#Foxes are on high alert | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheolaholic · 1 month ago

Text

amourous; lc

summary; You’ve worked hard to escape the shadows of a painful past. But what happens when it resurfaces, threatening the image you tried to build – and the bond you’d built with someone who wasn’t supposed to see the real you?

hybrid au • university au • modern au • fluff, smut, angst

pairing; lee chan x fem! reader | wc; 14.2k | rating; 18+ explicit nsfw

contains; wolf hybrid! chan, human(?) reader, performance unit focused, wolf hybrid! hoshi, wolf hybrid! minghao, human! jun, jun has a wolf gf in this fic, possessive chan, performance unit performs in public, hoshi is kinda ooc (bro is a bit too calm/cool than usual + a bit mean), halloween party organised by SVT

mature/trigger warnings; anxiety/panic attack, mentions of cheating, mentions of bullying, trauma resurfacing, discussion of hybrid stigmas, discrimination/prejudice, the group has a fight at some point (but they do make up), mentions of hazing, dom! chan, sub! reader, scenting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, multiple orgasms, creampie, doggy-style, tail-play (?), praise kink from both parties

petnames; his (Channie, Wolfie), hers (Baby, Foxy, Pretty Fox)

a/n; hope yall enjoy this fluff and lighter themed fic after the semi dark themes in bty lmao 🥴 i'm really sorry that there was no teaser/trailer and that this fic was overdue – work was hammering me and i was lowkey just tryna survive and catch up on sleep (sis was running on a min of 3-4 hrs of sleep rip) also, ik this is like kinda in the theme of halloween, but i can’t wait five months to post this solely bcs it’s been in the backlogs for at least two years lmao (the idea manifested the same time as ROL)

✨ support me by becoming a patreon (enjoy exclusive perks & content) OR tip me on kofi !! 💜 if you are unable to do so, you can also show support by reblogging your favourite works of mine !!

Your peers considered you to be a reserved person, quiet and usually kept to yourself. You were quite, for lack of a better word - picky, with your social circle. Not to mention, you were always on high alert with your surroundings, especially if you were in a new environment.

Walking through the hallway of Pledis Private High, your new high school had your anxiety peaking. You held your tears back as you timidly but hurriedly made your way to your classroom. You took a seat at the back of the class, close to the backdoor as you could just exit immediately without any trouble.

“Before we start, we do have a new student who has joined us for the school year!” the teacher announced, gesturing towards you. You felt your heart in your throat as all eyes fell on you while you stood up, feeling the room closing in on you. “Could you introduce yourself, dear?”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself, “___, my name is Choi ___.”

When the lunch bell rang, you snuck out through the back door and towards the cafeteria. Sitting at an empty table near a corner, you quietly enjoyed your lunch until a trio approached you, peaking your anxiety as you looked up from your food to look at them.

Two boys - one blonde, one dark haired; and a girl with orange hair.

The girl reached out her hand, a vibrant smile on her face. “Hi, ___, right?” she reached out her hand, “I’m Yejin, Kang Yejin. The blonde haired is Junhui, while the dark haired boy is Chan.” When you turned your focus to the boys, Junhui gave you a small smile while Chan gave you a nod.

“We’re friends of Chan, but we’re a grade above.” Junhui said, “Chan mentioned you’re new to the school, he’s your deskmate.” Your eyes darted to Chan who had a small blush on his face as he sheepishly rubbed his nape, “You didn’t notice me taking a seat next to you earlier… And… before I could try and talk to you, you were already out of the classroom…”

“Chan’s a little shy, but he’s a sweetheart,” Yejin stated as she popped a grape into her mouth, “You’re in safe hands with him around.”

You spent the rest of your lunch break with the trio, quietly observing them. You’ve learnt that Junhui and Yejin are dating, Chan is a dancer and seemingly has a personality that’s similar to yours - at least that’s what you’ve gotten from the 20 minutes of interaction with them. As the bell rang and you were about to head back to class with Chan, Yejin called out to you.

“Out of curiosity, what kind of hybrid are you?”

Junhui nudged his girlfriend, shooting her a disapproving look. “What? You can’t tell me you aren’t curious!”

“Yejin, you just met her!” he hissed, “You shouldn’t be asking these questions!”

Before the bickering could continue, you rushed out your answer, “Human.” As the trio shifted their focus onto you once again, you took a steadying breath and repeated yourself.

“I’m a human.”

Three years since that day, you’ve seamlessly integrated into the trio, now a quartet.

You even find yourself attending the same university as them. When Yejin and Junhui graduated, you vaguely remember Chan mentioning Junhui had gone back to ShenZhen for a year to see his family and did his Foundation Studies there while Yejin did hers in Attacca University.

Once you and Chan had graduated high school, you both enrolled into Attacca University for your Foundation Studies of your respective courses - you pursuing Language Studies while Chan pursued Sociology. You were glad to be enrolled into a university with the trio, at least there were familiar faces - easing your anxiety.

“.....hear me? ___!”

Snapping out of your trance-like state, you looked up to see Yejin and her boyfriend, Junhui, standing in front of you with worried looks.

Letting out a confused ‘huh?’, you watch how Yejin’s eyebrows furrowed. “I've been trying to get your attention for the past ten minutes, ___. Are you okay? Did something happen before we got here?”

You shook your head, giving her an assuring smile as she sat next to you. Junhui quietly took a seat across from both of you, texting away on his phone as his girl continued to question you.

“Are you sure? You’re not lying to me, are you?”

“I promise, I’m fine, Yejin.”

While still unconvinced, she stops her questioning and redirects it towards her boyfriend. Junhui had flown back to Korea to resume his degree in Business; coincidentally ending up in the same course with Yejin. Chan had pointed out how the couple were attached to the hip and were so inseparable that even the universe decided to put them in the same university, in the same study course.

Though, you do admit – Yejin and Junhui were essentially textbook couple goals.

“Who’re you texting, Junnie?”

“Chan.” he answered, “Just asking if he’s finished with his class and if he’ll be joining us for lunch.”

“Is he coming?” you asked curiously, the couple looking at you as a knowing smile spread on their lips. A blush formed on your cheeks as you tried to avoid making eye contact, attempting to stutter out a response but failing. Within the years of friendship you had with the trio, you had somehow developed a small (read: massive) crush on Chan. Though you had managed to keep in under wraps from the majority of your peers, had they been as observant as Yejin, they would’ve noticed the subtle signs.

In fact, it had been Yejin who got you to realise your feelings for the wolf hybrid. She noticed the faint blush that would dust your cheeks when Chan would get too close or help you with a task, how only Chan was allowed to refer to you by a certain nickname (which has led to you only responding to him when he calls you said nickname), the extra decorations on his pastries when you’d bake for them - she noticed it all. When she had initially brought up the topic, you heavily denied it.

“I don’t see Chan that way, I swear!” you exclaimed, “It’s just- I just-”

Yejin placed both hands on your shoulders, attempting to calm you down. “___, dear, please take a deep breath. I’m not saying it’s a fact, okay? I’m just… suggesting that you might, based on what I’ve noticed.”

Junhui approached with a cardboard cup holder tray, passing you a drink as he sat next to you. “It’s okay if you don’t want to believe it. Maybe you haven’t fully processed everything yet, but from what Yejin’s told me, I think there may be a chance you fancy Chan.” You whined, burying your face in your hands as your face burnt bright red from embarrassment.

“At the end of the day, it’s your feelings and I’m just making a hypothesis based on my observation.”

“And if you set aside the whole… rut and aggression stigma, Chan’s a gentleman and always looks out for those he cares for. You’re no exception, too.”

Junhui gives you a teasing smile and before he could reply, Chan was standing at the end of the table with two other male students. “Hi, gang!” he greeted in an excited tone, gesturing to the two, “Meet Soonyoung and Minghao! They’re friends I made from the dance club, and we’re actually coursemates! Can you believe that?”

You watch how Yejin’s nose twitched slightly at Soonyoung and Minghao’s presence, “Are you both wolves?”

“Yejin!”

“They smell like wolves!”

The table watches as Junhui’s eyebrows scrunch together in confusion as he asks, “They smell like wolves?” Yejin later explained how each hybrid has a distinctive smell, making it easy to identify the different species of hybrids. “So… let’s say there are two different cat hybrids in the room,” Junhui hypothesised, “One’s a Siamese, the other is a Maine Coon, can you tell the difference?”

“Okay, I don’t know about differentiating two breeds of the same animals,” Yejin replied, “but, if you put a human and a wolf, two wolves and a cat, or even just two humans in a room, any hybrid would be able to tell.”

“Not all hybrids.” Minghao chimed in, “While any hybrids can differentiate the smell of a human and a hybrid, only some can differentiate the smell of two hybrids of the same breed.”

Chan felt the seat he was sitting on slightly shake. When he looked down, he noticed your leg bouncing – something he’s come to realise was what you’d often do when you’re feeling anxious. Placing a hand on your thigh, he watches as you tensed up, your head turned towards him with a panicked look.

“You okay, ___?” he asks, the group focusing their attention onto you. “I-I’m fine,” you forced out, “Just… Just feeling a little stuffed. I’m gonna go and get some fresh air.”

“I’ll come with you.” Yejin offered, getting up from her seat and you rushed out a quick “No!”, startling her.

“I… I just want to be on my own for now… I’ll… I’ll see you all at the end of the school day, okay?” Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you got out of the cafeteria as quickly as you could, feeling even more uneasy when you could feel eyes following you.

“Did we… did we scare her…?” Minghao asked, looking at Chan who shrugged. “I hope not,” Yejin said, “I still remember the first time the three of us met and talked to her. Poor girl looked like she was about to cry.”

“She is a human, right?” Soonyoung asked, turning to the female wolf. When Yejin nods, the blonde haired wolf asks again, “But, she has an odd scent… I don’t think I’ve met any humans that smell like that.”

“Well, ___ hangs out with the three of us a lot. And since Chan and I are wolves, alongside the other students she could have to interact with throughout the day, maybe the scent got mixed up.”

Soonyoung considers Yejin’s explanation for a moment before nodding his head, accepting it. However, there’s a voice in his head that’s nagging at him – telling him the human who had just left isn’t who she presents herself to be.

Over the next few months, the boys had gotten closer thanks to their shared passion for dancing.

Junhui’s dance style was more towards contempt, similar to Minghao but you could see some elements of b-boying, which when asked out of curiosity, he confirmed that he indeed has a background in b-boy. On the other hand, Soonyoung and Chan shared a similar dance style of hip-hop and urban.

You’ve never seen them perform, possibly because they are yet to perform as a group of four. Junhui and Minghao were the first to perform – signing up for the Attacca’s International Cultural Night, and their performance had blown everyone away. With the help of Jihoon, one of Junhui’s classmates, the trio had successfully produced a song titled ‘My I’. And after a week of brainstorming, the duo had managed to self-choreo a contemporary style dance for the song.

You remember witnessing the performance for the very first time.

A day prior to said Cultural Night, the duo had practically begged your group to attend the event and support their performance.

“So, you’ve been stealing my boyfriend for a performance and not even bothering to tell us until the very last minute?” Yejin asked, arms crossed as she’s sat on the couch of hers and Junhui’s shared apartment. To outsiders, they might think she’s mad but to the group, at least except Junhui and Minghao at the moment, she’s just teasing.

“Baby, please, I’m so sorry for hiding this from you,” Junhui pleaded, kneeling in front of his girlfriend and looking up at her with puppy eyes. “We wanted to tell you all a few days ago but Minghao had a test, I had a big presentation – and it just slipped our mind!”

You can’t help but giggle at the memory.

“Thought of something funny?” Chan asks, taking a seat next to you on the picnic mat Yejin and Soonyoung managed to secure that was provided by the event (it was also a front row seat to the stage, a better view to spectate the duo). A faint blush paints across your cheeks as you answered, “Just remembering how they told us they’d be performing.”

The wolf chuckles as he recalls the memory, “Yea, I’ve never seen Junhui and Minghao hyung look that scared.”

“Have you ever thought of performing on stage?”

Chan looked taken aback by your question, as if he wasn’t expecting you to have any interest in his hobbies since not many people have asked him anything about his own life. “Well… I had performed in the past – middle school, before you joined Pledis. Every school event, Junhui hyung and I would always perform and everyone called us ‘The Dance Bros’ back then. We kind of went on a hiatus of some sorts when Junhui hyung started high school and wanted to focus more on his studies.” “Did you continue performing?‘

“I may like the solo spotlight, but I still prefer having company if I were to go on stage. When hyung said he wanted to focus more on his studies, I decided to do the same.”

“Some people don’t take Chan seriously with his studies because of his passion for dance.” Yejin chimed in, “Sometimes, they even tell him dancing doesn’t really secure him a future. But, our little wolf boy never let that stop him from occasionally picking up dance gigs.”

“Dance gigs?” Soonyoung, who has been quiet all this while, finally speaks up upon hearing the revelation. You were equally curious, looking at Chan expectantly.

There was a sheepish smile on Chan’s face, “Well… the gigs were just me as a backup dancer, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

Soonyoung leaned in, causing Yejin to lean back a little as she’s sat in between them, his curiosity piqued. “Tell me more about these dance gigs.”

“Guys!” Chan exclaims as he runs up the stairs of Attacca’s football field. “Guys!”

Minghao wanted some peace and quiet; coincidentally, you also needed some peace after the morning you had. Your lecturer had decided to have some kind of Pre-Halloween celebration (it was the middle of September) and after an entire morning of loud noises, you’ve had enough.

So, when Minghao suggested the group just relax and eat lunch at the bleachers of the football field, you gladly took his side.

As Chan ran up the bleachers, Junhui can’t help but chuckle. “He gets any more excited and his tails and ears are gonna pop out.”

“That’s happened before?” Minghao asks.

“According to him, not as often as it did in primary school,” you replied, “He’s managed to get in under control, but tell him exciting news or something extremely good happens, out poofs his ears and tail.”

“Should’ve seen him when he found out you were accepted into Attacca,” Yejin teases, nudging your sides, “I have never seen his tail wag so… violently? Happily? Whatever the term is, his tail was wagging and he was happy.”

“Happy is an understatement,” Junhui adds, “He was over the moon.”

You blush, patting your cheeks in an effort to get rid of the redness as Chan reaches the row you were all sat in. “What’s up, Channie?”

The wolf pants, “Seungcheol wants us to join the SVT Frat and we got a busking offer!”

A moment of silence.

“I’m sorry, but could you repeat that?” Minghao asks, “You said it in one breath and so quick that I only heard Seungcheol’s name.”

You guide Chan to take a seat on the row in front of the group, letting him catch his breath. You hand him your water bottle which he happily accepts, taking a large gulp and wiping his mouth. “Seungcheol wants us to join his frat,” he says after catching his breath, his voice still slightly strained. He hands the water bottle back to you with a sheepish grin.

“Seungcheol? The president of the SVT Frat House?” Minghao recalls.

You’re not one to join a fraternity or sorority so your first question was, “What is that and what does SVT stand for?”

Junhui shrugs, “I think you know what frat houses are. Think sorority sisters but for guys where depending on the guy in charge, they’re either cool guys or… drunkards and druggies. SVT is more on the cool guys spectrum, think big seasonal parties or smaller pool parties.”

“As for what they stand for, according to what’s being said, it’s apparently Sigma Vitae Triumphalis. A Latin-inspired phrase for Sum of Life and Triumph.”

Yejin raises an eyebrow, leaning back slightly in her seat. “Since when do they recruit mid-semester?”

Chan shrugs, fiddling with the strap of his bag. “Beats me. But he said Jihoon recommended us and something about needing more members, how he’s been keeping tabs on us for the past… two months? Plus, you know how popular their parties are. It might not be the worst idea to check it out.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Are you considering it?”

He hesitates, keeping his gaze on you. “I mean, I don’t know… It’s not every day we get offered into a frat house like SVT. Could be a good opportunity, right? Connections, parties, networking…”

“Correction, you boys get offered into a frat house like SVT,” Yejin snorts, “I’m not into the whole sorority sisters thing and ___ there has social anxiety. We avoid that shit like the plague.”

“There… There won’t be any kind of hazing, right? I heard that frats from NeoCity University…”

“Oh yeah, I know what you’re talking about,” Soonyoung joins in, grimacing at the memory, “The 20XX NEOCITIZEN Hazing Incident.”

You wince at the mention of that incident. While you weren’t apart or knew anyone that were involved, you would consider yourself an empathetic person to some degree. The frat house that was involved weren’t disclosed, but a quick mention of the victims and what they’ve endured were quick to reveal it was the ANOM House.

Two humans suffered from alcohol poisoning, having digested a concoction that police suspected to have at least ten different types of alcohol; and a cat hybrid was forced into a ‘Mountain Dew Baptism’ as his pledge.

The worst part was when investigators announced that the frat seniors had multiple chat rooms where they would upload photos of the newcomers blindfolded and completely nude.

A shiver goes down your spine as you recall the news, deciding to push it back down before unwanted images or your imaginations think of something similar happening to your friends.

Minghao was the one who tried to ease everyone’s minds, “They don’t do or condone hazing, at least that’s what I’ve heard from Jihoon. They’re pretty selective of who they let in, usually depending on connections and like Chan said, recommendations and some tab keeping.”

He goes on about how the boys in SVT were good people to some degree, saying how one guy named Jeonghan may look sweet and is like an Angel; but he sure as hell knew how to cheat when it comes to playing games. “Wonwoo and Mingyu look like they’re best friends, but they’re practically dating each other and a girl from Wonwoo’s class. Polygamy, if you may.”

You turn back to Chan, who’s surprisingly looking at you with puppy-like eyes, “Why are you giving me that look? You should be giving it to the boys, not me.”

“I dunno…” he mutters, “It feels right.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks flushing at the answer. “How about we hear him out first? See if it’s the real deal and make sure they aren’t secretly trying to haze you guys.”

“Deal.” Chan grins, already looking more optimistic. “Let’s just hope they’re not expecting us to pledge by chugging a gallon of milk or something.”

The group laughs, Junhui shrugging, “I dunno man… They had Jihoon drink that twenty ounce bottle of Coke Zero as his pledge.”

“I mean, the man has a strange obsession with Coke Zero so it’s no problem for him,” Minghao adds, “Remember that mini fridge he had in his room when we visited? I opened it and it was filled to the brim with Coke Zero.”

You turn your head back to Chan, “Hey, didn’t you also mention something about a busking gig?”

“Oh yeah! The gig!” Chan’s wolf ears popped right out of his head, a large grin on his face. “We got an offer for a busking gig!”

Chan was nervous.

You could practically smell it on him.

The boys took close to three weeks to practice their routine, Soonyoung wanting everything to be levelled and in sync for a more smooth or perfect performance. Chan had come to you for comfort several times, his entire body worn out whenever Soonyoung wanted to repeat a certain move or when he made them repeat the entire choreography with little to no breaks in between.

“___…” Chan mumbled, plopping into your arms the moment you were within reach. He didn’t even care that his ears and tail were out on display. “I’m so… tired…”

You chuckled, wrapping your arms around him and giving him some back rubs. His tail slowly wagged behind him, “My body aches, ___…”

“Well, that’s a small price to pay for landing a big gig. You guys must’ve made quite the impression on the SVT Frat,” you responded. “Getting recommended to the frat house president and a talent manager? I’m so proud of you, Channie.”

His tail wags faster. “Thanks…” he mumbles as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent; an action that causes you to shiver. “You’ll… You’ll come watch, right..?”

You run a hand through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. A low, rumbling noise from his throat, concerning you just a little because you thought he’d wag his tail off with the speed it was at. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Y’know, if you don’t calm your balls down,” Yejin speaks up, holding up a fan to Junhui’s face, “You’re gonna end up drenching that outfit and it will not look good.”

“Hey, this is the first time we’re busking for a talent scout!” Chan snaps, sending Yejin a glare only to immediately shrink back when the older wolf shoots him a sharp and unimpressed look. He looked down and muttered, “Sorry.” only for you to tilt it back up so you could pat down the last bit of setting powder along the sharp line of his jaw.

You notice the way his ears tint red – whether from heat or embarrassment, you aren’t so sure. Junhui groans, tugging at the white choker around his neck. “Soonyoung, explain again why we look like emo Angels?”

“It’s for the aesthetics, Jun,” he replies, flashing peace signs at an imaginary camera that was behind the taller male. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Minghao scoffs, the fabric of his tunic swishing dramatically as he shifts his weight. “We look like we walked out of an early 2010s Tumblr moodboard titled ‘Sad Celestial Beings Who Listen to Fall Out Boy on Loop’.”

Chan snorts, clearing his throat when he realises it almost smeared the lipstick you were putting on him.

“Honestly,” Yejin says, “Hao’s not wrong. All y’all are missing is a grayscale filter and an unnecessary Latin quote about lost souls.”

Soonyoung pulls out his phone, a big smile on his lips, “Give me five minutes. I can totally make that happen.”

“But, seriously Yejin, how the hell are you not melting?” Chan asks while you carefully pat at the sweat beading along his forehead with a tissue. “You’re like… Jade from Victorious or something? Are you blessed with some kind of internal ice box?”

Yejin rolls her eyes, “It’s called antiperspirant.”

The younger wolf moves to argue back, but you’re quick to grab his jaw before he can do so. You hold up the eyeliner, narrowing your eyes at him, “Don’t move, Romeo, or I will stab you in the eye with this.”

He freezes instantly, wide-eyed, as if you’d just threatened him with a loaded gun instead of a makeup product. He blinks before giving you a sheepish grin, “Right… Statue mode… Got it.”

You shake your head with a soft laugh. “You’re lucky I’m patient,” you mutter, carefully drawing on his eyeliner. “More like I’m lucky I’m cute,” he whispers, earning himself a small pinch to his sides once you were done with his eyeliner – followed by a very undignified yelp.

“Once you’re both done flirting, we got a busking performance to do,” Soonyoung calls out, his voice dripping with exaggerated impatience. You don’t glance up as you cap the eyeliner with a decisive click, “We’re multi-tasking, Soonyoung.”

Chan sticks his tongue out at the blonde before turning to you with a grin that’s half mischief, half gratitude. “Thanks, makeup fairy,” he says, voice low and teasing.

You snort, setting the eyeliner back into the makeup bag. “Call me that again I’ll make sure your eyeliner on both sides are even.”

He’s quick to shut up, hands flying to his face protectively in a dramatic manner, making you laugh harder than you mean to.

“Alright, alright,” Yejin claps her hands, gesturing to the area that’s been sectioned off just for the group’s performance. “Go impress that talent scout with your dances, and maybe not scare some kids.”

You sat right behind the speaker as the boys began to perform, the energy buzzing through the air. Beside you, Yejin carefully holds up Junhui’s phone, recording a fancam of her boyfriend with the concentration of someone defusing a bomb.

“You’re not helping Chan film his?” she questions, glancing at you briefly.

You casually point toward Seungcheol who’s standing not too far away, phone in hand and already filming Chan’s every move with the intensity of a proud father at his son’s first school recital.

“Damn,” Yejin chuckles, “Chan’s already his favourite, huh?”

“From what I heard from Channie, he gets teased a lot, but they still look out for him.”

Yejin smiles softly, returning her focus to recording Junhui. “Well, the SVT frat is like that. Bite and bark at each other one second, then defend each other like their lives depend on it the next.”

You hum in agreement, shifting slightly to make yourself more comfortable. “Guess that’s just how wolves are, huh? Family first… even if they drive you insane half the time.”

“I heard from Junhui that he’s not the only human,” she adds, her fingers still steady on the recording. “There’s these two boys, Jeonghan and Vernon, they’re humans too. And the wolves are super protective over their human frat brothers.”

Your ears perked up, “Really? I thought most humans and hybrids don’t mix well. Stigmas and whatnot.”

“Yeah, but if you give them a chance, you’ll see it’s not that bad. Take me and Junhui for example.”

You snort, “You two are like, stupidly good together. He looks at you like you’re the only person on the planet.”

Yejin rolls her eyes, her cheeks warming slightly. “Yeah, well, sometimes he looks at me like he’s plotting to steal all my fries too.”

You both laugh.

“But, yeah, you could say we’re both proof that hybrids and humans can work out. Coexist in harmony. It may not be easy, but if both parties respect each other, I’d say it’s definitely worth the ups and downs.”

“Seungcheol said their fraternity is… different. Like, once you’re in, you’re family. No questions asked.”

“Oh, speaking of Jeonghan and Vernon, I heard they’re protective over their wolf brothers too!”

Yejin raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. “I heard from Chan that Vernon once decked a guy for saying his wolf friends aren’t welcome in the cafeteria during a rainy day because they ‘smelled like wet dogs’.”

“Jeonghan?”

“Apparently one of the students on our campus was involved with the NEOCITIZEN hazing incident. Jeonghan posted an exposé document of it with receipts and everything. I guess you can say he’s more of a…’I will ruin your life with a smile’ type of guy.”

Yejin lets out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "Humans with wolf instincts. That’s terrifying."

“Yeap, but not as interesting as that.” You lift up your phone, capturing a few shots – not of the boys’ performance, but of Seungcheol mouthing every lyric, completely unaware. Yejin leans over slightly, whispering behind her hand, “At this point, we should just get him a varsity jacket that says President.”

You stifle a laugh. "He'd wear it. Proudly."

The busking performance wrapped up as the last notes of the song drifted into the warm evening air. The boys bowed dramatically, thanking the small crowd that had gathered, while you, Yejin and Seungcheol cheered from the sidelines like proud, mildly embarrassing parents.

It wasn’t long before someone suggested food and because all five men were made up of mostly bottomless pits disguised as people, everyone agreed.

“___, you wanna take the aisle seat?” Chan asks as everyone takes their seat at the corner booth of a cozy Italian restaurant. You blink, a confused look on your face. “Why?”

He shrugs with a small smile, “Figured you don’t like cramped spaces. You’re always on the outer seat of class or at the back where there’s more space.”

