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spookyserenades · 1 month

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Trouvaille - Chapter Twenty

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; 17.2k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

PLEASE SEE ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT FUTURE UPDATES HERE

Hello!!! Long-awaited 20 is here!! Honestly this is the longest I've stuck with a fic so I am very honored and lucky to have so many readers willing to wait and enjoy Trouvaille. You all mean the world to me! While Trouvaille will be going on a short hiatus, I will be working on drabbles for the series, so feel free to shoot me some ideas in the meantime. That said, my new fic "Sanctity" will be out in time for fall, and I'm pumped to work on something new and different.

About 20- of course we have the angst, but there are lots of tender moments and humor to patch that up. We have a confession in this update, too, and I hope you all enjoy that scene. It has been highly anticipated 💜 Love to you all and please enjoy (and thank you!! again for all your support!)

Previous Chapter

Silence rang out as Y/N watched Harold Bass’ figure retreat down her porch steps though the stained glass, her heart thundering in her chest painfully and the walls closing in. Was it truly possible that her hybrids could be taken away by such a man? Did a deposit he made on them months ago really hold weight in court? She couldn’t even make a motion to grapple for her phone in her pocket to call Ben in a panic, her breath coming out in uneven pants.

“A million dollars for seven of us,” Jeongguk broke the stillness, his voice taking on a cold and distant quality that she hadn’t heard from him in months. “Kind of an offer you can’t refuse, honestly, Y/N.”

Flinching like she was shot, Y/N spun around to stare at his stony expression, tears immediately gathering in her eyes. Everything hurt, the idea of her boys getting shipped off to their demise, Jeongguk’s dig, and the way Namjoon couldn’t even look at her. Tears slipping down her cheeks, her elk hybrid’s demeanor shifted slightly, surprise flashing in his eyes.

“How… how could you say that to me?” Y/N asked quietly, devastated. With all the progress she thought she made with Jeongguk and Namjoon, she couldn’t understand those reactions. Jeongguk blinked, all of the iciness melting from the wall he put up, Namjoon stiffening when he scented her bitter tears. “How could you t-think that I’d ever? Why would you think…”

Voice cracking when she spoke, an involuntary sob wracked through her.

“Shit…” Jeongguk hissed, regretful. Y/N was too busy miserably staring at the floor with tears pouring from her lash line to notice him stepping forward. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jeongguk’s palm cradled the back of her bowed head, his tattooed fingers sliding through the strands of her hair as he coaxed her into an embrace, her cheek squished against his chest. Pausing, she was stunned when his heavy forearm wrapped around her lower back and drew her even closer. Sniffing, her tears were flowing for a different reason now, her arms hanging limply by her sides as Jeongguk held her.

“That was stupid, I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry, doll,” Jeongguk rested his chin on the top of her head, Y/N curling her fingers into the front of his tee shirt at the new, tender pet name he offered her. Curiously, her vision still watery, she peered at Namjoon looming over them close by, his fluffy ears sideways and eyebrows knit together. Concerned.

“It’s– it’s okay, as long as you really b-believe I’d never,” Y/N swallowed, throat raw. “I’d never let him take you from me. Not for anything! No amount of money or threatening lawsuits, we’re a family. Tell me you believe that, please.”

Jeongguk shushed her, his hand sliding from her hair to around her shoulders, squeezing firmly, the action a non-verbal response. Still looking at Namjoon, the wolf hybrid was all soft edges after hearing how Y/N resolutely stated that she thought of them as family.

“I believe you,” Jeongguk murmured, giving her one last pat on her shoulder before releasing her, his shirt pulling out of her sweaty fists. “Don’t cry anymore.”

“Sorry,” Y/N mumbled, cheeks flaming. Namjoon growled, Y/N glancing at him nervously, gasping when he was inches from her face. “Joon–”

Namjoon cupped one of her cheeks– still damp– and lowered his face to hers, Y/N’s breath catching in her throat. Reflexively, her eyelids dropped shut when his warm breath washed over the side of her face, and when his full lips pressed against her temple resolutely, her eyes flew back open. Namjoon had never kissed her, and sure, she had brushed one against his cheek before, but he was more than used to her being the more affectionate one in the dynamic. Her tears dried up immediately, Namjoon’s long fingers caressing beneath her jaw.

“Oh,” was all she could breathe, his lips on her skin warm and supple, and the gesture seemed calculated and sure.

“Y/N, your friend, Ben. He’d be able to help us with this, right?” Namjoon stretched back up to his full height, smoothing her hair that Jeongguk’s fingers had just mussed back into place gently.

“Y-yes. I’ll call him… he’ll do everything he can. He’s taken on cases involving hybrids before,” Y/N finally shook off her surprise and dismay, reaching for one of Namjoon’s hands and one of Jeongguk’s, too, holding on tight. Then, there was thundering footsteps smacking against the wooden floorboards.

“What happened?” Yoongi was flying down the stairs, eyes narrowed in suspicion at the two hybrids hiding Y/N from his view. The leopard hybrid walked into the heavy scent of Y/N’s fear and despair as soon as he opened the door to the music room, and his fight or flight kicked in. At that moment, he wanted to fight. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

Yoongi, even though he was smaller than the two hybrids shielding her from his view, shouldered past them with urgency, Jeongguk stumbling back a few feet due to the force of Yoongi’s shove. If she wasn’t overwhelmed with emotion, she would have giggled at the look of astonishment on Jeongguk’s face. There was a deep crease between Yoongi’s eyebrows as he grit his teeth at the tear tracks on her cheeks, and Y/N could practically see steam coming out of his ears.

“Did you two say something to her?” Yoongi’s voice was dangerously low, the words spat out between his teeth. Oh, he was furious.

Quickly, Y/N shook her head, grabbing Yoongi’s wrist before he could lunge at Jeongguk. Posture coiled, he looked down at her, everything about him positively feline and predatory.

“No, angel, they didn’t do anything! Um, let me explain… how do I..”

“We had an uninvited guest,” Jeongguk recovered from being shoved, rubbing his shoulder where Yoongi barreled into.

“Who?”

“The motherfucker that wanted to adopt us before Y/N. The one that probably would have killed us. He found the house somehow,” Jeongguk grimaced, Yoongi’s tail going ramrod straight in shock. “Apparently he was the spam caller, he wants to buy us all off of Y/N.”

A pause, Yoongi’s eyes turning into slits as he tried to determine whether or not Jeongguk was telling the truth, before the leopard hybrid scoffed sharply.

“That’s ridiculous. We’ve been legally adopted, he can’t do that. Only if he has proof of some kind of abuse Y/N has put us through or–”

“A legally binding document,” Namjoon finished for Yoongi, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Right, which doesn’t exist. Y/N got to us before he did. Why does this guy think he has any kind of claim to stake over us? After all these months?”

“I don’t know, he’s a hedge fund douchebag. He said he made a deposit on us and is actually willing to take Y/N to fucking court,” Jeongguk rubbed his temples, trying to wrap his head around the situation.

Sure, Y/N’s friend Ben was a very successful lawyer, but with people like Harold Bass and their never-ending supply of money and privilege, the elk hybrid was worried. Yoongi turned a touch green, Y/N able to feel his pulse racing through the grip she had on his wrist.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Hoseok jogged into the foyer, a layer of sweat coating his golden skin. He had been gone for a few hours to run around the neighborhood, and must have come into the house from the back door. “What are you guys talking about, court? Jesus, you all reek of doom.”

Hoseok’s upturned nose twitched, his russet ears flattening against his head when he saw Y/N’s lower lip begin to quiver. Jeongguk cleared his throat and repeated what he told Yoongi minutes prior, Hoseok’s constant tail wagging going completely still.

“What the fuck?” Hoseok breathed, staring at Y/N with alarm. “He must have gotten our address from Gerry. That’s the only way he could have found us… hold on.” Something dawned on him, remembering something from his run when he turned down the street they lived on.

“When I was heading back, not even fifteen minutes ago. Fancy car was driving by, but slowed down when I was passing. The rear window rolled down and this dude started saying some creepy-ass shit to me. He had a gold tooth. Stuff like that happens to me every once in a while, so I just blew him off and kept running. Was that him?”

Horror washed over Y/N. What if Harold Bass attempted to abduct Hoseok? Bile rising in her throat, she released Yoongi’s wrist and reached for her fox hybrid, palms settling on the slick skin of his biceps.

“He just talked to you? He didn’t get out of the car or try to touch you, did he? What did he say?” Y/N rapid-fired, scanning his entire body for any sign of something wrong.

“No, he didn’t get out of the car, I ran away before he could. I’m fine, darling,” Hoseok’s mouth flattened into a line, patting the back of one of her hands. “I didn’t really catch much of what he was saying. The usual, for guys like him. Calling me an ‘animal’, something about how I’d be a tricky one to ‘catch’ or whatever. Probably referring to sport hunting, now that I know who he is.”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Y/N’s voice was faint, blood draining from her face. Urgently, she barrelled to the powder room off of the foyer, her knees slamming against the tile floor when the contents of her breakfast made a second appearance in the toilet bowl.

As she was heaving, she felt someone gather up her hair in their fist, a free hand gently rubbing her back. Crying again, this time because of the way nausea was curling in her gut, she heard the tap running and the sounds of a washcloth being rung out. Once there was nothing left for her to heave up, she shakily flushed the toilet, sitting back on her heels.

“Here,” a damp cloth was placed in front of her face, Y/N gawking at the fabric blankly. A rough sigh came from the hybrid holding it, bending to kneel beside Y/N. “It’s alright, doll.”

Jeongguk used a thumb and a forefinger to pinch her chin, angling her face towards him, a concentrated line making up his mouth when he used the cool cloth to dab around her face. Simply staring at him, attempting to catch her breath, she felt the elk hybrid swipe the cold sweat from her brow before he mopped up the saliva around her lips. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Yoongi and Hoseok lingering by the bathroom door, both of them displaying animalistic anxiety with the movements of their tails and positioning of their ears.

“Sorry,” Y/N squeaked, feeling like she had made their nerves worse by getting physically sick on them. She found a spare bottle of mouthwash under the sink, taking a pause to rinse out her mouth. “Sometimes that happens when I’m really anxious. Thanks, Jeongguk.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Hoseok answered for Jeongguk, watching the elk hybrid toss the washcloth in the hamper and offering his hand to Y/N in order to help her to her feet. Limbs trembling, she let Hoseok pull her up, an arm around her waist to keep her upright. “We’ll figure this out, darling. Don’t you worry.”

“Where did Joon go?” Y/N’s throat was scratchy, noticing his absence when Hoseok led her back into the hall. She watched Yoongi march towards the direction of her bedroom with purpose, her fox hybrid herding Y/N close behind him.

“He went to deliver the news to the others outside. Jimin and Seokjin were in the garden and I think Taehyung was chopping firewood,” Yoongi grunted, rummaging through Y/N’s dresser determinedly. “Hoseok, can you make her some tea?”

Hoseok whistled, squeezing Y/N’s waist and leaving her in her bedroom alone with Yoongi. Holding onto the wall, she eyed her leopard hybrid warily, having a good idea what he was thinking about. Yoongi wasn’t the type to be afraid of things; he’d watch horror movies with Y/N, unflinchingly carry spiders outside, and chop vegetables with a cleaver while maintaining eye contact with whoever was talking to him. But Y/N knew there was one thing that scared him to death: the possibility of being separated from her.

“Yoongi, I’m going to call Ben. I want to get ahead of this. Ben might have a way to get this guy out of our life before we even see a courthouse,” Y/N announced firmly, reaching for her phone on her nightstand.

“Come here,” Yoongi’s voice was barely above a whisper, Y/N turning to look at him curiously. He stood close, and stacked a soft pair of sweatpants and a slouchy tank top on her bed, his familiar purrs filling the room when she obeyed his request. “Let’s get you changed, baby. Wait for Namjoon to tell the other three what happened before you talk to Ben.”

Y/N nodded, distractedly popping the button of her jeans open. Yoongi helped her out of them, his eyes not darkening like they usually did when he saw her in such a state of undress, Y/N shivering when his cool fingertips slid beneath her sweater. Gingerly, he peeled the garment off of her, and Y/N let him dress her like a Barbie doll– she suspected he was deeply focusing on the task to make himself feel better. Once he tied the strings of her sweatpants, Y/N took his face in her palms.

“No one's gonna take you from me, you got that?” Y/N brushed her thumbs over his cheekbones, his hazel eyes glittering. Long hair falling forward as he leaned down, Yoongi kissed her lower lip softly, his hands stroking up the length of her spine.

“I know you won’t go down without a fight, baby,” Yoongi murmured, pulling her in for a hug and resting his face in the crook of her neck.

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Y/N admitted, pressing her cheek over Yoongi’s heart so the steady beating would calm her. “I love you all too much to not give that motherfucker the fight of his life.”

Y/N expected Yoongi to snort at her comment, but he didn’t. If anything, he paused, pulling away from her slightly. Confused, she accepted her phone from him, his free hand clasped with hers.

“We should put Ben on speaker in the living room. He might have some advice for all of us,” Yoongi began to escort her to the parlor, his tail curling around the back of her leg securely.

Silently agreeing, she searched for Ben in her contacts, catching a whiff of a familiar cologne as they walked through the hallway. Sandalwood– Taehyung. Namjoon must have swallowed some pride to drag him back into the house. Biting her lip, she wondered how he took the news, wondering if that would be the straw that broke his back. As if sensing her thoughts, Yoongi tightened his grip on her hand, perhaps encouragingly. Everyone was standing around in the living room, Seokjin looking like he was about to pass away and Jimin’s leg bouncing nervously. Without a word, Y/N dialed the number, placing the phone on the coffee table gravely.

“Y/N! How are you, honey?”

“I’ve been better,” Y/N glanced at Taehyung, who was staring out into the backyard, the Kodiak hybrid unseeing, like he was neither here nor there. “Something happened, I need your help.”

The first thing Ben suggested was filing a temporary restraining order against Harold Bass, which he was promptly in the process of taking care of for her. Ben told her that the fact that the man took it upon himself to harass her with phone calls, show up at their house, and make indirect threats to Namjoon, Jeongguk, and Hoseok was plenty of evidence to file the order. Y/N sent screenshots of the amount of times Harold tried to call her. If they did end up at the courthouse, Ben said he could get a recording of the time Y/N had actually picked up the phone and talked to Harold and use that in her defense.

Ben’s calm tone and reassuring words did wonders to ease not only her mind, but seemed to get her boys to relax somewhat. The lawyer sounded confident that even if Harold Bass managed to take them to court, he wouldn’t be able to take the boys from her with a mere deposit slip, considering how long the hybrids had already legally been under her care. Ben told her to take things easy for the following days, perhaps staying close to or inside of their home, advising Hoseok to pause his runs around the neighborhood and making sure that their house alarms were working.

In the days that followed, Y/N and the boys stuck closely together. Thankfully it was the weekend, so trips to the rec center were unnecessary, and Y/N even arranged for groceries to be delivered to the house. The backyard was fenced in as well, so when the boys got a little itchy to stretch their legs and be outside, they could do so freely. Y/N felt horrible that they weren’t able to do things that they normally did during the weekends; like go into the city for dinner, see a movie, or shop in the town square. If any of them were bummed out about it, none of them let it show.

Jeongguk took it upon himself to set up Pentagon-level security in the house, ordering Ring cameras, setting up lights that would automatically turn on if anyone approached the entrances inside, and monitored the cameras in the downstairs office like the Secret Service. He hadn’t so much as mentioned anything paranormal related since Harold Bass turned up on their porch.

Namjoon, too, had upped the intensity with security. He would linger by all the doors for hours, looking out the windows, making sure things were locked up tight. Y/N caught him in the office one day, his teeth bared, asking Jeongguk to order more locks to install on the front and back doors.

As for her two feline hybrids, there was hardly a moment where one of them wasn't glued to her side. Truthfully, her alone time (not that she necessarily craved it) was reserved for when she needed to use the bathroom or bathe. Every night Seokjin and Yoongi would curl around either side of her body, not being able to bear sleeping without her until Harold Bass was out of their lives for good.

It was only when Ben called her Saturday afternoon to tell her the temporary restraining order had gone through that everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. One of the positive things that came with the recent bumps in the road was Taehyung being around more often. He started to make an appearance during their nightly movies, and didn’t skip meals anymore. While he hardly spoke unless it was absolutely necessary, Y/N counted his presence as a silver lining.

However, that same Saturday evening was when Y/N had asked Laura to come over and assess the situation with Taehyung as a third party, followed by watching her son Kai for a few hours while she and her husband went out for dinner and a movie. Paired with the good news of the restraining order, Y/N actually grinned when she swung the front door open to reveal one of her best friends, holding her son on one hip and balancing a diaper bag on the other. Behind her, Y/N could see Tyler– Laura’s husband– lugging some kind of play mat up the porch steps.

“Is this your way of asking me if I can watch him for the weekend while you two go to Sandals or something?” Y/N made grabby hands for Kai, a sweet toddler with dark coily curls similar to his Auntie Alice’s.

Laura snorted, passing him over easily, Y/N cooing and nestling the boy on her hip. Kai sleepily rested his rounded cheek into the crook of Y/N’s neck while she ushered his parents inside, Jimin appearing from his bedroom to take the diaper bag from Laura. Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin were the best with children out of all of her hybrids. It was likely Jimin had such a way with them considering his upbringing on the ranch with his own family. Hoseok loved to goof off, and kids being around was the perfect excuse to be wacky.

As for Seokjin, kids were drawn to him like a magnet. Probably because he was so sweet, gentle, and shy. Y/N had noticed a frequent expression of longing whenever she and Seokjin were in a store together and they encountered a baby in a stroller. She hadn’t explicitly talked to Seokjin about it, but she was pretty sure he wanted kids in the future. The thought of a tiny version of her and Seokjin, maybe one with his ears, nearly made her trip into the living room with Kai still in her arms.

“Aw, look how big he’s getting!” Hoseok exclaimed in a silly voice, wiggling his fingers against Kai’s tummy when Y/N came into the parlor.

Not everyone was present, Namjoon and Jeongguk were in the van doing a little research on the hotel they were to investigate in the near future, and Yoongi was stress-baking in the kitchen like he had been doing for the past several days. Y/N had never eaten so many cookies in her entire life.

“Can you believe it? He’ll be in preschool before we know it,” Laura was helping Tyler roll out the mat on the floor, one with shapes, colors, and animals labeled on it.

“Momma, a fox! He has ears,” Kai pointed a chubby index finger at Hoseok’s head, his triangular appendages twitching when the child’s attention were on them fully.

“That’s right, honey. That’s Hoseok, Auntie Y/N’s friend,” Laura took Tyler’s hand to help her up, Hoseok making an odd chirping sound when his name was called. “He’s a fox hybrid. Look over here, see who’s helping daddy? That’s Jimin, he’s a coyote hybrid.”

It had been so long since Y/N had seen Kai, she didn’t realize how much his vocabulary had expanded. He was wiggling in Y/N’s grip, so she gently lowered him to the ground, where he hurried over to Jimin placing some of the child’s toys on the mat. Jimin didn’t even flinch when Kai accidentally tread over the coyote hybrid’s sandy tail, which had Y/N cringing– if she knew anything about the sensitivity of hybrid tails, she knew that that must have hurt like a bastard.

“Hello Seokjin! Taehyung, you too! I haven’t seen any of you since Taehyung’s birthday party in December,” Laura sat on the couch beside Y/N, taking stock of how many of the hybrids were in the room. Taehyung lingered in his usual spot at the back of the room, the settee by the window overlooking the backyard, while Seokjin was glued to Y/N’s other side on the couch, naturally. “So, how have things been? I heard about… that unsavory man. Ben will kick his butt though.”

“I have no doubt about that, I’ve seen him demolish Hoseok with sarcastic banter. He must be an amazing lawyer,” Jimin pointed out cheerfully. The coyote hybrid had attempted to be upbeat ever since finding out about Harold Bass, which Y/N appreciated. “That aside, next time you’re here during the day, we can show you two and Kai the garden and the stable. Do you think he’d like to meet the horses?”

“Oh, absolutely. He loves animals and hybrids. Can’t you tell how excited he is to be around you? And little Daisy has become one of his best friends,” Laura leaned back, subtly glancing at Taehyung behind her shoulder. Y/N was glad he hadn’t snuck from the room already, though with hybrid perceptivity, he could definitely tell Laura was no threat to him. “Kai, gentle! Remember what I told you about their ears?”

Indeed, Kai was climbing on one of Jimin’s thighs as the hybrid sat on the floor, his toddler-sized fists reaching for Jimin’s ears that were flopping forward cutely.

“It’s okay, I’ve had my share of young ones on the ranch tug at my ears. I’m used to it,” Jimin shrugged, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, letting Kai scratch behind his ears easily. “Are you two going out?”

“Ah, yes. I made reservations for us at a place near the theater in town. We’re going to catch a movie after. Laur, I’ll start the car while you say goodbye?” Tyler gave Kai a hair ruffle, waving good-naturedly to everyone in the room. “Thanks for watching him, we really appreciate it!”

There was a squawk coming from Hoseok on the leather recliner when Kai chose to amble towards Seokjin rather than the fox hybrid gesturing wildly, Y/N giggling at Hoseok’s faux-devastated expression.

“Up!” Kai lifted his arms in the air, staring at Seokjin determinedly with his wide chocolate brown eyes. “Cat!”

Seokjin froze from beside Y/N, who was trying her very best not to laugh at her jaguar hybrid, who looked like he didn’t know whether to shit or go blind.

“It’s okay, Seokjin, you can pick him up,” Laura encouraged, Seokjin tentatively leaning forward, his forearms flexing when he gingerly lifted the child into the air, Kai curling into his lap and the crook of his elbow immediately. “He just likes to snuggle. It’s his nap time right about now, I’ll scoot as soon as his eyes get heavy.”

Y/N had a hard time focusing on anything but Kai nestled in Seokjin’s arms. Subconsciously, Seokjin’s sleek black tail curled around the boy’s lap protectively, soothing purrs vibrating from his chest. The tender expression on Seokjin’s face, one that Y/N was more than used to by now, had her melting into the velvet fabric of the couch.

“Aw, Jinnie, he likes you, cat,” Hoseok teased, recovering from Kai not choosing him to take his late afternoon nap on. “You’d make a decent dad, huh?”

Seokjin’s purrs grew louder, Y/N chewing on her lip and not missing the very pointed look Seokjin gave her; feline sunset eyes burning– a look that had her heart swelling and something warm blooming in her gut.

“Yeah, I don’t think he knows the word ‘jaguar’ quite yet,” Laura stood and stretched her legs, turning her keen eyes onto Taehyung awkwardly perched on his settee with an old camera to fiddle with, who hadn’t made a peep yet, effectively distracting Y/N. “How's the photography club going, Taehyung? Y/N tells me you’re amazing!”

“O-oh. I don’t know about that… it’s fun, though…” Taehyung couldn’t maintain eye-contact with Laura for more than a few seconds, pulling his threadbare beanie down further over his forehead, but Y/N was relieved that he responded at all. “Thanks for asking, though.”

Laura waved him off with a smile, adjusting her scarf. Y/N texted Laura earlier to tell her she decided to put a hold on her doing conflict resolution at that particular moment. Y/N didn’t think it would be wise to stress Taehyung out even more on top of the legal issues they were caught in the middle of. Besides, with Taehyung being around her more often, especially since his fuckup forgetting Hoseok and Yoongi at the rec center, Y/N had a feeling he was starting to come around again.

“Okay, I’m going to try and sneak off. He’s a pretty heavy sleeper, so feel free to put on movies or whatever! I should be back here no later than 10,” Laura murmured quietly, Kai’s eyes shut and his small body slumped onto Seokjin’s chest, the jaguar hybrid soothingly rubbing circles on the kid’s back.

“Wait, Laura,” a voice came from the kitchen, and Yoongi emerged with a large tupperware and was covered in flour and caramel. “Here, take these for later. I have like four more batches on the way.”

“Angel, you’re gonna give us all diabetes. Please relax, take a shower and turn the oven off,” Y/N sighed, getting up to untie the frilly apron Yoongi had been wearing since the sun rose that morning.

“Don’t listen to her. If you ever start selling these, let me know,” Laura countered, a cookie sticking out of her mouth as she headed towards the front door, her collarbone-length braids swishing as she walked. “See you all soon, have a nice night in!”

Laura shut the front door behind her, and promptly, the new security system chimed as it armed the house, and Namjoon appeared out of nowhere in the foyer to turn the three separate locks with a grunt.

“Hey Bug, why don’t you come and watch a movie with us? I can tell you’ve been reading all day, your eyes are super watery,” Y/N was in the middle of pushing Yoongi towards the stairs, cringing at the tacky caramel that was clinging to the ends of his long locks. “Yoongi, please go up and shower. If this caramel dries in your hair and I have to cut it I’ll weep for two weeks.”

Mumbling, Yoongi gave her a sugar-sticky kiss on the back of her hand, trudging up the stairs with his tail wrapped around one of his legs– something he did when he was exhausted. Y/N predicted he’d probably fall asleep in his towel on his bed, leaving her to check on and dress him before she retired himself.

“Don’t you get to pick the movie tonight?” Jeongguk emerged from the kitchen with a cookie in his hand while he addressed Namjoon, crumbs collecting in the corners of his mouth.

“Ah. I might have to push your night to tomorrow, Joon. Kai, Laura’s son is here, I’m watching him for the night… we should probably put on some kind of cartoon movie,” Y/N passed her palm over Namjoon’s upper arm, the wolf hybrid pushing his blue-light glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know you wanted to watch Blue Velvet tonight. Tomorrow, I promise.”

“I don’t mind, Y/N. I’m probably too tired to understand anything that requires more brain power than Beauty and the Beast,” Namjoon blinked languidly, Y/N noticing the pen ink covering his fingertips. “At least research took my mind off things.”

“Well that’s good! I’d love to see what you’ve found out so far, in the morning over coffee, how does that sound?” Y/N felt the two hybrids follow her back into the living room, Namjoon double-checking the locks on the front door again.

“I take it that paranormal topics are off-limits while the kid is here,” Jeongguk had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his black sweats, so close behind her that his caramel-scented breath wafted over the sensitive skin of her neck.

“I wouldn’t say that. He’s currently asleep on Seokjin’s lap. Just keep it down and if he wakes up, change the subject,” Y/N pointed at Seokjin, who was still in the exact spot she left him in, Kai drooling on his white tee shirt.

“Well, can I drink? It’s Saturday night, and he’s got seven other babysitters,” Jeongguk lifting a pierced brow and nodding towards the bar cart in the corner of the room.

“Go nuts. I mean, don’t get whacked or anything. I won’t ask you to play pat-a-cake with him when he wakes up, like you said, he’s got seven other babysitters.”

Grumbling, Jeongguk stalked by Seokjin and Kai, sifting through the bottles of liquor on the cart for his favorite gin. Jimin, while Jeongguk’s back was turned, made a dramatic look of great distaste. The coyote hybrid didn’t approve of drinking around children, even if they were asleep.

“Let’s go with what you mentioned earlier, Joonie. I think I have Beauty and the Beast in my library somewhere…” Y/N slowly lowered herself beside Seokjin, hoping she wouldn’t jolt Kai awake, Namjoon clumsily copying her movements to land on her free side.

Because Namjoon was such a clutz, it wasn’t often that he was able to snag a spot beside her– he was lucky that Yoongi was still showering shortening off of his body. If Namjoon was uncomfortable that his right arm was pressed firmly against her left and his large frame crammed against the armrest, his expression gave away nothing.

Halfway through the movie, Y/N slightly dozing off on Seokjin’s shoulder, she cracked an eye open to the sound of a shutter going off. Taehyung was on one knee, snapping a picture of Kai on Seokjin’s lap, Y/N realizing that the child had one hand wrapped around Seokjin’s tail, and the other around her pointer finger. Smiling lazily, she was too comfortable to say anything, so she let Taehyung take pictures until he settled back down on the floor to watch the rest of the movie.

When Laura returned a few hours later, Kai stacking blocks on his mat with Jimin, her cheeks were rosy and several of the hybrids were reluctant to give the toddler back, mainly Jimin and Seokjin.

“Hmm, maybe I’ll have to drop him off here more often,” Laura held Kai in her arms, the boy’s eyes starting to fill when Jimin began to wave goodbye.

“We’ll watch him whenever you need!” Seokjin blurted instantly, his cheeks turning pink when he realized how loudly he spoke. Laura simply brightened up, turning to her husband.

“Maybe we can start having our bi-weekly dates again, if that’s the case,” Laura snickered, Kai calling out for Jimin and ‘Cat’. He wasn’t able to precisely pronounce Seokjin’s name yet, which Hoseok teased him for the entire night. “Alright, it’s past his bedtime. Thanks again, Y/N. I’m buying all of you dinner next time I see you, okay?”

“Night Laura, drive safe,” Y/N waved, choking down a smirk when Namjoon closed the door tightly, the three deadbolts sliding into place smoothly. “Thanks for being good sports tonight, guys!”

“It was fun. He’s a cute kid,” Hoseok was leaning against the door to the basement, where his room was. “I think he was kinda spooked by Goth Bambi, though.”

“The fuck did you just say? I know your dumbass isn’t referring to me,” Jeongguk barked, his tapered ears fluttering furiously. That time, Y/N couldn’t bite back her smirk. “You better lock yourself in your foxhole, motherfucker.”

Hoseok whistled his signature tune, not intimidated in the slightest, quick on his feet to do just that before Jeongguk could even take a step forward.

“You’re laughing? You’re really laughing. I wiped vomit off your face, kiddo,” Jeongguk crossed his inked arms over his chest, Y/N screwing her mouth shut and eyeing the tiny bumps that were beginning to grow where his antlers once were. Truly, in a few weeks, he’d look exactly like Goth Bambi.

“That’s good. I’m changing your contact info to that,” Y/N wiped a tear from her eye, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“I’m blocking your ass,” Jeongguk threatened, sticking his pierced tongue right back out at her when she flashed hers at him first.

