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aparticularbandit · 1 year

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Birdie Dresses Claire

Summary: Because someone has to get Claire out of all that beige, and who better than the fam’s fantastic fashionista?

AO3

“C’mon. Just one time.”

“Nuh—No.”

Claire doesn’t even look up. It’s a familiar argument. Not even argument, that makes it sound like it’s a fight, and it’s not a fight, it’s just something Birdie brings up almost constantly, and every time she brings it up, Claire says no, as is her right, and then they carry on with their lives like this isn’t a constant conversation that she isn’t getting tired of having.

Except that Birdie doesn’t drop it.

To be fair, Birdie never drops it. She just lets it alone for a little bit like a puppy who’s had a shoe taken away from it (and then brings it back up like the same puppy will always somehow find the shoe, no matter where it gets hidden). Except this time, she’s not letting it alone.

Birdie drapes herself across Claire’s lap, long legs, long skirt, stretching out to the other side of her, and wraps her bare arms around Claire’s neck. She smells of coconut and lime and a little bit of booze, which isn’t her fault. Claire blames Andi for indulging her, but she won’t hold it against her. Andi indulges all of them, within reason. There are limits.

“Clairebear, you are such a bore.” Birdie nuzzles into her neck. “Just once. Fashion’s my thing, Claire. You would look so good—”

“Are you saying I don’t look good?” Claire leans back against their couch just enough to stare Birdie in the eyes, brows rising.

Birdie pouts. “No,” she replies, drawing the word out. “But you could look better.”

“She’s right, you know.” Andi comes from wherever she’s been – probably the kitchen, she has a drink in her other hand – and places a hand on Claire’s shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “All of that beige is not becoming, Claire.”

Claire twists to look up at her. “It’s not all beige! I have brown! And white!”

“Color, Claire,” Birdie whines. She pats Claire’s cheek twice, emphasizing her words. “You. need. color.” Then she takes Claire’s cheeks between her fingers, squeezes, purses Claire’s lips together. “Say yes. I’d make you fantastic.” She tries to move Claire’s jaw, to make her mouth open and close. When she succeeds, Birdie grins, speaks for her, “Yes, Birdie. You can do anything you want, Birdie.” Her grin spreads, and she drops her grip. “Okay! Let’s go!”

“Birdie, it doesn’t work like that—” Claire starts to say, but Birdie prances off to her bedroom anyway, bright grin on her face, not looking back, as if she doesn’t even hear her.

Andi just gives Claire’s shoulder another squeeze. “Indulge her, Claire,” she says, leaning down against the back of the couch, folding her arms under her head, and staring out after their friend. “She’s never going to drop it until you do.”

“Yes, but if I give in, she’s just going to try again later. You know. One more time, I did such a good job last time, you should always let me dress you—”

“Well, you should always let her dress you.” Andi gives Claire a sharp but not cruel look. “Your clothes make you look so washed out and pasty.”

Claire frowns, crossing her arms. “It makes me look nonthreatening. Which is important in the political sphere. You just wouldn’t get it.”

Andi nods slow. “That is exactly why our wonderful First Lady, Michelle Obama, only ever wore boring, colorless clothes.” She raises a finger. “Oh, wait. She didn’t.”

“I’m no Michelle Obama, Andi—”

“But you could be, Claire.” Andi reaches over, squeezes her shoulder again, and gives her a little shake. “It’s not like Birdie’s asking you to go out in whatever she puts you in. She just wants to play Barbie with her real life best friend.” She squints and leans towards her. “You’re just scared you’re going to like it.”

Claire’s frown deepens, her brow furrowing. “I’m not scared of anything.”

Except that…isn’t really true. She’s scared of a lot of things. In particular, she’s scared of losing the tentative gains she’s made in Connecticut politics, of scaring off voters by wearing clothes that are a little too bold, of jeopardizing her chances of running for Senate in a few years’ time. Claire knows better than anyone that politics is a game with an ever-shifting goalpost, and while she thinks – she knows – that she can affect good change in her state, in her country (and she’s seen it, she’s seen the good she’s been able to do, especially as governor, and she just wants to take that and build on it), she’s constantly worried that the slightest unintended slip-up will set her back to where she was when Andi found her – on the city council, barely, because there’d been a mix-up with the guy who should’ve been in her spot and so she’d won by default, not because the voters liked her, unable to go anywhere no matter how hard she tried.

It isn’t that Claire is innately unlikeable; it’s that she’s always had a hard time phrasing her passion in ways that actually connect with people. People are the hard part. She’s not good at people.

Well.

She’s good with these people, but not with people in general.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Andi repeats, soothing. “It’s just here. With us. We’re not going to tell anybody.”

Claire rolls her eyes. “Birdie’s going to take a picture, and she’s going to post it to one of her social media accounts, and it’s going to get spread everywhere—”

Andi holds up a pink phone in one hand. “Not if I have her phone, she won’t.”

“Fine.” Claire shivers, forces it down. “Fine. You win.” She pushes her hands into the couch cushion, pushes herself up, and turns to Andi. “But only because you have her phone. If she gets a picture—”

“She won’t.” Andi grins, winks. “But I might.”

“Andi—”

“Just to remind myself that you look good when you get out of your comfort zone.” Andi reaches across, gives her a shove. “Now go. Birdie’s waiting—”

“Claire!” Birdie calls from down the hallway, drawing Claire’s name out just as long as she can make it. “Where are you? I’ve been getting everything ready—”

“Just a minute—”

“You only say that when you’re not coming!”

Claire can hear the pout in Birdie’s voice. She sighs, pushes her hands through her hair, and gives Andi a look. “If this goes poorly, it’s your fault.”

“I will take the blame.” Andi spreads her hands out to either side of her. “Now go.” She makes a shooing motion with one hand. “You know how Birdie gets when she’s waiting too long.”

Claire sighs again. But she goes.

“Okay, okay, okay, sit there,” Birdie starts, pressing gently on Claire’s shoulders so that she falls onto the chair waiting for her, “and close your eyes.”

Claire does not close her eyes. She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows. “I can’t just close my eyes, Birdie. I have to put on the dress—”

“I can do that for you.” Birdie waves a hand dismissively. “I’m very good at dressing and undressing people. Very good.” She grins and leans forward, placing a hand on each arm of Claire’s chair. “You’d know that if you ever let me—”

“Stop.” Claire flushes bright red but doesn’t avert her eyes. “Just pick the dress and I can put it on and—”

Birdie pouts again.

“What?” Claire glances over Birdie’s shoulder to the huge closet full of clothes she’s pretty sure she’s only seen Birdie wear once. It seems like such a waste to her, putting all that money and effort into an outfit that she won’t wear again, but then again, she’s not the one into fashion, Birdie is. “Your clothes aren’t going to fit me anyway.”

It’s one thing for Birdie to pout; it’s quite another thing entirely for her to roll her eyes and give a little shake of her head. “Trust me. I’m not stupid.”

Claire doesn’t say anything. It won’t do any good. As much as she loves Birdie, telling her that her brain cells are in another castle will not go over well. Instead, her gaze rests on all of the clothes, none of which will fit, and then she sighs. Closing her eyes might be the best option here, actually. Then she won’t have to see what Birdie is getting for her. She sighs, forces herself to relax, and closes her eyes. “Okay,” she says, rolling her lips together. “I’ll trust you.”

Birdie giggles. “No peeking.”

The chair creaks as she takes her hands from its arms, and despite what Birdie literally just told her, Claire cracks one eye open to see Birdie dancing into the closet, pressing something in the middle of a lot of clothes, and opening a hidden door behind which are more clothes, ones that she’s never seen Birdie wear before. Then Birdie starts to turn, and she shuts her eyes tight closed again.

It takes a few minutes, and in that time, Claire’s arms slowly uncross and rest on the arms of the chair instead, fingers digging into the wood and then tapping lightly on it. She takes a deep breath in, crosses her legs ladylike at the ankle, and then uncrosses them, taps her toes on the rug Birdie’s spread out over the hardwood floor. At least it’s soft.

“Birdie?”

“Hold on, hold on, I’m coming.”

Claire doesn’t have to see Birdie to know that she’s prancing through the clothes to her, that she’s running her fingers along the fabric, so when something is unexpectedly plopped into her lap, she jumps. “What is—”

“Don’t open your eyes!”

Claire snaps her eyes shut again, unaware that she’d instinctively started to open them. Her lips press together again. “What am I supposed to do with this if I can’t see it? It’s just—”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Birdie picks whatever she’d just plopped in Claire’s lap up and does something else with it – Claire can hear the clink of the hanger, so she’s probably just put it somewhere else – and then grabs Claire’s wrists and pulls her out of the chair. “Strip.”

Everything else has been a suggestion. Claire can say no to suggestions. Or requests. Kindnesses. Birdie just asking her for things. Not gentle or kind or whatever, just Birdie being who she normally is.

This, though, is not a suggestion.

This is a command.

Claire swallows. Hard.

Then she turns, pulls her hair to one side, and says, voice soft, “Unzip me.” Swallows again, lowers her head, says even more quietly, “Please.”

Birdie hums pleasantly as she unzips the back of Claire’s dress. Her fingers linger at the bottom of the zipper, and again, that commanding voice, even if it’s only meant as a question, it isn’t one, “Can I take this off you?”

Claire just nods.

This isn’t fair. That’s what she’s thinking – what she’s trying to focus on – as she keeps her eyes shut, as Birdie’s hands push the sleeves off of her arms, as the dress falls down at her feet. It’s not like she and Birdie haven’t shared a changing room together before. There was that time when Duke thought they should all get into exercise, and they’d all humored him, at least for a little bit, and joined a gym, and they’d gone the full nine yards – gym clothes, changing in the locker room, that sort of thing. It was the first time she’d seen the tattoo along Andi’s side, the first time she’d noticed how unmarked Birdie’s skin was – which, you know, of course. Model. She couldn’t have scars or tattoos or anything like that. She had to be flawless. Claire just hadn’t noticed it before.

She’d been very good at not noticing it since then.

Claire steps carefully out of the dress now piled on the floor, and she feels Birdie at her feet, just as carefully picking the dress up and probably laying it out flat somewhere so that it won’t get wrinkled (she is always very considerate where clothes are concerned). Then Birdie’s hands are on her bare hips, just at the edge of her underwear, and when she lets out a frustrated little hum, Claire asks, “What?” She tries not to snap, but given the current state of her nerves, she can’t be sure it doesn’t come out that way.

“I like the black lace better—”

“Birdie, that was one time.”

Lies. It’s been multiple times. But it’d only been once that Claire hadn’t had time between the gym and her date, and there’d been showers at the gym, so she’d thought it was fine to just bring the lingerie with her. Andi had been nice enough to not comment on anything, but Birdie had just appraised her. Like she’d needed that. Like she’d needed Birdie to tell her it looked good.

(She hadn’t needed it, but it had been nice, and even now, Claire can feel her cheeks warming, flushing with the memory of it, with Birdie’s current admittance. Even if she knows Birdie doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s still nice to hear.)

“—and I’m gonna need you to change this.” Birdie runs a finger along one of the straps of Claire’s bra, tucks her finger under it, and gives it a little snap. “You can’t have this.”

Claire hesitates. “I don’t have another one with me, and I don’t think I want to put on that dress without a bra.” She presses her lips together, gives a little shake of her head. “Unless there’s one built into it—”

“Ew, gross, no,” Birdie interrupts before Claire has a chance to finish. “I’ve got one you can use.”

Again, Claire hesitates. This should go without saying, but she says it anyway, “Birdie, I’m not….” She winces. “I’m not your size, hon.”

Again, Birdie sighs, and Claire imagines her rolling her eyes again. “Clairebear, I’m going to tell you a secret,” she says, wrapping her arms around Claire’s waist and resting her head on her shoulder, “but you’ve got to promise you’re not going to tell anybody.”

Claire couldn’t promise anything right now. She can’t say anything right now that wouldn’t come out as incoherent mumbling because she’s not sure if she’s comfortable with this or uncomfortable with this. Birdie, do you even realize—

Birdie begins to play with Claire’s hair, wrapping strands of it around one finger, and if Claire thought she could say anything, she certainly can’t now. “So you remember how I used to fix everyone’s clothes?”

It’s been a while, but Claire remembers. Back when everyone had first met, when they’d first become friends, when Andi had convinced them it would be cheaper if they all moved into a little house together, and then they could pull their resources to help each other out (and she’d been right, but it had been weird, like living in a frat house, sometimes, with Duke in the basement and the sort of bro-ship he’d built up with Lionel), Birdie set herself up as their tailor. It was one of the things she was trying – looking at fashion from the clothes side of things instead of the model side of things – and it helped her to practice on their clothes…and when she got good at it, it had helped them to have clothes tailored to fit each of them specifically, even if they just got cheap jeans from Walmart, because it made them look sharper. More capable. And Birdie had gone from tailoring their clothes to making some of her own design, and—

Claire swallows once. Nods. “I remember.”

“I, uh. I still have all of your sizes.” Birdie giggles, buries her head in the slope of Claire’s neck, smiles against her skin, and then continues, “Not just yours, but. All of us? So sometimes, when I’m really bored, I just.” The fingers of the hand still around Claire’s waist drum against her skin. “Peg says it’s good to keep me busy doing something that isn’t Twitter.” She slumps, pouts. “Bras are harder to make, but I can do it.”

“You….” Claire takes a moment, wets her lips. “You make us clothes.”

Birdie nods. “Mmhm.”

“And you don’t…you didn’t tell any of us about this.”

Birdie nods again. “Mmhm.” Her head tilts. “Well, I think Andi knows, but she asks for stuff from me. You don’t. Duke never does. Lionel does sometimes, but only when he’s already found something he likes and just can’t get it in the right color.” Without thinking, she scowls, bites soft into Claire’s shoulder, hangs there for a second. “That’s not the same, though,” she mutters into Claire’s skin.

Claire swallows again. The worst thing about Birdie – the absolute worst thing about Birdie – is that she doesn’t mean anything by this. Being handsy. Setting her teeth into Claire’s shoulder. It’s just her. And yet Claire still shivers when she does it, like she does mean something when she knows – she knows – she doesn’t. “So you’re saying you have a bra. For me. For this dress you’ve made?”

“I didn’t make the dress.” Birdie unhooks her teeth from Clarie’s shoulder, and Claire resists the urge to turn to her, to open her eyes, because she already knows the confused expression Birdie is wearing. “You’re not ready for the dress I made for you.”

Somehow, this does not make Claire feel any better about this whole letting Birdie dress her thing.

“But I made a bra—”

Birdie’s warm hand moves from her waist, and as she scurries off back to the closet, Claire shivers with the weight of her disappearance, with the sudden cold air against her back in the absence of Birdie being pressed against her. She hesitates, turns, sits, changes her mind (the chair is so cold against her bare legs, against her bare back), and stands again, wrapping her arms around herself. It’s harder not to open her eyes now, standing half-naked in the middle of Birdie’s room. She hears Birdie approaching before Birdie can say anything, and she flinches.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Claire.” Birdie places a thin scrap of fabric in her hands. “Here, hold this.”

“What do you mean hold this, Birdie, what are you going to—”

Birdie presses up against her again, from the front this time, and wraps her hands around to fidget with the back of Claire’s bra.

Claire flushes what must be an even brighter red, though she can’t see it; her cheeks grow so hot that she’s certain she can’t be doing anything else. “I can get that myself—”

“No, it’s fine, I’ve got it.” Birdie’s fingers brush along Claire’s skin as she unclasps Claire’s bra, and then she steps just enough away that she isn’t pressed against her anymore, but her fingers still brush along Claire’s skin, this time along her shoulders as she starts to brush the bra straps off.

Immediately, Claire covers her chest with her arms and turns away from Birdie. “Don’t look!”

Birdie makes a tsking sound. “You’ve got nice tits, Claire. You shouldn’t be ashamed of—”

“They’re not for you to look at!”

Claire hunches over, arms still covering her chest, eyes squeezed shut, this time not because Birdie asked her to keep them closed but because she needs them to be closed. She breathes heavy, quick, forces herself to slow. “You can’t just…you can’t just take someone’s bra off for them. It’s not…it’s not….” She can’t even finish the sentence.

“Claire.” Birdie’s fingers lightly touch her shoulder, and when Claire doesn’t flinch away or shake them off, she places her whole hand there. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know.” Claire takes a deep breath, forces herself to steady. “Just…just let me do my bra myself, okay? You can do the rest. I won’t….” She swallows again, catches the tear in her eye before it can fall. “You can do the rest.”

“Okay.” Birdie squeezes Claire’s shoulder as gently as she can. “I’ll look away, just let me. You’ll let me know? Um. When you’re done?”

Claire nods. She’s certain Birdie’s seen it before she turns. She hopes Birdie’s seen it before she turns. She just can’t force herself to say anything.

As she lets her bra drop – only halfway on the floor because it half lands on her bare feet – Birdie says, voice oddly not soft and oddly chipper, “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Sure, Birdie is just the sort of person that Claire should talk about her pre-existing trauma with. Yes. Perfect decision. Birdie who…can keep a secret, when it’s important, and so would like be able to keep this to herself, too, if Claire asked her, if she wanted to talk about it in the first place. But she doesn’t. It’s something that happened, once, a very long time ago, and she doesn’t want to talk about it. Ever. Ever.

For maybe the first time, Birdie hears the word no and doesn’t press. It’s…it’s nice, actually, in a surprising sort of way. It’s always nice when someone doesn’t press, but it’s especially so when it’s Birdie.

Claire fiddles with the strap of fabric that Birdie gave her, brows furrowing, and then asks, “Can I at least open my eyes enough to get this on?”

Silence. Then, “Yeah, yeah, sure, sorry, you can’t see me nod” followed by, as Claire starts to open her eyes, “Hold on!” Birdie scurries in front of her, saying, “I’m not looking, I’m not looking!” pauses for a second just in front of her, “Still not looking!” although by this time, Claire has covered her breasts with her arms again and hunched over, which means when Birdie scurries past her again, she just bonks her head. “Ow, Claire, I told you I wasn’t looking!”

“I have my eyes closed, I can’t just—”

You could trust me, Birdie doesn’t say, will never say, because that’s the thing of it, isn’t it? That Claire doesn’t trust her? Certainly Claire doesn’t trust her the way that Birdie trusts her? And that Birdie will never call her out for it, never really press her on it, because no matter how much it might bug her, it will never be to the point that she will ask. Because maybe, for Birdie, that doesn’t matter nearly as much as everything else does. Birdie trusts her so that she doesn’t need to be trusted.

That’s cyclical logic. Claire’s not certain that it tracks. A lot of things don’t track where Birdie is concerned.

Claire sighs. “I can look now?”

Another silence followed, again, with “Go ahead! Forgot you couldn’t see me.”

Claire opens her eyes and immediately relaxes her shoulders, lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, feels the tension roll off of her aching back. It’s that trust thing. For all that she says she trusts Birdie, her body carries the weight of her lie. Well, that and the tension that Birdie keeps ratcheting up by touching her without realizing that—

Ahem.

“It fits,” Claire says, voice soft, once she has the bra in place. It’s a little snug, sure, but in the best sort of way. She doesn’t feel like it will give her any trouble breathing, and she doesn’t feel like if she walks in it too much then it will fall. Jumping would be the best sort of test for this, but Claire doesn’t really do jumping anymore. She takes a deep breath, reminds herself that Birdie would never intentionally do anything to hurt her, and closes her eyes. “You can look.”

She doesn’t have to see it, because Claire knows Birdie well enough to know that she’s grinning when she places her hands on Claire’s shoulder and turns her to face her again. “Beautiful.”

Birdie says it in the same tone that someone might say perfect, but Claire wants her to be saying that she’s beautiful.

That’s all she’s ever wanted, really.

The dress that Claire still can’t see is soft. It sweeps across her chest at a sharp angle, leaves one of her arms completely bare but covers the other entirely. Something cinches at her waist, accents it, and that terrifies her. She doesn’t know why. Her hands clasp together in her lap, fingers tap-tapping against each other. That helps. She tells herself that it helps.

It doesn’t help.

Birdie runs a thumb along Claire’s lower lip, pressing color into it. Her breath runs hot along Claire’s skin. She’s focused on Claire, and despite everything, Claire is focused on her. Birdie leans back, away from her, and there’s the slightest of clicks – a cap on top of a stick of lipstick, probably – and another like the closing of a compact mirror.

This part should be easier; Claire has make-up artists who make sure she looks good for each and every one of her interviews, her debates, her television appearances. But it isn’t – her make-up artists don’t touch her the way that Birdie is touching her now, has been touching her throughout this entire thing. It’s like Birdie doesn’t understand what a make-up brush is. Even now, she brushes a thumb gentle along Claire’s eyelid, making what are hopefully final touch ups, while humming something idly.

Then Birdie steps away and doesn’t come back.

“Finished?” Claire asks, voice hesitant and soft.

“Mm. Your hair’s a mess.” Birdie comes closer again, breath hot along Claire’s neck, and pushes her hands through Claire’s hair before moving away again. “I’ll fix it.”

“Birdie—”

“Five minutes, Claire.”

“It’s been hours.”

Claire actually has no idea how long it’s been. You’d think with her eyes closed for this long, she would have taken a nap or something, but it’s impossible to take a nap with Birdie running her fingers all over her face. (It’s impossible to take a nap without relaxing, and although Claire has tried to relax, has forced her shoulders to lower, her clenched fingers to loosen up, it never lasts long. This is probably why she wakes up so often with a horrible backache – even in her sleep, she can’t relax.)

But then Birdie’s back again, pulling Claire’s hair away from her shoulders, running her fingers through it, pressing them like a massage into Claire’s head, and Claire presses her lips together hard to keep from letting out any sound to indicate that she is enjoying this. Birdie doesn’t need that sort of encouragement.

(Claire has not forgotten, one of those cold nights when they’d all lived in that house together, when the heat got shut off because someone forgot to pay their share of the heating bill and they couldn’t quite cover it as quickly as they wanted, when Claire had huddled up with Birdie and Andie so they could all keep warm, and Birdie gently and insistently scratched along her scalp until she’d let out an unwitting moan of contentment. Andi had finally fallen asleep by then – she’d pulled an all-nighter trying to get something set up the night before – and Birdie had never said anything, had only kept scratching her scalp as Claire curled closer to her. Claire has not forgotten, but she hopes, inwardly, that Birdie has.)

Then Birdie pulls her hair up, twists it, begins to pin it up with pins that she must be pulling from between her lips – Claire is trying not to think about that, but it’s impossible not to think about it – and then, perhaps in less than five minutes, even, leans forward and presses a soft kiss just at the base of Claire’s neck.

Claire shivers.

“Done,” Birdie whispers, breath hot against Claire’s bare neck, and she covers Claire’s eyes with both of her hands.

Claire startles. “I have my eyes closed, Birdie, you don’t need to—”

“It’s more fun this way!” Birdie’s grinning, she has to be grinning, Claire can see her in her head, even though she can’t see her with her eyes covered the way they are, but she hears that tone, that joy in Birdie’s voice, and there’s no way she’s not grinning. She rests her head on Claire’s shoulder, smiles against her skin again. “Stand up, stand up!”

Fortunately for Claire, Birdie isn’t using the same tone she’d used when she told her to strip, but Claire obeys anyway, carefully standing up, keeping one hand on the arm of her chair so that she doesn’t fall. Birdie keeps her hands over her eyes. Claire tries not to bite her lower lip, not to hold her breath. “Where do I…where do I go?”