His voice is light, but there’s a warmth to his words that makes your heart flutter. You hadn’t expected him to notice that behaviour of yours. It may feel like a small gesture, but it was one that made you feel seen in ways you hadn’t felt nor expected.

Plates of pasta, pizza and baskets of bread covered almost every inch of space, the scent of garlic and tomato sauce filling the air.

Junhui was stealing bites from Yejin’s plate despite her swatting at him with a fork. Seungcheol was dramatically telling a story with hand gestures that nearly knocked over his glass of iced tea. Soonyoung and Minghao were locked in a serious debate over the best pasta sauce. And Chan was just happily demolishing a mountain of beef bolognese pasta as though he was trying to regain the energy he’d spent the past few weeks preparing for the performance.

You smile to yourself, twirling another spoonful of carbonara as you enjoy the warm chaos around you. The clicking of silverware, the laughter, and the occasional playful argument all blended together into a symphony of comfort.

This was like a dream come true.

For the first time, you were actually happy to be surrounded by others.

As the night winds down and everyone starts to slip into a comfortable haze only good food and company can bring, Chan leans forward. “Hey,” his voice was a little softer, like he didn’t want the others to hear. “Do you need a ride back?”

His offer catches you by surprise, “O-Oh… I was just gonna call a cab, actually…”

He’s quick to offer you a ride, “I-I can drive you back! It’s on my way home, plus it’s getting late. It’d be safer too.”

A small, shy smile tugs at your lips. “Are you sure? If it’s a hassle–”

Chan shakes his head so quickly it causes a few strands of his hair to fall into his eyes. “You’re not,” he says firmly, his voice a little softer. “Really, I want to do this. Let me drive you back, ___.”

Your heart does that little flutter again, and you find yourself nodding before your brain can overthink it. “Okay… Thanks, Chan.”

He grins, cheeks a little pink as he finally remembers the fork in his hand and dives back into his bolognese with renewed enthusiasm, like just asking you had taken more energy than he’d thought.

The drive back to your apartment was peaceful, the streets mostly empty as the city settles into a quieter rhythm. Chan kept the conversation flowing almost non-stop, talking about everything from the production of the song with Jihoon to a funny story about how Dokyeom, another wolf in the fraternity, accidentally put salt instead of sugar into a batch of cookies.

You listened, amused at how the considerably shy wolf is yapping. You can’t help but notice how… he was more animated than usual. His grip on the steering wheel was a little tighter than necessary, and he was tapping his fingers along the leather in a restless rhythm. Finally, as he launches into a ramble about how he should probably start learning how to cook properly, “I can’t just live on instant noodles forever, right? Even wolves need proper nutrition or whatever it is that–”

“Chan.” You interrupted him gently, “Are you okay? You’re… yapping a lot tonight.”

“Am not!” he blurts out immediately, voice cracking just a little.

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow, and he let out a helpless laugh, shrugging his shoulders a little. “Okay. Maybe I am,” he admits, eyes still fixed on the road. His voice drops to something softer, returning to that shy Chan you know, “It’s just… I kinda over-talk when I’m nervous. I can’t really help it.”

You turned fully towards him, curiosity piqued. “Nervous?” you repeated, “Why are you nervous, Channie?”

He almost chokes at the nickname, feeling the blood rush lower and he hoped to every god out there that you hadn’t noticed the way his thighs tensed, how he was about to have a half hard-on.

The car slowed as he pulled up to a red light, the glow casting a soft, almost intimate light over Chan’s face. He finally turns to look at you fully, his eyes struggling to make eye contact with you. With a deep breath, he answers, “Because I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you that I like you. Like, I like like you.”

The light turns green, but neither of you move, suspended in that breathless second (thank God there were no cars behind, else you’d be faced with multiple angry drivers). Chan scrambled to keep talking, panicked by the silence. “And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same! I just– I didn’t want to keep pretending that it’s just… platonic for me. Because I really do see you more than a friend. You’re an amazing person. Sweet. And you make the worst day feel like nothing, and I just–”

You interrupt him by laughing quietly, “Chan.” You reach out to place a hand over his on the console, and he shuts up, eyes wide like you’d just physically stunned him. You smiled, heart thudding in your chest as you confessed your little crush on him, “I like you too.”

The only sound in the car was Chan’s stunned inhale, then he blinked. Finally, the biggest, most radiant grin spreads across his face, pure joy lighting him up brother than the sun in the day.

“Really?” he breathed.

“Really,” you reassured, laughing a little and motioned to the green light. “Now maybe drive before any cars show up behind us and try not to crash from excitement.”

Chan lets out a shaky laugh, nodding frantically as he drives the car forward again. Throughout the remainder of the drive, he can’t stop himself from sneaking glances at you, like he couldn’t believe that you reciprocate his feelings.

Pulling up in front of your apartment building, he shifts the gears into park but makes no move to unlock the doors just yet. Instead, he sits there for a second, drumming his fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

“What’s up, wolfie?” you teased, an amused look on your face.

He hesitates for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip like he was holding back the words. Then, he finally blurts it out, “Would you, um– would you wanna go on a real date with me tomorrow?”

The way he rushed it out all at once had you giggling. “You… You deserve to be asked out properly and well, if I were to ask you to let me be your boyfriend, I would want it done right. I could come pick you and we could… Get coffee? Brunch? DInner? All of the above. Whatever it is that you want.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest at the sheer nervous hope in his voice. “I’d love that, Channie.”

Chan’s body relaxes, but only slightly. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Totally chill about this. Not freaking out or anything.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, “Text me when you’re here, okay? I’ll be ready by then.”

Before you left the car, you leaned over the console and pressed a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek. The wolf froze, eyes wide and stunned – but the slow, bright smile that followed was enough to make your cheeks burn too.

“Nighty night, Chan,” you said, slipping out of the car with a giggle and a wave.

He stays frozen for a second longer, fingers lightly brushing against the spot where you kissed him. He calls out to you after with a huge, beaming grin, “Night, ___! Sleep well and dream about me!”

Attacca announced that for the week of Halloween, all classes would be suspended after 5pm, citing “seasonal engagement and student well-being” as the official reason on the letters and emails they sent out. But everyone knew what it really meant.

Halloween at Attacca wasn't just a holiday – it was a tradition. A week-long carnival of curated (but mindful) chaos, underground dares, and elaborate, unsanctioned events that blurred the lines between myth and reality. The staff pretend to discourage it, the administration feigned ignorance. But every year, as the leaves of October fell, the campus came alive in a way no syllabus could prepare the freshmen or you for.

On Monday night, the lampposts flickered with orange lights that weren’t there before. The usual LEDs were replaced with vintage bulbs that cast long, warped shadows across the quad. At exactly 11:11pm, the fountain in the center of campus would dispense black water and dry ice smoke. Scattered across campus were boxes labeled, ‘OPEN ME IF YOU DARE’.

Masks appeared in each on-campus dorm room on Wednesday. They were hand-carved, and the students suspected it to be the work of the uni’s drama teacher – Baek Jongho. He always did have a flare for the dramatics.

The masks were antique-looking, each one came with different designs. Some had feathers, others had horns. A few were grotesquely beautiful, almost… sentient. Whether or not they were meant to be worn, the masks certainly had students locking their doors afterwards. Even the usual campus troublemakers kept their heads down.

Then came Thursday, where the air shifted.

Literally.

Attacca’s main hall smelled of old wood and spices – you figured it’s a mix of clove and cinnamon. Students began preparing for the climax of the week: the Halloween Parties organised by each frat house. They all had different themes, it’s what made Attacca Halloween Parties so special.

BANGTAN was known for masquerade balls.

XLOV was known for their drag shows.

And, SVT? The wildest costume party you’ll ever attend.

The scent of takeout lingers in the air – fried chicken, tteokbokki, and kimchi fried rice. You’re curled up on the couch, Chan’s hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, idly scrolling your phone while Chan argues with Junhui about whether vampires or werewolves would win in a dance battle. You cuddle closer to your wolf, already feeling the cold autumn air – that or because they had the air conditioner turned on.

Soonyoung lounges across the arm of the opposite sofa, legs dangling as he sips on his coca-cola. “By the way, what are y’all wearing to the party tomorrow night?”

You blink. “What party?”

Yejin gasps like you’ve just taken the last piece of fries from her. “The Halloween party SVT is throwing! Y’know, the one that got shut down by campus security because Mingyu set off the smoke machine too close to the fire alarm.”

Minghao snorts, scooping up a spoonful of kimchi fried rice. “Yeah, and that was before they could unveil the haunted basement.”

“Aren’t SVT parties invite only?” you ask, setting your phone down. “I didn’t get an invitation so–”

“___, you’re Chan’s girlfriend,” Junhui points out. “You’re practically invited by just being his girl.”

You glance at your boyfriend, who only shrugs with a sheepish smile. “I just assumed you’d come with me.”

“Romantic,” you deadpan.

Chan is quick to scoot closer, wrapping both arms around your waist while giving you those puppy eyes; hoping that it’ll keep you from escaping the conversation. “Come on, baby~” his voice low and coaxing, “Just this once? Please? I’ll make it worth it.”

You raise a brow, “That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“I mean it,” he insists. “Tell you what, baby? You can pick any couple’s costume. Literally anything. I’ll wear ears, if they aren’t wolf ears – crown, body paint, a crop top – name it; I’m in.”

You shift to get a better look at him, “So if I asked you to wear a full-body suit?”

“If it gets you to come to the party, I’ll be a banana. I’ll be the peel if you want. I’ll even let Minghao film it!”

“Wow, you are whipped.”

“Hello?” Chan leans his cheek against yours, “Have you seen my girl? She’s gorgeous and a fucking baddie! I’d be damned if I weren’t whipped for her!”

Soonyung narrows his eyes, “Not bad for a human. Usually it’s foxes that have these kinds of effects – no matter on hybrids or humans.”

His words caused you to shift, like it made you uncomfortable.

Chan waves it off dismissively, “Hyung, enough of that. We don’t need to hear about you and your ex for the nth time.” Returning his attention to you, he pleads once again. “Baby, please~ I really wanna go with you. It’s more fun when you’re there and well, I wanna show off my girl.”

Your stomach does that annoying little flutter thing it always does whenever your boyfriend goes from clown to Prince Charming in a matter of seconds. Yejin makes a gagging noise, acting as though she hadn’t planned a matching costume with Junhui too. “Disgustingly sweet. I love it. Say yes.”

You sigh, giving Chan a dramatic side-eye. “Fine. But if I go, we’re doing my costume idea and you cannot leave me to fend for myself. You know how I am with crowds…”

“Deal,” he nuzzles his face into your neck almost immediately. “Thank you, and I love you. I’ll be the hottest… Mario or the shiniest disco ball you’ve ever seen!”

The bass from the frat house speakers is already making the floorboards vibrate, but none of that matters at the moment. Chan has you pressed up against the walls of his room, your hands flat against the wood as your boyfriend looms behind you, his warm breath brushing against the curve of your neck. His arms cages you in, one hand resting just above your head, the other firm on your him, thumb brushing the edge of the red satin.

“Chan,” you whisper, half-giggling, half-breathless, “We’re gonna be late–”

“Don’t care,” he mutters, nose trailing along your jaw. “They can start the party without us.”

His tail sways behind him, ears twitching every time you shift to press yourself back against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, his scent thick and lazy in the air – musky, familiar, and distinctively him. It curls around your senses until you’re practically drowning in it.

“Pretty baby smells so fucking good,” he murmurs, nuzzling behind your ear, his voice low and raspy. “You wore this just to drive me insane, don’t you?”

You roll your eyes, though the way your heart hammers against your chest betrays you. “It’s just Red Riding Hood, Channie… It’s not lingerie…”

The laugh he lets out were equal parts soft and dark. “Could’ve fooled me. Look at you…”

His nose brushes the base of your neck, then his tongue darts out to slowly lick up, stopping right where scent gland pulses. You shudder. He doesn’t bite, it’s not like he’s marking you but it’s close enough. He switches between nipping at the skin of your neck and his licking it, letting his scent seep into your skin, into your clothes – deep enough that every single hybrid in that will be in the frat house knows who you belong to.

“Need to make sure everybody knows you’re mine,” he says, lips ghosting your neck. “No one touches, and no one looks too long. Got it?”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his eyes. “Is that jealousy talking?”

Chan grins, eyes glowing just a little with the thrill of it. “Maybe. Add a bit of possessiveness into the mix.”

You turn around to face him, adjusting your red cape and smoothing down your skirt. “You’re lucky I like it when wolves get territorial with their partners.”

“You’re lucky that you being in that costume is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You’d consider yourself… somewhat put together. After two years of therapy, you’d gotten better at managing your anxiety. You knew how to recognise the signs, how to slow your breathing, how to ground yourself before it spiraled.

However, nothing could prepare you for this.

Chan had only stepped away for a moment – to get drinks, he said; kissing your cheek and telling you to stay put. You do as you’re told, staying close to the wall – trying to stay away from the worst of the flashing lights and sticky drinks, fingers toying with the hem of your cloak. You scan the room, trying to soothe the buzzing in your chest. Maybe it’s the heat, or the lack of Chan’s presence, or–

“...___?”

You know that voice. You remember that voice.

There, just a few feet away in a glittered vampire cape and hesitant expression, stood the one person you hadn’t seen since middle school – the one person you prayed you’d never see again. Suddenly, you feel as though you’re thrusted back into your middle school years – how that venomous voice of hers echoed in the back of your skull after countless nights of crying into your pillow, how you begged the universe to let you be anything else but your current self.

Lee Minjae.

She has the same face, just… older. Softer, as though any cruelty she had back then had melted away. But the moment your eyes met hers, the room tipped sideways.

“Hey,” she said, her voice less venomous. “I… I didn’t think I’d see you here. I… I know this is weird, but can… Can I just talk to you for a second?”

She sounded so much calmer now. Gentler. But your body didn’t believe it.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

The music fades out as the room dimmed, faces blurring at the edge of your vision as adrenaline takes over every nerve in your body. You feel a tingle go up your spine and panic curled in your lungs like smoke.

“___?”

As she approached you, you backed away instinctively – flashbacks of that day playing right before your eyes.

Her laughing at you. The cruel words. The humiliation. The isolation.

“Whoa, careful there, baby.”

Chan. His voice was sharp and anchoring as his hands closed over your shoulders firmly.

You flinched like you’d been burned. Your wide, glasses eyes turned up to meet his and you watched his expression drop instantly into full concern. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

You wanted to respond, but you couldn’t.

It was like a hand was wrapped around your throat, stopping you from speaking. Stopping you from breathing properly.

The room was getting too loud. There were too many people. Too many eyes.

You couldn’t ground yourself.

Chan’s scent was there, but it wasn’t enough.

Your breath came in short, shallow bursts.

Then, you feel the slip.

Your hood fell back.

And your fox ears – golden-beige, velvet-soft, twitching anxiously; sprang up for all to see. A beat later, your tails unfurled from under your skirt, bristling like a storm.

There was a gasp from someone nearby. And then another.

“Oh my God–”

“What the fuck– She’s a hybrid?”

“Not just a hybrid, a fox.”

Dozens of eyes were on you.

Chan’s hold on you tightened, his body moving immediately to step in front of you so he could shield you.

But you were already running.

You stumbled out the back door, into the cold October night, lungs stinging and vision swimming. Your legs carried you blindly across the lawn, away from the music, away from the party – away from everything.

You didn’t even feel the tears until the wind kissed your cheeks. It was all too much.

The flashbacks. The exposure. The eyes.

Everything you’d spent years learning to manage, to keep hidden – gone in one night.

The autumn chill had transitioned into the beginning of winter, and most students had begun retreating indoors. The group lounges across the benches and stone planters, passing around warm drinks and lazily throwing acorns at each other while waiting for Chan to finish his lecture.

“She hasn’t texted back today either?” Junhui asks, voice lower than usual.

“She left me on read…” Yejin sighs, “At least that means she’s still using her phone…”

“Could be worse, y’know..?” Minghao adds quietly, “At least we know she’s not ghost ghosting us.”

Chan hadn’t said much the past few weeks either. The grief in his silence was loud enough. As much as he wants to help you, as much as the group wants to help, they knew they had to give you the space you needed.

However, Soonyoung seemed to have a different view. He leaned back with scoff, barely hiding the disdain in his voice. “You’re all acting like she didn’t lie to us for months. Hell, like she hadn’t lied to you three for years.”

Yejin blinked, clearly taken back by the wolf’s tone. “Excuse me?”

“She hid what she was. What she is,” Soonyoung said bluntly, voice harder than usual. “You don’t think that’s messed up? She calls you her friends, yet she hid the fact that she’s a fox from you for years.”

Minghao’s brows furrowed. “She didn’t owe anyone that information. Especially when she didn’t feel safe because of the discri–”

“This isn’t about what she owed, Hao,” the older wolf snapped. “It’s about trust. And don’t act like I’m the only one who felt something was off with her from the beginning.”

Junhui frowned, “Soonyoung, come on–”

“You’re a human, hyung,” he interrupts, arms crossed and jaw tensed. “You wouldn’t know the difference between the scent of a human and a hybrid. I fucking knew it. Not only did she smell not-human, she’s always deflecting questions. Jumpy. Always looking like someone’s about to bite her head off.”

Yejin stood abruptly, “So now she’s the villain because she didn’t fit your vibe?”

“No, she’s the bad guy because she played us. Played Chan. Foxes will always be foxes, right? They’re tricky little things. They get close just enough to sink their teeth in.”

Junhui attempts to calm his girlfriend down, urging her to sit down. “Soonyoung, you don’t believe that.”

The blonde wolf shrugged like it was obvious. “She got what she wanted. Attention. Someone to fawn over her, and now that everyone knows what she is, she runs? Doesn’t even bother to explain herself to Chan? Tell me that’s not manipulative.”

“You’re projecting your own bias onto her,” Minghao says sharply. “That’s not fair.”

Soonyoung laughs bitterly. “Am I? Or am I just saying what everyone’s thinking and too polite to say out loud?”

Silence fell over the group.

No one argued.

“Excuse me?”

The group turned in unison at the unfamiliar voice.

Minjae stood a few feet away in a fitted coat and soft scarf, hands buried in her pockets. Her expression was uneasy, like she knew what kind of welcome she might get, but came anyway. “I… I was wondering if any of you have seen ___?” she said carefully. “I-I was told she’s always seen with you and I haven’t been able to find her since the party.”

Yejin stood back up. “What the hell do you want from her?”

“I just… I want, need, to apologise to her,” Minjae replies. “It’s… It’s long overdue, but I really feel awful about it and I–”

Minghao cuts her off, “Apologise for what?”

She swallowed, “I was awful to her back in middle school.”

“So… You bullied her?”

Minjae’s silence confirmed it. There was a heavy pause, like the air itself had frozen.

“I know it sounds cliche, but I didn’t know any better back then. I just… She didn’t deserve what I did to her, and looking back, I realise that I shouldn’t have let discrimination or stigmas cloud my judgement of a person’s character or who they really are. ___ was really a sweet girl and I–”

“She looked like she saw a monster,” Yejin cuts in. “Even I couldn’t recognise her with how terrified she looked.”

Minjae tried to speak again, this time more subdued. “Look, I’m not here to make excuses for my actions. I really do want to make things right. If she wants me to leave her alone forever, I will. I just… I want to at least tell her I’m sorry for the hurt I’ve caused her.”

Yejin chews on the inside of her cheek before exhaling sharply. “We’ll pass on the message and she’ll reach out if she does feel like talking. Until then? Stay away.”

Minjae gives a small nod, slowly backing away.

As she walks off, Chan appears from the other end of the courtyard, catching only her retreating form. “...Who was that?” he asked, brows furrowed.

“No one important,” Yejin answered, turning to the younger wolf. “Let’s head inside. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”

You can hear your phone vibrating non-stop on the coffee table of your apartment. You didn’t need to check who it was – you knew it was your friends (and boyfriend) texting and calling to check up on you.

They’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.

Ever since the Halloween party.

Ever since your panic attack.

Ever since your secret was placed under the spotlight for everyone to gawk at.

You’d made it home that night on autopilot, barely remembering the run, only the sting in your lungs and the cold on your cheeks. Then came the sickening ache in your chest when you realised what had happened.

What everyone had seen.

People started to whisper about you whenever you walked by, the looks they gave you were enough to have you quickening your pace and averting your gaze. Hell, you even pretended the world was something you could mute.

But your phone didn’t stop.

Chan calls the most. You hear it in the way the vibrations stretched longer because he’s always letting it ring until it goes to voicemail. Sometimes you pick up your phone just to watch his name light up on the screen.

Channie ❤️ is calling…

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because deep down, no matter how many times Yejin tested “we miss you” and now matter how soft Minghao’s voice had been the last time you answered a call, only to hang up halfway through–

You saw the look in Soonyoung’s eyes.

You’d heard what he said. Not directly, but word travels fast when the gossip involves a fox hybrid who “tricked” her way into a circle of wolves.

“Foxes will always be foxes.”

You’re not even sure who repeated it to you. Maybe it was overheard, or whispered. Either way, it echoed, over and over, even now.

That’s why you’ve stayed away from them.

Because maybe Soonyoung wasn’t the only one who thought that way. Maybe the others were just better at hiding it.

And maybe… maybe even Chan was, too.

You curl tighter into the blanket wrapped around you, as if it could shield you from the thoughts clawing at your chest.

It’s not that you don’t miss them. You do.

You miss him.

But your silence has become a wall now – cold, thick, and possibly safe. If you break it, you’re not sure what you’ll find on the other side.

A few days later, you find yourself standing in front of the SVT frat house, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. The winter air bit at your skin, and your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. It was the same house – loud, warm, alive. But to you, it felt like standing on the edge of something you weren’t sure if you were still welcomed.

It took you 15 minutes of mental debate to finally raise your hand and knock on the door. The sound was softer than you thought – hesitant, almost guilty. A few seconds passed, then the door swung open, revealing a very surprised Junhui. He blinked at you like he wasn’t sure you were real, mouth parting slightly in disbelief.

“___?”

You give him a small, anxious wave. He takes a step aside, giving you an assuring smile to welcome you in. “Come on in, Bambi.”

You scrunch your nose, “Bambi..?”

He chuckles softly, “Your eyes are wide like his with how nervous you are, ___. Can I get you anything? A snack? Maybe a glass of water?”

His hospitality is gentle, the kind that makes your heart ache a little because you didn’t realise how much you missed being treated like you mattered. He doesn’t ask why you ghosted them, doesn’t mention the night of the Halloween party. Instead, he just offers warmth, like a heater in the middle of winter.

“No, thanks,” you give him a small smile. “I… I came to talk to Chan.”

Junhui gestures towards the stairs, “He’s upstairs with Soonyoung and Yeijn.” You nod, taking a hesitant step forward as the heavy weight on your chest threatens to drag you back down.

Just as your foot hits the bottom step, he calls out softly behind you. “I know you’re a good person. It’s unfortunate that stigmatisation is something we have to deal with in this society, but I want you to know that hybrid or not, I believe you aren’t what they’ve labelled you as.”

You freeze mid-step, fingers curling slightly against the railing. His words settled over you like a second layer of comfort, barely enough to silence the storm inside you; but enough to keep you moving.

“Thanks, Jun,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper.

When you reached the top of the stairs, you realised you had forgotten to ask Junhui which room the wolves were in. As you’re about to try your luck by knocking on the rooms one by one, you hear muted voices coming from one of them.

Approaching one of the doors that was slightly open ajar, the voices became clearer and you wished you hadn’t come by in the first place.

“So what if she’s a fox?” Yejin’s voice was sharp, laced with the kind of anger that came from defending someone she cares about. “That doesn’t suddenly erase everything she’s done or the kind of person she is!”

“She lied, Yejin!” Soonyoung shot back. “She lied to all of us! You think that doesn’t matter? She’s exactly like how foxes are!”

“She didn’t lie, hyung,” Chan’s voice came then, low and controlled, each word carrying weight. “She’s protecting herself. It’s not the same thing.”

You stood frozen just outside the door, heart hammering against your ribs. It was… surreal, to say the least. Your name – your identity, being dissected out in the open. As though you were no longer a person, just a debate.

“Foxes are deceitful! She literally lied to us, to you! Need I mention their unfaithfulness? Their tendencies to jump partners?” Soonyoung’s voice was raw with something between bitterness and conviction.

“Stop.”

Chan’s voice was so cold it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Hyung, as much as I love you, you’ve gone too far. ___ may be a fox, but she is not someone for you to project your biased views onto. You don’t get to talk about her like she’s some kind of warning label.”

“Lee Chan, are you fucking serious right now?” the elder barked, anger bubbling over. “Foxes aren’t like us wolves! We’re bound to one partner for all eternity while foxes can barely–”

“You don’t know her! I do, and she’s not like that!”

“Lee Chan!” Soonyoung warned, voice rising in pitch.

“Just because you were cheated on by Jihye means ___ would do it to me!” Chan’s voice cracked like a whip.

Yejin rises from the bed, “Okay, both of you, that’s enough–”

But it was too late.

Soonyoung’s eyes blew wide with rage as he marched forward, grabbing Chan by the collar of his shirt with both hands. “Don’t you fucking bring that name up,” he growls out, breath hot and trembling with fury.

“Soonyoung, let him go–”

“Then stop questioning my girl’s loyalty,” Chan bit back, unflinching despite the tension snapping between them like a live wire.

“Boys-” Yejin’s voice came again, edged with panic.

But it was Minghao’s voice that cut through everything.

“___? What are you doing here?”

All heads turned in an instant, towards the doorway where you stood frozen – fox ears flicked upwards but flattened just as quick, wide-eyed and trembling, like a prey caught in the glow of a spotlight. The weight of every stare crushed your chest.

You didn’t wait to see Chan’s face.

Didn’t stay to hear the silence shift into something else.

Because you turned.