“No you won’t. Who else will watch those Youtube videos about shadow people if not me?” Y/N countered, dodging a flick to her forehead. “It’s late, munchkins. I’m gonna check on Yoongi and head into bed myself. Let’s do something fun tomorrow, since the restraining order is in place.”

“That would be nice, I heard there’s a farmer’s market in the town square in the morning. We should go, Y/N, see if they have potted plants that you wanted for the patio,” Jimin suggested, rubbing his eyes tiredly but his tail still swishing contentedly.

“Perfect, let’s do it!” Y/N agreed, watching Taehyung slip up the stairs with a glass of water and his headphones on, Jeongguk not far behind him and still bitching about Hoseok’s comment. “Mm. I’m gonna follow him so I can make sure Yoongi’s doing alright. Night Jimin, Joonie!”

Namjoon nodded, beginning his rounds to make sure all the windows and doors were sealed before slipping into his bedroom, while Jimin wished her sweet dreams as he always did. The only one left in the foyer with her was Seokjin, who clasped a hand over her elbow to escort Y/N up the stairs.

“Yoongi pass out again? He’s really living up to feline stereotypes,” Seokjin joked, shaking blue black waves out of his eyes and slowing down his pace so Y/N could keep up.

“Mmm? You nap more than he does, Seokjinnie. On the other hand, he gets sort of narcoleptic after a hot shower,” Y/N teased, gaze lingering on the glittery chain dangling from his earlobe– a new earring she hadn’t seen before, one that nearly brushed his jutting collarbone.

“I guess that’s true… you should nap with me next time, my pretty girl,” Seokjin’s smile was easy, squeezing her midsection for a goodnight hug.

“Sure thing,” Y/N hummed, regretfully pulling away. “Get some sleep, honey.”

Seokjin saluted her, slinking into his bedroom, and Y/N was trailing through the winding hallways of the second floor to the west tower bedroom where Yoongi slept. His lights were still on, but there was no sound coming from behind the door, so Y/N tip-toed in as quietly as she could.

Her psychic skills must have been getting stronger by the day, because her leopard hybrid was starfished on his bed in nothing but a towel, his phone tossed beside him. Rolling her eyes playfully, she retrieved pajamas from his dresser, not exactly keen on waking him up, but not wanting him to wake up with a cold from laying in a wet towel all night.

“Baby, come on. I’ll tuck you in,” Y/N whispered directly into one of his spotted ears, brushing a kiss over one of his eyebrows. The effect was immediate, a grumbly purr coming from the back of Yoongi’s throat, his eyebrows pulling together under her lips and a veined hand shooting out to grab her hip. “I know you’re awake. I got you pajamas, can you sit up for me?”

“Depends. Do I get a kiss?”

“What are you, Sleeping Beauty?” Y/N rolled her eyes again, though pressed a simple kiss to his lower lip anyways. “There. Sit up, please.”

Yoongi did as he was told, looking at her through sleepy, lidded eyes, his hair still slightly damp. Hoping her gulp wasn’t audible, seeing him in just a towel and a silver chain, Y/N held his soft tee shirt and pulled it over his head, his ears popping up adorably through the neck hole.

“Uh, here. I’ll turn around,” Y/N muttered, tossing his sweats and boxers on his lap, and as soon as possible she spun to face the wall. Yoongi scoffed incredulously, though Y/N refused to turn around.

“Why bother facing the wall?” Yoongi questioned, the coils in his mattress squeaking as he got up. Y/N shuddered when he tossed the towel at her feet, her skin tingling. “It’s not like you haven’t seen my cock before.”

“Yoongi,” Y/N hissed, face hot as an iron. “Just put your pants on!”

“You sure?”

“Stop being a pervert,” Y/N covered her eyes with her hands, listening for the sounds of the leopard hybrid stepping into the clothing she picked out. “You decent?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Ugh,” Y/N tentatively looked over her shoulder, Yoongi by his nightstand table, plugging in his phone. “Even though you’re a hybrid, sometimes I forget you’re still a man.”

“Can’t help it. Not when my girl is so gorgeous,” Yoongi shrugged, collapsing on his bed. “You sleeping in here?”

“How do I know you won’t seduce me?” Y/N crossed her arms, tsking. “There’s a few things I wanna do before I go to sleep. Tomorrow night, okay, angel?”

Yoongi humphed, rolling over on his side to face away from her. Chuckling, she shut off his lamp, making sure he was tucked in. Exchanging ‘I love yous’, Y/N left his room, creeping down to her own bedroom. After a quick shower, she lit a candle on her bedside table, settling in for a meditation session to keep her nerves in check before passing out face-down, hopefully dreamlessly.

Sunday morning, Y/N decided to take Jimin’s advice to check out the early spring farmer’s market in the town square, just so everyone could get some fresh air and scenery. With all eight of them loaded up into the Land Cruiser, the trunk full of reusable bags for produce, and sunny pop music on, the general mood was lighter than it had been in quite some time.

It was almost April, small buds dotting all of the trees around the shops, a clean, floral scent in the air. That morning, she was actually able to have her coffee outside due to how pleasant the temperature was, while Namjoon offered her a thick stack of notes he had taken on the bed and breakfast they were going to investigate– apparently called the George Parkman House. Not having too much time to leaf through the packet the wolf hybrid complied, considering the farmer’s market ended at noon and it would be a miracle to get Hoseok up and ready before then, she elected to discuss specifics with the two of them when they got back.

With the coming of spring, there were several things to think about, not just a potential lawsuit that was a dark cloud in their lives. Taehyung’s important spring expo was coming up, there was a basketball tournament Yoongi was coaching and participating in, and she’d be spending more time than ever in the backyard garden. Jimin offered to give her more riding lessons, which she couldn’t turn down. Lastly, she had to have a conversation with Seokjin about their upcoming trip to New York, since the date they planned to go was coming up fast. Recalling it from yesterday morning, she gripped her steering wheel tightly and tried to ignore Namjoon side-eyeing her.

“Pretty, can we talk?” Seokjin appeared timid, his strong eyebrows bunching together.

“What about?” Y/N put the rake down that she was holding, tending to the herb garden with her jaguar hybrid. In the distance, she could hear Jimin taking one of the horses for a jaunt around the trails, hooves clomping down on the damp grass.

“Our trip to visit Hannah. I think it should wait, we can reschedule for May or something,” Seokjin scratched behind one of his ears, placing a clump of weeds in the compost bin he dragged over earlier. “Until we sort out this legal situation. Besides…”

“Besides?” Y/N encouraged, leaning into one of his strong shoulders and enjoying the sun on her face. She found the little things kept her spirits up, those days.

“Um… remember how I said that in April it might be…”

“Oh!” Y/N straightened up, the tips of her ears burning. She hadn’t thought about anything remotely sexual in days, so she had completely forgotten about Seokjin’s apparent upcoming rut.

“Y-yeah. That. I don’t want to be away from home when it happens, if that’s alright.”

“Of course it is, Seokjin. Anything you need or anything I can prepare, let me know,” Y/N held onto his hand seriously, pushing aside bashfulness in order to assure him.

“Uh. Well, the others. What are we going to do about them? I’m not sure how long it’ll last, and. Hybrids need privacy during their ruts, especially mated ones.”

Y/N paused, eyes going round, soaking in every inch of Seokjin’s gorgeous face. Did he just imply…

“What about that building, there? You think we could stay there?” Seokjin pointed off into the distance with a crooked finger, Y/N’s heart beating out of her chest between the statement he made still sinking in and the way he was speaking so nonchalantly.

Following the line of his finger when her thoughts were interrupted, she spotted the small guesthouse by the pond, the one she had yet to renovate into the movie room for them to hang out in during the summer months. The rounded building, equipped with a first floor made up of a space to sit, a kitchenette, and a tiny bathroom, the second floor a simple loft, would be a pretty good isolated space away from other ears. It solved Seokjin’s desire to stay home, but have enough privacy. Prior to even considering that guesthouse, she toyed with the idea of getting a hotel room, but she knew Seokjin wouldn’t be keen on that. The guesthouse seemed like the best option.

“I… I’d need to make a few improvements on it in the next week or so, and clean it out. But I think that’ll work,” Y/N replied quietly, her skin still on fire. Should she bring up the fact that he might have referred to her as his mate? Before she could open her mouth, Seokjin spoke again.

“Okay, that makes me feel better,” Seokjin’s broad shoulders relaxed down several inches, offering her a broad smile. “Don’t be nervous, pretty. It’s just me.”

“Mmm, I know,” Y/N muttered, his playful remark not doing much to quell her embarrassment. It was like Seokjin had never even looked in the mirror– he was telling her not to be nervous he’d be all over her for several days? “I’ll get it ready this week. I’m taking some time off of work anyways, to make sure Ben settles everything and to prepare for the new case Joon and Jeongguk and I will be tackling in the near future.”

Seokjin placed a silly, loud smooch on the apple of her cheek, returning to his task of weeding around the lavender plants, Y/N willing to place a bet that he had a sly smirk on his face. In retaliation, she reached up to teasingly tickle one of his rounded black ears, a choppy hiss dissolving into a purr at the contact.

Swallowing nervously at the memory, Y/N focused on the daffodils studding the sidewalks of the cute town square she was driving through. Hoseok was whistling to the song ‘Where Is My Mind’, the fox hybrid in shorts– he was one of those guys, as soon as the weather was above 50 degrees, he considered it to be summer. Meanwhile, his best friend next to him was bundled up like there was a blizzard raging outside of the car; Seokjin swaddled in his lilac puffer jacket. Y/N tossed a middle finger into the backseat while Jeongguk was taunting her about her parallel parking skills (it did take her three times to get it right), but once the car was stationary, everyone was eagerly getting out into the sunshine.

“Which way do we go?” Hoseok was bouncing on the soles of his running sneakers, energy coming off of him in infection waves, one of his arms hooked around Seokjin’s elbow. Seokjin didn’t seem to mind, his nose in the air as he caught the scent of fresh-baked pie in the distance.

“Just take a right up this block, there’s a grassy field where the tents are set up,” Y/N pointed, helping Jimin take the bags out of the trunks. “You guys can go ahead, just um. Use the buddy system, okay?”

“Does that mean I’m stuck with Mr. Happy?” Yoongi mumbled into Y/N’s ear, glancing at Taehyung, who was taking pictures of the decaying brick of a storefront a few yards away.

“Well, he likes you the most,” Y/N pointed out, mussing Yoongi’s hair and hoping he’d be a good sport.

“Alright. This is me making things up to you, when I chewed him out a while ago,” Yoongi trudged away, using two fingers to motion for Taehyung to follow him down the block. Naturally, Namjoon and Jeongguk stuck together, so that made Jimin her buddy.

“What kind of flowers will last under harsh sun, do you think?” Y/N mused, knowing that Jimin had spent a few months learning about botany ever since he began focusing on the garden and landscaping the backyard.

“Cacti,” Jimin replied dryly with a twinkle in his yellow eyes, Y/N blinking at his joke. “Kidding, that would look odd. We’re not in Arizona. Asters will look pretty on the patio, don’t you think? They sort of look like purple daisies.”

“Love it. Maybe some petunias, too. They’re my Grandmother’s favorites, she’d love to see them around the house again,” Y/N rounded the corner with Jimin close to her side, his clean lavender scent tickling her nose as a cool breeze rolled by.

As soon as the corner was cleared, they were in a medium-sized, festive green field. Multicolored awnings covering stalls was the first thing she noticed, then children of various heights running around merrily. There was a bearded man with a banjo and a microphone singing in the center of the field, elderly people milling around and haggling prices. Lungs filled with lovely early April air, she hooked a finger in the belt loop of Jimin’s blue jeans, tugging him forward excitedly. With a canine whimper of surprise, he stumbled after her.

Y/N made a beeline for the first stall she saw– one that sold windchimes that made beautiful trilling sounds. Before she could get too carried away, she visually located everyone else; Taehyung and Yoongi were watching the performer, the former taking a photo of the show. Jeongguk and Namjoon had managed to find the only booth that sold crystals and occult oddities, while Hoseok and Seokjin appeared to be making a lap around the field before lingering anywhere in particular.

“Oh, look, Y/N! This one is made from driftwood and seaglass. Since our town is by the ocean, don’t you think this would look nice on the patio?” Jimin pointed to a wind chime hanging from one of the poles of the tent they were under, the seaglass pretty shades of aqua and jade.

“It’s gorgeous, should we get it?”

“I think so. This one, too, is really nice. Looks old-timey, like our house,” Jimin gestured to another piece with fragile looking cloudy glass.

“That one there I made from recycled glass bottles from the Victorian era. I found the bottles around my property and thought I could repurpose them,” the middle-aged woman who ran the booth explained to them with a proud smile, folding her work-roughened hands on the table in front of her.

“It’s beautiful. We live in a Victorian, it would look perfect on our front porch,” Y/N ran her finger over the hanging glass pieces to hear how it sounded: clear and pure. “Can we take both, please?”

“I’ll wrap them up while you two enjoy the other booths, thank you!” The woman began taking the two wind chimes down, Y/N reaching for Jimin’s calloused hand so they could continue taking in the sights.

“Did you notice Namjoon has already picked up a mini cherry pie?” Jimin snorted, Y/N able to easily find Namjoon in the throngs of people because of his taller-than-average height.

Namjoon must have heard his name across the field, because his head whipped around, a pie in his hand and jam smeared over his thick lips. Shushing Jimin’s giggles while trying to suppress her own, she dragged the coyote hybrid to the next few stalls. She picked up knicknacks here and there, as well as some veggies to cook up for dinner.

The last booth they visited before sitting on the grass to enjoy some of the folk performance was filled with the kind of potted plants they were looking for. The farmer informed them that the flowers could be delivered to their home, which saved Jimin from having to haul them back to the SUV.

“He has such a nice voice,” Jimin commented, a note of jealousy coloring his tone. Y/N nudged him with her shoulder, crossing her legs and feeling grass tickle her bare ankles.

“I’m sure your voice is nicer, Jimin. I mean, your speaking voice is melodic and pretty, why wouldn’t it be?” Y/N cocked her head, wondering if he ever sang around a campfire with his friends on the ranch or if she was stereotyping ranchers.

“You flatter me,” Jimin whispered into her ear, the hybrid’s face peach pink. “I guess I can carry a tune.”

“You’ll have to show me sometime, huh? Yoongi can accompany you,” Y/N grinned, Jimin raking his fingers through his blonde hair. “Alright, I’ll stop teasing. Even if I am serious.”

Moments blended into one another, her and Jimin enjoying a container of cut fruit together, his bushy tail occasionally batting her lower back when he’d hear new noises like a child squealing or cars passing by. Y/N took a moment to study Jimin’s side profile while he was occupied by the show.

Jimin’s easygoing nature set her at ease completely. There was something about feeling so safe around him, in a different way from Namjoon. Namjoon was intense, territorial, and physically protective, which was certainly comforting to have, particularly in dangerous situations. However, Jimin was more quietly protective, which was due to his abundance of empathy. If one needed to be comforted, Jimin knew exactly how to do it.

“Hey, Jimin,” Y/N tugged on his cargo jacket sleeve, capturing his attention with a curious flop to his ear. “Thank you for keeping me sane these past few days. For staying so upbeat. Don’t think it hasn’t gone unnoticed by me. It’s okay to be nervous about everything in front of me, too, you don’t have to hide your feelings.”

Jimin stared at her with his alarmingly vibrant eyes, processing her words. Usually, Jimin was easy to read, but not at that moment. Sighing with a tiny smile, he picked up one of Y/N’s hands, patting the back of it.

“My dad always told me that worrying about something before it happens is to suffer twice. I know we’re in capable hands with Ben, and I know that you’ll do anything in your power to keep us out of harm’s way, Y/N. I’m not worried because I know we aren’t going anywhere. I can feel it. As for staying ‘upbeat’...”

Jimin’s gaze shifted around the farmer’s market, locating each of the hybrids he lived with, occupied with looking at various wares of their choosing. Free.

“All we ever wanna do is make you smile, Y/N. Make you as happy as you’ve made us.”

“Hey, you. What are you thinking about that has you in a catatonic state?” Jeongguk was annoyingly snapping his fingers in Y/N’s face, Y/N catching one of his fingers in her grasp with narrowed eyes. A zodiac symbol was tattooed on one of the knuckles.

“Yoongi’s chili,” Y/N fibbed, when actually she had Jimin’s voice bouncing around in her skull. She was still trying to dissect the moment shared with him– was the tenderness in his voice something she made up, or did Jimin sound… lovestruck? “Why do you have this sign tattooed on your knuckle? You’re a Virgo.”

“I have all of the zodiac signs somewhere on my hands or arms. They all have their uses,” Jeongguk leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up on the van’s breakfast table. “When do you think we can get started on this investigation?”

“As soon as I get an update from Ben about you-know-what, I’ll take that as a green light to focus on this fully,” Y/N gestured to the packet of handwritten notes Namjoon gave her. Speaking of the devil, he rested his hip against the kitchenette counter, waiting patiently to start a productive conversation about the building and its history. “Joonie, wanna give me a run-down on the bed and breakfast’s past?”

Straightening out importantly, Namjoon rolled up the sleeves to his thin button down.

“The property is on Beacon Hill in Boston, facing the Boston Common. It belonged to a member of an elite class at the time– a Boston Brahmin– by the name of George Parkman, hence the name of the building. He was a successful surgeon that graduated from Harvard, and used his skills around Massachusetts during the War of 1812.

But, the guy ended up being murdered. He went missing one afternoon while he was collecting debts in 1849. A Harvard professor by the name of John White Webster killed Parkman in a lab, dismembered the body, and incinerated the body in a furnace. What’s interesting about the trial, however, is that it was the first trial to use dental records and forensics to make a conviction.”

“Jesus,” Y/N gritted her teeth at the gruesome details, but was also very attracted to Namjoon’s intelligence. “So Parkman wasn’t murdered in his home, but in a lab at Harvard?”

“Yeah, but apparently the poor bastard haunts his old house. Spirits work in mysterious ways. To be murdered so brutally and abruptly, sometimes human spirits don’t even know they’re dead. That could be the case, here,” Jeongguk picked his nails, lip ring sucked into his mouth.

“So, you’re not getting any demonic vibes?” Namjoon drawled sarcastically, his sharpened canines flashing.

“Well, no. Not from what we’ve gathered so far. This could be just a simple haunting, maybe Parkman’s just agitated and confused as to why there are so many random people in his house, if he doesn’t know he’s dead yet. Judy’s email mentioned the manager brought in a quack group of investigators that stirred shit up. They probably instigated Parkman into being even angrier, which caused the uptick in activity. Just my guess, though. I’d have to physically be there to feel it out,” Jeongguk responded calmly, itching around his new antlers beginning to grow.

“Didn’t you instigate at the Sanders’?” Namjoon probed further, Jeongguk rolling his eyes to the sky.

“That was different, that was a demonic haunting. Provoking human spirits is just sad and pathetic. Usually you can get rid of them or help them out with simple EVP,” Jeongguk enunciated like he was talking to a five-year-old. Y/N counted it as a miracle Namjoon hadn’t knocked Jeongguk’s block off yet.

“Was there anything else that was reported besides the apparition of George Parkman, Y/N?” Namjoon ignored Jeongguk, his teeth drawing beads of blood to his lower lip so he wouldn’t say something uncouth to the elk hybrid.

“Not that Judy mentioned in her email, just general hostile and creepy energy. Jeongguk is probably right, the spirit of Parkman may just be angry that he was provoked. I don’t think we’ll have to return as many times as we did with the Sanders’ case, unless there are surprises waiting for us.”

“It is a pretty large building, though. It might be easier if we split up, during the investigation,” Jeongguk pointed out.

“That’s fine–”

“No.”

Y/N and Namjoon spoke at the same time, the wolf hybrid firmly cutting her off with immediate disagreement. That familiar, calculative glint in Namjoon’s eyes hardened his softer features, Y/N’s mouth drying up.

“Would you rather be there for six hours, or three, wolf? There’s one of us for each floor.”

“Would you rather get socked in the face when I have to carry Y/N out of the building god forbid something unpredictable happens, or stay together the whole time? This isn’t up for discussion. We won’t split up.”

“Wasn’t aware this was a dictatorship, not a democracy,” Jeongguk muttered under his breath, but did not argue with Namjoon any further. Namjoon’s stern, unquestionable dominance had Y/N squirming in her seat. “Whatever, we’ll stay together. Lighten up, wolf. Where’s that thing we got at the market this morning?”

Namjoon’s jaw slowly began to unclench, reaching backwards for a little bag behind him on the kitchenette. Gingerly, he dumped the contents of the bag on the table in front of Y/N and Jeongguk, the elk hybrid moving his combat boots off the surface and sitting up straight. The receipt fluttered to the carpeted floor, and whatever was in the bag made a clattering noise then it hit the table. Vision focusing, Y/N stared at the items with confusion.

In front of her were three antique rings, all identical. Made of dark, pounded silver, each ring had a rough-hewn green stone set in the center. Picking one up, Y/N looked closely, the window beside her illuminating the green stone and making it shimmer.

“Peridot rings. They’re supposed to be especially protective around spirits. The woman at the farmer’s market recommended them,” Namjoon went from predator to sweetheart in a matter of seconds, the tips of his ears turning red. “One for each of us.”

“Matching rings! Cute!” Y/N couldn’t help herself, sliding the ring on the fourth finger of her right hand. “So pretty. And functional! Thank you guys, this is really sweet.”

Swallowing back laughter at the sight of the two of them, ears turned back in embarrassment while they put their own rings on, they copied her by wearing them on the same finger. Y/N froze while she was admiring the rings on their fingers– Jeongguk had her sun sign tattooed on the very same digit. Struck again by the cosmic connection she had to each hybrid of hers, Y/N twisted the ring around her finger a few times, clearing her throat.

“Okay, so should we start making a list of things we gotta bring to this investigation?”

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Yoongi watched Y/N carefully as she mixed up 8 different cocktails that night, one that was unique to each individual in the house. His tail was flicking back and forth in sharp shapes, something it did when he was on the edge of disapproval.

“No, I took some time off this week. You can probably guess why,” Y/N replied, sliding his cocktail across the island for him: Hennessy, soda water, and a lemon slice. “We might as well cheers.”

“Hell yeah!” Hoseok waltzed in doing a moonwalk, fresh from the shower. His auburn hair appeared even darker red when it was wet, flashing Y/N a grin when he located his simple rum-and-coke. “Nothing like getting hammered while waiting for a shoe to drop!”

“I wish you’d grow a filter,” Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, Y/N not caring in the slightest. She liked that Hoseok said whatever popped into his mind. “Where is everyone?”

“Probably upstairs. You didn’t check your phone? I suggested a game night in the billiard’s room. We can play pool, I set up the card table for poker, I even have Candy Land. There’s darts, too, but I don’t know if I trust Jeongguk not to throw one at Hoseok.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Hoseok took a hearty swig of his cocktail, pushing up the sleeves of his dark green crewneck sweatshirt. “Goth Bambi~”

Hoseok sang off-key, scampering from the bar cart and dashing up the stairs to push Jeongguk’s buttons. Shaking her head, Y/N started loading up a tray with the drinks, and a separate one with bottles in case anyone wanted a top-off.

“Can you get the bottles, angel?” Y/N’s voice was strained, trying extremely hard not to spill the six cocktails balanced on the tray in her arms. Easily, Yoongi scooped it up, Y/N envious of his hybrid strength and feline grace. “Show off.”

The billiard’s room was connected to the music room via a ‘secret door’, one that was disguised as a bookshelf. The door was closed more often than not to keep everything sufficiently soundproof while the piano was being played or Taehyung had the turntable going. With the bookcase open, going from room to room was a breeze. Navigating into the area carefully, the thick scent of leather invaded her nostrils, thanks to the massive sofas lining the room. It was a large space, about the size of the kitchen directly below it, filled with tabletop games, card tables, a minibar, and a TV that her cousins used to use for sports games.

“If he calls me Goth Bambi one more time,” Jeongguk approached her quickly, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, and swiped his gin and tonic from the tray.

Y/N told him it was the only room in the house he could smoke in, as long as the windows were cracked. After all, her grandfather had a shelf of cigars in the corner he used to smoke and show off to his friends, back in the day. It would be a shame for him not to use the vintage ashtrays and table lighters.

“Play nice,” Y/N warned, placing Seokjin’s chilled glass of white wine near the pool table, where Yoongi was showing him how to set up the balls. “Give this to Joon, okay?”

Handing Jeongguk a small tumbler of whiskey, identical to the one she poured for Jimin, Jeongguk scoffed and returned to Namjoon, who was inquisitively staring at the poker table. Over the past few months, Namjoon was able to steadily increase his tolerance for alcohol, and found that he liked the same whiskey as the coyote hybrid the most. The shared preference made her smile.

She left the remaining two drinks– Jimin’s whiskey and Taehyung’s glass of Cabernet– on the minibar. The former was still in the shower after a long afternoon of exercising the horses, and the latter, last Y/N heard from him, was wrapping up something in his darkroom. Y/N still wasn’t sure that he’d accept her ‘game night’ invitation, but because he hadn’t been hiding away lately, she let herself get her hopes up carelessly.

When Jimin and Taehyung ended up traipsing in, both of them appeared shocked by the rowdiness. Not that anyone was drunk yet, but everyone felt like it was okay to let loose made for a merry atmosphere. Y/N recruited Jimin to be on her team playing pool against Seokjin and Yoongi, which was sort of evil of her considering Jimin had once told her he used to hustle people at pool halls in Montana. Seokjin and Yoongi didn’t have to know that, though.

Taehyung took up the task of going back and forth to the music room to switch out records when they ran out. To Y/N’s hazy surprise, it seemed like he was actually bartending, too, which had her feeling like she should check outside to see if pigs were soaring through the air. Either that, or he was trying to liquor everyone up so the other hybrids wouldn’t be so stiff around him.

At the other end of the game room, Namjoon, Jeongguk, and Hoseok were caught in the middle of an intense darts battle. Hoseok’s shouts mingled with Jeongguk’s, and the more liquor the two of them consumed, the louder they got. Y/N wasn’t worried about an actual fight breaking out, considering Hoseok would win one round, and then Jeongguk would win the next– it was only poor Namjoon who failed to win a single round due to either his clumsiness or poor aim. He tapped out after the fourth round in favor of watching the game of pool, which was much less intense but still entertaining to witness.

“Wow, you guys suck,” Yoongi took a sip of his drink, pointing his pool cue at Jimin and Y/N, Y/N stepping on Jimin’s foot after their third loss. Time to reveal the hustler.

“Ugh. Maybe it’s just me. Joonie, jump in for me? I wanna get some fresh air, it’s hot in here.”

Namjoon stood, wobbling on his feet a little, tossing back the last of his whiskey before surprisingly accepting the pool cue from Y/N.

“But I’ve never played,” Namjoon muttered, mystified when Jimin offered cue chalk to him.

“You’ll catch on. Aren’t you some kind of genius?” Yoongi raised a brow, Seokjin’s squeaky laugh sounding on the tipsy side.

Namjoon huffed, embarrassed, Y/N walking past Taehyung who was shuffling a deck of cards, and Jeongguk refilling his drink. The only one unaccounted for was Hoseok, who Y/N assumed was in the bathroom. Humming, she ambled down the hall to one of the bedrooms that didn’t belong to one of the boys in search of a balcony to sneak a cigarette on. Not that she’d be able to hide the scent, but she’d handle that later.

Finding the creamsicle orange unclaimed bedroom, the space smelling like fresh paint still, Y/N stumbled when she saw that the balcony door was open already, someone standing outside and leaning over the railing on their forearms. Eyes adjusting, she studied the shape of the ears protruding from the figure’s crown, an eyebrow lifting.

“What are you doing out here, social butterfly? Battery drained?” Y/N stepped out onto the balcony, Hoseok’s fluffy auburn hair finally dried.

“No, no. Just licking my wounds,” Hoseok kept his gaze on the moon, his nose twitching when Y/N stood close to him. “Jeongguk kicked my ass at darts.”

“Sorry to hear. That’ll give him a chip on his shoulder,” Y/N snickered, the fox hybrid’s shoulders shaking but his usual boisterous laugh inaudible. “Is something up? You’re quiet.”

“Nah, it’s nothing, darling.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing, Foxy.”

“Shit doesn’t get by you, huh?” Hoseok shook his head, swirling the remnants of his rum-and-coke around in his glass contemplatively. “Jus’ thinking about that guy.”

“What guy–” Y/N was confused for a moment, but the look on Hoseok’s face had it all flooding back. “Oh. Harold Bass.”

“Yeah, him or whatever. I try to keep it outta sight outta mind, but I don’t know. I guess I have some abandonment issues to sort out, or whatever you call it.”

“That’s understandable,” Y/N responded softly, her heart breaking. “I’m sorry this is happening, honey. I wish I could just make it go away.”

“I know you do,” Hoseok sighed, bumping his hip against hers. “I mean, this situation sucks, but it’s bringing back shit I should probably get to the root of.”

“What do you mean? If you don’t mind sharing, of course,” Y/N asked, forgetting all about a cigarette. “You can use me as a sounding board, if you want.”

Hoseok managed a chuckle, ruffling Y/N’s hair like she was a little kid.

“Back when I was young, that wolf hybrid ruined a potential adoption for me. Remember when I told you that?”

“Uh-huh. Fucker.”

“Pretty much,” Hoseok agreed, draining the rest of his glass. “I guess that sort of changed how I look at adoptions afterwards. From then on, I’d ruin every adoption attempt for myself on purpose. I just didn’t want… how do I put this. I think I didn’t want to accept the possibility that I could be adopted and then discarded. That shit happens all the time to fox hybrids, most people don’t trust them. So I wanted to eliminate that possibility entirely.”

Hoseok took a breath, eyes still on the moon. Y/N just listened, the way Hoseok’s jaw was pulsing told her he wasn’t quite finished.

