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bellaxgiornata · 6 months ago

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Falling For the Devil [Part ninety-five: "The Evening of Insecurity"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 9.2k

Summary: You attend a fancy gala as Matt's date.

Old insecurities resurface, making you question your place at Matt's side.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.] [FFTD Series Masterlist]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut, violence

a/n: The gala smut you've all been patiently waiting for (AKA there's semi-public sex in this installment)! Enjoy the return of Spicy Matty because this installment is slightly angsty but definitely filthy. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @linamarr @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @pazii @kezibear @sleepysleepymom @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @babygirlmurdock @theoraekenslover @wanda-maxamommy @justanerd1

Sitting in the back of the limo, your eyes were fixed on the skyline of the city flying by through the open sunroof. All the bright lights intermittently shining along the tall buildings stood out against the night sky–like false stars glittering amongst the city. As the excited chatter among your friends filled the air, you felt your nerves for the evening increase, gnawing at your stomach as you sat silently beside Matt. Occasionally your eyes would drop down to sneak glances at him in his tuxedo beside you as he focused on the conversation, a smile drawn wide on his handsome face as he listened to Foggy. His presence gave you a bit of comfort at least, though admittedly the sight of him dressed so well also caused a stir of anxious butterflies to flutter in your gut.

You’d gotten ready with Marci and Karen at Karen’s apartment for the evening, so you hadn’t actually seen Matt until he’d shown up with Foggy in the limo a little bit ago. Of course he’d looked just as breathtaking in a tuxedo as you remembered him looking during that charity benefit where you’d received an award last year. The dress shirt and suit coat he had on fit his broad, muscular torso just right, making you wish you’d been alone with him in the back of the limo on the ride to the gala. You were certain you’d have ruined your makeup and messed his hair and clothes if it had been just the pair of you alone, too. He looked more than good enough for you to want to throw decorum straight out of the sunroof if it wasn't for the fact that you both had an audience. You were longing to rip that bow tie off of him and tear open the buttons on his shirt. Your fingers practically itched in your lap to yank the zipper of his dress pants down, your body refraining from climbing on top of him and–

Matt’s hand tightened around yours in your lap, the gesture drawing you instantly from your thoughts. Gaze dropping down from the sunroof once more, you saw he’d focused his attention on you now. His dark glasses hid his eyes, but you could see the little coy smile now playing along his lips. He’d clearly picked up on what you’d been thinking about, the thought causing you to clear your throat as you ducked your head, grinning to yourself. Matt leaned over towards you in the seat, his mouth just beside your ear when he spoke.

“Trust me, I’m thinking about after the gala already, too,” he whispered.

At the sound of his deep voice in your ear, the nerves that had been in your stomach were abruptly replaced with a fire that quickly found its way through your veins, heating you from head to toe where you sat. Eyes still averted towards the deep red heels just visible beneath your floor length black dress, you couldn’t resist the words from spilling out of your lips next.

“Actually,” you whispered back, “I was thinking about what I wish we could’ve done beforehand. In the limo. If it had just been us.”

You caught the sharp intake of his breath beside your ear, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you fought back the smile growing further on your face. His hand gripped yours tighter as you felt the limo begin to slow to a stop.

“Oh, hey!” Foggy exclaimed from across the large limo seat. “Looks like we're finally here! Time to rub elbows with the filthy rich, drink all their booze, and eat all their little fancy finger foods!”

You were too focused on the presence of Matt beside you to excitedly stare out the window with your friends now that the limo was gradually pulling to a stop. Instead, you were very aware of the side of Matt's body currently pressed against the side of yours where you sat.

“Might want to control your thoughts tonight, sweetheart,” Matt murmured, his mouth still beside your ear. “I might not be able to hear them, but I can certainly guess at them.”

Raising your gaze from your shoes, you turned and focused on the cocky grin along his mouth. Taking a slow breath in, you fought to control the urge to force him to stay back in the limo with you, desperate to keep him all to yourself for the evening instead of actually attending the event. It was probably a good thing that you hadn't gotten ready together at the apartment because the pair of you might have never left, especially if your first week of living together was anything to go by. Matt dressed in a tuxedo was a turn on all on its own–a sight you were absolutely weak for.

“You're doing it again,” he cheekily pointed out.

“I can't help it,” you whined softly, aware of your friends already beginning to exit the limo. “It's hard to not have thoughts when you're dressed like that.”

Forcing your eyes away from Matt, you began to scoot along the length of the seat, making your way towards the limo's exit with Matt following behind after you. Carefully you slid out of the vehicle, trying to make sure you remained covered as you stepped outside due to the high slit in the side of your dress. You sent the driver a smile and a polite ‘thank you’ as you took a couple of shaky steps past where he was holding the car door open.