And you ran.

Down the stairs, past Junhui’s startled call, out the door. The cold winter hit you once again, but it couldn’t numb the way your heart was racing nor the tears that blurred your vision. Your breath came in shallow bursts, the frantic sound of your footsteps drowned by the thunder in your ears.

You weren’t sure which hurt more.

The fear that Soonyoung could possibly be right…

Or the fact that Chan had to defend you like you were something shameful.

The cold didn’t leave your skin even after you slammed the apartment door shut behind you.

You leaned back against it, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths. Your hands were trembling – whether from the sprint across campus, the leftover sting of Soonyoung’s words, or the echo of Chan’s voice calling you his girl, you weren’t sure.

You slipped off your shoes, barely kicking them aside before trudging towards the couch. The silence was a cruel contrast to the chaos still ringing in your head. Collapsing onto the couch without turning on the lights, you wrapped your arms around your knees. You hadn’t realised how tightly you’d been gripping your phone until it buzzed.

Flipping it over, the bright screen illuminates your tear-stained cheeks.

Three (3) missed calls from Yejin🐺

Five (5) missed calls from Channie❤️

Then came the messages. So many messages.

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your sweater, but the tears kept coming. You weren’t even sure what they were for anymore.

Maybe it’s the shame of being seen.

Or the guilt of running.

Or the fear that maybe Soonyoung was right.

Worst of all, the ache in your chest that came with the sound of Chan’s voice defending you. Because part of you… Part of you didn’t think you deserved it.

hao🐺: hey hao🐺: jun caught me up with what happened earlier hao🐺: i can’t justify soonyoung’s actions or words hao🐺: but i just want to say that he’s only looking out for chan hao🐺: and he’s been hurt by a fox hybrid in the past hao🐺: i’ll only say that much bcs it’s not my story to tell hao🐺: but pls take care ok? hao🐺: if you could, at least text or call back Chan

Then, Chan’s name lights up your screen once again. His contact photo, the one Yejin took during the last summer festival, smiling at you like nothing’s changed.

But it has.

channie❤️: baby channie❤️: please pickup the phone channie❤️: or at least answer me channie❤️: idk how much of the convo you heard channie❤️: but pls talk to me

The cursor blinks in the message box.

You could, want to answer. But your fingers don’t move.

Because you’re still trying to figure out if hearing him defend you made things better or so much worse.

You were in the middle of stuffing your face with ice cream, ears flattened against your head and tail thumping sadly. The sound of your doorbell ringing jolts you out of your fog. Pausing the sitcom playing on your TV, you wiped your mouth with a tissue and cautiously padded over to the door. Peeking through the peephole, your breath catches in your throat because on the other side of your door stood Chan – dishevelled, worry etched deep in his eyes.

You don’t answer. Maybe you weren’t ready.

Moments later, the doorbell rings again.

“Baby?” His voice was soft, but urgent through the door. “Baby, I came to talk to you… You weren’t answering my calls or texts, and I’m just… I… I just want us to talk, ___.”

Still silence.

He sighs, words slipping under the door like a warm breeze.

“___, I know you’re home and behind the door. I can smell you, y’know.”

A small squeak escapes you before the door creaks open slowly. Relief floods Chan’s face as he sees you standing there, timid and vulnerable. Without hesitation, he stepped inside, removing his shoes, and pulled you into a tight embrace. His hands settled on your waist as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “My sweet baby fox, why’d you hide from me?”

That term had you freezing up momentarily, breath hitching as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “I… I lied to you…” you confessed, voice shaky. “I… I deceived you… Soonyoung was–”

“Fuck Soonyoung and his words,” Chan’s tone was firm as his hands slid up from your waist to cup your face. His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, “___, I know you have your own reasons for hiding the fact that you’re a fox. But that won’t change the face that I love you. I know you love me too, baby.”

“Chan–”

He presses a finger to your lips, “I think you know wolves only have one partner, don’t you? A partner they’ll spend the rest of their lives with – their one true mate.” Leaning in, his lips brushed against yours as he whispered, “And I’ve made up my mind on who my mate will be.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. “But, Chan–”

Chan captured your lips with his, as though he’s closing the gap between your doubts and his devotion. The kiss was slow, deep and claiming; each movement tender but charged with a quiet promise.

His hands tightened its grip on your waist, fingers digging into the fabric as he pressed closer – his body heat grounding you in the moment. Your tail gave a hesitant twitch at first, flicking once in uncertainty before curling around his left thigh. It trembled just a little, but the way it clung almost possessively revealed betrayed the little faux shyness you had.

You didn’t mean for it to move, at least not consciously, but your body was responding to him – craving his closeness.

You melt into him, heart pounding fiercely, breath hitching as his hands slid lower to pull you flush against him. There was a hunger beneath his touch, patient but it was unmistakably there while he eases you back gently toward the couch.

His strong hands caught you fully before you could fully settle onto the couch, his fingers tracing the curve of your body as he pressed you gently back against the soft cushions. You shivered slightly under his touch, but it wasn’t from the cold – it was the anticipation.

“Look at me, ___,” Chan whispered, his voice low and rough with need. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, admiring the way your ears twitched as his thumb lingers on your cheek. “You don’t have to be scared, yea? I’m here, foxy. I’m all yours if you’ll have me.”

You meet his gaze, the honesty in his eyes making your chest ache. “I’m scared,” you admitted softly. “After… After everything… What about Soonyoung and the others..?”

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Forget about them and their opinions. They don’t get to decide who or what you are. You’re you. You’re my girl – clever, strong, the only one I want.”

His fingers trailed lower, sliding beneath the fabric of the oversized sweater you wore with a tenderness that was a complete opposite to the intensity burning behind his eyes. Your gasped softly as his touch found your bare skin, tracing slow and deliberate patterns along your thigh before finally easing inside your panties.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay? As much as I want to feel you, I also want you to feel safe.”

You nodded, breathless. “I do. Always. With you.”

He presses a kiss to your temple before sliding his hand down fully, two of his thick fingers sinking into your pussy with a groan he tries to bite back. “Fuck, foxy,” he whispers, dragging his fingers through your slick folds. “You’re already so wet and I barely even touched you. Do you get turned on whenever I tell you you’re mine?”

You whimpered – quiet, needy – and arched subtly into his hand. He curls his digits and your tail curls around his wrist like it was trying to hold him there.

His thumb brushes up to your clit, gentle at first – drawing small, slow circles; all while his fingers start to move at a maddening rhythm – curling deep and stroking your gummy walls just right. A startled moan leaves your lips at how quick he found your g-spot.

“There she is,” he purrs, voice dipping into a low tone. “There’s my pretty little fox.”

You shivered. Not from the cold, but from the way he said my. You take notice of the way his eyes darkened whenever he looks at you underneath him, like you were the only thing in the world that could calm the storm inside him – even if you were the cause of said storm.

You clenched around his fingers involuntarily, your face flushed with heat.

“I’ll never take you for granted, baby.” His voice was soft, but his movements weren’t. His pace gradually picked up, still careful and loving, but they were no longer shy. “You’re mine. No matter what they say.”

You gasped as he shifted closer, his hand never stopping their ministration. His thumb rubbed your clit in tight circles now, each rub expertly timed with the thrust of his finger. Your hips bucked, breath stuttering with every pulse of pleasure.

“C-Channie!” you cried out, “You’re making me feel so good!”

“Shit, love the way you sound when I pleasure you, foxy…” He sounds a bit more breathless now. It was a known fact that you both shared a praise kink – you get off when he praises you and vice versa.

“Those sweet little noises you make… Only I get to hear them. You know that, right?

You nodded frantically, eyes already glossy.

“Say it,” he urged, fingers pushing deeper into your squelching pussy. “Say that you’re mine.”

“Yours!” you moaned, hips bucking up only for Chan to press it back down. “I’m yours! Chan, I’m… Oh-Oh God..!”

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice a little rougher. “That’s my girl.”

You cum at the praise, crying out as your body shakes underneath him. Your tail gave a sharp twitch before tightening again around his wrist, clinging as the waves of your orgasms crashed over you. Chan’s hand doesn’t stop, fingers slowing but not stopping, his thumb rolling your clit gentler as he murmurs praises against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful… So good for me… My pretty fox…”

Your tail quivered and wrapped tighter around his arm. Even when the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, he didn't pull away. He just holds you, his fingers still resting inside you, his other hand now moving to stroke the base of your tail, coaxing tiny shivers from your spent body.

“You’re not alone, baby,” he whispers into your hair. “You never will be. I love you. Just as you are.”

You meet his gaze, feeling your heart swell at his affection, and for the first time that day, or even in weeks – you smiled.

Chan’s fingers never leave your tail as you lay there, still catching your breath. He slowly traces the soft fur, his touch featherlight but purposeful, pulling out every tiny twitch and flick from you.

“Can’t get enough of you, foxy.” His hand curls around the plush tail, tugging just enough to make you whine. “Such a pretty tail… So soft… So beautiful…”

You felt your cheeks flush, hips shifting instinctively toward his hand. The tail was yours, but at that moment, it felt like Chan owned it instead. His hands move to your waist, “C’mon, baby, turn over f’me.”

You hesitated for a moment, heart hammering against your rib cage before obeying; rolling over onto your stomach before pushing yourself up onto your hands and knees. Chan’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight, exposed and vulnerable, your tail flicking nervously as he settled behind you. You hear the sounds of his pants being undone before he presses himself forward, warm and hard against your slick folds.

“Ready, foxy?”

You nodded and with a slow, steady motion, he pushed inside you, filling you completely. Your tail flicked wildly against his stomach as he started to thrust – slow and deep, matching the pounding rhythm of your heart.

The room was quiet except for the sounds of skin meeting skin and breathless moans as Chan moved behind you at a steady pace. The soft glow of the lamp casts shadows on the wall, dancing across the bare curves of your back, and illuminating the possessive gleam in your boyfriend’s eyes.

Chan had a firm grip on your hips, guiding you back onto his cock with each slow, deep thrust that leaves you gasping and trembling. The stretch was overwhelming but in the best ways possible – filling, grounding, possessive; and you couldn’t get enough – neither can he.

His low groan rumbles from his chest, his head dipping to brush his lips down the nape of your neck as he presses a kiss to your damp skin. “You’re doing so well for me, foxy,” he praises, his voice rough and edged with pride. “Pretty little pussy taking my dick so perfectly.”

His fingers trail down your spine until they find the base of your tail and your breath hitches. He raises an eyebrow, gauging your reaction before dipping his head to kiss the back of your neck again, slower this time – sending another shiver down your spine.

“Your tail is sensitive, isn’t it?” he teases against your skin, voice full of dark amusement.

You squirmed weakly beneath him, cheeks burning. “C-Channie~”

Suddenly, in a deliberate motion, Chan wraps his fingers around the base of your tail and gives it a firm tug. Your response was immediate – a strangled cry rips from your throat as your body arched back into him instinctively, your walls fluttering violently around him.

The jolt of pleasure surging through your body was white-hot, sharp. You cum around his thick cock and you barely had time to recover when he gave you a particularly deep thrust, leaking cockhead hitting your g-spot continuously with perfect, practiced precision.

“C-Channie!” you cried out, voice cracking as your vision blurred from the intensity.

Behind you, Chan lets out a dark chuckle, clearly pleased with your reaction. He leans forward, pressing his chest against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You liked that, huh?” he growled softly, a wicked grin on his lips as he gave another tug on your tail, eliciting another high-pitched moan from your throat. “You’re so sensitive here, foxy… So responsive.”

Your fox ears flicked up in excitement before flattening shyly against your head, a clear sign of how overwhelmed and sensitive you were from the pleasure. His teeth grazed your clothed shoulder as he bit down lightly, anchoring you as he thrust into you harder this time, rougher – making your arms tremble beneath you as you struggled to hold yourself up.

“Say it,” he commanded. “Say you’re mine.”

“I– I’m yours,” you gasped, dizzy with need. “Only yours, Channie–”

“Louder.”

His pace grew erratic and you knew Chan was close too. The thought of him filling you up with his cum has you tightening around him, and he keeps slamming his cock into your sopping cunt with the goal of making you gush all over him.

“I’m yours!” You sobbed out, feeling another orgasm approaching. “Please! Please, Channie, I–”

His hand leaves your tail to find your clit, two fingers rubbing it in tight little circles as he continues to drive his aching cock into your sensitive pussy. “Cum for me, my pretty fox. Cream all over my cock with this sweet pussy of yours.”

The way he praises you and how his tip grinds against the spongy spot inside you was all it takes to have your orgasm crash over you. With your tail still tingling from the earlier tugs and his name on your lips like a prayer, you came hard – body trembling beneath him. Your moans echoed through the room as Chan fucks you through it, riding out your orgasm with a groan as he chases his own.

Your pussy clenches and unclenches rhythmically as Chan buries himself to the hilt, cock throbbing as he shoots his hot load inside your cunt. You mewl softly when you feel hot ropes of cum filling you up to the brim, some of it already dripping out your stuffed hole.

Chan stays close behind you, his hands gently sliding up your sides, wanting to ground your trembling frame. His touch was no longer urgent – just warm and tender.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks, voice full of concern. He leans over, pressing a soft kiss between your shoulder blades. You nod faintly, still catching your breath as you rested on your forearms, muscles loose and spent. “Y-yeah… I’m okay, Channie…”

He shifts carefully, his dick still lodged inside you, keeping you plugged up. He slides an arm underneath your body to pull you up and cradle your body against his stomach. His hand comes to gently stroke the skin of your stomach.

“I… I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he murmured, nuzzling into your hair. “I just… I love you, ___. All of you.”

Your fingers found his, lacing them together.

“I know, Channie,” you whispered back, exhausted but safe. “I love you too.”

Chan smiles against your shoulder, holding you just a little tighter as the room settles into a peaceful hush – nothing but your soft breaths and the quiet hum of affection.

The gossip of your revelation as a fox hybrid finally died down. But of course, there are still those that would test your loyalty.

The campus open study area buzzed with low chatter, and your focus was on the assignment that was handed out yesterday.

“Well, well, looks like I found the famous fox hybrid. I hear you’re not as fierce as they say.” The words slid from Jaemin’s lips, coated with false charm as he stepped close, trying to read your reaction. Several students nearby paused, a few leaned in closer to whisper amongst themselves.

You felt the familiar prickle crawl up the back of your neck – the attention alway came with a sharp edge, like waiting for someone to prod just hard enough to see if you’d fight back.

“Maybe you just need a friend… or something more.”

The words hung in the air like a trap disguised as flirtation.

Your eyes narrowed, seeing right through his attempt. A low, guttural growl escaped from deep in your throat, wild and warning. The room froze and Jaemin’s smirk vanished, replaced by a startled flush of unease. His brows shot up in genuine surprise, “Whoa, okay. Didn’t expect that.”

You bared your teeth just enough and fixed him with a cold glare, “I’m not who they made me out to be.”

The space quiets down as the male takes a hurried step back, swallowing hard. “Right. Noted.”

You straightened, calming your breathing as the adrenaline faded. Everyone got the message – you weren’t some heat-crazed fox for them to mock or flirt with just to see if you’d fold. It was clear that your loyalty wasn’t something anyone would ever question again.

The familiar buzz of SVT’s frat house buzzed through the air as you stepped inside, Chan’s hand firmly holding yours. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every step feeling heavier than the last. You stayed close to him, hiding just a little behind his broad frame, the comfort of his presence keeping you together from falling apart at the anxiety clawing at your insides.

Chan’s eyes met yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “You can do this, okay? I gotchu.”

The room fell momentarily silent when the group noticed your arrival. Junhui’s eyes grew wide, Minghao’s lips parted in shock, Yejin’s expression softened; but Soonyoung’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. You take a shaky breath, summoning every ounce of courage.

“I… I’m sorry,” you start, voice small and hesitant. “I… I didn’t mean to ghost you all. I… I’m sorry for not answering your calls or texts. I wasn’t ready.” Your eyes darted nervously between their faces, cheeks flushed with embarrassment and regret. “I didn’t mean to worry or hurt any of you.”

Junhui steps forward, his tone gentle but firm. “There’s no need to apologise, ___, really. We get it, things have been complicated. But you don’t have to face it alone anymore.”

Yejin nodded, a warm smile breaking through. “We missed you.”

The attention shifts to Soonyoung as he steps forward, his usual confident stance replaced by something more vulnerable. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding direct eye contact at first. “___,” he greets.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, “Soonyoung…”

“I… I want to apologise, ___. For what I said and how I acted.”

He finally meets your gaze, the emotions in his eyes sincere. “I let my past and my pain get the better of me. I know that’s no excuse, but… I understand now that it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. You didn’t deserve that, and you don’t deserve to be treated like an outsider.”

He takes a deep breath, the tension in the room slowly melting away.

“Chan’s really important to me, and when my suspicions were confirmed… I thought… I thought that maybe you’d hurt him the way I was hurt before. But you’re not that person, I see that now. I’m sorry for doubting you, for being harsh.”

You blinked, clearly taken aback by his apology and earnestness. The air between you shifted, heavy with relief. Taking a steadying breath, you managed a small smile. “Thank you, Soonyoung. That… That really means a lot.”

The mood in the room shifted as the group rallied around you, eager to shake off the silence from the past few weeks. Junhui clapped his hands together with a bright grin. “Alright, enough heavy talk. Let’s celebrate having Bambi back!”

Yejin turns to her boyfriend, “Since when have you started calling her Bambi?”

He shrugs, “With those wide eyes, the answer is pretty obvious.”

Minghao pulls out a small box of cupcakes he’d bought, handing them around with a smile. “Welcome back party! Let’s go!”

Laughter fills the room as snacks are passed and music starts to hum softly from the speakers. You feel a comforting warmth surge through you, not just from the food, but from the genuine smiles and open arms around you.

As the night deepens, the noise and chatter starts to overwhelm your senses again. Quietly, you slipped away, making your way to the safety of Chan’s room. You sink into his bed, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the woodiness of the room.

Your tail flicked lazily beneath the covers as your ears twitched at the muffled sounds from the party outside.

A few minutes passed before the door creaked open.

“Baby?” Chan’s voice called out gently, and when he saw you all curled up on his bed, he exhaled like he’d been holding his breath the whole night. “There’s my pretty fox.”

He closed the door behind him, crossing the room in a few long strides. The bed dipped as he took a seat beside you, reaching out to brush a few strands of stray hair away from your face.

“You okay?”

You hum, “Just… Just needed to take a breather…”

He smiles softly, slipping under the covers next to you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his chest. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“I missed this,” you whispered.

“Me too, baby,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll hold you for as long as you need.”

296 notes · View notes

guardianlegends64 · 6 months ago

Text

[Closed RP/ Winter Special] Christmas Special and Alternate Universe in “ Winter’s Last Guardian”

In the Cold and Snowy Days of December and Freezing Cold of the North Pole as everything was going Normally and smoothly and straight but then something Happens..Something Dangerous…Something Unheard of… Like Christmas Eve is in trouble…the also the Winger Fox as well…

“A about 7 hours ago…”

“Dawn: Ugh why is it taking so Darn long?? And why do we have to wait for these “Special Edition Wishes” to be made anyways Its just too hard to make and it’s a waste of time!”

“Dawn stop it and you better watch what you’re going to say next don’t wanna be on the Naughty List again like last time”

“Dawn: Look Alex It’s a waste of Resources too don’t you see the problem?”

“Alex: I Don’t It’s what the Children want and wished for it’s what the Innocent Children and Families deserve”

“Dawn: well I still think it’s a-“

The two Little elven Toy makers were interrupted by the announcement of Their names being called to come to the show up at the office as Dawn Sighed and Alex Cleared his Throat as he walked with his trustworthy Friend to the office as there was a Very Special Person who Has Taken care of them ever since they needed help as it was…

“Mrs Clause: Hello My Little Elven Friends it’s good to see you again”

“Dawn: It’s good to see you too Ms. Clause you look very special today”

“Mrs Clause: Well it’s Nearly Christmas Eve and I would always love to dress appropriately for the holidays hehe!”

“Dawn: Well everyone has to dress up for Christmas “

“Mrs Clause: that is absolutely true Dawn Now I Must let you two know that the Toys need to be reconfigured by changing their appearance they have updated on how they looked”

“Dawn: Well That’s a Good News on the resources that is needed”

“Alex: We shall reconfigure them in a Swift hour!”

“Mrs Clause: Good You two are making great progress and work that I am Proud of as well and I will assist you in reconfiguring them!”

Mrs. Clause smiles and was Helping the Elves in making the toys as she was also trying to the Find The Winter Fox the one in which the North Pole needs to protect at all costs but then they came across a Message saying that the North Pole and Christmas will be in danger as Alerts have been issued all around as something or someone is trying to Take Control of the North Pole and the most alarming news is that Santa is now Missing as Ms. Clause Then Called on Winter’s Guardians to Help the North Pole and Find Winter’s Fox but only One Remains and that One Guardian was the last Hope of Saving Christmas and Protecting the Winter Fox….

“Now….”

“X.I.N: Elijah! Elijah! Wake Up!”

X.I.N Calling out Elijah to awaken as Elijah Ultimate is the Last Winter Guardian and who is in a Deep sleep dreaming about his Future until it was Interrupted by the certain Yelling from X.I.N as he is the Companion of His As Elijah Has Many Years of Training and Experience and Even Has some very special abilities and has a very Extraordinarily Special Personality…

“Elijah: WHAT?!”

“X.I.N: The North Pole Is In Trouble and They need your help and No the Others can’t do it they’re… Offline “

“Elijah:…. Darn It all…Fine let’s go Save The North Pole…”

Elijah is one of the Legendary winter Guardians And as Elijah Thinks That the Others are like his Family and as He Suits up since he’s in a Much Freezing location [-90 degrees Celsius] as he uses his Newly Created Teleportation as he is at the North Pole but at a High Mountain as he then now notices who is Attacking the North Pole as it was some Dark Elves and Other elves and some monstrous creatures working in taking control over The North Pole like it was a Inside Attack as he also sees Krampus and some other unknown figure As he gets a Message saying that “Santa is Missing and The Winter Fox is now No where to be found and is needed to be found and protected as Elijah thought of saving the North Pole by teleporting inside but then something happens when trying to teleport in as he is then in the skies and is falling as X.I.N is Calling out for Elijah to wake up as an alarm was on in his white metallic suit of armor in which Santa gave him the suit has immunity to cold and Fire and has a special Ability to restore Armor until….

“X.I.N: eli….eli…!! ELIJAH!!”

“Elijah: Huh…? What’s going on… what happened…?”

“X.I.N: You’re Falling Down in the high sky and is about to hit the Ground in Ten Seconds!”

“Elijah: H-Huh?! Ahhhh!!”

Elijah was screaming and then landed on ground but not until hitting and destroying a few Trees and hard snow and a few rocks as his armor Has been broken down and Was Covered with Some Scratches and slashes as he shakes his head wondering where he is as his body wounds heals quite quickly…

“Elijah: Ok… X.I.N WHERE ARE WE..?”

“X.I.N: Tokyo, Japan…”

“Elijah: Wha-?! OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!!! Why are we at Tokyo?! We’re supposed to be at the North Pole!”

“X.I.N: Because this is the last Place where the winter fox is and The First Task is to find and Protect the Winter fox before anything happens! Your teleportation is busted for now you can only teleport for short distances”

When Elijah is out of his Suit he wears some Cold resistant clothing and has the best training as he explores Tokyo and finds out that the City is Celebrating Christmas Festivities as he also hears some arguing as he checks it out as he Sees five Unidentified Men Threatening someone who was a Lady that he cannot see as he Goes Apprehended all Five men immediately and then…

“Hey Are You Alright…Miss?”

He asked the Lady as he walked closer and Immediately saw the Lady’s Hair color as Elijah was going to say something but then the Lady Spoke First…

#Christmas #holiday #winter season #Elijah Ultimate #Alternate universe #romance

446 notes · View notes

thehatboxwitch · 9 months ago

Note

omgg jing yuan + hybrid (bonus points if it’s a fox hybrid!!)

fem!reader \ kinktober

the room is kept dark and cool and quiet, just like a proper fox's den.

yet unlike a proper fox, you don't have a mate. and the heat, bubbling up within you, begging for a release, has no place to go.

you pace the room relentlessly. your wallpaper is scratched to pieces - you'd begged jing yuan to let you keep it, if only you had something to whittle down your insanity.

jing yuan...

you curl up in your bed as if in a trance, finding a piece of his clothing that you'd hidden away under all the blankets and pillows. it was wrong, you knew, for a hybrid to treat its owner as means for a release - but you could hardly care at this point.

you bury your nose into the cloth. his scent had nearly all but faded, but in this time of the month, all your senses were hyper-alert to a potential mate. and jing yuan…

a wave of ghostly pleasure has you trembling, fingers inching towards where you needed them the most. how many times had you chased your own release the past few days? yet it hadn’t seemed to improve your condition in the least.

as if on cue, someone taps at the door. “puppy? can i come in?”

your tail sweeps a couple of cushions off the bed in your enthusiasm. you weren’t a dog at all, but by the time jing yuan had found out, the nickname had already stuck. not that you minded. puppy sounded much better than fox.

“come in,” you call, stuffing his clothing back under the blankets.

the door creaks open and jing yuan pokes his head in. “how are you feeling?”

the sweet, fresh scent of jing yuan nearly sweeps you into a high. you can feel yourself leaking already, pussy clenching and unclenching just for him. the sight of his soft, white hair, kind face, and the slight outline in his pants…

“puppy? are you okay?” when you take too long to respond, he widens the door and steps through.

you feel frozen to your spot. there’s no way he can’t smell your desire for him, is there?

he kneels by the bed, reaching out to rub your ears. you press your face into his other hand, relishing in his redolent scent and gentle touch.

"jing yuan..." when you open your eyes, he's regarding you with an expression of such concern. "jing yuan, will you do anything to make me feel better?"