“But when you adopted me, I couldn’t do anything about it. Gerry’s wasn’t like a normal shelter, there were no interviews or meetings beforehand, and besides, I was shifted,” Hoseok seemingly braced himself, gripping the balcony’s ledge. “Part of me was relieved because you seemed harmless, but another part of me was wondering if you would break my heart. I prepared for the worst– that you’d dump me back at that shelter after a few days, once you reality sunk in and you didn’t like my personality. I don’t know. All this stuff is just coming back.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. Hoseok grimaced, tapping his fingers along the balcony railing, his muscles taut when Y/N slipped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. The fabric of his sweatshirt was saturated with his woodsy, natural scent, Y/N nearly purring when she breathed it in. The fox hybrid relaxed, Y/N feeling his tail brush between her legs, and she looked up at the moon with him.

“Even if I didn’t love your personality, which I do love, I wouldn’t have brought you back there. But I understand why your mind went there. Years of thinking a certain way can be tricky to let go of,” Y/N squeezed his trim waist, still focused on the moon. “But let’s start here. I won’t abandon you, not ever. When your thoughts go in that direction, remember that simple truth.”

There was silence, nothing but the wind blowing through the willow branches in the backyard. Hoseok exhaled shakily, his throat clogging up when he tried to formulate a response. Never quite at a loss for words, Hoseok’s voice came out as a rasp.

“Y/N?”

“Hmm?”

“I think you’re sort of like my favorite person ever.”

Hoseok internally cringed, unable to believe that was the best he could come up with, managing to peel his back from Y/N’s chest and turn to face her sheepishly. There was a look of surprise that flashed across her features before she recovered smoothly, poking the crater above the corner of his mouth.

“I think you’re sort of like my favorite fox hybrid ever, Hoseok. No, actually, I know you are, sunshine,” Y/N captured his hand, tangling their fingers together. Hoseok had an odd fluttering sensation in his gut, Y/N tugging him back towards the house. “Hey. You ever play poker?”

“Huh?” Hoseok spluttered, the change in subject taking him off guard though not particularly in an unwelcome way. “You gonna teach me?”

“I’ll show you a few tricks. You gotta get back at Jeongguk, after all.”

Hoseok realized quickly what Y/N was doing– cheerily letting things go so he wouldn’t wallow for the rest of the night. Hoseok didn’t like to beat dead horses, preferring to bounce back as quickly as he could. A part of him wondered if Y/N had figured that out about him, and was attempting to prevent him from standing on a metaphorical ledge. Tightening his hold on her small hand in his, Hoseok let her lead him into the light.

“Clever girl,” Hoseok praised, smirking at the way Y/N stumbled over her own feet. “You deal. I don’t trust him to shuffle correctly.”

“I can’t believe this thing works,” Y/N muttered, sliding bottle of water after bottle into the vintage minifridge.

The morning after game night, she decided to stock up the guest house for anything her and Seokjin might… need. She started with the obvious; snacks and drinks, comfortable bedding, towels and whatnot. Y/N didn’t know where to go from there, once all of Seokjin’s favorite snacks were in place, worrying her lower lip when she sunk down onto the loveseat across from the kitchenette. Too shy to ask Seokjin for any additional information about his rut, Y/N turned to the internet instead. Her main concern was somehow letting Seokjin down– whether it was her being unable to keep up with him, or not knowing enough about being able to take care of him.

“Ugh, Reddit. Staying away from those mouth breathers,” Y/N scoffed to herself, scrolling through her cursory Google search of ‘hybrid ruts with human partners’. Y/N clicked on a link, gnawing on her nails as the page loaded. “Medical journal. Promising.”

Ruts or heats are a natural cycle that all hybrids experience when they reach sexual maturity. For years, the cycle can be managed by the hybrid alone, but this can change when a hybrid has a romantic partner, and drastically change if they claim a mate.

For hybrids that choose to spend a cycle with a partner that’s a human, a few things need to be considered by that human. First, contacting their doctor for supplements is essential. Supplements provided will ensure the human gets enough vitamins, increase their stamina, and trigger similar symptoms that their hybrid counterpart experiences during their cycle. These supplements should be taken for two weeks prior to the hybrid’s cycle.

It is important for the human to remember that ruts or heats heighten animalistic instinct in a hybrid. The purpose of the cycle is to breed or be bred, and the hybrid will attempt to do so successfully. Of course, when birth control is used, this can be avoided– but nonetheless, the baser instincts of the hybrid will think of nothing but reproduction. Humans should make sure they are using birth control during the cycle if pregnancy is undesired.

The cycle will heighten the temperature of the hybrid’s blood, so they may appear feverish, much like when they need to scent. This is normal and not something to be concerned about. Having plenty of ventilation in the room is necessary, as is enough water or electrolyte drinks. Items that bring your hybrid comfort are recommended to have around the area, such as blankets, sentimental objects, or their favorite movies.

Finally, limit interruptions if possible. While the purpose of the cycle is reproduction, it is a deeply intimate time to the hybrid. Their partner is the only thing that matters to them, and interaction with others could warrant possessive and even dangerous behavior towards the person who interrupts. Privacy is a priority to most hybrids, so make arrangements to avoid interruption.

“Sweet Jesus,” Y/N’s heart was racing, still processing the words ‘breed or be bred’.

On top of that, it would be somewhat of an awkward conversation to have with her doctor to get the supplements, but she’d have to get them right away. Seokjin’s rut was fast approaching, and she only had about three weeks to fill the prescription and begin to take them. However, the thought of the supplements augmenting her stamina to keep up with Seokjin was immediately comforting.

Thinking she did all she could at the moment, Y/N called her doctor as she headed back towards the house, focusing on admiring the dandelions studding the grass rather than the odd conversation about the supplements. The kitchen was eerily empty, Y/N growing suspicious until she remembered her dad swung by earlier to take the boys to their dental appointments. With a sigh, she prayed to the sky none of them had any issues with their teeth, wondering how to keep herself entertained until everyone was home.

Deciding to do some housework, Y/N hauled her ass upstairs to throw a load of laundry in. However, when she got to the top of the stairs, she paused by Taehyung’s dark room. There was a large stack of frames wrapped in paper, Y/N able to tell that they were the portraits Taehyung took months ago. He must have been able to take them home for Y/N, which she had begged him to many times. Reflecting on what exactly made him want to bring them home then, she abandoned her quest to put laundry away in Jeongguk’s room in favor of a quick DIY project.

“Where the fuck did I put that hammer?” Y/N sucked in her cheeks, rummaging around in the supply closet for what she needed. Cursing again when she bumped her hip against a step ladder, she shook off the pain and located a box of nails on the shelf. Singing a tune, Y/N methodically unwrapped the portraits, grinning at the one of Jimin. “Oh, he’s so cute.”

Luckily, she remembered the order that Taehyung had originally arranged the photographs during the particular expo he displayed them, so she decided to copy his vision and hang them that way. The wall in between the music room and the dark room was large enough for her to put all nine of the frames, so she started mapping out the spots with a stray pencil. With a grunt, she placed the picture of the house in the center, making sure it wasn’t crooked. Getting lost in the task, Y/N’s heart felt full as she admired the photos of her boys. When she was halfway through the process, the front door downstairs banged open, Y/N cringing.

“Motherfucker,” Y/N pictured Jeongguk blasting through the door like he always did, not giving a flying fuck about the antique stained glass. “I’m up here if anyone is looking!”

“I heard the ‘motherfucker’ remark,” Jeongguk, predictably, barreled up the stairs in his heavy combat boots. “Namjoon had a cavity. Can you stop filling him up on the pastries now?”

“Oh no, is he okay? Did he get it filled?” Y/N panicked, setting the portrait of Hoseok down urgently.

“I’m fine,” Namjoon appeared on the stairs, rubbing his jaw with a slight pout. “Hurt.”

��Sorry, Joon Bug,” Y/N frowned, Jeongguk helping her out by hanging the portrait that was up high. “There’s Advil in my room if you need it.” Namjoon did, in fact, need it. He disappeared with a swish of a tail, Jeongguk snickering at him.

“Need help screwing your piercings back in?” Y/N decided to test the waters and be bold, Jeongguk blinking stupidly as soon as the words left her mouth. Appearing like he was attempting to recover, Jeongguk cleared his throat, an eyebrow lifted.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Jeongguk replied, crossing his inked arms over his chest. “I think I can manage myself, doll.”

“Suit yourself,” Y/N shrugged, going back to hanging Hoseok’s portrait on the wall. “I’ll be here in case you change your mind, Bambi.”

“You–” Jeongguk spluttered, taken aback by her blatant, flirtatious banter. “You know what? Fine. Gonna shower, see you at dinner.”

“Mm-hmm…”

Hearing him stalk away, a nail in her mouth, Y/N smirked to herself. Maybe her game wasn’t so bad after all.

“Oh, you’re–” A new voice met her ears, Y/N peering over her shoulder curiously. Not that she had to guess who was speaking, his voice distinct and instantly recognizable to her. “You’re putting them up? Here?”

Taehyung, in an oversized jean jacket and cargo pants, was gawking at the photographs, wringing his hands together. His hair was so curly and wild that afternoon that it completely disguised his rounded ears.

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me you brought these home! I was so excited to see them when I came up here to do laundry,” Y/N hung up the last portrait, Jimin’s, and fondly ran her fingers over the curves of the coyote hybrid’s face. “Is the spot I chose okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Taehyung approached her slowly, like he was approaching a crocodile or something. “You put them up like I did.”

“Uh-huh. I think I got the order right, but feel free to correct me. Ah, they look so good. I love these so much,” Y/N gushed, unthinkingly passing her hand over Taehyung’s back. He didn’t flinch away, thankfully, but he was blinking rapidly at the contact. “My handsome boys… ugh, it looks perfect. New favorite part of the house.”

“You like them that much?”

“Like them? I love them! How could I not?” Y/N snorted, booping Namjoon’s nose through the glass frame. “You’re talented, Tae. Besides, these pictures are all of the important people in my life. There was a reason I was begging you to bring these home for months.”

Taehyung was staring at her analytically, his straight eyelashes brushing his cheekbone. Y/N didn’t notice that he was staring, however, too busy admiring the portraits. His heart ached when he realized that Y/N actually remembered how he hung the frames at the Christmas expo, and took enough care to replicate it on their wall at home.

“Sorry I didn’t bring them home sooner, Y/N,” Taehyung murmured, finally snagging her attention when he called her name. “Thank you for putting them up.”

“Ah, don’t apologize. Just promise me you’ll always bring your pieces home so I can display them,” Y/N glanced up at him, struck by how beautiful he was all of a sudden. She missed him.

“Okay, I promise,” Taehyung whispered, using an index finger to cross over his heart. The action was playful, in stark contrast to the morose way he had been carrying himself for weeks. Patting his back once more, Y/N scooped up the nails and hammer to shove back into the supply closet.

“Y/N, I can’t find the Advil,” Namjoon shouted from downstairs, a slight whine in his voice.

“Be down in a second, Bug,” Y/N snorted, picturing his frustrated pout. “What do you feel like for dinner, Tae?”

“You’re asking me?” Taehyung was confused, adjusting the collar of his flannel nervously.

“Well, yeah. You want some takeout? Or anything in particular I can make?”

“Um… Thai food?” Taehyung spoke very slowly, Y/N cocking her head curiously.

“Do you want Thai food or are you just suggesting it because it’s my favorite, Tae?” Y/N teased, surprise flashing over his face.

“No, no, I like it too! I swear!” Taehyung put his hands up, Y/N giggling at his defense. “Or if nobody wants that… Korean food?”

“Let’s go with that. I could definitely tear up some kimchi jjigae,” Y/N cheered, somehow knowing that that was what Taehyung really wanted. “Alright, honey. I’m gonna help Namjoon hunt for the Advil. Text me what you want from the restaurant, okay?”

Taehyung didn’t answer verbally, simply nodding– and for some reason– looking her up and down like he was trying to memorize her figure. Flashing him a smile, Y/N waved cheerily as she raced down the stairs.

“I swear I looked here,” Namjoon complained, his ears flat when Y/N pulled the bottle of pills out of her medicine cabinet. He was still rubbing his jaw, Y/N fighting back a coo at the sight of him.

“It was sort of hidden behind the jar of cotton balls. No worries, Bug. Just take two of those!”

“Two?”

“Yeah, Joonie. You’re a big guy, you gotta take two,” Y/N chuckled, filling a paper cup with water for him. Y/N wasn’t exactly how tall Namjoon was, but he had to be at least six foot four. Hybrids tended to be taller than humans anyways, but Namjoon’s height was still startling from time to time.

“I’m trusting you not to poison me,” Namjoon narrowed his eyes, apparently cracking a joke. She watched him through the mirror toss the pills back, following the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

“Why would I poison you? You’re too precious to me, silly,” Y/N grouched, poking him repeatedly on his sweater-clad chest. The wolf hybrid caught her wrist after the third poke, his amber eyes burning.

“You mean that?” He asked quietly, thumb brushing over her wrist bone. With a tiny intake of air, Y/N smiled at Namjoon gently, curling her fingers around his thumb. Y/N knew that Namjoon, as a wolf hybrid, needed consistent reassurances of loyalty, and whenever he got it, he both glowed and became unsure.

“I mean it, of course I mean it. Come on, Bug. I’ll make you an ice pack, you keep rubbing your jaw,” Y/N squeezed his thumb, and the intense desire to kiss him had her shoving down the sensation aggressively. “How’s japchae sounding to you tonight?”

“You’re ordering from Haju? Uh… I want to try the knife cut noodles,” Namjoon brightened up, letting Y/N drag him along by his thumb.

“You can order anything you want, that’s our policy in this house,” Y/N pushed him onto a barstool in the kitchen, blowing a kiss to Yoongi making tea on the stove. “Angel, do you know where that fabric ice pack went? Joon had a cavity, I think he should ice his jaw.”

“Third drawer to the left of the stove, baby,” Yoongi responded without looking up from the kettle he was standing over, instantly beginning to purr when Y/N pressed a kiss on the nape of his neck. “Take it easy on the sweets from now on, wolf.”

Namjoon snarled, hair on his tail standing on edge, though his fingertips were inching towards the cookie jar on the island, so Yoongi was correct to warn him.

“I wouldn’t do that, Joonie. Wait a few days to have sweets–” Y/N began, handing him the ice pack before her speech was cut off by her phone ringing in her pocket. The caller ID showed that it was Ben, which had her pulse galloping. “Oh. One sec.”

“Ben, hi. You’re on speaker, Yoongi and Namjoon are here,” Y/N swallowed thickly, praying for some good news. Namjoon was frozen in his seat, the ice pack pressed to his jaw, while Yoongi shakily poured himself a mug of tea. “Um. Any news?”

“Hey, guys. I’m sorry, this man is a fuckin’ prick.”

“Oh, great. What the fuck did he do?” Y/N put her head in her hands, Yoongi petting the back of her head gingerly.

“Even with the restraining order, he still wants to take you to court. Y/N, I don’t want you to worry. He cannot take your hybrids. If anything, if his lawyer miraculously ends up being better than me, you might have to pay him what he gave Gerry for the deposits. Oh, and when this blows over, I can help you sue Gerry for giving up private information,” Ben sounded like he was furiously taking notes on the other line, though his tone was soothing.

“R-really? You’re certain he can’t take them?”

“I’m positive. The only way that would be possible would be if his ‘deposit’ was more than what you paid to adopt them, and even then, the chances would be slim to zero. The jury would be in your favor, Y/N.”

“Ben, you’re not sugar coating things for me, are you?” Y/N leaned into Yoongi, his sweet cologne curling around her.

“No, and you know I’d never. Not about something like this. Listen, Y/N, Yoongi, Namjoon– you’ll be perfectly safe. I’m gonna give that prick the fight of his life, if you don’t kill him first, Y/N,” Ben replied, the prickly sound of him scratching his beard coming through the receiver, before adding quickly– “Not that I’m encouraging that, Y/N. Stay as far away from him as you can.”

“Of course. We’ve been sticking close to home,” Y/N felt a weight lifting from her shoulders, even Yoongi relaxing beside her, his ever-constant purring resuming. “Thanks for everything, Ben. I love you.”

“Love you too, kid. Take care of each other, alright? I’ll call you when I have an update.”

Breathing out slowly, Y/N pet the back of Yoongi’s head when she hung up.

“That’s good news. We’ll be okay,” Y/N said encouragingly, Yoongi melting into her touch. “I’m gonna order some dinner, then we can pick out a movie or something. Maybe have another poker tournament. I don’t know, I feel like we should celebrate.”

“One step closer to getting that motherfucker out of our lives,” Yoongi agreed, glaring at Namjoon when the wolf hybrid tried to get himself a cookie again. “I wish I could kill him.”

“Me too, but alas,” Y/N sighed, wagging her finger at Namjoon. “Joon, I’m serious. Cool it with the cookies for a few days.”

“What were you doing upstairs? I heard loud banging,” Yoongi changed the subject while Y/N began compiling an online order of an ungodly amount of Korean food.

“Oh, I put up Tae’s pictures. You know, the portraits of all of us. I’m so happy, they look beautiful…” Y/N answered distractedly, Yoongi’s tail winding around her leg. “Hmm. You think Seokjin would want naengmyeon? I think he’d like that… he did tell me once he’d try anything… but yeah! Check out the pictures when you can. All of my beautiful boys.”

Distantly, she heard Namjoon grunt, and when she cast a look at him, his face was rather flushed and he was gawking at the window into the backyard. He was always rather bashful with compliments, something that endeared him to her.

“Can you get me bulgogi? Please,” Hoseok made an appearance, drawing out the syllables of his words. “My gums hurt. I think the tech scraped them too hard.”

“At least you didn’t have a drill in your mouth,” Namjoon responded to Hoseok’s complaint bitterly, and to Hoseok’s credit, he managed a merry laugh. It seemed like, those days, Hoseok wasn’t intimidated by Namjoon any more. Leave it to a stressful situation to bring everyone together.

“You’re very brave, wolf,” Yoongi drawled, sipping his tea placidly.

“I missed you guys so much today,” Y/N snorted, the lack of their banter during the afternoon striking her all of a sudden. Hoseok, on his way to the fridge, pinched her cheek like an elderly aunt, Y/N rolling her eyes. When she turned, she noticed Taehyung distractedly organizing items on the coffee bar, staring at her strangely again. She decided she’d take that over him avoiding her any day, adding the stew he wanted to the order and getting him extra rice.

Taehyung was pacing around his room like a madman. If it went on for much longer, he could see the floorboards taking on impressions of his footprints. Stopping by the window, he froze when he saw Y/N ambling in the direction of the pond in the backyard, where the guesthouse was. While no one explicitly said anything, all the hybrids knew– it was all in Seokjin’s scent. Y/N was probably preparing that space for the two of them to get privacy during the jaguar hybrid’s rut. Taehyung would be a liar if he didn’t admit he was nearly boiling alive in his own jealousy.

“Look at her. Hauling heavy shit out there all by herself,” Taehyung rested his forehead on the cool glass pane, biting down on his lip when she stumbled over a stray stone, almost dropping the space heater she was carrying.

Taehyung realized a simple truth. Y/N loved them all, he knew it. He knew it, but he had been too terrified to confront her about it, to confirm whether or not she loved him like he had grown to love her. Cursing, Taehyung sprung into action when Y/N tripped again, this time sending her into the grass. Like a bat out of hell, he sprinted down the stairs and out into the yard without a single thought, not aware that he could even move that fast.

Y/N was still reeling in the grass, the space heater beside her, the fabric of her floral skirt fanning out around her. Her eyes widened when she saw Taehyung hurrying over to her, his chest heaving.

“Y/N,” Taehyung crouched, pushing strands of hair in her face aside. Stiffening, he caught the scent of her blood, heart stopping dead in his chest as he looked her over. “You’re hurt!”

“...huh? Tae?” Y/N was confused, like the rock she had tripped over hit her on the head. Was she dreaming? Was Taehyung really the one running trembling hands over her body?

“Your leg,” Taehyung sounded pained, spotting a jagged cut on her shin. “Why didn’t you ask for help? Where is everybody?”

“The store… needed a few things. Joonie, Jeongguk…” Y/N, dazedly, pointed off to the distance, probably the driveway where the van was parked. Taehyung was too busy staring at the blood rolling down her leg. “I’m okay. I’ll get a bandaid after I bring this space heater to the–”

She was interrupted by Taehyung removing his red flannel, tearing strips of fabric from the bottom of it with his teeth. Blinking at his sharp canines, Y/N was sufficiently shut up, watching the Kodiak hybrid mop up her blood with a concentrated expression. His grip around her calf was tender, but Y/N could tell he was irritated with her as he tied the makeshift bandage around her leg.

“Can you stand?” Taehyung caught her eyes, trying not to drown in the color of them. Based on her scent, Taehyung knew she could tell he was ticked. “Let me help you up. No, I’ll carry that to wherever you’re bringing it.”

Taehyung brought Y/N to her feet by hooking his hands under her armpits, her skirt fluttering in the wind as she held onto his shoulders for support. Gazing up at him, Taehyung noticed how easy it would be to lean down and kiss her. Clearing his throat, he released her, bending to scoop up the space heater.

“O-oh. Thank you,” Y/N whispered, Taehyung able to hear how fast her heart was racing. It got his hopes up.

“I’m assuming you wanna bring it there,” Taehyung gestured to the guest house by the pond, Y/N humming in agreement. “Seokjin’s rut coming up?”

“Ah– um. Yeah. I suppose it’s obvious, bringing all of these things out here,” Y/N said awkwardly, noting that Taehyung was slowing down his pace so she could keep up with him. Taehyung didn’t reply, letting Y/N open the door to the small building, the Kodiak hybrid strolling in and placing the space heater next to the loveseat.

“It’s nice in here,” Taehyung offered, taking a good look around. Y/N had put all of Seokjin’s favorite comforts in the space, the jaguar hybrid’s scent coming heavily off of the fuzzy blankets, piles of his pajamas, and even the stuffed animal he often carried around.

“Yeah, it is. I totally forgot this was such an awesome space. We can probably use it this summer to watch movies,” Y/N began to recover from her stumble, straightening out the stack of DVDs on the coffee table. “I think that’ll be fun. I’m looking forward to spending summer with you guys. We can make day trips to the beach.”

Taehyung made a lap of the circular room, peeking up at the loft where the bed was. Y/N kept rambling to fill the silence, which was making her somewhat nervous.

“Plus we’ll have the garden in full bloom, so I can teach you all how to dry herbs. Jimin says he knows how to make jam, so he can pass that knowledge onto us, too. He’s been working so hard on the greenhouse and the garden beds, it’s going to be the best,” Y/N’s gaze was far away as she looked out the window, admiring the garden beds a few yards away. Taehyung caught that scent again– the syrupy sweet one that Y/N took on when she complimented them.

“You must really love him,” Taehyung remarked quietly, referring to Jimin but his eyes on Seokjin’s stuffed alpaca. He wondered if Y/N would take the bait as she almost broke her neck to stare at him.

“H-him? Seokjin?”

“Jimin,” Taehyung shook his head, finally mustering up his courage. “Seokjin too, obviously. But you love Jimin as well.”

Y/N’s mouth opened and closed, completely caught off guard. Taehyung’s confidence surged when she had no reply, taking a step closer to her.

“How can you t-tell?” Dizzy, Y/N saw something vulnerable swimming in his carmine eyes, astonished that they were finally having the conversation the two of them were skirting around for weeks.

“Scent. The way you talk about him. The way you look at him,” Taehyung rattled off, ticking the items off on his lithe fingers. “And it’s not just him. You love Hoseok, especially when he teases you. You talk about Namjoon like he hung the moon and you love Jeongguk despite his poor attitude.”

Y/N was too shocked for words, her hands shaking, so Taehyung continued.

“And it just makes me wonder…”

“Wonder what?” Y/N found her voice, Taehyung taking one of her hands gingerly.

“It makes me wonder if there’s any space left in your heart,” Taehyung whispered, plunging straight into the deep end, wanting to swallow the gasp Y/N made. “Do you love me?”

A tear slipped down Y/N’s cheek, unaware they even gathered in the first place. Swiftly, Taehyung brushed it away, his thumb warm on her skin.

“Tell me, please,” Taehyung begged, unable to bear not belonging to her for a single moment further.

“I love you,” Y/N’s voice cracked, wrapping her hand around Taehyung’s wrist and leaning her cheek into his palm. “There’s always been space for you in my heart. Always. Tae–”

“You love me?”

“Yes, so much,” Y/N was shaking like a leaf, heart threatening to break free from its cage, and to calm herself down and reassure her Kodiak hybrid, she pressed a kiss to the base of his palm. “I’m so sorry you thought I didn’t know.”

With a shuddering breath, Taehyung shut his eyes, letting go of her face in favor of winding his arms around her waist. He pulled her so close, he thought their souls would merge, Y/N melting into his chest and clutching at his white tee shirt. Nuzzling into the crook of her neck, Taehyung drank in her scent, sweeter than ever since he confirmed the reciprocation of his feelings.

“I’m sorry, Tae. It would have been easier for you if I was braver. I love you. I’ll tell you every day from now on,” Y/N babbled into his chest, not caring that it was difficult to breathe with the way Taehyung was squeezing her.

The Kodiak hybrid’s ears were practically ringing, he was so elated. He never felt that way before, and it was entirely overwhelming. He couldn’t wait a second longer, so lifting her body easily, he pressed her to the window and crashed his lips down onto hers.

A muffled noise of surprise passed from Y/N’s mouth to his, Y/N’s arms around Taehyung’s neck to hold on tight. Pinned to the wall by the hybrid, Y/N was consumed by him, surrounded by his sandalwood cologne, and tasting honey on his tongue when he slipped it into her mouth. It was like he was trying to eat her whole, his kisses rough and all-consuming, and Y/N loved it. Carding a hand through his curls, she whimpered when he sucked on her lower lip.

Taehyung couldn’t get enough. Now that he had kissed her, he didn’t know how he could go another day without one. When his lungs started to ache from lack of oxygen, he paused, their lips centimeters apart. When he opened his eyes, Y/N was already looking at him. Cupping one of his cheeks in her hand, Y/N kissed his forehead softly, and when she pulled away, Taehyung was smiling at her, teeth and all. Y/N couldn’t remember the last time she saw it in all its glory, but she was delighted to see it once more. Taehyung wondered if he’d ever stop smiling when he ducked back down for another kiss.

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

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youunravelme · 4 months

Text

nothing happened in the way i wanted part 2

author's note: okay so here's part 2! sorry for making you wait, i like the anticipation lololol

summary: a year has passed and you are no closer to understanding why matt ended things and you have every plan of avoiding that thought until he comes back in town for the offseason, then suddenly he's everywhere.

pairing: matthew tkachuk x reader

warnings: ANGST, friends to lovers to exes to lovers, mention of sexual assault, attempted sexual assault, drinking, depression, panic attacks, let me know if i missed something! (these include the trigger warnings from part 1)

before

a piece of plastic should not be that big of a deal.

but it is when there are two pink lines staring back at you.

weren’t you and matt careful? he always wore condoms, you were on birth control, you two were so careful all the time—

wait.

shit.

except for a few weeks ago.

you were wearing a red bikini at a pool party and matt had tugged you into the guest bathroom. he didn’t have any condoms and you assured him it was fine.

but maybe it wasn’t fine.

because there were two fucking pink lines staring back at you. and the worst part? matt wouldn’t be home for another two hours or so.

you were hyperventilating, surely. that’s why you felt like you couldn’t breathe?

oh god.

you were going to have to figure out how to raise a child while matt was on the road. oh god, what if he didn’t want the baby? what if you didn’t want the baby? what if he didn’t want the baby or you?

you were pacing back and forth in your living room when matt came home, arms full of bags from his workout. they immediately dropped when he saw the look on your face.

“what’s wrong?” he asked. “what happened? did someone die?”

you shook your head and burst into more tears. it was a mere second before you were wrapped up in his arms, one of his hands stroked your hair while the other stayed firmly put around your waist.

“baby, you’re scaring me.” at the sound of the pet name, you sobbed even harder. baby. there was a baby.

“i’m sorry, matty, i’m sorry,” you managed to get out between cries.

“what’re you sorry for, huh? you haven’t done anything wrong, have you?”

your hands were shaking as you pulled back from him, opening your palm to show the piece of plastic in your hand.

“what—” but matt seemed to have lost his voice at the sight of the pink lines staring back at him. “oh,” was the only thing he found fit to say.

“i’m sorry, matty. i thought it would be fine, but i went to the dollar store because i didn’t have any money and this was the only test available and—”

matt tugged you back into his chest. “it’s okay. we’ll figure it out.”

“we’re too young!” you wailed. “barely 20.”

“it’s one test, we’ll take another and if it’s still positive, we’ll go to the doctor,” he murmured against your hair. “wait,” he started. “where did you say you got the test?”

you pulled back, confused as to why his voice took a sudden turn from concern to something you couldn’t quite place. “dollar store, why?”

matt laughed. he threw his head back and laughed. “baby,” he started. “you chose a cheap test, it could be a false positive.”

you blinked. “is that how that works? i didn’t think—”

“let’s get another test, and we’ll take it, together.”

matt drove you both to the pharmacy, his hand on your thigh the entire ride. he went in alone, grabbed a box of clear blue and a bag of sour patch kids before he came back out. you almost burst into tears at the sight. as you ripped into the bag, matt’s hand found its way back to your thigh, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns into your pants leg.

the sour patch kids had done the job of calming your nerves for the moments leading up to retaking a pregnancy test. matt held your hand while the two of you waited for the timer to go off.

“whatever the result is, i’m with you,” he mumbled against the side of your head. and when the timer went off, matt was the one to check it, you were too overwrought with nerves. he didn’t even check the test, wanting you to see the result first.

negative.

a sigh escaped your mouth. your shoulders sagged as tears came to your eyes. relief wasn't a strong enough word to describe how you were feeling in that moment. matt pressed a kiss against your temple and wrapped you in his arms.