“Right,” Birdie says, guiding her carefully across the room. She keeps her hands over Claire’s eyes but wraps her arms along Claire’s shoulders, using them to direct her one way or the other. Then she stops her somewhere else within the room – Claire’s still barefoot and hasn’t gone across any threshold, so they can’t have left the room. She knows this. “Stay here,” Birdie directs, “and keep your eyes closed.”

“Where are you going?” Claire asks. All at once, she feels her chest tightening. She’s still breathing just fine, which is good, but her breaths grow a little shallower as Birdie steps away from her.

“I want to see your face!” Birdie says from farther away. “And not in the mirror. Your actual face!” She knocks against something. “Okay,” she says, finally. “You can look.”

Claire hesitates. After all this time, she isn’t even sure she wants to look. Given the opportunity to do anything she wants with her, Birdie could have put her in something truly horrifying. Not that it would matter, if Claire doesn’t go anywhere in it. Then it really would be like Andi suggested – dress-up like a Barbie doll, but like the website when the internet was just getting widespread, when Barbie could look like anything and often ended up looking horrific because she was just a base like the old Paint program.

But Birdie made her a bra.

Deep breath.

Claire opens her eyes.

She’s felt the dress, so the shape of it doesn’t surprise her – the sharp triangular scoop across her chest, the bare arm, the other covered, the cinching about her waist – but the fabric of it does, the semi-transparent along her arm, the thin band across her waist. Her eyes are drawn to the small golden band Birdie has clasped around her bare wrist, the dainty golden chain tight around her neck with the glistening opal, because it’s easier – so much easier – to focus on these smaller things than the whole of her in front of her.

But Claire can’t avoid the mirror image of herself forever, can’t avoid the sharp red of the dress that is found, softer, on her lips and, even softer than that, angling her cheeks, drawing attention to the sharp of their bones. Her hair is swept up and away, thin strands in soft curls about her ears, but leaving the neck she is so ashamed of exposed in a way that brings no shame. That red color isn’t found around her eyes, but something much softer, much more neutral, so that the bright of her blue eyes comes out in sharp contrast to everything else. She steps forward, one hand reaching out as though to touch the image of her in the mirror, and then pauses, blushing, pressing her lips together, pulling her arm back to grab at the other, looking away.

I’m beautiful.

Claire doesn’t say it, but she feels the weight of Birdie’s eyes on her. It doesn’t matter. She can’t stop the curve, the smile spreading across her lips, the warmth pooling in the center of her chest and spreading out to her fingertips. “You did….” She wants to say that Birdie did good, but she stops herself, corrects herself. “You made me beautiful.”

“Oh, no, Clairebear.” Birdie crosses the space between them and gently takes Claire’s hands in her own. She waits for Claire to look up and meet her eyes. “You’ve always been beautiful. I just made it easier to see.” She scowls. “All that beige is not your color. It’s ugly.”

Claire’s smile drops. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

Birdie just rolls her eyes. “You should be wearing stuff like this. They know exactly who you are in a dress like this!”

“I can’t wear this to debates, Birdie,” Claire says, but she squeezes Birdie’s hands as she says it. “Can I keep it?”

Birdie meets her eyes again. “Really?” she asks, near breathless. “You like it that much?” When Claire nods, she grins. “That means you’ll let me do this again?”

Claire hesitates. It’s the trust thing again. But Birdie…she’d done so well this time that…that Claire can’t imagine her doing any worse. “Why this dress?” she asks instead, not answering Birdie’s question. “I thought you’d put me in something like your outfits.”

Birdie groans. Annoyed. Frustrated. “That’s not you, Claire. I want to dress you.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Claire blinks twice. “I’d still be me—”

“No, no, no, no.” Birdie drops Claire’s hands and moves over to the chair, drapes herself across it, legs hanging over one of the arms while her back rests against the other. “Clothes are like…like another layer, you know? Like nails or hair. You cut your hair to look like you, but if you cut it to look like me, you wouldn’t look like you.”

“Bird, that doesn’t make any sense.”

Birdie struggles for a second. “It’s like how you drink white wine. I could give you pineapple juice and you’d like it—”

“I’d hate it—”

“—but it wouldn’t be your drink.” Birdie’s eyes shift, focusing on something, on nothing. “You will always be at your best when you look the most like you. I just try to help you find the you that you like most.” She gestures to her clothes. “This is the me I like most. This is me. But it’s not you. So of course I couldn’t put you in anything like this. I had to put you in you. Your style. Not mine.”

Claire considers this for a moment. “Like Michelangelo and his marble statues. Carving out the creatures he saw inside of them, even when they were just…discarded chunks.”

Birdie scowls. “You’re not a discarded chunk.”

That’s what you think, Claire doesn’t say. Instead, she reaches up as though to tuck her hair back, only there’s nothing dangling there, so she just brushes her fingers along the slope of her neck instead, lets them linger then. “You want me to feel comfortable in my own skin, and my clothes are an extension of that.” Her head tilts to one side, elongating her neck even further. “Right?”

“If you say so,” Birdie says. “I just want you to look like you. That beige is just you hiding. The shapes aren’t bad, but you could look better.” She gestures with one hand. “This is so much better.”

Claire smiles, a soft thing. “You’re right,” she says. “It is.”

Birdie’s eyes light up. “So we can do this again? That’s what that means, right? I can do this again?”

“Yes,” Claire says hesitantly, drawing the single syllable word out into two. “I want to know what the dress you made for me looks like.”

“Oh. Babe.” Birdie stands, claps her hands together. “You’re not ready for that yet. That’s for an actual event. You’re not there.” She passes Claire by and pats her shoulder. “Andi’s going to love this.”

“Andi’s going to—” Claire echoes, soft. “Wait, Birdie, I didn’t say—”

Then she stops herself.

On second thought, why not? Against all odds, in this, Claire wants to be seen.

As long as it’s someone she trusts.

#bandit fic #famfic fluff #glass onion #birdie jay #claire debella #andi brand #clairdie

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spookyserenades · 2 months

Text

Trouvaille - Chapter Fifteen (M)

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

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

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

Word Count; 21.3k

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Updates on the 7th of each month

HI HI HI! Thank you all for your patience for this update while I was recovering from my cold! I'm excited to share this chapter, it's jam-packed with emotion, some uncomfortable confrontation, fluff, and of course, some more depraved smut LOL. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you again for everyone wishing me a speedy recovery and your unwavering support. (also pls excuse any typos fdskafdjf) Love from Dana 💜

As an additional warning/reminder, for the smut: the scene is explicit, and is only intended to be read by those over the age of 18. Please practice safe sex, and readers please have discretion!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“I know you’re mad at me, but you know why I had to break that up, right?” Yoongi watched Y/N though slitted eyes as she poured a rather large glass of white wine for herself, scoffing.

Ignoring him, she took a swig of the chilled wine and turned on her heels, returning to the stove to stir the onion she was in the middle of sauteing. Even she could feel her irritation and anger coming off of herself in vicious waves, perhaps stirring the thyme into her mixture of onion, celery, and carrot with too much aggression.

“Y/N, come on. The silent treatment is really childish,” Yoongi’s deep voice had an edge of grit to it, Y/N snorting humorlessly.

The sounds of the leopard hybrid storming over to her side filled her ringing ears, and when he gently grasped her wrist to pry the wooden spoon from her grip, she spun around to face him, gritting her teeth when he turned off the stove.

“Childish? That’s rich,” Y/N eyed the way Yoongi’s spotted tail was flicking back and forth in agitation, hating having to argue with him at all. “You can’t just prevent me from talking to the others, Yoongi.”

A muscle pulsing in his jaw, Yoongi took a deep breath while pushing his hair out of his face, taking a better hold of Y/N’s hand and squeezing it once.

“I get why that’s how you probably see it, but that’s not what that was,” Yoongi replied evenly, appearing to exercise his unending patience.

“Okay, then explain! You know I’ve been trying to talk to Tae for days! Now he’ll probably never want to open up again,” Y/N had hysteria welling up in her, unable to decide if she was jealous of the way Yoongi always seemed to be so calm and collected.

“Yes, I know, sweetheart,” Yoongi’s jaw tensed again, thumb brushing over her wrist bone. “But not like that. He’s never been that drunk, at least since we’ve known him. I was trying to prevent him from doing something he might regret once sobering up.”

Y/N blinked, reading the sincerity on his face, her shoulders relaxing down a couple of inches.

“You know, the kid’s kind of grown on me in the last few months. I know that he’d be humiliated if things escalated further, that’s why I intervened. Besides, I didn’t want him to put you in a tight spot. I’m aware of how much you care about him,” Yoongi continued, the pinch between his brows loosening up when Y/N seemed to cool off.

“Sorry…” Y/N murmured, suddenly embarrassed that she was so quick to lose her temper on Yoongi.

“Nothing to apologize for. Just don’t clam up on me like that, and we’ll be good,” Yoongi softened, lifting her hand to his mouth to place a kiss on the back of it. “Let him sober up, sleep it off. Talk to him in the morning.”

Cheeks burning, she nodded, Yoongi letting go of her and swiping her wine glass, taking a sip with a purr. He took up the task of stirring the base ingredients of the tortellini soup Y/N was making for dinner, Y/N sighing and leaning up to stamp a kiss on his jaw, his still-damp hair tickling the tip of her nose.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t have wanted things to escalate like that… thank you, my angel,” Y/N hummed, reaching up to give one of his ears a scratch, his posture stiffening then dissolving into shivers as her fingers stroked through the short fur.

“You’re gonna take advantage of that weakness all the time from now on, aren’t you,” Yoongi’s voice was feathery, Y/N chuckling and mercifully releasing his ear. “Chop up that fennel, we’ll add it to the soup to bulk it up.”

Stealing her wineglass back, Y/N did just that, glad that her and Yoongi didn’t have to have an explosive argument over jealousy. However, as her knife sliced down into the bulb of fennel, her thoughts turned to Taehyung– reeking of booze, cornering her to a wall, unfamiliar flames in his eyes. She knew that the next morning, Taehyung would probably be avoidant and perhaps even embarrassed, and pinning him down to talk to him would be no easy feat. She had no doubt that the Kodiak hybrid wouldn’t be present for dinner, which heightened her concern– all that booze and no food didn’t add up to a hangover-less morning.

“I’ll bring him up some of this later, in a thermos. Don’t worry,” Yoongi once again read her mind, Y/N using the flat of her knife to slide the sliced fennel into the Dutch oven the leopard hybrid was standing over. “He’s definitely passed out, at the moment.”

Nodding, she gave Yoongi a pat on the back, getting to work on prepping some of the other ingredients for dinner. The silence was amicable, comfortable, so the sound of the slider door scraping open had her squeaking in surprise, nearly dropping the loaf of garlic bread she was putting into the oven.

“If you don’t get out of my face, fox, I’m going to take my Zippo to your running sneakers,” Jeongguk’s gruff voice bounced off the walls of the kitchen, brushing snowflakes off of the shoulders of his leather jacket.

“What? I just asked if you had feeling in your antlers,” Hoseok defended himself, a thin sheen of sweat coating his skin as he returned from his evening run. “You don’t have to be so accusatory all the time.”

Y/N stifled a laugh, looking over her shoulder to take a better glance at the spectacle, Jeongguk scoffing sharply as he hung his jacket on the coat rack by the door. Apparently, it had begun to snow outside, both his and Hoseok’s hair dusted with powdery clumps of it.

“And you don’t have to be such a nosy, irritating son of a bitch all the time, but sometimes we’re just created a certain way,” Jeongguk replied, Hoseok frowning as he caught a bottle of water Yoongi was tossing his way.

“Forget it, I’ll just Google it later,” Hoseok muttered, collapsing heavily into the breakfast nook, his ears drooping. “Cold as shit outside, by the way. Y/N, you’re sure we can’t move to Florida?”

“What’s with you and Florida, Foxy? Got a secret past there or something?” Yoongi inquired, wiping his hands on a dishtowel after bringing the soup to a simmer.

“Not particularly. It’s just warm and pretty there all the time. Didn’t you mention February can be even colder than January up here, Y/N?” Hoseok expertly dodged Yoongi’s line of questioning, redirecting his attention to Y/N.

“Sometimes. Judging by all the snow we’ve been getting lately, it’s looking that way,” Y/N admitted, still put off by the idea of living through Floridian summers. “I guess I’ll have to look into booking a trip to Disney a bit more seriously.”

“Ugh,” Jeongguk was disgusted, usually the one to turn his nose up at a Disney movie Seokjin or Hoseok would put on during movie night. “At least they sling excessive booze there, so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah, we can drink around the world in EPCOT,” Y/N put a finger to her lips, trying to calculate how much park tickets, souvenirs, a villa, and transport would run her– she shuddered at the figure she came up with roughly. To boot, the three hybrids in the room stared at her blankly, like she started spontaneously speaking French. “It’s a park in the resort. You know what, I’ll tell you all about it if I can scrape up the funds for a trip in the fall or whatever.”

The slider was pulled open again, this time bringing Jimin and Namjoon in from the cold, Jimin with only sock-clad feet, his muddied boots stowed beneath a covered section of the patio to prevent tracking mess into the house. Namjoon had a stack of thick books tucked under one of his arms, his denim-sherpa jacket damp with snow, nodding once at Y/N before heading off in the direction of his bedroom, likely to deposit the materials. Ever since she gave the wolf hybrid the information about their upcoming consultation, he had been burning the midnight oil tearing through all of the books he had in order to prepare himself.

“Hey, Jimin, how are the babies?” Y/N inquired about the animals, tuning out Jeongguk and Hoseok still bickering about his antlers, and whether or not they had feeling in them– secretly, Y/N was curious, too. “Oh shit– are you bleeding?”

Y/N dropped the knife she was using to shave parmesan slices for the soup with alarm, eyes bugging out of her head noticing the blood on his wrist. She flew over to him at lightning speed, hands outstretched to examine the damage. Jimin exhaled slowly, handing over his forearm, Y/N’s face settling into a deep frown.

“I’m alright, now, Y/N. It was just Bandit up to his old tricks when I went to give the chickens their supper,” Jimin’s voice had amusement coloring it, a half-smile on his face when Y/N dragged him to the island to dab a paper towel over the minor wound.

“That cocksucking rooster. We should just sell it,” Hoseok squawked from his spot on the breakfast bar, looking up from the noisy Tik Tok he was playing aloud. “I think it’s evil.”

Jimin rolled his eyes at the comment, one of his sandy ears twitching, before he placed his hand over Y/N’s tenderly.

“It’s just a nip. I’ll go disinfect it and come right back,” Jimin assured her, Y/N’s stubbornness coming to a head.

“Let me help,” Y/N tailed the coyote hybrid, reminded of the time he tended to her injury, and wanting to give a little bit back. “Bandit… appropriately named. Or perhaps Lucifer would have suited him better.”

Jimin snorted, letting Y/N grab a hold of the thick corduroy button-down he had over his tee shirt, dragging her down the hall and into his bedroom. The room, as always, had a sereneness to it. Dark blue colors, neat and tidy, and smelling like calming lavender and the crisp outdoors.

“Okay, sit,” Y/N took control, pushing Jimin onto his bed by his biceps, his tail slightly thumping against his mattress as determination set the shape of her mouth. Making haste for his bathroom, she was easily able to locate his basic first-aid kit, one she had in every en-suite in the house under the sink, dragging it out to the awaiting coyote hybrid.

Sitting beside him, Y/N held out her palm expectantly, Jimin placing his forearm into her grasp with a gentle sigh of resignation. Wincing at the torn skin, Y/N quickly loaded up a cotton square with alcohol, dabbing at the site gingerly. Jimin, to his credit, didn’t wince or flinch away, simply studying her actions with his lip tucked between his teeth.

“Sorry, it probably stings,” Y/N mumbled, reaching for the soothing ointment in the kit blindly, applying it on the bite.

“‘S alright,” Jimin shook his head, his hand curling into a fist before his digits relaxed, Y/N wondering if it was an attempt to get past the pain. “It’ll probably be healed up by the morning.”

Humming, Y/N smoothed a Hello Kitty bandaid over his skin, recalling how quickly hybrids recovered from injury.

“I’m sure something like that happened from time to time when you worked on the ranch,” Y/N mused, reluctant to let go of the coyote hybrid just yet.

“Yeah, perks of the job,” Jimin chuckled, making no move to peel himself away from her as well, Y/N feeling the brush of his tail against her lower back. “Thank you for patching me up. Beats my buddies telling me to rub dirt in it or threatening to kiss it better.”

Blinking at that tidbit of information, Y/N watched Jimin’s eyes go far away, a tiny smile on his full lips. Without thinking, and while he was distracted, Y/N ducked, pressing her puckered lips to the pink bandage. All she heard was a sharp, quiet, gasped intake of breath, Jimin’s strong forearm going limp in her palm as soon as she kissed him.

“A kiss is better than dirt, no?” Y/N straightened back up, finally letting his arm go and pushing that pesky strand of honey hair over his forehead back to join the rest of his slicked-back locks.

Jimin was stunned, effectively pulled out of his reminiscing, his butterscotch eyes wide as he stared down at her. In the distance, she heard Hoseok hollering about dinner being ready, Jimin’s downturned ears twitching, Y/N leaping from her spot and motioning for Jimin to follow. She was halfway through the door when Jimin replied, though she didn’t end up catching what he said.

“Much better.”

The next morning, a Sunday, would have typically been lazy and domestic. Usually, her and her hybrids went about their own business; watching movies, playing board games, and attending to their hobbies. However, that particular Sunday morning, Y/N had left Jimin in charge of making sure no one got into petty arguments, and was carefully ascending the stairs with a plate of hot, greasy breakfast food.

Much like Yoongi had predicted, Taehyung had not joined the rest of them for dinner, which nobody else saw as odd. Taehyung was still rather introverted and not so keen on befriending anyone besides Yoongi, and the others were of course happy to ignore him. The Kodiak hybrid hadn’t hauled himself downstairs for the Sunday morning fry up, and Y/N figured it was as good of a time as any to get their uncomfortable conversation out of the way.

Reaching his bedroom door, Y/N balanced the plate of food on her forearm, a large glass of water in her grip, and used her free hand to knock on his door as quietly as she could. She heard a gruff groan in response, Y/N rolling her eyes and making her way inside the room, shutting the door behind her.

The room was dark, all of the drapes pulled shut a little haphazardly, and Taehyung was slumped on his bed, his arm dangling over the side of the mattress and one of his cheeks squished on a pillow. His wild curly hair was matted and sticking up in several directions, and as Y/N held back a giggle when he moaned again, his eyebrows knit together and his nostrils flared.

“Morning,” Y/N whispered, placing the plate of food on his dresser, putting a lid over the fried eggs, mountain of toast, and breakfast sausages so they wouldn’t get cold. Though she uttered the greeting only above a breath, Taehyung groaned, pretty much planked on his front on top of his quilt. “Oh, honey…”

Fishing around in her pocket, she pulled out a packet of Advil tablets, crouching down in front of him and offering both the medication and the chilled glass of water, one of his carmine eyes cracking open slightly.

After a beat, Y/N watched the hybrid sluggishly turn onto his side, propped up on an elbow, his lips chapped as they parted slightly. Moving at glacial speed, Taehyung refused to meet Y/N’s eyes as he accepted both the pills and the glass, eagerly taking the medication and sucking down half the glass of water.

“Bit too much to drink last night, huh?” Y/N began, planting her ass on the ground and wrapping her arms around her knees. Taehyung’s throat bobbed as he swallowed the Advil capsules, Y/N following the movement with rapt interest. “I brought you some breakfast. It’ll soak up some of that gin. You should take it easy today, Tae, I can bring up my laptop and you can do a little photo editing in bed or something.”

Taehyung sat up more fully, although the movement was clunky and lacked the typical brawn and speed that he usually operated at. Clutching his forehead, one of Taehyung’s sharpened incisors bit down on his lower lip so harshly he drew a bead of blood to the surface of the flesh. Sighing, Y/N got to her knees, reaching up and back for the plate of food, placing it on his bed in front of him. The Kodiak hybrid’s complexion turned a touch green, a large hand slapping across his mouth and nose, and Y/N swore she heard a guttural gag from the back of his throat. She’d been there.

“I know the smell is probably making you nauseous, but you’ll feel better if you eat. I promise,” Y/N encouraged, Taehyung’s round ears pressed flat against his skull, an animalistic grumble vibrating his chest. “I… wanna talk to you, Tae.”

Appearing to catch him off guard as he poked at one of the fried eggs with his fork, Taehyung blinked at her, his expression blank. Y/N suspected, judging by the vacant expression, that he might have blacked out the previous night and couldn’t remember anything that happened; including but not limited to him pushing her against a wall and letting Yoongi spoon-feed him tortellini soup (or so her leopard hybrid had revealed to her over her morning coffee).

“Do you remember anything about last night?”

“No… No, I don’t,” Taehyung set his fork down promptly, unease turning down the corners of his mouth. “Did I do something wrong?”

Y/N shook her head immediately, though she knew that Yoongi– and the others, if they knew, would beg to differ. Unfortunately, the silent denial did nothing to make Taehyung’s alarm go away.

“You definitely drank way over your limit, but you didn’t do anything wrong. Nothing I’ve ever done that drunk, anyways,” Y/N picked at the fringe on his rug, mind going to the memory of drunkenly pushing Yoongi against a wall and demanding his phone number. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to talk to you for a while. I haven’t managed to corner you until now.”

“What did I do?” Taehyung ignored her latter statement, stiffening when Y/N leaned forward, plucking up a piece of toast and raising it to his lips with a cocked eyebrow. If he didn’t get any food into his system, he’d feel like garbage the rest of the day, hybrid healing skills or not.

“You seemed angry with me. I came home, you were listening to some jazz on Youtube in the parlor, and you had finished about half a bottle of gin. With no chasers,” Y/N only began speaking when Taehyung reluctantly took a bite of the toast, chewing robotically and staring at his hands tangled in his lap. “I think you were trying to tell me something, but Yoongi interrupted before you could say anything… and then you ran up here.”

Taehyung was quiet, his dark eyebrows pulled together as Y/N fed him toast, apparently lost in thought. While disheveled and still dressed in his cargo pants and hoodie from yesterday, Taehyung was nothing short of effortlessly handsome, even if Y/N could smell gin on his breath.

“Angry with you?” Taehyung mumbled, tongue flicking out to catch some jam on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t remember. I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright, Tae. Keep eating,” Y/N encouraged, placing the fork back into his hand. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of this anecdote, but people often say that drunk words are sober thoughts. If there’s something on your mind, I want you to be able to talk to me about it. I care about you a lot, and miss having you around all the time. I don’t like… the distance.”

Y/N surprised herself by being so honest, stopping just short of spilling her guts and revealing her feelings for her elusive Kodiak hybrid. As she spoke, Taehyung made it about halfway through an egg before he pushed the plate away on top of his quilt, a frown on his face but the guarded look in his eyes softening exponentially. Looking down at her through his eyelashes, Taehyung heaved a great sigh, head tipping backwards and collapsing on his pillow.

“I’ve been acting immaturely, huh?” Taehyung breathed, his forearm draped over his eyes as he chuckled humorlessly, seemingly talking to himself more than anything else. “There’s no use in avoiding you, anyways. Stubborn and persistent.”

“So, you were purposefully avoiding me. Wanna tell me why? Does it have to do with… Yoongi and I?” Y/N probed, nearly whispering the last question. The corner of Taehyung’s mouth quirked up into a sardonic smirk. “Okay, I’m guessing that’s what it is.”

“I just,” Taehyung peeled his arm off of his face, sitting up and joining Y/N on the floor, pushing curls out of his eyes with annoyance. “Like Jimin. Wish you just told me.”