"i will, puppy." when you hook your fingers into his shirt, he obeys, coming up to sit on the edge of the bed. "what do you need?"

you tug him down with a sudden force - it's easy to forget that hybrids are part wild animal. "i need you, jing yuan, please..."

with your thighs open wide beneath him, exposing your soaked-through underwear, you see each miniscule expression pass over his face, his scent changing ever so subtly as jing yuan struggles to keep his arousal in check.

you put on your best puppy eyes. "please... it hurts so much..."

he exhales ever so slightly, before covering your eyes with a hand. you take two shaky breaths before you feel a slight pressure, tracing up and down your slit ever so lightly.

it takes every muscle in your body not to make a noise or move when you hear the sound of clothes being shed, and then a hot, heavy warmth against your mound.

"jing yuan..." you allow yourself a quiet whimper.

jing yuan pulls the corner of a blanket over your eyes in response. "don't look at me, puppy. or i'll feel too guilty to carry on..."

you nod, tail wagging eagerly.

he massages around the outside of your lower lips for a moment, rubbing your slick between his fingers. "you're so wet," he murmurs almost imperceptibly to himself. your ears twitch.

the pad of his thumb slides over your clit, pulsing under his touch. you're so sensitive that you shudder, struggling to keep your legs apart.

"be good," he whispers, and you feel his heat over your entire body before something hot and hard prods at your pussy.

"please," you all but beg. "please, please."

the tip slips in easily, and your whole body convulses as your walls ripple and suck him in greedily.

he groans, low and gravelly, a sound full of restraint and desire that you'd only heard through thin walls.

"you're so tight, puppy." jing yuan chuckles tightly, breathing hard. "no wonder you've been so down."

he kisses you sweetly, and you all but grind yourself into him, feeling every vein pulse and nudge against inside you.

"so good, so good, please, need more..."

"okay, okay." he pushes himself into you, and you cry out in pleasure, the tip kissing your cervix. he begins to thrust shallowly.

"not enough, not enough-" a growl slips into your voice and you bite it back, feeling your face warm.

jing yuan laughs. "anything for you, puppy."

he pulls himself clean out, giving you a moment of anticipation, and slams back into you.

you howl in pleasure, scratching at his skin. he sets a relentless pace, your back arching as he stimulates that ultra-sensitive spot within you. your hands fly to your clit, rubbing frantically, squirting pre-cum all over him.

jing yuan pants, lifting your thighs onto his shoulders until he's battering you into the mattress, his balls bouncing against your clit with every thrust.

"i'm cumming, i'm cumming-" the thought of jing yuan finishing inside of you, filling you up warmly, was enough to send you over the edge. "inside of me, please, please-"

your mind goes white, your body writhing and jerking as you cum the hardest you ever have, squirting all over his dick. dimly, you feel thick, hot ropes painting over your stomach, jing yuan groaning your name.

#hsr x reader smut #hsr x reader #x reader smut #honkai star rail #star rail #hsr smut #x reader #jing yuan smut #jingyuan smut #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan #jingyuan #kinktober

419 notes · View notes

tired-biscuit · 1 year ago

Text

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: hybrids, predator/prey dynamic, mounting, sort of dubcon-ish, a hint of somnophilia, breeding, established relationship.

wc: 1.6k

fox hybrid!naruto is as playful as much as he is sneaky.

he follows you around the apartment; curiously peeking from behind the corners, watching your every move not because he’s skittish, but rather because he wants to learn how you behave when you think he’s not around.

he does it quite often for some reason. perhaps it’s the wild of the predator that’s coursing his blood or the naive wonder that’s just signature for his personality, who knows, but if you catch him by any chance — and you do, he isn’t nearly as slick as he thinks he is — he immediately comes over, wraps his arms around you from behind and makes sure to comfort you and nip your cheek or bottom lip with his sharp fangs after every kiss he gifts you in apology.

still, he continues his watch. he learns your patterns over time despite the fact that he has a habit of tripping over his own two feet and blowing his cover with all the noise it causes. he learns the way you move, the little quirks that you exhibit, the timing of them. he learns them all as a safety precaution which he doesn’t really need if you think about it.

after all, he could slam into you full force as a means to take over and could simply make you submit to his predatory instinct just like a couple of his apex predator friends had done with their own mates in the past. he’s well aware that he’d win if he did it that way; he’s no wolf or bear, but he’s still stronger and armored with a far bigger set of teeth than the one that currently sits in your mouth.

however, the problem is that you’re sneaky too.

you’re a tough little thing to grasp — hard to impress, even worse to court. are practically made to slip between a person’s fingers if they were to try and squeeze you into their fist without asking for permission to do so first. on top of all that, you being a cat hybrid amongst all the other possibilities available doesn’t help his situation either; it makes you exceptionally perceptive and equally as hard to dominate because of it. so troublesome!

and that’s not all there is to it. even your eyesight is spectacular, as is your awareness of your surroundings. the triangle-shaped ears that sit atop your head twitch and constantly angle in the direction of the smallest movement he makes. and naruto knows that they do, that they listen and assess the danger. he’s tested it out so many times during the course of your relationship.

the first step he takes towards you whenever your back is turned in his direction is also usually his last because of how fast you are to turn around to face him in mere seconds, rigid body language exhibiting high alert. he’s never even gotten the chance to fully sneak up on you yet, much less tackle you into a play fight.

this entire thing would be so much easier if you were a bunny. he’d push and you’d take it like a good little rabbit, the end. everyone knows that bunny hybrids practically throw themselves before the jaws of a predator and spread their strong legs just as willfully the moment their first heat comes into play.

but naruto, even whilst itching to conquer you because of the beast within, kind of digs the challenge a moody little kitty such as yourself brings to the table. especially when the effort that he’s put into all this preying finally manages to pay off.

actually, it enables him to catch you when you’re least expecting it — during your afternoon nap.

your feline behaviour really shines at its brightest when you doze off. instinctively drawn to warmth, he’s since learned that you always fall asleep in the patch of sunlight that spills through the window and onto the couch across the room when the days are clear and the curtains are pushed to the side. always in the same position, too. on your tummy, with your limbs relaxed and stretchy; tail swishing from side to side ever so slightly before going completely still. just like now.

oh shit, there it is; the sign he’s been waiting for!

your tail has stopped moving so that means you’re completely out for the next half hour, perhaps even more. he watches from a safe distance just to make sure, leaning against the doorway that leads into the living room and straining his fox ears as hard as he’s possibly able as a means to catch every sound.

thud, thud, thud. your heartbeat is calm, as is your breathing. you’re at ease while you sleep, he can not only hear it but see it too. open and vulnerable and trusting, allowing yourself to be caught completely off guard. you could almost pass as docile, the way you look right now, but he knows better — he’s been with you for long enough to know.

so he takes one step forward, slowly. toes, heel. nothing happens.

he takes another. all is well.

and then all of a sudden, before your heavy eyelids can get the chance to crack open at the sound of fast-approaching footsteps, and before you can come back to from the depths of the cozy catnap you were so pleasantly indulging in, naruto at long last makes his move.

your sweet fox boyfriend pins you down with his weight as he lays on top of you; he squeezes you flat against the couch until your cheek is pressing into its soft cushions. he’s warm and shirtless and his skin smells like the summery shower gel he must have washed himself with earlier, but he doesn’t seem to be scared of your claws that might come in contact with him, promising pain.

even his hair is still damp. a small droplet of water lands on your cheek when you try to turn your head to the side to look at him.

you hiss at him with prominent annoyance when it slides down the edge of your jaw, the action a subtle warning that clearly tells him to stop this nonsense right now, but he’s been expecting that, too. so he works quickly to try and tame you into submission, allowing instinct to take charge because it’s the only safe bet he has.

you’re surprised how easily he works his way around you and it’s entirely your fault. he doesn’t show how strong he actually is underneath all the shy caresses that he gives you and the nice grins and it makes you forget, giving you a false sense of authority that quickly diminishes when you’re the one experiencing that raw power on your own body.

so it’s no wonder that you stand no chance while he manhandles you and keeps you caged underneath him. that you feel utterly helpless while he drags your comfortable little shorts down your legs with zero problem; until they’re hanging off one ankle right along with your panties.

he frees his cock, fists it a couple of times with the help of some drool before he mounts you then, breathing hard and still making sure to avoid the claws you’re bound to sink into him the second he releases your wrists. he’s holding them both with just one hand, seemingly mocking your incompetency even further, albeit completely unintentionally.

and it’s true; he doesn’t mean it. naruto has never been mean-spirited like that despite the whole predator aspect that lives and roars beneath his gorgeous tan skin.

but foxes can be tricky.

so he holds his grip and they dig into the couch instead, your claws. they get caught in the blanket that you’re both sweating on top of now as his hips rut into you and yours follow the deep, almost animalistic rhythm even though your anger and pride tell you to stop, stop, fucking stop obeying him.

but you can’t stop, you’re forced to submit because he’s a bigger threat than you are; it’s just how your brain is wired. you bend to survive. it’s exactly like that situation with the scrawny mouse girl who you used to tease and endlessly make fun of back in high school.

how does it feel to be on the prey side, little kitty?

you’re unsure how to feel about this entire thing, it might be because your mind has slipped into a certain kind of haze. he fucks you like he’s never fucked you before and a prolonged mewl that you can’t hold back leaves your lips when his teeth sink into the crook of your neck all of a sudden, marking you.

the strap of your tank top is hanging off your shoulder, exposing you further, and his hot, greedy mouth follows the naked skin without a second thought, just biting, licking, sucking. marking.

he’s growling and snarling into your ear every time he slams into you, sounding like the exact opposite of himself. you’re no better either; you keep making so much noise that you’re ashamed of yourself. moaning and whining, squirming and thrashing underneath him. by the time he fills you up with his seed, you’ll probably start to purr.

just the thought alone makes you feral. the sudden urge to be bred and bear his children plagues your mind like the deadliest storm. imagining your pussy leaking his warm cum is simply too good while stuck in a lowly position such as this one.

his cock is throbbing inside you as he pounds into your slick cunt, trying to push its way into your fucking womb. he’s big and heavy, hot in your tummy and hard to fit. the adrenaline that he’s getting because of the complete control he now has over you is surely exciting him enough to make him see god.

he probably won’t see god, though.

oh no, you’ll make sure to drag this wicked fox into the very depths of hell the second his knot stops swelling and he releases you from his iron-like grip.

#i had to get this outta my system cos it’s been eating me alive fjdjdjhd #naruto smut #naruto x reader #naruto uzumaki x reader #naruto uzumaki smut #biscuit drabbles #cw hybrids #cw dubcon #cw somnophilia #cw breeding

1K notes · View notes

rmview · 6 months ago

Text

them as hybrids, TXT.

featuring — txt members x gn!reader ( masterlist )

summary — headcanons of what hybrids the txt boys would be and how they act around you!

contents — fluff, cute hybrid boys, no warnings.

soobin ✿ bunny hybrid

⟶ gentle aura: as a rabbit hybrid, soobin is soft-spoken and exudes calmness, putting everyone around him at ease. ⟶ loves quiet spaces: prefers cozy, quiet environments where he can relax and feel safe (preferably with/near you). ⟶ alert to surroundings: his long bunny ears twitch at the slightest noise, making him hyper-aware of his environment. ⟶ loyal companion: soobin thrives in close-knit relationships, showing loyalty and care to you from the moment you took him in. ⟶ shy at first: he can be a bit timid, and needed time to be completely comfortable with you, but soon became inseparable. ⟶ cares deeply: will hold you tight and nudge you gently with his nose when he senses if you’re upset, offering silent comfort. ⟶ herbivore diet: snacks constantly on vegetables, fruits, and leafy greens, always offering to share. ⟶ fast reflexes: despite his calm demeanor, he’s quick on his feet when startled by any noise around the house. ⟶ loves cuddles: enjoys being petted behind the ears, or burying his face in your stomach and will nuzzle into you for affection. ⟶ burrow maker: has a habit of building cozy nests out of blankets and pillows in your bed and will only sleep with you.

yeonjun ✿ fox hybrid

⟶ playfully mischievous: as a fox hybrid, yeonjun loves teasing and pulling harmless pranks, enjoying your reactions and expressions. ⟶ clever and strategic: known for his wit, he often cunningly makes you spend extra time with him and keeps you wrapped around his finger. ⟶ charming personality: his fox-like smirk and sparkling eyes make him irresistibly charming and impossible to say no to. ⟶ protective nature: yeonjun becomes fiercely protective of you, and rarely even leaves you alone around the house. ⟶ night owl: prefers being active at night, with boundless energy after sunset which he often spends watching you sleep. ⟶ pride in appearance: frequently grooms himself and uses expensive hybrid products to ensure his fur is sleek and shiny. ⟶ loves adventures: enjoys exploring new places wherever you live and discovering hidden spots with you. ⟶ playful pouncing: has a habit of pouncing on you playfully when excited, catching you off guard. ⟶ eats like a gourmet: has a preference for rich, flavorful foods and often “borrows” snacks from you. ⟶ soft underneath: despite his bold demeanor, yeonjun seeks cuddles and reassurance when feeling vulnerable which is everyday.

beomgyu ✿ squirrel hybrid

⟶ energetic and playful: beomgyu is always moving, chattering excitedly and sitting perched on high counters and furniture. ⟶ hoarding habit: stashes away small trinkets and snacks in the most unexpected places out of habit. ⟶ social butterfly: thrives in group settings, especially when you bring friends over, always liking being the center of attention. ⟶ playfully annoying: loves poking, randomly nuzzling and teasing you just to see you smile or roll your eyes. ⟶ curious nature: investigates everything with a bright-eyed enthusiasm, often getting into minor mischief. ⟶ quick reflexes: beomgyu is agile and fast, he darts around with squirrel-like precision and often helps you cook. ⟶ fluffy tail pride: takes immense pride in his fluffy tail, often flaunting it with a cheeky grin and brushing it on your face at times. ⟶ loves snacks: always munching on nuts, seeds, or snacks, and loves sharing them with you by forcefully popping them in your lips. ⟶ cuddly when tired: after expending his energy, he curls up beside you, seeking warmth, cuddles and affection. ⟶ cheeky charm: his playful antics are balanced by his heartfelt moments of affection, making him impossible to stay mad at.

taehyun ✿ cat hybrid

⟶ independent streak: taehyun values his space but loves being near you too. you often wake up to him in your bed despite him going to sleep in a different room. ⟶ sharp intellect: as a cat hybrid, his analytical mind is always working, observing everything around him curiously. ⟶ silent protector: keeps a close eye on you from afar when you do tasks he deems dangerous (like cooking?), stepping in only when necessary which is every time he sees you handling knives. ⟶ selective affection: chooses when and where to show his love, making his rare cuddles all the more special not counting the times he nuzzles and hugs you while you sleep shhh you can never know. ⟶ picky eater: has refined tastes like expensive fish and specific meat cuts, and turns his nose up at anything subpar. ⟶ agile and graceful: moves with cat-like precision, rarely making a noise, so he startles you often because you don’t see him coming. ⟶ loves warm spots: seeks out sunlight or warm corners to nap in, often dragging you along. ⟶ playful bouts: engages in bursts of playful energy, chasing after strings or playfully batting at your hands and chasing you sometimes. ⟶ subtle comfort: rubs his head against you and scents at your neck when he senses you’re upset, offering quiet solace. ⟶ protective of his territory: gets defensive if he feels someone is intruding on your relationship, his sharp gaze a clear warning.

huening kai ✿ puppy hybrid

⟶ excitable and happy: huening kai’s tail wags quickly whenever he sees you, his joy infectious and unashamed. ⟶ loves attention: always seeks your approval and thrives on your praise for even the smallest things, so ends up being helpful around the house. ⟶ playful and clumsy: frequently trips over his own feet during his enthusiastic antics, laughing it off with a grin. ⟶ loyal companion: kai stays by your side no matter what, always eager to cheer you up and make you laugh. ⟶ adventurous spirit: loves exploring and experiencing new things with you, holding your hand tight and bounding ahead with excitement. ⟶ cuddly by nature: enjoys curling up beside you whether in public or private, resting his head on your lap or shoulder. ⟶ eats anything: has a big appetite for food and enjoys sharing snacks, often begging with puppy eyes for extras. ⟶ big heart: comforts you in the sweetest ways, like gently licking your hand or leaning against you when you’re down. ⟶ protective instinct: stands in front of you, growling softly if he senses any threat, his ears tilted back. ⟶ endearing clinginess: follows you around, never wanting to be far from your side, his affection limitless. * bonus: he calls you like ten times from your home phone when you’re out, reminding you that he’s at home and he misses you.

notes: the hybrid trope is my favorite ever! tell me if you guys want to see me headcanon other groups!

#txt #reactions #txt x reader #txt headcanons #txt fluff #txt fanfic #soobin x reader #soobin headcanons #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun headcanons #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu headcanons #taehyun x reader #taehyun headcanons #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai headcanons #txt imagines #txt preferences #txt reactions

262 notes · View notes

formylovetodaryldixon · 7 months ago

Text

"Catching the fox." Daryl Dixon Imagine.

(Not my gif!)

Jesus only caused problems since you, Daryl and Rick met him during a run, but that doesn’t prevent you all from having a little fun. (Even if you come home empty—handed)

A/N: Based on what is probably the funniest episode of "The Walking Dead" to me. I wrote this a while ago but I'm posting it for my friend, who actually finds this funny hehe Sorry if this is long and boring :c Spoiler alert: Jealous Daryl is my favorite Daryl! I hope you like it!

“So… hunky–dunky. Uh?”

In front of you all, an empty, silent road is always pleasant. Nature wasn’t lost after the apocalypse, not completely, and although the green color of the grass disappeared slowly with the passage of time, Mother Nature still retained her place in the world. Sitting by the window in that big truck full of food, the wind pushes some strands of your hair as you breathe in the fresh air. And, sitting in the middle as Rick drives, Daryl glances at you as he checks Denise’s list.

“Don’…” He says with his voice low and thick as always, warning you but making you chuckle. It was the word that Eugene used when he gave Daryl his map, always using fancy ones. At his side as he drives the truck down the hill, Rick chuckles, too. “Why ya never gave me a list?”

You watch the list in his hand and then, you look back at him.

“I think it's impossible to get a high definition TV with surround sound system so I can watch the games again like in those old days. You know, the ones that were on TV before the world went to hell.”

Both men look at you with a funny look, and you look back at the window as the truck approaches that abandoned gas station on the left side of the road. There are papers and trash everywhere, and Rick parks near the gasoline pumps. All of you get out, but since the silent street is free of any walker, you walk around while Rick goes ahead to check the store door.

“We had that shit in our apartment? That round sound thing.”

You chuckle before turning around towards him, smiling innocently.

“Surround sound system, love, and no, we didn’t. We were always fooling around so we never really had time to watch the games. Remember?”

Your words catch him off guard, and his innocent eyes look at you until he understands what they mean. A second later, the boldness shines in his blue eyes, and holding a light smirk, Daryl closes the distance of a few steps between you two, so close you can almost feel his nose againts yours.

“Are ya makin’ fun of me, sunshine?”

You shake your head, softly.

“No, but why?” You whisper. “Does that turn you on?”

“Really?” Rick complains, suddenly, closer than you thought he was. “Now?”

“I’m sorry, Rick.” You chuckle pulling away from your husband.

“Yeah. Sorry, bro.”

Rick looks at you two with a sarcastic expression and raises an eyebrow.

“I regret coming with you two.”

But he is joking and lets it go quickly.

Daryl walks over to the big black box lying in the corner, noticing it is a vending machine turning upside down. Although Denise said it wasn’t of the utmost importance, he wants to go back to Alexandria with a gift for Tara, just because Daryl understood the feeling of trying to do something nice for their person. So, minutes later, Rick rolls over the machine with a chain attached to the truck, and as he gets out and walks towards you two, the glass showing that the interior is full.

“It’s soda and Candy.” Rick says while Daryl removes one of the chains. “Why the trouble?”

“It ain’t a trouble.”

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a man turns around that corner of the store and pushes Rick on his way out, raising his hands in the air as the two men take their guns to aim at the stranger, your own hand holding your weapon hidden behind your waist, as a reflex in the face of danger.

The bandana that covers half of his face shows only his pretty eyes.

“Hi.” He is agitated, as if he has run for a long time. “I was just running from the dead.”

“How many?” Daryl asks while Rick steps back to look at the corner of the lonely place, searching for any walkers close by.

“10. Maybe more. I’m not risking it. Once it gets to double digits, I start running.”

Daryl doesn’t trust him, and he keeps pointing at him with his gun.

“Where?”

“About a half a mile back. They’re headed this way. You probably have about…” The man wiggles his head, looking for the right number. “11 minutes.”

The distrust doesn’t go away, but Rick is the first and the only one who lowers his weapon.

“Okay, thanks for letting us know.”

“Yes.” The man breathes through his bandana. “There’s more of them than us. Right? Gotta stick together.” He looks at Daryl, due to his gun still threatening him. “Right?”

Although that stranger appeared from nowhere, Daryl finally lowers it, too.

“You have a camp?” The man asks.

Maintaining the safety of Alexandria was the main thing, and being selective with the new people you all let in was the first rule until you all knew they could be trusted.

“No.” Daryl lies.

“Do you?” Rick asks.

The man thinks about it for a few seconds.

“No.” He finally answers, and then, he looks at you curiously, standing a little behind them. “It’s just you two, with a woman?”

Before you realize what he meant, Daryl raises his weapon quickly, his hand tightening around it in anger.

“Ya want me to shoot ya, asshole? She’s ma wife and yer gonna say yer sorry.”

The man breathes in a panic, looking at Rick as if he could sense that he’s the sanest.

“You better say it now before he shoots you. Believe me, he will.”

Before looking at you, the man looks at Daryl who is still pointing at him with his gun, so the new one does it. You don’t think what he said was an insult, but it is better to follow the situation calmly before Daryl shoots him for real.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to offend you.” His colorful eyes seems honest, so you move your hand in the air to minimize the misunderstanding, telling him it’s okay. “Well… sorry for running into you. I’m gonna go now.” He turns around and starts walking, talking over his shoulder. “This is the next world; I hope it’s good to you, guys.”

Daryl and you share a confused look as Rick watches the man walk away.

“I’m Rick, these are (Y/N) and Daryl. What’s your name?”

The man stops, turns around again and pulls his bandana down.

“I’m Paul Rovia. But my friends used to call me Jesus…” He extends his arms out, casually. “You pick.”

“You said you didn’t have a camp.” Rick answers back. “You are on your own?”

“Yeah.” He looks at you all, with a sudden confidence. “But still, best not to try anything.”

However, Daryl doesn’t seem impressed, or intimidated at all.

“Best not to make threats ya can’t keep either.”

“Exactly.” And the man starts running out of there.

“How many walkers—” Rick tries to ask, but Daryl cut him off.

“No. Not this guy.”

Rick makes his question anyways.

“How many walkers have you killed?!”

“Sorry! Gotta run. You should too.”

And he finally disappears around the corner.

Running into new people is still strange, but that situation was a new kind, hard to understand too.

“What the hell was that?” Daryl asks.

“Yeah. He was clean.” Rick nods. “His beard, it was trimmed.”

“And he was way too confident to be just by himself.” You say.

Rick nods again, because if the man is strange to you all, then that is more than just a coincidence: something else is happening.

“He didn’t have a gun either.” Daryl frowns, looking down the path Jesus took.

“We could track him.” Rick puts away his gun. “Watch him for a while. Get to know him more. See if he’s really alone. Maybe bring him back.”

“Nah.” Daryl complains, his voice always low and husky. “That guy calls himself Jesus.”

But then, a noise from the back of the place attracts everyone’s attention: all of you go there, encountering firecrackers exploding in a barrel before hearing the thunderous sound of tires against the pavement.

“Shit.” Daryl says when he realizes the truth. “He swiped yer keys. Didn’t he?”

The moment you all get back to the front, the place is still empty, with the truck full of food moving away up the hill.

“Sorry!” Jesus yells as he drives away, taking the vending machine with him, too.

The three of you stop in the middle of the road, watching with frustration as the truck goes away under your eyes.

“Shit.” Rick says.

The vending machine leaves a path on the middle of the road, like breadcrumbs to track down the thief until you find it halfway on the way. Daryl opens the case to secure Denise’s sodas for Tara while Rick and you catch your breaths after running up there. The strands of your hair stick to your forehead, while the beads of sweat begin to fall on theirs.

“This is a special request from the doctor.” Daryl says, showing Rick the soda can whole opening it to give it to you.

“Hey…” Rick breathes and takes the broken one Daryl gives him. “Whatever she wants. She saved Carl’s life. We didn’t know her, and she turned out to be all right. And if there’s still people out here, and they’re still people, we should bring them in.”

“What? Like this guy?” Daryl points to the path Jesus left, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.

“No, fuck this guy.” Rick shakes his head and looks inside the machine for something.

You wipe your mouth with your hand, your mind full of thoughts about what had just happened but without saying anything, at least until you can formulate a coherent opinion.

“What’s on your mind, (Y/N)?” Rick asks when he sees you looking at the ground.

“Well, I just think that…” You doubt if you should share with them what you are thinking, but it’s a waste of time while the truck is still moving. “It’s nothing. We should keep going.”

You try to take a few steps but Daryl stops you reaching out his arm.

“Hey.” He says softly to you. “S’ okay, jus’ say it.”

You are not naive; you know how that world works now. It’s not only the alive against the dead ones. That life was a battle against other people as well. However, not everything was black and white. Or it was?

“I don’t say that what he did is right, but no one steals for pleasure these days, so maybe he did it because he needs it, too.”

Rick wiggles his head slowly, half of him giving you the reason because that is true although nothing apologized what that man did.

“So what?” Daryl frowns, his temper rising again. “Would ya jus’ let him go with our stuff?”