“one day,” he said. “just not today.”

after

maybe you were a bit of a coward, waiting for tuesday to come around before you texted matt a good time to meet. you waited until the last two minutes of your lunch break before you sent him a message. the second you heard the whoosh sound, you put your phone on do not disturb and shoved it in your bag so you could forget about it.

frankie popped his head into the studio while you were hunched over a canvas, carefully scraping away the back side of it to clean.

“you busy?” he asked.

you looked up before glancing down at the giant canvas in front of you. “i can take a small break, my back is killing me. do you need me to clean up? how long do you need me?”

frankie shrugged. “not long, so you don’t have to put anything away. i just wanted to talk to you about your future.”

your stomach dropped. “is this a segue into firing me?”

“you’re so dramatic,” frankie chuckled. “no, you’re not being fired. i’m more so trying to get you in a place where you can be compensated fairly one day.”

you blinked. “are you not compensating me fairly right now?”

frankie rolled his eyes. “you have a lot of talent, and unfortunately, i can’t pay you any more until you get a graduate degree in art conservation.”

confused, you nodded. “i know,” you said. “i started here for experience to use on grad school applications.”

“and have you applied anywhere yet?”

you opened your mouth and then promptly shut it again. no, no you had not.

frankie sighed and placed his hands on his hips. “look, you’re talented, i’ve said that plenty of times already and i want you to be successful, whether that’s as a conservator or an independent freelance painter. what i don’t want is you staying in st. louis forever in this job waiting around for something to happen.”

waiting for something to happen.

waiting.

what exactly were you waiting for?

frankie continued. “i’ve emailed you some of the best conservation programs in the states if that’s a route you wanna go. i honestly think you could do conservation or freelance painting, you’d be great at either, but that’s a choice only you can make. if you want to go to grad school, i will gladly write as many letters of recommendations as you’d need, i’d even help you by asking clients for some if that’s what you want, but the ball is in your court.”

for a moment, you were floored, truly astounded that someone would go through those lengths to help you figure out your life. for now, all you could manage to say was a “thank you.”

“anytime,” frankie replied.

he left the studio room shortly thereafter so you could continue the mindless scraping once more.

when the work day was finally done, your hand was sore from the constant repetitive motions and your back ached from hunching over. but at least the scraping was done.

you grabbed your bag and car keys and headed out the front door. the aux was the first thing you reached for after locking yourself in the car. it wasn’t until you searched your bag to grab your phone that you remembered the text you sent matt earlier that day, the reason why your phone was on do not disturb.

you:

what does your week look like?

matt had responded two minutes after your initial text.

matty:

i’m free tonight, or any other time you’re free.

you rolled your eyes but couldn't stop the smile on your face.

you:

i just got off work, let me go home and change and we can find a place to meet.

you barely managed to get the music flowing through the aux when your phone buzzed with a text.

matty:

you can always stop by the house? mom, dad, and taryn would love to see you. we could go on a walk around the neighborhood...

your stomach churned at the thought, it felt a little too close, too familiar. but there were very few places in that city that wouldn’t spark some sort of memory for you. you grew up there, you grew up there with matt. there were seldom spaces that weren’t deeply intertwined in your co written story with him.

you:

that’s fine.

neither of your parents were home when you got there, which was probably for the best, it meant you wouldn’t get asked where you were going or why you agreed to talk to matt after all this time.

you made the drive to his parents’ house. it felt as familiar as putting on the old t-shirt you’d stolen from your mom before you left for college. you didn’t need the gps, even after the time had passed.

you parked in the same spot you always did when you finally got a car to drive to matthew’s. it wasn’t like that spot on the street was used very often, not when you were dating at least. matt hated making you drive, especially when his car was newer and better and by all of his standards, safer than yours.

by the time you made it onto the front porch, taryn was opening the front door and smiling so wide, her eyes were squinting.

“you’re here!” she shrieked. it was only a matter of seconds before you were wrapped in her arms. “what brings you here?”

your mouth opened to respond, but you were promptly cut off.

“she’s with me.”

matt appeared over taryn’s shoulder looking every bit the man you fell in love with all those years ago.

taryn pulled back from the hug, her eyes wide. “what? she’s with—”

“not like that,” you smiled gently. “just came to talk, figure some things out.”

“are you staying for dinner?”

you looked at matt, unsure if that was something he’d even want. “it’s up to you, i won't force you to stay,” he said.

you shrugged. “we’ll play it by ear.”

matt nodded and moved past taryn. “you good for a walk?” he asked, eyes never once leaving your face. and you couldn’t help but stare back, getting lost in the pools of blue that once were your whole world. you felt yourself nod right before following him down the stairs and off the porch.

neither of you said anything until you were both sure his family couldn’t see you from their house anymore.

“thank you,” you said. “i should’ve said that the other night.”

matt shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. “you don't need to thank me for that. i’m sorry that happened.”

“you couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.”

“i could’ve told the bartender to stop giving him drinks when i saw how drunk you were.”

your head whipped to the side to look at him, but matt wouldn’t return your stare. his jaw was tightly clenched. “how’d you even know i was there?”

mat shrugged and kicked a rock out of the way. “i always notice you, even when i don’t mean to.”

there were no words coming to your mind, nothing you could say could add to the conversation. so you nodded and looked ahead of you.

“i wanted to apologize—”

“matt—”

“for everything.”

you stopped walking altogether. “don’t,” you said. “don’t say that. don’t apologize.”

matt’s brows pulled together, the corners of his lips turned down. “why?”

“because i don’t want it.” words you thought you’d never say.

did you mean them? it felt like you did. for months, you’d waited for a moment for him to apologize, to admit that he regretted it. but now that you were faced with this decision, you weren’t sure it was an apology you wanted.

“what do you want, then?” he asked, earnestly this time.

you looked down at your beaten up hokas, the ones you bought after moving back to missouri, needing something that didn’t used to stay in the apartment you shared with matthew. the shoes were only a few months old, but they were discolored and dirty. you wore them to work, and often got droplets of solvent or paint on them when you weren’t paying attention.

matt’s foot nudged your own. “what do you want?” he repeated.

“did you cheat on me?” your eyes were still trained on the ground, so you didn’t see the look of hurt in matt’s eyes. you only saw the way he stepped back immediately.

“what?” he asked, pain clear in his voice. “why would you think that? i would never do that to you. you have to know that, please know that i’d never cheat on you.”

you shrugged, still not making eye contact. maybe you were scared if you did, you’d start crying, and he’d seen you cry enough times since he’d been back in town. “you broke up with me over a five minute phone call, matt. it was out of the blue, didn’t make any sense. the only reason i could think of was that you got tired of me and found someone better.”

matt scoffed. “i could never find someone better than you,” he said. “and never in my wildest dreams or thoughts did i ever even consider cheating on you.”

you finally met his eyes. the once bright blue irises were now darker, whether in pain or anger, you didn’t know. you weren’t sure how much had changed with him since the break up. “then why’d you end it? why’d you wait until you were traded and nearly halfway into the season to tell me it’s over?”

“because i didn’t want you to move to florida.”

you figured as much, but it still stung hearing it confirmed.

“why?” you asked.

“because you kept putting off your life for me! i hated it!” matt was pacing now, shoving his hands through his hair.

at the same time, your head tilted. you wanted answers. you wanted the reason why he'd ended things out of nowhere and the reason he just gave you wasn’t enough. “what’re you talking about?”

matt stopped moving long enough to fix you with a look. “you wanted to go to ucla until i committed to notre dame. and then when i signed with calgary, you transferred after a year.”

“so?”

matt scoffed. “so?”

“i wanted to do that!”

“and i wanted you to be yourself, i wanted you to chase your dreams without worrying about me, without altering your life just to stay with me!”

you stepped back. “so you didn’t want me with you?”

“that’s not what i said!”

“then what are you trying to say, matt? we’re just not compatible? headed in two different directions?”

“i—” he groaned and ran a hand down his face before shoving that same hand through his disheveled curls. “i wanted to do right by you. you are so gifted, and you could’ve gone to any school you wanted, but you followed me. i didn’t want to be the reason you never got to do what makes you happy.”

“so you took the one thing i wanted away from me?”

“you weren’t going to choose yourself! you were never going to choose yourself, so i did.”

“that wasn’t your choice to make, matt!” you couldn’t help but want to rip your hair out. who was he to think he could make decisions for you?

he took a step closer to you before immediately stepping backwards and pacing. “i have known you my entire life,” he said. it was an exaggeration, you both knew it, but as you both got older, it was harder to remember the years before you were in each other’s lives. “you are the kindest person i know, the best person i know. you have made more than enough sacrifices for me, for this game i love. but i was tired of being the only one living out their dream. you love art, or at least you did. you loved it, you painted all the time growing up. but when you moved to calgary? you stopped. you went to my games, galas, team events, instead. i wanted you to have something that you loved just as much as i love hockey.”

“and what if that was you? what if i was okay just supporting you?”

he shook his head adamantly. “you deserve more than that. i love you too much to let you live like that.”

you furrowed your brow. “live like what? supporting the love of my life as he lives out his dreams?” you tentatively took a step closer to him, imploring matt to look at you. “why is that such a bad thing?”

“because what if it’s not enough?” he looked up. you were shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes. “what if one day, you wake up next to me and resent me for dragging you all over the continent for a stupid sport?”

“it’s not a stupid sport—”

“it is when i’ve seen it ruin people, ruin their relationships.”

“but you ruined ours when you broke up with me, matt. how does that make any sense?” his mouth opened and shut once, twice, three times before he avoided your eyes altogether. “matt, how does that make sense?” you took a step towards him, slowly but moving. “matt?”

“i could handle it if you hated me,” he said. “i could learn to live with it if it meant you got to be happy in the end.”

your heart broke, your face crumpled as you watched the man you’d loved for a decade shuffle shoe around what he was actually trying to say. “why couldn’t i be happy with you, matt? why isn’t that possible in your mind?”

you waited for him to say something. it felt like you waited forever. but you would’ve waited for the cows to come home if it meant honesty from him.

“because i’m never gonna be enough for that.”

you thought the phone call from six months ago ripped your heart in half, you fully believed he’d done the most damage then. if your heart was going to be broken again, surely it would be when you would inevitably see another girl hanging off his arm at brady and emma’s wedding.

but there you were, standing in front of the man you still loved, heart breaking even worse because he believed he wasn’t enough. he wasn’t enough.

“matt—”

“to me? you’re everything. you’re literally the smartest person i know and you’re so talented and kind and considerate.” he laughed a little under his breath. “i still remember you shaking in the goal while i practiced my shots. i was waiting for you to say you didn’t want to do it, but you did it because you knew how much it meant to me.”

you smiled as you remembered the moment he was talking about. you were eleven and your crush on matt was just starting to form. you would’ve done anything he asked even if it meant flinching every two seconds.

“breaking up with you was the worst thing i’ve ever done, but if it meant sparing you the life of forever being forced to follow me around, it would be worth it.”

you stepped closer to him, uncaring that the two of you had been having this conversation in the middle of the sidewalk of his neighborhood. “who put this idea in your head, matt? was it me? was it—”

“your parents.”

you barely even heard the “what” leave your lips, so you were unsure how matt did. he looked as uncomfortable as you felt.

“i was gonna propose when you moved to florida. i bought the ring before the season ended and over the summer i had every intention of asking your dad for his blessing.” matt cleared his throat before finally looking up at the sky. the sun, thankfully, was beginning to set, golden hour was coming soon. “you’d gone out with our moms, emma, and taryn, and i went over to your house to talk to your dad.”

you weren’t liking where the story was going.

“he asked if i would quit hockey for you.”

your stomach dropped to your feet.

“when i said i would in a heartbeat, he didn’t believe me.”

your stomach was in the core of the earth.

“matt...”

he swallowed and looked at you. “i would do it, you know. if you’d asked me, i would’ve given hockey up in a heartbeat to keep you.”

“i know, matty, i know,” you said, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. “what else did my dad say?”

matt shook his head.

“matt,” you implored.

but he didn't relent.

“matthew.” you took a step closer, finally, after months of little to no physical contact, your hand cupped his cheek. and like he had no control over his body, like he was acting on pure instinct, he leaned into your palm. “what did he say?”

he shook his head again. “i can’t.”

“you can.” you stroked your thumb along his cheekbone.

“he asked if this was the life i wanted for you. the moving around, the fighting, the crazy schedules, the tweets, all of it. he asked verbatim if that’s the kind of life i wanted you to live, if i wanted you under a microscope for the rest of our lives. he told me that he knew why i was there, and that if i thought you’d be happy to a life like that, then he'd give me his blessing.”

your hand shook a little, but matt’s hand steadied it against his face.

“it’s not that i thought you were weak,” he clarified. “it’s not that i didn’t want you, because i did. i just didn’t want you to be stuck with me for the rest of our lives.”

“is that what he said? that if we got married, i’d be shackled to you?”

matt shrugged, but in his silence, you found the answer.

“matty,” again, the nickname slipping out before you could stop it. “i’m sorry, you should’ve said something—”

“and cause problems between you and your dad?” he shook his head. “you love him, i wasn’t gonna come between that.”

you could’ve cried at that sentiment. after all this time, he was still looking out for you. “thank you, matt. thank you for being honest.”

he gave you a small smile, one that broke your heart as much as it mended it. “you staying for dinner?”

the temptation was there, to go inside and sit in your old seat next to him, to feel your shoulders brush like they used to when the two of you were still together. maybe you’d laugh at something brady said, maybe you’d compliment chantal on her cooking.

but there were bigger fish to fry at home in the shape of your father.

so you shook your head no. “i think you know i have to go.”

matt nodded. “i get it.”

the two of you turned around and started walking back to your car. in the end, you didn’t walk very far so you were standing next to your vehicle in a matter of minutes.

“thank you for agreeing to talk,” matt said, his hands shoved deep in his pocket.

“thanks for telling me the truth.”

matt opened your door and braced his forearm on the roof of your car while you got in. “i’ll see you around?” he asked.

you smiled. “don’t be a stranger, tkachuk.”

he laughed and knocked on the roof of your car before shutting the door. you watched him in your rearview mirror as you drove away. all the years you were together, there were only a few times you could remember walking away from him.

the drive home was quiet, you were stewing on what you'd say to your dad when you got back. you were pissed, upset, angry.

but most importantly, you were in agony.

the man you loved your whole life let you hate him for six months so you wouldn't hate your dad. he let you make him into a villain so you had the support of your parents.

and maybe it was that thought process that had you throwing your car in park and storming up to your childhood home and all but slamming the front door wide open.

your mom and dad were sitting in the living room, neither of them interacting with the other in any meaningful way. no, this wasn’t the tkachuk house. your parents weren’t in love anymore, they were content with the idea of not having to find anyone else.

“matt was gonna propose to me?” you asked, chest already heaving from the anger coursing through your body. your eyes were on fire, if looks could kill and such.

your dad, to his credit, managed to catch onto what you were talking about immediately and put his book down.

but your mom cut in. “sweetheart, what're you—”

“ask him,” you interrupted, but didn't spare her a single glance, something you'd apologize for later. “go ahead, ask him what i’m talking about. ask dad why matt broke up with me out of nowhere.”

“honey....” your dad started. you waited for him to continue, to justify something, to say it was a huge misunderstanding, but he said nothing.

“alan, what is she talking about?”

you still wouldn't look at your mom. your eyes were fixed on the figure of your father who sat still in his recliner. “i went to talk to matt today, get some closure, figure out what went wrong with us. dad convinced matthew that i would feel shackled to him if he proposed, if we got married. he planted this idea in matt’s head that he wouldn’t be enough to keep me happy.”

that seemed to be enough to get your dad speaking. “you have so much potential, honey, i didn’t want to see it wasted chasing him around.”

you rolled your eyes. “i was happy to do it. he was everything to me.”

“and you should’ve been everything. you should want to be great, you should want to be a great painter, you should want to accomplish great things.” your dad gestured between himself and your mother. “you think we want this for you? to choose a partner just based on love? what happens when that love runs out? what happens when you get married, have kids, and matthew get bored on the road? what then?”

your stomach twisted at the thought. “matt would never.”

“maybe not, honey. but you have to understand, i was looking out for you.”

you scoffed before you could stop yourself. “looking out for me? you literally held me while i sobbed a few weeks ago and told me that maybe matt had changed when you knew damn well the reason things had ended.” you ran a hand down your face and laughed bitterly. “do you wanna know the worst part about this? you let me believe the worst things about the man who has loved me most of my life.

“you let me hate the man who wanted nothing more than to protect my happiness. and then you had me going on absolute bullshit pep talks to myself every morning where i’d tell myself i’m fine, that matthew brendan tkachuk was just a guy i dated for almost half my life and that there are plenty of fish in the sea to choose from. and that i’m a woman, a strong, intelligent, and capable woman that any man would be lucky to have! but i went on a date the other night and something really awful almost happened, but matt was there and he made sure i was okay. he took my vitriol in stride, he protected me without ruining my life, something you can’t seem to do.”

your dad, to his credit took your spewing words with a straight face. he didn’t interrupt you once.

your shoulders were heaving with the force of breaths you were taking to get all those words out. your heart was pounding in your chest. you were angry. angry. angry.

until it dissipated at the look on your parents’ faces.

tears replaced the anger quite quickly.

“i get you were trying to protect me, but you should’ve seen the look on his face when he told me. dad, i love you, but you damn near ruined my life.”

your father nodded, a shattered look on his face. “sweetheart i—if i’d known—” he cleared his throat. “i’m sorry. i thought i was doing right by you, trying to keep you from making the same mistakes.”

“and what mistakes are those? falling in love? getting married to the person you loved? getting to live the rest of your life together?”

“falling complacent,” your mother said. “getting too comfortable, becoming roommates instead of lovers.” your mother was picking at her nail beds, refusing to look at either of you. “i was not a part of the conversation your dad had with matthew, but i will not lie and say that your behavior didn’t concern me, because it did.” your mother held a hand up when you opened your mouth. “you didn’t have any ambition! you were sacrificing your dreams for him, aimlessly following him.”

“mom—”

“i have found myself lost before, lost in this marriage, lost in motherhood, lost in my job. i did not want that for you, neither of us did.” your mother stood from her seat on the couch and walked towards you. she placed her hand on your cheek. “i know you love him, and maybe he’s your person, but we did not,” she cleared her throat, “i did not want you to grow up regretting and resenting matt because you were too young to know what you wanted.”

your mom’s thumb traced your cheekbone. she stared you down with the eyes that matched your own. “do you remember when you were younger, you would draw these beautiful pieces with your colored pencils?”

you nodded.

“you don’t draw anymore, sweetheart. your art supplies are still in a box in the attic where they have been since you've moved back home. from my viewpoint, i see the little girl i raised chasing the man she loves and neglecting herself in the process. you’ve spent most of your life following matthew, but what about you? when will it be your turn?”

your bottom lip wobbled.

you were nine years old again, showing matt the self portrait you did and watching his face light up.

“you should draw me sometime!” he said.

and you did. all through middle school, high school, undergrad, all of it was matt matt matt matt matt. even if it wasn’t his face, even if it wasn’t hockey related, it was matt. the colors swirling together, the passion beneath the oils, all of it reflecting him.

you were so pissed at your dad, for telling matt what he did, but you were pissed at yourself as well, for neglecting who you were.

who were you anyway?

the fight left you pretty soon after your mother’s words were spoken. the hard truth of them still lingered in the air.

you went to bed that night and stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine what you would paint if the surface was a canvas instead.

before

you would’ve never picked up your phone had you known what was waiting on the other side of it.

the day started off simple enough. your apartment was a mess, usually at that time of year, it would be covered in christmas decorations and presents would be wrapped under the tree you and matt picked out from a tree farm. this time, there were boxes strewn about the room in anticipation of the move you’d be making to florida in just a few weeks. the plan was you’d fly into st. louis and have all your belongings that you didn’t need to survive, shipped to your new home in florida.

you were in the middle of packing up the last of your summer clothes into a box when matt called. it felt like a flip had been switched, because any exhaustion that was set deep in your bones from the work week disappeared the second you saw his contact photo on your lock screen.

“hey!” you said, smile so wide, your cheeks ached. “how’re you doing?”

“hey,” he replied, but his voice sounded off.

“everything okay?” you asked. “i saw the game last night, i’m sorry about the loss.”

“don’t worry about it.”

“oh,” you said. “well i have most of the apartment packed up, just need to put the rest of my clothes in my suitcases. i’ve already arranged the rest of our things to be shipped and—”

“i don't think you should move to florida.”

all the words in the world and all you could say was “what?”

matt sighed over the other end of the phone. “i didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“but you still meant to say it?”

“look, this isn’t easy for me to admit but, i don’t think it’s a good idea for you to move to florida. i don't even think it’s a good idea to keep this going.”

“keep what going?”

he sighed again. “this, us, our relationship. i just don’t think it’s working.”

well that was news to you.

you swallowed, your hands were shaking. it wasn’t until you couldn’t see straight that you realized you were crying.

“since when? i thought we were fine! what did i miss? what can i do to fix this?”

the battle of alberta had nothing on matt’s silence ringing through the phone. with each passing second, you felt the hope of repairing and fixing your relationship dwindle.

“i don’t think there’s anything to fix.”

the world had stopped spinning, even as he continued on, talking about the next steps you'd need to take, how he would continue to pay the lease, he’d cover the moving expenses to switch destinations of your things.

it all made you want to vomit.

how could he speak about the logistics of your break up when you felt like you couldn’t get past the actual reality of your breakup? your world was caving in and he seemed fine.

at the end of the call, he apologized. “i’m sorry,” he said.

all you could say was “okay.”

five minutes, your phone said when you looked at the call log.

matthew tkachuk had ruined your life in five fucking minutes.

after

frankie had to be the weirdest boss you ever had. when you called him and said you needed a few days off to sort things out in your personal life, he jumped at the chance to tell you to take a day or two off immediately.

“i can’t pay you for those days, but if it means you feel better, go ahead and take off. we’ll be fine.”

which is how you ended up sitting in your room for eight hours, staring at a blank canvas.

your hands shook anytime you reached for a paintbrush. what if it was the wrong brush? the wrong color? what if it was bad? ugly? what if you hated it?

you'd communicated those same thoughts to simone over the phone when you called on her lunch break, trying to keep yourself from crying over a blank canvas.

“it’s gonna be difficult at first,” she started. “but you have to start somewhere, even if it’s just a dot in the middle of the canvas.”

and you'd repeated her words in your head, yet you couldn’t force yourself to do anything about it. this was supposed to be about you, yet everything you were doing reminded you of him. it was the particular blue you used to mix together to represent his eyes. it was the red from calgary. it was the yellow that reminded you of the t-shirt you wore when matt first kissed you.

what would you even paint? the living room of your first shared apartment? saddledome? this was supposed to be about you, so why did you keep wanting to make it about matt? what was wrong with you? your parents were right, you lost yourself in trying to be the most supportive girlfriend around.

the second day didn’t produce much results either and when you finally went back to work, you looked and felt like you hadn’t rested at all.

“that bad, huh?” frankie asked.

“i didn't think it’d be that hard to paint, it’s literally never been that hard before.”

“you gotta just let it go.” when he didn't say anything else, you gestured for him to continue. “stop expecting it to be a masterpiece or to be meaningful, art is about you, not perfection.”

“but—”

frankie held a hand up, just like your mother had. “when you're here, it’s about doing right by the painting, the art itself. when you create though, it’s about doing right by you.”

you floated through your workday, your fingers itched to do something more than scraping dirt and grime off the back of a canvas. they longed for the oil based paint to stick to them. they longed for the cramping in your hand that came from holding a brush too long.

but you started.

you turned on some classical music and started.

you weren’t even sure what you were painting until you were staring back at the ice rink in front of you, empty, just like you were feeling. you should’ve known it would've had something to do with ice.

maybe it was foolish to believe you could completely get rid of matt in one painting. you'd known him longer than you hadn’t. but frankie’s words kept echoing in your head.

it’s about doing right by you.

so instead of painting matt or his number, or the curls on top of his head, you painted something else entirely. blurred figures raced past a lone frame standing completely still. the slumped shoulders of the person in stuck in one place, the lack of proper equipment, no ice skates, no sweater.

after days of painting and plotting and painting and waiting, it was finished. an ice rink with a person completely stationary while life moves around her.

it wasn’t your best piece, but it was your most honest.

it was like a dam had been broken because you couldn’t stop painting the silly little pieces of your feelings. you were losing space in your bedroom, and your phone had been neglected for two weeks.

now, you still responded to texts in the bridesmaid group chat, and you texted simone frequently. but your brain was taken up by this reawakened, once dormant, passion of yours. it was all you could think about.

your fingers were practically permanently stained with paint. you hadn’t changed out of your paint clothes all weekend, living in the spandex and one of your dad’s old t-shirts. the past few days, you’d been a hermit, only leaving the house to go to work. and while you weren’t completely anti social, you weren’t going out of your way to get in contact with people.

your parents were out on a rare date night while you were up in your room adding little details to your painting. the music playing through your phone’s speakers had lulled you into another world. you were all but lost to reality.

thump.

you paused, brush poised over the canvas. you listened again for the sound but heard nothing. so you continued.

thump thump.

you glanced at the window just in time to see a rock hit it. before you could stop yourself, you sighed and chuckled.

you felt like you were in high school again.

when you opened your window, sure enough matt was standing outside with a handful of stones in his hands. “you busy?” he asked.

at the sight of his boyish smile, your heart leapt. “what’re you doing here?”

he shrugged. “just wanted to see you.”

be careful, your head warned you. he’s not yours anymore.

but your heart didn’t give a shit. try as hard as you might, you were almost positive you’d love matt the rest of your life. “you couldn’t knock on the door?”

he shrugged again. “i tried, you didn’t hear me.” he shifted on his feet. “so are you busy?”

you glanced back at the painting you'd been obsessing over all day and decided you could leave it for a little while. “gimme a sec.”

very quickly, you cleaned up your art supplies before you ran down the stairs. you snagged your keys out of the basket by the door and locked the front door behind you.

matt had moved off your lawn and was now propped up against the passenger door of his car. “wanna go for a drive?”

how could you deny him anything when he looked so happy to see you?

“you’ve been busy,” he said as soon as he pulled out of the driveway. you did your best not to pay attention to how good his arm looked behind your head rest as he backed out into the street.

“how do you figure?”

matt put the car in drive, but before he pulled away, he gestured to your forehead. “you have paint, everywhere.” you could feel the heat crawl up your neck as you opened the sun visor to look in the mirror. sure enough, streaks of paint covered your cheeks. matt reached over and shut it with one hand. “stop it,” he said. “you look great.”

“even with the paint?”

“especially with the paint. you look happy again.” a beat passed. “are you?”

you thought about it for a moment. a few weeks ago, you were in the trenches, suffocating in the unknown, drawing in questions that had no answers. and while you were still single, even as you sat in the passenger seat of the man that you still loved, you felt capable. you felt like you could handle life. no longer were you floating, waiting for a strong breeze to blow you away from your reality. you still might depend on having wind in your sails, but at least you were a boat with a steering wheel instead of a helium balloon.

“i think i’m getting there. i’m not as angry anymore, i’m painting again.” you gestured to your face. “though you could probably tell.

“what have you been painting?”

how could you explain it? how could you possibly articulate that while you were still searching for what it meant to be you, you had somehow uncovered fragments of yourself that you’d lost along the way?

“myself.”

matt smiled, his eyes crinkled in the corners. “that’s what i like to hear. you enjoying it?”

“more than i thought i would, once i got over the fear.”

“fear? what were you scared of?”

you picked at the dirt under your fingernails. “not being good enough.”

matt made a sound between a scoff and a snicker, like the words coming out of your mouth were so incredibly stupid it was both alarming and hilarious. “are you fucking with me? you’re the most talented person i know!”

you rolled your eyes before you could stop yourself. “you play with some of the best athletes in the world—”

“and none of them could hold a candle to you.” he braked easily when you came up to a red light.

and you weren’t sure why you said what you said next, maybe it was the intimacy of the environment or maybe, when it came down to it, you wanted matt to hear all your updates first.

“i think i’m gonna apply to more grad schools again. i talked to frankie, he gave me some information and said he’d write as many recommendations as i needed.”

you wanted to be brave and look at matthew, you wanted to see his reaction in real time. but you couldn’t bring yourself to. whether that was because the moment felt too intimate for eye contact between exes or the you were afraid you'd see real time disappointment, you weren’t sure.

“is that something you wanna do?” his voice was soft. you could feel his eyes on your profile.

that was a question you'd asked yourself over and over again. was it something you were legitimately interested in? or were you like every twenty-something who applies for grad school when they don't know what else to do?

“i think there's just as much beauty in restoring as there is in creating.” in a split second, you decided you could be brave, so you looked back at him. “i don’t think i should have to choose between one of the other.

matt nodded, his hands white against the steering wheel. “do you think everything deserves a chance at restoration?” he asked, his blue eyes filled with a sincerity only he could replicate.

“i think anything can be fixed if someone cares enough to try.”

feeling bold, you spared him a glance from the corner of your eye. matt had his head down for a brief moment, a small smile on his lips.

there were words that hung in the air like the car freshener on matt’s rearview mirror, yet neither of you spoke them. both of you were more than content to bask in the silence rather than answer unasked questions that you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

before

matt wasn’t at school that day, and you were the reason why. he hardly ever missed, even with his busy hockey schedule and his dad’s games, chantal always made sure to have her kids in school. if they weren’t rich, you’d assume his parents had the same thought process your grandparents did: they weren’t forking out all this money just for their kids to be absent all the time.

which brought you back to your original thought.

matt wasn’t at school.

and you were the reason.

well. that wasn’t entirely true. matt’s decisions were his own, even if the two of you were in fifth grade, you were both mature enough to own your mistakes.

and he made a big one.

it started at the beginning of the school year when jared, a new kid, started bothering you during class. you'd done what your parents had taught you and told the teacher. but mrs. wright just looked at you with a condescending smile and said:

“aw honey, he just has a crush on you!”

you were met with the same excuse each time you told her.

you’d tried to keep it to yourself, done your best to get over it, but he was too forward. on monday, he teased the way your uniform looked, which was a sore subject because your parents couldn’t afford to buy you a new uniform and your grandparents were being stingy with money in an effort to manipulate your mother. you were old enough to start recognizing that now.

on tuesday, jared criticized your doodles on a sheet of scrap paper, saying they looked childish. wednesday was no better, he snickered and pointed at you when you messed up a note playing hot cross buns on your recorder. thursday was when things took a left turn.

jared hadn't been at school for long to fully understand the dynamic between you and matt, not like the other kids did. he was smart enough to approach you when matt wasn’t around for the most part. maybe it was the confidence of the lack of punishment and accountability from your teacher and school administration that made him bold enough to tug on your hair and push you down during recess right in front of matthew.

you didn’t have enough time to shed a tear before matt was on jared.

to put it simply, physically fighting someone was grounds for suspension. it probably should’ve been a longer suspension had you and your parents not said jared had been harassing you for weeks now with no consequences.additionally, the amount of money the tkachuks sewed into the school probably helped lessen his punishment too.