Y/N swallowed, looking down at her lap, shame filling her. Taehyung returned to his breakfast, munching on another piece of toast, leaning against his bed. She could hear him taking sniffs of the air delicately, probably smelling the emotions coming off of her, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how he sat several inches away, rather than pressed up against her like normal.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N’s voice was scratchy, picking at the rug once more. “You’re right, I should have told you.”

“That night, when I told you about how I ended up here, you said you trusted me. I trust you,” Taehyung admitted, Y/N slouching so low in response, she felt like she was curling in on herself. “I meant what I said, and I know you did too. But I couldn’t understand why you felt like you needed to hide your feelings for Yoongi from me.”

Not wanting to cry in front of the hybrid, pride somehow welling up in her and mingling with her shame, she willed her lip to stop wobbling, peeking at Taehyung out of the corner of her eye. While difficult to hear, Y/N could tell it took a great deal of courage for Taehyung to confess that to her.

“I didn’t know how to bring it up to any of you. I felt like everyone was finally getting comfortable here, and I was worried about disturbing the peace. Of course, I managed to do that anyways,” Y/N stared out of one of Taehyung’s windows, keeping her vision on the horizon so tears wouldn’t spill down her cheeks. “I trust you, of course. It wasn’t about me not trusting you, but trying to protect everyone’s… peace, I suppose. Comfort.”

“You can’t protect us from everything, Y/N,” Taehyung told her softly, Y/N all too aware of that truth. “There are going to be times where shit gets rough or uncomfortable, but we’ve all been through tough situations before. We can handle the truth, even if you think we can’t.”

Y/N was stunned by Taehyung’s sage advice, even if he was scolding her slightly. Nodding, she swallowed thickly, Taehyung reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder heavily. The contact had her spine going rigid, as Taehyung hadn’t so much as glanced at her recently, let alone give her a friendly touch.

“Is he… treating you well?” Taehyung’s low voice was barely audible, even right in her ear. The question made her cheeks burn, heart racing. Whatever she was expecting him to say next, it wasn’t that.

“Um, yes, of course,” Y/N mumbled awkwardly, twiddling her thumbs. “He loves me, too.”

“I know,” Taehyung removed his hand from her shoulder, getting to his feet and beginning to rummage through his dresser. “He’s loved you from the start.”

Gawking at Taehyung, looking at him from head to toe while his back was turned, Y/N was at a loss for words. Taehyung spun on his heels, offering a broad palm to help her up, a change of clothes tucked under his other arm. With a shaky grip, she took it, trying to catch eye contact, but the Kodiak hybrid avoided it.

“Tae…” Y/N began, feeling like the conversation wasn’t quite over, and she refused to let go of his hand even when he tried to pull away. “We–”

“Thank you for breakfast, you were right, it made me feel better. I’m going to shower, though,” Taehyung cut her off, squeezing her hand tightly before releasing it. “I’ll come down after… I’ll quit hiding, so stop worrying about me, please.”

“Oh, Tae–!” Y/N wasn’t fast enough, Taehyung’s hybrid strength and speed apparently returning to him, and he disappeared into his bathroom with a click of a lock, leaving her reeling in his bedroom, her palm tingling from his touch still.

Absently, she collected Taehyung’s half-eaten breakfast, and when she heard the shower turn on, it prompted her to leave the room, wondering if anything was accomplished by that conversation, if he truly would stop avoiding her, and how he knew about Yoongi’s feelings for so long. Humming sadly, she set her destination to the kitchen, thoughts still occupied with the flash of hurt in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Are you sure you know how to drive this thing, wolf?” Jeongguk shouted from the booth in the back of the old van, Y/N cringing in the passenger seat beside Namjoon, who had very sharply turned onto a side street. “Judas priest, try not to hit the curb.”

“Be quiet,” Namjoon barked back, pushing the pair of glasses he was wearing up his nose bridge. Y/N had gotten him blue light glasses so he wouldn’t burn his retinas while he was crouched over her laptop researching for hours on end. “You can’t even drive in general, so can it.”

Giggling into her palm, Y/N admired her wolf hybrid while he glanced at the GPS on his phone. His silver hair was parted and swept back neatly, and was wearing Y/N’s favorite sweater he owned, a cream cable-knit scoop neck. She tried her best to not ogle him too much, but the sight of his strong, tanned hands wrapped around the steering wheel and perched on the gear shift had her slightly squirming in her seat.

“Are we almost there?” Jeongguk, in fact, did not shut up, the sound of his thumb flicking a lighter making Namjoon’s bitten ear twitch.

“Excited, sweets?” Y/N tossed over her shoulder, adjusting the hem of her plaid skirt, Jeongguk snorting, though Y/N caught him twirling a pen between his fingers and tapping his foot eagerly. Jeongguk had also gone out of his way to look nice that afternoon, opting for a loose charcoal button-down and normal dress pants rather than his usual casual gothic attire.

“Please,” Jeongguk muttered, his voice muffled by the cigarette pursed between his lips. Y/N felt her mouth water, the elk hybrid’s hair beginning to grow in a way that made him look like a 50’s style greaser, complete with the shiny gel. “The possibility of interacting with paranoid humans all afternoon isn’t exactly enthralling.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N focused back on the road in front of her, not taking Jeongguk seriously at all. Jeongguk talked a big game, and certainly appeared intimidating with his glare, tattoos, and piercings, but deep down he was just as passionate about his interest in the paranormal as Namjoon was.

“You guys will get your first paycheck by the end of the week, isn’t that awesome? I mean, if we can wrap up the investigation and cleansing by then,” Y/N changed the subject, rolling her window down (manually, with a crank) to filter out Jeongguk’s cigarette smoke, Namjoon grumbling about the frigid temperature.

“Are you sure it’s legal for us to get paid?” Jeongguk asked incredulously.

“Uh, good question,” Y/N admitted, watching Namjoon’s hands tense around the steering wheel. “One for Ben.”

“Says we’ll be there in three minutes,” Namjoon pointed to the GPS, Y/N leaning forward in her seat to get a good look at the suburban street they were driving down.

It was just an average looking neighborhood in Newton, about twenty minutes from their own home, the houses sleepy Victorians and sidewalks studded with ancient trees. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, even when Namjoon parked his van outside of a little blue house shrouded by great oak trees.

“Is this it?” Y/N leaned across her armrest to check out the front of the building, squeaking out an apology when Namjoon jerked in his seat from the proximity, her cheek smacking into his chest. “Shit, sorry Joonie.”

“No, it’s the post office. Why else would he park here?” Jeongguk flicked the back of her head, Y/N flinching when one of his icy silver rings made her scalp smart. “Let’s go, we’re late.”

Muttering, Y/N massaged the back of her head, hearing the elk hybrid rummage around behind her for his bag, Namjoon unfastening his seatbelt with an apologetic grimace. Ever since she had scolded the wolf hybrid for speeding, he began going under the speed limits. The man was never really one for gray areas, moving from one extreme to another.

Pulling her coat closer around her body, Y/N jumped out of the old van, clutching her notebook to her chest and expelling a deep breath. While Namjoon locked up, she tucked the dangling wires to his Walkman deeper into his bookbag, snorting softly at the excited twitch to his tail.

Once in front of the door to the home, Y/N rang the doorbell, feeling the delicious heat of her two hybrids behind her like a solid wall. She hadn’t been that excited for an event in a while, even though it involved the unknown and people in trouble– the chance to spend one-on-one time with Namjoon and Jeongguk had her bouncing on her toes while she waited for the door to open.

Moments later, the heavy door creaked open, a thin, short woman appearing in the darkened threshold, a screen storm door separating her from the three lingering on her porch. The woman took in the sight in front of her with darting eyes, which had purplish circles beneath them, her hair a bit unkempt and hands shaking as she placed one of them on the handle to the storm door.

“Are you… Y/N?” The woman asked, her voice small, scratchy, and weary.

“Yes, are you Ms. Sanders? I work for Judy, I’m taking over her home consultations. She sent me all of the information you gave her about the situation in your home,” Y/N hoped that the woman would invite them in soon, the wind was biting and she could sense Jeongguk’s impatience without having to look at him.

“Please, come in,” Ms. Sanders– Erika, Y/N remembered her first name from the packet– pushed the remaining barrier between the outside and the apparently haunted house aside, Y/N promptly stepped into the house once the woman moved. “Also, please excuse the mess. I haven’t had much time to, um, clean up, lately.”

Namjoon shut the door behind him once everyone was inside, Y/N sneaking a peek at him sniffing the air with a thoughtful expression, Jeongguk looking awkward and unconfident, for once. Contrary to what Erika said about the state of her home, things seemed tidy, eerily so, and in the small den that they were led to, nothing seemed out of place, just lonely.

“I’d like to introduce you to my two hybrids, they’re here to help, as well. This is Namjoon, he’s very knowledgeable about all things paranormal, actually, all things in general,” Y/N gestured to her wolf hybrid, who exuded the confidence that Jeongguk seemed to be lacking. “And this is Jeongguk. He’s worked with a paranormal investigative group and has years of experience. Both of them successfully helped me rid my own home of an entity.”

“Y-yes, Judy mentioned that she’d be sending a team here for me,” Erika eyed the two hybrids standing behind Y/N like bodyguards, Y/N comforted by both of their contrasting scents in an unfamiliar place; floral honey and leathery smoke. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get anyone anything to drink?”

Y/N shook her head, the two hybrids following suit, sitting on her either side on the lumpy sofa in the living room. Y/N had to admit, there was a hair-raising, peculiar feel to the energy in the home, one that set her teeth on edge. Definitely different from the way it felt in her own house, Y/N could tell Jeongguk could sense it too, his dark eyes narrowed as he scanned the room.

“So, Ms. Sanders–”

“Please, just Erika is fine,” she sat on the sofa across from Y/N and her two hybrids, her frame sagging tiredly. The woman watched Namjoon methodically place his Walkman onto the coffee table, feeding a blank tape into the device. “Should I get the kids?”

“Actually, we were thinking that getting your explanation of what’s been going on first would be best. That way we can compare each family member’s experience to one another,” Y/N held her hands up, Erika halting her movements to rise from her seat, definitely a little bit jittery.

“Would it be okay to tape the interviews so I can review them later?” Namjoon addressed the young mother suddenly, his fingertip hovering over the record button and ears forward and alert.

“I’d let you film and broadcast on national television if it gave you an edge over whatever has been tormenting my family,” Erika insisted, Namjoon raising a brow but pressing down on the record button anyways, angling the device closer to the woman so the microphone would better pick up her voice. “So, where should I start?”

“How about when you first noticed things were becoming out of the ordinary. Nothing is too insignificant, so speak freely,” Y/N encouraged, Jeongguk leaning backwards on the couch beside her, ankle over knee, his journal opened up to a fresh page.

“Well, we moved here a little over a year ago. From Colorado. I separated from my husband and the kids and I needed somewhere safe to stay, far away… he’s an alcoholic, you see. My family is from Massachusetts, so I wanted to be near my folks god forbid my ex ever tried to come and find us…” Erika’s eyes became glazed over, Y/N trying not to react to her hybrids shifting and coiling in alert when a thump-thump-thump came from a wall behind the young mother, who apparently didn’t notice or was all too used to the sound. “Everything was normal, at first. The first six months here were perfect, idyllic, even.”

“When did that start to change?” Jeongguk spoke up for the first time, the tip of his pen tapping his lower lip. Erika glanced at Jeongguk, pulled from her reverie, and her expression became sharpened as if icy water was dumped over her head.

“It happened gradually. My son, Thomas, is non-verbal, but he started having nightmares eight months ago. He’d come into my room and climb into my bed, shaking. While he’s non-verbal, he’s always been quite independent and brave, so this struck me as odd– especially when the nightmares became a nightly thing. Unfortunately, I don’t know what his nightmares are about, because he’s refused to even write anything down about them, but I know they terrify him. That was the first instance of strange events, and he still has them almost every night.”

Y/N nodded, the sounds of Jeongguk hastily scribbling his notes down on the linen page of his notebook, and the crackling of the Walkman, filling the sad silence of the home. Y/N was reminded of her own nightmares that came with the haunting she experienced; the creature that chased her in her sleep, and the fear that crept down the notches of her spine had Namjoon scooching an inch closer to her subconsciously.

“After that, my Jules… She's always been a sort of flower child. But ever so slowly, that bubbliness has gone away, she’s been more introverted, edgy. I thought maybe it was just because she’s entering her teenage years, but she’s made some new friends at school. Ones that I’m not sure have the best influence on her.”

“How do you mean?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, wondering if there was some kind of entity Namjoon had learned about that was summoned when one makes shitty friends.

“They’re older than her, and whenever she hangs out with that group of kids, she’s out all hours of the night, ignoring her curfew,” Erika sighed, tearing her eyes from Jeongguk and shaking her head. “I’m not usually like this, I mean, my brother was goth growing up, so I’m more than used to the culture. But these kids are bad news, I know it. They’re less about music, politics, and fashion and more about teenage riot. Property destruction, drinking on the train tracks. Jules was never like that, so her sudden change in personality concerned me.”

“So, your daughter made a couple of friends who turned out to be punks, and her whole personality changed?” Jeongguk confirmed, though his usual condescending tone was absent. In fact, Y/N was very impressed by how much the elk hybrid reined in his attitude.

“I know what that sounds like, like I simply don’t care for her friends. But the more she hangs out with them, the darker her personality becomes,” Erika’s voice went rather quiet, now refusing to look towards Jeongguk at all.

“Sometimes, what ends up happening in a haunting involving children, particularly young teens, their moods are influenced heavily by whatever has attached itself to the teen’s home or even the teen themselves. There’s a chance that your daughter acting out, especially in a way that you disapprove of to provoke a reaction, is not due to her new friends, but instead, it’s something above her control entirely.”

Namjoon’s insight had Y/N blinking in surprise. Instantly, she felt a little sheepish about that shock, as she knew he had been doing extra research for the past several days– not to mention his lifetime of knowledge he was already sitting on– but it was impressive to hear him relay information like that. Y/N recalled how Seokjin had mentioned Namjoon was different in group settings outside of the home, more vocal. Perhaps that’s what her wolf hybrid was like at the book club, take-charge and confident. Y/N thought that Jeongguk would be more like that, but she was equally surprised by the elk hybrid’s quiet observations.

“So, you think the… ghost, or whatever, is what’s causing Jules to behave so differently?” Erika chewed on her lip, the thump-thump-thump sound returning, this time overhead, Y/N trying her best not to react. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jeongguk jot something down urgently. “I mean, she won’t even talk to me. I don’t even know if she’d be willing to talk to you.”

With that, Jeongguk sat forward, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling the fabric up over his forearms. Raising an eyebrow at him, Jeongguk’s eyes flickered playfully in her direction, sticking his pen behind his ear.

“Is there any chance Julie’s friends look like me?” Jeongguk drawled, again, without any judgment, miraculously. Erika appeared embarrassed, nodding slightly.

“I–I mean, without antlers, of course b-but I didn’t mean to insinuate–”

“It’s alright, Ms. Sanders,” Jeongguk held up his tattooed hand indifferently, rising to his feet. “Julie might be more willing to open up to someone who shares a similar… aesthetic. The wolf, here, is too granola-crunchy, and Y/N certainly has more questions for you.”

Namjoon growled lightly beside Y/N, staring at the elk hybrid resentfully. To her wolf hybrid’s dismay, she was once again agreeing with Jeongguk.

“You think she’d be…? I mean, if you can get anything from her, please, try. I just want to know if she’s, um, as scared as we are. Her brother and I. If she’s seen things like us,” Erika, too, stood, her movements wobbly and frail. “I can show you to her room, ask if she’s up to meeting you. She knows that I’m having this consultation, anyways.”

“Ms. Sanders, Y/N and I are going to take a quick walk around the property while you and Jeongguk speak with Julie. When you return, I’d like to ask you about specific instances of activity,” Namjoon hooked a large hand around Y/N’s elbow, manhandling her to a stance, pausing the tape recording. Without even glancing his way, Jeongguk caught the Walkman Namjoon sent hurtling towards his head, the two of them having an unspoken plan already, apparently.

The young mother nodded, ushering Jeongguk up the narrow staircase to the second level of the home, Y/N spluttering as Namjoon dragged her outside, his grip strong as always, but tender and steadying. Heart racing, she grit her teeth at the nasty wind chill that greeted them once they were on the lawn, and naturally, Y/N clung as close as she could to Namjoon’s side without him growing uncomfortable.

“Why are we–?” Y/N began, Namjoon leading her to his van, letting go of her elbow once he yanked open the passenger seat, rummaging through his disorganized glovebox. “Joon.”

“Hold on, Y/N,” Namjoon mumbled, barely noticing that she was stuck to his back like a jetpack to shield from the bitter cold, teeth beginning to chatter. “I have an idea.”

Finally, he turned, his burnt honey eyes the only whisper of warmth amongst the gray of the sky, holding an array of objects in his arms; what appeared to be two, long, L-shaped pipes, a spool of red fabric ribbon, and a couple of packets, by the looks of it.

“Whatcha got there?” Y/N snorted, loving how much Namjoon was getting into the whole situation.

“Here,” Namjoon ignored her question, shifting everything but the little packets into one arm, taking one of her wrists, and aggressively shaking the pouches with a concentrated expression.

In the palm of her gloved hand, Namjoon placed a hand warmer in the center of it, promptly manipulating her wrist into the pocket of her coat, and repeating the same process with the other hand. Stunned, she stared at her wolf hybrid and registered the out-of-character action like she was a third party looking on, and Y/N wondered if the pink hue of his human ears blossomed because of the wind or bashfulness.

“Have you ever heard of dowsing rods, or people using them during paranormal investigations?” Namjoon asked after clearing his throat, turning again to lock up his van and break eye contact.

“Um, vaguely. I might have seen them use them on Ghost Adventures,” Y/N managed to choke back, the hand warmers keeping her fingertips toasty in her pockets. “Is that what those poles are?”

“Yeah. I figured we could just take a quick walk around the house with these, and we can mark areas that show any sort of reaction with the ribbon tied around a tree. While I handle the rods, you can try and read the energy beside me,” Namjoon motioned for her to follow him back up the driveway, thoughtfully reading her skeptical reaction. “I know you’ve been working on your energy readings lately, Y/N. You can do it, I believe in you.”

It was Y/N’s turn to be bashful upon hearing those words from her wolf hybrid. Namjoon’s approval was something that was hard-won, so the encouragement and praise had her floating straight up into the clouds. With those words, she thought she could probably scale a mountain if he was by her side.

Without hesitation, she trailed after Namjoon, curiously watching him shift the metal rods in his hands, and when they reached the side of the house where a large window looked into the living room, the wolf hybrid paused. Shivering, Y/N felt unease well up in her gut, the sensation of one thousand ancient eyes on her causing her skin to crawl. There was definitely something there, lingering around that window, perhaps in the brush, and judging by the movements of the rods in Namjoon’s hands and the frown on his face, he was coming to the same conclusion.

Saying nothing, Y/N simply sticking close to Namjoon as they made a slow circle around the yard, she concentrated on opening herself up to the energies of the backyard as much as she could, without risking attachment or harm. Namjoon was right, her practice was paying off, because she was starting to get a better sense of the types of entities that were lingering in the yard alone.

“Okay, get anything?” Namjoon asked, once they had landed back to the side of the building they first began canvassing, using his sharp teeth to tear a strip of red ribbon from the spool he was holding. “This window here seems to be the hotspot, but the house feels like it’s almost shrouded in something…”

“I think we’re dealing with more than one entity here,” Y/N admitted quietly, while Namjoon tied a knot around a little sapling under the window. “I felt a few different energies. Only one, in this particular spot, made me uncomfortable. Like I’m being watched. The others felt more organic, human.”

“And that’s just out here,” Namjoon added, but it sounded like he was talking mostly to himself. “Come on, let’s head back in. Jeongguk is done talking to the girl already.”

Absently, Namjoon reached backwards, one of his hands still adjusting the ribbon on the sapling, his fingers wiggling as he searched for Y/N’s grip. Mouth dropping open, she automatically slid her gloved hand into his, listening to his chest rumble as the residual heat from the hand warmers melted into his chilled skin. Never one to deny Namjoon his rare moments of actively seeking out any sort of affection, Y/N soaked in the moment as best she could.

“You still have that list of questions to ask?” Namjoon held her hand tightly as she walked up the ice-slick concrete steps into the house, so she wouldn’t slip.

“Uh-huh. We’ll probably be able to wrap up the consultation afterwards, schedule the investigation. With the energy I’ve felt so far, I think it’s best we get in here as soon as we can to clear it out.”

Back inside, Namjoon let her go, and the first thing Y/N registered was the teenage girl that was now sitting in the living room, beside Jeongguk, her hands tangled in her lap. Exchanging a sideways glance with Namjoon, she hurried into the room, taking a seat next to Erika and her son, Thomas, who had also chosen to join the consultation. Y/N noticed that the young boy was holding onto a plastic toy robot tightly, like someone was going to take it away from him.

“Tommy, this is Y/N, she’s going to help us,” Erika smoothed a hand down her son’s back, the kid blinking at Y/N in acknowledgement, similar dark circles under his eyes that mirrored his mother’s. Her heart broke, in consequence. “That’s the wolf hybrid I was telling you about, too, honey. Namjoon is his name. Tommy loves wolves.”

Tommy, indeed, was staring at Namjoon with stars in his eyes, squirming in his seat, Erika affording all of them a tender smile for the first time Y/N and her two hybrids had stepped foot into the home. Namjoon, embarrassed, sat on Jeongguk’s free side, offering Tommy a little wave, one of his sharp incisors biting down on his plush lower lip.

“Alright, kiddo, she’s probably got a few questions for you. She’s cool,” Jeongguk set Namjoon’s Walkman back onto the coffee table, Y/N’s eyebrows shooting into her hairline as the elk hybrid used the nickname he usually saved for her on the teenager that only seemed to be at ease because of the burly hybrid beside her.

Getting a good look at Julie, Y/N felt herself take a step backwards in time, the girl looking quite a bit like she did as a teenager; dark eyeliner, graphic band tee, chipped nail polish and holes in the knees of her skinny jeans. Julie regarded Y/N carefully, only after shooting a doubtful look at Jeongguk, then a resentful one at her mother, the girl’s dark eyes narrowing a tad.

“She’s how you described her,” was all Julie said, the corner of her mouth curling up in amusement as Y/N tried not to clench her fists– leave it to Jeongguk to offer up a sarcastic caricature.

“Hey, Julie, nice to meet you,” Y/N ignored Jeongguk’s smug, shit-eating grin, clearly pleased with himself that he was able to get Julie to be comfortable around them. “I do have a few more questions before we go ahead and plan the investigation. Which, when the three of us do conduct the investigation, you and your family will be safe and sound staying at a nearby hotel.”

“You’re not planning on instigating angry spirits, like those quacks on TV, are you?” Julie crossed her arms across her chest with a scowl, several brightly colored rubber bracelets around her wrists. Namjoon was busying himself with straightening out spare blank tapes on the table– he was always a little bit awkward around children.

“No way. That’s all Hollywood, anyways,” Y/N resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at Jeongguk, who was biting down on his fist to prevent laughing, which Y/N found both unprofessional and annoying as a gnat in her ear. “We just want to help get rid of whatever is bothering you. I’m sure Jeongguk told you a little bit about what was hanging around our house a few months ago… we were able to banish it permanently. I, and I’m positive my teammates as well, have no interest in provoking spirits for any kind of viral recognition.”

