were many things one cannot do or say in front of him. There were also many things one cannot do or say even secretly, because he somehow always finds out as long as it pertains to his wife and child. 

“My Love, we’re back~”

“Welcome back, anata”

“Hi, Mama!”

“Hello, baby”

Some may call him overprotective, some think he was too obsessed, but Scaramouche liked to think that he was just a simple husband and father who loved his family with all his twisted heart. 

Regardless of whatever thoughts others have, this family is his and he will stop at nothing to keep them safe.

[sugaurora]

Moonflower

Namjoon is entering his final year of study at the Institute of Metaphysical Research and Technology, which is lucky for him, considering he’s been able to keep his true form a secret for four years. How hard could one more year be?

When he met you, a gentle forest spirit from the Feywild, he never expected to one day call you his friend. You never question why he disappears each full moon or why all his clothing seems to be plagued by so much brown fur. But one fateful, moonlit night is about to change everything between you both, for better or for worse.

Pairing: Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: Werewolf!Namjoon; Forest Spirit!Reader; Fantasy; College AU; Mate AU (sort of); Strangers to Friends to Lovers; Fluff; Smut; Angst; The Mildest Horror

Word Count: 16,500+

Warnings: Virgin!Namjoon; Profanity; Alcohol; Explicit sexual content, Soft dom but like BARELY; Biting, Reader almost gets eaten; Reader also does get eaten WINK WINK

This story shares the universe of the Feywild with my other fic Fey and Wilde

Note: This story features a reader-character with brown skin and physical features similar to those of African descent. The reader also displays different color patterns on their skin similar to but not to be conflated with those affected by vitiligo or piebaldism. This is purely an aesthetic reference to the spots that sika deer carry into adulthood.

This story was commissioned by the wonderful @jonnieee. Thank you so much for allowing me to work on your vision 💜

If you enjoy my writing, please consider buying me a ko-fi or purchasing a fic commission.

Crossposted on AO3

Writing Masterlist | Join my Taglist?

— Namjoon —

You came to Namjoon as a dazzling nebula, bringing along new stars and granting them brilliant life with a delicate power all your own. At least, that’s how he remembered it.

He was staring into nothing just before, fingers outstretched and moving in practiced, bored time to the light display at the other side of the Institute’s courtyard. Showers of swirling streaks of white bent into colored panes of glass to paint fireworked pictures across a towering, canvas backdrop.

As the only light magic user currently in attendance, the task of manipulating the displays at most events always fell to him. Or, more often, he found himself volunteered for it by overly friendly members of staff whose help he needed too often to deny them his abilities. He had thought maybe in his fifth and final year of study, another light user might come along to take his place. But light magic was so rare that the task could only be left to him.

So here he was again, manipulating particles of light purely for the background aesthetic at yet another post-graduation winter festival. He might have at least thanked some nameless god that the festival had never fallen on a night with a full moon over the years. But that would mean someone had watched his life be forever changed and done nothing, so he decidedly withheld any divine gratuity.

Surrounded by the buildings of the campus, elegant architectured halls of glass and stone, the courtyard spread across the center of the snow-covered grounds, now dotted with students and faculty bundled around fire-magicked warming hubs, sipping steaming mugs of cider and honeyed beer. They would all spend the evening laughing and dancing with their friends and colleagues, celebrating the relief from dedicated study that the end of the year always brought, and giving congratulations to the students who would go out into the modern world to use their research of the magickal sciences to bring about whatever changes they saw fit.

One of Namjoon’s roommates, a fourth-year fox-shifter named Jimin, was providing some of the evening’s entertainment, singing with his band on stage. With the social company and the music, most people never paid attention to the backdrop of his light shows anyway. At least, sequestered away from everyone in the safety of one of the building’s balconies, Namjoon could avoid any civil small talk and keep his efforts minimal until the evening was over and all the drunken graduates and new students had wandered home.

Still, in the vicinity of so many others, habit had him reviewing the evening’s conditions as he had for years. Visibility: 72%. Cloud cover: Moderate. Moon status: 41.5% waxing crescent. Symptoms: Sense of smell gradually growing more sensitive, no noticeable rise in aggression. In need of a haircut.

Namjoon glimpsed a flash of familiar blond hair out of the corner of his eye. His old lab partner, Hoseok, appeared at his side sporting an anxious half-smile. A human specializing in wind magic, they had studied together for Namjoon’s third and fourth years. Though they were the same age, he could always sense Hoseok’s hesitation around shifters. Or maybe it was just him. That edge of mistrust kept their relationship mostly professional, which helped with Namjoon’s need for distance. Though, whatever Hoseok’s uncertainties, his temperament was even-keeled and he was a focused study, which also made a great match for Namjoon’s brand of quiet analysis.

“Hey Namjoon, this is Y/N. She wanted to meet the person in charge of the lights.”

Had he slacked off? It was possible. The magic for the light shows didn’t require his full attention, especially when the mirrored panels did half of the job through reflection. His gaze fell in the direction Hoseok gestured, to where you stood next to him. The world tilted onto a strange, new axis, a galaxy he had yet to discover moving into his field of vision, expanding the depth of the cosmos to something wondrous.

“The lights; they’re beautiful,” you said in the softest, accented lilt, and the awe in your voice built a home inside Namjoon’s chest, a cozy log cabin with a roaring fireplace, fluffy blankets, and an endless supply of sweet-filled pancakes.

You shifted shyly, your fur-lined ivory gown moving with you effortlessly, a ring of delicate, white winter jasmine woven intricately into your hair. Amidst the whites of your attire, against the background of sparkling snow lying along the balcony banister beside you, Namjoon branded your natural beauty into his mind. Your lovely brown skin, like warm, silken chocolate. Beautiful, bright eyes with specks of sunlight and all things good inside them. And the elegance you held in something as simple as standing, a noble, a goddess agleam among the lusterless background of man.

It took him an eternal moment of soaking you in to realize he had taken a socially unacceptable amount of time to respond. He blinked slowly and, at an encouraging head nod from Hoseok, moved to speak before realizing he’d gone breathless. He took in a deep one.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” you prompted, offering him a friendly, encouraging smile. A new cluster of stars expanded in his periphery.

“Oh, uh, Namjoon.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you. Would…would you mind if I watch you work? I promise I’ll stay out of the way.”

Out of habit, and although he already knew the conditions, he glanced up at the sky.

“Oh, sure,” he said and watched another smile alight your face. Hoseok gave him a nervous wave and, with a piteous glance in your direction, he left the balcony, leaving only the two of you standing there in awkward silence.

Namjoon suddenly felt self-conscious. He always wore more formal clothing to the festivals; a layered beige turtleneck and dark dress slacks underneath his knee-length, coffee-colored overcoat this time. But in your presence he suddenly felt very underwhelming.

He turned back to his work instead, putting in a little more effort for your sake. The beams of light suddenly blazed with life, creating crystalline snowflakes in a dozen shapes and sending them spiraling towards the crowd below. He heard cries of surprised glee just as Jimin’s voice carried some awe-inspiring high note through the speakers. Lucky timing.

“Amazing,” he heard you whisper nearby.

He couldn’t place your accent, but the way you spoke was heavenly. He let himself breathe a little more and caught on that there was more than just an interesting accent to discover. Newly bloomed flowers. The comforting petrichor of rain-soaked wood. Crisp, rushing waters. The smell of nature was common on campus, where at least fifteen percent of the population consisted of animal shifters of all sorts. But it clung to you richer than most, as though soaked through to your very marrow.

“You’re a shifter?” he asked, then immediately regretted allowing his curiosity to lead. He knew better, knew to hold his tongue around anyone new until they left him alone. But the smell of you was sending his heightened senses even higher.

“Ajai-ani,” you said, closer than he’d expected. You had closed the distance between you on the balcony, likely to get a better view of the lights. It put you only at arm’s length.

Namjoon took another furtive glance at the sky, then raised an eyebrow in your direction and waited for his confusion to dawn on your face.

“Forest spirit,” you amended.

“Oh,” he said, more emphatically than he’d meant. Rare as he was privy to it, the language of the fey could always whet his interest. “You’re of the Feywild?”

“The Spring Court, yes.” Taking your cue from his misfired curiosity, you eagerly chanced another question. “And you’re a shifter, right?”

A familiar tension crept into his shoulders and suddenly, the light display was the most interesting magic Namjoon had ever performed. His eyes focused on making one particular swirling particle burn a fraction brighter. He hated the lie. Shifters were respected, made of natural magic that inspired fascination. He inspired only terror.

Mercifully, you didn’t follow-up your question, allowing his body to relax a little in the quiet space between you.

So you were of the Feywild, a place so mysterious to Namjoon, a place he would never gain access to thanks to his humanity. And yet he was able to find himself in your presence, in the presence of fey, and other mythical creatures, and humans all together. Simply because somewhere along his bloodline, someone had the fortune of being genetically predisposed to magic. Or energy manipulation, the force to alter qi, the kinetic convergence and reconvergence of fields of matter. Whatever terminology anyone wanted to call it, the staff at the Institute of Metaphysical Research and Technology simply referred to it as magic.

His manifested as the ability to bend and reflect light. Mostly parlor tricks, but he had been studying for years for ways to put it to good use in the world; to create energy or at least keep it consistent. He had studied light at different wavelengths, learned to bend light for invisibility, learned the physics of light and a small piece of its effects on the natural world.

But the studies at the Institute, like many things in this modern world, had to remain secret. Humankind at large wasn’t ready for the revelation that magic, that sentient creatures beyond your everyday person existed. And that included creatures like you.

He stole another glance at you, watching his display reflect in your eyes as you looked on. It was a pity. Anyone who wasn’t able to lay their eyes on you at least once in their lifetime was at a significant loss, would never know true joy.

There were so few in attendance, members of the Feywild were treated practically as royalty on campus. He had always worried that creatures of the Feywild would be the ones to suss out his secrets, that somehow they might be able to sense the difference between him and an average shifter. Seokjin couldn’t, but any time someone was announced to hail from that strange realm, Namjoon’s nerves spent a few weeks in turmoil.

“What does it feel like?” Your voice broke through his thoughts, your eyes on him now instead of the display. “Holding light in your own hands like that, I mean.”

Namjoon had the sudden desire to show off for you. He responded without words, making the magic dance around his fingers, move to you and circle the ring of flowers at your head, make a spin about your body and explode in sparkling light above you, landing against your dress in glittering droplets.

It was more cheap parlor tricks. But it had been a long time since someone had smiled at his magic like that, since their faces held that form of wonder.

“Amazing,” you said again, swiveling from side to side as the magic faded around you. “I’ve seen light magic before, but there’s something different in yours. It’s extra reflective somehow, there’s a trace of something greater in it. That’s why I really wanted to meet you.”

You spun, the soft material of your gown swaying with you as you chased the last of the dwindling light. Your feet stumbled a little at your hem and Namjoon’s arm was suddenly at your elbow, though he swore he hadn’t authorized the reaction. He helped you steady yourself on your feet and you smiled up at him, embarrassed.

"Thank you.” You glanced down at the dress as though it were some kind of traitor and Namjoon barely managed to hold in his amused laugh at the adorable expression. “I wish I'd worn something a little more practical, but I’m told this is the appropriate fashion for this festival."

His brain wasn't firing synapses like usual, too slow to cull his mouth. "I think what you wore is perfect."

You looked surprised, then shy, murmuring another quiet thank you. He immediately released your arm, taking a long step back to widen the gap between you.

“There you are.”

Suddenly the Feywild was on full display. Namjoon could count the number of vampires he’d ever seen on one finger and that had been from a considerable distance. But he would never forget the dangerous gold glint of their eyes.

“Yoongi,” you said with a smile brighter than daylight. The dark-haired vampire was dressed even more ornately than you, wearing an expensive-looking wool coat with burnished gold buttons, a crested brocade at the breast, and leather boots threaded through with an intricate design. It wasn’t surprising. Vampire families were considered nobility among the fey, and that often presented itself as immense wealth among humans.

Slightly surprising though was that the vampire was accompanied by a familiar face.

“Picked up a stray drake on the way,” the vampire muttered, moving closer to you and looping his arm through yours. A strange twist flexed inside Namjoon’s chest.

Shirtless regardless of the winter winds, with skin peppered in shining, gold scales from his thick neck, across broad shoulders to his slim waist, the sight of Seokjin was always a spectacle. A half-dragon also hailing from the Feywild, he claimed to run too hot a temperature to endure wearing much clothing, though he had the decency to wear belted slacks and boots tonight. He had been housed with Namjoon since his first year, remaining on campus as a professor’s assistant once his own studies were completed. They had built a respectful relationship over the years, but there would always be a thread of tension strung between them, for what Namjoon had to hide and what Seokjin had to protect.

Seokjin’s gaze was locked on you and Namjoon felt yet another odd twist inside. He took a slow step back from all three of you, sure it was simply getting too crowded on the small balcony for his comfort.

"Nice to meet you, gorgeous,” Seokjin leered at you with a wink. His eyes flicked to Namjoon. “Who left you with our resident clamshell?"

“Oh, a very nice human. Hoseok, I think? Anyway, Namjoon was kind enough to suffer my curiosity in his gifts.” Your gaze finally left the other two and fell back to him, another demure smile gracing your lips. “I hope I wasn’t too much of a bother.”

“N-no. Not at all.”

“I’d love to know more about your lumen studies. I’m entering my first year here, but I hear you’re the only light magic user on campus and I’ve always been so curious. Please say you’ll consider indulging me.”

You unlooped yourself from the vampire and, hands hiking up your skirt to avoid another trip, you closed the short distance between the two of you and stood in front of Namjoon. You held out both your hands before you, palms facing up, and stared up at Namjoon expectantly. He raised another confused eyebrow and you lifted your hands a little, eyes flicking toward his.

"Take her hands, human. From the bottom."

The vampire's gruff voice — what had she called him, Yoongi? — shook Namjoon from his puzzlement. He reached out to take your hands, placing his palms on the backs of yours. 

You beamed and Namjoon was torn. He wanted to pull his hands away, so unused to touching someone. He wanted to press his hands closer, if it meant you would keep smiling at him that way.

"Sorry, I forgot it's probably not a common greeting here," you said, slipping your hands from his. Namjoon let his drop awkwardly to his sides.

"What does it mean?"

"The promising start of friendship. I don't have a mobile phone yet, but I'll seek you out on campus and we can talk more." It sounded a little more like a question than a statement. You were asking his permission. He wondered if you could see the way his back muscles had knotted at your proximity, at the thought of being that close to you again for any length of time. If you had noticed his deep inhale, his profligate capture of your scent. Or the warmth that bloomed inside his chest at the thought of discussing his magic as though it mattered.

Namjoon nodded, unsure if it was out of social obligation at your kindness or a selfish need to see you smile again.

"I hope to see you again soon," you beamed.

He watched you turn and reloop your arm into your companion’s, watched you walk away with your kind, vampire on your right, dragon on your left, wondering how he had gotten involved at all.

His ears were ringing as you walked away, only barely able to make out the voice of someone far in the distance complaining that the light show had suddenly stopped.

— Y/N —

You learned quickly that Kim Namjoon wasn’t exactly the social type.

Your classes began only a month after the festival, and as you acclimated to the modern world outside of the Feywild, Yoongi finally helped you get a phone. Unfortunately, it meant your best friend could tease you even when he wasn’t nearby with text messages and rude pictures. Even less fortunately, it had been an entire week of your classes and you hadn’t seen Namjoon once to get his number.

Granted, you had been busy. Rashashir, the great forest of the Spring Court, had many places one could find solitude for extended periods. But here on campus, people sought you out. You were a rarity among humans and people were so friendly and curious. It meant long days of study and practice followed by longer evenings of socializing and you tried your best to keep up.

Though your family had been reluctant to let you come here for study, you were determined to expand the usefulness of your magic and to fit in well in human society, beginning here at the Institute.

Students began here at all ages, depending on their skill level and fields of study. They offered to start you as a second year, but you chose to take the basic classes of the first, learning everything from elemental to life to cosmic magic sciences and more, all at the fundamental level. Even only one week in and you were fascinated by something new each class.

Yoongi was in his second year of life magic research and, as your closest friend, he insisted you move into his apartments near the campus. Though “apartments” was a loose interpretation of the ostentatious half-mansion his family had had specially built for his stay while in attendance. You had an entire wing to yourself, but had fallen asleep on the living room couch next to Yoongi most nights so far. He never asked why, but each day you would find a new, small adjustment — a familiar ingredient in your breakfast, a new flower that only grew in your corner of Rashashir potted in your hallway, familiar birds singing in the trees outside the windows that were definitely not native to this area. It was his subtle way of fending off your homesickness and you didn’t know how to be more grateful for having the truest friend anyone could ask for.

One evening he invited the half-drake, Seokjin, for a quiet dinner and the familiar company of someone else from home. Though he came from the harsh, snow-capped mountains of the Winter Court, Seokjin had spent at least twenty years living among the humans, his last five here at the Institute. Over the course of the evening, you learned he was quite a shameless flirt, paired with the typical arrogance of a drake. But there was some softness about his edges and his good humor and chatty personality put you at ease. Plus, he was capable of the impossible, making Yoongi laugh, even as your friend tried to fight it. Though the bottle of wine you all shared might have helped in that regard. When conversation turned to the night of the festival, Seokjin’s memory was sparked.

“I have to say, I was quite surprised to see you standing there with Namjoon. I hardly ever see him speak to anyone, nevermind spend time alone with them.”

“I haven’t seen him since,” you said with a sigh, contemplating another slice of cake to soothe the ache of your misfortune. Not finding him had been disappointing on two fronts: one, because the lumenical studies was such a narrow field that he was really the only person you could discuss it with and two, because the lights had taken your breath away that night, but so had the man. A giant towering over you, he looked strong enough to grind sand into glass using his bare hands. But his expressions were all sweet, all shy, handsome face glowing in the light he captured with his own hands.

You sighed again and took the cake. “Hoseok said he was beginning his fifth year, so I’m assuming he’s been very busy. A shame though. I really wanted to learn more about him.”

“Why not just call him? I have his number. Better yet, just come to my place next time. We’re roommates.”

Roommates? Though that did explain Seokjin’s familiarity from that night. You decided against a visit, not wanting to make Namjoon uncomfortable by suddenly appearing at his door. You settled for his phone number.

After you’d typed it in, Seokjin knocked back the rest of his wine glass and leveled you with a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his prismatic eyes.

“Just don’t get your feelings hurt, Y/N. Our Namjoon isn’t much of a charmer.”

You sent Namjoon a friendly text that night.

Y/N: Hi Namjoon! This is Y/N. We met the night of the winter festival. I would still love to meet and learn more about your lumen studies. Let me know when you might have some free time.

Worried you had taken down the number wrong, it was four days before you finally received a response. 

Namjoon: Hi.

And that was all. You had to check with Yoongi to make sure your phone hadn’t glitched out and cut off the rest of the message.

“It might’ve taken him time to gather enough courage to send that. Grant him a little more patience.”

“Why would he need to gather courage to say ‘hi’ to me?” you asked.

Yoongi only shook his head like he was in on some secret.

Another week went by and you had resolved to leave him be, not wanting to be some source of discomfort for someone who clearly preferred being on their own. Many forest spirits were similar, yourself not excluded. You often preferred the quiet and solitude of life between the trees to any measure of social interaction, though you had worked hard to adjust to the influx of attention when coming to the human realm. If Namjoon wanted to keep his distance for whatever reason, you would respect that. But then...

Namjoon: Coffee?

It bolstered your hope; maybe there was a chance to get to know him after all. You met him the next day at one of the student lounges. He bought you a latte and steered you both to secluded seats at a little table near a window, just out of reach of the midday sun.