“you shouldn’t have beat him up,” you said. the two of you were sitting on the back porch of matt’s house. originally, you expected matt to be grounded from seeing you as a punishment, but given the context, keith and chantal both said it would've been unfair.

matt shrugged. “he should’ve kept his hands to himself.” his words sounded similar to the ones you heard from his father earlier that day when you and matthew were sitting outside the principal’s office.

“mr. tkachuk, we do not condone violence at this school.”

“but you do condone harassment? bullying? my son was doing what your administration failed to do, and that’s protect his best friend.”

“i don't like it when you're in trouble.”

“and i don’t like seeing some jerk hurt you.” matt nudged your knee with his own. “besides, i’ll be back on monday. ‘s not like i was expelled.”

“just don’t make it a habit.”

“no promises,” he said. “i’ll always fight for you.”

after

the wedding approached faster than you thought it would. you spent the last seven months dreading emma and brady’s big day, scared of what seeing matt in a tux would do to your heart. originally, you didn't think you could handle it, you never thought you'd actually get to the wedding day and not want to cancel last minute.

but now you were standing in the bridal suite adding finishing touches to your makeup in the vanity feeling every bit of happiness for emma that you were faking just months ago.

life was starting to turn around for you. just last week, frankie had helped you finish your applications to some grad programs in art restoration and conservation. you were holding out hope for nyu, but didn’t want to get your hopes up.

“how’re you feeling?” taryn came up behind you where you were lined up in preparation to walk .

“ready for some wine and the reception,” you answered honestly. “i’m so excited.” and you were telling the truth for once. your smile felt genuine.

“matt will be excited to see you,” she said. “you look so pretty.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from forming on your lips. “oh hush, this isn’t about us, not even remotely close.”

taryn rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. “maybe...” she trailed off before the wedding planner was moving her into position.

your hands shook as you held the bouquet. lily, one of the other bridesmaids looked back at you and mouthed “are you okay?” when you nodded and gave her a shaky smile, she turned around.

you weren’t nervous for a good reason, but walking in front of crowds always scared you. what if you tripped? what if the heel of your shoe broke? what if what if what—

but then it was your turn to walk down the aisle and every anxious thought went quiet the second you saw matthew.

it really wasn’t fair, how he could put you at ease so easily, without even saying a single word. how his blue eyes would meet yours and the racing of your heart would beat for a different reason. sure, there were moments where you were anxious around him, around the feelings that came with dating for ten years, but the truth was you never felt more safe than you did in his arms.

you kept your eyes locked on his as you walked down the aisle. not once did you stumble or fall. though, you nearly laughed out loud when he winked at you. a flush creeped into your cheeks when he smirked. you’d known him most of your life and you were still reduced to a school girl whenever he looked at you. when you made it to the end, you took your spot next to lily, taryn eventually took the spot next to you.

personally, you loved weddings. you cried every time. so obviously you were wiping tears with brady when emma walked down the aisle. it was almost surreal, watching the boy you knew as when he was eight years old was now marrying the love of his life. when did you grow up? when did that happen?

you met matt’s eyes over brady’s shoulder. in another life, it would've been you two getting married. the very thought sent an ache through your chest, but it didn't hurt the way it did a few months ago, hell, even a few weeks ago.

sure, you might not have ended up with matt, but you reconciled. he would still be in your life, even if it wasn't in the same capacity as before. that thought used to be debilitating, now you were just thankful he was around at all.

the crowd cheered as brady kissed emma. you could barely see them through the tears. you managed to wipe most of them away in time to walk back down the aisle. you were supposed to be linking arms and walking back down the aisle with quinn hughes. so when matt was standing there and holding his arm out, you almost stumbled back out of sheer confusion. in a haze, you took his arm.

“you weren’t supposed to walk me,” you said just loud enough for him to hear.

matt scoffed and pulled you a little closer. “like i was letting hughes walk you back down the aisle. that’s my job.”

“you messed up the order.”

he shrugged like the idea didn't bother him in the slightest. “brady will get over it, if he even notices.” the two of you had just walked down the aisle when you went to pull away, but his arm tightened around yours. “you look beautiful,” he said before releasing your arm and walking off.

it felt like you were stuck, rooted where you were standing, until the wedding planner ushered you along to take photos.

you were floating through the pictures, only barely remembering to smile and look at the camera. matt’s words floated around in your head in an endless loop.

when it was time for dinner, you entered with quinn like you were supposed to (and to matt’s chagrin). brady and emma did not want to confuse the dj who was announcing everyone. quinn indulged your excitement and twirled you under his arm as the two of you walked out. there was a huge smile on your face at the sheer fun of it all, a smile that didn't dissipate until you were both seated with the rest of the wedding party.

you were happily chatting with quinn, asking him about how his girlfriend was, and eating your dinner when emma’s maid of honor stood up and started her speech. to be quite frank, you knew it was a beautiful nod to her friendship with emma, but you weren’t fully paying attention, too enraptured with the food and wine in front of you. though, you did clap where you were supposed to and laughed when everyone else did.

it wasn’t until matt stood up to give his speech that you were dialed in. and maybe that made you a horrible person.

you knew matt well enough to know he didn't prepare a speech, not like the maid of honor did. he'd told you so once brady and emma got engaged.

“are you not gonna write your speech down?”

“nope,’ he said, popping the p.

“but he's your brother.”

“the only one who is getting a planned and fleshed out speech is you, when i propose and when we get married. everyone else gets the improvised speech.”

so you weren't surprised when he didn’t have a slip of paper in his hand like the maid of honor.

“thank you all for coming to celebrate the marriage of brady and emma with us. i know it means a lot to them, to see the support they have all around,” he began. “i’ve known brady his whole life, obviously. so i know better than most that he’s a menace to society. both on and off the rink. but seeing him with you, emma, well you’ve brought the little bit of good out in him.” the crowd chuckled at the slight, you even cracked a smile, especially when brady flipped him off.

“love is the best thing this world has to offer,” he continues. “who are we without it? what is life without it?” matt looked around the room until his eyes settled on you, locked in. “falling in love is, dare i say, better than the game itself. once you experience it, there is no game that could hold a candle to the feeling. i’ve found it, and i’m happy that you, brady and emma, found it too. just hold onto it, don’t let it go. not when it gets hard, especially not when things look bad. it’s those times you hold on tighter.”

maybe it was the lighting, but his eyes looked a little misty.

matt cleared his throat. “so here’s to the bride and groom, may you have nothing but good years ahead.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat and clapped along with everyone else. but matt’s eyes never left yours. you could feel his gaze on your face even as you talked to quinn. but he was on the other side of the table closer to brady.

it wasn’t until the dancing started that he even approached you.

outkast’s hey ya blasted over the speakers when matt found you. his hand immediately slid into yours as he tugged you closer.

“great speech!” you shouted over the music. “did you prepare it beforehand?”

matt spun you around. “you know i didn’t. i’m saving prepared speeches for special occasions.”

you expected the answer but played dumb anyway. “your brother’s wedding not a big enough occasion?”

he scoffed, like the very idea was offensive. “not even remotely close. only the love of my life deserves the written speeches.” he pulled you a little closer. your stomach twisted at the thought of him falling in love with someone else, but it didn't hurt the way it would've months ago. “but considering i broke up with her before i could propose, that’s not happening any time soon.”

your heart lurched in your chest, yet you felt yourself stepping back. “matt....”

he sighed like he knew what you were going to say. “i know we need to talk, and that this isn't the time, but can i just dance with you tonight? like nothing changed?”

and in the end, you wouldn’t be able to deny him anything.

you allowed him to spin you around and hold you close when the music slowed down. you allowed yourself to pretend all of it was real. you allowed yourself to live in this fictitious world where new jersey was the happiest place on earth simply because you had matt. the last seven months hadn't happened, you were still together, your future was certain, and maybe one of these days, he'd get down on one knee and ask for forever.

you played pretend even when the night was coming to a close. even when you were all waving goodbye to emma and brady. even when you gathering your things, matt was there, holding your bags for you and walking you to the car you rented.

“when do you fly back to st. louis?” he asked.

“tomorrow. i have work on monday.”

he grimaced. “frankie wouldn't let you off?”

you rolled your eyes and smiled. “some of us don't make millions of dollars and need to pay our bills, matt.”

“right,” he said. “forgot about that.” he cleared his throat and stepped closer to you. “do you think we could get coffee when i get back in town? i really think we should talk.”

you reached out and took his hand in yours. “just let me know when you’re back.”

and he did. days later when you were back at work on your lunch break, you got a text from him. before you could stop yourself, a smile lit up your face.

matty:

just landed, when are you free?

the two of you met at a park not too far from your homes, deciding that you two needed privacy to talk and sitting in a coffee shop where matt’s face was well known wasn’t ideal. it felt like it used to, with the two of you walking side by side, matt walking a little slower to match your pace. your arms occasionally brushed.

“everything okay?” you asked when the silence started to make you anxious.

matt looked at you and smiled. “yeah,” he said. “just wanted to talk.”

“about what?”

“us. what happens next.” when you didn't say anything, he continued. “i wanted to apologize—”

“there’s nothing to apologize for, matt. i understand—”

“but i should’ve just communicated with you instead of letting my insecurity and the pressure get to me. i should’ve done better.”

you bumped your shoulder into his bicep. “you did what you thought was best, i can’t blame you for that.”

matt ran a hand down his face and sighed. “i wish you wouldn’t be so understanding,” he said. “i wish you'd just say that what i did sucked.”

“but i get it—”

“i get that you get it, but i need you to be honest with me.”

“okay,” you said. “i’ll be honest. i hated every single rose you've ever gotten me, but i was too afraid to say anything because you looked so happy to give them to me. and i know it’s what your dad would bring home to your mother after roadies. i hated that you never remembered my coffee order, you changed it every single time, but i accepted it and tried it because i saw how proud of yourself you were and how much it meant to you that you got me a drink. and i hated that you ended things over a phone call with no explanation. i hated that i spent seven months agonizing over what i did wrong.” you swallowed the emotion bubbling up. “but i understand why you did it, and in another life, i might have done the same.”

matt’s hand brushed yours. you thought he was going to leave it at that, a gentle touch, but he grabbed your hand and interlocked your fingers “i wish you would've told me you hated roses.”

you smiled and shrugged, squeezing his hand in yours. “seeing how happy you were outweighed the hatred for roses. it was the thought that counted.”

“so what is your favorite flower?”

“red anemones.”

matt pulled out his phone and typed something into his notes app. “what’s your coffee order?” when you told him, he typed something else into the note. “i do care about that stuff,” he said. “i didn't mean to seem dismissive.”

“you remembered the important stuff like anniversaries and my birthday. you remembered that i hate driving in snow, you used to pick me up from school every time there was more than an inch on the ground.” you squeezed his hand again so he'd look at you. “you weren’t a shit boyfriend for forgetting the little things, matt. in fact, you were a really good boyfriend until you broke up with me.”

he didn’t say anything for a moment, choosing to bask in the summer sounds of the park. “do you think we could try again one day?”

it was a question you'd asked yourself multiple times since the conversation where you found out the truth behind the break up that nearly ruined you. could you two do it again? do it right this time? there was no way to know.

“i don’t know.”

a beat passed. “would you want to?”

would you? being with matt was all that you dreamed about but would you want to risk the heartbreak again? would you want to take the chance that it wouldn’t work out a second time?

yes. it was an easy yes.

heartbreak was inevitable, but you wouldn’t want your heart to be broken by anyone but matt.

but you could love him and also want to prioritize yourself and your wants and desires. you had a plan for your future that didn’t involve him for once. maybe he’d be there years later, but there was no guarantee. if you got into grad school, you wouldn’t be moving to florida. and while long distance had worked before, there was no assurance that things would again.

so you said “maybe one day,” and gave him a smile.

“one day,” he replied. “in the meantime, can we be friends?”

one more time, you squeezed his hand, tugging him a little closer, his arm bumping into your shoulder. “i’ll always be your friend at the very least, from here on out.”

after what looked like a moment of hesitation, matt pulled you closer and pressed a kiss to the side of your head.

after

when matt flew back to florida for the season, you fully expected him to stop talking to you. with distance being a factor, it was easy for you to assume he'd text whenever he wasn't tired or out partying.

but he texted you every waking and unoccupied minute of his day. in all honesty, you were worse at replying than he was. everything felt like high school again, in the days leading up to your first kiss.

you felt like you got your best friend back.

it started with him telling you about his day, asking about yours, and evolved into him telling you a joke he'd heard that day, a tiktok that reminded him of you, remembering your schedule.

god your heart leapt every time he texted you. it was pathetic, but you loved it.

you loved him.

it wasn’t a scary thought, you’d never stopped loving him even after the breakup. to act like you ever stopped was crazy.

and when you got into grad school? he was the first person you called.

it was nearly a year after he ended things, and there you were, calling him on the phone. you waited for him to pick up, for a moment, you were scared he wouldn’t answer. the phone kept ringing and your anxiety built up as the seconds went on. maybe he was busy or his phone was in the other room. or worst case scenario, he was ignoring your call, out with someone else. what if you annoyed him? what if—

“hey!” his cheery voice sounded over the phone. “everything okay? you usually don't call at...” he trailed off. “...3pm?”

you could’ve cried at the sound of his voice, the relief hitting you all at once. “i got in,” you replied.

“what—” he choked. “you got in? nyu’s program?”

you nodded before realizing he couldn't see you, stunned at the news and the fact that he immediately knew what you were talking about. “i did.”

he sighed over the phone. “god, baby, i’m so proud of you.” your heart swooped at the pet name, no longer angering you like it did months ago. “what did your parents say?”

“i haven’t told them yet,” you said. “i just found out.”

he paused. “and you called me.” he didn’t bother asking.

“and i called you. maybe that makes me a horrible daughter for not telling my literal parents but i just wanted to tell you first.”

he paused again. “why?”

your stomach twisted with nerves, your hands felt sweaty. “you know why.”

“i need to hear you say it. tell me there’s still hope.”

“matty—” you cut yourself off with a shaky inhale. “matt, we shouldn't.”

“why not? i love you, i’m sorry but i love you. i fucked up and lost the best thing that’s ever happened to me because i was scared.”

“matt, we shouldn’t be having this conversation over the phone...”

“then i’ll book a flight.”

you closed your eyes and smiled. this was a side of matt that you knew, someone who’d drop anything for someone he loved or the game he adored.

“you have games and practice,” you reminded him.

you could practically hear the scowl through the receiver. “we play the blues in a week. can we talk about this then? i’ll take you out to dinner.”

“you usually get dinner with your parents.”

matt scoffed through the phone. “i see them enough, i want to be with you.”

you smiled because you just couldn't help yourself. “we’ll talk about this in a week,” you agreed.

matt whooped over the phone, the glee evident in his tone. “i’m really proud of you,” he said, changing the subject back to the original point of the call. “grad school is a big deal. you worked so hard to get here.”

“thank you, matty.”

“i’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

the week leading up to the panthers vs. blues game was agonizing. you kept thinking of his confession over the phone:

i love you, i’m sorry. i love you, i’m sorry. i love you.

his words rattled around in your head like the cartoon birds that would fly over a concussed cartoon character.

five more days.

then four.

then three.

two.

tomorrow.

today.

matt bought you tickets to the game, one that you offered to simone, but she declined saying she “wouldn't want to be in the way.” when you told her she wouldn't, that you would like her company, she laughed.

“honey,” she said. “there is no one else in the room whenever you and matt are around each other.”

you’d flushed when she said that, but didn't deny it.

your mother and father were seated in the living room when you came bounding down the stands to head out to the game. “you going to see him?” she asked. there was a fond look in her eye, one that only brightened when you smiled and nodded. “have so much fun, honey.”

you looked to see if your dad would say something, but he just nodded and went back to reading his book. it was fine, you were past caring what other people thought of you. in a month, you'd be moving to new york for school and out this cycle of mediocrity and settling. you bid your parents goodbye and left.

there was no time to waste when you got to the arena. you immediately made your way to the seat matt paid for and waited. you were a bit outnumbered in your panthers jersey (again, courtesy of matt), but he was no stranger to the st. louis crowd.

you were sitting close enough to the glass to be spotted when matt came out for warm ups. he tossed a few pucks to the kids next to you, but his eyes never left yours. the smile on his face eased the anxiety about coming, the anxiety about the conversation you'd have afterwards.

seeing him beam at only you? the world could've stopped turning and you didn't think you'd even care.

the game, unfortunately, did not turn out in their favor. with a 4-1 loss, you were two seconds away from asking matt to reschedule. the conversation both of you needed to have shouldn’t be done when he was coming off a loss.

nevertheless, your phone vibrated with a text.

matty:

where’d you park?

you replied with the vague location of your vehicle and headed that direction. you weren’t sure how he beat you out there, but he was propped against your driver’s side door like it was a luxury car and not the used vehicle you’d had since you were sixteen.

he held his hand out, and to anyone who didn’t know any better, they might think he wanted to hold your hand. but you tossed him your keys and he caught them mid air.

matt unlocked the car and threw his bag in your backseat while you got in the passenger seat.

“where are we going?”

“waffle house.”

suddenly, you were seventeen again, sitting shotgun in matt’s car at 2 am when neither of you could sleep. sometimes, you'd go to a 24 hour drive through and sit in the parking lot to eat. but your favorite moments were spent in a waffle house booth that had a half ass wipe down and food prepared by people who’d rather be anywhere else.

it was the best food you’d ever had every single time.

the bonus was that no one asked any questions, no one batted an eye at the son of keith tkachuk sitting in a waffle house at 2 am.

matt knew the drive by heart and minutes later, you were entering the establishment, trying not to slip on the greasy floors.

both of you slid into a booth and picked up the menus.

“didn’t think you could eat this stuff, with your diet and what not.”

matt shrugged. “it’s the holiday season, i’m allowed a few cheat days?”

you quirked a brow, remembering a time in calgary where you fixed dinners based on the diet given to you by the team nutritionist once she realized matt didn’t and couldn't cook. “i didn’t think that was allowed.”

“what they don't know won't kill ‘em.” he gestured to the menu. “what do you want?”

“you mean you don’t remember?” you teased.

matt rolled his eyes and gestured to the waiter. he recited both of your orders with an alarming amount of accuracy, given the fact the two of you hadn’t eaten at a waffle house in over a year.

“what?” he asked when he saw you looking after the server walked away.

“how do you remember that but not my coffee order?”

he blushed a little. “i feel like your coffee order changed with the seasons—”

“because they have seasonal drinks, matthew!” you exclaimed with a laugh.

“your waffle house order is simpler, easier for me to remember.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile on your face but accepted his answer. you sipped at your water and stared at him. “so what did you want to talk about?”

matt flinched back, like the sudden change in topic slapped him in the face. “what? you didn’t wanna wait until we got our food?”

you shrugged. “i’d feel less anxious if we just talked about it now.”

matt reached across the table and grabbed your hand in his own. it felt like being twenty-two again, living with matthew in calgary and holding hands under the table when you hung out with him teammates. his palm fit perfectly in your own.

“you don’t need to be anxious, i’m not gonna pressure you into anything.”

“i just wanna know what's’s going on in your head.”

matt’s thumb stroked the back of your hand. “you are all that’s in my head right now,” he confessed. “i get it, i fucked up by breaking up with you a year ago. and if i could go back, i would in a heartbeat. i would tell you everything i told you a week ago. that i love you and i’m sorry. i’m sorry that my insecurities got in the way, that i made a decision for you and in doing so, made you doubt my love for you.”

he continued. “but if you hear nothing else, hear me when i say i love you from the deepest part of my soul. if you asked me to give up the game and move with you to new york, if you asked me to request a trade to the fucking rangers, i’d do it in a heartbeat.”

“i would never ask you to do that,” you whispered.

“i know, but i would. because i love you, and if you’d let me, i’d like to be with you again. i’d like to marry you like i should’ve years ago. i’d like to have babies with you, however many you want. i wanna grow old and live in a house big enough to fit all of our grandkids for holidays. i want all of that with you,” he said. “what do you want?”

there were so many things you could say, so many things you wanted to say. but with watery eyes, and a heart that raced faster than a treadmill at full speed, you couldn’t vocalize any of it.

your mind raced with thoughts.

i wanna know the nicknames you gave your teammates. i want to use that specific combination of paints to make your eye color. i want to stick my cold feet between your legs and laugh when you pull away. i want my birthday to be your passcode again.

“i want you” you said, unable to say anything more. it was a miracle you even got those words out, your voice cracked on every syllable.

“yeah?” he asked, eyes shining with hope.

you nodded. matt immediately leaned over the table and kissed you, you met him halfway. and it felt like every question you ever had was answered. it felt like the best possible ending of your favorite tv series.

he felt like home, more than st. louis ever could. more than calgary.

when you both pulled back, neither of you could keep the smiles off your faces. “what do you say to doing long distance again? just while i’m in school,” you proposed.

matt’s smile could’ve lit the entire city.

“baby, for you? i’d do anything.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk x reader #matthew tkachuk #nhl blurb #nhl imagines #nhl imagine

501 notes · View notes

http-tokki · 11 months

Text

my fucking elbow!

~ levi ackerman x reader ~ tags/cw: fluff, explicit language, established relationships, canonverse. ~wc: 530

The piercing howl that rips from your throat has Levi jumping into action. Springing over his desk and across the small office, he is in the dim kitchenette a second after the cry left you. He pants as he searches for you, eyes frantically darting around the room, heartbeat quickening with each passing second until he spots you crumpled in on yourself, arms wrapped around your shaking frame, fingers gripping your elbows.

"What's happening, why are you? What's wrong?" The words spill out of him, an unfiltered stream of concern flowing between his lips.

Levi reaches you, dropping to his knees on the hard tile and grips your shoulders. He tears you upright, panic flooding his bloodstream in a cold flash. Tears line your eyes, eyebrows furrowed in pain, and teeth gritted as you hiss.

"My fucking elbow."

Levi blinks slowly, pulling away from you as the realisation sets in.

"I hit my elbow, and it really hurts." You're crying now, fat tears spilling over your cheeks as you rub your aching joint.

Levi sits back on his haunches, a smile cracking at the absurdity. You, a decorated war hero and veteran, had just screamed and carried on as if you had been fatally wounded. He had seen you rip an arrow from your thigh, patch together your slashed arm, reposition your dislocated knee without so much as a cry, and now a knock to your elbow had you seizing up and crying?!

"Stop laughing! It hurts!" you whine, weakly kicking at your laughing husband.

"I'm not laughing at you; it's just the situation," he explains, pushing your hair back from your face. "I've seen your experience worse, and this is the injury that brings you down?" it is impossible to keep the laughter from infiltrating his every word. "I'm sorry. Are you okay, my love?"

You sniff and turn away from him, still cradling your arms and sigh loudly. "You're so mean. I hope you hurt your elbow, and when you cry about this, I'll laugh at you, too!" A giggle slips through your offended facade.

Levi stands, knees popping and aching at the move against gravity and snorts at your dramatics. "I'm going to be so careful now to not hit my elbow, and you'll never get to laugh at me!"

The exchange is childish, but it feels good; it feels natural to laugh and tease in light of the world around you. These moments are few and far between, but when they do happen, you are grateful to see a side of your lover you rarely do these days. You watch as Levi turns away, walking back into his office to finish the work he had abandoned in favour of your safety, and once he is out of sight, you turn your attention back to your bruised arm. The tingling and pain have subsided, a small purple bloom, the only remnant of the torture your nervous system was under not two seconds ago; you poke the small mark to test the level of pain you would feel if you were to hit it again but are interrupted by Levi's scream from the room over.

"I just stubbed my fucking toe!"

a/n: i got to see my baby again for one last time ahhhh I lub him s much I wanna cry please levi become real and let me love you

#attack on titan levi #levi attack on titan #levi #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader fluff #levi x reder #levi x y/n #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader drabble #levi ackerman x reader fluff #levi ackerman imagine #aot x reader #aot fluff #aot imagine #levi ackerman drabble

1K notes · View notes

thatdeadaquarius · 1 year

Text

Genshin Impact Sagau/Isekai:

You still have acces to characters! ...by possessing them. 👻

PART 2 (you're here!) / Part 1

All art by me! :] leave me a iced coffee?? :0

HEY!! REALLY QUICK PLEASE READ!

STOP tagging my posts as "Yandere Sagau", "Sagau Cult AU", "Sagau Imposter AU" or other related dark content tags.

I'm sick of seeing reblogs that tag my work as dark content, when I'm specifically trying to LIGHTEN UP THE SAGAU TAG 😭😭??

Please be more respectful of this. Actually read the work before you just tag it incorrectly. Tags do matter.

/nm /gen

☆

Sun: Gender Neutral Reader (they/them)

Planet: Misc. Genshin AUs

Orbit: Headcanons, Scenarios

Stars: Tighnari ft. Cyno, Alhaitham, Collei

Comets & Meteors:

Content Warnings: Mild violence (bandit attacks/non-graphic), Reader/you possess people non-consent (mild/consent given eventually)

& Trigger Warnings: Reader/"you" possess people non-consenually for short times, but given consent eventually.

(pls comment if any more!)

Edit 9/7/23: 1,000+ NOTES?? WHO WHAT WHEN WHERE WHY- THANK YOU???

Edit 12/24/23 + 4/5/24:

☆

My goofy ass forgot to put this here .-.

Anyway this is a full length fanfic now ;)

…mistakes were made.

bad decisions were had, and okay, mayyybbbeee you could’ve taken more precautions against people finding out you were “real”.

afterall, you did see the Eremites reaction, even if it was only two guys (one from each camp) that you possessed :/

word spreads quickly amongst the Eremites groups, you guess, bc next thing you knew, after you’d moved closer to floating around Gandharva Ville,

they’d called that entire bit of forest haunted.

BUT IN YOUR DEFENSE-!! how were you supposed to know they’d blab to the whole camp they didn’t remember the past 20 minutes after you unpossessed them?? and immediately be on guard and jump to possession?? (Irminsul works hard but eremites/sumeru people work harder u guess)

And by the time you were happily patrolling with Collei, the forest rangers were just so chill you didn’t really expect anybody would think a ghost was possessing them (or whatever you were now… maybe,, just code?? it’s unclear)

so when u start to see Tighnari squint at people who’ve technically just “woken up” after you possessed them, mumbling under his breath more and more as a file he carries around gets thicker and thicker-

you start to think,,, maybe.

okay, mayyybbbeee,

you’ve fucked up.

◇

You really can’t help it, first it was making sure Collei got back safely from patrols (she’s ur skrunkly okay, you can’t help it, you’re still aware she’s capable but- the urge to skrunkle overpowers you- )

but then-!! You managed to spot Cyno! :D its ur boy!! ur little meow meow, who can throw people over his shoulder!! He really doesn’t need you, hovering around, but eh ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

what could it hurt! …it’s not like he can see, hear, or feel you anyway…

(unless u possess some animal/machine he thinks is friendly, which. sumeru is not exactly known for cuddly creatures. you don’t feel like experiencing death when possessing stuff just yet-)

imagine ur panic and shock as the General Mahamatra takes on a camp of criminals on the run, only for one of the old ruin machines (the ones that are just LEG and DEATH)

to hear the ruckus and come stomping around a thick patch of trees, it launched missiles!! You can’t warn Cyno, he can’t hear you!! No one can!!! The criminals are unconscious, there’s no other wildlife nearby they all ran off!!! FUCK-

You look at him and try to imagine his perspective as vividly as you can, he’s looking over the criminals, but now he’s turning, so people passed out and the tree-line got it-

Congratulations! You’ve possessed Cyno. 💀

It completely disorients you for a second, but then the panic of dodging the missiles comes back in time for you to make his body dive and roll off to the side, for as long as you can manage a roll too since you remember that’s the best way to dodge missiles in the game

…which works really well! bc he’s so fit and agile tbh

It was weird to finally run again after so long (two months now in teyvat?? wow)

with your feet suddenly in sandals, and feeling the breeze chilling your bare chest (Cyno’s chest??)

yeah its a shock considering most of the ppl you’ve possessed lately have been fully clothed rangers lol

you quickly imagine your ghostly form again, and just like that you’re drifting out of Cyno in ur “ghosty” form, having floated out and away from his back

Poor guy looks so fucking confused, and immediately is wielding his spear again, and is about to get out the crouch you put him in behind the dilapidated stone wall (dammit he better not waste ur efforts to keep him alive-)

until missiles slam and explode against it, he ducks back down (thank fuck) and Cyno just looks around one last time before hopping the wall and running to fight the thing

you notice that when the electro user goes to use his powers, they seem stronger than they were in his fight with the goons??

Maybe he was just going easier on them, since they are only human?

…so why does even Cyno look surprised when he goes to make a simple swipe with his charged spear and a bolt of lightning cracks out from his spear instead…?

…weird.

◇

Tighnari knows you’re here.

You figure he must have collected the reports of people “blacking out” or “sleep-walking” or whatever else and begun to suspect the worst.

…to be honest, you’re not sure what to do.

on one hand, it would be great to have someone know you actually exist, as yourself,

but on the other…

What would Tighnari think?