Y/N tasted the word “teammates” on her tongue like a saccharine hard candy, after all, it was the first time she was using it in reference to the sort of operation she had created with Namjoon and Jeongguk. Neither of them seemed to notice the significance, but both of them sobered with her words, nodding in agreement. Jokes aside, the situation was serious, and helping the family was top priority– thirst for knowledge and experience aside. Julie seemed to relax in response to Y/N’s promise, and without further ado, Y/N waited for Namjoon to start up the tape again, and she launched into her list of questions.

“Has the spirit ever shown itself physically to any of you?”

On the way back home from the Sanders’ residence, Y/N felt her frame sagging into the worn leather seat beside Namjoon, the tense of the house energy dissolving the further Namjoon drove from the address. She was ready for a hot bath and some mindless television, having more than enough of the paranormal for one day. A bit loopy, Y/N focused on the air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, the shape of it a cartoon flying saucer.

“So the mother has seen a shadow in the hall at night, usually when she gets off from work. Then we had the kid point at the window, which Y/N mentioned feeling like an entity watches the family from there–”

“Jeongguk, you can take notes silently,” Namjoon sighed, probably sensing how exhausted Y/N was, even over the folk tape he was playing quietly and Y/N’s attempts to stay awake by pinching her thigh periodically.

“Fuck off,” Jeongguk muttered, but lapsed into silence anyways. Y/N stole a look at him over her shoulder, and he was lazily propped up on his side in the booth, a pen cap sticking out of his mouth while he scanned his notes.

Namjoon had cleaned up the van in preparation for their journey to the Sanders’, stacking his books neatly and moving most of them up to the loft where the mattress was, considering it was not being used. He even brought in a few blankets and pillows to make things a little more comfortable, one of the throws currently over her lap. Y/N, as well, added her own touch to the van– upon the wolf hybrid’s insistence– and taped little battery-operated fairy lights around the ceiling of the vehicle. In the short few days the three of them made the van ready for longer trips, Y/N had grown quite fond of spending time in there, and her and Hoseok had coined it the “mystery van”.

“Joonie?” Y/N spoke suddenly, her voice definitely weary but catching the wolf hybrid’s attention nonetheless, his ears perking up cutely even with his eyes still trained on the road.

“Mmm?” Namjoon pushed his glasses up his nose again, turning down the radio.

“How did you get this van?” Y/N dared to ask. She hadn’t done much prying into Namjoon’s past, heeding the advice in her wolf hybrid guidebook to let him present information when he’s ready, but since he had softened up so much, she figured asking wouldn’t do too much harm.

“It was given to me,” Namjoon replied cryptically, though Y/N was pleased enough that he actually answered her to not pout about how little that was revealed. “Shortly before you adopted me. In Wyoming.”

“Did you teach yourself how to drive?” Y/N figured she might as well go along with it if Namjoon was okay with that line of questioning, and didn’t seem peeved she was being curious.

“No, someone taught me,” Namjoon’s lips were twisted up in amusement, casting a brief look in her direction. “Some things can’t be learned from books.”

“Ah, I see,” Y/N didn’t want to push her luck, wiggling further into her seat to get comfortable. She had about one thousand follow-up questions, but she had all the time in the world to get answers from Namjoon.

“I lived alone most of my life, in the woods, abandoned cabins. I never liked to stay in one place, mostly because I avoided running into humans… I came across this van deep in Yellowstone park one night in the spring a few years back, the awning was out, and an old woman was sitting in a lawn chair in front of a campfire. I’m not sure how she managed to spot me, but she did,” Namjoon shocked Y/N by actually launching into a story, her mouth agape and even Jeongguk’s furious notetaking had ceased. “I hadn’t had a real meal in… well, ever. She offered me some dinner. At that point in my life, I didn’t trust humans as far as I could throw them. But I could smell her sincerity.”

Y/N had no idea what to say in response. An innocent question turned into a whole lot of background on her wolf hybrid, and she didn’t know whether to begin recording him or stay statue-still.

“Her name was Joan. Most of the stuff in here is hers, she had quite an interest in UFOs and ‘mythical’ creatures. Over the next few weeks, I’d check in on her… she was quite old, and by herself, and I suppose having access to real food was tempting to me as well. I’d listen to her prattle on about things she’s seen in the woods, I’d share things that I had experienced in the wilderness over the years,” Namjoon continued, turning the windshield wipers on when a flurry of snow began to fall. “After a few weeks, I trusted her enough to take her up on the driving lessons, joining her on her trips to town for provisions. I didn’t live with her, but I’d spend time there every few days.”

“Did you steal an old lady’s camper van?” Jeongguk exclaimed from the backseat, a throaty growl coming from Namjoon in consequence.

“No, you asshole. There were a couple of weeks where I’d go to the van, but she wasn’t there. It was confusing, like she had just vanished, but I wasn’t so attached to her that I was overly concerned. While she was old, she was still a decent hiker. I guessed she had just taken a tent and gone for a little trip,” Namjoon turned off the highway, taking the ramp that would bring them back into their town.

“I was wrong. The last time I went to check on her, the van door was open, but there was someone else inside. Thinking it was an intruder, I took a look inside, but I recognized the younger woman from pictures Joan had, it was her daughter. Her daughter told me that Joan had checked herself into the hospital following up on her heart condition, but it was too late. She died within three days of being in the hospital, heart failure,” Namjoon frowned, ears flattening to his skull. “The daughter said Joan mentioned me. Wanted me to have the van. The daughter had no use for it, anyways… She was just collecting some photos. She said I could have it, gave me the keys, and I never saw her again. It was convenient, so I just started living in here.”

Ears ringing, Y/N couldn’t believe how much she had gotten from Namjoon with just a few questions, and she felt somewhat guilty that she hadn’t tried to get closer to him in that way, blindly following advice from a stupid guidebook. That aside, her heart swelled a few sizes; if Namjoon felt comfortable enough to share all of that with her and Jeongguk, he had really come a long way since his initial adoption.

“I’m sorry about Joan,” was the first thing Y/N could think of as any sort of coherent reply, putting her hand over Namjoon’s that was resting on the gear shift and squeezing. “She must have liked you quite a bit to leave you this van.”

“I suppose,” Namjoon agreed, letting Y/N keep her hand on top of his, navigating his way through the town square. “She probably just preferred someone keeping all of her stuff safe after she died.”

“What made you want to come all the way to New England?” Jeongguk’s voice was suddenly right beside Y/N’s ear, making her flinch and push his shoulder. He was squatting between her and Namjoon, staring out the windshield with boredom, and a piece of gelled hair sticking to his forehead. The elk hybrid ignored Y/N’s pleas to sit down for safety, much to her chagrin.

“History,” Namjoon shrugged, shutting off the GPS once the familiar streets of their suburb were in view. “I wanted to see what a city was like. New York City seemed too big, and Boston is certainly historical. Plus, I had never seen the ocean before.”

“Weren’t you originally from Los Angeles, Jeongguk?” Y/N changed the subject, emotions welling up in her. As time went on, it was clearer and clearer to her that she and her seven hybrids, by some cosmic intervention, were destined to be together, considering they had come from all over the country at the same time.

“Yeah. Shithole,” Jeongguk rolled his eyes, using a wrist to smack a fresh pack of cigarettes against. Before she could ask him what he meant, Namjoon pulled into the driveway, the sky turning lavender as the sun disappeared over the bare willow trees. “I’m starving. Want a drink.”

Jeongguk straightened up, snatched his notebook from the booth he left it on, and with a flick of his lighter, was jumping out of the van and into the snow.

“Guess he had enough of us,” Namjoon remarked, unfastening his seatbelt and stretching his arms upwards, his shoulders popping with the movement. Snorting, Y/N shook out her stiff legs, folding the blanket over her lap and gathering her tote bag.

“He’s bratty when he’s hungry,” Y/N smirked, waiting for the wolf hybrid to lock up the van before heading to the house. “Maybe I should order pizza tonight, unless Yoongi made something already.”

Namjoon sniffed the air, shaking his head.

“No, nothing’s cooking. Just the fire in the living room is going,” Namjoon matched his stride with Y/N, his tapes and Walkman tucked under his arm. “Order pizza, I can tell you’re tired. The energy work must have taken a bit out of you.”

Preening under Namjoon’s observation, she stared at the snow-dusted grass, feeling closer to him than ever.

“Yeah, I think I’m going to take a bath before dinner. Put some cleansing herbs and salt in the water just to make sure nothing from the Sanders’ house is clinging to me,” Y/N watched Namjoon unlock the front door with the house key he kept in his pocket, her own hands reaching up to dust snow collecting on his shoulders.

“Good idea,” Namjoon let Y/N into the house first, Y/N sighing at the cozy heat and ambient lighting. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Huh?” Y/N spun on her heel, gawking at the wolf hybrid, who was blushing.

“For including us in these investigations,” Namjoon said simply, a faint dimple appearing on his cheek.

“Oh,” Y/N blinked, pausing in front of Namjoon’s bedroom door. “I don’t think I would, or could do it without you two.”

Namjoon’s ears were a vibrant shade of red by now, and with that final comment, he ducked his head, mumbling something about reviewing the tapes before dinner. She let him disappear into his bedroom, and in a sort of daze, Y/N found her way to her own room, opening up her notes app to find the pizza order document with a grin.

February had finally rolled around, and as Hoseok and Y/N both dreaded, it was colder than January. At the very least, the sun was staying up later and later, to her relief, but there had never been so much snow in recent years. She was up to her ears in shoveling the walkways, scraping ice off of the cars, and making sure there was plenty of salt and gravel on the well-walked areas of her yard. That particular afternoon, the first Tuesday of the month, Alice happened to have a day off from the newspaper, and offered to swing by for a bit to catch up.

“Where is everyone?” Alice accepted a hot chocolate from Y/N, sitting in the breakfast nook, glancing at the noticeably hybrid-free kitchen.

“Taehyung officially got his driver’s license recently, he took himself, Yoongi and Hoseok up to the rec center to sign up for the spring activities. Jimin’s out with the horses, Jeongguk and Namjoon I think are in the van researching some equipment we need to order for the investigation in a couple of weeks,” Y/N slid into the booth beside her friend, blowing the steam from her own hot chocolate. “Seokjin got roped into joining Hoseok. He pretty much got dragged out of here.”

“So what you’re saying is, no one will hear us if we talk shit?” Alice grinned, Y/N already knowing what direction the conversation was going to take before Alice said another word. “Spill. You have a glow, so things must have worked out with Yoongi.”

“Between him and I? Yeah,” Y/N grew a bit shy, even if Alice knew pretty much everything about her already. Except for the fact that she had fallen for all of the hybrids, not just Yoongi, and that fact was something she was ready to share with her best friend once and for all. “Some of the others? Not so much.”

“Oh no. Tell me,” Alice scooched closer to Y/N, her arm slung around her shoulders comfortingly.

“Basically, the rest of them caught Yoongi and I in the kitchen in a… compromising position, and that’s how they found out about us,” Y/N grimaced, Alice gasping.

“No way. You weren’t fucking in here–”

“Christ almighty Jesus! No,” Y/N squawked, blood pooling in her cheeks. “We were just kissing. I’m not that much of an adrenaline junkie!”

“Okay, I was gonna say, Y/N. Way to go,” Alice snorted, taking a merry sip of her hot chocolate. “So I’m guessing a handful of them weren’t stoked about walking in on that.”

“Actually, the ones I thought were going to be weird about it were totally fine,” Y/N chewed her lip thoughtfully, aware that Alice wasn’t too familiar with the nuances of each hybrid’s personality. “Jimin and Taehyung were really disappointed that I felt I couldn’t confide in them. Jimin has forgiven me, but Taehyung still seems a little off, even if he insists he’s cool with it. He asked me recently if Yoongi was ‘treating me well’.”

“Damn. He sounds jealous,” Alice leaned back with a wag of her eyebrows. “What I know about hybrids, especially the types you’ve adopted, they can get hella territorial. Maybe it's his instincts screaming at him to protect you.”

“Could be,” Y/N muttered, her cheeks getting even hotter at the thought. “Then there’s Seokjin. He hasn’t addressed it at all, it’s like he’s pretending it’s not even happening. He used to be the clingiest, but now it’s rare he’ll initiate any kind of physical contact at all.”

“Again, babe. Sounds like jealousy. I remember Seokjin, he stuck to you like a starfish and looked at you like you hung the moon. He’s probably in denial,” Alice frowned, watching Y/N’s expression become stormy. “What’s wrong? You have that look on your face like you’ve left something out.”

“Alice, it’s not just Yoongi I’ve fallen in love with,” Y/N rubbed her temples, deciding to just bite the bullet already. “It’s all of them.”

There was a beat of solemn silence, and Y/N could almost smell the wheels in her best friend’s head turning. Alice tightened her hold around Y/N’s shoulders, the smell of her caramel perfume wrapping her up in a deeper hug.

“I had a feeling,” Alice admitted quietly, squeezing Y/N once again. “That’s why you feel guilty that those three are keeping their distance.”

“Mm-hmm,” Y/N felt the hot chocolate go sour in her stomach, though she should have known that Alice had caught on by now. Y/N wasn’t exactly subtle with her heart-eyes around the boys, even with others present. “I talked to Ben about it. I know it’s high school for me to say, but I’m so uncomfortable with the idea of confessing to any of them myself. The possibility of rejection is scary, of course, but seeing how much the boat was rocked when they found out about Yoongi and I…”

“I don’t have to tell you this, babe, but this isn’t something you can run from forever. I think all you can do is take it one step at a time… if you were to sit everyone down at once and admit your feelings to the six of them in one breath, I have a suspicion not a lot of them will take that confession seriously,” Alice mused slowly, Y/N already holding the same opinion. The last thing she wanted was to lump every confession into one sort of sit-down conference, for some reason, the potential scenario came off as cheap and rushed, to her.

“I just. I don’t even know who to start with. Maybe one of the boys that aren’t avoiding me like the plague,” Y/N said miserably.

“You know, there’s a chance one of them may come to you,” Alice encouraged, wanting to cheer up her friend. “You never know. Yoongi felt the same, maybe a few of the others have feelings for you, too.”

Perking up a little bit, Y/N let herself believe that for a few moments, imagining how nice it would be to be past all of the drama and confrontation, and simply living in love and harmony with all of her boys– like a storybook. Unfortunately, Y/N existed in reality and not between the pages of a children’s book, and she shook away the vision dancing around in her head quickly.

“I suppose we’ll see… Yoongi and I are still navigating how we act around the others, anyways. It’s a little tricky,” Y/N changed the subject slightly, knowing that Alice would be interested in some of the spicier things that had been going on in her life, rather than the tangled and complicated.

“I’m sure. If my man was half as sexy as your Yoongi, you’d need a crowbar to pry me off of him at any given moment,” Alice deadpanned, Y/N choking on a sip of her drink, Alice’s throaty laugh filling the empty kitchen. “How does that work, by the way? I mean, with hybrid hearing… have you guys even…?”

“Uh… yeah, we have,” Y/N shrunk down in her seat, embarrassed. “The music room is soundproof.”

“Y/N, you naughty girl! Wait, so like. Is that going to become like the Red Room like in 50 Shades? Like, you’re only going to fuck in there?” Alice, true to herself, brought some humor into the situation, Y/N giggling despite herself.

“I mean, no, I don’t think so,” Y/N managed through laughter, relieved to have some time with her friend and talk about such things. “As hot as it was… I mean we’re probably going to end up sleeping together in a bed at some point. I think it’s futile to pretend we’re not going to be intimate, the others aren’t stupid. I suppose I’ll just have to keep my sound level in check.”

“Okay, so clearly he doesn’t suck in bed, if that’s your response,” Alice teased, poking Y/N in the cheek. “Lucky lady. You do deserve it though, after all those years of The Great Dry Spell.”

“He’s perfect,” was all Y/N responded with, trying not to let her eyes glaze over with the memories of their tryst in the music room. “God. I’m sweating. Let’s talk about something else before I start chewing on the table.”

“I have an idea,” Alice straightened up after several moments of the girls laughing at Y/N’s fluster, taking up one of Y/N’s hands with mischief in her eyes. “Before you shoot it down, think about A) how fun it would be, and B), the potential amazing rewards.”

Making a motion for her to spit it out, Y/N braced herself for something ridiculous.

“You’d do this in small doses, of course– the fact that some of them seem to be jealous is evident. Why not tease them a little? Give Yoongi a kiss here and there in front of them, bat your eyelashes… I’m not saying be a menace with the PDA, but I think well timed PDA might coax one of them into slipping. I know you, if you had more of an idea that one of them had romantic feelings for you, you’d feel better about confessing. Just a thought.”

Y/N mulled that over while draining the rest of her mug, furrowing her eyebrows. That was the exact kind of scheme her, Alice, and Laura would pull when they were teenagers with their high school crushes, and usually, it worked like a charm. Now, however, Y/N felt a little funny about it.

“I don’t know… wouldn’t that be manipulative? Wouldn’t I be using Yoongi?”

“Y/N. Do you seriously think your leopard male hybrid who is in love with you would be upset that you kiss him in front of others? Hello? They’re all about possession. You’re not manipulating, either. Just think of it as a gentle kick in the ass for the others to sort out how they feel,” Alice rolled her eyes, Y/N regretfully realizing her friend was right.

“I’ll think about it. If it blows up in my face, though–”

“If it blows up in your face, I’ll take responsibility. It won’t though,” Alice collected the empty mugs, standing from the breakfast nook. “Alright, babe. We need to catch up on some Below Deck, and I want some dirty details about your man.”

Snorting, Y/N nodded, ready to have a couple of hours to gossip and watch trash reality with a girlfriend. She felt lighter, truly, that she told Alice how she felt about all of the hybrids, and was grateful that Alice not only offered her advice from a different point of view, but made her smile, too. As Alice dragged her to the parlor, Y/N wondered who she was in her past life to not only deserve her boys, but her friends, as well.

“Come on, Y/N, try it!” Hoseok attempted to grab Y/N by the ankle, his russet tail wagging happily as he teasingly pressed the ‘on’ button to his Hypervolt. “You’re being a wuss.”

“Hoseok. I have tried it. Last time you pressed that against the back of my neck without me knowing, I thought I was having a stroke,” Y/N was able to wrestle her ankle free from her fox hybrid’s grip, her ass sore from sitting on the rough surface of the rec center’s indoor track. “I’m not the one about to run a mile. Focus on your own calves.”

“Oh, please, just a couple of seconds,” Hoseok was too quick for her to evade his grabby hands for long, his strong, nimble hands clasping around her ankle again with a cheeky grin.

“Ho-seok,” Y/N groaned as soon as the vibrating tool dug into the meat of her calf, and regretfully, she was eating her words– after a few days of being on her feet at work, the sensation was delicious. “F-focus, honey. It’s the first meet of the season.”

“Yeah, so? You’re the only one who came. Even Jinnie abandoned me, reading his stupid books,” Hoseok ignored her plea to focus on his warm-up stretches, moving the Hypervolt further up her calf, Y/N praying she wouldn’t melt into a puddle of moans and groans at the sensation.

“They’re r-reading a Murakami book this w-week. Hoseok, stop!” Y/N weakly pushed his hands away, pouting at him. “It’s like almost 1,000 pages. He wasn’t doing it to spite you.”

“He could have read it here!” Hoseok countered, though obediently put his Hypervolt back into his gym bag and began to stretch out his quads in front of her. “Whatever. I’m only doing one event tonight, we'll be outta here in like an hour or so.”

“What do you want for dinner? We’ll pick up something on the way home,” Y/N pulled Hoseok’s number from his gym bag, shifting forward on her knees so she could pin it to his jersey tank.

“Chinese. I want a bucket of fried rice,” Hoseok replied without hesitation, Y/N making sure his mahogany waves were suitably held back by the sweatband around his forehead.

“That can be arranged,” Y/N agreed, squeaking in surprise when one of the announcers reminded the mile runners that they had ten minutes before they had to be at the starting line, Hoseok perking up. “Couple of questions for you?”

“Darling?” Hoseok cocked his head, nose twitching in her direction.

“Your birthday is this month. What would you like to do, my social butterfly? Wanna throw a party, or go somewhere specific? A club, a bar?”

Any trace of sly humor disappeared from Hoseok’s face in a flash, astonishment replacing it, before he ever-so-elegantly recovered, a neutral expression taking over.

“That’s a lot to think about. It’s still a little ways away, can I think about it?” Hoseok responded carefully, his hands coming up to rub his lean biceps.

“Think about it as long as you need. Unless you actually want to go to a club, I’ll have to book that ASAP,” Y/N leaned back on her palms, praying that his event would go by quickly so her ass wouldn’t be scraped up any further by sitting on the rough concrete. “Gift ideas, too. You like clothes, but you have a bunch of those already… we could go to a sports game? Or we could go to a music festival, I know you’ve been interested in that. There’s one next month here in Boston, I heard The Foo Fighters are headlining one of the days.”

“Y/N, that’s a lot to give a guy to think about before he has to perform athletically,” Hoseok whined, but Y/N could see embarrassment plain as day in his mocha eyes. “I’ll let you know, alright? Whatever you do for my birthday will be more than enough, though, without a doubt.”

Mouth open to reply, Y/N was cut off by a whistle blowing, Hoseok nimbly hopping to his feet, his cheeky, gorgeous grin back in place. He looked like a young god in his uniform, full of life and vigor, one that governed over the sun and daylight. Before she could speak, Hoseok used his hybrid swiftness to bend forward, pressing a light kiss to Y/N’s forehead at lightning speed.

“Wish me luck, my darling! Order some egg rolls for Jinnie while you’re at it, too, alright?” Hoseok winked, whistled his trademark, and jogged off towards the starting line, leaving Y/N wooden and staring after him.

Of course, Hoseok ended up winning– he had a streak, at that point, and was considered the star of the team, especially for his particular event. It was a shame, truly, that the rest of her hybrids didn’t want to be there to support the fox hybrid– but Y/N supposed with the near-weekly meets, it interfered with their own interests and hobbies. Besides, Y/N never missed a track meet, a basketball game, or a photography expo. Hell, if there were oral reports during her mother’s book club, she’d be there an hour in advance to hear whatever Seokjin and Namjoon had to say about a book she had never read.

The next day, Wednesday, Y/N was beat from work, after Judy had her totally rearrange the store’s inventory for the spring. There was enough leftover Chinese food for her and the hybrids to pick at for dinner over a marathon of Curb Your Enthusiasm, and by the time she dragged herself to bed, her eyes were nearly crossed. The only thing that prevented her from drooling into her pillow immediately was the sound of her phone chiming on her nightstand, Y/N grumbling and blindly reaching for it, tapping on the text notification.

Yoongi 👼🏻: can’t sleep : (

Y/N: sorry, angel 😭 something wrong? Need some tea?

Yoongi 👼🏻: no, just u

Yoongi 👼🏻: come up, stay with me?

Suddenly wide awake, Y/N sat up in bed like she was electrocuted, her heart hammering in her chest. Bunching her quilt up in her fists, she was torn– there was nothing she wanted more than to sleep with Yoongi, but she dreaded the thought of sneaking out of his room in the morning and stumbling into Seokjin, Taehyung, or Jeongguk on the second floor.

“Fuck it. We’re going with Alice’s plan,” Y/N muttered to herself, and as if on autopilot, she made her way to the second floor miraculously without turning on any lights.

Yoongi’s door was ajar, and it appeared that he was the only one still awake, lamplight only coming from his room, fortunately. Promptly, she slipped inside, chest rumbling in satisfaction when Yoongi’s scent filled her senses powerfully.

“That was fast for a little human,” Yoongi emerged from his bathroom, Y/N trying not to drool out of the side of her mouth with his bare chest on display. His sweats were slung low on his narrow hips, spotted tail curled around one of his legs, and Y/N suddenly felt exposed in her own tank-and-shorts pajama set.