His personality is like a roller coaster, full of constant ups and downs, but luckily, you know how to handle it.

“Don’t talk to me like that, Dixon, it was you who said I could share my opinion. But I’m not saying we should let him go just like that. Hell, no.”

Daryl gives a step back, confused by your sudden change of mood, just like his own.

“So?”

You frown back.

“The truck is ours. And if in this world the strongest ones win, that will be us. So, we will get it back.”

The force in your eyes and the way you look at him catches him completely. But Daryl is no longer too shy, and although he likes your privacy as a marriage, he can’t help but face you again, looking slightly down to you.

“Since when ya are this ballsy, woman?”

Playing, you scoff at him.

“Fuck you. I was like this long before I met your ass.”

“I really hate you both right now.” Rick says in a sigh, making Daryl chuckle.

“Sorry, bro. S’ jus’… she looks so hot right now.”

You chuckle too as Rick raises an eyebrow.

“It’s because we ran until we got here. Now, we should get going.”

At first, you try to be understanding to the request of both men asking you to wait behind the bushes while they surprise the stranger, who just finished fixing the tire of the truck parked in the middle of the road, away from the danger posed by Paul, or Jesus, or whatever he chose to call himself, but you can’t help but compare him to a fox, somewhat elusive, almost slippery as he managed to dodge the blows of Rick and Daryl, who were hit in the stomach and pushed against the truck, respectively.

So, when Jesus turns around, he stops dead with your gun pointed at his face, his hands in the air.

“You would really shoot me in the face just for a truck?”

You take the safety off the gun your dad gave you for protection before dying.

“No. Not in the face, but in the legs just below the knees so you stop being so slippery.”

He takes a deep breath.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

Behind him, Rick and Daryl raise their own weapons, making you lower your own.

“Oh, trust me, pretty boy, I totally would.”

But suddenly, before you can say more, a walker comes out of the bushes, grunting at you all.

“Do you even have any ammo?” Jesus asks, but Daryl and Rick are already tired of him, and both shoot the walker at the same time. “Okay, again, are you gonna shoot me over a truck?”

“There’s a lot of foot on that truck.” Rick says. “The keys. Now.”

In the end, Jesus gives him the keys and Rick ties his hands and feet up to leave him there, on a side of the road.

“The knots aren’t that tight. You should be able to get free… after we’re long gone.”

For his part, Daryl grunts when he sees that some of the soda cans had crushed during the fight, with all the content dripping from his backpack.

“Maybe we should talk now.” Jesus smiles when Rick walks away.

“Nah.” Daryl walks pass him by too and makes you walk with him to the passenger seat. But first, he stops to shake a can and throws it at Jesus. “Here. In case ya gets thirsty.”

When you two get to the passenger seat, Daryl goes up first, and though he has to move to let you go up, too, he leans down to take you by the waist to help you go up to sit between his legs. You are a little surprise by his action, but he just closes the truck door and chuckles as Rick moves the keys around his finger.

“You were right, (Y/N).” He smiles at you as he starts the truck. “We are the strongest ones.”

As the truck begins to move, Daryl leans back against the seat and shows his middle finger out the window.

“So long, ya prick!” He yells at Jesus.

The loud music in the truck accompanies you all the way. As you lean your arm against the window frame, the wind makes your tied hair move back, in a soothing and peaceful way. Daryl’s right hand continues to rest against your waist beneath your t–shirt, holding you against him while everything around is still fine.

“He ain’t that pretty, y’know?” Daryl says quietly over the music, after a long moment of silence.

You frown, turning slightly to look at him.

"Are you kidding with me? I was just messing with him. Jesus...” But you laugh when Daryl frowns, even though you just said the name of the son of God, not the stranger’s. "That's not what I meant!"

Daryl scoffs, but before he can answer back, Rick talks first, pointing something on the road in front.

“Hey, look at that.”

A barn. When you get close, the even path changes for an unstable one as you all enter the barn’s lawn, but, out of nowhere, there is a blow that comes from the roof, getting your attention before theirs.

“You hear that?” You ask as Daryl lowers all the volume of the music.

“I think that son of a bitch is on the roof.”

“Hold on.” Tired of him, Rick steps on the brake and the truck stops abruptly, throwing Jesus through the air until he falls in front of you all.

Then, he just gets up on his feet and runs away. It is ridiculous. It is almost comical the way Rick drives to chase him down the field, but in the end, it’s Daryl who has enough of him.

“Motherfu—” Daryl stops himself to take you by the waist, and he moves from under you. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

Before you react or before his brother can stop the car, Daryl opens the door and gets out of the truck to chase after Jesus on foot while Rick drives near them.

You sigh.

“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m married to that man.”

Rick chuckles and tries to move the truck to block Jesus, but that elusive fox is agile, so he steps back the truck as Daryl and Jesus swing from side to side in the middle of the field, waiting for one of them to take the first step.

“We should clear the way for them.” Rick looks at the walkers around the place as they are starting to move too close.

You open the truck door, moving away from it, pulling the knife from the sheath of your waist.

“We came to a conclusion, asshole!” Daryl yells at Jesus, still in the middle of the place untill he runs away, so Daryl looks at you two before he starts chasing him, again. “I got him!”

Some walkers were tied up around another truck, and you and Rick make them fall when they manage to break the rope free.

Back in the truck, Jesus opens the driver’s door and tries to get in, but Daryl grabs him from his jacket and tries to pull him out.

“Come ‘ere, ya lil’ shit.”

No one sees it coming, no one pays any attention, but a walker comes up to Daryl from behind, dangerously close until it enters Jesus’s view. So he raises a gun, watching Daryl as he freezes there.

“Duck.” He says.

Daryl understands it at once and crouches. The bullet flies over him and enters directly into the walker’s head causing it to fall. He looks back and studies the body on the ground before turning back to look at Jesus.

“Thanks.” Daryl breathes out and punches him right on the face. “That’s ma gun! Come ‘ere.”

The shot pierces your ears and Rick’s, causing to both of you to look at the truck in the distance, and you two run to them. Daryl tries to pull Jesus out of the truck, but Jesus knocks it into neutral, and the vehicle starts rolling into a pond behind. Daryl jumps out of the moving vehicle and Jesus followed him, but his head gets hit with the door and he passes out. When Rick and you finally reach the place, you watch Daryl moving Jesus with his boot as the truck sinks.

You sigh heavily when you all see the last of that truck before it disappears forever.

The new car you all get is old, ironically, but Rick keeps driving through the silent road in the middle of those huge trees and green landscape. In the backseat, Daryl pushes Jesus who is still pretty unconscious, but his body continues to fall back on Daryl’s shoulder.

“Ow, is he your new best friend?” You tease him, making Daryl grunt. “I’m getting jealous, actually.”

“Be quiet, woman.”

“Hey. I told you I could go in the back with him.”

“Yeah? Over ma dead body.”

Just to annoy him even more, Rick moves the car so that way Jesus’ body would fall back on Daryl. He grunts again, pushing Jesus far from him as Rick drives back to Alexandria.

That same night, Daryl and Rick walk down Alexandria Street back to their homes after leaving Jesus in the basement. He was fine despite the hit, and by now they just have to wait for him to wake up in the morning. As they arrive at Rick’s house first, it’s time to say goodbye.

“It was pretty stupid of us to go out there. Wasn’t?” Rick asks as he goes up the stairs of his porch.

“Yep.” Daryl nods walking away. “Do it again tomorrow?”

“Yep.” Rick answers watching him go. “Tell (Y/N) to come. I hate it when you guys are about to lick each other’s faces but it’s hella funny when you two start arguing.”

“Hu–uh.” Daryl waves his hand to him.

Two houses away, Daryl goes up the steps of the porch and opens the door to his house. The only light comes from a lamp on the table in the living room, shining with an amber color. He closes the door behind him and watches you come out of the kitchen.

“There’s a couple of sandwiches in case you’re hungry.”

But he just walks towards you while you stop in front of the stairs. You are tired but it had been a funny day in spite of everything, and you laugh when Daryl wraps his arms around your waist to lift you up, so you hold yourself with your hands on his shoulders, your legs around his waist.

“Nah. Jus’ want some time alone with ma wife.”

#daryl dixon imagine #daryl x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon #daryl dixon twd

205 notes · View notes

utterlyotterlyx · 1 year ago

Text

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Three

Summary - After Azriel and Nesta return from their mission you find them being as watchful as ever, and it turns out that celebrations weren’t always destined to be joyous.

Warnings - angst, fluff, flirting, slight suggestive tones

Part One Part Two

Sunlight curled around your forearm, tugging you and willing you to step outside and bask in her glory.

Ignoring her, you again focused on the matter that held your attention.

“Say it with me, Nyx,” your hands were delicately placed under his arms, holding him in place on your lap. Nyx looked at you with wide eyes and blushed chubby cheeks, dark hair weeping from sleep, his little wings flapping behind him and small digits reaching to furl into your hair, “Auntie y/n is the most powerful.”

Nyx babbled incoherently and you shrugged, cuddling him into your chest and inhaling that smell that made your heart clench with want. It was so fresh, a perfect amalgamation of Rhys and Feyre but also something utterly pure and unique to him, “Close enough, I suppose.”

A certain type of ferocity had consumed you the moment Nyx had been born, there was no one that could guard him better than you. Perhaps that was why Rhys rarely cared when you would pick up the child and whisk him away in on one of your adventures, that being you’d walk him around the city and take him for ice cream all whilst trying (and failing) to ensure that the first thing to fall from his lips would be your name.

Sunlight speckled through the stained glass panes of the library, it was sometime around noon, and you had swooped Nyx from his cot that morning before Feyre or Rhys could realise it. No one would dare to meddle with your time with your nephew.

Three days had passed since Azriel had left you with nothing but a whisper of a kiss on your brow, it had been three days of silence, three days of Rhys acting as your shadow and you letting him believe that you didn't notice his intense gaze settled upon you whenever you entered the room. The Circle had been suspicious, whispering in corners and sparing you the odd sidelong glance before resuming their hushed bickering, even Feyre, who you believed wouldn't be one of those people, was also taking part.

It seemed as though Lucien was your only friend, he actively sought you out, he had noticed your reluctance and need to hide yourself away so distracted your mind by asking about Eris, about what you spoke of. Of course Lucien knew you wouldn't divulge any details, but seeing your eyes sparkle and a soft smile form on your lips was enough to make him believe that you at least had one good thing occupying your mind these days.

A sonnet of brisk air alerted you to another presence slipping through the library doors, Nyx perked up in your arms, and you knew instantly from that and the scent of night-kissed air that Rhys was stood somewhere behind you. Your nerves stood on end as he rounded where you both sat, casting his shadow over your forms, "You stole him again," Rhys' voice was cold and distant, but he cocked his head to the side and grinned at his son, placing his finger in Nyx's hand and shaking it gently.

"Is it so terrible of me to want to spend some time with my nephew?" Rhys hummed and reached for the child, you went to shield him from your brother but relented when Rhys' gaze set alight in warning and gave in, relaxing your grip and feeling that pained void when the wriggling child was snatched from you.

Rhys settled Nyx into his chest, resting his chin atop the crown of his head and looked down on you with his usual wariness, "We have been invited to the Day Court this evening. Helion has requested your presence."

Narrowing your eyes at him, you surveyed his face for any signs of deception, "What's the occasion?" Rhys turned his back to you, sweeping Nyx from your sight, muttering something about a birthday.

It was too odd. First Azriel and Nesta being sent away, the entire family being odd and secretive, then being beckoned to the Day Court? Something wasn't right, and you certainly did not want to spend your evening watching Helion beg Azriel and Cassian for some kind of soul-enlightening orgy.

Once Rhys had stepped out of the room, you threw up your shield and floated toward the desk, once again ignoring the sun beckoning you outside and finding an odd scrap of parchment to scribe upon, scratching your message out and letting it devour itself into ash and float away.

I need your opinion on something.

A minute passed and you spied an autumn-scented piece of cream tinged paper wedged beneath an old leather bound book.

Is that all you need from me?

Smirking, you replied with a matching amount of seductiveness. That was how your conversations had been going, light and always full of mischief, but Eris was always poised to listen to your words, he was always ready to help you if you even thought of asking him for it.

For now.

Tell me what's on your mind, Fawn.

Hesitating, your quill hovered over the paper as you debated whether or not to tell him what the past three days had been like without Azriel and Nesta. The hushed words and glares, your loneliness and desire to lock yourself away. Was it divulging Night Court secrets or just your own?

I feel out of place here. I feel like I'm being punished for helping you. Rhys sent Azriel and Nesta away, and the rest of them are avoiding me more than usual. Cassian hasn't invited me to training, Mor hasn't come to my rooms to gossip, even Rhys took Nyx from my arms only a few minutes ago. It's like I'm poison that they need to dispel from their lives and I just want to lock myself away and disappear.

Watching the clock, you counted down the seconds until another note found its way to you.

I know Rhys sent them away because I found them poking around my boarders the evening before last. And, you're not poison, Little Fawn, locking yourself away only means that they win, and you're far too important to let the infantile actions of your family diminish everything that you are. Don't forget that. No one controls you but you, y/n, the world is yours if you would only ask for it.

Would you give me the world if I asked for it?

I would burn the world to ash if you asked me to. There is nothing that I would not give you.

Heart fluttering in your chest, you slumped back into the comfort of the antique armchair that you had told Cassian off more times than not for using it as a stool for his feet.

Will you be there tonight? At the Day Court?

I will.

Will you find me?

Always.

The shield around you pulsated with force and you furrowed your brow at the shimmering ripples that swam across its surface. Dull thumps echoed within your bubble, and a muffled voice called out to you. Glancing down at the note in your fingers, you turned it into black mist that curled around your fingers and danced upward to the sky and lowered the guard.

You could have cried with relief. Azriel stood before you, still clad in his second skin, blue siphons glowing like he had entered just entered Velaris and had immediately sought you out before reporting to Rhys. Azriel knew what was more important.

"You're back," you breathed as you walked into his awaiting arms, arms that wrapped around your waist and fingers that raked through your hair with a hint of desperation.

Your heart seized in your chest, needing to feel at home and at peace. But it didn't. A lump formed in your throat and a pit opened in your stomach and pooled with unease.

Azriel pulled away from you, his hazel eyes scoured your face but they held something awoken in them, like he saw you differently. His fingers floated over the surface of your skin, up the inky bargain that encased your upper arm which matched his own and across your collarbone, but he didn't touch you there as though as if he were worried that you would mar his hands further.

You took a step back, "What's wrong?"

He'd found something on his travels, something that was making him look at you differently, in a way he had never looked at you, with fear, with sadness.

Azriel's brows etched together, his eyes flowing up and down your form, noticing something off about you. Your scent. The scent of Autumn, of Eris, lingered on your fingertips, the same fingers that were wrapped around his neck moments ago. You hid your hands behind your back.

"Nothing. I just wanted to see you," even his voice was laced with his deception, his shoulders went rigid like a putrid smell had entered his nose, and he visibly shivered, "I should go and talk to Rhys. I'll find you later?"

Feigning innocence, you called, "Was the mission alright, at least? Where did you end up going?"

Azriel turned back to you, lingering in the doorway before your portrait, "It was fine," he forced a tight lipped smile, it was almost as if he had forgotten how observant you were, and how well you knew him. Still, you kept your eyes full of that doe eyed wonder that threw him off and lured him right into your talons. If he was going to lie to you, then there was no harm in aiding your own agenda, "Rhys sent us to keep an eye on some happenings in Spring. Tamlin has been expanding his armies."

A lie. A blatant attempt of deception. One that didn't stick.

Anger bubbled within you, Azriel had never lied to you, your bond was supposed to be too special for those kind of games. Instead of allowing it to bubble over, you inhaled deeply and kept your hands folded behind your back, "Well, I'm glad you're home. I missed you."

The Shadowsinger relaxed his features and almost looked as though he wanted to move to you, to gather you up in his arms and protect you from whatever was clearly heading your way. But he didn't, instead, he spoke to you softly, "I missed you too, y/n," and disappeared from your view.

A feeling of impending pain, perhaps not physical, lodged itself deep within your soul, almost strong enough to steal the air from your lungs. Clasping you hand around the ledge of the large oak desk, you hunched over and attempted to fill your lungs with oxygen, tears prickled at the corners of your eyes and for the first time in your life, your own sanctuary was suffocating you.

Nesta had greeted you with the same apprehension as Azriel had, although, at least she had made it clear that she didn't want to.

Even the walls were watching you, craning their gaze to follow your figure through the house. The only safe space was your room, so that's where you were, nestled between the cushions and watching the candlelight flicker against the cream coated walls whilst Nesta paced about the space, showing you countless dresses on their hangers since you were making no move to look yourself.

Your friend was dressed in head-to-toe black, a form fitting garment with a long slit up the right side and a neckline so plunging that it left little to the imagination. Her coronet was tightly woven, and two thick strands curled around her jaw to frame her sharp features. Blood red lips, arched brows, eyes full of anticipation.

"You have to choose one, y/n."

Ignoring her command, you turned your head to her and she knew what you wanted to know before you even asked, "Are you going to lie to me too?"

Nesta froze, allowing the hanger to fall at her side along with the silver garment attached to it, "What do you want to know?"

"I want to know why Azriel lied to me about where you both went, and I want to know why all of you are suddenly treating me like a stranger," Nesta exhaled shakily, and it was the first time that you had truly seen her stoic demeanour perish before your eyes; she glanced about the room with worry, like she too could sense the house pressing its ear up against your door, "It's safe to speak. Not even the house can hear us."

The elder Archeron sister perched on the edge of your bed, noting your hunched over figure as you hugged your knees close to your chest, it was clear that your exclusion by everyone was making you feel lesser than. Nesta rested her hand atop the comforter, almost reaching for you, but also not at all; Nesta struggled to find the words, to tell you some form of truth without shattering you, "If it ever comes to it, you know I will protect you, don't you?"

"I used to believe that."

Nesta shuffled up the bed and spoke in a hushed tone, "Rhys has been trying to understand you, where all of your power came from and why he only has a fraction of it. He asked us to go Under The Mountain, to see if Amarantha did something else to you other than take your wings. Males would stop at nothing to harness the power that you have."

Under The Mountain was a hazy memory, one that you'd rather not remember at all. You rolled your shoulders, feeling the marred flesh rippling at the action, "Is that what Rhys wants to do? To harness my power? Is that why I've been so hidden?"

Nesta didn't want to answer, but she couldn't keep it from you, unlike Azriel, Nesta remembered your observance, how nothing got past those fire ringed violet orbs, "I don't know what he wants to do with what he finds," she told you honestly, her stoic hatred for him returning to her features, "I didn't go to aid him, y/n. I went so that I could find whatever he wants to know and give it to you. Protect you."

At least one of them was on your side, and you supposed it would have always been Nesta, Azriel was too loyal to the Night Court, and despite your bargain, he would always protect Velaris first and worry about you later.

"Did you find anything?"

Nesta sighed, "Azriel didn't," but she certainly had, "Not now. Now, you wear the most incredible thing you can find and we go to the Day Court and wear the masks that we have to in order to survive another day."

The dress in her fingers, still on its cushioned pearlescent hanger, was a shade of blue-grey that you rarely wore. The bodice was like armour, perfectly fitted and boned, crystals were embedded into the curve of the breastplate and trickled down the deep seated opening that only met just above the bellybutton, exposing the taut muscle and cleavage beneath. From the point where the fabric met at the lower abdomen, the skirt curved upward over the hips and each ridge of fabric acted as a branch, curving upward and cascading down the back, pooling on the floor. The skirt was frosted, diamonds coated the branches of the skirt and curled around the hem which trailed along the floor, and a long central slit sliced upward, enough to expose the legs you knew most males would crumble for, but also little enough to keep your dignity in tact.

It was a spectacular thing that your mother had made. Perhaps the most.

Nesta helped you into the piece, slithering it up your form and humming in appreciation about how well it fit you. The sleeveless garment was certainly made for you, and she secured a diamond necklace around your neck and rested her hands on your shoulders.

Loose curls bounced with every step, Nesta had braided two thick sections and pinned them upward, pulling the skin of your face backward, and had even gone as far as to bless your face in neutral shimmering cosmetics.

The room fell silent when you stepped into the living area, Cassian's once bellowing laughter turned to molten nothingness, Mor's quips dissipated, Rhys' loving words to Feyre who was entangled in his arms were ash in his mouth, even Azriel couldn't speak as his own eyes poured over you.

Paying little mind to the stares of your family, you turned your attention to Lucien who was stood in the corner leaning against a wooden beam with his arms folded over his chest, smirking, "Shall we? I'd hate to waste an outfit like this on people who couldn't even begin to appreciate it the way it deserves to be."

Lucien bit back his laugh and took your arm after a gentle nod from Elain who knew, and despised, how you were being treated. Under his breath Lucien muttered, "You're playing with fire, y/n."

Leading him from the house and onto the lawn, you turned your gaze upward to him, appreciating his beauty and the tied back hair that Elain had no doubt tailored to him, "Perhaps. But I won't be the one who gets burned."

The Day Court Palace had always had the ability to take your breath away, the home alone was enough to convince you that relocating would be a good idea. Maybe it was the white marble pillars so brilliantly white and tall that they kissed the sky, or maybe it was the cloudless skies that washed you in orange bliss the moment you appeared at the foot of the steps.

Even the breeze was welcoming, dancing around your arms and shoulders before moving onward. A weight had shifted within you, and you realised that it was because the Day Court had no reason to watch you like Velaris did, that for the first time in months you were actually free of eyes constantly watching you.

You didn't look back to see if everyone had landed alright when you began to ascend the steps, completely breaking protocol and sauntering upward to where you could hear music and laughter bubbling. Two familiar presences fell in step with you, Nesta and Lucien, the former to your left and the latter to your right, and you all ignored the claws scraping down the walls of your minds commanding you to return to your positions.

Music swirled around you as you paced down the hallway, being mindful of the multiple pairs of feet scuffling behind you until a hand wrapped around your wrist and tugged you back with force. Rhys loomed over you, eyes ablaze and snarl conformed to his lips, nostrils flaring with each breath, "What do you think you're doing?"

Nesta fell to your side, ready to take down the High Lord by any means necessary, Cassian was glaring at her and moved closer to Rhys, "I think that you're the one who should be answering that question, brother."

The air around you both grew heavy, it pulsated with dark energy that emitted from you both, but yours drowned his own and pierced him with its talons, making him feel weak and weary, "Remove your hand before I make you," and he did, his hand dropped from your wrist, "What a good little High Lord you are, Rhys. Father would be so proud of you."

Unspoken words flew between you, ones that told him that you knew what he was doing, that he was seeking to control you and always had, just as your father did.

Azriel had, unsurprisingly, moved to Rhys' other side, his gaze low and body ready to cut you down, he was blocking Feyre from view but she peeked over his shoulder just as Mor did with Cassian.

Power pulsated around you like a heartbeat, black began to move from your fingertips and tinge your veins with their ink from your fury, and Rhys' faltered at the sight of it, his eyes blew wide open and he found your darkened eyes zoning in on him, the violet had turned almost black and that ring of fire was blazing, "You need to calm down, y/n."

"Don't you dare," Nesta growled, placing her hands on your shoulders and turning you away, whispering to you and soothing you whilst Lucien stood up to Rhys.

Lucien's gaze was cold, his mechanical eye whirred as he took in the scene before him, of the High Lord flanked by his soldiers, needing to protect him from his own flesh and blood, "Tell me, Rhys," he found Rhys' gaze again, that constantly disapproving thing that followed you everywhere, "Tell me how what you're doing to her, to your own sister, is any different than what Tamlin did to Feyre."

Silence.

Bone dry silence consumed them, and when Lucien turned to see where you and Nesta had gone to, he only saw the train of your dress slip around the corner of the door toward the sound of freedom.

The room had turned to you as soon as you had entered with Nesta by your side, and not in a wary on edge way, in one of awe and adoration. Eris lingered by the dais, dressed in dark grey pants and white shirt, grey waistcoat and matching jacket which adorned silver swirls.

All anger evaporated from you as soon as his russet eyes found you, they washed over you with concern, no doubt seeing the blackened fingertips and sadness in your own orbs that had returned to their usual hue. He looked beautiful, more so than you remembered, more beautiful than the version of him that settled within your dreams.

You moved to the dais and greeted Helion, you had gone to bow to him, as custom when visiting other courts, but he didn't let you, "You bow for no one, especially when you look like that," he had always taken every opportunity to flirt with you, and he always held a certain resentment for Rhys for refusing your hand to him.

"Thank you for inviting us, I hope you've had a wonderful birthday," you folded his hands in your own and felt his healing touch worm its way into every negative pocket in your body, feeling lighter, more grounded.

The doors opened again, and you turned to see Rhys stalk up the centre of the hall closely followed by the rest of his Inner Circle. As if sensing your discomfort, Eris took a step up and offered a hand to you, and you gladly took it, stepping down from the foot of the dais to allow Rhys to have his moment with his friend, and not once did Cassian or Azriel's eyes move from you.

Lucien reached his brother and whispered into his ear, "I need to talk to you. Now," Eris frowned and peered to you, noting your fluttering eyelids and the unease that radiated from you and nodded, moving to follow Lucien who sent you a reassuring smile before they exited the hall.

If it weren't for Nesta stood beside you, you surely would have crumbled. She stared down her own mate and friends, head dipped low and staring at them through her brows, anger seethed from her and you knew she was going over the consequences of ending Rhys' existence right there and then in her mind. Nesta was Lady Death and you were the Queen of Darkness.

For the next hour you stuck to the walls of the hall, muttering polite hellos as you did your best to keep a safe distance between you and Rhys.

The architecture was stunning, white marble walls and golden chandeliers, pale wood round tables stacked with sparkling wine flutes and food, long benches full of revellers enjoying the festivities. Artwork delicately hung from the walls, glittering in the crystal tinted glow of the chandeliers, sparkling in the light as the skies grew dark beyond the open arches.