Of you possessing his rangers?? Temporarily taking ownership of someone without permission??? You’re afraid he’d think the worst of you…

tho u didn’t do so often, as u realized how messed up this could be, and u never did more than make them walk or talk normally for a few minutes before leaving them alone!

… afterall, you missed interacting with people. You were honestly a little worried abt going crazy, which is the only reason u were desperate enough to possess human people in the first place and continue doing so, just to talk to someone and have them look you in the face again like you really did exist as a person here-

(u thought u remember reading somewhere back on Earth that someone can only last 3 days of no other human contact until they start to lose it? but even if that’s not true, at the very least, u dont think talking one-sidedly to yourself all the time is healthy…)

so when Tighnari seems to get that file you’ve seen him adding onto, and gather up supplies, mentioning a day trip to Collei and the others to Sumeru City for some

“further research into these ‘blackouts’, and also contacting some of my colleagues who might know something…”

there’s no way you’re not going with him.

you feel increasingly anxious all day, and at one point when you were sure Tighnari was walled-in by books at the House of Daena, decide to go blow off the anxious energy by possessing an animal to get some food!

…you’re not really feeling comfortable enough to possess a living being into eating yet, that seems hella nonconsensual, and u kinda would be taking the joy of the meal from them tbh-

so u possess a cat!

a ginger cat, bc u like to think if u do anything weird, that ppl in Teyvat have the same type of cats back on Earth and excuse it as just:

“unhinged ginger cats being unhinged ginger cats yep makes sense” lol

you’d managed to be really cute (and wasn’t that weird, having to mimic animal behaviors like rubbing ur side against a person’s legs..)

and convince one of the cooks of Lambad’s Tavern to give u some leftovers, and been about to go off to try out sunbathing before the chore boy, little shit he is, tried to chase you off with a broom!! >:( the audacity!! you clearly have a little plate and everything!!

luckily, you’d finished eating, but still! Ouch!! those bristles fucking hurt-!!!

…you look and see a Sumeru-ified version of a skateboard, and u just know ur little cat face is just ✨v✨

and u steal the little shit’s skateboard as revenge! HAHA thats what you get animal abuser!!!

The kid’s yelling at you as you speedily skate away with ur little cat paws (LMAOO), but the cooks are calling him back in so he can’t pursue, (oh good u hear them get onto him for chasing u off)

and as u slow down to coast along the Sumeru streets,

you feel someone’s eyes staring you down.

You assume it’s just people being amused at a cat skateboarding, obv

but when you look just ahead of you to see a smiling Sumeru citizen or eremite-

Oh. It’s Alhaitham.

and he’s just… watching you.

he’s stopped reading whatever he’s got in his hand, and is slowlyyyy turning his head as you pass by…

You decide to just keep skating away. LMAO

◇

it’s already sunset by the you’re accompanying Tighnari back from Sumeru City, floating along behind him

and you’d been expecting a calm walk back, tbh you’d been feeling a little better bc the ranger hadn’t found much to identify you, yet, luckily-

but bc u can never catch a break:

Tighnari didn’t see the bandits dropping from the goddamn trees BEHIND HIM- and they had like claymores out- those were definitely gonna be killing blows-!!

so yeah.

You possessed Tighnari.

turns out ur pretty good at dodging bc this is second time now you’ve helped dive away for someone in an ambush, ur kinda proud of urself tbh💀

and as you make him take a few leaps back, ur ears twitch in the wind as you duck behind a tree, then float away and out of his body

The poor hybrid ranger visibly sways, then shakes his head out of it, and he flicks his ears in different directions, squinting into the woods, he’s pulled out his bow, so you’re at least reassured he’s aware there are enemies

Like Cyno last week, he too gives up and rolls for the next tree for cover and begins to shoot and take down the bandits

the rest of the week is kinda a blur after that, bc it’s mostly filled with Tighnari running in circles around the camp checking for blackouts, writing letters to Alhaitham and Cyno apparently, and you not possessing anybody out of paranoia :/

Most notably however,

you’ve unfortunately discovered one of the few drawbacks of ur possessions

(y’know, besides not existing essentially, what with no one being able to sense u outside of possessions)

apparently, if someone walks thru you, they accidentally force you to possess them 💀??

while it’d already happened once with a random ranger that you didnt notice was walking up behind you,

you didn’t want to test it again just yet bc it kinda made YOU nauseous and incredibly dizzy when this happened

(as in, u stumbled like a drunk after this poor ranger woman ran thru u, until you were so dizzy and the world spun sm u had to make her sit on the literal ground, luckily she just thought she was just really dehydrated when she came back into herself 😭)

so obviously, you’ve avoided crowds to keep this forced possession thingy from happening all the time

like at the Forest Rangers meetings or something, ur watching off to the side, instead of standing with them or beside them

so needless to say, after about a week and half since possessing Tighnari,

you definitely did not mean to possess Collei.

She’d been in her wheelchair today, the Eleazar flaring up and tiring her body out

so her wheels had been entirely silent when she rolled up to where you and Tighnari were leaning over some strange experiments of his- you were just trying to figure out what all these mirrors were for, didn’t he do plants more-?

you didn’t even know what the hell happened, you just felt that familiar dropping sensation, like a small drop on a rollarcoaster, blinked, and then suddenly you were sitting instead of standing/floating???

Oh god-

before you could even begin to process that Tighnari was in front of you instead of beside you, the world was shorter,

The fox-eared ranger yelled in triumph, grinning with sharp fangs and spinning around to look at you (Collei)-

“Ah-ha! It worked! Finally, I saw you! I saw you, I-?? Oh gods, Collei, NO-!”

And with quick reflexes, Tighnari’s summoned his bow, but he’s clearly confused on what to do about this situation, taking aim, but also holding the air glowing with dendro not as taunt as you’d seen him in the battle with the bandits

You scramble to raise your hands up, brown poofy sleeves rise to your command, light green hair you can feel on your shoulders, everything is familiar, but not-

“WAIT! I’m sorry!! This was an accident, I promise! I don’t intend to hurt Collei, or you!! Please, just, don’t shoot me, I think you’ll just hurt Collei instead…”

You talk him down and decide, that if he’s put this much effort into finding out about your existence, is an incredible leader and friend to everyone around him, and was able to accept the traveler and many other strange things that’ve (probably? maybe?) already happened in Sumeru (god fuck u dont even know where in the timeline you are)

that you can probably trust Tighnari with your existence, and your powers.

…He nearly passes out.

◇

Life has gotten a lot funnier, and happier, since you told Tighnari (and some of the more trustworthy rangers and Collei by proxy) about ur existence (or really, confirmed it)

He’d been wary at first, appropiately cautious and demanding answers, of which you were happy to give and explain yourself

luckily, after a whole lot of “hmm, I see, no, I think I’m understanding-” , finger on his chin and everything

he’s said it’s okay to hang around the rangers, so long as you don’t possess anyone anymore without them knowing about you/with permission (outside of emergency situations that is)

tho he did seem surprisingly understanding and accepting of you doing it before after you explained how u were just unbelievably lonely and were lowkey paranoid of going crazy-

The rangers seem to believe you’re some kind of god/spirit thing, as you had no explanation yourself as to what you were ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

Tighnari’s also given you the rule to help out around here if you’re going to “ghost-laze around”, as he puts it lol

you’ve redirected ruin machines/feral animals away from rangers many times by now, to the many thanks and gratefulness of the rangers

you’ve even managed to even figure out how to push Collei’s wheelchair around when she uses it!

mostly by possessing tree after tree and using vines, or occasionally a fungi that can fly so you can nudge her along

she has insisted that you possess a ruin guard and carry her just to try it… however, Tighnari overheard her talking to the forest rangers’ dog (you) and immediately knew shit was up and banned you from doing it (at least not yet)

While most rangers are okay with you possessing them for a few minutes (and they’ve developed this bandana wrapped around their upper arms policy of “red = no possess, green = go ahead”)

Collei is the most okay with it and for longer, so you “won’t be that lonely ever again!” :’)

Tighnari is busy with stuff, so you can’t possess him as often, but the ranger has developed a theory that the more you possess someone, the more they can sense your feelings during possession/while floating around in ghost form too,

so he’ll occasionally feel you in the room with him, and start talking out loud in some one-sided convo to make you feel more included to make up for not being able to interact with him sometimes :)

(after taking you off his list of worries he’s still pretty swamped, not that he’ll tell you that, as he’s still not quite sure why he’s so, warm and safe feeling when you’re around, so willing to trust you so naturally, that it makes him want to at leats pretend to be worried abt a possessing ghost god/thing hanging out with the rangers now)

◇

basically everything is great!

the rangers are okay with you, they got a system to interact with you consensually, Tighnari and Collei are fond of you, you get to finally have something to do instead of floating around all the time (joining ranger missions)

and look!! they’ve even been kind enough to build you a little shrine or altar of sorts! Notes about Sumeru life, recipes for you to try, occasionally some books for you to read, and even some snacks/desserts for you to try out the next time someone possesses you and gives consent! (you leave them a little note stuck on their hand with your question for specific actions like that, if there isn’t another ranger there to ask for you when you unpossess them)

and everything is so cool, and everyone is so sweet and accepting

…Until Alhaitham shows up in Gandharva Ville, knocking on Tighnari’s door.

☆

AHHHH idk if this is any good! sorry it took so long, it was mostly the art 😭😭

anyway its not the best (the writing or the art) but i hope it’s at least some content to look at and be entertained for a minute!

also figured it was a good day to post what with the attack on our beloved Ao3 (tho i think it’s back up now?)

anyway, feel free to leave critiques on this one! (which I’ll probably turn this into a real fic one day soon, but not sure what to do with the plot/do a diff setup than this or what)

☆

sorry abt the radio silence! I just needed to close my mailbox bc i had a lot of stuff to answer, ur welcome to send submissions to chat/non-requests!

and also this took time to make (once again, mostly the art, bc thats how it always is with art isnt it 😭)

☆

Safe Travels Stranger,

💀♒

☆

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @justlostintheinternet / @assassinsnake101 /@sun-wokung

If ur tag is here and didnt work, idk why!

Maybe see if your listed as a "searchable blog"?

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2kiran · 3 months

Text

THREEKVENT NAVIGATION

sub bruce wayne soft dom gn reader handjob

Bruce Wayne leaned against the brick wall, his suit uncomfortably sticking to his skin with how badly he’s been sweating. Each movement caused his breath to hitch, the material grazing the cut on his side. Thankfully not deep, but it hurt like a bitch.

He reached over, unlocking the window. Bruce found himself returning late at night to your apartment after encounters with criminals, taking in more hits than normal for a proper excuse.

Fate happened. You were a kind stranger, he was injured, and he needed help. Eventually, it remained like that for a while. He’d be in one place, some sort of wound visible, and you’d take him in. His eyes had watched you like a hawk, grunting and squirming away from the slightest of advance on instinct.

Embarrassingly enough, he immediately melted into your gentle touch. You guided him, made him feel what it was like to be openly vulnerable with someone else present. It’s wrong. You’re a civilian, continuously helping Batman would put your life at risk.

He feels guilty about it. You’re too kind for him, never daring to stay close to him than is necessary and choosing to respect his personal space. It was welcomed at first, but he wants more of it, more of you.

The only time he’ll actually touch you is when the pain is incredibly overwhelming his senses, which has him catching your wrist accompanied by a restrained grunt. Like he’d been burned, he’d pull back once reality crashed back down. He can’t, he shouldn’t. He’s putting you in danger.

Damn it all to hell.

Bruce tripped, stumbled, landing right on your lap. How convenient, he thought. He held himself upright, clutching the top of the couch’s backrest in a death grip, eyes wide. Bruce frantically searched your face, analyzing your reaction. “I’m—” He’s cut off when you pull him closer, gasping in surprise.

“It’s okay.” You reassure him, a soft smile gracing your lips and he wants to kiss you senseless. Until you can’t feel your hands, your face, or use that smart brain.

He stays like that, straddling your hips as you clean the wound on his side. It’s taking everything in him for his thoughts not to drift towards sinful ideas, borderline unprofessional.

He can’t help it.

Every touch, even an accidental brush on his skin has his breath hitching, anticipation thrumming in his veins. Heat pools deep within him, leaving him aching. He hopes you don’t notice, pants tightening and he’s almost painfully hard.

You do. Of course, you do. Right when you finish patching him up, earning a few pained groans, you halt him from standing up and leaving. “Batman.”

Oh fuck. Bruce is doomed. He wants to sink into the floor, or maybe the wall would be better. You know how he truly feels about the situation, and this is the last time he’ll ever see you. Panic rises, but he doesn’t allow it to outwardly show. His palms suddenly become all clammy, sweat dotting his forehead—

“May I?” Damn you.

Your hand settled on his muscled thigh and he has to suppress a shiver. Your fingers inched closer to where he needed you the most, just a little bit higher. But then you stop. Bruce whines.

“Please,” Batman didn’t beg, never did. “Please, I-I need it.”

He panted, excitement delivering a spark of heat that rushed straight to his core. His arms surrounded your shoulders, trapping you in his hold as he leaned down to your neck to hide in shame. He assists you in pulling down his suit enough to expose his glistening cock, pre-cum oozing from his slit.

Bruce felt like a wreck, lips in a tight line to prevent any embarrassing sounds from leaving his throat. Your thumb swiped across the cockhead, pressing down with enough pressure to force out a choked gasp from him.

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper directly into his red-tinted ear. He felt his hole clench around nothing, your words making him light-headed and he involuntarily bucks his hips against your touch. “I’ve got you, c’mon. Let me hear you.”

His breath stutters when you begin to gently trace the angry veins, moaning softly as he pulsates in your grasp. It’s been too long since he’s had someone—anyone—to touch him intimately, but never like you are now.

Your fingers wrap around his cock, slicking up your palm. It’s a slow pace, guiding him to a gradual orgasm. Gods, fuck, why were you being like this? He’s uncertain whether he enjoys how you’re treating him as though he’s made of glass that could shatter any unforgiving moment or if he should beg for you to fuck him rougher, make him go all dumb and drunk off the feeling of you.

He desperately ruts against you, it was selfish but the both of you knew he needed it. “Mmm.. fuck, I–” He gasps when you jerk him off a bit quicker, coming up to tease the underside of his tip every single time. Throbbing at the increased pace, he felt his eyes roll back into his skull. “more, ah ah mngh, more please.”

Bruce knew his manners, with his skin absolutely flushed and mind consumed with lust and greed to taste and take. “Yeah? Keep talking for me.” You urged, twisting your wrist as his pre-cum lathed up your hand, producing so much he seems like he’s right there. “Feels so g–good.” He whimpers, thighs trembling as his knees were beginning to fail on him.

Your too-good praise didn’t help him, at all. He felt young all over again, horny and wanting. “Beautiful,” you whisper, “need me to help you, don’t you, B?” The air gets knocked out of him, leaving him panting. He can barely feel his brain, all sensations leading to your hand pumping his wet cock.

“Need you,” He didn’t care how pathetic he seemed in this state, all he knew how desperate he was for you with your slick palm teasing his tip, rubbing in little quick circles. “ngh, so bad...”

Bruce Wayne knew he shouldn’t be thinking like this, but he wants you to stay with him. He could protect and provide for you. Who else would you want to be with besides him? That’s right. No one.

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pickingupmymercedes · 3 months

Text

She's here and he won't let her give up- Lewis Hamilton

Series: She's here and she's ours / She's here and she's not only ours / She's here and she's just like you / She's not here, but she'll be / She's here and she won't be the only one / She's here and he won't let her give up / She's here and so is he

request : "God, you're bleeding, how did you do that" + "you're the strongest person i know.". For lewis and his kid when they're learning a new skill in a sport and it doesn't go well so they're frustrated. Fluff, please. Thank you - anon

pairing: dad!Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +1K

a/n: It was too cute to stay as a blurb, so it's part of one of my favorites series now ❤️

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The chlorine of the wave pool filled the air, punctuated by Y/d/n's excited squeals.

Her tiny figure, clad in a bright purple wetsuit, bobbed on the churning water, anticipation etched all over her face.

Lewis, heart swelling with pride, watched from the sidelines. It had been months since Y/d/n had first begged him to take her surfing, a request fueled by memories of her father and his friends on their surfing days. Today, that dream was finally coming true.

The instructor, one of Lewis’s first ever surfing friend back in the day, began his pre-lesson talk. Y/d/n, perched on her board, listened diligently, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As the lesson unfolded, Lewis couldn't help but grin. Watching Y/d/n paddle like her life depended on it, trying to catch her first wave, was like watching a miniature of himself – full of determination.

But the initial enthusiasm soon gave way to frustration. The waves, though manufactured, proved surprisingly unforgiving.

Each attempt resulted in a tumble, Y/d/n disappearing momentarily under the water before resurfacing with a sputter. The falls frequent, but the smiles were unwavering. At least, until the very last try.

A particularly bad wipeout, where the board smacked into her chin, sent tears welling up in her eyes as she clumsily crawled back out.

Lewis waded into the water, concern etching lines on his forehead. "Hey there" he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "What happened?"

Y/d/n sniffled, wiping a stray tear, and pointed at her chin, a small patch of red blossoming through the water beads. "I think I'm hurt, Dad," she mumbled, her voice thick with hurt.

Lewis's initial amusement turned to alarm. "God, you're bleeding, how did you do that?" He examined her chin gently, his usual stoicism replaced with a tenderness reserved only for his kids.

"The board hit me," Y/d/n said tearfully. All the frustration of the failed attempts came flooding back, and she buried her face in her father's chest.

Lewis held her close, the cool water lapping at their waists. He could feel the tremor in her small body, it sting him just as much as it did to her. In that moment, Y/d/n wasn't the one showered with media attention and expectations. She was just a girl, hurt and discouraged.

A wave of guilt washed over him. Had he been too ambitious? Should he have started her somewhere calmer?

Lewis scooped Y/d/n up, helping her out of the water. As they made their way to a nearby bench, the familiar scent of saltwater mingled with the aroma of sunscreen, created a nostalgic cocktail that tugged at Lewis's heartstrings.

He set her down carefully, her tiny body still trembling slightly from the ordeal.

Y/d/n, biting back fresh tears, reached up gingerly and touched her mouth. "My tooth!" she wailed, a new wave of panic flooding her eyes. "It's loose!"

Lewis examined her mouth, spotting a slightly loose tooth. Relief washed over him, as he identified the loose tooth.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, pulling her into a hug. "It's okay. It’s just a baby tooth, that's all. Happens to all big kids."

With practiced ease, Lewis dug through his bag, producing a first aid kit and a bottle of water. He wet a cloth and dabbed at Y/d/n's chin, murmuring soothing words as he cleaned the small wound. Her eyes, still brimming with tears, watching him intently.

As he tended to her, his mind drifted back to a time when he had been in a similar situation, filled with with fear and uncertainty.

It was a late spring weekend, and Y/n had meetings out of town she needed to attend in person. It was also the first time Lewis would be alone with Y/d/n for an entire weekend.

He had been by himself with his daughter plenty of times, but not for that long, and he couldn't deny there was a safety net when Y/n was around – a reassurance that if anything went wrong, they had each other to try and fix it.

That morning, after waving goodbye to Y/n at the airport, Lewis felt the weight of responsibility settle on his shoulders. Y/d/n, just turned two years old, looked up at him with his wide, trusting eyes. He plastered on a confident smile, hiding the apprehension gnawing at his insides.

The first day went relatively smoothly. They spent the morning at the beach, Y/d/n toddling around by the sand, just like they'd always do. In the afternoon, they built a fort out of pillows and blankets, Y/d/n's giggles filling their Monaco apartment before she crashed on her afternoon nap.

But by bedtime, the cracks in her routine began to show. As Lewis attempted to wrangle Y/d/n into her pajamas, she squirmed and fussed, a tiny rebel in the making. The bathwater, once warm and inviting, had turned cold during the struggle. Frustration bubbling up inside him, taking a deep breath as he reminded himself to stay calm.

Lewis settled her into bed, reading her favorite story in a soft, soothing voice. Her eyelids drooped, and soon, she was fast asleep. He watched her for a moment, his heart swelling with a mix of love and relief as he thought things were starting to take a turn for better.

But the peace was short-lived. In the middle of the night, Y/d/n woke up crying. Her wails pierced the silence. He rushed to her side, scooping her up and rocking her gently.

She clung to him, her tiny fists gripping his shirt as he saw all the signs she had an ear infection, a recurring issue with the toddler that was growing up swimming by the Mediterranean ocean she was a native to.

Panic rose. What if he couldn't comfort her like Y/n used to? What if he somehow screwed up her medicine? What if he didn't know how to settle her? He felt helpless, the weight of his earlier fears crashing down on him.

But as he held her close, Y/n on the phone with them, their toddler’s cries gradually subsided, replaced by soft hiccups. She nuzzled into his chest, her breathing evening out as she fell asleep on his arms.

In that moment, as he sat in the dim light of her room, laid amidst her stuffed animals and princess comforter, he finally understood he didn't have to be perfect. He just had to be there, to love her and protect her the best he could.

Lewis finished cleaning Y/d/n's chin and gave her a reassuring smile. "All done," he said softly, his voice filled with the same tenderness he had used during those long-ago nights.

Y/d/n looked up at him, her tears replaced with a disappointed glint in her eye. "Thanks, Dad," she said, her voice small.

Lewis ruffled her hair, his heart swelling with pride. "You're a tough cookie, you know that?"

He saw the same flicker of self-doubt in Y/d/n's eyes that he'd felt himself years ago.

"Hey," Lewis said, his voice gentle but firm. "Look at me."

Y/d/n met his gaze, her lower lip trembling slightly. "It hurts, doesn't it?" he asked, wiping a stray tear with his thumb.

Y/d/n sniffled and nodded.

"You know," Lewis said, his voice resolute. "It's not just about catching the wave. It's about getting back up, no matter how many times you fall. That’s part of life. What really matters is whether you let it keep you down or you learn from it and try again."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "You fell a million times today, but you never stopped trying. And that's the mark of a true champion, Y/d/n. You're brave, you're persistent, and you never give up. You’re the strongest person I know."

Y/d/n blinked, the tears receding slowly. A small smile played on her lips, though her lower lip still trembled a bit. "Can we try again tomorrow?"

Lewis couldn't help but laugh, the fear of earlier replaced by a surge of joy. This little girl, with her scraped chin and missing tooth, was a mini him in the making. And he wouldn't trade this moment, fear and all, for anything in the world.

"Of course, we can," he said, ruffling her hair. "But first," he added with a wink, "let's get you some ice cream and celebrate one less tooth."

Y/d/n grinned, wiping a smudge of tear and seawater from her cheek. "Deal," she said, fist bumping her dad's hand.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf @priopp123

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lh #lh44 #lewis #lewis x reader #lewis imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

Seams drabble: Patch

{ Part IV: Notch | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: Ellie finds a Pride-themed sew on patch that leads to revelations.

Warnings: Pure fluff and love for this girl, some angst, coming out, total disregard of canon because I don't know how it goes in the game.

Word count: 1.3k

Notes: This idea struck me out of the blue many months ago, and I was waiting for 'the right place' in the series, until I mentioned it to a dear friend in passing conversation and then I just started writing it. Very lightly edited. Set at unspecified time frame after Part IV.

Ellie hums to herself from her spot in a cosy corner of the Outfitters, one watchful eye on the door. It’s an uncharacteristically slow Saturday, but she’s not complaining - she has her hands full.

A big canvas sack lies empty on the floor, its contents strewn haphazardly all over the wooden floor. The mess drives you up the wall, but you know better than to question her (very questionable) methods, so you’re ensconced in the safety of your studio while she sorts through the clothes and odds and ends that the patrollers brought back from their most recent outing.

Though infrequent - most settlements around Jackson have been painstakingly pilfered for anything useful over the years - it’s her favourite duty at the shop. Lucy is looser with the rules, but sometimes, you let Ellie keep little knick knacks that won’t sell.

The teenager goes through the pile thoroughly. Shirts go in one stack, jeans in another, followed by shoes, hats and scarves. Turning to the heap of smaller loose trinkets, she separates mismatched buttons, safety pins, shoelaces and zippers (as Maria always says, every little help), when something colourful piques her attention.

Plucking the piece of fabric out of the jumble, Ellie recognises it as a decorative patch that she’s seen sewn onto bags and shirts. It’s the size of her palm, cut in the shape of a rainbow, the colours still bright. Over the arches, bold white text outlined in black spells out NYC PRIDE 2003.

Tucking it into her pocket for now, she quickly finishes the rest of the sorting. Clothes go into the bin to be collected by the laundry, shoes for the cobbler’s, and accessories into a box to be priced and shelved.

Ambling into the back of the shop where you’re busy hemming a pair of jeans, Ellie plops into one of the rolling chairs, straddling the back of it, and the wheels screech as she careens across the floor to your sewing station.

Your lips quirk as you look up briefly at her. ‘Find anything interesting?’

‘Just this,’ she replies, flashing you the patch and reading aloud, ‘NYC Pride 2003. What does that mean?’

‘There used to be a big pride parade for the LGBT community every year in New York City,’ you explain. ‘They used to close down the streets and everything for it, it was a huge event.’

Ellie blinks, your answer taking her by surprise. She clears her throat, a distant buzzing at the back of her head as she turns the patch over pensively in her hand. ‘What - do you know what it was like?’

‘I’ve never been to one, but it always looked incredible. People used to line the streets in support, and everyone dressed up. There’d be rainbow flags everywhere, floats, dancing, music, and of course, it was an important way for the community to highlight and push for LGBT rights.’

‘You mean -’ she pauses, the unfamiliar feeling of stumbling over her words making her hands sweat. ‘You mean, people would just be out in public, like, being themselves?’

‘More than that - they were celebrating themselves.’

Ellie doesn’t realise she’s fallen quiet until you speak, ‘You can keep it if you want.’

Her head snaps up, disoriented. ‘Keep what?’

‘That.’ You nod towards the patch she’s clinging onto so tightly that her knuckles have gone white.

Panic prickles the back of her neck, an embarrassed heat suddenly making her want to pull at the collar of her flannel. But then you shrug and say, almost flippantly, ‘It’s pretty.’

‘Yes,’ she blurts out in hasty agreement, letting out a breath she’s been unconsciously holding. ‘It’s very pretty.’

Ellie is relieved when you turn back to the sewing machine, leaving her to retrace her steps to the front of the shop. The patch sits on the counter, where she leaves it, as she goes about her business for the rest of her shift.

Her eyes travel to the rainbow, and she thinks of how she wasn’t like the other girls at school, who fawned over dogeared photos of singers and actors long dead. She thinks of how she’s always known she’s different, but didn’t have the vocabulary to express it.

She thinks of Riley.

Riley.

For Riley.

When half three rolls around, you spot the teenager lingering by the studio doorway out of the corner of your eye, her backpack dangling from her fingers. Any other Saturday, you’d be lucky to catch the blurry shape of her shadow when she gallops out of the shop, throwing a see ya over her shoulder.

Thrown by her silence, you prompt, ‘Yes, Ellie?’

Scruffing the tips of her well-worn sneakers on the floorboards, she bites her lip in an atypical display of hesitance. ‘Pin, could you help me sew the patch onto my backpack? Please?’

You smile, eyes soft. ‘I’d love to. C’mon.’

‘You don’t have to do it now,’ she protests, feigning nonchalance, but her twitchy hands give her away. ‘Like, whatever, it’s no big deal.’

Wanting to put her at ease, you shrug. ‘No time like the present. Where do you want it?’

Putting her bag on your work surface, she points. ‘Guess right here under the wings.’

‘Perfect. Can you unzip the bag for me?’

You have Ellie hold the rainbow exactly where she wants it while you thread the needle, and you start sewing it in by hand, stitch by tidy stitch. It barely takes a couple of minutes, but time is of the essence - you haven’t heard the girl take a single breath of air since the anchor stitch.

Snipping off the thread with a flourish and giving it a once over, you grin. ‘There, all done.’

Ellie ducks her head, quiet as she takes the bag from your hands, running a thumb over the arches of the rainbow. Without a word, she suddenly throws her arms around you, hugging you tight.

‘Thanks, Pin,’ she mumbles into your hair.

Your heart swells, and you squeeze her back even tighter. ‘Anything for you, kiddo.’

On Monday morning, Ellie hovers in the hallway outside the kitchen, observing.

Joel is at the table, oblivious with his back to the door, her breakfast of two fried eggs over and easy and toast waiting at her usual spot at the table. Taking a deep breath, she bites the bullet and walks in, backpack in her hand.

‘Mornin’,’ grunts Joel, almost done with his own eggs, sunny side up.

‘Morning,’ she parrots back as she makes herself comfortable.

She usually just dumps her bag on the floor, but today, she pulls out the chair next to her and drops it into the seat. The unusual movement catches Joel’s eye, and he takes a good long look at the backpack.

Eventually, he points vaguely in what she assumes is the direction of the rainbow patch, and says, ‘That looks new.’

‘Yup, Pin helped me sew it on.’

He purses his lips, asking around a mouthful of egg. ‘You know what Pride is?’

She swallows thickly, and it takes a beat to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth. ‘Yeah, Pin told me.’

He nods, then turns his attention back to his plate with no fanfare.

Not entirely sure if he caught the nuance but her mind too in knots to care, Ellie picks up her fork and doesn’t think twice when he gets up to put his dish in the sink.

She nearly chokes on eggs when strong arms close around her shoulders in a vice-like grip, scratchy beard on her temple, Joel’s voice so thick that it makes her think if she turns around, she’ll see tears in his eyes.

‘Proud of you, baby girl.’

Later that afternoon, Joel finds you alone in the shop, restocking the women’s outerwear rack.

You toss him a smile over your shoulder. ‘Hey, what are you doing here?’

‘Lucy ‘round?’ he asks.

‘When is she ever?’ you quip with no bite.

Three steps and he’s spun you around by the waist, soft lips latching onto yours in a sweet kiss with just a hint of heated aftertaste that has you swaying on your feet when he pulls back.

A breathless laugh bubbles in your throat as you palm his whiskered jawline. ‘Why, thank you for that, Mr. Miller.’