“Do you want me to stay or not,” Y/N hissed, hands on her hips. Yoongi rolled his eyes, tongue poking into his cheek. The leopard hybrid shuffled over to his bed, dramatically collapsing onto it, his arms behind his head with a smirk. “Are you trying to smize your way out of a smartass remark?”

Y/N swallowed, her throat completely parched, dragging her eyes over his strong arms; the veins mapping his forearms, the pink tint to his bent elbows, the dark hair of his armpits. Briefly, Y/N internally cursed Yoongi for making her so whipped for him, she was attracted to armpits.

“Is it working? Smells like it is,” Yoongi lifted a brow, tongue swiping over his lower lip and a free hand reaching up to fiddle with the silver chain around his neck. “Come here.”

“Yoongi. We’re just sleeping. You have a game tomorrow,” Y/N warned, though she lowered her knees to his mattress, crawling up the length of if so she could lay beside him. “Don’t seduce me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Yoongi accused, his eyes darkening as he watched her climb to his side. “Miss you.”

Y/N hummed, rolling onto her side, sticking her face into Yoongi’s neck, breathing in his cologne. Automatically, Yoongi began to purr, using one of his hands to grasp onto Y/N’s thigh, hooking it over his body. Her skin tingled where he touched her, especially when he began to trace shapes over her thigh, just below the hem of her shorts.

“Miss you too,” Y/N mumbled into his neck, planting a gentle kiss on the tender skin, Yoongi shivering beneath her. Already, her eyes felt heavy, tangled up with her lover, his soothing purrs like a sweet lullaby. “Turn off the light. Early morning.”

Grunting, Yoongi yanked on the chain to his lamp, plunging the room into darkness, Y/N sighing happily when he pulled his quilt up over the two of them. Y/N rested her palm over Yoongi’s heart, the steady beats of it beneath her touch comforting.

“Love you, baby,” Y/N whispered into the darkness, Yoongi’s tail wrapping around her waist, and she could tell he was already slipping into unconsciousness by the way he murmured the same sentiment back, slurred and heavy.

The next morning, Y/N pretty much had to push Yoongi off of her, his body on top of hers, cheek squished against her chest, his twitching ears tickling under her chin. He groaned and complained when she rubbed his back to wake him, and Y/N fought the urge to simply fall back asleep with him on top of her.

“Come on, you big kitty, gotta have some breakfast before the game,” Y/N wheezed as she managed to roll him onto his side, his long hair sticking up in the back. His eyes were still shut as he stumbled out of bed, making Y/N snort into her palm. Usually, Yoongi was one of the first hybrids up in the morning, but Y/N had never seen him before his first cup of coffee. “I’ll make something for you while you get ready.”

Yoongi frowned, not wanting to part with her yet, but she left his room with a grin as he shrugged on his jersey with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. No one else appeared to be up yet, all of the bedroom doors on the second floor still shut, so Y/N was able to tip-toe down the creaky staircase without a confrontation.

After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, Y/N was writing a brief note to tell the others where her and Yoongi were that morning, they were off to the rec center, Y/N letting Yoongi drive there. The weather was cold and damp, but at least there wasn’t any snow coming down from the sky on their drive in, but Y/N barely felt the chill with Yoongi’s hand on her knee while he drove.

It wasn’t her first time in the rec center’s indoor gym, the floors buffed to a blinding shine and wooden bleachers surrounding the court, but because it was a new season, she felt like it was a different place. Once Y/N tied up Yoongi’s hair and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he was off to warm up with his teammates, and Y/N found a spot on the bleachers to watch the game. One eye on her leopard hybrid, she fumbled for her phone, which was buzzing away in her pocket. It was a notification of a reminder– in three days time, Valentine’s day, was the cooking class with Seokjin. Smiling a bit wistfully, she screenshotted the reminder, sending it to Seokjin over text.

Y/N: excited for our class!!

Seokjinnie 🌸: me too ≽^•⩊•^≼

Y/N: cute emoji omg! Is that supposed to be u?

Seokjinnie 🌸: ᡣ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶𐭩 ♡

Y/N flinched when Yoongi’s coach blew her whistle aggressively, promptly setting down her phone and getting ready to watch Yoongi play. He dropped into total concentration, listening to his coach with his lip tucked between his teeth, before getting into position and watching the coaches to a coin flip. She was getting lost in checking him out when she was rudely interrupted by someone saying his name– several feet from beside her.

“Number 54? Yeah, his name is Yoongi,” a high-pitched, girlish voice declared to her friend, and Y/N knew that she was gawking at them, but she wanted to know how she knew her leopard hybrid’s name. “Isn’t he hot?”

Y/N grit her teeth, realizing the two girls were actually hybrids, dressed in tennis skirts and both with canine sets of ears. Y/N recognized the uniforms they were wearing, belonging to the rec center’s tennis team, which means it was likely that they had seen Yoongi around before. Instantly, jealousy bloomed in her gut, and she had to tear her eyes from the two of them, fidgeting in her seat. She was pretty sure neither of the girls had noticed her staring at them, but she didn’t want to get caught, so she chose to discreetly eavesdrop instead.

“He’s super hot. Like a rockstar or something,” the second girl, the one with darker hair, agreed. “I heard he’s like the best player on the team.”

“For sure, that’s what Trixie said. She used to watch the basketball team practices last season just to see him play.”

Now, Y/N was absolutely positive she was filling the gym with the acrid scent of jealousy, but if the girls noticed, neither of them even looked in her direction. Y/N wasn’t stupid or blind, she knew how gorgeous and talented Yoongi was, but it was never fun to hear others fawn over one’s boyfriend. Gripping the bleachers tightly, Y/N tuned the hybrid girls out, focusing on Yoongi, who had already stolen possession of the ball.

Luckily, the game became a nail-biter, enough to distract her from the girls beside her. Y/N’s throat was hoarse from hollering Yoongi’s name, and she managed to get a pretty decent video of him scoring– by the end of the game, Y/N could barely speak, but Yoongi’s team had won. Before she could launch herself onto the court to give him a hug, he was pulled away by his teammates, who were thumping him on his back and pushing him towards the locker room. This made Y/N pout, but she knew that Yoongi would want to take a shower before they hit the road, so she busied herself on the phone, ignoring the giggles of the two hybrids beside her.

Hoseok 🦊: heads up, darling

Hoseok 🦊: we’re all heading out, taking the car. Errands to run!

Y/N: errands???

Hoseok 🦊: ye, ghostbusters need some equipment. Jinnie wanted to make something for dinner so gotta go to the store. The bear needs to pick up his photos while we’re there, and we’re dragging Jimin along so he can spend time with beings that AREN’T horses

Y/N: okay, thanks for letting me know foxy

Y/N: have fun, be safe, and think about plans for your birthday, pls!

Hoseok 🦊: i’ll make a list :3

“Ready to go?” Yoongi approached her, his hair damp and his gym bag slung over his shoulder, his footsteps echoing in the near-empty room. When he was in front of her, a smirk on his face, the two girl hybrids stopped whispering, and Y/N knew that they were checking him out, and she didn’t like that one bit.

Pocketing her phone, she recalled her earlier jealousy, and apparently catching him off-guard, Y/N launched forward, jumping up into his arms with an oof coming from the back of his throat. Wrapping her legs around his waist, Y/N held him tightly, hiding her face in his neck.

“Whoa, I didn’t win the NBA finals,” Yoongi chuckled, using one arm around her lower back to keep her supported, his chest vibrating with purrs. “Sweetheart–”

She cut him off, cupping his face urgently, descending her lips on his in a powerful kiss. He made a feline noise of surprise, his mouth parting, and Y/N took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, trying to inject every ounce of passion she had into it. After a split second, Yoongi recovered, kissing her back, his arm tightening its hold on her. Not wanting to draw it out too much, her jealousy melting into sheepishness, she broke away with one last peck to his lower lip, Yoongi’s eyes full of surprise and delight.

“What was that for?” Yoongi asked, breathlessly, Y/N giggling like a schoolgirl as he lowered her back to the ground.

“What? I can’t kiss my man?” Y/N replied, parroting his sarcastic remark he had once made in front of Taehyung. Yoongi blinked, stunned out of a response, Y/N tucking a lock of hair behind his ear before tangling one of her hands with his. “Let’s go home, angel.”

Y/N didn’t even look at the two girls that were gaping at the pair of them, but she knew that they were so caught off guard, they forgot to “congratulate number 54 when he comes out of the locker room”. Smugly, she left the gym with Yoongi on her arm, and she realized once they got to the car: Yoongi didn’t even notice those two girls, his attention had been on her completely.

“Where’s the other car?” Yoongi frowned, pulling into the driveway carefully, never once letting go of Y/N’s hand.

“Hoseok took it out with everyone to run some errands. On the bright side, I don’t think either of us will have to cook dinner, Seokjin wants to make something tonight,” Y/N hopped out of the car, suddenly struck by the fact that the two of them were alone, which had her pulse speeding up.

“Ah. Giving us space,” Yoongi read her mind, chuckling. She stuck her tongue out at him while his back was turned, dragging his gym bag out of the backseat, and ditched him in the driveway to unlock the front door.

Y/N headed straight for the kitchen for a glass of water, lamenting the fact that it was still too early for a glass of wine. Bouncing around in her skull were not only images of Yoongi jogging up and down the court, commanding the respect and admiration of his teammates, but the sounds of the two hybrid girls gushing over him. Embarrassingly, Y/N felt her jealousy return, hardly noticing Yoongi in the foyer as she stomped up the stairs, scooping up his gym bag as she went. She thought perhaps doing something as mundane and mind-numbing as a load of laundry would help her get a grip.

Grumbling, she tossed Yoongi’s sweaty uniform into the wash along with Hoseok’s, adding a few more articles of the boy’s clothes from the mountain of dirty laundry in the corner of the little room. Eyes glazed over as she tossed laundry beads into the machine, she stared at the little chart taped to the wall, the one that she and Seokjin had created so laundry duty was tackled by a different housemate every day.

“What’s the matter?” Yoongi startled her in the doorway to the laundry room, making her whack a knee against the dryer with a cry.

“Nothing,” Y/N composed an innocent expression on her face, folding a pair of Jimin’s jeans and stacking them on the shelf.

“Y/N,” Yoongi’s voice had a warning tone to it, Y/N cursing the hybrid ability to sniff out deceit. “You were fine just a second ago.”

“Why don’t you just take a whiff and guess,” Y/N grouched, Yoongi’s hazel eyes flashing. Without another word, Yoongi was pulling Y/N out of the laundry room with a tsk and a finger hooked in the pocket of her leggings.

“Fine,” Yoongi growled, pushing her against the wall in the hallway, pressing a knee between her legs and keeping her pinned with a hand flat on her hip. His face was in the crook of her neck, Y/N growing stiff as she felt his eyelashes brush her skin. “Ticked off. Insecure.”

Heart falling to her ass, Y/N squirmed against the wall, trying to get away from the leopard hybrid, humiliated beyond belief. Served her right for challenging a predatory male hybrid, in hindsight.

“Oh. Jealous,” Yoongi froze, drawing away from her throat, staring Y/N dead in the eye. “Why are you jealous, baby?”

Swallowing, Y/N shook her head, desperate to deny the accusation, but it was too late. She couldn’t weasel her way out of that situation, not with him pinning her down. Heart pounding in her chest, she shook her head.

“It’s nothing, Yoongi. Just forget it, I’m being stupid,” Y/N attempted to diffuse the situation, furious with herself that she had potentially spoiled the rare alone time that the two of them had.

“Is this about those girls sitting next to you at the game?” Yoongi asked incredulously, Y/N’s eyes widening a fraction. “Uh-huh. That’s a yes.”

“It’s dumb, but I can’t help it,” Y/N broke down with a whine, already feeling pitiful enough. “They were talking about how hot you are and how you’re the best player… ugh, it just triggered me I guess, you’re mine and I–”

Her words were stuffed back down her throat, because Yoongi’s mouth was on hers, hot and desperate, the force of the kiss causing her head to bump into the wall behind her. The hand that was on her hip moved, a forefinger and thumb pinching her chin to keep her in place, Yoongi already licking into her mouth with borderline abandon. Wide eyes slipping shut, Y/N released a ragged moan, her hands scrabbling to get a grip on his hoodie. Cocking his head, Yoongi bit down harshly on her lower lip, pressing his hips into Y/N’s before breaking away, his chest heaving.

“How could you think,” Yoongi began, interrupting himself by giving her another swift kiss, his eyes lidded. “That I’d even look at anyone but you?”

Y/N couldn’t respond; she was too distracted by Yoongi’s hand under her shirt, tracking a path up her abdomen, and his plush lips suckling the skin under her jaw. Gasping, she let go of his hoodie, hands pressing to the wall behind her, heat flooding through her system.

“If anyone should be jealous, it’s the other poor fucks who live with us,” Yoongi added roughly, bending to get a hold of her thighs, hoisting Y/N up into his arms, using his sharp incisors to nip at her collarbone. “They haven’t heard the noises you can make, haven’t tasted you…”

Y/N felt her head spinning as Yoongi carried her down the hallway, fisting a chunk of his long, inky hair tightly, the sound of Yoongi kicking his bedroom door open making her go limp in his arms.

Y/N yelped when Yoongi let her go, all but tossing her onto his bed, standing before her like a predator stalking its prey. In a wild turn of events, they both became possessed by lust, Y/N already feeling her core throb against the material of her underwear. Yoongi had a filthy mouth, she was already aware of that, but when he used it against her– she swore nothing was sexier.

“Don’t you know how I feel about you?” Yoongi rid himself of his hoodie, tossing it carelessly to the floor, swinging a knee over the mattress to cage Y/N beneath him. Y/N could only stare up at her beautiful leopard hybrid, his ears twitching with agitation, his silver chain dangling in front of her face. “Hmm? Love?”

“Y-yoongi,” Y/N breathed, overwhelmed. She reached up for him, hooking her hands around his neck, reveling in the quiet groan he made when she brought him down for a kiss, this one sweeter, more full of meaning, than the desperate lip-lock in the hallway.

“There’s my girl,” Yoongi murmured between kisses, probably smelling the love and affection she had for him rolling off of her in waves. Seizing the moment while he was lax above her, Y/N’s hands shot out, landing on his chest, sending the leopard hybrid sideways and onto his back, Y/N straddling his lap with a doped-up grin. “Fuck.”

Snickering, Y/N squirmed on his lap, watching his eyes roll back into his skull, his hands still on her outer thighs. Y/N couldn’t believe that she was as turned on as she was, trailing her fingertips over the smooth skin of Yoongi’s flushed chest, and further, she felt satisfaction fill her with the hardness she felt beneath her hips. Yoongi’s breath caught as one of her thumbs brushed over a nipple, his pupils dilating with pure want. Unable to help herself, she ducked down, mouthing at his chest, and experimentally, she grazed her lips over his nipple, Yoongi’s hips bucking up into hers with the action.

“Baby,” Yoongi’s voice came out strained, his hands squeezing her thighs painfully, one of them moving to tug on the back of her shirt, Y/N busy kissing a trail down his sternum.

“Yoongi,” Y/N returned, tracing the lines of his toned obliques, teeth scraping against his left pec.

Getting the hint once Yoongi yanked at her shirt once more, his other hand bruising the skin of her thigh, Y/N sat up, crossing her arms and pulling the material off of her torso, tossing it aside. She wasn’t exactly expecting to be in that position with Yoongi that afternoon, so regretfully, she was wearing a simple black bra, but Yoongi appreciated it with widened eyes nonetheless.

“Kiss me,” Yoongi requested, breathlessly, his hands trailing from her thighs to her bare waist, eyes nearly emerald with how much they had darkened. Not daring to disobey, Y/N fell forward, whimpering at the sensation of their torsos pressed together, cupping his jaw and giving him the kiss he asked for.

Not knowing where Yoongi ended and she began, she felt their legs tangling, Yoongi’s rough, jean-clad hips scraping against the soft material of her leggings, which were truthfully starting to become a little damp. Yoongi kissed the breath from her lungs, his tongue sensually rolling against hers, his purring chest pressed right up against hers.

“God, I–” Yoongi ground out, his form tensing beneath her when Y/N traced her tongue up the side of his neck, the taste of his sweat sweet on her tongue. “Fuck. Fuckin’ love you.”

“Love you more,” Y/N countered, directly in his ear, nipping at the shell of it, shuddering when his hands slid up her back, fingertips wiggling beneath the strap of her bra. With that statement, Yoongi grunted sharply, and before Y/N’s brain could process it, the world turned upside-down, the wind knocked from her lungs as she found herself underneath Yoongi again.

“None of that,” Yoongi smirked at her bewilderment, using a large hand to press over her mouth, his free hand ghosting over the center of her chest. A primal sort of glint took over his feline eyes, Y/N automatically opening her mouth to respond. Unfortunately, Yoongi was a step ahead of her. “Uh-uh.”

Y/N’s lips were pried open, two of Yoongi’s long, slender fingers pressing against her tongue. Two could play at that game, Y/N thought, her tongue swirling around the digits, hollowing out her cheeks. Frowning, Yoongi watched her expression grow coy, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Smart mouth, should keep it filled,” Yoongi muttered acidically, pressing the pads of his fingertips more harshly into Y/N’s tongue, a tiny gagging sound coming from the back of her throat, making the tips of her ears burn. “Let’s get this off, huh, sweetheart?”

Unable to respond with his fingers stuffed in her mouth, Y/N watched helplessly as Yoongi slid a hand behind her back, unclasping her bra and pulling it off with a dark chuckle. One day, Y/N would learn not to provoke a hybrid, but honestly, the consequences didn’t seem to be so bad.

Finally pulling his saliva-slickened fingers from her mouth, Yoongi helped Y/N out of her bra, absently pushing the garment to the side so he could get a good look at her chest, a hand resting over her throat, feeling her pulse flutter erratically. Desperately, she was trying to pull him back down to her mouth with tugs to his belt loops, but Yoongi ignored her silent plea, both hands cupping her chest. Y/N arched into his touch with a soft cry, bringing his face down to kiss between her breasts, and in retaliation for earlier, used the rough pads of his thumbs to outline circles over her nipples.

“Hnngh,” Y/N winced, so sensitive his gentle touch was almost painful, Yoongi humming as he toyed with her chest, kneading the soft flesh in his hands, pinching one of her buds between his fingertips and pulling, rewarded by a heavy moan from Y/N. “Oh, b-babyy–”

Growing frustrated with the remaining barriers between himself and Y/N, Yoongi’s touch migrated to the waistband of Y/N’s leggings, using his strength to strip the article of clothing from her body, nearly passing out once he realized she wasn’t wearing panties beneath, her entire body bare beneath him.

“What are you doing to me,” Yoongi groaned, his jeans starting to choke the life out of his cock, and not in a good way. “Shit…”

“Need… n-need you,” was all Y/N could hiccup, completely exposed for him, but not feeling a single semblance of embarrassment about that. Tail curling behind him in mesmerizing shapes, Y/N gripped at his solid biceps pleafully.

“Needy thing,” Yoongi commented, sloppily kissing over the swell of her breast, enjoying the sounds of her helpless mewls. “God, I can smell you.”

Clumsily, Y/N tugged the zipper of Yoongi’s jeans down, yanking the fabric halfway down his legs, her breath coming out in pants as Yoongi laved his tongue over her nipple indulgently, hardly noticing she was trying to strip him. Gasping when he took the bud into his mouth, sucking and scraping his teeth over the sensitive flesh, Y/N felt her thighs get tacky with moisture, impossibly turned on and wanting.

“Please, Yoongi, please. Fuck me,” Y/N wasn’t above begging at that point, far past the point of no return, Yoongi distractedly shucking off his jeans and slotting himself between Y/N’s parted legs. The weight of his hips against her bare core had her clenching around nothing, and she arched upwards to seek out the hardness in his boxers eagerly for any kind of friction.

Yoongi simply hummed at her request, releasing her nipple with a lewd pop, one of his hands tracing over her hip bone before he mercifully ghosted his digits over her dewy sex, a low hiss coming from the back of his throat when he realized how wet she was.

“Always so fuckin’ wet,” Yoongi teased, batting her hand away when she reached for his wrist, a drenched forefinger swiping through her folds. “All for me?”

“Uh-huh,” Y/N canted her hips upwards, chasing his touch, whining thinly when he just missed grazing her clit. “Please. Want you, want you inside of m-me.”

“Wanna taste you first,” Yoongi smirked devilishly, Y/N beginning to protest, just wanting to feel him, but he moved too quickly, and all Y/N could do was sink her hands into his long tresses, his face now eye-level with her cunt. “All of this, and I’ve hardly done anything.”

Too caught up at staring at his fucked-out expression, Y/N didn’t have time to feel embarrassed, Yoongi using his strong grip to maneuver her legs over his shoulders, making himself comfortable between her legs. Whether or not he noticed that her thighs were coated in her slick was beyond Y/N, and due to the position he had manhandled her into, she couldn’t close her legs to hide the evidence of her overwhelming arousal.

Transfixed, Yoongi’s touch returned to her pussy, biting his lip when more wetness leaked out of her when his thumb brushed over her clit. She was so sensitive, responsive, tiny cries of pure want filling his ears, and it drove him absolutely crazy, paired with the scent of her lust. Wasting no more time, he locked eyes, her pupils blown out, eyebrows pinched, and kissed right above the hood of her clit, chuckling when her hips jerked in consequence. With a deft lick, Yoongi dragged his tongue through her folds, feeling Y/N’s legs shaking over his shoulders, a wail leaving her throat.

Y/N couldn’t help her spine from contorting off the mattress, yanking on Yoongi’s hair sharply, a muffled grunt coming from his lips as he wrapped them around her clit, humming lightly and making Y/N see stars. It was almost too much to bear, Yoongi’s sinful tongue dipping into her entrance, his forearm keeping her hips pinned down. Alarmingly, Y/N felt herself already hurtling towards her release, Yoongi’s mouth on her paired with the unbroken eye contact had her stomach tightening quickly.

“Yoongi,” Y/N whined, pressing herself into his face desperately, cheeks on fire when he raised an eyebrow, using the flat of his tongue to collect all of the wetness that had gathered between her legs, the erotic visual making her eyes roll shut. “Ah!”

Yoongi paused, assessing the mess he made of her, using a free hand to stroke through her folds, Y/N begging for more, for anything, and Yoongi didn’t want to tease her too much, so with one last breathy please, Yoongi sunk a finger into her cunt. Cursing at the tightness, he curled his finger, attempting to open her up a little bit, a second digit joining the first, Y/N writhing in his grip.

“Squeezin’ me, baby, are you gonna cum already?” Yoongi taunted, feeling her clamp down onto his fingers even tighter, her lip bitten raw as she cried out his name. “That’s it, honey.”

“Yoongi, want you,” Y/N managed to gasp, gripping the wrist that was between her legs, halting his movements. “Please, now, want you.”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you?” Yoongi asked softly, pulling his fingers from her cunt, sliding the coated digits into his mouth, his free hand moving to the hemline of his boxers, Y/N’s eyes immediately dropping to the bulge beneath the fabric, her mouth watering. “Turn over.”

Blinking, Y/N shakily scooched up the bed, rolling onto her front, hearing Yoongi shuffle forward on his knees, his boxers tossed on the floor, Y/N turning her head slightly to get a good look at him, his sharp teeth prodding at his fleshy lower lip. Sighing blissfully when his hands caressed her hips gently, she squealed when he dragged them up, using his other hand to reach for a pillow, placing it underneath her, arranging her limbs so she was resting comfortably. Cheeks burning, she felt the pillow beneath her hips and lower abdomen, her ass on display as she arched her spine, leaning on her forearms.