Smoothing a hand down the silk of your dress, your other clutching your purse, you turned back around just in time to see Matt gracefully ease his way out of the back of the limo. You almost lost your footing as you saw him rising to his full height in his tuxedo, your heart skipping at the sight of him. His covered gaze quickly found you, probably having caught the stutter of the traitorous organ in your chest. The smile that formed along his mouth caused your heart to start up again, pounding rapidly and unevenly inside of you.

The grin remained as he stepped over towards you, your breath coming in sharper as you tried to contain yourself. Matt held out an arm expectantly in your direction and you swallowed hard, reaching out and directing his large hand to your upper arm. His fingers curled firmly around your bare skin, the heat of them raising goosebumps despite the warmth of the night.

Matt leaned in towards you, amusement in his voice as he whispered, “Breathe, sweetheart. I don't want you passing out on me.”

Heat was burning at your cheeks as a sudden timidity began to overtake you. That feeling like you didn't belong at this man's side–a feeling you hadn't really felt to this extent in quite some time–was suddenly washing over you. It didn't help that you were leading him up onto the sidewalk and over towards your friends where they were standing in front of the elegant ballroom the event was taking place at. Foggy looked handsome as well in his tuxedo as he stood beside both the stunning Marci and Karen, the pair looking like glamorous models in their dresses.

As you led the both of you towards your friends, Matt silent at your side, your eyes were shifting around at all the well-dressed people making their way towards the entrance. Almost immediately your nerves hit you like a truck once more, your foot twisting in your heels as you took another step. Briefly you faltered, but Matt’s hand gripped your arm tight and quickly caught you, stopping you before you could fall.

“Relax, everything is going to be alright,” Matt assured you, his mouth once more beside your ear as you both continued walking towards the ballroom entrance. “I've got you tonight Bambi. Just take a deep breath.”

“Right,” you murmured back, nodding your head quickly as nerves continued to fill your stomach. “Tonight will–will be fun.”

“I'll make sure you enjoy yourself here, sweetheart,” he promised. “Just relax and focus on me. That's all you need to do.”

You glanced at him beside you skeptically, your stomach anxiously flipping inside of you. “Okay, that normally calms me down, but tonight is a bit different. It’s not that you don't always look good, but tonight you look insanely good, Matt. Which almost makes me more nervous than relaxed.”

He chuckled lightly, focusing on you at his side as he walked. “And does it make you more or less nervous to know you're coming back home with me after all of this no matter what?” he asked.

“More nervous,” you immediately answered.

“Mmm,” he hummed back thoughtfully, his attention returning ahead of him. “Then maybe don't think about what I'm going to do to you when we get home tonight.”

You laughed weakly as the pair of you approached your friend group. Unfortunately what he'd said had only made you think about going home with this handsome man after the gala even more. And that was only increasing your anxiety for some reason. You definitely felt out of place at his side now that you'd left the safe confines of the limo, your eyes taking in the sight of all the stunning couples around you.

“Yeah, not helping,” you whispered.

Matt laughed lightly at your side, his warm hand affectionately squeezing your bicep. You didn't know how you had thought you could handle attending this event as his date, but now that you were here, you certainly hoped you could survive it.

Focusing on your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you checked over your makeup and hair once more, making sure everything still looked as good as it had when you’d first left Karen’s apartment. Satisfied that nothing seemed too out of place, even with the occasional kisses Matt had snuck in so far this evening, your hands once more smoothed down the sides of your silk dress.

You had to admit, the dress you’d chosen for tonight looked good on you. It hit in all the right places and the side slit that reached mid-way up your thigh was surprisingly flattering. You’d certainly never worn anything quite so beautiful before, only having splurged because Matt had practically urged you to buy something you really wanted to wear tonight.

But despite how beautiful the dress was and how good it made you feel to be in it, the nerves still fluttered frantically in your stomach as you stared back at your reflection. A frown pulled the corners of your mouth downwards, your eyes focused on the way they’d dropped. The slight confidence boost you’d felt tonight after getting ready with Karen and Marci had almost completely disappeared in the first hour of you being here with Matt.

You’d followed him around, his arm looped through yours, politely greeting the people that approached him and smiling as they discussed varying topics. You’d joined the conversations whenever you’d had a chance, but nothing had fully shaken the insecurity that had only continued to grow inside of you every single time Matt introduced you as his girlfriend, because you could’ve sworn a few women had openly sneered at you. Others had given you a once over, their defined brows arching in something like distaste as they eyed you.

You knew Matt couldn’t exactly see what was going on, but you wondered if he’d somehow known something was happening. He’d often pull you further into his side throughout the evening and whisper comforting words before planting a lingering kiss to your temple. And while the gesture occasionally eased a flare up of your insecurity, that feeling always quickly returned whenever the pair of you passed some gorgeous, model-like woman in what was clearly a designer dress as she turned her nose up at you. Or as some other well-dressed man shot you a curious, almost offended glance. You’d soon found yourself wondering how your friends had been so excited about attending an event with all these stuck-up New York City elite��though it seemed like all of them were fairing vastly better this evening than you. And that only made you further feel like you didn’t belong here, walking the ballroom with Matt’s arm looped through yours as if you actually could be the one at his side.