“What was it you wanted to ask me?”

Direct, to the point. Steel gray eyes stared you down across the table, mildly intimidating. You hadn’t noticed the color of them the night of the party, too mystified by his magic to capture the details. But sat across from him you could feel their weight, a raw force pressing against you, into you.

And not just his eyes. Namjoon was a force in all regards. Only standing next to him in the cafe line had you realized just how much he towered over you. Only sitting across from you now in a fitted, black sweater could you observe exactly how thickly muscled his body was. It also looked like he had cut his dark brown hair a little since that night, closer at the sides with the longer hair near the top pressed back away from his forehead. Somehow it all added to his intensity.

You took a sip of your drink and considered for a moment. “I want to know what it feels like. To hold light.”

He studied your face, thoughts racing behind his eyes. But he said nothing, only held up a hand between the two of you on the table. A simple sphere of light formed above his palm, silvery and hyper-reflective just like you remembered. You had seen light magic before, albeit from afar, the rare power present in two Summer Court heirs. And Namjoon’s was so different.

You reached out, winding your finger through a shimmering tendril. Of course, you felt nothing. You looked up at him expectantly, found his eyes already on you. So heavy.

“I don’t know that it feels any different than any other magic user,” he mumbled. “What does yours feel like?”

You held out your hands and called on the earth. A flower grew and bloomed between your fingers, a simple carnation. Loose, red petals floated gently to the table.

“Like breathing, but deep breathing. The most restorative breath.”

Namjoon’s nostrils flared again slightly. It was a habit you were getting used to with shifters, and Namjoon seemed especially sensitive to the scent your powers must have given off.

He stared at you for a long moment, then dropped his gaze between you.

“It feels like theft. I can’t create light. Only change it, concentrate it.”

He refused to meet your eyes again, focused on your flower. Your heart ached. Did he really think so poorly of his own gifts? Gifts that were so rare and coveted?

“I think, without someone to pull the light together, it’d be difficult for a lot of us to find our way. I’m sure your studies have made advancements in light magic that no one else could have. I’d love to hear more about your projects.”

Something flashed inside the sphere, so quickly you thought you might have imagined it. But Namjoon still wouldn’t look at you, his jaw set rigid.

You joined his silent gaze, turning your attention to your hands between you. The carnation started to seek out nourishment, leaning slowly toward Namjoon’s sphere of light. You could feel its greed through your fingertips and smiled with a pinprick of jealousy at its basking. You would have loved very much to do the same, to be surrounded by that glow and soak it in.

The light in Namjoon’s hand winked out. He lifted a wrist, checking his watch.

“I have to go.”

“Oh. Alright,” you said, not hiding your disappointment well. You’d barely spoken a few minutes, had none of your real curiosities answered. “Maybe another coffee some time?”

He did it again. Stared at you for a long moment, gray storm clouds raging. With a curt nod he was off, hurrying out the lounge door.

You didn’t receive any more texts.

Unfortunately, if Namjoon had been determined to keep his distance, he hadn’t bet on Yoongi and Seokjin becoming such fast friends. Only a couple of weeks later, Seokjin invited you both over one night. You worried over making Namjoon feel uncomfortable, but Seokjin assured you he wouldn’t be home until late. It worked fine with the three of you piled into the living room playing card games, joined later by a sweet fox-shifter named Jimin and a charming wolf-shifter named Taehyung.

Until Namjoon came knocking on the front door and you heard the deep baritone of his voice as he complained about misplacing his key. Seokjin, frowning a little, went about opening the strangely complicated set of locks on the front door. Once opened, you watched Namjoon pause in the doorway, nostrils flaring just a little. Watched his eyes snap in your direction.

The room went suffocatingly quiet for a heartbeat.

“Sorry,” he mumbled and headed deeper into the house and up the stairs to what you assumed was his bedroom.

“Seokjin,” you hissed, but the handsome drake was back to all smiles.

“What? Come on, I was in the middle of proving my superior stratagem.”

“You were in the middle of losing,” Yoongi corrected and tapped a finger against the cards still spread across the coffee table.

As the biting winter morphed into fresh spring and Yoongi dragged you to Seokjin’s house almost nightly, there was no progress to speak of. You never talked, but caught more glimpses of Namjoon each time, whether he was returning from class or sneaking into the kitchen for something to eat. Occasionally, you would exchange a glance. But only silence continued, the text message log between you still dormant.

Tonight you were back in the living room. Yoongi had left a few minutes ago, heading up the stairs at Seokjin’s quiet request. You were left with Taehyung and Jimin, who were discussing what they wanted to do with the rest of their evening.

You looked up at a noise across the room, expecting to see Yoongi and Seokjin returning, but instead watched Namjoon descend the stairs. He headed to the far side of the living room and took up one of the comfortable, empty chairs. You watched him crack open a thick book, a language you weren’t familiar with stretched across the cover.

Taehyung gave a pensive glance in Namjoon’s direction, then stood, Jimin jumping up next to him.

“We’re going to head out to the forest preserves and take a shift run. Want to come?” Taehyung offered you.

It had been a while since you’d taken your deer form and the thought of running through the damp, fresh grass was tempting. But Namjoon was here and you weren’t sure if you’d have another opportunity like this one.

Your eyes flicked in his direction and, against your better judgment, you decided to poke just a little.

“How about you, Namjoon? Want to go for a run?”

Namjoon looked stricken, gaze hardening as his entire body tensed. Thankfully, Jimin chimed in on his roommate’s behalf.

“Namjoon’s wolf is…uhh…very dominant," he said, then raked a nervous hand through his orange-red hair. "He doesn’t like to shift in the open, especially if more prey types are around.”

“Oh, I see,” you nodded. Namjoon relaxed in his seat a little, but you still felt guilty for the suggestion. “I’m sorry.”

Taehyung’s eyebrows peaked in sympathy and he asked again if you wanted to come along. Good instincts told you that it would be the smarter option. But you still declined and the two left through the front door, sealing a vacuum of quiet around only you on the floor near the coffee table and Namjoon, leaning back into his chair, nose back in his book.

You watched him out of the corner of your eye as the seconds of silence ticked by. You rarely saw him dressed as formal as he had on the night of the winter festival. Often he wore comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants, just like tonight. A black beanie hat crowned his head and forced his long, slightly curled, brown hair into tucked tufts behind his ears. Had it grown so much so quickly?

Shaking yourself from your observations, you focused instead on your mission. You reached into your bag next to you, pulling out your sketchbook and another book from behind it. You took a fortifying breath and stood.

“Namjoon?”

His eyes flicked up to you.

“Uh...I brought this for you.”

You took a couple of steps in his direction, but tried to stay a respectable distance outside of his bubble as you handed the book over.

“What’s this?” he asked and your heart leapt a little at the genuine curiosity in his voice.

“The current Summer Court royal line has had a few powerful light magic users in it. I figured, even with all the resources here at the Institute, a Feywild private library might have some rare information for you. But please return it to me or I’ll be in big trouble.”

He lowered the book in his hands, eyes flicking between your outstretched hand and your face. 

“Y/N.”

It was odd to hear him say your name after all this time. Heat slid up your throat and into your cheeks at the sound of it. He took it from you and turned the book over in his hands in what you hoped was interest, but you were too nervous to stay and wait for his reaction. You hurried back to your spot on the floor and flipped open your sketchbook, welcoming the distraction.

The house’s living room was dotted with several plants, and one in particular, set on a large-paned window ledge and reveling in every drop of sunlight, always called out to you whenever you came over. You had been meaning to draw it for weeks now.

Your eyes betrayed your resolve and you chanced a glance at Namjoon. He had set aside his original book, already a couple of pages into the one you’d brought and something glinting in his eyes you had never seen before: wonder. You smiled to yourself and switched focus back to the plant. It was enough.

All you had wanted since that brief moment in the cafe was for Namjoon to understand how special he really was. For him to see his light as you saw it: brilliant, beautiful, and inspiring. If this helped him at all, even if friendship between you could never come, it would be enough.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there putting pencil to paper, attempting to get the shading of the leaf points just right. It was tricky as the last ribbons of late afternoon sun were streaming through the glass behind it. You hadn’t even heard Namjoon leave his seat. But suddenly he was on the floor beside you, squatting on his heels and looking curiously at your sketchpad over your shoulder. He said nothing as usual, but it was a comforting kind of quiet.

“You’re drawing the maple plant?” he asked after several minutes. The proximity of his voice sent a tingle down the back of your neck. Had he ever been this close to you before?

You nodded. “It’s so happy. I’ve been thinking about drawing it every time I come over. It’s one of your plants, right?”

A short nod.

“They’re all very happy.”

A few empty beats passed.

“You should enter a contest or something,” he said quietly.

“Oh no,” you said, attacking your last few strokes with an eraser, suddenly self-conscious. “I'm not that good.”

Drawing wasn't really something you did out of talent, but more because it allowed you to find some peace and quiet. People didn't usually disturb artists at work and on the days when you couldn't handle one more question from a curious human about the Feywild, concentrating on drawing something had been a lifesaver.

His mouth set in a stiff frown. “My eyes and your mouth are in disagreement.”

You looked up towards the stand just below the television and snickered.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You pointed. “The little cactus over there made a dirty joke.”

He glanced at it then back at you, eyes curious.

“They really talk to you?”

You lowered your pencil and closed your eyes, listening. “It’s less like talking and more like…you know how when you’re close to someone you can sort of sense the changes in their mood without them saying anything? They sigh or stand a certain way and it’s a little bit like you can hear or feel their thoughts. It’s that kind of language.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever been close enough to someone to notice.”

You opened your eyes then and turned to face him. There was space between your shoulders, but not much. You didn’t dare move.

“You talk to your plants,” you offered.

“They...they told you that?” he spluttered, cheeks going pink. But it wasn’t really anything to be embarrassed about; happy plants loved to talk. They also loved to gossip, which was why it was difficult to keep much away from someone like you, inappropriate humor or otherwise.

“They like it. Next time you should try to feel them. I bet you can understand their language a lot more than you think.”

The wonder eyes were on you again, delicate, shimmering black ringed in that smoky gray, lids spread, eyebrows raised. He wanted to know more, questions bubbling beneath the surface.

Then you watched his habit, watched the joy floating there, the spark of something promising wink out. Watched him slam down on his feelings so hard it made your bones ache. Why? You were dying to know why he did that.

“Thanks again, for the book,” he said, hurrying up off the floor.

“I hope you find something helpful for your research. I know it’s your last year and you pretty much know everything about everything, but maybe there’s a little something extra the fey have figured out.”

Namjoon didn’t respond. He grabbed both books from the chair and hurried away, taking the house’s stairs two at a time. The last bits of evening sun seemed to fade from the room in response.

By late spring, you had all become quite the group, spending nights either at Seokjin’s house or Yoongi’s apartments, although Namjoon never came to Yoongi’s. Weeks on, you still felt like you didn't have him figured out at all.

Most people reacted the same to his presence, usually hurrying to stay out of his way, avoiding those brooding, piercing eyes and his terse demeanor.

He’d leveled them on you more than once and your instincts had warned you to run away, to leave him to himself. But whenever you found your bravery and asked him about his studies and listened to him gush theories. When you’d commented more on the pretty plants he kept in the living room at the house and he’d shockingly invited you to his room to show you more. Those times, you had glimpsed the real man behind the heavy mask he carried everywhere. Withdrawn and private, but sweet if you took your time. Wide-eyed when excited and innocently joyful. Passionate about his interests and more than a little nerdy. Sometimes, just a little, he let himself slip and you could feel the understanding between you expanding. Then, in reaction, he would grow brusque and shut down on you again. You tried to learn his moods while giving him as much space as he needed. He had taken your hands after all, had agreed to a promising friendship. You wanted to make sure he knew you were willing to get there at whatever pace suited you both.

The night he gifted you a small plant, a propagated African violet, felt like a breakthrough.

“I know you can grow them from your hands, but I’ve been listening like you said and I had a feeling about this one.” He took an awkward pause while he pressed the small pot into your hands. “Do you like it?”

He asked the question with all the cautious hopefulness of a chef having his signature dish judged by the strictest critic. You closed your eyes and listened. She was dancing, singing. Happy to be alive. Namjoon had done that, had shared his light and his life and such patient care with this plant and she was overjoyed because of it.

It filled you with such a swell of emotions that you did something unthinkable. After carefully sitting down the plant next to you, you threw your arms around Namjoon’s shoulders, squeezing him into as tight a hug as you could muster.

You had never been this close. Had never sunk into the warmth of his skin through his t-shirt. Smelled the complex spice of him so strongly. Felt the thrum of his heartbeat against your chest.

Maybe ages passed with your arms around him. Maybe seconds. You were about to pull away and figure out how to recover from such a blunder. Then you felt his arms close around you wordlessly, his hands pressing against your back.

“Is that a yes?” he asked in a tight whisper.

You laughed awkwardly and nodded.

"She's perfect."

As you leaned apart, the cactus on the tv stand made another rude joke and this time Namjoon must have sensed a little something, laughing along with you. You sat on the floor next to him for the rest of the night, Namjoon flipping through the book you had brought him. You listened to him theorize about all that he’d learned and helped when he asked your advice on footnotes written in old fey.

As he searched for a specific passage and your gaze drifted just over his shoulder, you caught sight of Yoongi and Seokjin standing near the foot of the stairs, watching over the two of you like curious, hawk-eyed parents.

— Namjoon —

“I don’t like that look. It says, ‘I forgot my key again.’ It’s hotter than a salamander’s taint out here, Namjoon, please.”

He groaned inwardly. Today was truly begging to be cursed, wasn’t it? Fat beads of sweat dotted your forehead, just like the ones that were irritatingly dripping down his back and making his t-shirt cling to his skin.

“I forgot my key again,” he said flatly. Your groan was much more vocal. He didn’t understand where he kept leaving the damn thing. He would slip it into his pocket and wouldn’t find it until days later, inside the kitchen cabinet next to a box of ramen.

“I guess we could go to Yoongi’s instead?” you offered, though your expression read irritated. There were plant pots and heavy observatory equipment lying on the ground between you both, all of which you had just carried to Namjoon’s house for some last minute preparation.

The two of you had been out since before sunrise, collecting last minute samples from the conservatory, marking specimens, and practicing for your presentation, which was only a few hours away. Having a few things at Namjoon’s would make things a lot easier. At least, it would if he could ever get into the place. Seokjin did have good reason to keep it locked up like a maximum-security prison though.

He glanced up at the sky, the anxiety that had been creeping up on him for weeks dragging his back muscles taut.

Visibility: 90%. Cloud cover: Minimal. Moon status: 99% waxing gibbous. Symptoms: Irritability. Paranoia. Strong urge to get away from you. Strong urge to get closer to you.

You smelled like rainwater and mid-morning sun and something so sweet it made him salivate. He’d already had a nightmare about you, about opening his jaws and clamping down on your shoulder, getting the full flavor of your taste in his mouth. He bit his tongue to stop the thoughts. How the fuck was he planning to make it through the night?

Namjoon shook his head, refocusing on solving the problem in front of him. No one answered at his third knock on the door. He glanced over at the side of the house and sighed.

“My window lock’s busted. I can climb up and get in.”  Namjoon had broken the lock a few weeks ago and Seokjin was having a hell of a time hiring someone to come repair it.

Relief flashed across your face, but then your shoulders tensed. Your eyes followed the side of the house’s two stories, up the trellis path and onto the stretch of roof that Namjoon’s bedroom window faced.

“Maybe it’d be better if you let me,” you offered. “You’re not the most graceful human I’ve ever met.”

Namjoon scoffed. “You tripped on your own clothes the first day we met.”

You shoved your shoulder against his arm and headed over to the side of the house. “Shut up and give me a boost, you big, grouchy meathead.”

He wanted to run at you. Tackle you to the ground and...and what? He took a deep, steadying breath, though it only let more of the scent of you fill his lungs. Just a few hours. He joined you at the wall and you both stared up, thinking over the best way to get you up there safely.

“Just give me a boost. I think I can pull myself up.” You gestured for him to get down so you could get onto his shoulders.

It was like reality slapped him only as he bent. Hot as it was out here, and humid as hell in the conservatory, you were only wearing shorts and a cropped t-shirt. And though Namjoon had gotten comfortable — too comfortable — in your presence, he’d never touched your skin like he was about to touch you now.

His eyes traced the creamy, light spots on your thighs dotting the cinnamon brown, skimmed the light patch at the base of your back. You had similar patterns in the same places in your deer form, but they came alive in your human form, coloring your skin like a delicate smattering of stars.

Namjoon turned his eyes back toward the house. He just had to get through tonight.

You kicked off your shoes and swung one leg over his shoulder, then the other, steadying yourself with your hands in his hair. He stood, trying to ignore the feeling of your body draped across his, pressed against his neck and the back of his head. You reached up and lifted a leg and he held his hands against your calves while you moved to stand on his shoulders.

Thankfully, you made it up onto the roof safely and slid open the window without resistance. A minute later he could hear the locks at the front door turning.

You managed to get all your supplies up to Namjoon’s room relatively unharmed. Until the last trip, where Namjoon let one of the specimens slip from his fingers and crash into the floor, his hands ineptness for delicacy hindering him yet again.

“Are you alright?” you asked for the millionth time today.

He hadn’t meant to, but he waved off your concern, leaving to get a broom to clean up the ruined plant. When he returned you had collected it into your hands.

“Sorry,” he had the sense to mumble.

"Hey, it's alright. This baby,” you said, peeking at the tag sticking out of the pile of dirt, “180912? It had a fussy attitude anyway."

He cleaned up the mess quickly and you helped him place the ruined specimen into a spare pot.

"It's probably best to leave it here. It’s too shocked to work well for the show.”

You placed it on his desk and guilt ballooned in Namjoon’s chest. You glanced at him, then put a gentle hand against his forearm, sending his senses racing.

"Really, I think it'll like the quiet here instead. Plus, it thinks you're super cute."

He blinked. "Oh?"

"Don't get cocky. 130613 has been flirting with me all morning."

Namjoon grimaced. "I may not have many friends, but I think I'll draw the line at dating plant life."

You giggled and leaned against his arm, admiring the plant in its new place on his desk. Against any will of his own, his arm looped itself over your shoulder. You took the cue and leaned comfortably into his chest and the world spun around him a little. Despite the late summer heat, your energy was toasty, like the coziest down blanket in the heart of winter. His own personal winter, melting away bit by bit in your presence.

"You have non-plant friends," you said.

"Yeah."

"Friends...you're thinking about dating?"

You weren’t looking at him, but Namjoon suddenly felt naked, overseen and raging hot. A knock sounded at the door.

“What time are you heading to the auditorium?”

Seokjin had been home the whole time? He glanced down at you. It meant he didn’t have to know what your legs felt like, your thighs. The heat of your body against the back of his neck. But now he did and he would never forget.

“I heard you climbing the roof, figured you lost your key again.” Seokjin swung open Namjoon’s door. He didn’t mean to, but Namjoon pulled his arm away from you, though he stopped short of placing it in front of you as if to shield you.

“Oh, hey gorgeous,” Seokjin said in your direction with a wink. Namjoon’s eyes narrowed at Seokjin, at his damn bare-chested muscles and shining gold scales always on display. He had been around him for years, but his lack of clothing had never bothered Namjoon more than it did right now.

A low growl sounded in his throat before he could stop it. You glanced at Namjoon nervously and he forced himself to swallow a follow-up growl.

“Hey, hey, I’m just trying to make sure I don’t miss it,” Seokjin said in placation. “Listen, I just finished making lunch. Why don’t you both come down and eat something?”

You made an excited ‘Ooo’ and hurried past Seokjin, probably expecting Namjoon to be on your heels. But his focus fell on Seokjin’s polychromatic eyes, glinting with warning.