“Look at you, waiting so patiently,” Yoongi’s touch returned, his palms landing heavily on her ass, making her shudder and keen, opening her mouth to tell him to hurry up. Before she could, however, Yoongi spoke again. “Ready, baby?”

“Please,” Y/N wiggled her hips, hoping to tempt him into picking up the pace, feeling sweat slip down her spine. She sounded wrecked, eager, and Yoongi groaned, holding the base of his cock in one hand, the other squeezing one of her cheeks.

Shaky breath rounding out into a moan, she felt him press against her weeping sex, running the tip through her folds teasingly, his own breaths coming out in labored pants, slowly losing control as he ground against her. Gripping Yoongi’s sheets for dear life, she huffed in annoyance at his teasing, feeling wetness dribble down the inside of her thighs in anticipation. After what felt like minutes, Yoongi stopped messing around, lining himself up, using a palm splayed across Y/N’s lower back as leverage and finally pushed in, only an inch or two, Y/N instantly clenching down on him with a broken whimper.

“Holy fuck,” Yoongi grunted, moving as slowly as he could, and when his pelvis was flush with her ass, he weakly collapsed on top of her, bracing a hand beside her head. Y/N felt her walls fluttering around his generous length and girth frantically, the position she was in making him feel like he was in her guts, and she was hardly aware of the pathetic sounds spilling from her mouth. “This pussy…”

“F-full,” Y/N stuttered, Yoongi’s breath on the back of her neck as he let her get used to the feeling, grazing his teeth along the junction of her shoulder and throat. “Hnngh–”

“Yeah? Stuffed full of me?” Yoongi’s voice was dark, dulcet, and in her ear, and Yoongi was all Y/N could feel– pressed against her back, scent clinging to the sheets, cock buried in her pussy. “Fuck. Stop clenching.”

“C-can’t help it,” Y/N replied, Yoongi wrapping his hand around her waist, giving his hips an experimental roll, Y/N choking on an intake of air with the movement. “Oh, d-don’t stop–”

Moaning into her neck, Yoongi snapped his hips forward, setting a strong, almost punishing pace right away, unable to hold back, and wanting to fuck the jealousy out of her. Yoongi was always more fond of showing, rather than telling, anyways.

“I’m yours,” Yoongi mumbled into the skin over her shoulder blade, sucking a bruise into the flesh, the sounds of flesh hitting flesh filling his bedroom, Y/N’s voice scratchy from the constant mewls leaving her mouth. “Got that?”

“Nn– ah! Oh,” Y/N felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes, the support from the pillow beneath her adding even more pressure to the way he was pounding into her, even the fabric of the pillowcase adding friction against her clit in the most delicious way. “Mine!”

“That’s right,” Yoongi peeled himself from her back, adjusting his position so he could fuck into her with greater strength, gathering up the hair along the nape of her neck and wrapping it around his wrist. “All for you, baby. Say my name.”

“Yoongi, oh my g– fuck, gonna cum soon,” Y/N wailed, the way he was tugging her hair back making her scalp smart, but between the pain and the pleasure, Y/N was nearly careening off the edge of sanity. “Please.”

“Please, what?” Yoongi spat through his teeth, not letting up on the pace one bit, kneading the flesh of her asscheek. “You’ve already got my cock, you need more?”

Contrary to his taunts, Yoongi gave her more, reaching underneath, using a forefinger to rub circles around her clit, Y/N’s vision going white as she came without warning, clamping down on Yoongi so hard he swore colorfully, hips stuttering against her ass as she writhed from beneath him. He let go of her hair, kissing down the length of her spine, helping her through her orgasm as best he could while keeping up the swift pace of his thrusts.

“Can you take a bit more, love?” Yoongi soothed a hand down her back, her body shivering with the aftershocks of her orgasm, nodding dazedly as she pressed her ass backwards into Yoongi. “Come here, roll over. Wanna see your face.”

Y/N was boneless, but Yoongi helped her flip over, tossing the pillow to the side. She whined when his cock slipped from her, but Yoongi was quick to remedy that, pushing back in as soon as her limp arms looped around his neck. Groaning at the new angle, Yoongi kept his thrusts slow, punctuated by a light grind to the spongy tissue of her G-spot, Y/N dissolving into a complete mess. The mood turned sensual, Yoongi leaning down to press his lips to hers, and even if Y/N wasn’t a hybrid, she could sense his love for her by the way he held the side of her face tenderly. Tucking hair behind his ear, Y/N crossed her ankles behind his back, feeling the way his cock throbbed inside of her– he must have been getting close.

“Come, Yoongi,” Y/N pressed her forehead to her lover’s, raking her nails down his chest lightly. “Wanna feel you come for me.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi gasped, Y/N feeling her gut tighten once again when he hit a sweet spot inside of her, and after two more strokes, she was coming again, gasping and moaning into the leopard hybrid’s mouth. “I–”

Without warning, Yoongi stilled, his mouth on her collarbone, teeth sinking into the flesh, heightening the bliss of her orgasm. She felt him spilling inside of her, sweet, filthy nothings falling from his lips as he came, tongue swiping over the bite he had given her absently. Hazy from the scenting, she let Yoongi roll the two of them onto their sides, his cock still nestled between her walls, the leopard hybrid cleaning up the wound on her neck in a way that was more primal, feline, than ever, his chest rumbling with loud purrs.

Limbs like jelly, Y/N closed her eyes, melting into Yoongi’s sheets as his tongue dragged over her neck lazily, the post-fuck and post-scenting haze having her so lax, she hardly noticed the mixture of their releases rolling down her thighs. She didn’t have enough energy to say anything, simply clinging to him like a baby kangaroo, fingers gliding along his sweat-dampened back.

“Still jealous?” Yoongi broke the content silence, tracing shapes along her ribcage lovingly, his purrs unbroken and strong.

“No,” Y/N replied meekly, hiding her face in his collarbones, suddenly embarrassed she entertained any feelings of envy at all.

“I know, can’t smell it anymore,” Yoongi snickered, Y/N rolling her eyes at the fact that he was back to his sarcastic, deadpan self. “Guess I just had to fuck it out of you.”

“You’re so vulgar,” Y/N lightly shoved his chest away, wincing when she felt him pull out of her, and the sensation of his cum dribbling out of her. “I never would have thought.”

“Gotta keep you on your toes,” Yoongi retorted, kissing her forehead gently, his lips bent upwards in a tiny smile. “Wanna get cleaned up?”

“Mmm,” Y/N groaned noncommittally, knowing that walking would probably be an issue. “Not really.”

“I can carry you,” Yoongi’s laughter grew in volume, clearly enjoying that he had completely ruined her, squeezing the meat of her ass in one hand playfully.

“Fine,” Y/N pouted, not ready to break free from their post-coital bliss, but knowing that it would probably be wise to bathe and attempt to look normal before the other hybrids came home.

Yoongi carried her bridal-style into his bathroom, and Y/N leaned on his shoulder while the water heated up, enjoying his warmth and presence. Once in the shower, the leopard hybrid supported her, her back to his chest as the hot water beat down on their skin. Hooking his chin over her shoulder, his wet hair tickling her cheek, Y/N gripped the forearms he had wrapped around her middle, sighing.

“I love you,” Yoongi said quietly, planting a kiss on the bite he had given her.

Turning in his arms, Y/N chose to respond by leaning up, brushing her lips against his softly, hands winding around his neck as steam filled the shower.

“Hope you didn’t fill up too much on the toffee,” Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, making sure the parking ticket for the garage she parked in was stuffed in her wallet.

“I didn’t! I skipped lunch, too,” Seokjin was hurrying out of the car, glancing around the parking garage curiously, correcting his stride to match Y/N’s, pulling his wool coat tightly around his body.

“Aw, you didn’t have to do that. You must be starving,” Y/N pouted, her fingertips twitching to hold his hand. It was Valentine’s Day, and most of the day had passed by uneventfully, but that evening, she and Seokjin traveled into the city for the cooking lesson.

“I just didn’t know how much we’d end up cooking, wanted to be prepared to stuff my face!” Seokjin joked, a merry smile on his face. After she had given him his Valentine that morning, it seemed that goofy, fond Seokjin was back, and he could finally smile at her with it actually reaching his eyes. Progress was progress, she supposed.

“I think we’re making three courses,” Y/N grinned as Seokjin pulled the door to the mall for her. He looked gorgeous, as always, in black slacks and a powder blue button down, his wavy hair swept off his forehead. “Three courses, three different wine tastings. I’m excited!”

Seokjin’s sleek black tail flicked behind him, sticking close to Y/N’s side as they navigated through Copley Place, and when she felt him growing nervous with the amount of people clogging up the narrow aisles of Eataly, she hooked her hand around his elbow, pulling him into her side for comfort.

Fortunately for Seokjin, the actual classroom where they were going to cook in was spacious, at the back of the market, and there were only a few other pairs of people taking the class with them. Seokjin appeared to be the only hybrid, however, and naturally every pair of eyes in the room was on him as he draped his coat on the rack by the door, his ears fluttering excitedly as he noticed the station that had a card with Y/N’s last name printed on it.

The instructor appeared to be an older Italian man, one with a thick accent and golden skin, greeting everybody happily. To Y/N’s relief, the instructor didn’t greet Seokjin any differently than anyone else, simply handing the jaguar hybrid two red-and-white striped aprons for them to wear.

“Today, we’ll be learning about the cuisine of Rome, and cooking some of my favorite dishes from all over Italy,” the man began once all of the students were in their aprons and standing eagerly behind their stations. Y/N noticed that most of the people in the class were older, perhaps married, couples, with one pair of college students in the back of the room. “We’ll be making a bruschetta, linguine alle vongole, and saltimbocca for our three courses, all paired with a lovely wine.”

Seokjin was nearly shaking with excitement beside her, checking out all of the dials on the stovetop, the raw ingredients in front of them, and the array of kitchen tools available for their use. He paid rapt attention to the man explaining the origins of the dishes they were going to prepare, his ears perked up. Once the little history lesson was over, the instructor walked them through the steps to make fresh pasta for the vongole, and she and Seokjin exchanged smug smirks– they both already knew how to make fresh pasta, and while some of the other couples were struggling to assemble the dough, her’s and Seokjin’s was plastic wrapped and chilling in the mini fridge already. Seokjin positively preened under the praise of the instructor, his neck turning red, and Y/N snorted and shook her head as she sliced through some tomatoes for the bruschetta topping.

Meanwhile, Seokjin handled the veal steaks for the saltimbocca, using a mallet to pound the meat to a certain thinness, and the first round of wine came around, the glass they were to nurse while they cooked. Here and there, Seokjin would crack a joke or two, corny as ever, but they made her choke on her wine and laughter.

“When asked about his cooking skills, the sage replied, ‘I’m herbally gifted’,” Seokjin held up a sage leaf he was using toothpicks to attaching to the veal steaks, waving it in front of Y/N’s face with a goofy grin.

“Jin, stop, I’m gonna pee my pants,” Y/N whispered, cheeks sore from smiling so much. It had been a while since she spent such quality time with Seokjin, and she realized how much she missed him, with a painful twang of her heart.

Seokjin’s grin only grew wider, hand reaching up to ruffle Y/N’s hair affectionately, one of the first times he actually touched her since finding out about her and Yoongi. Delighted, Y/N took a happy sip of wine, getting back to work on the sauce for the vongole.

Once everything was cooked, chairs were brought out, along with the fruity pinot grigio to be paired with the bruschetta, all while the instructor answered questions about Italian cuisine, and told stories about his childhood in Rome.

“This is so good,” Seokjin sighed, munching on a piece of bruschetta, his orange eyes wide as he tasted all of the flavors. “We get the recipes after, right?”

“Yep! We can make this whole meal again for the others. I think Hoseok would really enjoy this, too,” Y/N clinked glasses with the older woman from the station behind her, Seokjin’s cheeks beginning to color with the alcohol, already.

“This is so much fun, Y/N. We should do this again,” Seokjin suddenly became serious, glancing around the room, before his eyes softened and he made eye contact with her again.

“Absolutely. I’ve missed spending time with you,” Y/N replied without hesitancy, Seokjin’s neck turning red again when she admitted that.

Looking away, their interaction was interrupted by the instructor telling them to finish off the sauce for the vongole, and Seokjin drained his wine glass urgently before hopping to his feet to turn on the burner.

After two more glasses of wine and two delicious entrees the two of them cooked, her and her jaguar hybrid were loopily weaving their way through the market with a packet of recipes, a bottle of wine Seokjin liked the most, and free Italian cookies in their arms. Seokjin, bolder now that he was tipsy, insisted on holding the bag with all of the items, and finally, he offered her a hand as they walked through the mall.

“Want to go for a little walk before we head back to the car?” Y/N asked, threading her fingers through his, Seokjin staring down at her through his eyelashes with that thoughtful expression she had seen on his face only once or twice before. Truthfully, she both wanted to spend a bit more alone time with Seokjin, and she felt like some cool nighttime air would sober her up enough to drive home confidently.

“Okay,” Seokjin squeezed her hand, following her down the escalator to the street outside of the mall, the sky already dark and the city lights keeping the streets illuminated.

Not too many people were out, everyone seemed to be having their romantic Valentine’s Day dinners in the multiple restaurants studding the sidewalks, and it was much too cold for a leisurely stroll for most people. Tummy full, she stuck close to Seokjin, who radiated heat like a furnace, and Y/N was grateful for the slight buzz from the wine that was keeping her warm as well. The two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence, only broken once or twice when Seokjin would ask her about a restaurant they would stroll by.

“Thank you for tonight,” Seokjin spoke out of the blue, letting Y/N hook her arm around his in an attempt to steal some of his body heat.

“You don’t have to thank me, honey, it was for your birthday!” Y/N insisted, reaching up to flick the dangling earrings that were threaded through his left earlobe– another birthday present from her. “I should thank you for letting me use the other ticket. I learned so much, got to hang out with you for a while, ate yummy food…”

Y/N paused, feeling cold and wet hit her forehead, stopping in front of an old church, the lights from inside making the colored stained glass glow and cast pretty hues over the sidewalk. Looking up, she made a soft noise of exclamation, clumps of snow falling from the sky. Letting go of Seokjin temporarily, she did a twirl, head craned skyways, admiring the way the snowflakes floated gently through the air. She didn’t realize Seokjin was repeating her name until his hand was on her shoulder, his lip tucked between his teeth.

“Ah, we can head back now. You’re probably freezing, huh?” Y/N held her hand out for him again, but this time, he didn’t take it.

“Y/N, I have something I want to tell you, but I’m not sure how you’ll take it,” Seokjin looked from her flushed face to the windows of the church, shades of blue, green, and red highlighting his features. A ball forming in the pit of her stomach, she dropped her outstretched hand, nervous about the seriousness of his tone, his whole voice going down a pitch.

“It’s okay, tell me,” Y/N, while nervous, was curious as well, freezing when Seokjin released a breathy exhale, gathering up her hands in one of his, the contact appearing to ease his nerves.

“I– I know you, um. You’re with Yoongi, you love him,” Seokjin swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. Wine churning in her gut, she nodded, taken aback that that was the night he chose to first address the relationship. “And I’m happy for you, I am, Yoongi too. But…”

“It makes you uncomfortable?” Y/N murmured, heart beating painfully in her chest. Seokjin bit his lip again, shaking his head, but conflict flashed in his eyes.

“No. I mean, somewhat, yes,” Seokjin sucked his teeth, tugging her closer into his proximity.

“Is there a specific reason why, Seokjinnie?” Y/N would be heartbroken if Seokjin would push her away after such a wonderful night spent together, but she would deal with it if it came to that.

“I’m,” Seokjin swallowed thickly again, before squaring his shoulders with his ears flat to his head, lowering his face closer to Y/N’s like he was about to tell her a secret. “Because I’m in love with you, too.”

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503 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 4 months

Note

Hii I was wondering if u can make an elijah fluff. Like context hes been married for like 1000+ years and he still gets nervous around reader

Dinner can wait.

{Masterlist}

Elijah is nervous about you returning home after a trip, so he cooks dinner to calm himself.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request anon ~ I love domestic Elijah, I could write a million stories on this subject ♡♡~

2k words - Warnings: None, just fluff!

Elijah moved with assured grace around the kitchen, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his dark hair falling softly across his face as he carefully arranged his ingredients. There was something soothing about cooking, and tonight it was something that he really needed. He glanced up at the clock and sighed, wondering if he had enough time to prepare his special sauce, or if he should just use his normal béarnaise. He decided that he wanted to use the special sauce tonight and reached for a saucepan. As he started to slowly melt his butter, he heard the front door open. A smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he heard the familiar footsteps of his sister enter the kitchen.

"What's for dinner tonight, brother?" Rebekah asked, opening the fridge and reaching in to grab one of his bottles of wine.

"Coq au vin, but unfortunately, Rebekah, it's for two, not three," he said, looking pointedly at the wine bottle she had taken out.

"That's okay," she replied, "I'll just help myself to your wine."

She winked at him and poured herself a generous glass, then pulled out a chair and sat down at the counter to watch him.

"So she's coming back today?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, adding the chopped onions and mushrooms to the pan. "Her plane arrives at seven thirty."

"Do you need me to pick her up?"

"No, thank you," he said. "I've already arranged a driver."

"And have you thought about how you're going to greet her?"

Elijah frowned at her, not liking the look of amusement on her face. "What do you mean? I'll greet her in the same way I've greeted her for the last ten centuries."

Rebekah laughed and sipped her wine. "I think that's the problem, brother," she teased.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, his knife hitting the chopping board with a little more force than necessary.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she said. "Every time your wife returns home after being away for any period of time, you go out of your way to impress her. You cook, you clean, you buy her flowers and gifts, and when you greet her, you are always so polite and gentlemanly, almost as if it's a first date.”

"So?"

"So, Elijah," she said, smiling affectionately at him, "don't you think it's time you stopped trying to impress her and just showed her how much you love her."

Elijah sighed and rubbed his hand across his brow. "I don't think I know any other way," he admitted.

"Then learn another way," she replied, draining her glass and standing up. "I've got a date so I won't be home for dinner, but I expect to see you both tomorrow."

"Fine," he said. "Thank you for your... help."

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed her bag and left.

He watched her go and then looked down at the half-chopped ingredients in front of him. He had always enjoyed cooking for his wife, but this time was different. This time his hands were shaking as he lifted the knife, and his stomach was fluttering.

Why was he nervous? It was his beautiful wife. His sweet and gentle y/n. The love of his long life.

They had been married for one thousand years, but his feelings towards her had never changed. She was still the girl from the village who had captured his heart when they were children. The girl he had courted and then married, and who had stood by his side when he had become a vampire and all the challenges that it had brought. He sighed and started preparing the rest of his ingredients. Maybe Rebekah was right, and it was time for him to try a new approach.

When you stepped out of the airport and took your first breath of fresh air, you felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from your shoulders. You were so close to seeing your husband, and it made your heart flutter. You looked around and smiled when you saw a tall man with dark hair and eyes waiting patiently for you, holding a sign with your name on it.

"Hello," you said, "I'm y/n."

"Good evening, ma'am," he said politely. "My name is Joshua, and I will be driving you home tonight."

"Thank you, Joshua," you replied. "Can we get going? I've been away for too long."

"Certainly," he said, picking up your suitcase and walking to the car. He loaded it into the trunk and then held open the door for you.

"Where is Elijah?" you asked, getting in and settling yourself into the leather seat.

"He had a prior engagement tonight," Joshua replied, closing the door and walking around the car to get in the driver's side. "He asked me to let you know he was sorry he couldn't meet you and that he will see you when you get home."

"Oh," you said, trying to mask your disappointment. You knew your husband well, and you were certain he was lying about a prior engagement. It had happened before, and you suspected that he had arranged a welcome home surprise for you. You would have preferred he just picked you up, no surprises necessary; you simply needed his presence.

When you arrived home, there was a light burning in the kitchen, and as the car pulled up, and you opened the door, you could smell the wonderful aromas of your favorite food. Your husband was definitely here. You got out and walked towards the house, smiling at Joshua and thanking him as he carried your suitcase inside and left it at the foot of the stairs.

"Thank you, Joshua," you said, as he turned to leave.

"You're welcome, ma'am," he said, "and have a good night."

"I intend to," you replied, your lips curving into a smile as you turned and walked towards the kitchen.

As you approached the doorway, you could see Elijah's silhouette in the light, his broad shoulders and strong arms moving quickly as he finished off the meal. You paused and leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

You remembered the day you met him, and how shy and reserved he was, how nervous and uncomfortable he was around you. He was always so sweet and shy, unaware of just how beautiful he was. You remembered how his eyes would light up whenever he saw you around the village, sneaking glances at you whenever he thought you weren't looking. You remembered how happy he was when you had agreed to go for a walk with him. How he would stumble over his words and blush as he told you about his dreams and ambitions. And you remembered the day he kissed you. It was the first time either of you had ever kissed anyone, and he was so unsure of himself, his hands shaking as he held your face and his lips barely touching yours. But his lips were so soft, and the feeling of his warm skin on yours was exhilarating. You remember the day you married him and how proud he was to call you his wife. The way his eyes filled with tears as he kissed you, the way he smiled and held you so tight. His vows still clear in your mind even after a thousand years.

"My dearest wife, I will always be true to you, through everything and no matter what happens. My love will be yours until the end of time. I will always cherish and protect you. You are my everything."

Little did either of you know how long you would keep those vows; immortality had not yet come upon either of you. It was both a blessing and a curse, but with Elijah by your side, you knew you could handle whatever came your way.

You watched him now, still the same beautiful, sweet, and caring man you had fallen in love with. He was the man who had stolen your heart, and he was the one who would forever hold it. He was moving around the kitchen frantically, nervously glancing at the clock every few minutes. He was clearly making sure everything was perfect for your return. You wondered how he didn't hear you come in, but you supposed he was so lost in thought that he couldn't sense anything else. You smiled to yourself, loving him even more.

You stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close. He froze, and you could feel his heart pounding against your cheek.

"Hello, my darling," you said softly, kissing his shoulder blade.

He let out a long sigh and relaxed in your arms, his hands covering yours. "Hello," he whispered.

"Mmm, something smells delicious," you murmured.

"It's coq au vin," he replied.

"My favorite," you said. "I'm impressed, you must have put a lot of effort into tonight's dinner."

"I wanted it to be perfect," he said quietly.

"Why?"

He turned around and placed his hands on your cheeks, stroking his thumbs over your skin, his brown eyes were warm and full of emotion. To you he still looked like a the nervous teenager who gathered all his courage just to talk to you.

"Because," he said softly, leaning down to brush his lips against yours, "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to kiss you again.

His lips were soft and warm, his kiss slow and tender. You felt his hands slide into your hair and tug gently, his tongue slipping between your parted lips.

"Elijah," you murmured.

"Hmmm," he mumbled, kissing his way down your throat.

"Something is burning," you said.

He immediately pulled back, his eyes wide as he looked over his shoulder. The sauce was smoking, and he quickly reached for the pan and removed it from the heat, turning the stove off.

You watched as he ran his fingers through his hair, his jaw clenching in frustration.

"I'm sorry, it's ruined," he said. "I just..."

"It's okay," you said, taking his hand and leading him out of the kitchen.

"But what about dinner?" he asked.

"Dinner can wait," you said, "or we can order take-out. All I really want right now is my husband."

You smiled and he grinned back at you, his earlier nervousness forgotten. He pulled you into his arms and kissed you, lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom.