Helion's bellowing laughter floated about the room, and you wondered how a life in Day could have turned out for you. Though, you didn't have long to think of it before a hand curled around your forearm and gently pulled you from the room. Eris was in front of you, gingerly holding your arm in his hand as he led you down a flurry of corridors, peering down each one quickly to ensure it was safe to go there.

The High Lord led you all the way out to a private balcony, where you could hear the waves crashing against the rocks and the breeze flutter around the corner. The torchlight danced in the wind, flickering softly as he turned to you. Breathing in, you felt peace, that autumn pine and orange, wilting leaves and warm autumn rain.

Sighing, you felt tears pool in your vision, turning it slightly blurry as you tried to drink him in, "Lucien told me what happened. Are you alright?"

That singular question broke a little piece of you, you couldn't remember the last time some asked if you were alright and were actually invested in the answer. The concern in his eyes and brows made a soft tug pull at your soul, "I'm suffocating."

Eris waited for you to continue, keeping a distance he thought you'd be comfortable with between you, though all you wanted was to know what his arms around you would feel like, what it would feel like to have his lips pressed to the bare skin of your shoulder.

"They've been lying to me, all of them. Nesta confirmed it. Rhys doesn't understand why he only has a fraction of my power, he sent them Under The Mountain to see if Amarantha did other things to me when she held me hostage in the beginning. I feel like a prisoner in my own home, they're all scared of me, even Azriel," your voice broke, never in a million years, in your existence, did you ever think you'd voice that Azriel was scared of you.

"None of them want to touch me or speak to me. I can't do it anymore. I thought Rhys just wanted to protect me, but now I know it was never about that, it was about keeping me hidden and away from everyone else, he made me a prisoner and I didn't even know it."

Wrapping your arms around yourself, your tears flowed freely down your cheeks and you made no move to wipe them away. Eris took a step closer to you, his shadow waltzing with your own, "Can I touch you?"

It took you a moment, a moment of his russet eyes on you and fingers fidgeting at his side until you nodded softly and he raised his hand. His fingertips lightly dusted up your arms and neck, they curled your hair around them and grazed along your jaw, and you felt electric under his touch that spready across every single part of you. His breath was warm over your face and you took a moment to appreciate him, his godly-crafted cheekbones and jaw, eyes that told a million stories, the golden freckled skin and his curved lips.

"I'm not afraid of you, Little Fawn. Nothing about you scares me," his finger curled under your chin and angled your head upward, "All you need to do is say the words. You are the author of your own story. Tell me what you want."

Rhys had let you believe that you had free will, he had allowed you to be outspoken and poised, he had let you believe that you were nothing more than a scare tactic, and you were too enthralled with your so-called family to realise what he had done. There was nothing free about your life, you weren't allowed to leave Velaris without supervision and even such occasions were rare, you weren't called upon in battle until there was no other choice, you were a pawn to him, one that he had masterfully toyed with.

"I want to go to the Autumn Court. With you. I want to denounce my place in the Night Court and leave Velaris," the words felt like poison in your mouth but your soul was thankful for it, and the storm in your soul had already began to break with golden sunlight.

Eris nodded and took a step toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest, your hands were flat against his waistcoat that had once again matched your own attire perfectly, "Your wish is my command, Little Fawn," and then you both disappeared in a swirl of light, leaving nothing but the joint bliss of your scents behind and dancing away in the night-kissed breeze.

Author's Note

I hope you love this! x

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams @magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams

491 notes · View notes

the-starry-seas · 1 year ago

Text

woke up with bail/fox thoughts of bail always requesting shinies for personal guard things and this sets fox on high alert because why be specific about that. what are you doing to my shinies. and then he finds out that bail is giving them lunch and letting them nap on the couch in his office and he's like. ah. this is... ah. *the comically biggest heart eyes you've ever seen in your life*

also having thoughts of fox assigning himself as bail's guard whenever bail actually needs one, cause bail is kind to the shinies and that means fox actually wants to protect him. fox getting hurt on a trip offworld and telling bail exactly how to escape back to the ship, but bail won't leave without him. he just says, the shinies say 'we are not things'. they say you taught them that. i believe it too. and he's not nearly strong enough to carry fox, but he can take just enough of fox's weight that fox can stagger along.

fox has no idea about the uproar caused by bail flying them back to alderaan instead of coruscant, to take fox to the palace medbay where he'll be given the same standard of care as bail himself. all fox knows is that there's real flowers on the bedside table, and the window is open to let in real sunlight and the smell of grass. and that bail is there. asleep, on a little sofa, his arm stretched out so he can hold fox's hand.

perhaps the most startling part of all this, for fox, is when breha comes in and feels his forehead and asks if he's doing all right and says she brought more flowers. there's no assistants or bodyguards or troopers. it's just her. like she trusts fox the way bail does. like she cares about fox the way bail does.

the way her husband does, fox reminds himself. there is no room in a natborn's world for a clone. his place is with the GAR. he has never deserved anything else. he never will. but when she promises to get him anything he wants, and that beautifully cool hand rests over his as she kisses his cheek and says she hopes he gets his rest-

he wants. he wants so badly.

it doesn't really surprise him when bail wants him, too. many senators find the rank of marshal commander... something to be conquered. not wanted, by any means. just another thing to brag about, the best clone in the Guard obeying their every whim.

what surprises him is that bail courts him. that bail is steady and gentle and respectful and always asks for fox's permission to touch him. that breha is just the same whenever fox sees her and talks to him like he's an old friend. that they treat fox like someone to be desired. someone worth fighting for. fox doesn't know what to do about that. he knows he wants to find out.

he finds out so very many things, and the best of them all is, by far, what it feels like to be loved.

#commander fox #bail organa #breha organa #bail/breha/fox #SHEVEK. SHEVEK THIS IS YOUR FAULT.

464 notes · View notes

bkgexe · 6 months ago

Text

the defiance of a life spent almost in touch

geto x reader ✾ 15.7k ✾ part one of two ✾ ao3 link

info! (canon au, haibara lives and geto never defects.) Your cursed technique allows you to read people—to see into their minds—when you touch them. It's not pleasant, but to jujutsu society, it's useful. Which means you end up in close proximity to Geto Suguru, who you've been avoiding for nearly a decade since seeing just how frightening it is inside his head. Though it's something you vowed never to repeat, it seems that there are powerful people vested in having you read him once again. ✾ tw! reader is scared of geto, typical jjk gore/violence, geto is. mentally unwell. like he didn't defect but he's Wrong ✾ notes! part two should be out end of march!!!

When the jujutsu higher-ups ask you for help, they always send Kento, because you have a hard time saying no to him.

To his credit, he always looks sorry. You have the number of every other sorcerer you know blocked. He still comes in person because he knows the blow will be softer if you can complain to him after. He drives you to the appointed location, a small town on the border of Yamanashi Prefecture. The ride is mostly silent. When the car stops in front of a small, traditional house, Kento sighs deep, a sound you got so well acquainted with in high school that you can still conjure it in your mind on command.

A familiar look: why are you doing this. Another: you can say no.

“You know why I have to,” you say.

The sigh again. “Fair enough.”

You left jujutsu society for a few reasons.

The first: your cursed technique is useless in a fight. You had to rely on strength and agility alone, which got you to Grade B—but you saw what happened to Haibara. The higher-ups send lower grade sorcerers out as a test, a toe in the water. They misjudged the grades of so many curses that at a certain point, you started to suspect that they were making it all up. That they had no way to accurately measure the strength of a curse until it had drawn a sorcerer’s blood. You didn’t want to be a body in a hospital bed, cut so deep through the middle that you had claw marks on the inside of your spine.

Haibara lived, but not without consequences.

The second: three men wait inside the house you’ve been called to. The window that alerted the higher-ups, a non-sorcerer passed out on the ground—and him. Geto smiles warmly when he sees you. You used to like his smiles before you saw the inside of his head. Now all you see is fox teeth hidden behind a stretched mouth.

Though your cursed technique isn’t useful in a fight, it’s still useful. Skin-to-skin contact allows you a look into another person’s mind. Just flashes, and nothing specific, but it’s helpful when the only witnesses you have are comatose or otherwise indisposed. You’re allowed a normal life for these few visitations. The higher-ups don’t bother you anymore. Even Gojo stopped asking you to come back and teach somewhere along the line, distracted by things more (or less, knowing him) important than your existence.

Geto never tried. You can at least respect him for that.

He explains to you that six people have been found in the same state as the man in front of you. It’s not a normal coma—something is smothering their soul, stretching it far from their body. As if they’re standing on the sidewalk across the street from themselves, watching the inside of their head through a lit window in the middle of the night. You’d forgotten what Geto’s voice sounded like, all friendly tones and half-hidden condescension.

When you touch the unconscious man, you don’t see anything at first, which is odd. His wrist is clammy and cold, his whole body covered in sweat. You briefly wonder if his soul is so disconnected that you won’t be able to read him.

And then, memories: noodles in warm broth, a pair of leather shoes with buckles, a live wire at the power plant, what it would feel like to put your hands on it?, to feel electricity for the first time in so long?, to take something into you r body that was never supposed to be there?, hands wrapped around spark-soaked copper—

Outside, you throw up behind a camellia bush. Bile burns your throat, the roof of your mouth. The flowers smell of putrid rot when you know they shouldn’t. Cold air digs needles into your cheeks, so you’re stinging inside and out. Kento hadn’t given you enough notice for you to skip breakfast, but the higher-ups hadn’t given him any notice that they’d need you.

People are predisposed to show you either wants or memories. Never both, for reasons beyond your understanding. Memories are worse than wants. They burrow deeper, which makes them harder to expel.

Instinct tells you the hand is coming before it connects, and you dodge contact—Geto at your shoulder, asking if you’re alright. He doesn’t miss that you flinch away from him. “I’d have brought a bucket inside if I knew,” he tells you. His face says: I’m sorry for overlooking this detail. He’s very good at lying with it.

“It’s at the power plant,” you say. “Whatever’s causing this.”

“Do you want to read any of the others before you go?” The question feels cruel. His face says it isn’t.

You shake your head and leave without a word.

Kento drops you off at your building and you thank him. You could invite him up easily. The two of you have known each other for so long, have experienced so much together, that being with him feels natural. It’s possible to turn off your brain around him, to touch him and only experience the smallest flashes of memory.

You thank him and say good night.

It would be selfish. You would give anything to be the kind of person that could be a good partner to him. He’s an easy man to love, which is exactly why you can never love him. You’re difficult, a puzzle that comes with a sizable warning.

When you fall asleep in your cramped apartment, you see soup and silver buckles, live wires and burning flesh.

✾

An unknown number calls when you’re at work. You pick up because it breaks the monotony of clicking around account records and absorbing none of the numbers on the screen.

“Are you busy?” the person on the line asks, and you realize you never blocked Geto’s number because you never had it in the first place.

You tell him you’re not, even though you have a project deadline this week. If you sit in this closet-turned-office for five more minutes you’re going to explode all over the walls. You're not sure why you entertain him—why you didn't just hang up the second you heard his voice. There's something about him that compels you. A terrible, morbid curiosity that sometimes, when you're not looking directly at him, overrides your fear.

He meets you at the same house as last time, but today there’s no window. Just you and him. Kento didn’t drive you. For some odd reason, you thought there’d be someone else here, as if jujutsu society at large should know that you always need a buffer when it comes to Geto. A witness. And you realize that despite the curiosity, despite the compulsion, you should never have entertained this man on the phone for more than ten seconds. You shouldn't be here. You keep your keys spiked between your fingers, as if you’d ever be able to stop one of the most powerful sorcerers alive from doing whatever he wanted with you.

“I didn’t find anything at the power plant,” he says, leading you down a wooded path behind the house. You emerge onto a dirt road on the other side, a near-identical house sitting before you, its sloping, tiled roof dripping with excess morning rain. “Have you had lunch?”

You shake your head. He smiles with his hidden fox teeth.

The man you read this time is just as feverish as the other, but his wrist is hot. This isn’t relevant to reading a person, but you notice these things because you touch people so infrequently. Each time you do it’s a research experience, notes taken inside your head, recorded to compare against other studies you’ve done over the years.

The memories are instant: rough hands that have hardened from years of manual labor, watching baseball with the other construction workers after projects done in town, your daughter moving to Tokyo for college, radishes that she used to grow in the backyard that she boiled and roasted every day after harvest, and who will you eat them with now? and who will grow them? and who will you make your hands rough for? you don’t like baseball.

Pulling away from the man’s mind is like extracting yourself from honey in the process of crystallizing. His consciousness clings to you as you leave, trying its best to suck you back in. You’re the only company it’s had in a while.

“I didn’t get anything,” you say, and your voice is rough. Your throat burns even though you didn’t throw up.

Geto sits in one of the two plastic folding chairs in the house’s main room. He plays with the piece of his hair that’s loose from his bun, twirling it between slim fingers. You haven’t seen him in a jujutsu tech uniform since high school, though you’re pretty sure Gojo still wears one daily. Geto’s always in crisp white or black button-downs, slacks, expensive oxfords. Maybe playing dress-up makes him feel less like a sorcerer and more like a human.

“I can try again,” you say, and you’re not sure why. It’s for this suffering man, you think, even though your savior complex was left behind with the jujutsu world.

“You don’t have to,” Geto says, dropping the strand of hair and leaning forward. His language is careful. He’s not telling you no. The way he watches you, elbows on his knees, hands clasped in the middle, makes you feel like you’re being tested.

You try again. This time: getting your wedding ring engraved, sitting on the porch in late spring sipping on plum wine, nearly crying when you see your daughter playing with the girls that have caused the town so much misfortune, the relief when they ’re finally gone, the relief when your daughter brings new best friends home and their eyes aren’t shadowed and sharp and too old for their sockets—

Retching is your second-least favorite thing, right behind actually vomiting. Your body rejects the images you’ve seen, trying to empty your stomach before the memories can begin to digest.

You tell Geto what you saw.

His question: “Does he remember what happened to the girls?”

“If he does, I didn’t see it,” you say. When Geto is silent, you tell him, “I can’t do it again. I can’t.”

After a tense, quiet moment, he smiles at you. You still feel nauseous, but you can’t tell if it’s because of your cursed technique or because of the bone-deep malaise that spreads into your skin like a balm when he looks at you—when you’re reminded of what you once saw lurking in the corners of his mind. “Of course,” he says. “Let’s get you home.”

✾

Kento meets you at your usual coffee shop a few weeks later. Your throat no longer feels raw every time you swallow. He has a drink waiting for you when you get there—(describing Kento as punctual would be doing the man a disservice)—and it’s your favorite, with all the little add-ons that you get too nervous to ask for at risk of being a burden to the already overworked baristas. You’re positive he tipped heavy after putting in your order.

He asks you what you think about the murder mystery you’ve both been reading. You tell him about your job, the monotony, the fantasies of exploding. He tells you about jujutsu business, even though he’s not supposed to. This has never stopped him in the past and won’t ever stop him in the future.

“The higher-ups are pleased with your work,” he tells you. He doesn’t sound pleased.

“Kento.” A warning.

He hmms at you as if actually considering your warning before speaking his mind. “Having a foot in either world is difficult. It’s impossible to keep your balance.”

Your drink suddenly disgusts you. You taste bile. The cup is hot between your hands as you roll it back and forth with your palms. “Are you saying I should come back to Jujutsu Tech?”

“I’m saying that if you want to leave entirely, you should.”

You consider this: a normal life, surrounded by normal people, with a normal job and normal friends and a normal partner, maybe, if you’re lucky. The higher-ups would never let this happen. If you wrong them, they make sure to wrong you back. “You know why I can’t.”

“I’d take care of it. You wouldn’t be bothered by anyone.” He speaks with such confidence that you could almost believe him.

You tell him you’ll think about it. The coffee stings your palms. A terrible feeling sits in your throat like a weathered rock.

There’s something other than the threat of retaliation that stops you from pulling the trigger—from fully leaving the world you grew up in, as Kento once did. Maybe you’re not as brave as him. Maybe you can’t reconcile how quickly he ended up going back. Or maybe you just feel so inextricably tied to the world in which you were raised that you need to have it in your life somehow, even if it’s in brief, unpleasant flashes of memory and want.

“You can make your decisions for yourself,” he says. He’s not disappointed with you, you’re sure—just worried. The same way you often worry about him. “They’re pleased. Geto found the curse and exorcised it the same day thanks to you. I can see why the higher-ups don’t want to let you go.”

The stone in your throat grows edges, forgets its weathering. His name always unnerves you, but Kento’s words unnerve you more. “He exorcised it—the same day we drove out there?”

Kento nods, sips his tea. “He can be vicious.”

A tremor begins in your fingers and lodges deep in your elbows, your shoulders, your very soul. “He didn’t need me to read another victim?”

Kento’s a smart man. His eyes narrow. “Not to my knowledge. Or anyone else’s.”

You wave off his concern (suspicion, really, but you love to downplay these things), and your coffee is finished, and you really should be going, anyway. “He didn’t do anything,” you lie, standing and folding your coat over your arm. “He called and asked me to come back out, but I said no.”

It’s easy to see that Kento doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press you either. He knows that if you tell him half-truths, once you have all of your feelings together, you’ll tell him everything. He’s done the same, and you’ve given him the grace he’s currently allowing you. He puts up with a lot—but that’s the nature of living the lives into which you both were born.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you say.

“You’ll call me soon?”

“You’re on speed dial,” you tell him—and it’s true. His contact is the only one in your phone that’s favorited.

Kento smiles—something you rarely see. You wish it didn’t call to mind the shine of fox teeth.

✾

How you ended up coming into contact with the wants of Geto Suguru: he showed up at Ieiri’s dorm with his ribs visible through his uniform.

You remember very specific things from that day. The heavy knock, the thud of him collapsing, blood soaking the tatami floors. Shockingly white bone beneath torn skin and muscle, his ink-black hair coming undone, silk-soft and slipping across your fingers as you dragged him inside. Ieiri’s hands were shaking. She smelled like cigarette smoke and metal. Pressure here, she told you, ripping away the remains of Geto’s jacket, and when you touched him everything was skin-muscle-bone-blood and: bodies. bodies of people that have wronged you. people that haven’t. their blood thick beneath your fingernails like orange peel. how easy it is to snuff out each life. to take from them what they have forgotten to value. you could kill more. you could kill everyone.

When you pulled away from Geto, his skin was knitting together beneath Ieiri’s shaking hands—hands you knew well, her black nail polish chipped around the edges because she bit at her nails when she was somewhere she couldn’t smoke. His ribs faded from view, and then muscle, and then his skin was pink and shiny, scar-new, as if whoever had done this to him had simply taken a paint brush to his bare chest and drawn a bold X.

Blood was underneath your fingernails. Orange peel. It’s all you remember about the aftermath. Getting back to your room and locking yourself in the washroom were voided from your memory. Your head was all bodies. All bone. An undeniable feeling of righteousness, completely sure that they hadn’t deserved what you’d taken from them. And on top of that, the most frightening thing: relief that they were dead.

You washed your hands so much that the skin was raw, peeling, but you still couldn’t get your fingernails clean.

✾

You ignore his calls.

The frequency with which you receive them makes you uneasy. You don’t have his number saved. The first few digits become a bad omen.

In school, he and Gojo had a reputation for toying with people. Mostly women, mostly in a romantic sense. The difference between the two is that Gojo was easy to understand—a spoiled boy-prince that liked the attention. He wanted girls to fawn after him, to beg for more when he finally graced them with a kiss, to cry when he dropped them.

Geto always seemed worse, somehow. He would date girls and leave them behind like candy wrappers, charming them into giving him a taste and only revealing his true appetite when his prize had reached the inescapable vicinity of his jaws.

It’s more insidious than simply liking attention. He liked power. Having control over someone.

Whatever he’s doing now is insidious in nature, too. You can feel it. So you ignore his calls and keep working the days away until you can’t ignore him, because he shows up at your office with the confidence of someone supposed to be there, hands in his pockets, leaning against the frame of your door.

You jump so hard that your bones creak, almost louder than the creaking plastic of your poor hand-me-down rolling chair.

“Your instincts are a little dull,” he says. “I thought you would’ve heard me coming.”

Standing up feels necessary. You don’t want to feel smaller than him, even though he towers in your doorway. “I’m not supposed to be bothered by sorcerers without advance notice.”

He smiles. “I tried calling.”

Your heart is pounding like a rabbit at the foot of a wolf, partly torn to shreds but conscious enough to experience the abject terror of what comes next. “Who let you up here?”

“I was hoping you might be willing to humor me without advance notice.”

“I’m calling security.”

“I need your help,” he says.

“Like you needed my help last time?”

He sits with that for a moment. “Is it a crime to be curious about you? What you’re capable of?”

“You lied to me,” you reiterate. “You didn’t need me to read that man. And, what—it was so you could see more of my technique?”

“Yes,” he says plainly, as if it's a perfectly sane response.

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

He chuckles, the sound rich and deep and calm, as if you’re having a nice conversation between old friends. “Are you saying you’d have responded well if I just asked?”

You remain silent, staring at the sticky notes on your monitor with reminders and deadlines written in blue pen. Tanaka account today. Get stapler back from Yoishi!!!! You both know his question is rhetorical.

He crosses his arms, taps his long fingers against his bicep. Is it impatience, you wonder, or his inability to sit still for too long? His face belies nothing. “Would you read me if I asked?”

Your veins feel too tight, constricting muscle. It must be a leading question—he’s suspicious of your aversion to him, maybe. The exterior he’s built is charming and handsome and kind. That’s probably how he got to your office. You wouldn’t be surprised if the receptionist saw a handsome face and caved immediately. It’s not his fault you see through it. If you could go back and revoke your touch, remove the bodies from your memory, you would. But you can’t, and the things in his mind scare you. It’s part of what made you leave. The idea of working with a man like that, who held such terrors in his head, was incomprehensible to you. It still is. You would always be thinking about the ease with which you could become one of those bodies.

When you read people who project to you in wants, it’s usually easier. Makes you feel less sick. But not him. He wanted those people dead, whoever they were. He wanted blood on his hands. He was thinking, concretely, that he could have killed them all. That they deserved it.

The relief was the worst part. Seeing all those people dead, and the resounding thought that outshone everything else: finally.

He steps forward, hand extended slightly. “If I—”

“No. Just—don’t,” you say, and you stumble a little as your legs hit your chair and push it, rattling, against the wall. Your office has never been this small. You never want to be inside his head again. You'd do anything to get him out of your space. “Tell me what you need my help with and we can go.”

He doesn’t look pleased. It seems people in your life are operating on a theme. Still, his hand retreats, and he smiles, slouches a little, as if to make himself smaller. Less intimidating. “Thank you.”

As you leave your office, you give him a wide berth, though you could swear his body goes taut, as if suppressing the urge to touch you.

The Ueno Zoo is closed during operating hours. This hasn’t happened in the entire time you’ve lived in Tokyo. The woman at the gate is a window—the look she gives Geto is one of recognition, respect. He and Gojo are the most well-respected sorcerers currently active, though you believe entirely that Kento is much more deserving of respect than they are. The window lets the both of you inside without a word.

Geto leads you to the vivarium, just to the right of the gate. It’s a beautiful glass building, the windows fogged with humidity to keep its plant and animal residents comfortable. You haven’t been to the zoo in a long time, but when you used to come with family and friends, you always visited the vivarium before you left. The air was heavy and hot, birdsong piped in through speakers, echoing off the glass walls like prism-dispersed light. Every animal inside moved slowly, heavily, and if you listened closely enough, you could hear the soft slide of scales against stone, the heavy thud of a taloned foot into packed dirt. A haven for living in calm and peace.

Inside, it’s chaos.

Display cases are smashed, plants and trees are torn up from the roots, stone walls have been dismantled and crushed. In the center of the rubble, the strewn dirt and bundled roots: jaws. Alligator jaws, crocodile jaws, all long and horrible teeth, and when you look closer—the jaws of snakes, fanged and dripping venom, and others from what you can only assume would be turtles, small and rounded.

The skin remains perfectly intact on every jaw. Muscle, bone, blood. You see bodies. You see limbs. You remember: finally.

“Don’t look at that,” Geto says from beside you. “Look at me.”

With a deep breath, you do—though looking at him does nothing to dispel the unrest in your stomach, the pit in your chest.

“Good.” He’s not smiling anymore. You wonder if he’s decided to drop his disguise or if the orphaned jaws are more horrifying than the wants he carries like stones. “Come this way.”

He leads you away from the viscera, into a small office next to the stairs. A man sits in the single chair, staring into the security monitors on the desk in front of him. His gaze is absent, hollow. His hands clasp and unclasp on his lap. Blood is spattered across his face and the front of his cheery yellow jumpsuit.

“He’s been like this since I got here,” Geto tells you. “I need you to read him.”

Ieiri used to tell you that if humans come into contact with curses and live, you have to monitor them closely for cardiogenic shock—stress and fear mounting to such a peak that the heart can’t handle the pressure. It’s not a peaceful death. “He needs to go to a hospital.”

“I’ll take him after.”

“How long has he been in shock?”

“Read him first,” he says, more curt than you’ve ever heard.

This is the thing lurking under the surface. The wolf peeking through the mouth of the sheepskin. It sits in him waiting to be called forth. You’ve seen it already—it’s no surprise to you that it lives in him still. It is, however, a surprise that he let his facade slip so badly.

He smiles, fox teeth a little sharper than usual. “Please.”

You put your hand on the side of the man’s neck, the only skin available to you. Touching people’s faces horrifies you. Such an intimate thing tarnished by the images that flood your brain.

Memories on a loop: guttural screeching, death cries that couldn’t be conjured by a human mind, and from the ceiling, from the ceiling the jaws falling, falling, falling, blood everywhere and on you and you can taste it ??? in your mouth ??? on your tongue ??? metal and rot, and there is something discarding these jaws from the bodies of animals it eats while clinging to the vivarium’s rafters something ??? when you met your wife you knew you were going to propose to her in the zoo in the vivarium because of the beautiful glass the beautiful plants she loves plants something there is something there is something you cannot see some thing ???