“You need to be back in this room by 8:18PM. Not a second later.”

Did he think Namjoon didn’t know, wasn’t aware of the risks if he was late? As if he hadn’t lived this life since he was a child? He bared his teeth in another growl, but Seokjin didn’t flinch, the hard line of his mouth unmoving.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea. I know you don’t want to let Y/N down, but it doesn’t seem like you can handle it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Namjoon snapped.

Seokjin regarded him with a long stare, then turned toward the hall to head back downstairs. “I hope you’re right. For everyone’s sake.”

Tonight would be the culmination of months of work between the two of you.

While you were still taking your general first year classes, your independent studies were more focused on plant-life growth, altering genetic predispositions of flora to make them less vulnerable to rapidly changing climates and more resilient to provide nutritive feedback to other localized flora. You longed for sustainability, to have them feed others safely, to have plant ecosystems be happy, harvestable, and easily replenished.

Namjoon’s light magic woven into a form of electromagnetic manipulation helped the plants to push their feedback further distances and support larger ecosystems to work together. It also helped with a rare form of expression, the reflective quality aiding the communication.

Tonight was a visual display of that combination, on show for your peers and professors. It was ambitious, but between both your minds and the guidance of the faculty, it was possible.

He had been trying to prepare himself ever since you told him the date of the presentation. Since he realized the full moon fell on the same night. He’d tried to think of a million ways to back out of it. Making excuses had been part of his life forever, bowing out of things without hesitation.

But he couldn’t tell you no. He was more afraid of the look of disappointment on your face than of losing control. That fear was the only thing helping him keep it together.

After lunch, you were both back in Namjoon’s room, taking a break before it was time to get ready. You sat on the floor, sketching the plants on his desk while he went over his calculations for the millionth time.

His eyes wandered to you, absorbed in your drawing, the low light from his table lamp casting the warmest, prettiest glow on you.

As he got to know you, it was this side of you he had been most surprised by. By all accounts, you were a campus darling, another social butterfly. But you really did prefer the quiet. You flourished in the noiseless stretches with him. The quiet talks. The hushed appreciation of what was in front of you.

You had spent so much time together working on this presentation. And not just working. In your free time you joined him on bike rides, on runs through the forest preserve, keeping your human form for his sake. On walks near the river, observing the little animals that populated the streams.

You were everything Namjoon didn't want in his world. Though you were a lesser fey, most students at the Institute were humans and shifters, fascinated by the Feywild they would never be allowed to enter. Every student that came across you treated you like a celebrity. Similar to Seokjin, you often drew a crowd. Except it was three times as bad with you. One, because you were kind to everyone. Two, because Namjoon wasn't immune to your kindness. And three, because he was starting to hate the idea of sharing you with anyone else. 

Usually he could pull away, could disappear and ignore people enough that eventually, all of them would leave him alone. It wasn't that he necessarily wanted to always be on his own. But for everyone's safety, he had always had to be.

But with you, he slipped. Again and again. All you had to do was smile at him, ask about his work in the observatory, ask after his bonsai tree, bring him snacks you must have seen him eating. Even just sit there quietly in your own world. And he slipped. Fell. Hard.

With Seokjin and Yoongi attached at the hip — Namjoon was half-convinced they were in a relationship but Seokjin's bedroom had always been a revolving door so he could never tell — it meant you were at the house so often.

It meant he got to know your scent, your laugh, the way you stared at him so intensely when he spoke, like every single word really mattered. The timid jumps you made when startled. The way you chewed the inside of your cheek when you were focused.

He had spent too many quiet evenings in the living room with you, when the others had gone out for parties and you had stayed behind, choosing to continue your conversation with him rather than step into the limelight.

He learned the way you curled into yourself when you nodded off, sometimes leaning against his arm. The way you smiled up at him when you woke up, apologized for getting into his personal space. When you let him walk you back to Yoongi’s in the middle of the night, moving a little closer to him each time.

That kind of trust snuck up on him, the understanding growing between you like climbing  ivy, strong enough to support a house. It was the last thing anyone should ever do. But now that he had a taste for it with you, it felt irreversible. Inescapable.

As his feelings expanded over the weeks, his appreciation morphing into admiration, friendship transforming into dangerous, deeper feelings, he didn’t want to push you anywhere. He had no real chance of anything with you anyway because of what he was beyond human, what no one else could ever be allowed to find out.

You had been kind to him from day one, even when he’d tried desperately to close himself off. That kindness, the soft of you; it was part of your alluring nature. Namjoon had spent so many years pushing people away for their own good. So why was he too selfish to do the same with you? 

You stretched your body across his floor and laid down flat, turning your head to the side to smile up at him sleepily like a sated cat.

You were magnificent. And Namjoon was in an exceptional amount of trouble.

— Y/N —

“No one has seen him. Seokjin took off earlier, so maybe they went home together.”

You chewed your lip, glancing behind Yoongi as though Namjoon would suddenly reappear. The presentation had gone so well, but now that people were gathered around asking questions about your research and its broader applications, Namjoon was nowhere to be found. This was meant to be his moment, for him to be proud of all the analysis and trials you had done together and show off the possibilities of his magic. 

You sighed up at the sky in frustration. A fat, full moon hung visible in the sky already, though the sun was only just setting. You wanted to take it as a sign that things would be alright, but your nerves refused to settle.

After fending off another curious professor, you moved to the rear of the auditorium and called Namjoon again, but there was still no answer. You wanted to be sympathetic. Being among all these people wasn’t exactly inside Namjoon’s comfort zone, even if it was for something so positive. But he understood more than most that it wasn’t in yours either. Still, you both deserved to be recognized. And more than anything, you just wanted him to be here with you. He had become someone constant in your life, someone you could rely on for anything. And more than that, you liked him. You really, really liked him.

He kept people at a distance in general, clamming up just as he got excited about something or coming up with excuses to leave places in a hurry. Every once in a while his attitude would turn a little surly or he might stop responding to your texts for a day or two. The first couple of times it happened, you worried that he was closing off again.

But things changed as the months grew warmer, frost melting from across the Institute grounds and simultaneously, around Namjoon’s demeanor. Once you peeled back the steely layers, he was mild and sweet, refreshing like summer fruit. Your own affection shifted as you grew closer. Though you didn’t know how to broach your feelings with him or if you ever wanted to if it meant he might pull away from you.

You blew out a sigh at the still unanswered call. Your irritation was starting to change into worry. He had been on edge all day, snappy, fidgeting, face a little pale. You thought it was from the anxiety, but what if something else was wrong? What if he was sick or hurt?

You stayed a little longer to field questions, but as soon as it seemed socially acceptable to take off you were shifting, galloping quickly toward Seokjin’s house. You just needed to know Namjoon was alright.

You shifted back to human as you approached, though it took you a second to shake off your trot. The light-footed canter of your doe form felt so natural sometimes, even on two legs.

You tried the front door, switching quickly from pressing the doorbell to banging on the knocker. No answer. You tried Namjoon’s phone one more time. No answer. At this point, you were sure he’d lost his phone, that it would turn up at the edge of the river in a week’s time.

So if he wasn’t here, where was he?

You looked up, the moon hanging like a silvery globe in the night sky, pinned among a backdrop of stars. Maybe he had gone somewhere else for privacy? Your mind ran over his favorite spots for when he wanted to get away from others. As you were about to go looking, you caught the glow of the lamp in Namjoon’s room at his window. The lamp he had definitely turned off before you’d both left and headed for the auditorium. Maybe he really was hiding in plain sight?

You just wanted to know he was alright. If he was sick or panicking or something, you just wanted to know.

You slowly climbed up the trellis, grateful that the arm workouts Namjoon had been bringing you along for were working. As you stepped onto the roof, you hoped Seokjin hadn’t found someone to repair the window since you’d left earlier. Thankfully, it opened as easily as it had the first time and you slipped inside.

The air felt wrong. Unease traveled up your spine before your feet even hit the carpet, the window clattering closed behind you making you jump.  The dim, pale, yellow glow of his desk lamp cast a tint more eerie than inviting tonight. Your friend was nowhere to be seen, only his unmade bed, a small mess of his clothes gathered at the foot, and an enormous, mahogany-colored, fur blanket heaped in front of the bedroom door.

The blanket opened a sharply narrowed eye. An ear larger than your hand flicked up in attention, tufts of beige uncovered as it moved. It rotated toward you, listening to your heart as it threatened to punch its way through your chest.

Then it began to growl.

You took a step back, then another, but what you now understood was some great beast was too quick. It pushed itself up onto colossal paws and lunged in your direction just as your back hit the window. Shaking, your hands grasped for the edge, hoping you could pull yourself out backwards.

But it was too late. The beast was on you in a fraction of a second, pinning you against the glass, another steaming growl rolling from fangs poised just next to your cheek.

You didn’t hear your scream until it was echoing in your ears. You slid down the wall, cowering from whatever had come charging toward you as it threatened to crush you beneath its paw. You were going to die. Some monster had invaded Namjoon’s room, possibly killed your friend, and now you were going to die to it too. Tears collected in your eyes, a strained whimper sounding from your throat.

Footsteps thudded in the hall outside of Namjoon’s room, a fist pounding at the door.

“Namjoon! Who’s in there with you?”

You couldn’t stop trembling. You were going to die. The creature towered over you, staring you down with menacing, hungry eyes, deciding on the best way to swallow you down whole. Haunting eyes boring into you, holding you frozen in terror.

Beautiful, gray eyes.

The voice at the other side of the door cut into your thoughts, even as you heard the locks start turning.

“N-Namjoon?”

It couldn’t be right. You had never seen him shift, but shifters became the same as animals. Wolves, foxes, cats. Not impossibly towering beasts. He was nearly brushing the ceiling, terrifying as he filled out so much of the bedroom.

The creature’s eyes widened a little at your voice, ears pinning back slightly.

“Namjoon? Is it...is it really you? It’s me, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

You reached up with shaking fingers and pressed them into his fur, dense and soft to the touch.

He made a few slow blinks and, as you stroked a little at his fur, he closed his eyes.

“Namjoon?” Seokjin’s anxious voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Namjoon’s eyes snapped open, head turning back at the door then again toward you.

An enormous paw pressed your body back against the wall beneath the window. You only managed to half-choke out a scream as his fangs closed in over your shoulder, the strap of your dress snapping as his teeth sank through to meet your skin.

He pulled away and whimpered, nuzzling the end of his muzzle against your cheek. Your shoulder ached, stinging so bad you had to be bleeding.

The bedroom door burst open behind Namjoon. Seokjin stood in the frame, flanked by Taehyung in his wolf form, sleek, black fur puffed as though standing on end. At Seokjin’s other side, Jimin sat up tall, bushy orange and white fox tail flicking out behind him.

Namjoon turned away from you to face them, making another deep, rumbling growl.

“Imue save you, girl. Listen, don’t run. Don’t struggle. You’ll only set him off.”

Crackling sparks of golden light circled Seokjin’s body. Namjoon turned around fully, blocking any path you might be able to walk as if to shield you from them. He hadn’t stopped growling since the door opened.

“Please stop!” you shouted as the scales on Seokjin’s bare torso began to glimmer. “I’m alright.”

“We heard you scream,” he said calmly, eyes focused on staring Namjoon down.

“I’m fine, I swear. Please don’t hurt him.”

You reached out a hand and stroked Namjoon’s flank, sinking your fingers into the fur and tugging him back in your direction. He stopped his growl and stepped backward toward you, but didn’t turn his back to Seokjin.

“I’m ok. It’s ok.” You said in what you hoped was a soothing voice even as your nerves made it a little shaky.

“Y/N, for your safety-“

“How long will he be like this?” you interrupted.

“Usually only one night, but that’s if he doesn’t get too much direct exposure to the full moon. He was outside at that event half the evening, half-transformed by the time he got here. So we’re not sure.”

“What…” you started to ask. Warning flickered in Seokjin’s eyes, but you had to know. “What is he?”

A bloated pause hung in the room.

“He’s a lycan,” Seokjin said, voice solemn. You didn’t know what it cost him to give you that information, but the wince in his cheek told you he didn’t share it lightly. “So we need to get you out of there. It’s a miracle he hasn’t killed you already.”

Namjoon turned his head slightly, one stormy silver-gray eye catching yours.

“Seokjin,” you started slowly. “If you try to take me out, one of us will get hurt, maybe all of us. He’s not being aggressive toward me. I can wait it out. Just go. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I can overpower him,” Seokjin insisted.

You found strength in your legs and stood slowly, walking along Namjoon’s body with your hands in his fur. You reached up and scratched his muzzle and he leaned into your touch.

“It’s alright, just go,” you whispered. Seokjin hesitated for another moment, but you watched the magic fade from around him. He turned and left the room, closing the door as Taehyung and Jimin headed back out beside him.

Once they were gone, you sank again to the floor, this time with your back pressed against Namjoon’s bed. He made a slow turn before curling his enormous form around you in a half circle, then settled his head heavily into your lap.

You winced at the bite he had pressed into your shoulder. You’d checked with your hand, but he hadn’t drawn blood. Managing to pull your bag from where it had fallen underneath the window, you tried to look at the bite with your phone. You couldn’t make out anything in the camera, no broken skin or marks. It had only left behind some strange tingle. 

You reached up and grabbed a pillow from his bed, slipping it behind you to help give your back some support and stay comfortable while Namjoon laid on you.

“So this is why you never shifted,” you murmured, more to yourself.

You wracked your brain, trying to remember the very little you knew about lycans. They didn’t exist, first of all, a story made up to scare kids from sneaking out at night. Well, that was out the window. Their affliction was supposedly caused by an infection in humans. It was probably why Jimin and Taehyung had shown up only in their shifted forms.

Which meant it couldn’t be transmitted to you.

You thought of a younger Namjoon, how much he must have suffered since he’d been infected, and your heart broke.

“You’ve had it tough, haven’t you? Dealing with a secret like this.”

He snorted, breath hitting you warm and sweet. He peeked open an eye, looking anxiously between you and the window you’d come through.

You placed your hand atop his head and gave him a gentle scratch.

“It’s alright. I’m not going anywhere, Joon.”

By morning, after dozing off in not exactly the most comfortable position, you awoke to your stomach growling fiercely and Namjoon still in his wolf form. The chestnut brown of his fur had the prettiest layers in it in the daylight.

“Hey,” you said quietly. You watched his ear flick up at the sound, but he didn’t look at you.

“Don’t be an ass. I know you can understand me.”

He snorted.

“I’m really hungry. Can I go get something to eat? I promise I’ll come back.”

After a few moments he lifted his head from your lap, standing to his full height and stretching back on his front legs as if shaking off the night. You stood, but kept your steps to the door slow.

When you opened it, he was right there with you. He didn’t intend to let you out of his sight. You paused in the doorway, reconsidering, then stepped back inside to send Seokjin a text instead.

Y/N: I want to come to the kitchen and get something to eat and I think he plans to come with me. Can you ask everyone to stay in their rooms?

Seokjin: I can bring you something.

Y/N:  I don’t want to aggravate him by having anyone come close again. I promise I’ll just grab something quick.

Seokjin: Alright, I’ll let you know when it’s safe.

Once you heard from Seokjin, you left the room, Namjoon’s enormous body next to you the entire way. It made squeezing through the house’s narrow hallway a little tricky, you pressed into his fur halfway down the stairs, but somehow you made it.

“You hungry?”

He grunted again through his snout.

You grabbed a couple of his favorites for him and hurried back up to his room.

After you ate and watched him swallow an entire bag of snacks whole, you settled back into your spot next to his bed. Namjoon curled up at your feet this time and you had the sudden urge to pull out your sketchbook.

He was terrifying in this form, a quality beyond your skill to capture, but undeniable. Even while he laid there resting, there was no doubt in your mind that if you made the wrong move he could tear your head right off. But, just like Namjoon in his human form, the terror felt more on the surface. He was also beautiful, the layers of color and light in his fur casting him in a natural glow.

You nodded off as the early morning sunlight shifted away from his window, somewhere between trying to get the shading of his ears just right and listening to his quiet hums and whines as he dozed and dreamt at your feet.

— Namjoon —

Vague memories collected in the space between Namjoon’s human form and the wolf as it finally released him.

His nose flooded with the intoxicating scent of you.

Eat . Hungry .

He heard you scream, saw your body shaking in front of him. The smell of your fear didn’t mix well with the rest of you. He didn’t want you afraid. Not afraid of him.

Eat . Claim .

So soft, so pretty, so sweet.

“Namjoon? Who’s in there with you?”

Claim , claim . Mine . Want .

“It’s me, Y/N. Can you hear me?”

Want .

He heard the locks on the door turning, felt the press of Seokjin’s magic mounting. They would take you. They would come and take you from him.

Claim .

You cried out again, but he had to do it. He had to protect you. The door sprang open behind him and he turned to shield you, keep them away from you. They would try to take you.

Mine. Only mine .

They would die first.

Namjoon sat up, lifting his head from the floor in front of you. You had fallen asleep with your sketchbook in your lap, leaning back against the side of his bed in what looked like a very uncomfortable position.

His senses were still at their highest and the scent of you this close was almost overpowering. You smelled like sweet spring, like the earth at its most vibrant and alive.

And something more. Something calling him to you even as the understanding of what you now knew sank painfully into his chest. But you were still here.

I’m not going anywhere, Joon.

Panicked, he hurriedly undid the locks and ran from the room.

Seokjin was already standing in the hallway, staring him down, gaze stony. Yoongi’s blond head poked out of Seokjin’s door, a penetrating, gold eye leveled in Namjoon’s direction.

“Please tell me the girl is still alive,” Seokjin said quietly.

Namjoon nodded slowly, more memories flooding back. Seokjin had been ready to stop him, to use his dragon form and kill him if necessary. And Namjoon had been ready to fight if it meant keeping hold of you. He felt like he might be sick all over the hall.

“Do I need to let someone know that she knows?”

“No,” Namjoon said with a pensive glance back toward his bedroom door. “Not yet anyway. Let me talk to her.”

Yoongi let out an irritated huff. “If you hurt my friend, wolf, I swear on the go-”

Seokjin whirled and cut off Yoongi’s impending tirade with a soft kiss. He pushed Yoongi back through the bedroom’s threshold and kicked the door closed behind them.

Namjoon went to shower, hoping to gather his thoughts in the steam before facing you. There was no going back now. You knew his secret. Even if you didn’t tell the Institute, there was no way you’d want to see him again.

He stood outside the door to his bedroom, grasping at scraps of courage that wouldn’t pull together. He reached for that skill he’d honed for so long, the power that would push you out of him, cut you off like a bad limb and let him move on alone.

But you were in too deep, coursing through his veins and granting rare peace inside his heart. Losing you would destroy him, tear him apart from his core, and let the first true light he’d felt in years fade out like a black dwarf. His vision went blurry, tears started to well. He took one long sniff to force them back and pushed through the door.

— Y/N —

A gentle clicking sound shook you awake. You blinked away your restless sleep and turned to the source. Namjoon had closed the door behind him, returning to the room in his human form wearing only a pair of black shorts, a white towel wrapped around his bare shoulders, brown hair still damp.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shook your head and stretched out, sliding up off the floor to sit on the edge of Namjoon’s bed instead. He ran the towel through his hair again and tossed it onto the back of his desk chair.

“Yoongi’s here if you’re ready to go home,” he said quietly, eyes moving everywhere around the room except to you. “I’m sure the adrenaline has your body completely stressed out.”

You let a few seconds of awkward silence pass, unsure where to start.