The corners of his eyes crinkle, and he brushes his nose tenderly against your cheek. ‘No, thank you, sweetheart.’

Notes: I hope I wrote Ellie's coming out as sensitively as I hoped to. As I mentioned, I have no idea how or if she comes out in the game, but despite being such a chatty teenager, I think she'd find it difficult to broach the subject with Joel in conversation. For me, this was a fun way of weaving in her part-time job at the Outfitters and Pin into her coming out story that stays true to Ellie's character. I hope you enjoyed this - comments and reblogs appreciated as always!

P.S. I am not 'back' back, so I don't know when I will next update Seams. Thank you for your patience while I try to navigate my way back to some semblence of writing regularly, whenever that may be.

Thank you @firefly-graphics for the dividers ❤️

#fuckyeahseams #seams drabble #the last of us fanfiction #ellie william fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader

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luveline · 9 months

Note

You are so talented I can’t even fathom it Jade! I seriously don’t know how you do it.

Idk if you’re taking requests rn for Spencer still bc I know you write him a lot but I love shy reader and post prison Spencer it’s so cute. I would love to see their relationship growing, maybe her realizing the feelings aren’t one sided by little things he says or does for her or how he reacts if she gets hurt.

No worries if not! Anything you write is a gift honestly. Happy New Year!

thank you sm angel, you're too kind<3 hny! ♡ fem!reader, 1.2k

cw violence and injury

You'll be fine, Spencer had said, patting you on the shoulder. Just trust me.

This is decidedly not fine.

You crouch low behind a raspberry chaise turned blood red in the poor lighting. When you entered the building moments ago, it was light. But now the lights are out and you can't tell your friend from foe; footsteps to your left could be Spencer where he'd followed you in, or they could be the UnSub.

I'm right behind you, he'd said with a borderline rogue smile. You think I'd let you get hurt?

Breath warms your ear. “Boo.”

The air gets stuck in your lungs as brutish arms grab you. Your gun points toward your own jaw and your pulse hammers so hard you freeze, a split second, the amygdala overwhelmed. Then the UnSub tries to grab your weapon, and everything you've been taught kicks in. You twist in his arms, throwing your head back out of the line of fire as multiple agents call to you to sound off, and kicking hard at the UnSub's legs, the subsequent soft spot between them.

You fall hard onto the floor, screaming as a weight lands on top of you.

Spencer shouts your name. “Where are you?!”

A hard palm hits you in the throat. Light bounces off of the UnSub's face as a teammate aims their torch in your direction, but you're wheezing and aching, your throat on fire and too overwhelmed to think. The hand that hurt you leaps for your gun. You hold onto it for dear life, even as he forces it once, twice into the soft of your face, leaving rings of flame behind your eye. You pull it hard from his hands and fling it across the floor out of reach, squirming under his weight, needing to be away, away—

You pull your knee up and kick wildly, a well timed blow hitting the UnSub in the face with a damp-sounding crunch.

“I don't have eyes on her!” Emily shouts.

“I do,” Spencer says. His torchlight floods your area as he shouts, “Stand down!”

You don't squeal, but it's not a very professional sound as you crawl backwards out of the way. The ring of fire behind your eyes feels ever so slightly above it now. The room is half gone. You wipe your eye and look down at your hand, dark staining your palm in a heavy smear.

“Oh,” you mumble queasily.

The power never comes back on, but you don't notice until after, when Spencer's dragged you outside to the front yard and lowered you to a soft patch of grass, an EMT beside him dressing your wound. “Did they get him?” you ask.

Spencer's brow wrinkles with his frown.

“Remember what we said?” The EMT asks.

“No?” You wince and hiss as he pulls the wings of a butterfly stitch closed over your eyebrow.

“You have a concussion. I'm trying to work out how bad it is.”

You honestly still feel like you're in the dark room. You reach out for Spencer's hand instinctively, needing comfort, a tether to the ground, and he clasps your fingers tightly. “You're okay,” he says steadily.

“You're smiling at me weird.” You glance over your shoulder at the cop cars and the flashing red-blue lights. “Did you get him?”

“Emily got him. Just after he got you.” Spencer looks like he might stand from his crouch, but he brings your hand to his chin instead, leaning on it showfully. “It's my fault, I'm sorry. I told you I'd have your back and I didn't.”

Your chest stirs with the memory of your panic. One moment you'd been underneath him, and aching, and now you're on the grass as the forensics bring in the floodlights, so bright it's like mini suns have come out on either side of the yard. You hang your head to hide from the light. The EMT tells you off.

“Does your throat still hurt?” Spencer asks you, pulling on your hand gently. “Answer me.”

“My head is swimming.”

Your memories fuzz over. When you look up again the EMT is gone. Spencer sits on the grass now beside you unhurried, your hand still clamped between both of his. His thumb rubs at your knuckles and the smooth stretch of skin beside them, apparently content to wait with you.

“She's okay?” Tara asks, seemingly having appeared from nowhere.

“Not enough medical. They're gonna look at Agent Walker and circle back. She might have to be admitted.”

Tara bends at the waist to look you in the eye. “You okay?”

“I'm fine. Are you okay?” you ask.

“I'm doing better than you. That's gonna be a terrific bruise.” She smiles at Spencer reassuringly. “Emily wants you. I can sit with her, she'll be in good hands.”

“She'd be in great hands,” Spencer says simply, “but I don't care. I'm staying here. Please tell Emily she can come here if she needs to talk to me. I'm not going anywhere until they've finished looking at Y/N.”

Tara grins. “Your funeral.”

You're slowly starting to feel like yourself again, or more aware of yourself at the very least. Spencer's touch is melding from comforting to heart-rending, his nearness a heat. He looks stupidly good-looking considering what you've just been through, the FBI vest tight on his chest, his sweet brown curls falling into his eyes as he plays with your fingers.

“I must look awful,” you realise suddenly, a stone's throw from tearful.

Spencer doesn't glance up at first. “You look beautiful, but the bruise is…” He looks at you through dark lashes. “It's a tragedy.”

“What?”

His small smile fades. “How are you feeling? Are things clear, or would you say that I'm out of focus? You're having moderate to severe concussive symptoms.” He shakes his head. “And the bruise is mottling already.”

“I'm sorry.”

Spencer laughs softly. After a pensive moment, he brings your hand to his mouth. Maybe he kisses it, maybe he doesn't, but the touch brings a sacredness to his promise, “I won't let that happen again. You trusted me to keep you safe.”

“I trusted you to tell me if I was ready, and I was. I remembered how to get out of it. I'm still here.” You fluster after you've spoken, feeling brash.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face. “You are. You did amazing.” He removes one hand from yours. A featherlight touch coasts down your cheek, brief and encouraging nonetheless. “It's going to be a really bad bruise.”

“Oh, well,” you say tiredly.

Spencer's turn to go quiet. He holds your hand on his thigh. “I could kiss it better?” he offers in a murmur.

You laugh and steal your hand back, unable to take all his attention at once. “Funny, Spencer.”

He gives you a warm smile. You can't tell if he's kidding or not about the kiss, but his devotion to you while you're hurting is real. You're not sure where that leaves you.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

1K notes · View notes

ohcaptains · 1 year

Text

what if this is real?

pairing. ellie williams x female! reader

an. i'm gonna pretend that this isn't my first fic in six months and just move on...anyway. um. hi? i hope you enjoy -- not my usual filth. love u.

synopsis. it's the end of the world, but there's still parties to attend. or, the first kiss in yours and ellie's situationship.

warnings. kissing -- suggestive language and swearing. probably the most tame i've written in a hot min!

You’re standing in front of Ellie’s door, thinking, fuck this.

It would be easy to turn around and pretend that you’ve forgotten all about the party. You could pretend that you’d slept through the whole thing. Ignore the – eventual – banging on your door, and the husk of Ellie’s voice penetrating the wood, asking, Babe, you sleeping?

Your cold fingers reach down and tug at your rising skirt, and you think -- for the third time this night -- that you shouldn’t have worn this God damned outfit.

The alcohol you’d downed before trudging over here quiets that voice a little, but you’re always nervous around Ellie.

If you told her that, she’d scoff and laugh you off. It was true, though. She made you go all doe-eyed and dumb.

The thought of her complimenting you made you wear this silly outfit, and It was winter, for fucks sake.

You knock on her door, déjà vu washing over you. How many times have you stood, nervous, at Ellie’s door? You chew on your bottom lip, playing with the hem of your skirt still.

“Coming!” Ellie’s familiar cadence immediately hollers.

She fumbles around with something, and when she opens the door, she’s tugging a simple tank top over her muscular belly.

You briefly glance at her middle, eyes finding the faint lines of her abs.

“Well don’t you look nice,” she teases.

When you eventually drag your eyes to her eyes, she’s giving you a once-over, a teasing beam on her pretty, freckled face.

As if to get a better look at your outfit, she pushes her loose auburn hair behind her ears.

Music floods through the open door – some shitty indie band she had a thing for – but all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears from her previous compliment.

It wasn’t all that great– she’d said you had looked nice – but that, plus the interest in her green eyes as she examines you, has your belly swirling.

Ellie steps back to get a better look. She licks the corner of her mouth and nods to you. “Twirl for me.”

Your eyes automatically roll, but you listen anyway -- hands out at your waist, you do a little slow twirl. Ellie whistles low.

When you face her again, she’s leaning against the door frame, muscular arms crossed over her chest and grinning cockily. “Oh yeah, putting on a show for me.” “Shut up – are you coming?” you ask, ignoring the heat that finds you and jabbing a thumb behind you.

Ellie drags her eyes away from the cut of your skirt, glancing into the distance. She nods as if she’s just remembered. As she nods, small bits of hair flutter onto her broad shoulders.

Her white tank is damp, too, with small patches of water staining the fabric.

“Oh yeah, I just got distracted. My hair was touching my shoulders weird, so I’m trying to cut it but I think I’ve fucked up the back.”

Trust Ellie to get that distracted and take up such a monumental task before a party. You motion for her to turn.

“Twirl for me.”

Begrudgingly, she does, managing to roll her eyes.

“Oh my god,” you suddenly gasp, hands flying to your mouth, “what have you done?”

Ellie spins, grabbing the back of her head in a panic.

“What?” she asks, green eyes wide. Just as quick as you put the act on, you drop it with a shrug. “It’s fine, just slightly uneven.”

“You’re an asshole, get in here.”

She grabs your hand and yanks you in, closing the door behind you. The speed makes you dizzy, so you grab a hold of her shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

“Whoa – gimmie a minute,” you whisper, trying to blink the world back into the frame.

Ellie immediately bends to look at you, confused.

There’s a beat where she’s concerned, and she gives you another once over, trying to see if there’s anything physically wrong. “The fuck is wrong with you?” she asks, nervous laughter bubbling out of her lips. “I’m –” you start to admit, blinking the fuzz away. Ellie watches you put your forefinger and thumb together, squinting, explaining that you’re, “– slightly drunk,” and she frowns, her face hard, waiting for you to explain further. “I’m wearing a skirt,” you simply state, and her frown deepens, mouth quirking to the side. She glances down, eyeing the short fabric.

“I noticed,” she bleats. “And I needed a little liquid courage…” you let out an exasperated sigh, shaking your head at yourself. “Neil’s homemade wine is no joke.” “Okay, sit down,” Ellie orders.

She begins to walk towards you, using her body to edge you closer to her bed, and you frown, asking, “What?” but still, you move with her. You try and explain that “I’m fine,” but Ellie just shakes her head, “Sit down, before you fall down.”

She can’t be serious. She’s seen me drunk before…worse than this. “El- “you begin, and her face tenses, no more fun Ellie. Her hard tone is unwavering as she asks, “Do I have to pick you up and sit you down myself?”

Your eyes widen, and there’s a beat of silence where your body reacts to her words.

Holy shit, you think, cheeks going hot. You have to laugh to hide it – have you push your thighs together.

The fuck was that?

“Ooo, okay,” you scoff, hands up, brows wiggling, and you let Ellie finish walking you to her unmade bed. You bounce onto the mattress, hands in your lap obediently.

The desire to explain hits you again, and you push at the mattress, saying, “Ellie, seriously, I’m fine.”

It’s a lie – every time you twist your head, the world turns – and the sudden concern from her is slightly overwhelming, if not embarrassing.

Still, she ignores your comment and walks to the sink, pouring you a glass of water, and then she grabs something from a wooden box. She thrusts both into your hands. “A bran muffin?” you question, staring at the lopsided baked good. Ellie pushes the glass to your face, and you glance up at her over the rim.

Her jaw is tense with unease, and her shoulders are rolled back, heavy with responsibility.

When you don’t move, she leans down, and her face is blurry, hand blurry, as you see the side of it before she taps your cheek softly. “Drink and eat – I’m gonna finish my hair.”

Then she turns to the bathroom, and you watch her muscular back disappear.

90’s indie pours into her little apartment, and you sit, dumbfounded at what has just happened.

You diligently sip at the water.

Ellie is always a little hot-headed, and yeah, when you mucked about on runs, she’d snap into leader mode, but the alcohol, threaded with the warmth of her apartment, your nerves, and the bare skin of her neck and arms – the slither of skin between her belt and hem of her top – have you befuddled.

She’d slipped into protective mode so quickly.

Was a little mean about it too.

You lay back on her bed, pulling the hem of your skirt down to try and cover your bare thighs, and frown at her ceiling, munching on the muffin.

Come to think of it, Ellie had been odd these last couple of weeks.

Your usual flirtatious banter has been edged with something else, and she was glancing at you more often – ushering you in front of her on runs, so she could watch your back. Pulling you behind her all the same.

Do I have to pick you up and sit you down myself?

You sip at the water and nibble on the muffin. Mindlessly rub circles into your lower thigh, thinking about the way she crooked her scarred brow and the hardness of her features.

Challenge me, I dare you.

Ellie always took a lot on, and she has been stressed more than usual recently, but she didn’t have to be a dick about it.

You push your bottom lip out, thinking at the ceiling. You think about her though, and something sickly sweet still swirls in your belly.

It makes your cheeks heat, and you blink away the sudden fever, clenching your eyes closed.

You manage to finish the water and the muffin, but your belly still feels funny. Hands are clammy, skin prickly.

Maybe you’re drunker than you thought.

You decide to get more water.

As you get to her kitchenette, she glances at you from the bathroom beside it.

“You okay?” she asks, and you turn to her. She’s mid-chop, the scissors loosely sitting in her grip. She’s also taken her top off. Now donning only her bra and jeans, the swirl in your belly doubles.

The sight is not uncommon for you, but you find it hard to be angry at her when she’s half-naked.

There’s a light dusting of loose auburn hair on her shoulders, and she drops the scissors, reaching up to run her fingers through her hair.

You glance down at her chest, seeing the faint muscles flex as she stretches. Her jeans hang low around her hips, and it’s only then that you notice they’re unbuttoned.

How hadn’t you noticed that before?

“Babe?” “Hm?” you hum, snapping back to her. She’s wearing a bold smile. Your throat constricts. “I asked if you were okay.” “Oh –” you start, quickly turning to the sink. You pour more water, shaking your head. You remember where you are. Remember what’s happening.

“No,” you start, crossing your arms under your chest, “you were mean.” Ellie pauses. When you turn back to her, there’s an amused smile on her face, “Mean?” she asks, “Yeah – “you firmly jut, sipping your water. “I’m not a child Ellie.” Ellie mimics your stroppy face and puts her arms under her chest, too.

You risk a glance at her chest and see that her nipples are hard, peaking through the soft fabric of her bra.

Fuck. You snap back to her face.

“What do you mean?” she questions, cocking her head to the side. She begins to sway towards you, and you don’t move as she comes to rest in front of you – your back to the kitchen counter. There’s a second where your brain short-circuits. You forget that you’re meant to be mad at her. Her long fingers reach up, and you glance at her hand, breath caught in your throat. She smooths your hair behind your ear, inches away, “You’re my wittle baby.”

“You’re annoying,” you quickly groan, trying to suppress your smile as you turn to put the glass in the sink.

Ellie groans, “Ughhhh, I know I know, I’m awful—” and reaches around to take the empty glass from you and put it in the sink.

You stare at it. You could have done that. You were about to do that.

She takes your hand, turning you to face her again.

“Come help me with the back.”

Your intertwined hands rest between you, pushing against your bare thigh.

Ignoring it seems like the wisest path. “Why should I?” you quirk, a faux frown on your face.

She’d put your glass in the sink. She’d taken the glass out of your hand and put it in the sink for you. Ellie pouts, pushing her bottom lip out, and she leans her full body weight on you, hips flush against yours, suddenly so close as she whispers, “You don’t want me to look pretty?”

Your belly flips. The smell of her, citrusy and damp, floods your nostrils, and you try to blink away the sudden dizziness that threatens to wash over you.

It’s then that you realise you’re not all that drunk anymore.

It’s just Ellie.

Your eyes flick down to her lips.

You trace the pink of them, focusing on the little cut she’s got there from chewing nervously. The air is suddenly thicker – all-consuming, and on your belly, you feel the brush of the button on Ellie’s jeans.

Warmth blooms, confusing and sudden.

Ellie’s silent. Looking up at her, you find that she’s studying you, too. Lavish green bathes you and you feel her unlock her hand from yours, pushing them onto the countertop on either side of your hips. The movement forces her closer, and you instinctually lean back, gasping as she follows you, forehead against yours.

You grab the back of her neck to stabilise yourself.

Her hands have moved to hold your hips.

There’s a fleeting second where you think she’s going to kiss you, but she instead brushes her nose against yours, and your mouth opens, a small hush of breath escaping.

Whatever this is, it’s never happened before. This is uncharted territory.

Your fingers stuff into her loose auburn strands, and you look down at where your body connects, seeing the tops of her breasts in the fabric bra. Her hardened nipples push at the cotton.

You drag your lips together, inhaling a shaky breath.

Looking back to Ellie, she’s watching you watch her. A small, crooked smile has absorbed her lips, and her cheeks are flushed pink, warm under your curious gaze.

She looks at your mouth, pushes her forehead against yours again, and inhales deeply, exhaling as she whispers, “Really wanna kiss you.”

Your heart picks up speed, the beat of it making your skin prickle -- your fingers numb.

A nervous panic finds you, and words fail as Ellie lazily gazes at your lips.

Your fingers move in her hair, cradling the back of her head, and, “Kiss me, then,” you whisper.

You barely see Ellie’s fleeting smile before she’s moving to press her lips to yours.

Her touch is tentative. Nervous, as she thumbs your hips, soft lips brushing against yours. Your eyes flutter closed, leaning into her mouth, and Ellie hums, the sound of it echoing through your body.

She pulls away for a second – maybe to centre herself - but you come back, excitedly brushing your tongue over her lips before kissing her, swallowing the surprised groan she emits.

Her hands tighten on your hips, while yours come to clutch the back of her head again. She tastes warm and new, the feeling unfamiliar, but you quickly become accustomed to it as she tongues her way into your mouth, body pressing tight against yours.

Heat consumes, warm and sudden.

For a fleeting second, you think, I’m kissing my best friend, but the thought is pushed away as Ellie’s hands greedily push behind you, flattening against your ass.

A gasp flutters out of your mouth, followed by an immediate swirl in your belly.

You move your hand, massaging the muscular side of her stomach. The kiss picks up as your hands move, your thumb running over the band of her bra.

Ellie whispers your name, desperate and breathy, and suddenly, it’s all too real -- you pull away.

Your eyes flutter open, and you swallow a gasp.

“We’re going to be late,” you rush, hand flattening on her stomach. Ellie takes a minute to collect herself. You can’t look at her as she watches you, emotions a whirlwind.

Eventually, her breathing settles. “Shit, yeah. The party,” she whispers, and she pulls back, hands leaving your body, the heat dispersing. She itches the back of her neck, nervously looking around. “Er – fuck. Lemme put a shirt on,” and as she looks for one, you lean against the counter, head hung back as you silently curse at the ceiling.

The walk to the party is silent.

Ellie – bless her heart – keeps a tight grip on your hand, thinking you’re still tipsy, but the alcohol has faded from your veins, replaced by a thicker, more visceral intoxication.

The touch of her is maddening.

You try and keep up, but your brain is foggy, and you’ve suddenly forgotten the way to the Tipsy Bison.

Ellie’s hand in yours is like a homing beacon.

Really wanna kiss you.

That’s what she’d said, right? The tenor of her voice consumes your mind, followed by the taste of her, and the slow-building desperation as she pulled you against her.

You hear the reverberating sound of her quick breathing as the bar comes into view, bright lights pouring out of its windows.

When Ellie pushes the door open, she drops your hand.

“Look who decided to finally show up!” Jesse hollers when he sees you. A hot acid shoots through your chest.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you mumble, pulling away. Ellie glances at you, eyes sombre, and you think she’s about to say something, but no words make it out. “What’d I miss?” you hear Jesse ask. You clench your hand together. Really wanna kiss you.

Of course, Joel is behind the bar. His smile is welcoming and warm as he takes you in.

“Fashionably late?” he quirks as you lean against the wood.

“Er, yeah. Something like that,” you mumble, then motion behind you.

“Your girl always has the best timing.” Joel squints. He flicks his curious gaze between you and Ellie, noting the way she’s watching you, and his mouth twists, teasing. “I think you mean your girl.”

“What?” you snap, head craning to Joel. His smile widens. Panic blooms again. “She say something?” you rattle, not bothering to hide the eagerness in your tone, and Joel shakes his head, pouring you a drink. He pours two, and slides them to you, “Not a word.”

The night passes in a blur. You spend most of it with Claire from the Kitchen, ignoring the burn at the back of your neck from Ellie’s eyes.

It doesn’t matter where you scamper off too – her gaze always finds you, searing a hole in your spine.

At one point, Claire cuts you off mid-sentence, “Sorry, Ellie’s looking at me weird.” “What?” you ask, turning immediately. You find the green-eyed girl staring, and when you glance at her, she quickly snaps away, almost flinching. With a sigh, you turn back to Claire.

“It’s not you – it’s me. It’s—” you shake your head, “—a long story.” “Well, maybe you can explain later because she’s coming our way.” You twist, and sure enough, Ellie is pushing through the crowd, half-full drink in hand. When she looks at you, she takes a sip, as if she needs the liquid courage.

Quickly, she’s inches away, and you smell the musky citrusy warmth of her. Take in her frame from your seat in the booth. Really wanna kiss you.

Her eyes find you, and they’re glazed from what looks like whiskey in her tumbler. “Um. Can we talk? Please,” then, “Hi Claire.”

Claire waves. There’s a beat of silence where you just look at Ellie – your friend, Ellie, who you just kissed – and you find that you’re rooted to the spot.

You don’t want to talk about it.

Don’t want to talk about how dizzy she made you feel, how you’d begged for more, reaching for the warmth of her lips as you dragged your hands over her narrow body.

Kiss me then.

When you don’t move, Ellie’s features freeze, and there’s fear there – please. Please talk to me.

You begin to slide out. Put on a front for Claire who is looking between the pair of you, perplexed. “Yeah, sure Els. Sorry, Claire, I’ll find you, okay?” Ellie holds a hand out for you to hold, but she pulls it back, scornful of the instinct. Shame, as you were about to grab it.

When you get out of the Tipsy Bison, you realise that the temperature has dropped rapidly.

You’re about to comment on the weather, but Ellie is turning, suddenly, stopping near the notice board and holding her hands up.

“I’m sorry,” she spits, the apology loud in the chilly air.

There’s no one around. They’re all either in bed or at the party, and the empty streets of Jackson make her apology more real, almost – just the two of you.

Music bleeds through the wood, swirling between the pair of you.

She clasps her long fingers together and starts tugging at them, wringing them out like a wet towel.

“I’m – fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry for kissing you it was…” she shakes her head, not able to find the word. Her lip wobbles and you remember that Ellie’s an emotional, needy drunk. “…I’m sorry,” she whispers again, words cracking. She looks at her Converse, ashamed. You take her red hands. Smooth your fingers over the marks she’d rubbed into them, silently begging for her to look at you.

Ellie had never kissed you before. But thinking about it, there’s not an ounce of regret floating in your body.

Confusion, sure but confused because you want it to happen again.

You bend to look at her, saying, with every fibre of your being that “It’s okay.” She’s quick to brush you off. Still looking at the floor, she states, “You were drunk.” “I wasn’t that drunk, Ellie. You’d plied me with food, and I had two glasses of water.” She shrugs, “Still.”

Taking a tentative step closer, you tug her hands, holding them close to your belly. Ellie runs hot and holding her has taken the edge off the chill.

Kiss me then. “I asked you to kiss me, Els.”

And I’d ask you to kiss me again if you weren’t so sad. Did kissing me make you sad, Ellie?

She slowly raises her head. There she is.

You husk, “I’m sorry if I made this confusing.” “No – I. I shouldn’t have,” she flexes her fingers around yours, “said what I said. I didn’t mean it.” Your face falls. Quickly, you try and pull the mask back up, but you squeak, “You didn’t mean it?” Ellies pales.

“Fuck—” she pulls her hands away, turning her back to you.

“I always say the wrong shit.”

Without her touch, the Jackson cold consumes you. A blue wave crashes into you. Lonely.

You’re lonely, standing on the porch of the Tipsy Bison, watching her back move as she rubs the base of her palms into her eyes.

She spits a curse. The air swirls under your skirt, and you suddenly feel a sickly feeling in your belly.

Your voice is a shell of itself when you whisper, “Ellie. We can just forget it happened if that’s what you want.” You get no response.

Had you made it all up? Had you read it wrong? Had Ellie even said what you thought she had?

“Please say something,” you breathe, picking at your nails.

You lick your lips and taste the ghost of her, hot and desperate in her apartment.

The musky taste of her will haunt you. Will consume your dreams, you’re sure of it, and you’ll wake, startling back into Jackson with that Blue Wave knocking into you once again.

Her back flexes. Silence ticks. Music bleeds, tinny – not real. Might as well not be.

The echo of the kiss fizzes at the back of your teeth like the hard-boiled sweet Ellie had slipped you during a drill one morning.

It’s lemon, she whispered, just don’t choke on it when we run.

You turn, ready to run back to your apartment and hide under your duvet.

Rid yourself of this shame that has suddenly consumed you, the Blue Wave that runs cold, but warm Ellie takes your hand, pulling it to her.

A gasp lodges in your throat, and Ellie’s speaking, spewing the truth at you with wild, green eyes.

“I did want to kiss you, fuck. I did. I did, I did---I do!” she brandishes the words like a weapon, planting it into Jackson, the first man on the moon.

“and I—probably should have waited for a better moment. But you were just—” she huffs, shaking her head at herself, holding your hand like it’s hers and she’s not really holding it, just, feeling it there, the constant feel and not feel of your limb, warm and fuzzy from under the skin.

You watch her swallow down a thousand eventualities, a thousand ways to phrase her thoughts.

Finally, “I do want to kiss you,” she concludes. After a beat, she flashes you a small Ellie smile, and Jackson isn’t cold anymore. It’s summer. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding. “Okay,” she copies. “Cool.” “Yeah,” another Ellie smile, “Cool.” “You wanna go back inside? I’m freezing.” “Yeah,” she nods, holding her/your hand, “Cool.”

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams fic #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x female reader #tlou2 #tlou #the last of us #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams tlou2

1K notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 3 months

Text

looking through your eyes + two

authors note: holy shit, i didn't expect so many people to be interested in this story! thank you all so much for the kind comments. this one is heavier than the first, but the following should be a little lighter.

i also just want to clarify something that a few of you mentioned: roman will not be abusive in this story. i know that's a plot used frequently, but it's not my thing, so i just wanna make that clear. :)

he is an ass though.....for now.

also, please, please, please heed to the cw/tw's! i will update them to reflect the content of each update. it's up to you, the reader, to prepare yourself properly by reading them to avoid being triggered.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: language, violence against women, a scene of torture, depiction of ptsd, trauma responses (panic attacks), mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief line of dialogue referring to past childhood sexual assault, trauma response due to past childhood sexual assault

song inspo: 'looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

words: 7k

“You’re going to kill Roman Reigns for us.”

If Solana was capable of feeling and experiencing any emotion other than sadness and fear, she would laugh.

She would laugh because no one sane truly thinks that they can kill the head of the table, least of all someone like her. But, it really does settle in that her father and brother truly believe that she, of all people, can do something like that.

Can take someone’s life.

Just the thought alone unlocks a new level of dread and terror.

Eyes watering, she shakes her head, protesting. “No. I—I can’t do that. I—I won’t.”

Rarely, if ever, does Solana push back on what she’s asked or told to do. It only results in more severe beatings that lead to ER trips vs having to patch herself back up in her bathroom. She’s accepted that acquiescence is always a better alternative. But this….this she can’t get behind.

Wes smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Solana knows exactly what’s about to happen next. Stupidly, she tries to escape, climbing up on her feet and making it centimeters past Wes when he fists her hair, yanking her body back. She hisses in pain and starts to cry and protest as he drags her across the first floor of the house.

“No! P-please! I–I’m sorry!” She begs, all the while Xavier follows lazily behind, keeping his cigar near his mouth.

“Shut up,” Wes snaps. She cries, heartbeat sporadic, so much so that it’s becoming difficult to breathe. That’s one of the worst things to happen considering what she knows is about to occur. He kicks open the bathroom door, and sure enough, the tub is already full and ready.

“No…..” Wes shoves her toward the tub, kicking her in her back to force her to the knees, Solana’s head banging against the side of the tub. She can only blink two or three times before water is burning her eyes, filling her mouth, drowning her.

Solana flails against Wes whose strong hand holds her down under the water by the back of her head. It’s a wasteless effort, trying to fight against him, when her energy would be better spent trying not to drown.

Not that Wes will allow that. He’s adept at bringing her to the edge of unconsciousness, pulling back just in time to taunt her. And that’s exactly what he does, pulling her head back, finding a level of enjoyment at her violent coughs and tears.

His favorite form of torturing her.

She’s not sure how long it lasts, only knows there’s a tremendous amount of relief when he finally lets her go long enough for her to plant her palms on the ground to gather herself.