This time, Geto has a trash can waiting for you. You’ve gotten very good at gathering your hair up with one hand at a moment’s notice. He puts the trash next to the desk when you’re done, and you tell him everything useful that you gathered on the curse. Everything else, you keep to yourself. You’ve gotten very good at that too.

You wipe your mouth with the back of your wrist. The bile tastes more like copper than usual. “Is that everything?”

He holds his hand out to you and you hide your flinch poorly. “Gum?”

The foil-wrapped stick shimmers green, held between his fingers like a cigarette. You stare at it for a beat too long. It’s your favorite brand, spearmint flavored.

“It won’t bite,” he says. He tilts his head to the side, eyes crinkling with mirth. As if you weren’t tasting blood just a moment ago. When you still don’t take the gum, he laughs softly and it reminds you of high school. His laughter has always been a little mean, as if it gets harder for him to hide his true nature when amused. It reminds you of a housecat playing with a bug. “I won’t either.”

A funny thing for someone with such sharp teeth to claim.

You take the gum from him, careful to grab the very end so there’s no chance of your fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

He smiles and nods as if he’s done you a favor. You appreciate the gum, but you’d appreciate him ceasing contact with you more. “I’ll see you soon,” he tells you.

“Get him help, Geto.”

He smiles wide in response.

✾

You lost your virginity to Kento during your graduating year at Jujutsu Tech.

Haibara was recovering, still in the hospital for the third consecutive month. He had to learn how to walk again, the implants in his spine acclimating to him at the same rate that he was acclimating to them. You and Kento were the only two students in your year that made it to graduation. The two of you felt like celebrating but when you began drinking, you realized it was more commiseration than anything celebratory.

“Do you always see things?” Kento asked. He never drank—saw it as beneath him—so when he did, he was a lightweight. “When you touch people?”

“Yeah,” you said. The both of you sat against the headboard of your bed, passing a bottle of gin back and forth—the only thing you could find in Yaga’s campus stash. It stopped tasting like liquor twenty minutes prior. “I can make it quieter. But I really have to focus. Like—I couldn’t make it quiet now, I don’t think.”

Kento turned towards you and said, “Try.”

And always, you would protest when people suggested this. It was like a party trick to people that didn’t have to deal with the fallout. They all wanted to know what you saw in their mind, whether it was wants or memories that jumped to the forefront, what their subconscious decided was important enough to broadcast.

You didn’t believe at all that Kento was asking for those reasons. It’s why you touched him.

Wedging the bottle between Kento’s thigh and yours, you turned towards him and reached for his face. This, for some reason, was your first instinct. His skin was soft, a little dry. His mouth was set in a nervous slant.

And you got a few things from him: finishing your favorite book for the third time, going to the beach with your mother, finding out how cold the sea was. Memories, unfortunately. The feelings behind them.

But what you felt was mostly your own.

You pushed his bangs back from his face, and you couldn’t take your eyes from the slant of his lips, and suddenly you were in Kento’s lap, kissing him, and he was kissing you back, hands on your hips, groaning softly into your mouth.

The gin tumbled off the bed and spilled all over your floor. Your dorm would smell like liquor for weeks.

It was awkward the way a first time should be for teenagers, misplaced limbs and kisses with knocking teeth. You both tried to take care of each other the best you could while shit-faced and entirely inexperienced. You hadn’t kissed anyone before then—you hadn’t touched someone’s face since you were little.

You’d been scared. He figured out how to make that okay.

✾

Gojo is in your office when you come into work, reclining in your chair with his feet up on your desk. He peers at you over his glasses, eyes like jeweled robin eggs. “Running kinda late, huh?”

“I don’t have to be here until nine,” you tell him. “It’s eight forty-five.”

“Semantics.”

“You’re in my office.” You don’t even have the good grace to make it sound like a question—just an admonishment.

“Or is it syntax?”

“Can you please get out?”

“Can’t you pretend you’re happy I’m here?” He pouts, taking his feet from your desk. “I won’t even ask you to do anything. I basically just came here to say hey.”

“That would certainly be a first.” You walk behind your desk and shoo him away from your computer, waking it from its slumber. An orange post-it note on the top of your monitor reminds you that tax reports are due TODAY!!!!!!, and you try to prepare yourself for a grueling eight-to-twelve hours of tax filing, depending on how smoothly things go. Gojo Satoru showing up at your office before you is not your definition of smooth. “You said hey. Why are you still here?”

Gojo slowly spins in your chair, pushing himself in circles lazily with one long leg. Avoids looking at you. “You’ve been working with Suguru a lot lately.”

“Twice.” You open up the tiny K-Cup machine you have on your desk and start preparing the world’s smallest cup of coffee. Three times, technically, but you still don’t know what to make of the second time he called you out to Yamanashi Prefecture. When he lied to you. “That hardly constitutes a lot.”

“Enough that it got back to me.” He slows the chair, then starts spinning the other way. “You got any idea why he’s taken an interest?”

Your tiny mug clatters against the K-Cup machine. Geto is probably miles from here, dealing with important jujutsu business, but your heart beats like a prey animal nonetheless, the way it often does under his gaze.“I don’t think he’s taken an interest.”

“As much as I’d love to be flattering you, that’s not what I mean.” He stops the chair entirely, body directed at you. “You’ve been useful.”

There’s nothing you hate more than being talked about like a tool. Your coffee finishes brewing and you take a sip before you really should. It burns your lips. You lean against your desk and look at Gojo, trying to read anything from his face, his body language. As always, you glean nothing. Though you see Geto as the more insidious of the two, you’re keenly aware that Gojo is just as good at pretending.

“I’ve been useful,” you repeat. “So what?”

“You don’t think you’ve been pretty unnecessary for the missions you’ve been asked to help with?” Though his glasses are on, it's as if you can sense the intensity of his gaze through the darkened lenses. “Suguru could’ve found and exorcised either of those curses easy. I could’ve done it even easier.”

Every meeting with Gojo requires a mandatory ego-stroking period. You decide to get it over with quickly. “Yes, you’re both very strong. What’s your point?”

“Do you know what happened that night?” he asks, taking off his glasses—and this is what really instills a fear in you that something terrible is about to happen. A full view of eyes like glittering sapphires. There’s no question what night he’s talking about.

You don’t like thinking about that time in general. You don’t like thinking about Geto’s ribs. You don’t like thinking about the bodies. “A non-sorcerer tried to stop the merger. You guys… neutralized him.”

His gaze clouds for a moment. You’re aware that Gojo carries his burdens, despite his unbearable ego. He’s somewhere else, seeing things that you have the good fortune of never having to see. You briefly wonder whether you’d read memories or wants from him. You’re content with not knowing. “Don’t play coy,” he tells you. “You’re smarter than that.”

“You killed him.”

“I killed him.”

Gojo’s account of the day you read Geto: both he and his best friend so narrowly avoided death that they still remember its taste.

A mercenary whittled down Gojo’s endurance and attacked just as they were delivering Amanai Riko to Tengen for their merger. Gojo stayed back to deal with things. Geto escorted Amanai. Gojo was slit from throat to hip with a blade so sharp he didn’t feel the pain until his blood was already varnishing the floor. Geto was carved apart by that same blade, left alive only because of the curses he stored and their indeterminable state upon his death. Amanai, quick on her feet, made it to Tengen. The merger was successful. Things settled down and another Star Plasma Vessel wouldn’t have to be found for a long, long time.

Gojo shows you the scar on his forehead, shiny rib-white, usually hidden by his hair or his blindfold. Being so close to death changed him, he tells you—he fully understood the limits of his cursed energy and what it could do.

It changed Geto too.

“I’m not telling you all this for nothing,” he says, a disarming smile appearing on his face so suddenly after a serious conversation that the speed makes you nauseous. “I just have one tiny favor to ask you.”

It’s long into the day. The details took a while to get through. Your lunch hour is coming up and your appetite is nonexistent and tax forms sit unfiled on your desk. Gojo asking for a favor is always bad news. You can taste vomit and you wish you had a piece of gum or alternatively that you were born an entirely different person. “I don’t want any trouble—”

“No trouble. Promise.” He lifts his right hand, pinkie out, grinning—as if it’s funny that you, specifically, can’t touch him. “I just want you to read him for me.”

Your heart slams into the base of your throat. “That’s… You know that’s not a small ask.”

He drops his hand, shrugs. “C’mon—look, it’ll give you an excuse to get close to him.”

“Why would I want that?” you ask.

“As if I didn’t clock your embarrassing crush on him in high school.”

“Excuse me?”

“Excused. It won’t even be bad,” he says. “I only need you to read him one time, probably.”

“Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Gojo.”

Weighing the cost of telling you a half-truth versus keeping you in the dark seems to take a toll on him, his smile turning brittle at its corners. You think he knows that you won’t do anything for him without more information. Not that you’d read Geto ever, at all—but Gojo hasn’t always been good at believing people when they say never. Hesitantly, he tells you, “Something happened.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, something,” he says, finally a little exasperated. “I wouldn’t be asking if I already had answers.”

There are things he’s not telling you, very obviously. He’s minimizing. Jujutsu sorcerers are good at that. And he and Geto are best friends, two people so closely intertwined that they could count as one. “Why can’t you just ask him?”

For the first time in your acquaintance with him, Gojo is silent.

“He doesn’t know you’re asking me to do this,” you say. It would be a question if you weren’t already so sure.

“Oh, no, he’d kill me if he knew I was here.”

“I’ll call him and tell him to come get you.”

“I’d like to see you follow through on that.” He grins, peeks at you over his glasses. “Bet you won’t.”

Geto answers on the first ring, your name spoken in question.

“Your dog’s in my office. Come pick him up.”

He does.

Gojo could easily leave before Geto arrives, but he doesn’t even try. He sits in your chair, still reclined, surely doing immeasurable damage to the hydraulics. Asking him about his motives would be wasted breath—he’ll never tell you something he doesn’t want to, regardless of how much you wheedle him. He’ll enjoy the wheedling, though, and you don’t want to give him the ego boost of being begged.

Instead, you shoo him out of the way of your desk and start working on submitting the tax forms, leaning awkwardly over your computer. Gojo hums and your back aches, and you refuse to be curious about this entire situation because it’s none of your business. This is what you do now. Taxes and filing.

Geto arrives at your office once again without needing your permission to come up. You wonder who’s working reception.

“Sorry about him,” Geto says, leaning in your doorway. His hair is loose, strands falling softly against his face. You forget how tall he is sometimes. How handsome. It makes your stomach turn. “Badly trained.”

“I think the fault is more the owner’s than the dog’s,” you say.

He shrugs. “If you tried training the dog in question, maybe your opinion would change.”

“Can you guys stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Gojo asks.

Geto grabs him by the back of the collar. “Walk’s over. Time to go home.” He smiles at you over his shoulder as he leaves, his hair so inky black that it almost blends into his dark dress shirt. You remember how it felt sliding through your fingers years ago. Even though you never touched his wound, you think you can remember the texture of his ribs.

You consider Gojo’s proposition long after you’ve submitted the tax forms, after you’ve arrived home late once again, after you stare out your bedroom window into the night sky and see nothing but storm-cloud gray.

You expect Geto to be the kind of person to keep secrets. It shouldn’t worry you. But keeping secrets from the one person he views as an equal makes you uneasy. The bodies are in your head. You wonder how close you are to finally. When you sleep, it’s fitful, and you wake in the night to the feeling of silk-soft hair running through your fingers, falling so quickly that it’s impossible to grasp.

✾

Kento is antsy when he comes over for dinner. It wouldn’t bother you if he didn’t also happen to be the calmest man you know. He keeps bouncing his leg as he sits at the little two-top table in your kitchen, drumming his fingers incessantly on the tiled surface. He’s not wearing his glasses—and he usually watches your cooking like a hawk, just in case you make a grievous mistake—but instead holds them in his hand, twirling them back and forth.

The one-sided conversation you have with him is unbearable. Did you have a nice day? Mmmhmm. No crazy assignments? Just the usual. Should I use soy sauce or sesame oil? Oil. My favorite author is doing a book signing next month. Do you want to go with me? Sure. Is something up? Not at all.

Eventually, you’ve had enough. “I’m going to burn the cabbage.”

He glances over at the pan you’re wielding. “It looks fine.”

“I’m going to do it on purpose and I’m going to make you eat it,” you say, pointing your spatula in his direction so he’s positive that it’s him who’ll have to eat the ruined meal. “I’ll spoon-feed it to you.”

Kento is bewildered by this, his eyebrows raised very slightly—shock has always been a micro-expression for him. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a little absent.”

“More than a little.” You stir the cabbage again. “You know I don’t want to pry.”

He nods. The space you offer each other is a give-and-take. If neither of you are ready to speak about something, there’s usually no pressure to do so.

But this time is different. You’re worried that the strange things happening around you are begging to connect, veins folding over each other to become arteries, blood flowing into your life and staining the foundations. You need to tell him about everything that's happened over the past few weeks. But first, you need to ask. “Does this have something to do with Geto?”

His leg stops bouncing. His fingers quiet against the tabletop. “So you know.”

You tell him everything. Being called out to the village again, going to the vivarium, the jaws. Gojo showing up unannounced, though that's the most usual thing out of everything that's happened. “He asked me to read Geto,” you say. “There are secrets being kept.”

You told Kento about the bodies only once. The two of you had just recently graduated. You shared a studio apartment in Tokyo for three months before your Jujutsu Tech paychecks started coming in. In his arms, you saw memories of a kind-hearted blonde woman, the scent of coffee and pastries, the cool chill of the air in the mountains of Denmark, and you had to pull away from him, trying not to gag and failing.

When you returned from the bathroom, teeth minty-fresh and tongue burning, he apologized so earnestly. As if he had done anything other than hold you close and thread his fingers through yours.

It was then you began to understand that you could never be his, though the realization didn’t settle in for a while. You told him not to apologize. You told him that nothing was his fault. And then for some reason, you told him about the bodies and the orange peel and the finally and he asked if he could comfort you and you had to say no because you didn’t want to throw up again. From then on, he was wary of Geto. Maybe not as much as you—though that’s understandable.

Knowing what’s going on in his head is one thing. Experiencing it is another.

Kento sighs, familiar. He joins you in the kitchen, in the heat that radiates from the stove. The cabbage is burning slightly even though you never meant to follow through on your threat. Your attention has been elsewhere. “Let me,” he murmurs, and his hand brushes yours as he takes the spatula from you: fresh bread from the bakery at the end of the block, long nights at the office alone, a deep hatred of the word ergonomic— He begins to peel the burning cabbage from the bottom of the pan. “He’s been quiet lately.”

“Isn’t he usually?” You remember Geto being reserved, but then again, maybe that’s only because your memories of him are often in the context of Gojo.

“He can be.” Kento takes the pan to the trash and scrapes off the burnt cabbage, then returns to where you wait for him, leaning against your counter. He opens the top drawer next to the stove and pulls out the menu of the Indian restaurant nearby that you both like. “He’s exorcising Special Grade curses that he shouldn’t even attempt to take on by himself, no matter how strong he is. There are days where he’s cleared missions back-to-back without stopping to sleep.”

“You think he’s focused on work because something’s wrong.”

“Yes,” Kento says, and chews on the thought for a moment. “I don’t like it when he’s focused like this. He gets… obsessive.”

“Him and Gojo were always odd, though,” you say. Minimizing whatever is happening with Geto feels crucial. You’ve never seen Kento this worried.

He hums. “In different ways, perhaps. Gojo’s obsessive nature is more self-centered. But Geto—when he’s consumed by something, it’s like nothing else matters. He’d raze the world to ash if it meant doing what he felt needed doing.”

“Should I be worried?” you ask.

You should. You already know this.

Another sigh. He can’t quite look you in the eyes. You both think: bodies. You both think: finally . “Biryani for you?” he asks. “Or do you want something different this time?”

“Biryani’s fine.”

“Great,” he says, proceeding to order your food. And you don’t talk about it again that night.

✾

You’ve been a regular at the same coffee shop for nearly half a decade. The times you come in vary, depending on work or your weekend plans. You know the regulars and have seen thousands of faces pass through the cozy little building. Not once have you seen Geto here.

Yet he’s at the back of the line when you arrive, smiling pleasantly when he sees you walk through the door. Almost as if his arrival was timed.

If he hadn’t already seen you, you would’ve left. Even as you step into line behind him, you still consider it: bolting out the door and down the street, sprinting your way home as if he’d catch you if you stopped running. He stares at you expectantly while you think about your escape. It puts a shiver deep into your bones, his handsome face and kind eyes and warm smile, all tactics granted by genetics and lifted straight out of a manual on inviting body language. Instead of doing what your instincts tell you is right, you say, “Hi.”

“It's good to see you.” His smile widens, Cheshire in nature despite not showing teeth. “I didn’t know anyone else knew about this place.”

You almost tell him you live close by, but then think better of it. “It’s Kento’s favorite.”

“Of course,” he says. “Haibara took me here a few years ago.”

Yu is kind to a fault. Neither you or Kento have ever talked to him about what you saw in Geto’s head—mostly because you're scared to tell too many people, but also because of the blind respect Yu has for Geto. As if he's a story-book hero that could never do anything wrong. You care about Yu too much to disappoint him with the truth.

“I’ve gotten the same thing here for a long time,” Geto tells you. He gazes up at the menu, such concentration on his face, pulling at the strand of hair loose from his bun for a moment before turning back to you. You remember what Kento said about him not sleeping. His obsessiveness. Nearly imperceptible purple smudges lurk under his eyes. “Would you like to try something new with me?”

You can’t decide if you say yes out of sick curiosity or the fear of what would happen if you said no. Geto pays for both of your drinks—you insist that he shouldn’t, enough times in a row that it’s rude and very obviously makes the cashier uncomfortable, but his insistence wins out.

Waiting at the drink counter with him is torture. You hate when people buy things for you because it makes you feel like you owe them something. For Geto, it’s time. He paid for your presence, at least for however long it takes the baristas to make your drinks. He asks you about your work. You tell him about the books you’ve been balancing, hoping to bore him. Instead he asks more questions about how you like your office, whether your coworkers are nice, if your boss is treating you well.

“Are you looking for a new job?” You fail to keep vitriol from lacing the underside of your words. “We’re not hiring.”

If Geto is bothered by your attitude, he doesn’t let on. He even seems a touch amused. “I enjoy what I’m doing now, but thanks for keeping me in the loop.”

The barista calls out Geto’s name, and he grabs your drink first, hands it to you. You ordered a cappuccino with a syrup that you’ve been curious about but have never tried. The coffee smells amazing even at arm's length, creamy and strong and a little like cinnamon.

“Thanks.” You slowly turn to leave. “I should be—”

“Wait,” he says, reaching towards you.

You flinch so hard that a slim stream of coffee shoots from the lid’s mouthpiece, burning hot when it lands on your hand. Geto never makes contact, but his arm is still outstretched, as if waiting for you to calm down so he can go through with touching you. You think of Gojo’s request, of the cases where Geto has asked for your help but hasn’t needed it. Yu might have shown him this coffee shop however long ago, but why is he here now? Why have you never seen him here before if he’s a regular?

“Get away from me,” you snap, stern and quiet enough that your words lace themselves underneath the shop’s easy-listening music.

He does, hands raised and palms open, proclaiming innocence. Slowly, he lowers them. The barista calls his name again, his coffee still waiting on the counter.

“If you ever make me read you against my will,” you tell him, “I will never forgive you.”

Your forgiveness probably means little to him, but it’s the only thing you can threaten. You don’t know him well enough to understand what he holds dear—but you remember respect being important to him when you were at school. Respect and forgiveness.

“I wouldn’t,” he says. “Never.”

You thank him for the coffee again in lieu of a goodbye. The air outside stings against your face, your neck, the spots on your skin where the coffee burned you, steamed milk already drying to film. You’ll wash your hands when you get home. And you’ll wash them again. And again. Eventually they’ll feel clean enough.

✾

Yu calls you at 3:06 in the morning. “They’re dead because of me,” he tells you, and then he’s crying and you’re already walking down the block, heading toward his apartment in your pajamas and large winter coat.

After his injury, Yu wasn’t sent on more dangerous missions for a long time. Even when he was healed fully, despite the nasty scar that twisted and puckered the width of his chest, the higher-ups didn’t think he would be psychologically ready to take on anything too stressful.

They were right. One of the few things you’ve agreed with them about. Yu had always been the most hopeful out of all of you, the most caring. But he was also the most sensitive. Getting so close to death did nothing but make that worse.

He’s on the couch when you get there, using your key to let yourself in. You and Kento were given copies at the housewarming party, which had consisted of four bottles of peach soju, the three of you, and Ieiri for a few hours before she was called back to the school. His eyes are red and puffy, and he’s curled into himself, laying on his side. It looks like he’s been crying for the entire evening. The worn leather of the seat is darkened beneath his face.

You’re by his side immediately, brushing hair back from his face, wiping stray tears from his cheeks: i wish i’d known i should have !!! known how did how did i not know how i wish i “Hey, it’s okay. I'm here,” you say, trying a little more pointedly to keep your fingers off his scalp. The thing he wants, simply: to have done better. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“I messed up,” he says, and you’ve never heard him sound so defeated. Even during his recovery he sounded less broken than this. “I don’t—I don’t know how I didn’t see it.”

At seventeen, you and your classmates began to receive solo assignments. Yu always got the easier ones—still recovering from his injury, both physically and mentally. He tells you about a mission he had almost forgotten: a curse terrorizing a village on the outskirts of Yamanashi Prefecture. The curse was easily exorcized, easily forgotten—what Yu remembered well were the whispers that came after. They called him a devil, named him unnatural, said that he could see things no one else could because he was damned. Just like the two little girls that lived in the village, their late mother’s otherness somewhere in the same vein.

He thought nothing of it. He would get rid of the curse, and the village would go back to normal. Yes, they were skeptical and untrusting of anything that could be perceived as even slightly supernatural, but most non-sorcerers were. Sometimes you had to protect people that would never thank you—that could never comprehend the things you’d given up to offer said protection. Whatever oddities they attributed to other people would fade away once the curse was gone, and the village would go back to normal. Everyone would trust everyone again.

The bodies of the girls had been exhumed during a construction project aiming to bring affordable housing to prefectures outside of Tokyo. The Hasaba twins, Nanako and Mimiko, reported truant by their school over a decade ago. Their mother wasn’t alive to receive the report. Their father hadn’t been there from the beginning. The town didn’t report them missing—they knew exactly where the girls were. From the remains, bones weak and brittle, authorities determined that they died of malnutrition.

“I could’ve helped them.” Yu’s lip trembles and he bites it so hard that you see the skin around his mouth turn bone-white. “They might have been alive then. If I paid more attention, I just—how could they have done that? How can anyone justify that?”

You don’t know. How does anyone justify anything? How many times do you have to tell yourself you’re doing the right thing before you believe it? You wonder if the inhabitants of that village let out a breath when the sisters had finally passed—whether they, too, had a moment of finally.

Yu cries for a little longer and you hold him carefully. It’s all you can do. You’d call Kento if you didn’t know that Yu would be mortified to cry in front of someone he views as his superior at work, despite their friendship. After a while, he pulls his phone out and opens up a message chain. A groupchat for Jujutsu Tech staff. Ieiri’s text, attached to the official posting from the higher-ups: zen’in clan are holding a service for the girls on sunday. gakuganji wants us there to pay respects so everyone better show up. In the report, there are photos of each of the girls, from Picture Day at their school, judging by the uniforms—and you recognize them.

You’ve seen these girls inside a man’s memories. A man that you read for Geto.

Your heart beats so hard that you’re sure Yu can feel it through your shirt, through your skin. When you’ve reassured him as much as possible that he couldn’t possibly be at fault, when he promises you that he’ll be able to sleep without the feeling of guilt crushing him under its heavy heel, you head further into the city instead of back towards home.

The apartment building you come to is sleek, flashy, piercing the night sky like a blade. The doorman lets you in—you’ve been here before. On business only, and never of your own volition. You take the elevator to the top floor and slam your fist against the hallway’s only door, choosing to ignore the shiny golden doorbell and the even shinier knocker. After a few moments of you hitting the wood so hard that it feels like the meat of your palm is going to split, the door opens.

A terribly annoying grin greets you. “I would’ve invited you up if you called me.”

“Why,” you say, trying your best to be calm, “do you want me to read him?”

Gojo’s expression flickers. A moment, a fleeting instant of concern. He’s without glasses or blindfold—you must have woken him up. It’s probably nearing five in the morning. The first trains will start running soon. “Hello, business,” he says. “I’ve got to admit, I’d hoped I was talking to pleasure.”

“It has to do with the girls, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t ask Suguru about what girls he’s seeing—”

“I saw them, Gojo,” you say.

This shuts him up.

“I read someone who knew them.” You’re not sure why, but it feels necessary to not tell him that you read the man because Geto asked you to. “He didn’t like them playing with his daughter because they were different.”

He stands, silent and contemplating, eyes pearlescent and glowing in the soft shadow that precedes sunrise.

There’s a terrible phantom that lurks between your ribs, a sticky feeling that slimes along your bones. You think of Geto’s sudden reappearance in your life, you think of Gojo’s intimidating request, you think finally, finally, finally. “Did he kill them?”

His eyes snap to yours, fluorescent, flaring—you had forgotten that the hottest part of a flame is blue. “No.”

He’s so serious that your heart rate picks up, your body going into fight-or-flight at the coldness of that single word. “Gojo—”

“He wouldn’t.”

“Okay—it’s okay. I believe you.” You don’t, but you’ll say anything to remove the hardness from his eyes, his tone—the same hardness as when he sat in your office and told you not to sugarcoat things. I killed him. “Then why do you want me to read him?”