‘Nam-”

“Y/N-”

You laughed nervously.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

You nodded. Namjoon finally looked at you, eyes holding onto something heavy. He crossed the length of the room and sat down on the bed next to you, shoulders sagging with guilt.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You frowned. “You should be. Everyone wanted to hear all about lumenical resonance last night and I can’t make it sound half as cool as you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, Joon. What do you have to be sorry for? Something you have no control over?”

“For putting your life in danger. For not being able to tell you the truth about me. If you were human, I’d have infected you. Or worse, I could have...could have killed you.”

“You didn’t though. And you don’t have to apologize for the rest. I know why you can’t tell anyone. I’m the one who snuck into your room without permission just because I couldn’t take the hint to leave you alone.”

You raised your fingers to your shoulder, grazing the still tingling spot where he’d bitten you. Namjoon’s eyes fell to the movement, to the broken strap of your dress where he had bitten you. His eyes widened in horror.

“Oh no.”

“What? Can you see something? I can’t see it, I can just feel it.”

“It’s a-” He swallowed, looking horrified. “-a mating mark.”

“A mating mark,” you repeated, stunned.

“It’ll leave you with my scent, which shifters will definitely pick up. But it’ll fade within the month.” Namjoon chewed at his lip. “I didn’t even know it was possible to mate mark a fey.”

You pressed your fingers against the spot again, new meaning expanding at the back of your mind. “I’m a lesser fey. If we’re in tune enough with our animal side…it must be possible.”

He hung his head in embarrassed shame, mumbling his apology over and over. You leaned in his direction, pressing your forehead against his temple. This man had spent his life in hiding, hating everything that made him who he was. Feeling like a monster. When he was everything but. And if he’d felt strongly enough about you to mark you, then it meant...

“Can you do it again?”

“Huh?”

“If I decide I want that in the future…you can do it again?”

“I guess my wolf can, but I don’t understand-“

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek, pathing from the spot where the prettiest dimple appeared when he smiled to the edge of his lovely, plump lips. You were trembling again, but it was the good kind this time.

Namjoon took the last leap, sliding his lips against yours and setting your mouth as his new home base. It was eager and a little clumsy. But it was you and Namjoon entirely, finding your own sweet rhythm together.

He pulled away first, leaving you breathless and wanting more. Rosy color dusted his cheeks, wheels turning as he held your gaze.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for months,” he said, deep voice scratching, aching. You leaned in and pressed another chaste kiss to his lips.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I...I couldn’t.” He straightened his back, leaning away from you. “I can’t. You know now. The real me.” He swallowed. “I can’t.”

You reached down to his lap and slid your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. “Joon, I know you fear that side of you. But infection or not, you don’t have to live in fear of yourself. Your wolf understands you. Maybe that’s why he marked me. Sometimes our animal side knows us best.”

“It was on instinct, Y/N. That part of me has a will of its own.”

You leaned closer to him, barely a breath separating your lips from his. “And the Namjoon part of you? What does his instinct say?”

Namjoon’s lips crashed into yours, powerful hands sliding around your waist and pulling you over to straddle his lap, to lean against his chest. You sank into the decadent taste of him, searching fingers sliding into his thick, damp hair as he told you everything you needed to know with his lips.

In time, his kisses grew bolder, needier, the rhythm between you pounding faster in your chest. Hands drifted down your back to where your dress had ruched at the tops of your thighs. Fingers roamed against your skin, up your legs and thighs leaving heated trails behind.

You lifted up onto your knees and Namjoon took your invitation, hooking the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your head. His gaze traveled across your body as you resettled into his lap and the longing suspended in that gaze sent a fiery blaze curling through you.

“Beautiful. You’re so damn beautiful, Y/N.”

His lips came back to yours, pathed down your chin, along your neck, down to your breasts cupped in your bra. You felt him between your legs, the hardness in his shorts pressing up against you. He exhaled noisily into your mouth when you rolled your hips, grinding your sex against him.

You followed his lead, running your hands across his still slightly damp skin, over his muscled chest, and thick, strong arms. How dare he call you beautiful when he shone like this, peachy skin glimmering underneath with his own beautiful light.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, eyes half-lidded and drinking in the sight of you under his hands, of your hands exploring his body.

“What a fool I’ve been. I could’ve been kissing you like this for so long.”

His smile turned shy. “Two fools. Both with a lot of time to make up for.”

His hands were at your back, pressing you forward into him, lips capturing yours in another indulgent kiss. You buried yourself in the gorgeous smell of him, sunlight warming fields of wildflowers, and reveled in the warmth of his bare skin against your own. The taste of his tongue against yours was sweet and heady, leaving you a little dizzy.

His fingers were at your bra, slipping a few times before he finally got it to unhook. He pulled away, expression checking your face, making sure you wanted to continue this far. You slid the straps from your arms and let it fall to the floor.

Namjoon rolled both of you sideways, laying you down gently onto the bed underneath him. His lips found their way back to yours, the swell of your breasts pressing into his bare chest and you moaned into his mouth at the close contact. It should always be like this between you, no space, only skin to skin connecting you, pressing you into one .

He left your lips, moving down to kiss your bare chest, stopping at each sensitive nipple to kiss and lick. He circled each tenderly and you couldn’t hold back your moans, arching into the feel of him.

Then he was trailing down your stomach, stopping to press gentle kisses to the light spots along your sides, your thighs. You lifted your hips as his hands reached your panties and let him slip them off your body and down your legs, leaving you bare beneath him.

“You’re so pretty everywhere.”

You had never felt so vulnerable, so seen. Namjoon was lying between your legs in admiration, appreciating your bare wetness like a fine work of art. You fought the urge to close your legs under his stare.

He planted kisses along your thighs and you sucked in a breath when he finally licked a long, slow stripe at your heat. Namjoon growled at that, at the taste of you. Whined. Your back arched in response.

He worked slow, testing patterns of his tongue between your legs, lips grazing your clit. His tongue took its time to learn you, agonizing licks against your sensitive pearl until you were squirming underneath him, your hands buried in his hair, lips begging for more, for the teasing to end.

He sped his tongue in time with your ascent, responding to your keening, recognizing when you could handle more. His fingertip grazed your entrance and you bucked your hips in response, dying to feel the press of them inside you. He spent a few moments, mapping teasing circles with his finger just at the edge of your wetness and driving you near madness.

“Please,” you managed to breathe out and finally, he obliged and slid one thick finger inside you, curling it into you slowly to match the soft licks of his tongue.

It was over for you quickly once he found his speed, the heat between your legs unraveling, mewling cries of his name floating from your lips as you came. 

As your orgasm subsided you looked down at him, still watching you between your legs, smiling up at you sheepishly. "Was that alright?"

You slid a hand under his chin, guiding him up your body. He stared at you in wide-eyed wonder and you pressed a soft kiss to his wet lips, still slick with you.

“So good,” you breathed into his mouth.

You reached down and slid your hand into his shorts, giving the enormous length of him a satisfying pump. More satisfying as he pulled away from your lips at the touch, leaning forward to moan into your neck.

"I have to feel you inside me,” you said, your own voice raspy with want. “Now."

Namjoon’s breath grazed your neck, mouth panting at your strokes against him. He swallowed audibly and pulled back, nudging his face against yours to catch your eyes. His gaze was soft on you, hesitant.

“I want to be honest, Y/N. I’ve never…”

You stopped your hand for a moment, feeling dense for not thinking of it sooner. Of course he hadn’t. When had Namjoon ever let anyone close enough for this kind of intimacy? He hadn’t been teasing between your legs. He was learning, taking the time to understand what your body wanted, what he was capable of. Your heart swelled, wholly charmed by his efforts. You kissed his lips again, then again, appreciating him more with every touch, every kiss he eagerly returned. With effort, you forced yourself to stop and leaned your cheek against his.

“Do you want to?”

He nudged your face, lips seeking yours out in another soft kiss, the kind that sent gentle butterflies fluttering through your chest. “…Yeah,” he answered in a whisper.

Your fingers found him again and he moaned against your lips at the stroke of your hand.

“I don’t suppose you have a…?”

Namjoon’s back snapped straight, body leaning away from you. Embarrassment flooded his cheeks and he shook his head. He looked at you longingly then slid off the bed.

“Just…wait, hang on.” He hurried out of the room and you heard quiet voices in the hall. Seconds later and he was back, the blush in his cheeks now spreading down his neck. In his hands he held onto a stack of condoms, little gold foil packets with ‘XL’ emblazoned in huge text.

He closed the door behind him, but paused as his eyes fell on you, clumsy hands almost dropping his bounty. You looked away shyly from his gaze, moving your arms to cover your body. But Namjoon was having none of it, hurrying over to the bed and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Y/N. Please. Please don’t ever hide from me.”

He kicked off his shorts and threw the rest of the condoms to the floor save for one, ripping open the pack with his teeth. But in his eagerness he bit through the condom itself, flaps of unsalvageable latex hanging between his fingers. He was still too full of his wolf to be delicate, full of that ferocity he feared so much.

You took the next one from between his fingers and opened it for him, staring up into his eyes as you rolled the condom down his cock.

“I want you so bad,” he growled, gaze locked onto yours.

You leaned up and kissed him, licked into his mouth and swallowed his needy groan.

“Please take me then, Joon.”

He leaned his body over yours, seeking out your lips again and positioning his hips between your legs. You reached down to help guide him and, slowly, Namjoon slid home, dipping inside your wetness without much resistance and filling you up in the best way.

“Namjoon,” you whimpered as he slid out and back into you again. He was big though and you held a hand to his chest to slow him down. Without a word he read your message, slowing down his eagerness for you, shallowing his thrusts until you adjusted.

He kissed you again, again, and again. Plunged into you deep, again and again.

“You feel so fucking good.”

Your moans were enough to echo his words.

“Is it ok?” he panted, breath hot against your cheek. You wrapped your arms around him, leaning up into him, giving his lower lip a soft bite.

“So good. So good, Namjoon, please.”

“I’m...Y/N, I’m…shit-”

You captured his lips, swallowing his warnings with what you hoped was clear permission. His hips rocked into you with a few more dizzying thrusts until he broke away from your mouth, moaning into your neck, shuddering as his orgasm rippled through his body against you.

He relaxed into you as he came down, breathing slowly beside your ear. Only there was something confusing between your thighs.

“Joon?”

“Mm?”

“You’re still…hard?”

He pressed his hips forward into you again at the same time his mouth connected with your neck where he had marked you, teeth sinking into your skin enough to make you hiss.

“Want you more,” he said in the most feral tone you’d ever heard. There was some blend still there, the man who wanted you, the creature who had marked you.

He bit down into you again, hips sliding forward burying himself deep inside your wetness. You only found just enough sense to speak.

“The…condom…”

It took a moment of you pressing a hand to his chest for him to realize. He slid out and you helped him replace the full condom with the new one. With the way it sagged with his seed, it was clear he had definitely climaxed. But his thick, pretty pink cock was also definitely still rock hard and Namjoon wasn’t giving you a chance to think about why.

“Want you to cum,” he mumbled, hands roaming your body. They settled on your hips and with a squeak he had you flipped over onto your stomach.

He plunged into you from behind, sinking in to the hilt and your body curved up and into him, pressing your back against his chest. Whatever delicacy he’d had before was gone, hands roughly gripping your hips, teeth nipping at the skin of your neck.

You couldn’t form words, thoughts. Only feel Namjoon inside you, against your back, the feel of his hips as he pressed roughly against your thighs, over and over. His ferocity had taken over, but it didn’t feel so terrifying. Instead, in his hands, it felt exciting.

“Fuck,” he breathed out weakly.

“Namjoon, you can. It’s alright.”

“Not without you,” he said, voice husky, grinding like uneven stones.

He slid one hand from your hip to your breast, cupping the soft flesh roughly. His other hand found its way between your legs, circling your clit in fevered strokes that raced you toward your edge. Your body was an instrument and Namjoon stroked you like an expert player.

You pressed back into him, the new angle driving him in deeper, dragging against the perfect spot, your sanity unraveling with each thrust.

“Fuck. Yes, Namjoon, there. Oh, fuck.”

He growled in your ear, lips, teeth on your neck, lewd, wet sounds echoing through the room as he pounded into you over and over.

It was a crash landing for you both, the tripping roll of his half-growl, half-moans colliding with the stars sparking in your eyes as your orgasm crested and recrested and refused to let go.

Sweating and spent, you collapsed into the sheets, Namjoon falling next to you, lips swollen, chest heaving.

Once he’d rolled off the condom and tossed it away, you curled into his chest, his arms wrapping you up tightly against him. You both laid there in that comfortable quiet that meant something so different now than it did the day before.

“Aren’t you scared?” he asked into your hair, deep voice weighted in the vulnerability of his thoughts. “Now that you know the truth.”

You could only imagine what was going through his head. Lust sated, reality had to come. Once a month he became a threat, aggressive and dangerous to anyone who came in his vicinity. It was why he’d always spent the day of the full moon locked in his room, letting nothing tempt the wolf to act. And now you’d come tumbling through his window and tested that danger.

“You’re a lot of things, Kim Namjoon. Scary isn’t one of them. Your affliction is a part of what you are. But it's not who you are. Only you get to decide that. And I love who you are, and I'll love whoever you grow to become.” You shuddered as the words came out, as you realized the depth of your own feelings for the first time. “Because I love you."

Namjoon’s body made its own tremor against yours. He pulled you closer in his arms, lips grazing your temple. “I love you too.”

You relaxed into his arms, stroking your fingers absently along his hand, letting your confessions wrap around you both and solidify in the connection you’d carved out between you. However, after a few minutes of basking in it, you couldn’t ignore your earlier question any longer.

“Please explain to me how you’re still hard.”

You hadn’t wanted to ruin the tender moment but his erection was still very much present, and currently pressing against your ass.

“Would you believe me if I said it’s a lycan thing?”

Your eyes flicked to his desk, giggle escaping from your lips even as you tried to hold it back.

“What?” he asked, following your gaze. “The plants? Are they already gossiping?”

You turned in his arms to face him, smiling, shook your head.

“They’re just happy. Because you are.”

You spent the rest of the day in his bed, kissing, cuddling, fucking, scratching, biting, riding, living with his mouth on yours, his cock inside you. By evening, you had gone through most of the handful of condoms Seokjin had given him.

The moon was already up by the time he left to get food for you both. When he came back you were curled up in his bed with your sketchbook, adding bits of your memory to what you had started of Namjoon’s werewolf form. He sat the food down at his desk and slid into the bed next to you, peeking down at your work. Then he choked out a surprised cough.

“Is that...me?”

You nodded.

He screwed his lips into a disapproving frown. “Weird. You make it look as if I’m beautiful.”

You laid down the drawing, sliding across the bed and into his arms and pressing a feather-light kiss against his lips.

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

— Namjoon —

“Just let the mirrors do most of the work for you.”

Jungkook nodded, expression crossed somewhere between patience and awe. Namjoon knew he had explained how the light display worked plenty of times and, even though the boy was only coming into his first year at the Institute, he already had a natural grasp on using his light magic. He had arrived just in time for the end of year festival and, upon meeting Namjoon as the only other light magic user in attendance, quickly volunteered to handle the light display and let Namjoon join the festivities considering it was the night of his graduation.

“There you are.”

Magnetized, Namjoon turned at the beautiful sound of your voice. You stood near the balcony entrance, a white camellia tucked into your hair just above your ear, the contrast against the radiant umber of your skin making you look every bit the gleaming goddess as you had when he’d met you a year ago. You lifted the iridescent gray of your fur-lined, winter dress, the fabric billowing about your legs as you walked to where he stood.

“Come on. You promised you’d spend at least two minutes not hiding up here tonight.”

You waved your fingers, another camellia springing to life in your palm, the rush of your magic coursing through him. You reached out a gloved hand and tucked the flower into the lapel of his coat. Smiling at your handiwork, you looked up at him expectantly, knocking Namjoon from his musing adoration of all that was you. He slipped his fingers between yours, holding you steady as you both descended to the ground floor of the building and out into the decorated courtyard.

Seokjin and Yoongi stood near one of the warming hubs, steaming beers in hand. Taehyung and Jimin were both on stage, voices filling the speakers with beautiful harmonies.

“He walks among us,” Yoongi joked as you both approached. Seokjin, too, was all cheerful smiles as the pair of you approached, bringing your own heated drinks along with you.

Though he was now technically a graduate of the Institute, Namjoon had chosen to stay on campus as a lab coach and research assistant in the very small lumenical field. That the staff had even offered him the opportunity had given him more faith in light magic than he’d felt all his life. And that it meant he would be close by while you worked on your own studies was a very appreciated perk.

The mating mark had long since faded, but the relationship between you had only grown. You had helped him in ways he never knew he needed, accepting the dark and rejoicing in his light. And in return he always offered you the quiet place you needed to recharge, which sometimes meant exploring the city together and sometimes spending the entire day in bed.

He watched you greet another new student that hailed from the Feywild, offering your hands out in friendship as you had done with him before returning to his side and retaking your drink.

“You know, you never told me what would’ve happened if I’d taken your hands from the top?”

“Oh, then I would’ve had to kill you,” you answered, then casually took a sip from your mug.

Namjoon swallowed, wondering what might have happened if he’d taken that wrong step. But your expression was mischievous and you nudged his arm with your elbow.

“I'm kidding. It just would’ve been rude.”

As the night wore on he found his eyes drifting up to the sky.

Visibility: 40%. Cloud cover: Overcast.

His gaze dropped at the sound of you laughing over something Yoongi had said, your giggle sparkling in his ears.

Moon status: 32%...no. 42% waxing...no…

Your eyes shifted to him, curious for a moment before you left Yoongi’s side and came to stand next to him. 

Symptoms: …

You leaned up on your toes and kissed him, a soft, innocent peck at his lips. Somehow you could always read his silent language, always knew when he was worrying and gave him a reminder that you were there with him. That you weren’t going anywhere.

He slid an arm around your waist, pulling you against his chest and pressing a kiss against your temple, another to your cheek. You cuddled against him and, even though it happened every time he held you, his heart still did an elated flip inside his chest.

Day or night, you brought each of your stars along. With you at his side, Namjoon knew he would never spend another day in the shadows. You were the star that fell into his life when it seemed at its darkest and finally made light feel whole again.

[peachyteez]

HEAVEN NAVIGATION.

season one.

in a universe where humans owning hybrids is considered normal—even encouraged by society. hwang jiyu works at kq hybrid recovery facility and meets not one, but eight hybrids that turn her world upside down. little does she know that she provided them with what they call their home and heaven.

✧ release date: august 17, 2020.

✧ genres: ateez au, hybrid au, fluff, and angst.

mentions of abuse, blood, etc. if you are uncomfy with any of these topics, please read with discretion or don’t read at all.

✧ taglist: currently don’t have one, but if you would like to be a part of it, feel free to send me a dm or message!

✧ notes: this is spin–off of my ateez 9th member au! please feel free to check jiyu out! :)

✧ reading order for the full details:

seonghwa → yunho → hongjoong → mingi → yeosang → san → wooyoung → jongho

PARK, SEONGHWA

✧ as a feral wolf hybrid that was violent with all of the employees assigned to him, seonghwa was subjected to be put down. however, jiyu being the softhearted feral hybrid nurse she was, she decided to save seonghwa no matter what it took.

KIM, HONGJOONG

✧ the tiger hybrid managed to escape from south korea’s top illegal hybird ring fights. of course, they didn’t let him go so easily. losing his chasers in a forest, covered in blood—his and others’—he decided to accept his fate of death from his wounds until a female and two other hybrids managed to take him from death’s grip.

JEONG, YUNHO

✧ being abandoned by your owners is never fun. but yunho takes it as a chance to explore the world as his owners were never the kindest people. having wandered around jiyu’s condo, seonghwa discovers the lost puppy and said puppy is offered a second chance at a place to call home.