"I love you, my beautiful wife," he whispered, laying you on the bed and climbing on top of you.

"I love you, sweet husband," you replied.

He kissed you again and then proceeded to show you just how much he had missed you.

#elijah mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #tvdu #vampire diaries #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah mikealson #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #tvd #the vampire diaries x you #the vampire diaries x reader #the vampire diares imagine #the vampire diaries imagine #the originals imagine

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norrisleclercf1 · 1 year

Text

Little Backstabber

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Wolff!Reader

Warning: Angst, angst just pure angst, some fluff, Max is a Toto apologist, the reader is just hurting, Max has no respect for that

Requested: Yes/No

Rating: PG-13

Words: 2.3K

A/N: Hahahahaha I’m sorry (not really)

Part 1: Little Traitor

Pt.3 Little Heartbreaker

Breaking News: Max Verstappen and Y/N Wolff Announce Their Engagement

Toto stares out the window as Susie reads the newspaper out loud during breakfast. Laying the newspaper down, she gazes at her husband as he doesn't say a word, not even turning to acknowledge what she has read.

"Toto, maybe tell her how happy you are for her?" Susie mumbles over her coffee cup, which has his eyes cut to her.

"I called my daughter a slut; she doesn't want to hear from me. But, can you?" He asks, laying his glasses down as he rubs his eyes.

"No, I will not." Susie snips, sitting her cup down harshly.

He just nods, not preaching the topic anymore since it's been a strain between them.

"Y/n? Angel? Where are you?" Max yells, seeing your boxes piled up in his place, but it doesn't make him angry; pride and other cavemen's feelings cover his mind as he stops seeing you in the kitchen.

You danced in the kitchen wearing a Redbull shirt and dark blue panties, clearly, nothing else. Hair is thrown up, and you are just enjoying yourself.

"God, I love you." He whispers, still not letting you know he is home. Home. It was weird for you to call this place home, but it felt right.

You spin around but stop halfway to seeing the figure and scream.

Max laughs, which calms you down immediately, knowing it is your fiance and not some stranger. You hold your chest, trying to calm down as he just reduces to giggles walking up to you, pulling your hands gently. You let him pull your body into his, both bodies molding perfectly in the hug as he whispers comforting words.

"You scared me." You laugh, rubbing his back as his chest shakes yours with his laugh again.

"Oh het spijt me, zat gewoon naar mijn bloedmooie verloofde te staren." (Oh I'm sorry, was just staring at my gorgeous fiancee) He laughs making you slap his chest.

You've started to perfect your Dutch after Max proposed to you; you had always spoken Dutch, but not comfortably, and now you could converse with him.

"The press released our engagement announcement today. It's in the newspapers." He mumbles, leaning back slightly to kiss your forehead.

"Yes, I know. Susie sent her congratulations." Your tone sour.

After everything with your father, you refused to go anywhere near Mercedes, even keeping away from Lewis and Geroge, who sided with your father. Your stepmother tried her best, but you didn't want to talk to them, much less think about them. Max makes a noise but doesn't say anything. There have been multiple arguments about your family and what to do regarding the wedding. You didn't want them there, no invitations or anything. Why should people who constantly let you down throughout your life be welcomed to the day of embracing your new one?

"Don't, Max." You noted the noise and pulled away from him, returning to the counter and fixing lunch for the both of you.

"I just......he's your father. He should be there when we're married." He groans, pulling his hair slightly with annoyance.

"No." Is all you say, making Max drop the conversation and look over your shoulder at what you're preparing. He smiles, seeing the potatoes, onion, carrot, and cabbage beside the smoked sausages.

"You're making Stamppot?" He asks, dropping his head to kiss your shoulder, able to see the tension fade away.

"Yes, it's slightly chilly out, and I figured it'd be good and healthy since you can't eat certain foods." You mumble, trying to get around your irritation with Max.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, touching your wrist and stopping you from chopping the cabbage.

"Just, why can't you understand? You were able to work out your issues with your father, but mine? I can't. So stop." You pull your wrist away from his fingers and continue chopping the cabbage.

Max nods his head and walks away, heading to his Sim. Hearing his footsteps enter the den, you drop your head and stare at the gorgeous ring on your finger. It's a stunning natural blue sapphire with a daisy oval shape, little diamonds aline it, with a gold band holding it all together. Max had the ring specially crafted for you; he had the idea of the ring for a while now. He knew you weren't big on diamonds, so he set on a sapphire. Cliche, but he picked one closest to the RB color, a final stamp to show people that you were his and you weren't going anywhere.

You loved the ring, Max, and your little life together. It terrified you that if your father came back into your life, to your wedding. He'd ruin it all. Shaking off the evil thoughts, you get back to cooking the lunch. Time passes with you cooking and listening to Max curse the Sim, potting the Stamppot. You gently carry Max's bowel to him and sit it on the desk.

Max pauses it immediately and turns around in his chair, looking up at you; from the look on his face, he clearly has something to say.

"If it's about my father, keep it to yourself." You warn, Max automatically turning back around to the Sim and hitting play.

"I think you'll regret it." Max mumbles, but you ignore the comment and head to the bedroom sitting on the bed.

You reach under the bed, pull out this little black box, and open it, your father and your smiling face greeting you. You kept all your childhood pictures of your father or postcards from when he was traveling around the world. Each one had his familiar writing on the back, each word etched into your brain. Each praise, love, how much he loved you, missed you, couldn't wait to see you. Where did it all go wrong? Why did he leave you? Why weren't you worthy or made him proud enough? Why?

Swallowing the tears, you put the lid back on and slide it back under the bed. Max stands at the cracked door, watching you hide the box, the one you thought he knew nothing of. He knew your father should be at the wedding, he knew that's what you wanted, but you couldn't see past your anger and hurt. Max understood, but he knew the best for the both of you would be inviting Toto to the wedding.

Stepping away from the door, he grabs his phone and pulls up Toto's number. Don't ask why he has it. He just does.

You're invited to the wedding, don't fuck up this opportunity; see you on July 1st at 7 pm at Hotel de Paris.

Max hits sent and watches as the text is read automatically. The 3 bubbles pop up and then go away. This continues for about 15 minutes until the text returns, making Max scuff slightly, but glad to see Toto answered.

Thank you for the invite, we'll be there.

Clearly, Suise was helping the man answer the text, but in the end, Toto gave his curt answer, and that was that. Max wasn't going to tell you what he had done, but he knew that you'd come around in time for the wedding and invite Toto and Suise, but it was his secret for now. Of course, telling Toto you had no idea he was invited doesn't occur to him, but he'll worry about that later.

"Baby?" Max yells down the hall, and you emerge quickly, worried something is wrong.

"What?" You ask, looking around the apartment, ready for an issue, but all he sees is Max sitting on the couch.

"I apologize. I know the relationship with your father isn't like mine, and I should leave it be, and I will. No more talk about it. I'll let you go at your own pace. But just know, if we have kids, he needs a chance, and that's all I'm saying on the topic." Max sighs, catching his breath from his little rant.

"I love you." You whisper, walking over and kissing him. Max smiles and pulls you down, having you lay on top of him.

At this moment, everything was perfect, until 4 weeks later.

You're walking home when you see a present sitting at your door, you weren't expecting a package so you look at the address and see it was from Susie. Sighing, you lean down and pick it up. Shocked by the weight, you stumble into the place and set it on the coffee table. Opening the box, you pull out the brown paper and freeze, seeing what is in the box.

There was a transparent glass collage of you and Max lined with your favorite flowers, and on the bottom were gold words engraved.

If I were the moon, I would want you to be my night

You stare at the words, knowing those words deeply. Your father always wrote quotes on the back of your postcards. This was the last quote he wrote you before it all fell apart. You pick up one of the smaller boxes with shaky hands and open it. You can't help the tears that start to fall.

It was this small tiara, but not any tiara. It was a baroque crystal pearl tiara with very two rows of diamonds; on the top, pearls sat on top. It was gorgeous, but you felt your inner child's heartbreak. He remembered. When you were younger, you and your father walked past this old antique boutique in the front window and sat this same tiara; it was crazy expensive. You didn't even tell Toto that you wanted the tiara; you just stared at it and then kept walking down the street. But he did remember, after dropping you off at your mother's, he circled back and bought it. He kept it for the day you'd get married and thought he would hand it to you in person, telling you how much he loved you and was proud of the woman you've become, but instead.....he had to send it to you through a box.

Sitting down, you grab the last box, opening it as a watch for Max. On the back was the first date you two ever had. But, the inscription was in Toto's handwriting. How he knew it that date was beyond your knowledge. Something catches your eye, making you sit the watch down to pick it up. It was a card.

Opening the card, you scan the words, but one sentence catches your attention.

Thank you for the invitation, we can't wait to see you and Y/n tie the knot. Much love from Susie and Toto

You stare at the words before they dawn on you. Max. He invited them. After you told him you didn't want them there, he still asked them and did it without notifying you. Time passed by you, and nothing made you move until you heard Max's keys in the door.

"Hey love, I'm home!" Max called, having a great day. He couldn't wait to see you.

Walking into the living room, he smiles brightly seeing you but stops seeing the emotionless look on your face. He looks at the box and then back to you before you slam the card down, finally looking at him.

"You bastard." You whisper, shaking your head. You feel this hot rage boiling inside you, but your throat gets tighter and tighter with each passing of time.

"He's your father." He whispers, knowing what the box means. Toto must've sent a gift or something and probably told you on a card that he was invited.

"He LEFT ME!" You scream, moving away from the box to stand before Max.

"You both left each other! Why can't you see that he's been trying!" Max snaps, tired of this back-and-forth argument.

"I was 14. What do you want from me, Max? He was the adult; he should've tried. It's not my job!" You yell, not wanting to talk about this anymore.

"When he reached out to you, we were 16, we had just had our first date, and he called you. You didn't answer the phone and said you'd call him back. But you never did. That showed him you didn't care anymore. Why would he try with someone who didn't even try either." Max argues. This shocks you. How could someone who not even 6 months ago defend you against your father was now being his most prominent advocate.

"Be..because I was a kid." You retort, lost for words.

"See, you can't tell me why you're still angry at him. We're adults, Y/n, let the past be the past." Max sighs, running his fingers through his hair before reaching for you.

You pull away from his reach; hurt and rejection shatter Max's face as he slowly drops his arms. You take a few deep breaths, fiddling with the ring. Max watches, panic overtaking any sense he has.

"Don't, don't do this." He whispers, staring at the ring on your finger.

"How can I marry someone who doesn't respect my wishes, someone who defends the man who called me a slut. The person who made me feel less of myself my entire life, and here the person who is supposed to protect, stand by me, and love me, defends them. How can I marry you after this?" You ask, pulling the ring off.

"No, please, Y/n, don't." Max breaks. He can't keep it together anymore as he watches you sit the ring before him. Tears slide down his face as he watches you grab your shoes and keys.

"Don't leave me, don't please. Not again." He whispers, grabbing you as you try to hide your own tears.

"You betrayed me." You whisper, pulling yourself out of his hold and walking out the door. As you close the door, all you hear is a scream and glass shattering as you walk away from the love of your life.

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months

Text

Stop, Just Breathe

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Matt returns home from work, he finds you on the verge of a panic attack and quickly tries to calm you back down.

Warnings/tags: panic attack, emotional hurt/comfort, light angst, fluff & a soft Matty, Matt POV

Word Count: 3k

a/n: Just a short one shot I wrote when I was craving some Matt comfort myself. I thought it might be interesting to read this all from Matt's POV, too. Feedback is always appreciated!

From the moment Matt first stepped into the apartment, closing the door after himself and hanging his cane on the hook nearby, he could already hear the tension in your body. Something was wrong. Your teeth were grinding back and forth together, a grating, gnawing noise in his ears from a frustrated gesture you probably weren't even aware that you were doing. Though to him, the aggravated noise hit him the second he'd focused on where you were in the kitchen.

Matt slipped off his dress shoes before bending down and picking them up, taking three steps to his left and then placing them underneath the bench that resided against the wall. Straightening back up, he could hear the harsh and irritated way you'd just set what he presumed was a cutting board and a knife onto the kitchen counter, the sound practically reverberating in his skull.

His concern for you rising, Matt gradually began to make his way down the length of the entryway hall, undoing the knot of his tie around his neck as he went. With every step he took he heard the uneven beating of your heart in your chest as you opened the refrigerator and retrieved a few things from inside of a drawer. He could instantly tell that your heart wasn't beating the usual steady rhythm he was used to hearing when he’d returned home from work, but rather something erratic and worrying to his ears.

Brows drawing together in further concern, Matt removed the glasses from his face with one hand, his other dragging along the back of the couch to orient himself as he made his way through the living room and towards the kitchen. You were currently focused on beginning dinner preparations, placing what smelled like broccoli, bell peppers, zucchini, and onion onto the counter. As he neared, you made no sign that you'd even noticed he was home yet. That only further worried Matt because it meant you were deep in your head right now–and he knew how you could get sometimes.

"Sweetheart? Everything alright?" Matt asked, carefully breaking the silence.

You startled at his voice, your body jumping half an inch as you were taken off guard by the sound of it. He heard the air shift as your head rose up, darting directly towards him. Your reaction only confirmed what he'd suspected, that you'd been too far in your head and hadn't even realized he was home.

"I’m fine, Matty,” you said almost mechanically.

The lie registered in Matt’s ears easily; the sound of your heart even further beating irregularly as you’d said it was impossible for him to miss. Pressing his lips firmly together, his eyes narrowed as he focused closer on your body. Your blood pressure was rising and he could taste the increase in adrenaline and cortisol radiating off of you on his tongue.

"I just–just had a bad day at work," you quickly added.

Your voice sounded off to his ears. Higher than usual with a bit of a tremble to it, which seemed like it was coming from something more than just nerves. Though what you'd said hadn't registered as a lie this time. But you must have noticed he was observing you and you were clearly trying to shake him off and get him to stop reading you so carefully. You always did that when something was really wrong.

"You're not fine, I can hear your body," he replied gently. "What's going on?"

You inhaled a shaky breath, holding it for only a moment before roughly expelling it through your nose. The erratic pounding of your heart hadn't calmed as he continued to monitor it; if anything it was starting to become even more concerning with the rate each stutter of it was climbing. Though the moment he picked up on the sound of one of your fingers tapping like a nervous fidget along the countertop, all the little warning signs your body was sending off suddenly became clear to Matt.

Everything your body was doing right now was exactly what it did right before you had a panic attack.

With that realization dawning on Matt, he knew he needed to shift his focus. It didn’t matter what you were upset about right now, he'd find out what was wrong later. Right now all he wanted was to calm you down before you spiraled into a panic attack.

"I said I'm fine, Matt," you snapped.

Ignoring the warning edge to your tone, Matt made his way into the kitchen and over towards you, aware of the way your head was tracking his movements with each of his cautious steps. When he neared you, he placed his glasses onto the counter before he reached a hand out, lightly grabbing your elbow and drawing your fidgeting hand from off of it. Slowly, he turned you towards himself, noticing how you didn’t fight the movement. Your heart, on the other hand, was beating ever faster and your breath was quickly becoming shallower.

"Sweetheart," Matt began calmly, "it sounds like you're on the verge of a panic attack. Why don't you come sit with me on the couch? Try to calm down?"

"I need to make dinner, Matt," you replied, your words picking up speed as you continued, that panicked tremble returning to them. "I don't have time to sit on the couch. There's a lot of vegetables I need to cut up and sauté and that chicken still needs to be seasoned and cooked. If you’re planning to go out tonight I need it finished so you actually have time to eat because I know you’ll just skip dinner otherwise and you’re always skipping dinner. You need to eat . And then I need to–"

"Hey, hey, stop," Matt hushed you, both of his hands landing on your shoulders and gently squeezing them as he cut you off. "Stop, just breathe. Take a breath, sweetheart. Your heart is beating alarmingly fast. Relax."

The scent of salty tears met Matt’s nose a second later, just as he realized you were blinking rapidly. You were tearing up and about to start crying. The frown on his face deepened, the corner of his mouth twitching. He could feel the uncomfortable prickle beginning in his own eyes.

Matt absolutely hated watching you go through these episodes. The fact that his heightened senses could pick up on everything you were experiencing–every little thing that was happening in your body–only pained him further. All he could do was offer you comfort and try to help you take calming breaths, nothing more. He always felt helpless and he absolutely hated it.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, voice breaking on the words. "Sorry you–you have to deal with me like this all the time and that I'm not normal and that–"

"Stop, breathe," he repeated gently, squeezing your shoulders again. "Let's go sit down."

One hand gently grasping your elbow again, Matt slowly led you out of the kitchen and towards the living room, right over to the leather couch. He could tell you weren't calming down as you made your way there, though. He could hear your heart still racing and the way your blood was rushing through your veins. If anything your breathing was becoming sharper and your muscles were beginning to tighten. He could feel the tension through the light touch he still had on your elbow as he lowered the both of you to sit down. Though Matt tried his best to push away the chaotic sounds of your body that were screaming at him so he could focus on helping you right now.

"Take a breath with me, sweetheart," Matt urged.

He demonstrated inhaling a deep breath in, holding it and listening to the way you'd taken one shortly after him. You'd only managed a half-breath though, and the shuddering sound of it hadn't escaped Matt’s notice, nor had he missed the way your left hand had yet again begun repeatedly tapping on the cushion beside you like a nervous tick. Slowly expelling the breath he'd taken, he listened to you following after him, lightly blowing out the breath through your nose.

"Good, that's good, sweetheart," he encouraged, his hand sliding across the space on the couch until he grasped your own fidgeting one. Entwining his fingers with yours he said, "Let’s take another deep breath, okay?"

He heard the way you nodded in response and he sent you a smile, your fingers curling tighter around his hand before you inhaled again, this time managing to fill your lungs further. The smile grew wider on Matt's face as he took another deep breath in sync with you. If he could get you to take full, calming breaths, he knew he could help you circumvent a full blown panic attack. He'd learned from past experience that when you began hyperventilating, it was too late to avoid and you would both have to ride it out until your body could calm back down. And Matt hated that just as much as you did, but at least tonight it appeared that you might manage to avoid it. And that was a win.

Matt spent a few more minutes just breathing with you on the couch before he finally heard your body gradually begin to relax beside him. A weight felt like it had slowly lifted off of his shoulders the moment your heart began consistently beating its usual steady pattern in his ears. Even your breath had returned to a normal and even sound, your muscles easing as the tension slipped from out of them.

But he could still taste the faint and fresh salt of your tears in the air and that had a frown returning to his face.

"I'm sorry, Matt," you eventually whispered.

Matt’s face twisted into a look of confusion. He was unsure why your voice had sounded so sad and so small and why you'd apologized to him yet again.

"For what, sweetheart?" he asked.

"For being like this," you said quietly.

Your voice was still so soft when you’d answered, and the hint of shame in it instantly registered in his ears. Something sharp twisted in his chest, and when you continued, Matt could feel his own eyes watering again.

"I'm sorry you have to deal with me and my anxiety," you whispered, a faint tremble still in your voice. "Sorry that you have to deal with me and my panic attacks like this. I know how hard they are for you with your senses. And I–I try to hide them from you because I feel like I’m just torturing you every time. And I hate that you’re left trying to help me through them. I wish I wasn’t like this. Wish that I could be someone better than that for you. Someone without–without all these issues.”

Matt’s left hand darted forward, his thumb catching the tear he’d heard about to roll its way down your cheek. Gently the pad of his thumb wiped it away from your skin, which he noticed still felt warm and flushed beneath his finger. You sniffled, the sound louder to his ears than it really was. Trying to swallow the thick lump forming in his throat, Matt’s hand tenderly cupped your cheek, his thumb still trying to catch the stray tears slipping out of your eye.

“Don’t–don’t you dare apologize for that. I love you for exactly who you are,” he told you earnestly. “That’s why I married you, sweetheart.” He shook his head, a small smile curling up the corners of his lips. “We’re a team, you and I. Right? You’ve always been there whenever I needed you. Always . And there’s–” he paused, chuckling a little to himself, “–there’s been plenty of times where I’ve needed you, too. For a multitude of reasons. Usually ones involving patching me up and cleaning up the mess of blood around here. And I know how much you worry over me because of it, and I always worry that it’ll push you away, but you always tell me that–”

“I’ll never walk out on you, Matty,” you finished for him. “Because I love you for exactly who you are.”

Matt smiled as he nodded enthusiastically in response. “Exactly,” he replied. “And I love you for exactly who you are, sweetheart. The nerves and all. We help each other out. That’s what we’ve always done. And I’ll always be here for you, too. So please stop trying to hide your stress and your anxiety from me, alright? The only reason why I don’t like when you have panic attacks is because I hate seeing you hurting and not being able to punch someone and fix everything.”

You laughed lightly, the sweet sound causing Matt’s heart to flutter happily in his chest. He could hear the way your mouth was pulling into a smile already. You were feeling a little better because of him. That always gave him a sense of pride knowing that he could have such a positive impact on someone who was so good and loving and attentive as you.

"You understand me?" he asked. "That's the only reason, sweetheart."

He heard the way the air around you shifted as you nodded.

“Good," he said with an air of finality. "How are you feeling at the moment?”

You scoffed at his question, the sarcastic noise causing a grin to slip onto his mouth. You were certainly feeling better.

“You can read my body, Matt,” you stated flatly. “I think you have your answer.”

“Well I can’t read your mind,” he countered cheekily.

You expelled a soft sigh before nodding slowly, running a hand across your forehead. “Yeah, I’m–I’m feeling better,” you answered, the faint smile apparent in your voice.

“Good,” he said. “Do you want me to give you some space or–”

“No,” you immediately answered, your heart jumping in your chest briefly as you shook your head, your hand tightening around his at the question. “No, I don’t.”

On occasion he knew you liked to have a few minutes to collect yourself after moments like these. Usually he could feel you working through what felt like embarrassment when he left you alone, most likely because of how you’d broken down in front of him even though he'd often and repeatedly assured you that there was no reason for you to feel that way. But other times you desperately craved his physical comfort, and it seemed like that's exactly what you needed right now.

“Come here then,” he whispered.

Releasing his hold on your hand, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and began to pull you in towards him. Eagerly you closed the small space between the pair of you on the couch, scooting closer to him before encircling your own arms around his waist, your hands resting lightly on the middle of his back. Matt’s eyelids lowered when you buried your face into his chest, hearing you inhale another deep breath. You were most likely trying to take in his scent, just like he was doing right now with his chin resting atop your head. Mutually finding comfort in each other, the thought growing his smile.

“I need to make dinner,” you murmured into his chest.

“Don’t worry about it. We can make that for dinner tomorrow,” Matt told you. “We can just order pizza tonight. Stay in and have the night together.”

“But I thought you were going out tonight?” you asked.

Matt hummed out a noise of disagreement, lightly shaking his head. “No,” he replied. “Not tonight.”

“But–but isn’t Daredevil needed in Hell’s Kitchen?” you questioned next.

Matt’s arms tightened further around you, holding you even closer to him. The sound of your relaxed and steady heartbeat in his ears was comforting, and so was that warm and slightly floral scent that always seemed to linger around you as it filled his nose.

“He is,” Matt agreed. “He’s needed right here. With you.”

Your fingers fisted the fabric of his dress shirt, tightly balling it into your hands. He could feel the way your arms had tightened around him, pressing yourself closer to the front of him.

"Can I marry you again?" you asked softly, voice muffled against his chest.

Matt chuckled lightly, his heart feeling so full at your question. He heard the small smile that slipped onto your lips yet again, his own arms pulling you just a bit closer to himself.