Xavier, who stood there watching the whole time with pleasure, walks towards her. Solana gasps and moves her body back against the tub, wanting as much distance between the two of them as possible.

His face is blank, no emotion in his eyes. “You either kill Reigns.” Solana’s eyes shut as Xavier caresses her wet cheek. “Or we kill you.”

It’s impossible to hold back her tears, as Solana breaks down in front of her father and brother, the both of which simply walk away with an astounding amount of indifference.

They slam the bathroom door shut, allowing her the privacy of at least deteriorating without their judgmental glares.

Pulling up her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, she sobs into her thighs, confused as to just how in the hell she ended up in this situation.

Solana isn’t a killer. Has never even had the desire to kill anyone. Not even the two men who just made it abundantly clear that her only two options are to kill or be killed.

Just how all of this is supposed to work is beyond her. Roman is a boulder of a man, body covered in ropes of pure muscle with a kill count that rivals some of the world’s leading assassins. She’s barely 5'1, can’t seem to get the scale to budge no matter how many diets she tries, and trembles in the presence of anyone who has an XY chromosome combination.

Many have tried to kill Roman, and all have failed, meeting gruesome, torturous deaths.

What chance does she have?

————

Any prayer sent up requesting some type of divine intervention to stop this unholy union is either denied, ignored, or planning to be answered at a much later date and time, because the next two weeks speed by faster than the speed of light.

Solana’s days are filled with wedding preparations that require little to no of her say in what she wants. Not that that’s any different from most things in her life.

Granted, there’s a small part of her that mourns when she’s presented with her wedding dress.

The dress she doesn’t want to wear for a wedding she doesn’t want to have. There’s an alarming lack of autonomy that suddenly feels so much heavier and suffocating despite it being a consistent, dominant theme in her life.

A large part of her recognizes how it’s probably largely due to the whole reason why all of this is happening.

Her father and brother want control of the bloodline.

Objectively speaking, she can see why this would be a goal. It’s everyone’s goal. To have control and power over the most powerful crime family in the entire continent. Maybe beyond. The Bloodline’s true stretch has never really been made public, per se. She’s certain that’s partially what makes them so dangerous. One can never really know who is a member and who is not, who has ties and who is an enemy.

A secret that gives them a forever advantage.

The day of the actual wedding, like everything else, comes much quicker than Solana feels prepared for. Truthfully, she doesn’t feel prepared for any of this, doesn’t want any of this, but much like most things in her life, her wants and desires don’t matter.

No one cares to hear them, and no one definitely cares to respect them.

On the day of the wedding, shortly after arriving at the church, she’s left alone in one of the back rooms. Someone mutters something about the makeup artist and hairstylist to come in shortly before slamming the door and leaving her by herself. That’s mostly a bad thing. Being alone with the thoughts she’s been having lately……they typically don’t result in anything good.

Overwhelmed and in her head too much, Solana grabs her purse and takes out the latest journal she’s been working out of.

And she writes.

Dear Mom,

Today is my wedding day. I should be happy. You should be here. None of that is the case though. The truth is that I feel so empty. This won’t turn out well. I either try to kill Roman and he ends up killing me as a result or I refuse and dad and Wes kill me.

There is no outcome where I make it out of here alive.

And mama, I know you always told me to never forget that life is a gift, but mine isn’t. It hasn’t been since they took you from me.

And truthfully……I don’t think I really care anymore.

Life is hard. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise.

I’d rather be with you instead.

The knock on the door startles Solana as she hurriedly moves to close up her notebook, stuffing it back in her purse as she calls out for whoever is on the other side to enter. The door slowly swings open as Solana quickly swipes at her eyes, feeling the burning of pending tears.

She can’t let them see her cry though.

No matter how badly she wants to.

While Solana expects another set of hard eyes and an indifferent scowl, she’s met with a woman around the same age as her with half her head shaved, the other side full of dark purple hair that grazes her shoulder.

“Damn, got the right room on the first try. Let’s fucking go.” Solana stands up as the woman walks over, adjusting the black makeup kit on her shoulder. “I’m Bayley.” She extends her hand out for a handshake, and Solana takes a second to reciprocate, caught off guard by her relaxed disposition. The way her smile meets her eyes, not a trace of irritation or disgust in having to assist her.

Solana has only had minimal interaction with representatives of the Bloodline, namely the women who accompanied her at the tailor shop and made comments, most likely about her, in their native Samoan. Nina always taught her daughter not to assume, but it’s hard to not believe cruel things are being stated when they’re conjoined with pointing, eye rolls, and curt exchanges when they needed Solana to move a certain way.

So Solana, understandably, is cautious.

“Solana,” she shares, shifting in her seat.

“I know,” Bayley snickers, placing her makeup kit on the counter and starting to lay out products. “I’d be a bit of a shitty makeup artist if I didn’t know who the bride was, am I right?”

Solana doesn’t say anything. The silence doesn’t come from a place of rudeness but rather continued confusion. She can’t comprehend why this woman is being so nice to her?

If Bayley is bothered by the lack of responses, she does a damn great job of not showing it. “Now, I have a couple ideas of what look I think I wanna go for with you, but as it’s your big day, what are you thinking?”

That…..that is what triggers another one word responde.

Cautious, she asks, “me?”

Bayley pauses in the midst of starting to pick out foundation options and leans back against the counter, a small, sympathetic smile on her face. “Arranged marriages suck ass. You already don’t get to pick who you’re gonna spend the rest of your life with. The least you can do is pick out some makeup.”

There’s something so insanely comforting about her otherwise simple words. Something freeing and liberating about being given an option, even if it’s about makeup. For the first time today, Solana actually smiles.

“I—I like neutral colors. Gold…maybe would be okay too.”

And just like that, the deep smile that revealed the dimple in Bayley’s right cheek returns. “Great minds think alike. That’s exactly what I was gonna go for.”

“And—” Solana adds, voice an octave lower, insecurity creeping back in. “If—if you could cover the scar as best you can.”

“What scar?” Bayley gives her a wink before finishing up the laying out of products. “I got you, girl.”

It’s not very often, if ever, Solana feels beautiful. And even when those once in a blue moon moments occur, they’re fleeting or surface level, typically dashed by a cruel comment from her family. But today, standing in front of the mirror, makeup completed, hair done, and dress on, she actually feels beautiful.

The first time she tried on the dress, it was an unpleasant experience for a variety of reasons, on top of the fact that she hated the style. Strapless and form-fitting with a sweetheart neckline. Solana hates her arms and especially bringing too much attention to her chest and body in general.

But conjoined with the hair and makeup, she actually doesn’t immediately want to turn away from the mirror when she sees the outcome.

Bayley comes behind her, still wearing that smile that Solana is now convinced, despite the odds, is genuine. “Reigns is a lucky bastard. You look fuckin’ gorgeous.”

Solana really does mean it when she offers a sincere “thank you.” Bayley’s positive energy is exactly what she needed. It doesn’t change anything, but it definitely does help her not to be consumed by thoughts she hasn’t had since she was a teenager.

“Hey, uhh, I’m sure being married to Mr. Tribal Chief himself means you’ll probably have to make appearances from time to time, hold his arm and shit.” She hands Solana a small piece of paper. Unfolding it, Solana sees numbers scribbled down in red ink. A phone number. “Ever need glam again for any of it, hit me up. Or even….even if you just need someone to talk to.”

“Thank you.” Solana’s voice is stronger this time, firmer, the small act of kindness traveling such a long way. She holds up one side of her gown to walk over and slide the paper in her purse.

She’ll make sure not to lose it.

There’s a hard knock on the door that reminds her where she is. Reminds her that people like Bayley are anomalies. One doesn’t get to experience kindness for too long. Not in her world.

Solana honestly didn’t expect her father to walk her down the aisle, didn’t see it as something he would have any interest in nor find an exciting opportunity. And those two reasons are very much true, but his desire to issue last minute warnings outweighs both of them.

Xavier’s frame fills the door as he looks at Solana from head to toe. Instantly, he’s scowling with disapproval.

“Why is her hair not down?”

Solana was partially worried about that. She knows her father has always told her she needs to keep her length so that she can always wear her hair down as it helps to “hide how fat your face is.”

She doesn’t know how wrong or right he is about that, but she’s wanted to cut it for ages, being unable to do so because she knows it’ll upset him.

Bayley, however, doesn’t seem to give two shits about Xavier’s disapproval. “Updo’s are typically better for formal events. Granted, up or down, she still looks beautiful.”

Solana can’t tell entirely if Bayley is defending her work or Solana. Either way, she has a tremendous amount of respect for this woman who doesn’t seem to give two shits about who Xavier Miller is.

If only Solana could do the same.

Xavier cuts his eyes in Bayley’s direction but says nothing, instead walking over to Solana and whispering in her ear. “You should have started your fast three days ago instead of two. You still look fat. Hold your stomach in as you walk down the aisle.”

Any relief or peace felt from her interaction with Bayley is dead the second those cruel words leave his mouth. As soon as he entered the room, really. But Solana doesn’t have time to be sad, because he moves to drop her veil over her face and loops his arm with hers.

He walks her out of the room, depriving her of a chance to tell Bayley goodbye and thank you again.

Xavier leads her down the hall, a left, and then a right before they’re standing before the double doors that lead to the sanctuary. She wants to ask for a second to gather herself, feeling the panic starting to rise, but Xavier barks for the guards standing outside the door to open said door.

And they oblige without protest.

The veil is more opaque than she remembers, partially obscuring her view of Roman and the others who wait for her at the end of the aisle. There’s a sea of people on either side of the pews, many and most, Bloodline members. But, she can’t focus on that.

All she can focus on is the low, warning voice of her father. “You will please him and do exactly as he asks.” What other choice do I have? “Earn his trust. We will tell you the rest when the time comes.”

Solana would give anything for that time to never come.

And once they reach the end, before he frees her hand for Roman to take it, he snatches the chance to put on a good display of faux love, leaning over for a hug. Solana instantly tenses at his touch.

“Don’t fuck this up,” he whispers and pulls away with a smile that has her empty stomach knotting.

Swallowing, Solana channels her focus back on Roman. Like the past two times she'd seen him, his hair is neatly pulled back, but unlike those exchanges, he’s dressed to the nines. Expensive, designer suit, all black, the only red in his appearance, the red Ula Fala he wears around his neck. Representation of his status as Tribal Chief, his role in his family’s dynasty.

Solana can admit that he looks good. Very good.

If only everything else just wasn’t so bad.

Roman has no reaction at unveiling her, and Solana can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. She’d like to just say he has no reaction to anything, really, but that’s untrue.

He’s notorious for his angry reactions to the most minute situations sometimes.

So perhaps no reaction is the best reaction she can receive.

Still, it unsettles her. Has she upset him already?

The two of them are directed to kneel by the pastor, or maybe Shaman, or maybe just an official. She’s not really sure, but whoever he is, he wastes no time in starting with the formalities of the wedding. He says many things, but Solana’s mind is elsewhere, not that it’s an intentional avoidance.

Her father reminding her of the fact that she hasn’t had anything to eat for two days is suddenly bringing on the extreme exhaustion and weakness she’s pretty sure she’d managed to put on the back burner in exchange for mental anguish.

She’s so incredibly tired. And it feels impossible to be present for the vows or to stand when she’s prompted so by the officiant. It’s even more difficult to stay cognizant enough to acknowledge what’s being asked of her, forced of her, with a set of “I do’s.”

But, it’s when a knife is pulled out that her face pales, flashes of numerous, previous exchanges where that little piece of silver was used to mentally and physically terrorize her. Roman somehow notices this and quietly murmurs, “relax. It’s tradition.”

Before she can speak, the officiant continues. “Now, as are the ways of our ancestors, we shall seal this union before God, family, and all with blood.” Roman offers his hand, palm faced upward and nods at Solana to do the same. Reluctantly, she follows, eyes shutting, not wanting to see whatever is about to happen next.

“Careful,” Roman warns. She’s unsure who it’s directed to, but it’s followed by a brief, burning pain across her palm. She’s been cut, nothing major, but enough to draw blood.

Her hand is moved followed by instant, coarse, warmth. Eyes opening, she sees that her and Roman’s hands have been joined together.

“In the eyes of the ancestors, you two are now officially bound to one another not just by law, tribal and government, but blood. A curse be placed upon anyone who dares interfere with this marriage.” Separating their hands, Roman takes the red cloth and wipes her palm before his own, tossing it to who she recognizes as his enforcer/cousin, Solo. “And now, you may kiss the bride.”

For whatever reason, probably several good ones, Solana hadn’t thought about this part. The part where Roman would have to touch her, would have to kiss her, in front of everyone.

There’s a quick increase of anxiety and panic that ensues when Roman takes her hand, pulling to force her to angle her body toward him. Her heart is smashing against her chest with the weight of a ton of bricks.

But just as quickly as the anxiety rushed in, it’s gone because Roman’s head dips lower to hers and his lips are on and off her faster than she can process, than she can freak out over.

She’s unsure about this brief interaction, a possible indication he’s just as uninterested in this union as she is.

A business arrangement.

That’s what he called it.

That’s what he called her.

Even her hand in his as he leads her down the aisle, stoic expression the polar opposite of one would expect for what should be the happiest day of someone’s life.

She wonders if he views this as the exact opposite.

Because Solana certainly does.

————

Despite her best efforts to power through, the weakness gets worse and is complicated by a sort of dizziness that makes Solana partially grateful her arm is linked with Roman’s. She tries not to show that she’s leaning more on him than her own two feet, not trusting them to give out on her.

But, this man is perceptive as hell, she should know this. One doesn’t get to be where he is, accomplished all he has by being oblivious.

He’s escorting her into the reception area, already lively and full of people, most of which she doesn’t know, many of which she’s not sure she wants to know.

But instead of leading her toward an individual or group of individuals, he pulls her to the side, asking in a low but steel voice. “What’s wrong?”

Solana stills. The last thing she wanted to do was bring attention to herself, and that’s exactly what she’s done. Trying her best to do damage control, she answers in as firm a voice she can muster. “Nothing. I’m just—I’m just tire……” Free hand to her forehead, Solana only recalls her eyes briefly closing before her body sways into something hard and firm, arms around her, holding her up.

Roman says something, calls for someone, but Solana is solely focused on centering herself.

A woman is suddenly standing before her with a deep, beautiful complexion similar to her father’s. However, that’s where the similarities stop, because this woman and her bold makeup is absolutely stunning.

“You don’t look well,” is the first thing to leave the woman’s frowning mouth.She takes the back of her hand to Solana’s forehead and offers what could be perceived as a sincere, sympathetic smile. “Girl, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Solana manages to answer, unfortunately being honest when she should probably lie. “Y-yesterday, I think. Maybe—maybe the day before.”

A deep frown falls on her face, but Roman is the first to speak. “Why the fuck haven’t you been eating?”

It’s the irritation and anger in her voice that makes her wince, but Solana can’t account for what makes her eyes dart over to where her dad and brother are watching closely. She does her best to redirect her gaze before Roman notices, but it’s a stupid thought.

He sees everything.

His expression turns dark as he mutters something she can’t hear and then directs the woman. “Naomi, take her to get something to eat.”

Naomi. That’s her name. For some reason, it just fits her. Naomi places her hand on the small of Solana’s back, gently taking her from Roman’s grasp as she starts to guide her away. “Come on. There’s definitely plenty of options to choose from.”

Meanwhile, Roman sets his sights on another goal, knowing Naomi will see to it that Solana is taken care of.

Xavier isn’t a hard man to find. He’s laughing it up with some of the other guests at the wedding who aren’t members of the Bloodline per se, more along the lines of allies. Not that Roman gives a shit. His stride is intentful and purposeful, Solo naturally flanking at his side, Xavier’s gaze falling on them with an insincere smile.

“Ahhh, the groom. Congratulations—”

“Why wasn’t she eating?” All Roman has to do is nod for the other men to disperse, and like ants, they do just that, leaving him alone with Miller and his boy.

Xavier steps forward, lowering his voice and clearly playing up the facade of a concerned, loving father. “I believe she said something about looking her best on her wedding day. And as you can see, Solana is not a small woman. She probably thought that was the best and quickest way. Poor girl.”

Roman has this thing he likes to do sometimes when people think they can get one over on him. He likes to tap into the deeply rooted part of himself that can maintain his temper, keep him from acting on his emotions, and instill some well crafted self-control. He puts all of that on the back burner in favor of something else almost equally enjoyable.

Playing with his prey.

Roman knew five minutes into the conversation with Miller that the man’s death would come at his hands. Preferably sooner rather than later. Xavier is the type of man Roman hates the most. The kind who fails in all important areas of his life and spends the rest of it making others miserable for his shortcomings. The kind of man who refuses to see the simpleton he has for a son yet seems keen on turning him into a mafia head.

It’s almost comical. The amount of delusion.

Wes also decides to answer, chin jutted, shoulders straightening. This actually is humorous to Roman, the fact this kid thinks that he comes off remotely intimidating. That shit may work on his sister, but not the Tribal Chief.

“Solana’s a grown woman. She does what she wants.”

Xavier shoots his son a warning look. A look indicating that he can’t believe Wes would be foolish enough to challenge the man before him. “Wes….”

This only brings a smile to Roman’s face. He steps toward him, vowing in Samoan. “I’m going to enjoy killing you.” His eyes dart toward Xavier. “The both of you.”

Solo also steps forward, asking in their same native language. “Want me to handle this for you, my tribal chief?”

Roman shakes his head, advising in a deadly calm voice. “Patience, Solo. I’m going to have my fun first.”

Xavier is visibly irked by the conversation happening in front of him that he can’t understand. But, he does a decent job hiding that irritation. “Perhaps I should go check on her—”

Roman extends his arm, blocking the man. “No.”

Xavier pauses. “What?”

Roman is suddenly ready to get the fuck out of here. He promised his cousins that he would go the day without killing anyone, but this fucker is pushing it. “She’s my wife. I see to it that she’s fine.”

Anger flashes in his eyes, but he covers it with a tight smile. “She is my daughter.”

“The same daughter you knew was starving herself yet did nothing about it?” Roman’s retort is blunt and to the point. He may plan to play with his prey, but that doesn’t mean he can’t call this man out on his bullshit along the way.

Xavier paints on a face of shock and indignation at Roman’s accusation. “I did—"

Roman is directly to the point, advising in a way that makes it clear there’s no room for debate. “Solana is my responsibility now. Any issues she has, I will handle. Any threats she faces, I will eliminate.” One glance at Wes shows that the younger Miller is struggling to control his temper, hand clenching and unclenching at his side. The impulsive side of Roman wants the kid to try something. This will be a beating he’ll enjoy. Thoroughly.

The kid is as insufferable as his father.

Roman refocuses himself, talking and directing his conversation to Xavier. “Solana will be unavailable for the next few weeks.”

Roman swears he can see the vein forming in the older man’s forehead. “What? Why?”

“She’s a member of the Bloodline now. She must get familiar with our ways. Any messages you need to relay to her will go through me.”

It’s partially true. But mostly, he wants to fuck with Miller. A man who obviously gets off on control needs to be humbled, Roman knows it must kill Xavier to be humbled by someone younger and more accomplished than himself.

He’s also certain Solana won’t be heartbroken by not being around her abusive piece of shit family.

“I don’t—”

“When she wants to.” He gestures to Solo, explaining, “Solo will accompany her for any outings she has outside of the estate. That includes your home as well.”

Roman is certain Solo, if not for his adept skill at maintaining a poker face, would be looking at him with surprise. He’s yet to discuss this with his enforcer, but Roman’s word is law. So however his cousin feels about it is irrelevant. It’s painfully obvious Solana is incapable of keeping herself safe, hence her need for protection.

Solo would be the perfect person for just that.

Xavier clears his throat, wrinkled hand adjusting, loosening his tie. “Is that really necessary?”

“As my wife, she now has a major target over her head. I won’t take any chances.” Roman’s smile is mocking. “This is your daughter, right? Surely, you don’t want me taking any chances.” Roman adds on, partially to continue to twist the knife but also because it’s the truth. “I will keep her safe.”

Regardless of how he feels about this marriage, Solana is now a part of the Bloodline. That means, just like for anyone else in his family, he’ll protect her with his life. It’s his duty to do so.

Xavier’s deep complexion is tinged red. The man is fired up. But still, he knows better than to express that rage to the man in front of him. “That is—-was—-her home. What safer place is there to be?”

Now, Roman is getting pissed off. It’s obvious by the faded bruises and pure terror that Solana exhibits in the presence of her family that she’s anything but safe with them.

Roman steps towards him. “With me.” Tired of these games, he gets straight to the point. “These are not suggestions. They’re orders. Orders you will obey.” He searches Xavier’s face for any signs of indication that he’d be stupid enough to try something. There’s nothing there. “Am I understood?”

With a clenched jaw, Xavier answers. “Yes.”

Roman’s intense gaze burns into him, his undisputed authority surely a thorn in Miller’s side. “Yes, what?”

“Yes…..my Tribal Chief.”

Roman smiles. Pleased with his assertion of dominance, he turns away, venturing off to find his bride.

Time to get the fuck out of here.

————

Solana spends much longer in the bathroom than necessary. She halfheartedly expects for Roman to come beating on the door, demanding for her to come out and fulfill her wifely duties.

But that moment never arrives, so she values every second of time she’s granted to prepare herself for what she’s refused to think about the past two weeks.

Her wedding night.

Solana knows what’s going to happen, what has to happen, but it doesn’t do anything to help the terror she feels in every corner of her body.

The shower water blends with the tears shed at the thought of what she has to do, the act she can’t even think about without her chest tightening.

She hoped that reminding herself this wasn’t that, that this isn’t that, would help. But, it doesn’t. Because this is Roman Reigns she’s about to be intimate with.

He’s not known for being gentle in any area of his life, and bedroom activities certainly can’t be an exception. That’s when her anxiety grows even stronger, especially as she forces herself to dress in the red lingerie that was provided to her.

The silk robe included provides a slither of comfort, and she makes sure to tie it so it covers as much of her body as possible. A silly act considering Roman will rip it off, along with everything else, the moment he gets her onto the bed.

It’s only when she’s certain she’s stretched out every bit of patience this man is capable of offering that Solana decides she needs to leave the bathroom. Upsetting him is the last thing she wants to do.

So without an ounce of hope that anything moving forward will be remotely good, Solana hits the light switch and opens the door.

She finds Roman sitting almost slouched in his chair located in the corner of the room. He’s lazily scrolling on his phone when his eyes lift and land on her. She stills. There’s a brief second of a delay when he hits the button on the side of the phone and stands up.

Solana refuses to focus too much on the fact that he’s about as covered up as she is, wearing only boxers.

Because of his size, it seems he’s across the room directly in front of her in a matter of seconds. Eyes taking her in from top to bottom, he asks, “you good?”

Far from it.

Regardless, Solana nods.

If only that worked for the head of the table.

She gasps quietly when he brings his hand to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I don’t do non-verbals.” His eyes search her face for something she can’t identify. “Words.”

Blinking, she answers with a low, “y–yes.”

He pauses and then demands, “lay down on the bed.”

Solana licks her lips and makes her feet move over to the mattress, climbing on top and clenching her eyes shut as she lays her head back on the pillow.

Her fingers mess with the material of her robe, trying to distract herself from the sound and feel of him climbing on the bed. She doesn’t need to be looking to know he’s above her, intense eyes probably studying her.

His deep voice sounds at the same time she feels his finger glaze across her clavicle. “It’s just sex.”

If only that was true.

Still, she manages to nod, eyes and mouth snapped shut.

Solana takes in a deep breath that makes her stomach cave when Roman’s lips are pressed against the soft skin of her jawline, moving downward at a tantalizingly slow pace at the same moment his hands move to her robe.

She releases another shaky breath as her robe comes undone, revealing so much skin, so much of her she’d do anything to keep hidden away.

A thin sheen of sweat is starting to form all over her body. The room is suddenly much hotter than she remembers. There’s difficulty paying attention to what’s happening because her mind is taken to another place, another time.

A much much darker place and time.

And suddenly, she’s not in Roman’s bed. It’s not him hovering over her, not his mouth on her neck or his hands on her body.

It’s theirs.

His stench is strong and almost sour, breath tinged with alcohol. “You’ve got some fire in you, girl.” A sinister smile reveals yellowish teeth contrasted against pale, dehydrated skin. “But, I like it when they fight back.” His strong fist connects with her jaw, forcing her head to the side and nearly knocking her unconscious. “Rob, come hold her down for me.”

Solana tries her best to stop it, tries to keep it at bay, tries to do what she’s never been able to do prior to this moment but somehow thinks this will be different. It’s a stupid thought, because moments later, she’s hyperventilating, her body feeling like it’s on fire.

“No!”

With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Solana shoves them, Roman, whoever, off of her, scrambling to climb off the bed. She’s standing in the middle of the room, doubled over as the demons overcome her.

Hand to her chest, she starts clawing at her neck.

Deep down, she knew this is what would happen, knew that she’d fall apart the second he started to touch her.

What she didn’t expect was a set of firm, calloused hands forcing her upright, carefully holding her arms away from her neck where she’s certain she just drew blood. And she definitely doesn’t expect Roman’s intense gaze on her, studying her with what one might consider to be concern.

But, Solana is too caught up in her panic attack to know for certain if it’s concern or not as she realizes that he’s talking to her.

His voice is distant but eventually travels close enough where she can make out words. “Breathe.” She’s still gasping for breath, trying to find that place of regulation as he continues to speak to her in an almost soothing manner. But, that can’t be possible. This is Roman fucking Reigns. Nothing about him is soothing.

“Look around the room. Tell me five things you see.”

Solana doesn’t know how, why, or even where she finds the wherewithal to be present for his directions, but she is. She’s even able to follow through. Eyes moving around the room, the first thing she lands on are the double doors leading to the balcony.

With speech still almost an impossible thing, she lifts her arm and points in that direction.

He doesn’t even turn to see what she’s pointing at. “Keep going.”

Confused but also not wanting to make things worse by being disobedient, she scans the room, settling on the dresser. Solana points again.

Roman’s eyes bounce from her eyes to her mouth. “Three more.”

At some point in this random exercise, Solana’s breathing began to regulate, so much so that instead of pointing to the chair in the corner of the room, she whispers, “the c-chair.”

His voice grows seemingly softer. “Two.”

The next thing to catch her attention is the painting on the wall, and it’s after she does so, Roman provides her with a reminder that she still has one more. And when she points to the ceiling fan, he provides another set of directions, tasking her to identify four things she can touch.

She struggles initially, realizing she can use herself, going on and identifying several and actually feeling various parts of herself, like her hair and robe.

And when she’s asked about three things she can hear, it’s only then that she realizes something she’d missed in the midst of following his guidance.

She realizes that she can breathe.

Solana can actually breathe. That anchor isn’t on her chest, weighing her down to a state of unconsciousness, that heat that made her feel like flames were lapping at her body is extinguished.

She almost….she almost feels calm.

While panic was the dominant emotion not even 10 minutes prior, confusion is the primary emotion now.

And it's with partial confusion and partial recognition that she acknowledges softly, “I’m okay…”

He doesn’t say anything, and it’s in that brief time of silence that Solana tries to process what just happened. Having suffered from panic attacks since she was a child, she’s never been able to calm herself down, never experienced one as short as this one.

But he….he just changed that. He just helped her through it.

Shaking her head, she stammers, “how….how did you—”

Solana didn’t realize he was still holding her forearms until she looks down. Roman suddenly jerks and steps away from her, forcing her arms back at her side.

Instantly, she’s contrite. He seems….disturbed. Triggered, almost. “I’m sor—”

“Quiet.” Solana watches with just as much confusion as he moves across the room, dressing himself, back towards her, like he’s physically unable to look at her. There’s a level of aggression in his movement, a wave of irritation radiating off his large being. “Why—why are you….”

She can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but she definitely thinks it.

She wants to know why he’s leaving, even if it should be painfully obvious.

Truthfully, Solana doesn’t quite understand why she’s suddenly wondering why he’s leaving. It’s obvious she can’t do what needs to be done. More importantly, she doesn’t want to. Him leaving her alone should be sweet relief.

But it can’t be sweet relief because while it may fix one issue, several others are created.

She was told not to upset him.

He’s upset.

She was told to please him.

He’s far from pleased.

She was told to do whatever he asked, and she’s done the opposite of that.

So far, Solana is failing. She’s failing miserably, and that can only lead to one grisly outcome.

“Where are you going?” Asking while holding her robe closed over her body, she weakly reminds, even if it kills her to do so. “We—we have to—”

“You think I’m dealing with that shit again?” Roman snaps, finally turning to look at her. “I can’t even fucking touch you without you having a nervous breakdown.”

His words, while true, leave a sting. It’s also a bit confusing. How is this the same man who only minutes ago talked her through her panic attack with such patience and compassion.

She suddenly feels even more embarrassed and stupid.

“But, we’re—”

“I can get pussy anywhere, preferably without the headache of dealing with someone clearly unstable.” Solana still isn’t quite sure how to take his sudden change in demeanor. Roman finishes dressing and curtly informs, “the room on the end of the hall on the right is yours. Don’t still be in mine by the time I get back.”

“When are you—” The sound of his heavy double bedroom doors slamming in the wake of his exit prematurely silences her question.

It’s only when she’s certain that she’s alone that Solana breaks down again.

He’s upset.

She’s upset him.

Nothing ever good ever came out of an angry man. Not for her, at least.

Her mind creates and races with a million and one thoughts regarding not about where he’s going but what will happen when he’s returned. She wants to believe he’s going somewhere to work off his anger, but experience has proven she’s the way that men work off their anger.

Roman indicated that day in the library that he wouldn’t put his hands on her, and while she wanted to believe he was being honest, this was also before she pulled this. He has every right to be upset, but that anger and not knowing what will come from it….it terrifies her.

It terrifies the shit out of her.

Falling to the floor, legs against her chest, she sobs into her legs, one thought and only one thought on her mind now.

What the hell did I get myself into?

#roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

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