KANG, YEOSANG

✧ this fox hybrid was brought into the recovery facility covered in scratches, whip marks, blood, and every other injury you could imagine. due to this, yeosang has trouble trusting humans, as he was afraid they could just hurt him all over again. until he meets jiyu, his “angel nurse”.

CHOI, SAN

✧ this fellow stray cat hybrid has been hanging around jiyu’s condo for as long as he could remember, although jiyu may not have noticed him. the cold winter breeze and jiyu’s open bedroom window prompts him to sneak into her bedroom one night. it was just suppose to be one night, but the gods must’ve been smiling upon him.

SONG, MINGI

✧ this abandoned, shy bunny hybrid loves hanging around the open field area of the recovery facility. one day, with the help of jungkook, another bunny hybrid, jiyu meets mingi. after days of mingi being too shy and running away from her, a bag of carrots and mint chocolate ice chip cream was all it took to seal the deal.

JUNG, WOOYOUNG

✧ this mischevious dolphin hybrid escaped an illegal experiment lab and has wandered the ocean for almost a year. all he longed for was love and attention—maybe even a family. who knew his “little” prank on jiyu would be the beginning to all of his wishes being granted.

CHOI, JONGHO

✧ like hongjoong, this fluffy brown–bear hybrid was captured for hybrid ring fights. fortunately, he was rescued by a hybrid rescue team when they caught wind of the illegal fights occuring. he ended up being transported to kq hybrid recovery facility. fate has its ways and he ends up in jiyu’s care.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 13

13/? | AU where Melissa moves in with Scully after Scully’s abduction | angst, msr slow-burn, occasional fluff | currently: Christmas Eve 1994 | T | 5k | previous chapters | read on ao3 | tagging: @today-in-fic <3

As Scully copes with her diagnosis, Mulder joins her for the Scully family Christmas dinner. Plus, Melissa's girlfriend meets the family.

TW for disordered eating, cigarette smoking, references to abduction/medical rape.

-------------

Self destruction is a natural impulse for Dana Scully, though she’ll try to deny it. Take one unexplained abduction, add a dash of premature menopause, and sift out time spent proving Mulder wrong, and you’ll get a struggling Scully.

She can tell she’s entering a bad mental state when food becomes a suggestion rather than a necessity. Every bite is either earned according to whatever trivial rules she’s set for herself in that particular moment, or is not deserved and therefore not eaten. It’s a game where she’s the coach, player, and referee, yet she still loses every time. Nourishment is both prize and punishment, feeding her hunger but vacating her control.

This habit started when she was a teenager and wracked with feelings her petite frame couldn’t contain. It felt much safer than the route her siblings had taken of sneaking out in the middle of the night or using fake IDs to buy alcohol or skipping church on the regular. As far as fifteen-year-old her was concerned, she wasn’t bothering anyone by foregoing some meals. Her mother disagreed and called her out every time, humiliating her into her second coping mechanism, smoking.

There were the times when Scully was really young and enticed by her sister’s cigarettes, but that was simple preteen rebellion. What developed when Dana was seventeen was something different entirely. A survival mechanism with poison inside, snuffing herself out while keeping her alive and sane. She would walk to the gas station and buy packs of Marlboros with coins from her piggy bank. The laws were lax in the 80s, the prices too. She would blow rings of smoke while walking home, then hide the pack in her bra and swish some mouthwash. She’d repeat the process to and from school, steadily acquiring a nasty nicotine habit. It continued until the summer before college, when she made herself go cold turkey so as not to take the habit with her. As far as she knows, neither her parents nor any of her siblings ever knew about it.

It resurfaces in times of stress, though normally for no more than a single pack. Lately she’s accustomed to keeping a pack and a lighter with her at all times. Her building is smoke free so she steps outside, but her car is off limits because she doesn’t want the smell to cling to her. It is a hassle, but then again, so are most things.

Missy knows about the poor eating habits--those are hard to hide from someone who shares the same space as you. Nevermind the fact that the scale shows six less pounds than before, and that adds up when the number’s not that large to begin with. Scully’s edges protrude now...that can’t be hidden.

Missy never says a word. She remembers Dana complaining about their mother’s condescending comments about her weight, and she knows the damage that does to a young psyche. Instead, she offers. Healthy meals, guilty pleasure meals, all her sister’s favorites. She cooks more than she ever has before, well aware that her sister will struggle to refuse her.

“I recognize what you’re doing,” Missy told her sister when she tried to turn away a caesar salad, of all things. “I’ve been known to do that too,” Missy admitted. “Eat. You’re hungry, you just think not eating will give you some form of control over your body, or your life...but wasting yourself away is letting the bastards win.”

And so she did, that time at least. Scully has enough shame regarding her habit to push it aside whenever confronted---that’s how she insists to herself that it’s not an eating disorder. She can stop on command. That makes it okay, right?

Getting back into the office helped her a lot---you can’t starve yourself and function as an FBI agent. Besides, she would dissolve into thin air if Mulder figured out what she was doing. He was the one who batted around the idea of Scully helping prep each case and supervising any tests he might need the crime lab to do while he’s in the field. He understood that in lieu of therapy, she needed something to take her out of her own mind.

It was as much for him as it was her; at this point, it’s almost incomprehensible to him that the X-Files had existed before her. Of course he was the laughingstock of the FBI! He had huddled in the basement by himself with UFOs and blurry Bigfoot sightings pinned on the wall like a shrine to his own delusion.

Her fall from grace was his absolution. He’ll make an angel of her, somehow. Even if it means he has to meet the devil.

Scully has no interest in becoming an angel, though she’d sure like to avoid hell, and that hasn’t worked out too well. Locker room jokes are one thing. Underestimation another. But assault? Rape? Trauma and torture because she is who she is doing what she does? She is not a quitter, and that is killing her.

Her barrenness haunts her because it was bestowed upon her as punishment, an implication that she only has worth as a walking womb. She wants to be seen as a person, not a pawn.

The arrival of the holiday season is another weight on her shoulders. It used to be Scully’s favorite time of year; now the sight of carolers makes her want to poke her eyes out. It’s the first Christmas without her father, and that is simply unimaginable. Her and Missy spent a quiet Thanksgiving with their mother---small portions and whispered thanks--in preparation for an elaborate family Christmas. Bill Jr. and Tara are flying in from California for the annual Christmas dinner and midnight mass. They will all try to move forward, pretend it’s just like any other year, but it’s not and it never will be again. Happy Christmases are over for the Scully family.

And yet, they will try to enjoy the moment. Missy told her mom that she’s bringing a friend, which is completely true. Trinity is her closest friend that she doesn’t share blood with. That said, she plans to use the occasion to introduce Trinity as her girlfriend, come what may.

Then there was the suggestion that their mother made, which caught her youngest daughter completely off guard. “Why don’t you bring Fox?” Margaret Scully proposed demurely during their weekly phone call. “I’m making a zoo’s worth of food, I could use another mouth to feed. I hate to see any of it go to waste.”

“Mulder’s spending Christmas with his family, I’m sure,” Scully had replied. “But I’ll pass along the offer.”

That was how Scully learned that Mulder’s family isn’t much for celebration, that he usually spends the holiday flipping between It’s A Wonderful Life and the 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story, and that he has a particular fascination with the idea of midnight mass.

“I just don’t get it,” Mulder mused. “You believe that a jolly old man with flying reindeer leaves presents in your house, but you think he waits until after you’ve gotten home from celebrating Baby Jesus’ birthday? Didn’t you ever look for his sleigh in the sky on the drive home?”

“No, Mulder,” Scully sighed. “I just believed that he knew when we were tucked in bed. Santa’s all-seeing, you know,” she teased.

Mulder chuckled. “Kind of presumptuous to assume he functions on your schedule, huh?”

Ultimately, Mulder said yes. He figured attending the Catholic equivalent of Jesus’ birthday party would be another check off his supernatural bucket list, though he did not say this part out loud for fear of Dana Scully’s wrath. Besides, what else was he gonna do on Christmas Eve? Shake the shoebox of junk he stuck under his mini-basketball hoop so he felt like he was getting a gift?

And so the fateful day arrives. Mulder flips his Garfield page-a-day calendar to December 24th, chuckles at the comic strip of the orange cat eating all his owner’s Christmas cookies, and makes his way to his partner’s increasingly familiar doorstep. The sun has already slipped behind the trees by the time he arrives. It gives up easily in the winter.

He rings the bell and hears Scully’s dainty footsteps on the other side. She’s snuck up on him enough times for him to have developed a keen sense of her light footing--no more jump scares for him.

“Hey Scully,” he stammers as she opens the door. She had told him to look “festive,” so he donned his nicest green sweater (a gift from his mom from J. Crew...he had never worn it) and slacks. Scully rounds out their show of holiday spirit with a velvet red blouse and black trousers.

“You look lovely,” Mulder says reflexively, unsure when he started using such a word. Scully pulls at her shirt, obscuring the bit of cleavage that has revealed itself. “Thanks Mulder,” she mutters, ushering him inside.

He holds up the shiny silver gift bag he hastily stuffed with tissue paper. “Some candy canes I picked up at the gas station. I figured the whole family could enjoy them.”

Scully nods, amused by his feeble attempt at gifting. “I’m sure they won’t go to waste.”

A fire crackles in the fireplace. It’s so hot in the apartment that Mulder is surprised it hasn’t melted the snow outside on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Melissa?” he asks, hoping they will hit the road sooner than later.

“She’s picking up her girlfriend from the airport. She couldn’t get an earlier flight.”

“Dulles?” He sure hopes not. It’s all the way across town.

“No, Reagan.”

Whew. Much closer.

“She should be back any minute now,” Scully continues. “Trinity’s flight got in at 3:30.”

Mulder rolls his sleeves up. “So your family doesn’t know about Trinity?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Do they know that Melissa’s…” He gestures, unsure which word to fill the space with.

“Bi? No.”

“So she shows up with Trinity, and then what?”

Scully shrugs. “She introduces her as her girlfriend. Mom already knows Missy is bringing a guest so she’ll have a plate for her.”

“You’re not worried about how the family’s gonna react?”

“Well, I’m sure Bill is gonna be a dick about it, but that’s normal. We only see him once a year, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Bill’s your brother?”

“Uh-huh. And Tara is his wife. They got married about a year and a half ago.”

Even as he pushes into his thirties, it still surprises Mulder that anyone close to his age could be married. He doesn’t even sleep in a bed.

“You think your mom’s gonna be cool with Trinity?” he asks.

“I think she loves her daughter enough to be.”

“Mmm.” Mulder sticks his hands in his pockets. If only he had dilemmas like this. He imagines him and Samantha speculating about their mother’s reaction to Sam’s nose piercing or dyed hair or...anything really. He would give so much to have someone to laugh about his uncle’s sideburns with.

His emotional deep-dive is promptly cut off by the entrance of Melissa and a brunette woman whose bangs graze her eyebrows, her hair falling just below her shoulder. “Hi!” she chirps, taking in the magnificence of Dana Scully. “Dana, I presume?”

Scully nods.

“May I hug you?” Trinity asks, hazel eyes shining.

“Sure,” Scully says, feeling the brisk air against Trinity’s coat as she’s pulled in.

Scully lets go first, and Trinity takes that as a cue to pull away. “You look just like Mel, wow,” she remarks, fighting the urge to run her fingers through Scully’s hair.

Scully smiles softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Trinity assures, exchanging a gooey gaze with Missy. Next, her attention falls upon Mulder, who does an awkward half-wave. “Hello!” She points between Mulder and Scully. “Boyfriend?”

Mulder chokes. Scully picks up his slack--”Oh, no. This is Fox Mulder, my partner at the FBI.”

“Ahh,” Trinity smiles knowingly. “Yes, I’ve heard about you. I didn’t know you would be joining us for Christmas.”

“Christmas is not exactly my family’s cup of tea, so I figured I’d get an authentic experience with the Scullys.”

“Same! I’m looking forward to Mama Scully’s ginger snaps. I’ve heard fantastic things about them.”

Mulder elbows his partner playfully. “Damn, Scully! How could you leave me in the dark about ginger snaps?”

Scully rolls her eyes but smiles. “I apologize, Mulder. Though for the record, the fruitcake is better.”

“Says no one, ever,” Mulder teases.

She grins. Now this is Christmas.

---------------------

Taking a seat at Margaret Scully’s dinner table feels like existing inside a Christmas movie, in Mulder’s mind. Fancy china, green and red serving platters, paper mache snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and a porcelain nativity scene; the dining room has it all. Not to mention the heaping piles of food there for the taking...if this is Christmas, Mulder wants in every year.

Scully does not share his cinematic fantasy. She knows better, having actually attended one of her family’s dinners before. Bill will get too drunk and start saying whatever comes to mind, their mother will laugh along like he’s still a five year old babbling about nothing (as opposed to the thirty-something spewing bullshit that he actually is), Missy will attempt to debate him to get him to shut up (which never works), and she will sit there and wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. And all without their father to hold the reins and keep a fight from breaking out.

The night has gone smoothly enough, Scully supposes. Missy introduced Trinity as her girlfriend in a very non-ceremonial way, forcing Bill and their mother to nod and accept it, in the moment at least. Mulder received a hug from Margaret and a pat on the shoulder from Bill, so pretty much the highest token of approval. Mulder’s candy canes earned a place in the center of the dessert table, which gave him way more satisfaction than it should have, and he couldn’t help but feel that if they were to vote on favorite man at the party, he would win. A room with Bill Jr. in it is probably the only place he would ever earn this honor, and he’ll take that.

Yet everything unwinds as Scully suspected. Bill waits until everyone has packed plates and full mouths to unleash his particular hyperfixation for the night.

“Trinity?” he questions, raising his fork diagonal across the table toward her. “Is that your name?”

Trinity smiles and nods, oblivious to what she’s in for.

“And you know Melissa how…?”

She pats a napkin to her mouth. “We worked at the same restaurant in Oregon.”

He chuckles gruffly. “What was it, one of those gay bar things?”

“No, an Italian bistro,” Trinity continues calmly.

Missy, however, is not so calm. “Gay people can go places other than gay bars,” she retorts. “We’re not segregated. Though I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bill sets a fist on the table, clanging his silverware. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why the hell do you insist on being so politically correct all the time? I’d shoot myself.”

“Gee, maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Now Melissa…” Margaret Scully’s voice rises above the clamor.

“I have the right to defend my girlfriend and I against Bill’s thinly disguised homophobia,” Missy responds.

“You act like I give a damn what you and your friend do,” Bill sneers. “That’s not my business.”

“Then stop pretending like it is.”

“Oh boo-hoo, little Missy thinks the world revolves around her.”

“Bill, honey, I think that’s enough,” Tara says, laying a protective hand on his arm.

“You’re right.” He raises his can of beer toward Mulder. “Whaddya doin here, hot shot? Trying to seduce my sister?”

Scully frowns, but doesn’t say anything, pushing food around on her plate.

Mulder seems rather unbothered by Bill’s advances. He chuckles. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

Bill snorts. “That’s a likely story.”

“You don’t think I’m worth your sister’s time?”

“I don’t think Dana thinks you're worth her time. You’re not her type.”

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Scully says, staring daggers at her brother.

“Then tell us Dana! Is hot shot here your type?”

Her eyes brush Mulder’s face. His cheeks flush, reddening like a stormy sunset. She wishes she could read his mind. The safe answer and the true answer are not often the same. “I think Mulder is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to know him,” she answers stiffly, her annoyance aimed at Bill.

“Oh, the old run-around!” Bill scraps his fork against his plate. ”Typical.”

Scully grabs her now empty canned cocktail and sulks into the kitchen, leaving her chair pushed away from the table. Everyone watches her go, but Bill gives off the only visible reaction. He laughs. “Scared her away. Thought it would take more.”

Mulder and Melissa exchange a glance. She nods, granting him permission to play knight-in-shining-armor. Quietly, Mulder slips out of his chair and pushes it back into place. He catches the kitchen door as it swings closed behind his partner.

Her anger concealed from the rest of the family, Scully drops her can in the recycling bin with a bang. She ignores Mulder, instead opening the refrigerator and pulling out another cocktail, saying nothing.

“What is this, your fifth drink?” Mulder brushes his hand over her shoulder, and she recoils. “Leave me alone, Mulder.” She slams the fridge and tries to turn around, but he’s cornered her.

“C’mon Scully, Bill’s harmless. He doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s not fucking about Bill,” she fumes, alcohol fizzing through her bloodstream. She inhales, trying to keep it together in front of the man who has done nothing wrong to her. “Please get out of my way.”

“What’s wrong?” He frames her shoulders with his hands, creating their own little bubble.

“Don’t touch me!” she growls. Mulder knows as soon as hears it: he will never forget the pure anguish in her voice. As she retreats to the corner, he looks down at his palms, the stovetop that burned her...he would cut them off if he could.

Unfortunately, the commotion attracts the Scully’s like a dog whistle. Bill leads the charge into the kitchen, getting a full view of his sister hunched over by the back door while her partner stands by the fridge like an idiot. “Ooo, a lover’s spat!” he exclaims, only nominally concerned about Dana’s well-being.

“Shut up, Bill,” Missy hisses. To everyone’s relief, he does.

Mrs. Scully comes forward, maneuvering around Mulder to get to her daughter. “Are you alright, Dana?”

Scully keeps her back to the crowd. “I just need a minute.” She taps her pocket, confirms that she slipped her pack of cigarettes in. “I’ll be outside. Everyone can go back to dinner, please.”

She twists the doorknob and steps onto the back deck without waiting for any response. Mulder feels the tug of tears in his throat, like a dormant animal waking up in him. He is used to being hurt (though not by Scully, never her), but inflicting the hurt is a whole other beast. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but he doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, put there by what he thought was a harmless touch, made his heart tremble. He is frozen in place, grateful when Melissa appears at his side as the rest of the party returns to the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to upset her, I was trying to make her feel better about Bill…” he laments.

“I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s not you specifically, she’s going through a lot right now--you know.”

Mulder rubs his neck. “I don’t know if I do.”

“She hasn’t shared her diagnosis?”

His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Diagnosis?! Is she okay?”

Missy sighs. “I think you two need to talk. If she gets pissed, tell her I sent you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Tell me if she’s okay.”

“She’s okay. It’s not fatal or anything.”

“She would tell me, if it was...wouldn’t she?”

Missy bites her lip. “I don’t know, Fox---Mulder. I would hope so, but I was under the impression you already knew about this, and you see how that’s gone.”

Mulder turns toward the back door, desperation living in his voice. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta check on her.”

Missy nods. “Don’t let her weasel her way out of this one. I’m expecting a heart-to-heart, mushiness and all.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He turns the back doorknob and slips through the door, trying to imitate his partner’s ninja skills. The old wood on the door frame shakes as he shuts it. He winces--so much for the sneak attack.

Mulder follows the arc of the deck, winter’s bite colliding with him. He didn’t have a chance to grab his jacket, and now that he’s thinking about it, Scully didn’t either. He can grin and bear it but she is all skin and bones, now more than ever. It scares him to see her like that, but it’s none of his business, he feels, to comment on her body. He can break her fall, but he must not provide an extra push.

The wind has no friends to protect nor foes to defeat, so it will give away anyone. It carries the unmistakable tarnish of smoke to Mulder’s nose, an ashy haze that has come to remind him of Skinner’s office and the shadow lingering in the corner. He almost expects to find him there with his Morleys and his sadistic laugh. Instead, he finds a redhead and her Marlboros shrinking against the December cold snap.

“Bum a cig, ma’am?” He scoots up to her, ready to retrieve his own smoke from her long, slender fingers.

“Mulder!” She pulls the cigarette away from her, holding her last puff captive in her lungs.

He wiggles his fingers like an impatient child. “We’re all gonna die someday, right?”