"I think that's what vow renewals are for," he pointed out in amusement.

"Maybe we should do one of those," you mused, fingers still firmly curled around his shirt.

"Sweetheart," Matt said with another chuckle, "we haven't even been married for a year yet. I think that's a bit too soon for a vow renewal."

You turned your head, resting your cheek against his chest now and making yourself more comfortable. Matt inhaled the scent of you once more, his eyes still closed as he relaxed against you. He loved these quiet moments with you, content just to be next to you. It always had him feeling at peace and he often hoped you felt the same.

"Well, I'd marry you all over again if I could," you told him, the words drawing forth a warmth throughout Matt’s entire body that only you could ever seem to fill him with. "Every single day."

Matt shifted above you, lowering his head until he could place his lips against the top of yours. He heard the corner of your lips curl even higher the longer his mouth lingered in your hair. Gradually he pulled away only to bury his nose into your hair next, grateful for whatever had brought you into his life all that time ago.

"So would I, sweetheart," he murmured softly. "So would I."

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil #Bellas Comfort Fic Week

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ramp-it-up · 8 days

Text

II Most Wanted Pt. 3: Drivin’ you crazy...

Pairing: Syverson x OFC Reader "Buttercup" (w/ Betty Bronco)

Summary: Sy tells his story and you tell yours. And all of that pent up feeling has to go somewhere, right?

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF. S MUT, Angst, pining, fluff. Mentions of teenage pregnancy, cheating, deception, divorce, breakups., self-destructive behaviors, fighting, promiscuity, mentally abusive relationships, miscarriage. Army life. Old automobiles, a 20 year high school reunion, a drive-in, red meat and french fries, dirty talk, voice kink, mentions of masturbation, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), grown ppl getting NASTY in the back of a car, graphic depictions of sex acts.

Read at your own risk. Not Beta’d. All errors my own.

A/N: This is the third installment of II Most Wanted. I'm in love with these two; they are bringing my cold dead writer heart back to life. If you like it, please reblog and comment.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Previous part

—--

You let Sy’s arm go and settled in for the ride once you got to State Route 405. The window was down and you were making waves in the wind, just like you used to do all those years ago.

Sy looked over at you and felt something that he couldn’t name at that moment, and the feeling intensified when you reached up and pulled your hair out of the chignon, letting it go wild in the wind.

He didn’t know he made a sound in his throat as he admired how you looked in the moonlight. You looked back over at him, hair whipping around your face; gorgeous.

“What?”

He realized that he was grateful that you agreed to come with him at all. He said something instead of what he was feeling.

“You hungry?”

You looked out to the highway and smiled at the road.

“Looks like you already know the answer to that.”

Sy nodded at you, a slight smile on his lips. He felt the familiar rhythm of you two falling back in sync. Didn’t seem like two decades at all.

“Just checking.”

After a comfortably silent ten minute ride, you pulled up at Cardin’s Drive-Thru, an institution in your town. You grinned at Sy.

“The world is your oyster, order anything you want.”

He waved his hand toward the menu on his side of the car and you giggled at the familiar phrase. You scooted closer to him on the bench seat.

“Sorry. I wear glasses now. Didn’t bring them.”

Sy didn’t know why the image of you in glasses got him hard. You glanced at him as you leaned over him to look at the menu to see if it had changed. He took in your breasts as you gave him a view of your cleavage as you leaned over his lap. Lord, give him strength.

“No worries at all, Buttercup.”

His voice was gruff and you felt his breath on your face as you closed your eyes and took a whiff of burgers and fries and Sy.

Sy was practicing all of his restraint as you stayed close to him to look at the menu.

“I want…”

That voice did something to Sy, and he had to shift in his seat. You and that damn cute look of curiosity didn’t help the situation in his pants either.

“I want… a Smokey Burger and a chocolate shake please!”

You were as happy as a clam.

“Y’know. I’ve had dreams about Cardin’s burgers, especially since I stopped eating red meat two years ago. But you know what, tonight seems to be all about “Fuck It!”

Sy raised his eyebrow at you.

“You just ordered a burger with double patties and bacon.”

“Yep,” You popped the p. “I know.”

You grinned at him and he shook his head.

“Still living dangerously, I see.”

You raised your chin.

“I’m still living,” you replied.

An understanding passed between you.

“Amen.”

Sy stretched his long arm out of the window to press the button and order, and you were staring at his forearms again. Don’t be such a slut, you thought.

“Yes, we need a Smokey Burger, a chocolate shake, a Huge Burger, no onions, and an extra large Frenchy fries, with a large Dr. Enuf.”

He smirked at you after the order was confirmed.

“It’s a given that you would come for my Frenchy fries.”

Sy gave you a short history about the ownership of the legendary drive-in, and how the new owners were long time residents who vowed to restore its former glory, including the world famous Frenchy fries.

“Well, Cardin’s fries are legendary, but I have to be careful. ‘M not the same size I used to be.”

You smoothed your dress down as much as you could while seated. Sy followed the path of your hands on your body and licked his lips.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You look damn good to me.”

Sy arched his eyebrow at you and you laughed nervously.

“I’m dead serious. You look even better than I remember, Buttercup. You were always so pretty.”

You were quiet as you looked into his eyes. He was being sincere.

“Sy, that’s sweet.”

He moved toward you, getting into your space. You couldn’t breathe, and your primal brain was kicking in.

“If you only knew what thoughts I’m thinkin, Buttercup. You wouldn’t call me, “sweet.”

His eyes ran over your body posessively.

“You are still the finest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You were locked in, ready to ask him what he was thinking and let him ruin your life all over again. You parted your lips to lick them and speak when you heard the metal of the drive-in tray connect with the open window behind Sy and your focus shifted as Sy moved away.

“Got your food here!”

Sy ran his hand through his short curls. He looked annoyed. At the interruption, his hair, maybe both?

“Haven’t had my hair this long in a while. Growing it out.”

You reached out and arranged an errant curl.

“Looks good on you, Sy.”

He just grinned and then turned to get the food.

Once the food was in the car and paid for, he asked, “Wanna take this up to the Lookout?”

You looked at him skeptically.

“Only so we can tailgate and talk and stretch our legs. And look at the view.”

He smiled that rogueish smile at you. Some things never change, you thought with a smile. You sipped your shake, which was still really too thick to drink, and nodded.

“What the hell. You only live once, right?”

“Ya damn right, Buttercup.”

—

You sat eating Sy’s Frenchy fries under the star light as country music played and Sy looked at you thoughtfully, Beyonce playing in the background.

Il tuo fedel

Sospira ognor

Cessa, crudel

Tanto rigor

Ooh

“You ready?”

You hopped off the liftgate and stood in front of him, prepared to hear his story.

“Let’s go.”

Sy took a deep breath as you waited and listened.

“Well, the fact is, you told me so.”

“What do you mean?”

“You asked me if I was sure that the baby was mine. Then I got mad and that made things worse. And that was the last time you spoke to me.”

“Yeah.”

“And after you broke up with me, rightly so in that situation, I decided to be there for my family. Becca and I got married at the courthouse before the baby came, and I enlisted in order to have an income and health insurance for the baby.”

Your heart clenched.

“I shipped out right after little Jeremiah was born.”

There was a wistful smile on Sy’s face that warmed your heart.

“Becca stayed with her parents while I was on tour, and for two years we were apart. It was hard bein’ away, and Becca and I didn’t have the best relationship, but I was set to make it work for our kid, ya’ know?”

“I wouldn’t have expected anything less, Sy.”

He looked at you long and hard.

“Becca broke the news to me when I came back. The baby was Jeremy’s, but he didn’t want to accept responsibility at the time, and she knew I would.”

“What?”

Your mouth dropped open.

“Jeremy Atkins. Your best friend Jeremy?”

“Unhhunh.”

Sy looked as hurt as if it just happened.

“I am so sorry Sy.”

“It was a helluva blow. And I was so angry. At myself for believing the lie, you know? For getting attached to the idea of being a parent.”

Your heart broke for Sy. You moved closer to him.

“I was so self destructive. Got into fights with everyone at every bar within a 50 mile radius. Then, I went right back to Afghanistan, acting as if each one was a suicide mission.”

Sy’s voice lowered.

“Came home in another two years and screwed up the courage to ask Bubbles about you. She told me you were engaged to…”

“Scott. Yeah…”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, but Sy lifted your chin with his fingers, causing you to look him in the eyes.

“And you know what? Thinking that you were happy calmed me down a little. I was proud of you for getting your degree and moving on, so I decided to do the same. Went to college, mostly on line, and then Officer’s Training School, joined Special Forces. Went back to the front and became a leader. Immersed myself in the cause while keeping perspective of my role in it. But a couple of years ago I got injured,”

He saw the look on your face.

“It’s my back. I’m mostly fine. But it allowed me to retire early.”

Sy looked around at the view, the twinkling lights of the town.

“I started a business with a partner, and I volunteered to be the offensive line coach for the high school in my spare time. I even got to coach Jeremiah his senior year. He’s turned out to be a good kid.”

He looked at you, and time seemed to melt away. He was the same Sy you fell in love with 20 years ago. But with so much more wisdom.

“I live a good life, Buttercup. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

You moved to sit beside him again on the tailgate. You were silent as you tried to think of what to say.

“I don’t feel sorry for you. I’m sorry this happened to you. I forgive you for what I held against you. Sy? D’you forgive me?”

You needed his answer like air.

“Nothing to forgive, Buttercup. Like I said. I can’t complain about my life.”

You looked up at Sy who was looking up at the stars with a wry smile on his face. You looked up, too. He looked back down at your profile.

“What about you? How has your life been?”

You took a deep breath, contemplating that question and the stars. You decided to tell him everything. Well, almost everything.

“I was angry too, Sy. You know that. Angry that all my well laid plans were turned to dust in a moment. When I went to college across the state, I decided to stop caring so much. So, I fucked everyone in sight.”

Sy winced. You chuckled.

“I calmed down in a couple of years and met Scott. He seemed so steady? He was in law school, and his father was a partner in a big firm. He said that I didn’t have to finish my degree; I could just go home with him to New York City, have a couple of babies and be a society wife. Seemed like a good idea, so I did. I left just two semesters shy of having my degree in architecture.”

You shook your head at your gullibility.

“My mom was elated, thinking I’d hit the jackpot.”

You got up again and started pacing, hands wrapped around yourself as you thought back to that time in your life.

“It was not good. Two miscarriages, 3 mistresses, and 8 years later, I finally found the courage to leave with Carla when she came to visit. I vowed never to go back to that headspace again.”

Sy stood up then, fists closed at his side and his jaw clenched.

“I didn’t know. I asked about you, but neither Bubbles nor Blossom told me that. I would have come for you, Buttercup.”

You smiled at him.

“They knew better than to say a word to you. Seven years ago I didn’t want anyone to know. And I didn’t need rescuing. I rescued myself.”

You smiled again and Sy just wanted to hold you.

“Went back to school and finished my degree. Lived life on my own terms.”

You looked him in the eye again.

“So yeah, I guess I have a pretty good life, too.”

“I’m glad, Buttercup.”

Sy sat down again and your eyes moved down the length of him. Why did brown dress shoes get you so hot? You had a problem.

“You sharing this good life with anyone?”

Sy’s voice made you nervous all of a sudden. You looked at your hands.

“Not at the moment, no. I’m single.”

Sy seemed to let out a breath.

“Me, too, been single ever since I retired.”

You didn’t know what to say.

“Oh.”

Sy stood up and walked in front of you. You were still looking at his shoes.

“Ya know, I’ve only felt like I’ve been in love once, no. Twice in my life.”

“Hmmm.”

You were afraid of this conversation and you couldn’t fully participate.

“Please look at me Buttercup.”

You did as he asked. His eyes were burning right through you.

“The first time I felt that was 20 years ago, with you. And the second…”

Sy moved toward you and took your hands in his.

“Hell, we’ve wasted enough time, Buttercup. The truth is,when I saw you tonight I realized that I’m still in love with you now.”

—-

The wind was knocked out of you. How were you supposed to respond?

“Sy, I- I can’t survive another hurt. My heart is in pieces.”

“I know, Buttercup. But I promised you that I will love you until the day I die. I meant that shit. I still mean it.”

He moved closer, and he slotted himself between your thighs. His hands went to your hips and he pulled you close.

“Won’t you let me make it up to you? These last 20 years?”

You continued to look into his eyes as you considered his request. You put your hands on his chest as you made your decision.

“No, Sy. I can’t let you do that.”

He looked hurt and his eyes were cast down as his cheeks dusted pink. He thought he blew it. Then you spoke again.

“The past is the past. It’s done. We can try and work on today. And tomorrow. One day at a time. I’d like to try with you.”

Sy’s brow furrowed, but his face softened as he realized what you were saying. He gave you a soft smile.

“Fair enough, Buttercup. Let’s work on today. And tomorrow. I’ll give you some time.”

You thought about how Sy was always a gentleman with you, never pushing you to do anything you didn’t want to do, always putting your needs first. Well, you needed him now.

Your hands were fisting his shirt now, pulling apart so that you could see his dog tags against his chest hair, and that image sent you feral. You pulled him toward you. Sy sucked in a breath as you left a soft kiss on his lips, his beard tickling your cheeks. He seemed frozen as you pulled away.

“Mmmhm.”

Sy grunted in his throat and his hands came up to your waist. His cock was swelling and he felt on the edge of control.

“I wanna kiss you again, Buttercup. And not in a ‘sweet’ way.”

“Do it, Sy. We’re grown now.”

You were breathless at the emotion and lust in his voice.

Sy moved his hand to the back of your neck and you shivered as he carded his fingers at the back of your scalp, tugging on your curls to make you look up at him.

“‘M not sure you are ready for all that I want, Buttercup.”

And his mouth descended on yours, his thumb came around and ticked your jaw open for him to invade your senses with himself. He kissed you like he owned you, and his hands ended up on both sides of your head as you moaned your way through the kiss. He pulled away, looked at your lips, then went back in to kiss you again.

“Ya got my mind runnin’ baby. Those lips. Fuck. I’m down bad.”

Sy’s cock was hard and aching, and his hands were on your body: those thighs, that ass as he pulled you closer to him. Then he stopped and leaned away, searching your face. Your eyes were dilated and those lips were parted.

Holy fuck, was he a goner.

You whimpered and pulled him closer, your hands going to his ass as he kissed you again. He was laughing at you as he pulled away this time.

“Look who’s getting spicy no-”

Sy stopped talking when you ripped his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. You were disappointed when you saw the tank he was wearing underneath.

“Sorry Sy. I ruined your shirt. I don’t know what came over me.”

You looked up at him under your lashes and he couldn’t tell if you were being facetious or not. You toyed with his dog tags, imagining them waving in your face as... Shit. What were you doing?

Sy stepped back and pulled the shirt off, and pulled the tank out of his pants, then came back to you immediately, hands moving up your thighs, pushing your short dress up even further.

“I know what came over you. Same thing’s that’s been possessing me for years, Buttercup.”

Sy leaned down to capture your eyes and you were stuck. You were locked in on him as he proceeded to destroy your sou.

“You’ve been drivin’ me crazy for years, running around my mind as I did a lot of things. Thought of you when I was training, eating, doing things around the house. When I was in-country and alone in my tent at night. When I…”

Sy stopped and licked his lips as his hands reached the tops of your thighs, long fingers toying with the waistband of your panties. You squirmed in his grip.

“Shit, Buttercup, do you ever think of me when you touch yourself?”

You were mute, mouth open to breathe, and Sy knew you were in the zone.

“Cause I sure as hell do. Do you know how often I’ve imagined you wrapped around me when it was just my hand?”

Sy whispered it in your ear, but pulled back to see your reaction, which was wide-eyed lust. You licked your lips and nodded, ready to hear more.

“Time and space is nothin’ to fight this powerful magic that is the thought of you, Darlin’. I imagine you, imagining me while you touch your pretty little pussy, circling your little clit with your delicious wetness. I dream of you getting off because of me, just like I cum so fucking hard just thinking of you. Every time.”

Sy watched your eyes close and your chest heave as you tried to regulate. He continued with his seduction.

“...But I know it’s nothing like the real thing.”

Your own fingers ventured below his undershirt, finding thick abdominal muscles there, and a dense happy trail. His stomach clenched in response to your touch.

“Mmmm. Can I touch you too, Buttercup? Are these panties soaked? Can I check to make sure?”

You were nodding as your hands went up his pecs, grabbing them, your fingers ghosting over his nipples. Sy moved his hands at a glacial pace it seemed, because you wanted him instantly where you needed him most.

He found your sodden center over the gusset of your panties and you pressed into his light touch. He groaned as he started rubbing up and down your clothed seam and pressing the now sticky material into you. You leaned forward and started licking and sucking the veins that popped up on his neck. He moaned.

‘You got me so far gone, baby. I wanna…’’

He grabbed the side of your panties and you whimpered with need.

“Just say the word, and I’ll stop. But right now I can’t help myself. Need to feel you, touch you, taste you.”

“Don’t stop, Sy. Been waiting so long.”

Sy put his forehead against yours, breath huffing in time with yours. You again asked for what you wanted.

“Sy. I need you. Need to feel y-”

Your words caught in your throat as Sy pulled your panties to the side and sunk his fingers into your wetness. The obscene slosh of you made Sy pulse in his pants. He trailed up and down your cut, shaking his head and clenching his jaw.

“Why?”

He looked up at you as if you had wounded him, blue eyes blazing.

“Why are you so fucking…so fucking wet? How do you expect for me t-to f-f fuck! T’ function when…?”

The stutter did you in.

“‘S’all you, Sy. Got wet when I first saw you t’night…”

Sy pulled his fingers out and tasted them, moaning, then growling, and then took a hold of your waist and practically threw you in the back of the truck. He leaned over the gate, pulled your thighs apart, then tore your panties off, causing you to squeal.

“You’re so fucking pretty. Gotta taste you, Buttercup. Can’t believe it’ll be my first time.”

“Go for it.”

You winked and smiled at him, but the look was wiped from your face as he dove into your crease, tongue licking a rude stripe from the bottom to the top of you. You put your hand over your mouth as you moaned.

Sy looked up at you, offended.

“Don’t keep your sounds from me, baby. Need to hear the real thing instead of my imagination.”

He went back to work kissing your clit, then sucking it into his mouth with increasing intensity. The slight burn from his beard was delicious. You got a grip of his hair as he manhandled your thighs, keeping you in place as you writhed and arched beneath him. He moaned against you while talking to your pussy.

“So fucking good for me.”

“Taste like a jar o’ spicy honey...”

“Hmmm. Beard’s all soaked now. That’s my girl.”

“Gettin’ even wetter for me, that’s what I like. Gimme.”

“I love this pretty little pussy.”

His proclamations were punctuated by kisses, licks, and sucks and finally, he pushed one thick finger into you as you called his name. The cunilingus, penetration, and praise had you teetering on the precipice.

“Syyyyyy!”

“That’s it. Let me hear you. Damn, you’re so fucking hot and so godamn tight. Dream about giving you my cock, but I don’t know if you can take it…”

He knew he had you as he leaned back down to suck your clit like taffy candy again. You watched him and moaned. Then he added another finger. You stiffened. Then he crooked his fingers, telling you to come to him, and you did. And all over his face.

Sy took off his tank and wiped his face with it, then unbuckled his pants and fisted his cock, crawling in the back of the truck with you.

“Don’t have any condoms, just let me… just let me rub one out…so fucking hard for you Buttercup.”

Sy was so far gone, his mind was mush.

“C’mere, Baby…”

You reached for him as he shuffled near you on his knees and started stroking, admiring the large mushroom cap of his cock glistening from pre-cum in the starlight. You fell in love with the way his length curved into the curls on his abs, and the way his breath hitched as your hand tried to close around him. You pressed your nose into his belly to inhale his scent, careful not to stop what your hand was doing.

It was your turn to pleasure him.

“I do think about you, Sy. I imagine deep throating you while you play in my pussy. Makes me cum so hard against my little bullet.”

You pressed a kiss near his belly button as his cock jerked in your hand and his abs clenched. His hand went to your hair. You could tell that he wanted to move your mouth to his dick, but that he was holding back. You lifted your hand, jacking him faster as you kissed his balls, which were so tight against him.

“Wan’ you to cum all over my stomach, my tits…”

Sy groped your chest, searching for and then twisting your taught nipple when he found it. He was outright panting as you talked him through it.

“.... my ass, my lips, Sy…”

His groan was louder now and his knees were shaking as you licked a stripe up the underside of him, pausing, to purse your lips and gloss them in the clear fluid at his tip. You gazed up at him as you stuck your tongue out and kitten licked him.

“Truth is, I’m a slut for you. Fuck my face Sy,”

“Shhhhhitttttttt….!”

Sy grabbed your head and used your mouth while you concentrating on taking his thick length and breathing.

“You’re a slut, hunh? My slut?”

You nodded as best you could, only to have your eyes roll as he pushed down your throat.

“Dream about swallowing my cum? D’ya? Like a good girl?”

“Ummhnnghhh!”

There were tears rolling down your face and saliva dripping down your chin.

“So fucking pretty swallowing my cock. Fuck….here it… fucking… comes….. Fuckkkk!”

Sy roared as his dick pulsed cum directly down your throat and you received it, letting your jaw go slack. Sy groaned as he pulled out and stroked the last of his spend on your outstretched tongue.

“So fucking nasty, Buttercup, who woulda thought?”

He beamed at you as you showed him his handiwork. He closed your mouth and you swallowed before he pulled you in for a filthy kiss. He cleaned your face with his tank top, straightened your clothes and his, and then pulled you to him.

“That was…”

You were hoarse, and you laughed. Sy laughed with you.

“That was hot.”

“Yeah. It was great.”

“I love you, Buttercup.”

There was silence on your end. You shivered as you thought about what was holding you back.

Sy didn’t want any awkwardness. He kept it moving.

“It’s getting chilly out.”

He climbed out of the back of the truck and picked up his shirt, flicking any dust off of it and put it on you. Then, he put his tank top back on.

“Sy! That’s… Dirty.”

You blushed as you thought of your fluids all over it.

Sy lifted it and smelled it, then grinned back up at you.

“Yeah, smells like your pussy. Don’t think I’ll ever wash it.”

“Jacob Syverson!”

You swatted at his chest.

“Don’t act all shy on me now, not after what we just did, Buttercup.”

He lead you back around to the passenger seat again and buckled you in. You bit your lip wondering what came next. Was this really happening?

In a few minutes you were back at your car. The parking lot was empty except for your rental. Sy jumped out and opened your door. When you were back in your car, he leaned through the window and kissed your lips.

“You’re here until Monday, yeah?”

It was Friday night. There was a weekend of activities for the reunion planned.

“Yeah. I’ll be at the cookout tomorrow, and church and brunch on Sunday. And I have a job interview Monday morning.”

Sy raised his eyebrow at that last bit, but didn’t ask for an explanation.

“Can I see you tomorrow night? Dinner?”

“Okay.”

Why were you so breathless?

Sy was anxious at letting you go.

“I’ll follow you to your air bnb. Just to make sure everything’s safe.”

You smirked at him.

“Alright.”

Sy followed you to your old neighborhood, which now seemed to be gentrified, got out and checked out the house. Then, you walked him back to the front door. He leaned on the door frame and towered above you.

“G’night, Buttercup."

He licked those sinful lips of his.

"Sweet dreams.”

He leaned down and kissed you and then straightened up, eyes on you hungrily. He was driving you crazy, looking like a sex god. You thought about the amount of time you had left and you made a decision. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him into the house.

“Get your fine ass in here, Sy. I’m not done with you tonight.”

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