“I told you,” he says, and his voice is back to normal but his eyes are nowhere close. “I’m just curious.”

Your hand darts forward on instinct. You want to know what’s inside his head so bad that you can’t control yourself—until you remember exactly who you’re trying to touch and exactly what his power is. Forget being untouchable—he could physically destroy you. He could snap your arm like a matchstick. He could pull at the broken end until the limb splits completely. You step back, but the movement was too obvious to have been anything else.

He grins again. Holds his hand out. “Wanna touch?”

“Good night, Gojo.”

He watches as you get in the elevator, as you press the button for the lobby, as the doors slide shut. All the while, eyes burning.

✾

You’re at a run-down warehouse in Roppongi with a cursed weapon in your hand when you wonder where your life went wrong. Kento called you half an hour ago—cornered, bleeding, his cleaver knocked out of his grip. “I wouldn’t have called you,” he said, “but no one else is picking up.”

It didn’t matter. If he needed you, you would be there. That had been the case for the better part of a decade.

The warehouse was a storage facility for flour and corn, most likely. The floor is covered in rancid mold. Your knife—Sound Eater, the cursed tool you’d conveniently forgotten to return to the armory when you left Jujutsu Tech—is familiar in your palm. Its handle is worn to the shape of you.

You feel comfortable like this. More comfortable than at your job filing accounts, at your apartment reading or watching some awful reality TV show. It’s because this is how you grew up, you think. You’re remembering the person you were for twenty years before you became someone else.

At the far end of the warehouse, a stone staircase leads to the basement—where Kento is. Where the curse is. You can sense it, the same feeling as being watched. A specter’s ghostly nails tracing the ridge of your spine.

The basement smells mustier than the warehouse. A single light blinks ahead, allowing you flashes of the series of hallways that lead deeper into the warehouse’s underground storage. The floor is wet, and the viscous liquid that coats the stone soaks through the soles of your shoes. Your socks stick coldly to your feet. You listen to your weapon to see if you can locate the curse, its energy responding to the curse’s with vibrations and muted shrieks that sing through your bones unpleasantly. The curse seems to be everywhere, spread through the basement like an even layer of butter.

You find Kento’s cleaver before you find him. It’s deep in the tunnel system—you’ve already been walking for two or three minutes, and there’s been no sign that anyone else is down here with you.

Taking his weapon as a sign that you’re close, you even your breathing, measure your steps—stealth training from long ago functioning like a ghost limb, sending signals through your body despite not having been used for years.

You enter a large antechamber—some sort of production facility—and though it’s quiet, you hear breathing from behind a burnt-out piece of machinery. Slowly, you approach, Sound Eater singing against your skin. This is not the cursed tool’s energy responding to a curse. It can only be Kento. Your heart still beats violently against your ribs, bruising bone.

His shoulder is a mess. Dress shirt torn, blood adorning the fabric and the shiny plastic buttons, face haggard—he’s in pain, and the sight sends you back to your youth as quick as a fist to the face. Group missions, Kento’s injuries, your injuries, the way you started always wearing black because it hid bloodstains most effectively.

You’re at his side quickly, a hand gingerly against his shoulder, checking for damage. He groans. His shoulder is dislocated, but he already knows this. “Help me get it back in,” he tells you. His shirt is still intact enough that you won’t have to touch his skin, which is good. You can’t risk being weakened right now.

Shoulders always relocate with a sickening crack, as if a bone that had been broken is being rebroken and set. A badly healed bone is a liability, Ieiri has told you. Dislocation is easier to fix. You feel a little less sick when the sight of distended skin and incorrectly puzzled bone is straightened out, set right.

“Details,” you demand.

“A semi-first grade, four-legged,” he says, taking his cleaver from you. “It’s using whatever’s on the floor—sticks you in place. Its left flank is injured.”

The one question that Kento doesn’t seem to be able to answer: where is it?

Sound Eater answers that question for you in the span of seconds, buzzing against your palm, shocks working their way down your fingers. You nod your head towards the north entrance to the production facility, where your weapon is attempting to drag you. Once it gets close enough to a curse, its energy begins to magnetize. The stronger the curse, the stronger the magnetization. You try to ignore the way your hands shake with effort to keep Sound Eater in place.

Kento is up, breathing labored. You hate this for him—that he feels like it’s his duty to deal with this, that his purpose is nothing more than being a jujutsu sorcerer. That knowing what it feels like to exorcise a curse makes it nearly impossible to want to do anything else.

You understand. This is the most alive you’ve felt in years.

In the abridged sign that you and he used to employ during group missions, he tells you, Go right. Distract.

You dart into the clearing, the curse’s eyes immediately finding you from across the large room. They’re yellow, the familiar color of bile, and they shine out from its gray body, the blob-like consistency of a snail on top of four muscled legs, identical to those of a wolf.

Which means it’s fast.

Your shoulder takes the brunt of the pressure as you roll out of the way of the curse’s first strike. It crosses ground more quickly than you can comprehend. When you right yourself, you can see just how grotesque the creature really is. Its mouth is a wide wound stuffed with teeth. Its eyes are scared, childlike. In its twisted voice, it says hello hello hello? hello who's there hello? and Sound Killer wants to taste its skin.

As it readies its weight on its back legs to strike again, Kento comes down from above, his cleaver hitting the back of the curse’s neck with intense force—almost 7:3. You hear a crack, a hiss, but the curse backs up, head still attached to its body by a thread.

The floor is suddenly very cold. It radiates up through your feet, spiking into your calves, your thighs. You try to move and fail. Sound Eater begs you to let it get closer to its target.

You’re not sure if the curse can only freeze one person at a time. Kento tries to move forward to strike again and his body jerks and stills, glued to its vulnerable position. The curse readies itself again to strike, its head knitting itself back onto its body. Its wound-mouth opens wide, ready for an offering.

Sound Eater whistles as you lift it to shoulder-level, as you aim to throw it into the curse’s open mouth before it consumes Kento.

It’s stupid, Gojo once told you, to lose your weapon on the field if your cursed technique is useless. You got very good at throwing weapons with dead aim, taking out curses with a single slice, Sound Eater a perfect match for you because of its draw to the cores of such curses. Part of you got good at this to spite him. You’ll continue to spite him, even now.

The curse lunges. Sound Eater slices through air. An echoing click fills the chamber as the cursed tool hits tooth, cracking bone but doing no more. The curse halts its attack, scared yellow eyes focused on you now.

And your cursed tool lays beneath its feet, glittering under a layer of pungent slime. You briefly try to appreciate the irony of the situation: if you hadn’t left the jujutsu world, you wouldn’t be as rusty as you are now, and maybe you would have lived.

Your feet are unlocked so suddenly that you fall to your knees, slime coating your pants, your legs, your hands as you push yourself back up. The curse lies inert in between you and Kento—clearly breathing, but nowhere near conscious. Asleep.

It’s like you can sense him before he speaks, your blood chilling in its well-traveled arteries.

“I’m glad you’re both okay,” he says. Grins without teeth. The same way Gojo grins—confident and so hopelessly self-impressed. There’s a curse beside him, one that he controls, its energy definitely potent but not malicious towards you. It’s familiar, in a way—eyes that crackle with electricity, sparking skin, long claws. You’ve seen it before, but not personally. Geto’s gaze flits between you and Sound Eater on the ground next to the downed curse. “Did Nanami call you out of retirement? Or were you just having a little fun?”

Kento says Geto’s name—a warning. He’s injured, hurting. He doesn’t have patience for games.

“It doesn’t matter why I’m here,” you say, offering Kento help to stand. His body is a heavy weight that pulls at your shoulder, activating muscles you haven’t used since right after high school. “Ieiri still runs the clinic at school, right?”

“Of course,” Geto responds, all fox teeth. He points at the unconscious curse. “First, though.”

You’ve never seen Geto absorb a curse before. You know some details about the process, mostly from Kento and Yu telling you stories about happenings in the field, but you’d never actually witnessed it. It amazes you how the body curls up into such a compact ball of shadow, how it can be contained within the walls of Geto’s cursed energy. The expression he makes while he consumes it is familiar to you. You know that strain, that effort put into controlling every single muscle in your face, veins in the neck straining hard against skin. They must taste awful. You think about the gum he offered you at the vivarium—wonder if he carries it for purposes you hadn’t considered until now.

He dismisses the other curse with a small movement of his hand, and the energy in the room evens out so quickly that your head feels full of falling sand. Sound Eater goes quiet, and you collect it from beneath a viscous layer of filth. “We should go,” Geto says, gesturing to one of the entrances to the production facility. Knowing him, he probably has the entire compound mapped out in his head.

“Did you call a car?” you ask.

“I already have one waiting. Figured we might need a quick exit.”

You nod. He still unnerves you, but you’re not entirely without manners. “Thank you.”

He looks at you for a moment longer than you’re comfortable with. Everything seems calculated in his eyes. He never simply sees things—he analyzes them. “My pleasure,” he says. You can't read his tone because he always keeps it even, friendly. But you’re sure that there’s something to read in those words that you can’t quite see right now. “Shall we?”

Despite the way you feel about him, you allow enough tentative trust for him to lead you out of the darkness and back into the sun.

✾

He insists on escorting you home from the school.

There are company cars you could’ve requested rides from—the higher-ups at least owe you a free ride home for everything you’ve done today—but you don’t want to take anything from them that they haven’t already offered. They can be tricky about which of their favors require repayment.

This leaves you and Geto on the last train of the night, alone. He stands despite the long rows of empty seats, leaning back against the Do Not Lean On Doors sign, arms crossed. There’s not even a hint of him trying to hide that he’s watching you intently.

On any other day, you would stand, unwilling to give him any advantage—but you’re exhausted. You need a shower so badly. Layers of slime have dried on you and you feel more disgusting than you ever knew was possible. You sit opposite him, leaning back in the uncomfortable plasticky chair. Meeting his eyes feels foolish. Taking your attention off of him feels even more foolish. Staring at his shoes is a happy medium.

The car rolls steady across its tracks, its wheels whistling slightly when the train reaches top speed between stations.

“Do you ever see things you don’t want to?” he asks after a three-stop stretch of silence.

All the time. It seems you’ll always be stuck in this cycle of attempting normalcy only to be tasked with experiencing the unpleasant wants and memories of people you don’t know. You’re not going to tell him that, though. Him asking you questions makes you queasy. Your knees feel weak even though you’re sitting down. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“You’re very good at avoiding my questions.”

“You don’t make it hard.”

The train rolls on, and on, and on.

He hooks his arm around the closest stanchion pole, then leans in your direction. The strand of hair that hangs loose against his face sways alongside the train's ebbs and flows. Blinding brightness from the overhead LEDs paint his face in baroque shadows. He could be a devil, or a killer, or simply a man. “Does it scare you?”

Many things about this situation scare you. You ask him to clarify.

“When you read people. I’m sure you’ve seen some… unsavory things.” You think: bodies. You think: blood and muscle and sinew and bone. “It would make sense if those things scared you.”

“They don’t,” you lie.

He considers you for a long moment, seeming to lean even farther forward, and the idea of him getting closer pierces your stomach like a nail. But the train once again sways on its tracks and his body follows, leaning back on his heels and removing himself from what could have almost been your space. “I always wondered what it was you saw.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. You know what he means.

He smiles, almost condescending—an expression that says come now, are we really going to play this game? The way he says your name in response, so pleasant and even-keeled, makes you feel like a cold stone. Prey trapped in a small space with its most vicious predator. You go so still your blood stops flowing.

Until now, you’d never been sure whether he actually knew that you’d read him. You’re positive he doesn’t want anyone to know what’s inside his head. He paints an image of himself over what he really is, but it’s a faulty veneer. Apply enough pressure and it’ll fracture in all the little places that hold the worst rotted of the flesh beneath.

You know he would do anything to keep this image of himself spotless, whole. You’re sure of it. “Kento will know something’s wrong if I don’t talk to him in the next few days.”

His brows draw low over his dark eyes—first in confusion, and then in a sort of amused incredulity. “You think I’m going to kill you.”

“I think you want to.”

The lights flash in the car as it passes under a tunnel. “What is it that defines a good person?”

“...why are you asking me?”

He grins, and your stomach constricts. “Good and bad are large concepts in a small world. They touch and overlap in more places than any of us could ever anticipate. But we’re supposed to fit neatly into one or the other.”

You don’t respond. You’re too focused on the stretch of his lips.

“So what defines a good person?”

“The things they’ve done,” you say, more to get him to stop asking you questions than anything.

“I don’t remember doing anything particularly harmful to you,” he says—and here it is. What he really wants from you. “It can’t be my actions. So is it my desires that define me as a bad person in your eyes, or my memories?”

Your stomach constricts tighter. Painfully. You’re still four stops away from the one by your apartment. “Geto.”

“It has to be one or the other. Those are the two categories that you can read, right?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Ten years,” he says. “And you can barely look me in the eye.”

You try, as if you could prove him wrong, but you can’t maintain eye contact with him for more than a moment before you feel a terrible coldness in your gut.

“I’d always wondered if you read me that night, but I was never sure.” He wraps his loose strand of hair around a long finger, then unwraps it. Repeats these movements like a question and answer, like a catechism. “Not until I saw you again.”

“The second time you called me out to the village—you were lying to me.”

“We’ve established that.”

“You put that man in a coma,” you say. "You absorbed the curse that was at the power plant."

He nods, face calm, as if altering someone’s state of being is a normal thing to do. “But I woke him up right after you left and he was unharmed. I paid him for his time.”

“Why?”

“I needed to know what it was that scared you. The situation itself…” he says, holding out one hand flat—and then the other, his hands mimicking the sides of a scale, the second option heavier than the first. “Or me.”

“I’d have told you that if you asked,” you say, and you would have. No point in keeping it from him. “You didn’t have to lie. That was underhanded.”

“I think reading me without my consent counts as underhanded.”

Bone, muscle, blood, sinew. Bone-white beneath his uniform. And the blood, the blood, the blood, orange-peel thick. “I didn’t want to. You don’t understand, you were—I could see your ribs. It was—we didn’t think—”

“I understand,” he says.

“I know you do,” you concede. Because he was there for it all. He experienced it all. He woke up when he was healed and immediately went to search for the body of his best friend, not knowing that Gojo had already woken himself up from the brink of death. “I wish it happened differently.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” he asks, parroting your response from earlier.

Maybe they do. Maybe things could have gone much differently—worse, even. You could know more than his wants. You could have seen them realized.

“What did you see?” he asks, careful. Quiet. There's a weight to his voice you're unfamiliar with. It sounds like more than passing curiosity.

It’s what makes you answer honestly. “Blood. Bodies.” Finally. “Relief.”

“Which of those scared you the most?”

You look at him, jaw tight, because he knows which one it was.

“And that makes me a bad person?” he asks.

“I never said you were a bad person.”

“You just thought it.”

You have. You’ve thought it every day since seeing his true desires. You’re not sure that you’re a good person either, but your hidden wants will never be as gruesome as his. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it’s not.” Again, he smiles—but there’s something brittle to it. Gojo, in your office when you pushed too hard. A mask beginning to crack.

The train stills, doors opening. You're still a few stops away from home. No one gets on, no one gets off. It's just you and Geto on the car, filling its silence with more than words.

“If I asked you to read me now,” he asks, “would you?”

Your head jerks up, and you look past him, at the closing doors, at the windows of the train car. The whistling starts again, the train gaining speed. You’re between stops. There’s no exit. “No.”

“It could be different than last time.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, but what you really want to tell him is that it won’t be.

“What if it is?” he asks. “Maybe you have the wrong idea of me.”

You don’t think that’s the case. You’re not going to tell him this.

“I was angry. Hurt. I thought Satoru had just been murdered.” He says these things like easy facts. His tone takes the emotion out of them entirely, as if those factors didn’t contribute to what you’re sure is massive unresolved trauma. “I thought I was going to die.”

“You didn’t.”

“No,” he says—and here you get a flash of something deeper, again unfamiliar. Because he won’t look at you, even though he’s the kind of person that always makes eye contact. He leans back, distancing himself. “Have you ever experienced that? A moment where you know you’re going to die?”

“I haven’t.”

His lips twist into a muted frown. He looks young, the way he used to in high school. He stares out of the darkened window at nothing. At the walls of the underground tunnels. At blackness, pure and complete. The bags under his eyes are more prominent. Because of the lighting, maybe. “You think a lot of things. You realize a lot of things. And none of it is particularly fair.”

This has to be manipulation. He’s good at that. He always has been. But—something about this moment feels vulnerable, and you’ve never known Geto to be vulnerable. Not with anyone. Even on the brink of death, even just recovered, his chest still terribly scarred—there was nothing. He smiled at you and Ieiri before he left, that fox-teeth smile you hate so much. I’ll be back shortly, he told the two of you, as if his blood wasn’t coating the bottom of your shoes, staining the skin of your knees, clotting underneath your fingernails.

You’ve read people for long enough that you’re sure: this moment is different. “Why do you want me to read you?” you ask, so quiet that your voice is nearly swallowed by the sound of the train wheels scrolling across their metal track.

“Because I want to know,” he says, his voice a little hoarse at its core, “what you see.”

You shouldn’t. You’re too kind. Kento tells you this often.

You shouldn’t.

When you put your hand out, palm up, Geto places his fingers atop yours so gently—a breeze of a touch. And then: bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. suguru should we kill these guys ? bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. it could’ve been different i could’ve been different bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. bodies. we could do it together no. i could do it alone bodies. bodies. bodies— You vomit onto the floor of the train.

Geto is on his knees in front of you, clear of the mess, and your fingers are tangled in his shirt, fists bunching the material at each shoulder. You want to let go so badly but you can’t—you’re heaving, sobbing, your forehead pressed against your fist, tears running hot onto the back of your hand.

It’s just so bad. It’s so terrible. He wants this to happen. He feels like people deserve this. You never should have let him convince you to read him. You shouldn’t have been drawn in by the vulnerability. Not when—not when it’s that in his head, still, a decade later.

You can’t stop heaving, nearly retching. You can’t stop pulling in breaths too quickly, not deep enough. Your forehead is flush against his shoulder now, and your tears are staining his shirt, and you can’t let go. You’re paralyzed.

He holds you while you cry. Only touches your back, your arms. Not your hair or face or hands. You couldn’t handle it again. You couldn’t handle it again but you can’t move right now.

As you quiet, as your breaths turn slow, heavier, you realize he’s been speaking to you. Maybe the whole time—you’re not sure. Quiet reassurance. It’s okay, you’re okay. Breathe.

You don’t feel okay. You feel more sick than you ever have. “Why would you want that?” you ask, and your words blend into tears. Into panic.

He’s quiet, one large hand smoothing down your back over and over, as if reassuring you that you’re safe. Safe in the arms of someone with that many bodies in his head. He sighs, tired, and his breath makes your hair flutter, caresses the curve of your ear.

The shock of fear to your system from realizing just how close he is gives you the strength to pull away—to sit back in the seat again, untwine your fingers from his shirt. It’s creased on each shoulder from your vice grip. There’s vomit on the floor of the train to the right of him. He’s on both knees in front of you, hands in his lap now that you’ve freed yourself from his grasp.

Was it real? The vulnerability? The hoarseness to his voice when he told you that he wanted to know what you would see?

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Why would you want that?” you repeat.

He sighs again. Sits back on his heels, begins running his hand through his hair before remembering it’s tied up. He just leaves his hand on the top of his head, fingers curling inwards until he’s gripping his hair, and you wonder if it feels the same as it did on the night you read him for the first time. “I don’t know,” he tells you.

The train stops again. The voice says something you don't hear. You can't get up. “That’s not true.”

The doors close and there's the whistling once again, the darkness that surrounds the both of you, the speed you can just hardly feel. “Why did you decide to quit being a sorcerer?” he asks.

You don’t want to tell him. “There were a lot of reasons.”

“How is it fair?” He drops his hand. His hair is disheveled, just like his shirt. He looks so un-put together that he hardly resembles the Geto you’ve always had an image of in your head. “So many of us die. So many of us have injuries that take years to really heal. And it’s their fault. Humans.”

“You’re human.”

“I’m a sorcerer.”

“They’re not mutually exclusive.”

“I’m the one that has to deal with the consequences of their actions,” he says, as if that means something. As if that puts him in a different group from them entirely.

“So you want to kill them?”

“No,” he says, quick—because that’s what he’s supposed to say, you think. Then he quiets for a moment and seems to actually consider your question. “No. But—I do think about it.”

You both sit with the admission. Though the train car is empty, you feel cloistered, walls too tight around you.

“It makes me worry that I’m not a good person anymore,” he tells you.

“Did you want me to read you so you could decide whether you’re good or not?”

“I wanted you to read me because when I heard about those little girls that died, Satoru had to talk me down from going to that village and killing everyone.”

The conductor comes on the speakers, announcing the last few stops. It's both shocking and reassuring to have another person so close. You can't believe this conversation is happening in such close proximity to a person that couldn't even begin to understand the nature of its contents. Strangely enough, the admission quiets some of the fear inside you. Because you can understand it, on some level. Those girls were sorcerers. They were also nine.

“I had to see if there was anything inside me that didn’t want to do it,” he says. “Because—if there’s not—”

“I don’t see everything,” you tell him. There's more you could say, but you've never been comfortable revealing the true extent of what you can do. You've been a tool for long enough that you know being more effective begets more use. “I don’t think you should use me as a metric.”

“It’s obvious that what you saw wasn’t very good.”

“They starved to death,” you say. “I’d be angry too.”

And you're not angry, you realize. Not in the way that he is. Two little girls were starved to death for being somewhat different, and you can't get yourself to feel more than disgust. More than frustration. Parts of you have been quelled over time—being a jujutsu sorcerer necessitates this. You can't get angry over everything because everything is unjust, and everything is unfair, and eventually it'll all build up. Maybe into what Geto is experiencing now. If you hadn't desensitized yourself like this, maybe you would have bodies in your head.

It's unlikely. Not to the extent he does. But it's not like you're a stranger to violence.

“Maybe I’m not a good person because I’m not angry the way that you are,” you say.

“I don't think that's true,” he says, smiling, a little slight and a little sad.

It's the only time since you'd read him at the edge of death that you don't see fox teeth—but the smile is still not entirely kind. His words don't speak of reassurance. Perhaps a sort of envy. You're familiar with want. Uncomfortably so. You recognize it even when you try not to. Maybe he wants to feel the way you do. Less angry. Or maybe he does truly see you as good, in a certain context, and he wants to be there on that level with you.

“The first time I ingested a curse," he tells you, “I was so sick I couldn’t stand. I didn’t realize how awful it would taste. There’s nothing I could compare it to. After it was done, I threw up until my stomach was empty, and then kept going. The stomach acid burned my throat so badly that I had to go to the hospital. I was still young.”

You stay still and quiet. You don't want to relate to him so you try not to.

“And sometimes I wonder—would any non-sorcerer ever understand that? Could they?”

You try not to, and you fail at it. “Will you show me?”

He looks at you in askance. You don't tell people that you can do this. Only Kento knows. It's not something you should allow Geto. Not when he scares you the way he does.

“The first time,” you say, because despite knowing you shouldn't do this, it's that sick curiosity again that pushes you forward. And maybe something else—a want. A need to relate. To be sure that someone else has known what you've felt your entire life. “If you really concentrate on the memory—I want to see it.”

To show you, he touches your face: it’s so dark and i’m scared. and mom said to come home soon. but i saw this thing and i want to see if i can beat it no. i’m lying to you. there is a way i want this memory to go. i am a good child and i want to go home to my mother but i am so curious. i am so curious i am so curious. i want to see what that thing looks like when i kill it. i know i can. i know i am different. i scare my mother and father and they still love me very much because it is so dark and i am so scared and i am just a child. but i am not scared. i follow the thing into dense trees that shadow the park. i play here with my friends. i kill it. i don’t know how i know what to do but i do and !!! oh !!! god !!! oh god please. please. please. don’t make me do it again don’t make me do it again don’t make me do it again i want to go home i want to see my mother i do i’m sorry it hurts it hurts oh god oh i want to be good. i’m sorry. i want to be good. i’m sorry. i want to be sorry. i’m god.

The way you come out of a reading is usually like a free-fall without a parachute. One second you’re tumbling through the air, and the next you’ve been abruptly stopped. Being shown something is different. Kento would show you his childhood when you asked, moments with his family, bad parts of missions that he didn't want to voice but still wanted to share. It’s a little easier to stomach.

Usually.

His hand lingers near your face, resting on your shoulder. He’s so close to you and he smells like very expensive cologne and you suddenly see how tired he is. His smile hides more than you thought it did. Maybe more than you had been looking for.

“Do you have a final verdict?” he asks. “Or should I decide for myself?”

There’s a predilection in him, you think. He’s predisposed to anger, the self-righteous kind. So is every other sorcerer you’ve ever met. And yet it’s different with him—more complex. Something else is very wrong with him. Deeply.

“I don’t like it when people touch my face.”

“I can keep that in mind.”

“I want you to apologize.”

“Of course,” he says, gentle. Was his voice always this gentle? Or is it because of all he’s shared with you on this train? “I’m sorry.”

The doors of the train open and a tinny voice announces that you’ve reached the last stop of the night. You missed your station a long time ago. You’ll have to pay for a cab. “I don’t think you’re a bad person,” you tell him. “But I'm afraid of you.”

He nods. Sits back on his heels again. “Will you be okay getting home?”

“Yes,” you say. “Thank you.”

You make it home just after one in the morning and lay in your bed with your clothes on and you don’t sleep. You don’t sleep at all.

i will link part two here when it is posted!

#geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #fics #this took me forever to write that's why im posting part one im like this will actually make me finish part two #geto is just SOOOOO hard to write #like incredibly. i am like. hope i did. at least a little justice lmao #if there is anything I forgot that I should put in the tw or the info pls lmk!!!

162 notes · View notes