Her jig up, she rolls her shoulders back and releases the smoke with a great rise and fall of her chest. It mingles in the air with the chill of her breath, becoming one and the same as they leave the contours of her body. Head tilted back and lips parted, she is alive with nicotine’s ease and intoxication’s freedom.

It is better than porn, according to one Fox William Mulder. He’ll keep this observation to himself for now.

“Did your parents never teach you that sharing is caring?” he rambles. “C’mon, give me a light!”

“It’s a nasty habit, Mulder.”

“I’m a connoisseur of those,” he replies loosely. “Now, you’re not gonna make me put you in a headlock are ya?”

Scully rolls her eyes. She’s never felt less threatened in her life. “You’re exhausting, do you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two.”

She pulls a cigarette from her carton and slips it into his fingers. They are warm; hers are ice-cold. “I wanted to be alone.” She hands him the lighter, watches as he generates heat from thin air.

He lights his cig and sticks the lighter in his pocket rather than handing it back to her. “According to my calculations, you should be very drunk right now. Other than your Oscar bait performance back there, you’ve got things pretty under control I’d say.”

Scully gestures at her cigarette smoking, teeth chattering self. “Yeah, I’m the picture of health.”

“Do you have some exceptional alcohol tolerance I should know about, because that’d make you very valuable in undercover work.”

Scully gazes out into the distance. She’d smile if she were to look at him right now, and that doesn’t feel right for the situation. “Those drinks have low alcohol content, Mulder. You can buy them at Dollar General.”

“You ever looked at their hand sanitizer? It’s like 95% alcohol.”

“Well, now I know where you go to get your fix.”

He chuckles. “You got me.”

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and he wishes, god he wishes, that he had grabbed his jacket. He’d take off his sweater if she wanted him to--stand there with his bare chest to the cold--but he has a feeling that would only exacerbate the situation.

He tries a more gentlemanly route. “Do you want me to grab your jacket? I won’t give away your trade secrets.”

She folds herself together. “No, it’s okay. It’ll make me get a move on at some point.”

They stand united in their rebellion, blowing smoke and freezing their asses off. Who needs Christmas cheer when you’ve got Christmas resentment?

Mulder sways a bit to keep his blood circulating. He is careful not to bump her. “You wanna tell me why you’re out-Scrooging Scrooge this year?” he prompts as gently as he can.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been the best year of my life.”

“I gathered that, yeah.”

“And it’s the first Christmas without my father…” her voice warbles.

“Shit, right. I’m sorry,” Mulder murmurs.

“...So it just doesn’t feel very celebratory.” She takes a long drag. Mulder can tell that this secret smoking habit is not new to her, and he wonders when she picked it up, how long she has kept it from him.

He takes a deep breath, watches as it is written in the air. “Melissa told me you received a diagnosis, and I think we’ve already established that sharing is caring…”

Scully looks him in the eyes for the first time since he joined her. It has the sudden intensity of a black-and-white film, Scully the 1940s scarlet and he the leading man who pales in comparison to her. There is no one he’d rather be overshadowed by.

“It’s humiliating,” she croaks. “Missy and my mom are the only ones who know.”

“I’ve got the monopoly on humiliation in this partnership, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, flicking some ashes to the ground.

“This is a particular form of humiliation you can’t experience, I’m afraid. Or at least, it wouldn’t impact you the same way.”

“Let’s hear it.”

She sighs. “My abductors removed all of my eggs, causing my menstrual cycle to shut down and me to enter perimenopause.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Jesus christ.”

“Uh-huh.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out, though it could have burned longer. “That’s fucking horrifying, Scully. You’ve got to inform the Bureau. We’ve got to catch these--whatever they are. We’ve got to make them pay.”

“No, Mulder. It’s too much. I don’t want to keep reliving it, I want to be able to move on with my life.”

“How can you move on when they’re still out there, probably doing it to more women?”

She shakes her head, feeling the snag of tears and holding them back for fear they might freeze on her face. “I don’t know, but I can’t think about it like that. It sort of...shatters everything, the idea that this could be a phenomenon happening to other women in secret. I wouldn’t believe it if it didn’t happen to me. I still don’t believe it.”

Mulder shudders. He can’t discern whether it’s from the cold or their conversation. “Do you think it was men who took you? Or do you believe Duane Barry?”

“It seems like a level of monstrosity that only man could achieve. It requires a certain understanding of society, gender roles...dehumanization that only humans could perpetuate.”

Mulder nods. Her reasoning tracks, but the thought of him failing to outsmart humans who stole away his partner is something he cannot fully process. It makes sense that he couldn’t find her if she was in space, but if she was on the face of the Earth, he had no damn excuse.

“You were just gone, Scully...you were just gone.” His aching is so palpable, his voice a cliff’s edge they could both tumble down.

“I know I was.” She takes one last puff, then lets her cigarette fall to the ground. She crushes it with her heel, her force premeditated and brutal. That pain is for the ones who took her, the ones who have obviously never loved a thing at all.

Head bowed, she moves toward the door, but not without grasping for Mulder’s elbow, assuring that he is following behind. He is and he will be, for as long as she lets him.

Inside, the home’s manufactured warmth hits them, unreal in comparison to the cold they have known. The kitchen is as quiet as it was before their ordeal, the dining room empty aside from Mrs. Scully clearing serving platters.

“Where did everyone go?” Scully asks, momentarily alarmed that she may have ruined the entire gathering.

“We’re going to drive around and look at lights before mass. Everyone’s getting ready.”

“Oh.” She looks to Mulder, as if to check that he hasn’t left her stranded. “I think I’ll stay here,” she tells her mother. “Make a cup of hot chocolate and relax for a bit.”

“Well, you’ll be missed. Fox, would you like to join us?”

He takes a leap, hopes he’s got the right idea. “I’ll stay here, but thank you.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Scully says with a slight smile. Mulder had never noticed her resemblance to her daughter until that moment. It was like looking at a sketch of a famous painting; the lines are there but the colors missing.

Soon enough the crowd leaves and Scully and Mulder settle on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa. Margaret Scully’s tree forms the centerpiece of the living room, and it’s hard not to admire its gold and red decorations and the shiny angel on top.

“That’s gorgeous. Does she do it every year?” Mulder asks, ignoring the steam rising out of his mug and going right in for the kill.

Scully nods. “Every year since we were kids. There used to be a lot more homemade ornaments, but I guess she swapped those for a more elegant look now that we’re grown.”

“Well, it’s beautiful.” He looks at her, curled up with the glow of the fireplace falling upon her, and he feels warmth and safety like never before. It would be so easy to slip in “and so are you,” it is practically begging to be said. But she wouldn’t believe him if he said it now; she would think it was a pity compliment. Instead, he mouths the words, and she is not looking, and that is okay.

She snuggles deeper into the cushions, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. She is the most at ease she has been in months--here in the house she lived in during high school with the fireplace crackling and her partner by her side--and that’s not what she expected from Christmas Eve. Heaven strokes her skin, and she blinks her eyes open to find Mulder tucking her in with her mother’s microfiber blanket. She smiles her soft Scully smile. “Thank you,” she coos, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket’s embrace.

“You’re welcome,” Mulder whispers into her ear. His fingers tangle in her hair as he pulls her toward him, his lips meeting her temple. She catalogues the feeling for her memory bank: chapped but carrying the hot chocolate’s warmth. She will spend the next while convinced that it was a dream, a fleeting image in the moments before sleep, but she will carry the feeling until she feels it again.

[sleepdeprivedheretic]

Wild Heart: Taishiro Toyomitsu fluff and nsfw at the end

Notes: Smut with kinda nomadic and village people with animal features. Sorry s/o, but you’re a lil’ bunny with a kinda fearful backstory. All characters are of age, and this story has some dark elements to it. Don’t read if you’re underaged.

Warnings: No forced mating happens to s/o, but there are mentions of the fearful possibilities, and s/o living in fear of it. Kinda Mary Sue s/o but whatevs.

……………

When your first heat took over you, you first lived in your own little space in your parent’s temporary den. Of course they expected this. You, however, did not expect them to take advantage of your delicate situation by inviting possible suitors in their home.  

It scared you so much, laying there in your feathered nest, listening to your parents in the other room basically interviewing each and every suitor, acting as if you were a piece of meat to be traded off to. Which, you realized, that you were.

Traveling in the past winter was difficult, for many villagers fell ill, got lost, and were eaten by wilder animals, which made your parents desperate to help reproduce the decaying tribe. Of course, rabbits being one of the most fertile breeds, were sought by more dominant species to reproduce. A predatory species such as a wolf or dog, for example, will always have pups, if their mate isn’t high on the list of dominance that is.  

It made young bunnies such as yourself a prize, because although highly fertile and bore kits quickly, the kits will be a species of their mate, instead of rabbits themselves.  

 You weren’t sure if you wanted kits, only to repeat your species’s vicious little cycle. You were sick of it, and always fearful that somebody who your parents approved of, will just come into your nest while in heat, and either fuck you then and there, or drag you away to be a little breeder.

You were so scared and sick. Although terrible, your parents seem to know that a fearful bunny in heat was not good, and the stars aligned with luck as you heard them sigh and say that right after your heat, you will be traded to the well off weasel in your tribe in exchange for nesting materials and food.

It understandably made you angry, and that fateful night, when you felt ready, you packed some things and left without your parents knowing.

To where, you did not know, but like your kin, you will find your own little place, whether it be in a small nomadic village such as your parents, or all alone in the wilderness. It was unsafe for you. Your heat had just lifted, but the intoxicating smell still clung to you.

You traveled far, avoiding to stay at one place for too long, suspicious strangers, and open fields. Wolves would leer at you, owls and other birds of prey would gauge whether should they swoop down at you. Your nights were spent curled up in either an abandoned den, or huddled against a large tree, hoping that you’ll be safe.

As for your heats, you definitely had to play extra safe, so far as gathering two week’s worth of food to place in a temporary den, blocking it and not even thinking about coming out until it was at least a week after your heat.

It was an absolute nightmare to be writhing on the ground, hearing the scratches, threats, and wanton moans of animals outside, wanting to break through your makeshift barrier, and never succeeding. It scared you so much, that a small part of you wondered if the weasel would have been a better choice. You shook it off. No, you were more than an incubator. You always got through the night, and you’ll get through this one.  

On the lucky side, your food resources would not run out due to it being late summer, and so wild fruit, vegetables, and berries were still available to you, making stored temporary dens so much easier while dealing with heats, which drained your energy. You didn’t want to continue walking forever, living in fear and hiding,  but you didn’t want to be near your parents ever again.

One day, you came across a friendly little village. It surprised you. Unlike your village, they had buildings built there to stay, not tents flapping in the wind, or an abandoned den in which would be abandoned again. It felt like a secure place, and you decided that you will try to find a den on the outskirts of town.

It didn’t take long to find an old fox den. The smell has long since faded, and there was no outcry or claim when you left of what few belongings you had. Being smart, you covered the opening up with grass and branches, and headed towards the village to hopefully find work for food so that you could eat for the upcoming winter.

The people were friendly. They saw you not just as a foreigner, but one of the few beings who actually wanted to stay. The majority of your land had a nomadic lifestyle, but this place had structure, rules, and more importantly, safety. Beings of all kinds were welcomed here, and nobody discriminated. It was too good to be true, you thought. You thought that it was a trap, but it wasn’t.

It was a new concept of living, and many beings found it too weird and suffocating, not like the free reign they were use to having, so many beings avoided the village. You loved it. So you stayed.

Of course there were doubts, and the ever-lingering fear, yet it melted away when you seen the sunny faces of a fellow rabbit named Izuku, a red salamander by the name of Eijiro, the warm smile and fluffy squirrel tail of Ochaco, the leader of the village, a droopy crow man by the name of Aizawa, and others , you knew that this was your place.

It didn’t take you long to befriend the villagers. It was not a large village, but for the first time, you felt very welcomed and supported, and even found a job working as a gardener with Ochaco. You felt so happy, that you let yourself smile, which you haven’t done so in ages.

Of course, of all of the villagers, there was one who caught your eyes the most. When your eyes met, you couldn’t help the fluttering feeling beat within your chest. Bright orange eyes, soft yellow hair, and a round face met your gaze. The rare tiger breed was eating something sweet, and had a little speck of food on his face, in which you couldn’t help but find adorable.

It didn’t bother you that he was round, or the soft blush on his cheeks, or the way his pretty eyes had glistened a little with surprise, and most importantly, his sandalwood and soft vanilla scent. You knew that you shouldn’t like a person just bases on their looks or scent, but at that moment, you couldn’t help the blood rushing to your cheeks, a little.

Of course, it didn’t help when he offered a smile and one of his sweets, that you were pulled a little more into the rabbit hole of like at first sight.

Throughout the end of your gardening, he would visit you often. His name is Taishiro Toyomitsu “but you can call me Tai-chan!” as his tail flicked. He was only a few years older than you, and his job was help keep the peace, patrolling around the village and help protect it against invaders.

You were smitten but of course could not tell him. A part of you wanted him to like you in despite of your heats and fertility, and you was scared.

As you continued being his friend for the next year, you learned that not only was he a great and a trustworthy friend, but he had lost his fat during spring, and gained it back during the harsh winter months. You honestly thought his bigger form was cuter, but you were not complaining at all to see rippling muscles adorned with sweat during the summer heat.

Which didn’t help your heats at all when you lay deep within your den, writhing with your fingers within you, feeling incomplete and needing something bigger as you could imagine the soft feel of his flesh rutting within you or hard muscles holding you down. It was torture, and you knew that by not telling him how you felt, and not wanting to ruin your relationship with one of your closest and dearest friends, you allowed yourself to suffer.    

Within the next two years, you worked hard and never complained. You learned how to sew, clean, cook, garden, gather, and even carpentry. You helped your neighbors, and in return, they, mainly Taishiro, helped you build your little fox den into a rabbit hut.  

You never told your neighbors about your problems before, but it didn’t take a genius to figure things out. You were a lone being with no mate, not another’s scent on you, and had never brought anybody into your house. It was obvious that you ran away, and you even let it slip while casual talking to Izuku.

Of course, not to mention that the scent of your heat always lingered a week or two on you after your actual heat. You didn’t deny the thrill up your spine whenever Taishiro would accidentally inhale your scent. You didn’t miss the way his pupils dilated with lust, ears perked, and tail thrashing wildly as he looked at you whenever he thought you weren’t looking. Oh no, you were totally aware, and ate it up. Every little image was fodder for you, and it made your heart race faster.  

Everything changed for you, one November day. You were outside, planning on where to plant your crops for the next spring, happily humming to yourself as ever, until you felt yourself being pushed down onto the ground. In a daze, you scrambled to back up from whatever force that was near you, and looked up.

It was your father, and he was seething. You didn’t understand. You traveled far, hadn’t you? Your scent would have faded on your travels, and why now, after three years, has your parent finally found you with an irrational attitude?

You did feel like you left your parents to defend for themselves, but you had to do this for yourself. If not for your dignity, but for your freedom. The only rational thought you could come up with was that the tribe was traveling this direction, and you, living on the outskirts of the village, was easily spotted.

Fate was unfair, sometimes.

“Where have you been? We were worried for you! Your suitor, the weasel, has already found another mate! Your mother and I had lost a lot of opportunity when you ran off like a coward!” It all came falling out of his mouth as he screamed at you. Three years worth of anguish filled his tone.  

Your ears flattened back as your body stiffened with fear. Then an unexpected anger hit you out of nowhere.

“Do you know how scared I was while you were inviting strangers into our home? While I was in my heat for no less? Overhearing how you were going to trade me in as if I never mattered? I was so scared that you were just going to let somebody walk in and do whatever they wanted to me!” You shouted as tears threaten to spring from your eyes. You hurriedly wiped them away as your father stared in shock. However, you weren’t done.

“I traveled so far! Trying to escape you two, the tribe, and everything that holds me down biologically! I had to hide during my heats, hearing...things outside trying to get through the dens I blockaded. Storing food, hiding in the darkness for weeks until I felt safe to go out...looking above me or behind my back every second….” You trailed off as your anger dissipated fast. You frantically wiped your eyes as your father’s shoulders relaxed.

You almost jumped when you felt a hand land gently upon your shoulder. A fierce sandalwood scent overpowered the sweet vanilla, and you knew who it was. Swiveling to look up, your heart sped faster at the sight of Taishiro, who now had a feral look to him as he stared your father down. Your heart sank. You didn’t mean for him to find about your troubles. His ears flat, tail puffed out and swishing, and eyes didn’t leave your father as he spoke.

“Is he botherin’ you, Darlin’?” His voice was gentle to you, although his body language spoke another situation. You eyed your father as his face held a tiny bit of remorse, and fear.

“No,” You found yourself saying aloud. “he’ll be leaving, soon.” After those words, your father gave a curt nod and left just like that. You couldn’t believe your circumstances, or the loop that life threw at you. Your cheeks paled as you remembered that Taishiro probably heard everything.

To be honest, you didn’t care. You wanted him to know, but of course under better circumstances. Tail smoothing down, ears perked, the sweet vanilla overpowering the sandalwood, and eyes round, he looked at you with a worried expression.

“Are you alright? I came running as soon as I scented an unfamiliar scent around your area, I feared for the worse. Damn, I didn’t mean to overhear everything! Seriously, you went through all of that?” His concerned babbling made your heart leap. He cared about you. Feeling brave, you looked at him and decided to shoot a question.

“What did you fear, Tai-chan?” Your question caught him off guard as his eyes widened and a pink dust settled over his cheeks as he swiftly looked down at the ground. For a second, you thought he was going to start blubbering, but then he looked back at you with a determination.

“I was worried that you had found a suitor.” He admitted. Oh. Oh.

“That would have bothered you, wouldn’t it?” You asked with a serious gentle voice. He couldn’t help but nod.

“How long?” You pressed. His ears flattened with a bit of embarrassment and his eyes tentatively met yours.

“When I first saw you. Timid thing with wide eyes, couldn’t help but find ya...ya know, cute. Then you were always friendly, ya know? Um, I could see ya admiring me, even when I was heavy and fat during the winter, I always felt you starin’ at me with those eyes, and it made me feel special. As if my personality was worth more than my body weight, ya know? Then when the years passed and I got ta know ya, I realized that I loved you.” His flush deepened with every breath as he admitted this.

You felt warmth pool within you despite the November chill, and your heart raced. He loved you? You asked him how he had noticed, and he smiled a little.

“Honestly, you aren’t very subtle, Darlin’. Even a week after your heat, I can see you liking the way I’ve been reacting to your smell. Three years is too much, but I’d wait more if you’re still decidin’.” He let out a little growl, and you flushed.  Your heart hammered loudly, and you swore that he could hear it. Then you let it out.

“I loved you when I first saw you,” Your voice broke out and he looked at you with wonder. “as you heard the outburst I had with my father, I was at first a little insecure about liking somebody. Everyone before I came to this life, saw me as an object waiting to be used. You’re not like that. The villagers, my friends, aren’t like that. I didn’t know that you had feelings for me, but I kept pushing away suitors just in case if you changed your mind, one day.” You admitted freely. It honestly felt as if a giant weight had been lifted off of your shoulders.

Only for warm arms to embrace you. Your little bunny tail couldn’t help but swish happily as you wrapped your arms around him, pushing your face into his chest and taking in the sweet vanilla scent. This was happening. You both acknowledged your feelings towards each other, and now can rest easy.            

  After a few minutes, he broke the silence first.

“In my old tribe, it’s custom for males to court their lovers before they finally settle. Would you like that, lil’ rabbit?” He teased lightly as his hand ran circles on your back. You nodded without hesitation. Then you remembered.

“My heat is tomorrow.” He froze and pulled away to look at you with wide eyes.

“Darlin’…” He let the sentence drop as you cupped his face.

“I’m tired of spending them alone. They’re getting worse, and it’s hurting more every passing season. If you’re wanting, I rather have nobody in my nest for the rest of my life but you.”

The next thing you knew, his warm mouth was onto yours, holding you tight against him as he started kissing you. You shivered a little, and he pulled back.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’d love to.” He crooned, making your insides turn into warm mush. He’d love to make love to you is all you could think about, and in an instant, years of self restraint seemed to wither.

“Tonight, before my heat?” You pondered. It took him a second, but then he nodded. You smiled warmly up at him and caressed his cheek. Because it was getting to winter months, he was bulky. Not fully round, but not fully muscular, yet. You loved him any other way, but were pleased that you got to have both for your first time. You wanted to remember everything clearly, and not be in a heat induced mess where fingers and hazy memories of being alone was your only companion.

“Alright, Darlin’. Tonight. I’ll head home and get ready, alright? I’ll meet you in your hut.” You agreed and the both of you parted ways temporarily. Your heart pounded and you felt slick pool out at the images you had stored in your head that built up for the last three years.

Night fell slower than you’d like, but you took the opportunity to clean your hut, make your nest comfortable, and even made stew. You were more excited than nervous. You trusted him, you knew that when the morning came, you’ll have a bonding mark, letting everybody know that he was yours, and you were his. Time crawled slowly, letting you think upon other things.

Would he want kits? You could easily imagine little cubs looking exactly like him and you, and to be honest, you didn’t mind at all. He’d be a great father, but you weren’t with him because of that. Oh no, you loved him, and your body, although not knowing it yet, will too.

You opened the door to the slow and steady knocking. He was standing there, eyes locking onto yours as you let him in without a sound.

“Would you like supper, first?” You asked. You had already eaten, but you didn’t know if he had or not. He shook his head.

“Honestly, Darlin’? I’m ready for desert.” He exclaimed while staring directly at you with a tone dark with lust. It was a newer side of him than you’ve seen, and you liked it. There was hardly any words when you led him into your nest. He had asked if you were sure about this, and you reassured him that you were more than willing. Your head was clear, and more than likely he would spend the next week with you during your heat. Your lustful hunger had been put off for way too long, and you were more than willing to share it with somebody who cares about you.

...Smut:

When you closed and locked the door, he stared at you with such a lustful gaze, you felt slick leak out. He must have smelled it, for his eyes dilated.

“I’m different when I’m in the mood, Darlin’. I’m still me, but my instincts are screamin’ at me to bend you over and fuck you full of my cum. One last chance, are you sure?” He growled out, and you all but crooned.

“I’m sure, Tai. I trust you.” You admitted, and that was all he needed to hear. Although gently, he pushed you down onto your feathered bedding, towering over you as he stared at you like a man starved. His eyes glowed under the moonlight. Your hand cupped his face gently, and he bent down to kiss you. Kissing was something new to you, and he probably could tell. He’d lick your lips, and you’d instinctively granted entry. He was warm and soothing and coaxed you to swirl your tongue over his as he lightly sucked onto yours.

You broke away from air, only for him to tug off his clothes quickly, and then tugging off of yours. You wished it was a little slower, but you enjoyed the sight. His fat and muscles glistened with sweat underneath the moonlight, and you couldn’t love it more. What caught your eyes, however, was his erection. It was fat and heavy, and leaking pre-cum onto your bedding. You never saw one up close, but you already wanted to taste it.  

“You’re beautiful.” You found yourself admit, and his eyes reached you with warmth.

“As are you, Sweetheart. Honestly, how did I get so lucky?” He murmured as he decided that the two of you needed to continue, and you were on board with that.

You all but gasped as he took a nipple within his mouth, swirling it as he stared into your eyes with an almost cocky smirk. His other hand reached out to your other nipple, and gently rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. It was a new experience, feeling his rough calloused hands do that to you. You knew you were sensitive there, but never indulged too much time because other areas cried for your attention during heat. He sucked eagerly, rolling it around with his tongue, only to let go and gently blow cool air onto your bud. You gasped and he chuckled.

“A little sensitive, Dearest?” He gently teased, but you nodded anyway. Your lower half was aching. You didn’t want to rush the experience, but your self control was withering.

“Taishiro.” You let out a whine. He all but laughed at your expense.

“A little eager, aren’t we?” A darker tone filled with lust was replacing his normal tone, and you and your instincts loved it.

“My little slutty bunny wants to be eaten out, huh?” His voice sent a fire to your loins. You didn’t care what he called you, the both of you knew that was instinct, and it did set you alight. So you nodded anyway as you found your legs being separated with his face in between them, staring at your sex as if it was his favorite meal. You whined.

“What a pretty flower, you’ve got there, Sugar.” Was your only warning as you felt his hot mouth onto you. You crooned with relief and surprise. How did he know how to do this? You didn’t mind his past, he was forever yours, now, but it still had you wondering. His hot tongue rubbed against your clit a little roughly, and you felt his hand lift from your breast, and soon you felt a thick digit enter you. His hands were calloused and bigger than yours, and so the stretch was odd, but you wanted more.

You moved your hips gently with the thrusts of his fat finger as he slowly added more, eyeing you with a raw hunger. His mouth left your opening and you let out a low whine. He kissed your thigh gently as he added a third finger, stretching you out as you moved against him, liking the feel of the foreign burn.

“You’re so tight, squeezin’ onto my fingers, drippin’ pre-cum and ruining yer bed like a wanton whore.” You hear him all but growl. You felt yourself tighten with those words and looked away in embarrassment as he chuckled darkly. You couldn’t help it!

“Ya like dirty talk, huh?” He growled out a whisper as he pulled his fingers abruptly out of you and ignored your moan of protest. He continued, pulling you onto his lap, rubbing his erect member against your clit as he growled out the remaining words that you wanted to hear.

“You wanna bounce on my cock, Baby? Lemme fuck yer cervix? Fuck you roughly through your orgasm and paint your womb white with my cum? Huh?” He breathed hotly into your ear, and you had to keep yourself from cumming then and there as you clung to him with desperation. You whimpered. This is what you’ve been wanting for so long, and you were so happy that it was with Taishiro. You weren’t scared that this was your first time, and knew that your body could take him. You wanted your body to take him, and so you nodded.

“Alright, Darlin’.” His voice was softer now as he laid you gently upon your bedding as he stared down at you with a gentle yet feral look. You knew that he’d been putting this off as long as you had, and was desperate. Unlike his dirty talk, his behavior was sweet as he kissed you gently, holding onto you as you felt the head of his cock slowly enter you.

You kept yourself still as you felt your walls envelop the large intruder. It didn’t hurt like you thought it would, but it did leave a pleasurable burning stretch that you weren’t sure to make of at first. Your eyes were locked onto his as he eyed your expression. He then came to a stop, resting flushed against your skin.

“You doin’ okay, Darlin’?” He asked hoarsely, and you nodded.

“It feels a little weird, but it doesn’t hurt.” You admitted. His muscles stiffened as he looked at you with surprise. You were confused at his expression, and then it hit you. He didn’t know of your inexperience, and you just assumed that he’d know.

“Oh, Dearest, had I known-” You cut him off by kissing him. You didn’t want him to think, right now. All you wanted was to make love.

“Move.” You ordered.

“So demanding.” He chuckled, but complied as he gently rolled his hips, grasping at the nest as he eyed your expression with such intensity. You knew that he was holding himself back for you, and honestly, it was sweet. Yet, you wanted him to enjoy himself, too.

“Taishiro, I’m not hurting. It feels-Ah!-Good. Mmh-I want you to…” Your eyes looked downwards for a second while he looked at you confused. Then you looked up at him dead in the eye as you finished your sentence.

“I want to bounce on your cock.” At this, he stilled so fast that you thought he had stopped functioning, and then with a feral growl unlike you ever heard before, he pulled you up onto his lap.

“I was trying to be gentle, Baby, but since you’re such a little slut, I think you should fuck yourself on me.” He growled darkly as he aimed a sharp thrust, burying deeper inside you and you all but screamed with ecstasy as you felt his dick hit a special spot within you.

“Oh? Was that your spot? You gonna let me fuck you, or are you gonna bounce?” He then moaned as you tried your best to meet his erratic thrusts. You all but keened as his mouth latched onto a nipple that belonged to your bouncing breasts, harshly sucking on it as his other hand roughly groped your other breast. This was what your nirvana felt like as your walls began to tighten.

Refusing to come first, he then pulled out. Any amount of protest you had, was stifled as he turned you around harshly, bare ass in the air and your face muffled within the nest. His hands gripped at your hips tightly as he thrusted in, now with fervor. His weight laid heavy on your back as he breathed into your ear, talking dirty. You crooned, because this angle was newer and you felt the heaviness of his dick plow into you better.            

         “Fuckin’ virgin wouldn’t allow me to take this slow,” He nipped at your ear through heavy breathes. “I love you so damned much. I’m going to make you ride my dick slowly next time, and you’re going to enjoy the slow intimacy, yeah?” A rush of touched warmth enveloped you as you nodded, trying to focus on cumming.

“I love you-Ah! More!” You breathed out. He let out a laugh as one of his hands reached under to rub your clit.

“Oh, Baby, the shit you do to me.” He growled for the umpteenth time. You couldn’t help it. Your walls clenched tightly as you heard him curse, and the best orgasm in your life hit you hard. You screamed out his name through the white haze of euphoria. When your senses came to, his hips fastened their pace as he suddenly gripped both of your hips hard, stilled, and felt sharp teeth clamp tight around your scent gland as he came harshly. You felt him spurt his come into you as he held you down.

His hips were now gently pumping in and out of you, letting the last spurts of his cum be released inside as he licked your wound apologetically. You couldn’t see it, but you already loved it. He gingerly pulled out of you, flopping right next to you as he pulled you close to his chest. The two of you were quiet for a while as you snuggled within his chest, feeling your erratic heartbeat calm down as his slowed.

“No, I love you more.” He countered, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

……………………………….

I think this is my most favorite fic that I’ve ever written, and one of the longest omg.    

[secret-engima]

Couple Questions Anon: Hmm, when it comes to the memories of KoL, it's always sad things like quiet days. But must be something good there too?..I don’t want to believe that it was all about battles and becoming a king/queen. Bahamut would like to do so, but KoL was like "NO" because at least they remember what it feels to be human and continuous movie of negative feelings, blood and violence for a young mind? No, horrible idea. So they intervene and show Noctis Life (1/?)

Anonymous said: Couple Questions Anon: happy moments not of kings, but of people they are. Like the joy of adopting a new culture, unraveling the mysteries of antiquity, laugh of their brothers and sisters (both by blood and bond), awkward love and the happiness of having their baby in their hands for the first time (ooh, Noct always knew that Regis loves him, but never understood HOW MUCH) and more similar things. Maybe Noct has his favorites, whose memories he returns even with pleasure? (2/2)

Me: Finally got to this ask!!!!! hgfdhgfd sorry this took so long I am scatterbrained. Anyway-

I COULD turn this angsty by pointing out even happy memories could trigger quiet days, when he turns to tell someone a joke only to realize that someone he’s thinking of lived and died four hundred years ago and he never really knew them-

But we’re not gonna go into detail on that today. Today we do Fluff (and probably a little angst but I’ll try to keep it light).

-Nox saw their lifetimes okay, ALL their lifetimes, good and bad, joyful and horrible. And yes, he has memories he treasures more than others, ones he likes to cradle close sometimes to fend off the colder memories when the Memories of the Lucii are too close to the surface to suppress. At least this way he can focus on the happy ones.

-Some of his favorites are the Rogue’s and the Just’s. The two famous Queens. Not because they were Queens but just because- well their lives were INTERESTING. Rogue was a genius at politics and had a fox’s tongue and he can still hear (feel) her laughter in the air the times her Shield would catch her dancing in the rain on the Citadel roof just for the joy of feeling alive. He also revels in the memories of when she took to ghosting through shadows, knowing down to her bones that no one could see her, that she could learn any secret if only she was quiet and patient. The Just he enjoys the memories of because she was, by nature, a very calm person, and her calm is an anchor sometimes amid memories of the Fierce’s rage or the Conqueror’s bloodlust. She liked to garden, and sometimes Nox will go out to the garden and gently dig up weeds and nurture seedlings with her memories guiding his hands and her voice humming soft lullabies to her beloved plants in the shell of his ear.

-Sometimes he retreats to the Pious instead. The Pious was ... honestly a bit of a nerd. Who loved to study and was content in his libraries were it not for his duties, which he took very seriously. His Shield is also a joy to remember, one of the few female Shields and 1000% pure Sass and Inventor Genius. The two would spend hours sitting somewhere together, the Pious reading a text and his Shield working busily on some invention that would probably blow up in somebody’s (their) face(s). She was actually a major factor behind some of the greatest innovations of her era, that opened the gateway to Nox’s own modern lifestyle and he ... likes to watch it happen sometimes. To see the clunky prototypes of things he knows will be common in his era, and feel the Pious’s WONDER at his best friend’s brilliance and maybe-madness as she dreamed up things no one else had since the fall of Solheim. Nox thinks the Pious and his Shield would have been so proud by how much of a mark her brilliance left on the world. How many lives her inventions saved without her ever knowing.

-He has bits and pieces of favored memories from every lifetime. The Fierce’s chess games with his wife. The Wise’s tiny daughter sprawling on his lap in the middle of his work and babbling at him as he dropped everything to entertain her. But he tends to avoid certain kings. Like the Conqueror. Like Mors. Like Somnus. Like Regis (he cannot bear to watch the memories his father had of Noctis growing up, seeing himself and feeling his father’s pain and love and regret without Noctis having ever known- the only ones he ever lingered on were memories of Regis growing up with Aulea, the only time Nox ever truly saw his mother being through his father’s eyes, and his own birth and the love that swelled like a tide and made him feel like he could conquer the world just for a gummy smile.)

-By far though, his favorite lifetime to revisit in his head is the Wanderer’s. The man travelled everywhere, saw so many wonders and secrets and ... little moments. Things Nox knows are so precious, that remind him of the road trip. The Wanderer’s only constant companion was his Shield, a quiet, patient man who never understood the Wanderer’s insatiable wanderlust but indulged it anyway. The Wanderer was a musician and an explorer at heart, who loved to sing just to hear the valleys ring with it and saw each one of his people as something precious and strange and unique.

-Through the Wanderer’s eyes, Nox can see everything from the Rock of Ravatogh, unchanged over the centuries between them, to Lestallum, then just a tiny little village with dreams of greatness. He can feel instruments beneath his fingers and feel songs rumbling in his throat that no one but the Wanderer and his Shield ever heard.

-He can see the sunrise over a hundred places, in every season and weather and time. From Altissia in the drizzling spring rain to the very peak of Ravatogh in the cold of winter. He can tilt his head back and listen to the chatter of the animals of Vesperpool in the cool of dusk, kick his legs off the edge of the Haven and laugh at his Shield’s quiet fussing warnings to come closer to the center before a daemon came and tried to take his legs off or something.

-He can see the Wanderer’s Love for the first time, a quiet woman of common birth, with bright eyes and a wild spirit that took the Wanderer’s breath away from first sight. Who followed him without hesitation and just smiled mischievously when he asked about the elaborate braids hidden in her curls.

-Sometimes- sometimes he is sure that the Wanderer Knew. Even in life. Even before his memories were left within the Crystal for the day Nox came ... he Knew. He knew about Nox. Somehow, someway Nox will never fathom despite seeing the Wanderer’s life for himself. The Wanderer was a man of intuition and instinct, and there were times when he said or did things that felt ... directed. At Nox.

-There’s one moment in particular, when his Love asked the question his Shield had countless times before. “Why do you wander so much? Why do you never settle down?”

-The Wanderer had just laughed softly and wandered over to a nearby pool. The water had been so clear and still, Nox was able to see the Wanderer’s sad smile at his reflection, the twinkle in his blue eyes as he murmured, “Because I want this to be remembered. These people, these places. When the Darkness falls ... I want there to be memories of all that exists beneath the light.” And then, in a softer voice Nox could only barely hear even though the memories were like his own, “I want to be able to remember. That there’s more to life than being a king, and wearing a crown, and making the sacrifice. That there are things ... worth fighting for, changing for, defying the norm for.”

-”I want to always remember why.” Why I lived. Why I died.

-Why you died.

-And somehow those words had felt directed at Nox. Not Wanderer, not his Shield or his Love, not his reflection or some rhetorical entity. But Nox.

-And he is so very, very grateful for it. For an entire lifetime of seeing the world, meeting its people, breathing its air and laughing at its joys while the rain cried for its sorrows. It is those memories, not the ones of war and battle and the kings who sat on their thrones and did their duty, that made him love Eos. Love his people. Love the dawn. It was not the Fierce who gave him acceptance of his fate. It was not the Wise who gave him the courage to tell his brothers he loved them before the end. It was not the Conqueror who made him love the world fiercely enough to die for it.

-It was Nox’s brothers and that road trip, it was Luna... 

-And it was the Wanderer.

[meganshinsou-tm]

habit. (f)

☙ pairing: hitoshi x kiyomi

☙ theme:  fluff

☙ a/n: i just wanted to write about the hc i have of kiyomi kneading hitoshi’s chest and chewing/sucking on his cheek like a kitten when she misses him. 

“It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Hitoshi rolled his eyes with a quiet sigh, laying there in bed and accepting his current fate.

Kiyomi’s small frame curled close to his side with one leg hiked up and thrown over his stomach. The ends of her fluffy tails twitched happily without any thought while steady soft purrs fell from her mouth that was full of his cheek. 

Yes … his cheek.

She seemed to have this sort of - habit. It was a blessing and a curse Hitoshi always said. 

When Kiyomi was feeling particularly affectionate, which was honestly the majority of the time, and Hitoshi had been gone for a while on missions, she would do this thing. This thing being lightly gnawing and sucking on his cheek while her clawed fingers kneaded his chest. The act would leave Hitoshi with nearly permanent teeth marks and purple hickey’s on the one side of his face for days. 

That was the curse part of it.

Having to explain the markings to his agency in the beginning was a funny story. No one believed him at first and thought that Kiyomi was just overly kinky and uncontrollable but when Hitoshi came in one day with video evidence, everyone around him awed at the cuteness of it. So now it was very well known that when Hitoshi comes back from an extremely long mission, you can expect him to come back to work the next day with the evidence of how much Kiyomi missed him. 

Hitoshi smirked lazily as he laid a hand on Kiyomi’s knee and used the other to gently scratch the base of one of her ears. She purred even louder at that and gave a slightly harsher bite that had Hitoshi chuckling. Then a small and warm gentle lick swiped over the teeth marks, a soft chirp interrupted the purring and she was back to business.

Once when Hitoshi finally asked why she did this, Kiyomi explained that even she didn’t really know. All she could think of was that it was just hardwired into the biology of her being an animal hybrid. Just like she had normal human impulses and tendencies, she also had animalistic ones. Some examples were how she liked to nest and burrow, how she loved to sit or lay in areas of their home where the sunlight shone. Kiyomi also had very high stamina during the warmer months and she would go out and run as much as she could. In the winter she became much lazier, those were Hitoshi’s favorite months. 

And just like a fox, Kiyomi would make happy little chirps or cries when she was overly excited, tails in a frenzy of wags. When she was sad or hurt, her ears would flatten and she’d whimper with those tails tucked between her legs. So the whole assumption of her feeling the need to do this little ritual every time Hitoshi came back home made sense. 

Kiyomi would also admit to Hitoshi that it was a comfort thing as well. The act of kneading and biting helped to calm and ease her. 

Of course, Kiyomi had literal rubber dog chewing toys around the house that she would teeth on when she was stressed or overwhelmed. And she also had numerous fluffy blankets around that she would curl into and knead at like nobody's business. When Hitoshi questioned why she did it on him, he wasn’t prepared for the answer.

“Well … you’re my person and I know you don’t see me as a pet and that I’m not a pet but it’s kind of like that? You know how dogs get excited when their owners come back home from work? Or how cats purr and make biscuits on you when they’re content. It’s kind of like that. I miss you so much when you’re away on those missions and I literally count down the days until you come home. Whenever you do finally come home I just feel this instinct to do - that.”

Hitoshi remembered how he literally clutched his chest that day and felt like he had been ko’d. 

He had never really complained about how Kiyomi treated him like one of her chew toys and blankets and after that he damn sure wasn’t going to start now! From then on Hitoshi wore the marks of Kiyomi’s affection and love with pride. 

In fact he had always found it very fucking adorable! Sure it was a little inconvenient sometimes but when Kiyomi was like this he could never find it in himself to stop her. She would look and even feel so relaxed and at peace. Her eyes would flutter shut and that cute little black nose would nuzzle his cheek before small fangs were latching onto it. It would only take a few minutes for the purring to start up and for her hands to trail up his body until they found the warmest and softest spot of him. Hitoshi only ever had to interrupt Kiyomi if she was kneading a particularly ticklish spot. Even he only had so much self control to not succumb to giggles.

Then there were the cute little noises besides the purring. The happy chirps or annoyed tiny growls when he’d have to move the slightest bit. Hitoshi was a sucker for the licks too. God be still his beating heart when Kiyomi would coo and gently lick at his cheek if he hissed because she bit or sucked too hard. 

Hitoshi would never understand how someone could be so fucking cute and perfect. 

Yeah, that was the blessing part of it. 

“Toshi,” Kiyomi suddenly mumbled sleepily.

Hitoshi quirked a brow and noticed that his face was free and turned to look at her. He smiled upon seeing her yawn and rub at her eyes, smacking her lips. 

“All done kit?”

Kiyomi nodded and nosed at his now tender cheek before giving a few soft licks to it.

“For now.”

Hitoshi chuckled and pressed a kiss to her forehead before reaching over and turning off the bedside lamp. He tucked the covers snugly around her before cuddling her close, earning a sleepy but happy chirp and a kiss to his chest as she wrapped around him.

“What am I gonna do with you huh?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, keep me and love me.”

An exaggerated sigh fell from Hitoshi’s lips and Kiyomi smiled as he held her tighter.

“I guess I can do that.”

[holy-honeybees]

Snowdrift

AO3

Rating: T+ (for swearing)

Summary: Three friends and  their dog get lost in a snowstorm while investigating the paranormal. Amidst swirling flurries of white, some lose their way and get lost in their memories, others lose sight of their friends and loved ones, and an unforgiving winter quickly fills in the footprints one would follow to get back home.

A/N: I started this back in November but sadly never finished the work. I was thinking of holding off till it started to snow again, but figured now was as good a time as any to try and finish this.The title is taken from Snail's House song "[snowdrift]" which you can check out here!

The last bit of fluff before the storm!

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter One

Chapter Four

Mystery woke slowly the next morning to the sounds of hushed conversation, wriggling out from under Vivi’s arm as the heaviest sleeper of the group continued to snore away. He stretched out his hind legs, giving himself a good shake before blearily regarding the two young men deep in conversation. It would figure that the ghost, who technically didn’t need sleep, and the insomniac, who pretended that he didn’t need sleep, would be the first two up. The disguised kitsune mused momentarily over who had been the first to rise before discarding the train of thought as largely pointless at this ungodly hour of the morning. Instead, he trotted over to the rear doors of the van and, having long ago discarded all pretense of being a semi-normal dog, gripped the handle in his teeth and opened the door to the outside world.

“Mystery, wait—” The warning came too late however, and a sudden gust of wind wrenched the door out of his grip, tumbling him headfirst into a snowdrift as he lost his balance. The kitsune struggled for a moment to right himself, only to find he was buried almost up to his haunches in the snow. It would quickly be approaching Vivi’s knees, a height that Mystery was quite familiar with, having spent most of the human’s lifespan at the same level. The cold didn’t bother him much, with his thick fur coat providing protection from the freezing temperatures, but the prospect of having to hop through the snow was simply embarrassing. He had been just about to shift to his natural state when a large hand grasped him by his scruff and hoisted him back into the van, pulling the door shut behind him. Back on solid ground, Mystery quickly shook the loose snow from his pelt. He could see Arthur shivering in the corner, the icy blast of air he’d unintentionally let inside severe enough to even wake Vivi from her slumber. The girl mumbled sleepily and rubbed at her eyes.

“Good morning,” the kitsune deadpanned. Vivi glared at him, though the expression lost some of its heat by the way she was squinting as her eyes adjusted to daylight.

“Arthur and I were just talking about the situation outside,” Lewis said.

“The situation?” Vivi mumbled, putting forth a valiant effort to stay awake.

“The snow hasn’t let up at all,” the ghost said, “In fact, the van’s almost buried up to its wheel wells.”

“According to the radar, it doesn’t look like it’s going to be stopping anytime soon either,” the mechanic explained, gesturing to his laptop screen as he turned it to face the others. There was a large patch of icy blue stationary in the middle of the screen.

“Unless the satellite image froze again…I think the weather is starting to mess with the van’s internet connection,” Arthur muttered.

“So we’re snowed in?” Mystery surmised. Lewis and Arthur shared a look before nodding their heads.

“We were discussing possible solutions before you guys got up. With the snow so deep, the van won’t budge.”

“I could make the van ‘go ghost’ to see if we can get past the snow that way, but, well…” Lewis spared a glance to the mechanic who’d paled at the reminder of the monstrous purple semi-truck.

“It’s not the best idea,” the ghost concluded, “And the nearest town is still miles away, too far to walk,”

“Why don’t we just stay here?” Vivi suggested, already settling back into the blankets on the floor.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Arthur frowned.

“Not for forever, just until we figure out a solution we can all agree on or until we become unstuck. We’ve got plenty of supplies,” Vivi yawned. Mystery thought it must be exhausting being so optimistic and loved the young woman all the more for it.

“I’m not sure hot cocoa counts as ‘supplies’,” Arthur said, “but we do have enough food for at least a couple more days.”

“What about your ghost hunt though? You were so excited to go,” Lewis said.

“I’m excited to spend time with you dorks,” Vivi snorted, “Besides, yesterday was fun. We can teach you how to make a snowman now that you’ve mastered snow angels.” The specter huffed a fond-sounding laugh.

“I suppose that settles it then,” he said, Arthur nodding in agreement. The three turned to look at Mystery for his acquiescence.

“I have missed the snow,” the dog conceded.

“Good,” Vivi mumbled sleepily, her eyes already drifting shut again, “We’ll try to head out later today if the snow melts some. Otherwise, we stay until tomorrow. Just think of it…as a…snow day…” And the blue-haired girl was asleep once more, snoring away as if she’d never been disturbed.

“I better let my parents know about the delay. As if my dad wasn’t already worried enough …” Lewis sighed, shaking his head, “Would it be okay if I borrowed your laptop again, Arthur?”

“Sure, for as much good as it will do you with this crappy internet connection,” the mechanic shrugged, “The radar image either keeps freezing up or there’s a particularly stubborn snow cloud that’s decided to park itself right over top of us. I’ll check to see if I can get a better signal after another cup of coffee.” Lewis narrowed his eyes at his friend.

“What? The instant stuff isn’t that bad,” Arthur joked weakly.

“Yes it is,” Lewis replied, “And it’s not so much the quality of it that I’m worried about but rather the quantity of how much you drink.”

“Oh, come on! This will just be my—”

“Fourth cup,” Lewis interrupted, giving the mechanic a withering look, “I’ve been counting.” Arthur squawked in indignation, and Mystery barked out a brief laugh before turning back to the rear doors, leaving the two young men to squabble over what an acceptable caffeine intake should be for the jittery mechanic.

“Uh, Mystery? Looking to do a repeat performance from earlier?” Lewis said.

“I have to go outside,” the kitsune replied.

“W-Why, is there some-something out there?” Arthur asked in alarm.

“No, I just have to…” Mystery put his ears back in embarrassment, “Go.” There was a moment of silence in the van before the ghost and the mechanic broke into a fit of laughter. Vivi mumbled in her sleep and turned to her other side.

“Oh man,” Arthur said, wiping at his eyes, “Sometimes I forget you’re still kind of a dog.”

“Here, let me get the door for you,” Lewis offered. The kitsune grumbled in annoyance at the two young men’s antics. It appeared they weren’t just children in Mystery’s eyes after all. With Lewis propping the door open, the dog leapt from the van gracefully, landing in the snow in his kitsune-form so as to not get stuck again, his six tails lashing about in the wind. To his dismay, he saw that the indentation from where he’d landed minutes earlier had already begun to fill in, quickly losing its definition as the snow continued to pile on the ground. He would be very surprised if the Mystery Skulls managed to leave their temporary resting spot today.

“Just let us know when you’re ready to come inside, okay?” Lewis said. Mystery gave him a curt nod before trotting away through the snow to find some privacy, hearing the door of the van click shut behind him as he made for the tree line in the distance.

The kitsune truly had missed the snow, and it had been decades since he’d had a proper winter that reminded him of home. He admired the way his breath fogged around his snout in short bursts, thinking of centuries worth of winters spent in Japan. He wondered if he was growing old and senile, reminiscing the way he was, or if it was just his softer side showing. Oh, how the other yōkai would laugh if they could see you now, Mystery mused, passing between barren trees with snow-laden branches. A lot had changed since he’d first met Vivi’s ancestor and been subsequently defeated by her. He was no longer the feared and respected fox spirit he once was. But it was a change for the better, if for the company alone, the three young humans he’d come to think of as his pups. Mystery knew he would go to great lengths to protect them, having failed to do so before. The world was a dangerous place, something Mystery, as one of the dangerous things in it, was well aware of. He had thought that by playing the role of the unassuming mascot he’d been protecting them, but it had nearly cost him everything. The kitsune had chosen to keep silent when he knew they were walking into danger. He thought he’d had everything under control, that if it became absolutely necessary to intervene, he would be fast enough.

He was wrong.

Mystery had wondered if the cave would be the end of his little pack. By some miracle, fate had brought them back together though and allowed for reconciliation, which was more than he could have hoped for. Now, he would give his six tails just to keep his pups safe. As far away as he was, the kitsune could still sense them clearly, would be able to sniff out their souls from miles away if he had to. The burning, electric purple scent of Lewis, so different now from his once muted yet strong mulberry color. The familiar blue that was comfort, love, home, Vivi, the ephemeral sparks of her magic potential flickering through the blue like frost on a window pane. Arthur’s sunshiny yellow pulsing like a beacon. Even as the mechanic had healed in body and mind after being possessed, the damage done would leave Arthur vulnerable for the rest of his life, unaware that his soul was broadcasting an enticing signal to the supernatural.

Mystery thought back to the day before uneasily. Arthur had been so sure he’d seen…something in the road. Mystery had checked then to see if there was anything out there that could pose a threat to his pups and had come up empty, but perhaps the jumpy mechanic’s worried nature was beginning to rub off on him. Over-confidence had cost him dearly in the past, and it was a lesson the kitsune had taken to heart. Mystery pushed the boundaries of his senses to their limits, concentrating hard until he was confident he had encompassed a wide enough radius around their present location for his extrasensory search. Like last time though, he came up empty. There was the purple, yellow, and blue, his own strong red scent, but not another living thing for miles, and no supernatural entity he could detect waiting in the shadows. Besides the colors he was so familiar with, everything was as tasteless, scentless, and colorless as the snow Mystery waded through. Satisfied with his thorough search, the kitsune shook himself free of his troubled thoughts along with the fine layer of snow that had gathered on his pelt. He took care of his business before heading back towards the van and the blended colors of the souls he loved so well. They’re safe this time, he told himself, even as the feeling of being watched prickled at his skin and caused the fur along his back to stand on end.

---

As Mystery had predicted, the Mystery Skulls were not to depart that day, everyone preparing to spend another night on the floor of the van instead. The snow continued to fall, adding further inches to the foot or so already on the ground. The wind had picked up as well, now violently swirling outside. As the snowstorm increased in intensity, so too did Mystery’s feelings of unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched despite knowing that they were the only ones out here. The dog eyed the door to the van warily, and though nothing had passed beyond the rear windows except for more falling snow, Mystery still couldn’t force himself to relax. Had he any less self-control, he might have even let out a whine.

An unexpected, hesitant touch to the back of his head startled the dog badly, causing him to leap to his feet. The hand quickly withdrew as Mystery whipped around to look at the source of the touch, only to see Arthur staring back, eyes wide with panic. The kitsune couldn’t fault the young man for being afraid of him, particularly when Mystery had been the source of the mechanic’s impromptu amputation, but it still hurt whenever Arthur jumped at his presence or eyed him warily. This had all been so much easier before he’d come clean about the truth of his existence, when he could just ignore what he’d done, what he was. The kitsune wondered if he had kept his secrets to protect himself from their fear and rejection as much as he’d done so to protect the Mystery Skulls themselves. Arthur still raised his hand though and, extending it slowly, bridged the gap between them. The mechanic patted his head and Mystery did his best to ignore the tremors he felt running through the young man’s hand as he leaned into the touch.

“Y-You okay, pal?” Arthur asked in a quiet voice, “You seem kind of tense.”

“Just eager to get going again,” the fox spirit reassured as the mechanic continued to pet him, “Tired of being cooped up in the back of the van for so long.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but Mystery didn’t want to reveal the true cause of his unease, certain it would further unnerve Arthur. Vivi and Lewis were in the opposite corner of the van, chatting amicably as Vivi composed an email to send off to her parents while they visited her Granny Yukino in Japan. The ghost and the girl were blissfully ignorant of the troubled conversation he and Arthur were having. Vivi’s enthusiasm for their so-called “snow day” had yet to wane, and Lewis was more than happy to just go along for the ride. Mystery would prefer to keep it that way rather than worrying his pups any more than he already had. Arthur continued to stroke his fur as Vivi concluded her email and got up to pass the laptop back to the mechanic. He paused to give a final scratch behind Mystery’s ears, just the way the dog liked, before receiving his laptop with both hands. Mystery would have loved for the petting to continue, childish comfort as it may have been, it had helped settle him significantly. There was no one out there, no danger to his family. Just the wicked winds of winter howling outside. Accepting that, he contented himself to just lay down and listen as his humans talked.

“Any word on how your Granny is doing?” Arthur asked.

“She’s still recovering from her fall, but she’s tough as nails,” Vivi replied proudly, “Mom and dad are just there to make sure she doesn’t overdo it on her own. She has a hard time just taking it easy.”

“Still, I’m sorry about the timing, it’s not fun being on your own for the holidays.”

“It’s alright, I’ve got you guys to keep me company!” Vivi said, unwaveringly cheerful, “Besides, me and Mystery are this close to cracking the secret to my mom’s fried chicken recipe. It has to be in the dredging. I think we’ll have it perfected just in time for dinner on Christmas Eve! It won’t be so different from any other year that way, I just won’t have to fight my dad for the last drumstick.”

“I’m looking forwards to being able to cook Christmas dinner for my family again,” Lewis said, “It’s one of the few days the restaurant is closed, so it’s nice to see mom and dad relax and put their feet up for once. Plus, I make a mean lasagna.”

“Heh, I think Uncle Lance gave up on cooking for Christmas after that year he tried to do one of those beer can turkey recipes. Hell, the fire chief might’ve expressly forbidden it. I think we’re doing Chinese takeout again this year.”

“At least orange chicken is something normal to eat…” Vivi teased.

“Hey, don’t bring Surf’s Up Pizza into this!”

“It’s so nice to be able to see the restaurant decorated with poinsettias again,” Lewis said distractedly. He had a wistful expression on his skull, seemingly unaware that he’d even spoken aloud until he noticed Vivi and Arthur staring at him intently, their playful argument abandoned.

“Mom always decorates the restaurant with poinsettias around Christmas. I…I never thought I’d get to see it like that again,” Lewis confessed. Vivi smiled at the ghost warmly, giving his arm a little squeeze before she turned her attention to their other friend.

“What about you, Artie? Lance do much decorating at home?” She asked.

“I don’t think Uncle Lance is real big on Christmas. The only Christmas movie he’ll even watch is Die Hard. I think he only decorates ‘cause he knows I like it,” Arthur began, “Growing up with my dad though…we were on the road pretty often and spent a lot of nights in the car, even on Christmas. Not a whole lot of room for a tree in there, but he’d always make sure to get one of those little tree-shaped air fresheners to hang from the rearview mirror. We’d set our presents up on the dashboard under it.”

“You don’t talk about him a whole lot,” Lewis said.

“Y-Yeah, I try not to think about it too much,” Arthur replied, making an attempt at a casual shrug, “But…ever since it started snowing, it’s been hard not to think about it. I haven’t seen snow since I came to live with Uncle Lance, so I guess it’s just bringing up old memories.” The mechanic rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, seemingly caught off-guard by his own admission. Mystery nosed tentatively at Arthur’s hand and was rewarded with a few more pats to the head and a small smile from the young man. Over the tops of his glasses, the kitsune could see Vivi and Lewis exchange concerned glances.

“Well, I don’t have Die Hard with me, but how about a movie?” Vivi suggested, eager to offer a distraction to try and lift their spirits. Without waiting for a response, she pulled the bag she’d packed for the trip into her lap, digging through it fervently.

“Duet’s not real big on commercial, non-secular holidays. So far, The Tome Tomb has remained unspoiled by those tacky Christmas stations you hear in most stores this time of year. I’m actually not sick of Christmas yet,” Vivi said as she rummaged, “Aha! Here it is, the best Christmas movie of all time!” She displayed the DVD case to the others with a flourish. Mystery perked up as he saw the familiar title.

“A Nightmare Before Christmas?” Arthur said, his smile now returning in earnest, “That would be your favorite.”

“I watch it every year with Mystery! Things have been so hectic lately, I haven’t had a chance yet though. What do you guys think?”

“So long as I don’t have to listen to ‘Feliz Navidad’ for the rest of our road trip, I’m happy,” Lewis replied.

“We should still have enough charge left for a movie,” Arthur said, handing his laptop back to Vivi. It was all the encouragement she needed, and with a whoop of excitement, the young woman quickly popped open the CD drive and inserted the disc. They all crowded in front of the small screen, glum mood from moments earlier all but forgotten. Vivi wasted no time in piling the blankets on top of her friends, making sure they were all sufficiently cozy before finally pressing play. Mystery curled up on Vivi’s lap as the movie began, his chin resting on Arthur’s knee as the mechanic resumed stroking his fur. The four of them chattered happily about plans for the holidays and the upcoming year, joking and laughing as the DVD played. Eventually they lapsed into a comfortable silence and began to doze before the movie even finished. As usual, Vivi was the first to nod off, though she was quickly followed by Arthur to Mystery’s surprise. Lewis, seeing them fast asleep, bade the kitsune a quiet good night as the black coffin he rested in materialized in the back of the van, disappearing just as quickly once its occupant was inside. With all of his pups resting for the night, Mystery surveyed the warm scene he’d found himself a part of. Arthur finally looked relaxed, a bit of drool dotting the corner of his mouth, and Vivi had cocooned herself entirely in blankets, except for an arm that had been flung around the mechanic’s waist in her sleep. Mystery chuckled fondly before he spared a final glance out the window, still seeing nothing but snowflakes flicker past the glass. Just as the credits began to roll, he finally curled up in the blankets at Vivi’s side and joined the others in sleep.

Outside, something colorless as snow stood poised to strike.