As you were adjusting a loose strand of hair while looking at your reflection, a woman entered the bathroom and approached the opposite end of the counter, ignoring you entirely as she began fixing her makeup. Squaring your shoulders, you forced yourself out of your spiraling thoughts now that you were no longer alone. They weren't going to help anything tonight anyway.

You reached a hand out, grabbing your clutch purse from off the counter before turning and heading towards the exit. Making your way down the short hallway outside of the bathrooms, you smiled politely whenever you passed someone as sweat began to dampen your palms. When you finally re-entered the extravagantly decorated ballroom a moment later, the sound of the live orchestra playing hit your ears just over the noise of multiple conversations. Feeling your nerves increase even further at the room full of people, you mentally reminded yourself that you only needed to survive for a few more hours here before you and Matt could go home.

Eyes scanning the room, it didn't take you long before you found Matt among the crowd of people. He was standing exactly where you’d left him a few minutes ago when you’d excused yourself to the restroom, but now you noticed he was talking to a different group of people than when you’d been at his side initially–three men and one of those gorgeous, model-like women who was standing a little too close to him. With a sigh, you plastered a bright smile onto your face once more and began making your way through the crowd and over towards the group, walking carefully so as not to trip in your heels. But your smile faltered the closer you neared the group when you began to pick up on the conversation.

“Oh, I apologize,” you overheard one of the men saying to Matt. “I truly thought she was your date tonight. You both just look so good standing together, I only assumed.”

You felt your feet come to an abrupt stop along the floor at the man’s words, your heart thudding so heavily in your chest that you could feel it. That was the last thing you wanted to hear tonight. More confirmation that you weren’t good enough to be at Matt’s side–that you didn’t belong there.

“Ahh, well, considering I’m blind, I can't exactly see why you'd say that,” Matt replied.

His tone had been charming and polite as usual when he'd responded, but you’d caught the edge to his words that the others clearly hadn't. Nevertheless, the entire group still laughed at his joke, but you winced as you stood there rooted to the spot feeling like your heart was gradually sinking to the floor.

“But I can assure you all, my lovely girlfriend is around here somewhere,” Matt added on. “And I’m sure she’ll be back very soon.”

Swallowing hard, you willed yourself to take another step over towards the group, attempting to push down the hurt the man’s comment had caused. You knew it was only a mistake, but that didn't stop it from unleashing even more insecure thoughts that were now running wild in your head, making you feel even worse than you had been a few minutes ago in the bathroom. Though it was taking everything in you to not have your fears feel validated by that small mistake.

You’d barely managed to take two steps closer before you noticed the woman beside Matt raise a hand and place it along his shoulder. The sight had your feet abruptly come to a stop once more. You noticed Matt had stiffened at her touch, but the sight of her so casually and intimately beginning to rub her hand along him immediately elicited a strong reaction from within you. Sick churned in your stomach, your heart nearly launching itself out of your mouth at the sight of this woman so brazenly touching him like that. As if she had every right to do so. The urge to vomit only increased when she leaned in towards him with a seductive smile spread across her damn red lips.

“If I was your lovely girlfriend,” she purred at him, “I’d know far better than to leave you alone in a room full of gorgeous women. Wouldn’t want one coming along and stealing you away from me, if I was her.”

Gritting your teeth, you felt tears burn at your eyes as the other men in the group burst into laughter at her comment. As if what she'd said was actually funny and the implication of her words wasn't vastly inappropriate. The woman just stood there smiling at Matt, her hand still rubbing his shoulder. You took in the frown along Matt’s lips for a second before your feet suddenly moved of their own accord, spinning you around and taking you directly away from the group. Too focused on fighting back tears in your eyes, your hands nearly crushing your clutch purse as you stalked off, you hadn't caught what Matt responded to the woman with.

By the time you'd finally weaved your way around the mass of people and found yourself out of the ballroom and in an empty hallway, you'd completely lost your sense of direction. You had no idea where you'd wandered off to, your mind too busy cruelly playing back the mental image of that woman touching Matt the way she had. Saying the things she'd said.

Right now you wanted to scream. To collapse onto the floor and cry, giving into your spiraling thoughts that came rushing back to you–all the ones trying to tell you that you’d never be good enough for Matt. That you didn't belong at his side at events like this. That you would never be the right woman for him.

Throwing a hand over your mouth, you attempted to muffle the choked sound of a sob that you were desperately fighting back. Because you knew that you couldn't cry here no matter how much you wanted to break down. You didn't want to ruin Matt's evening with your insecurities, the very same ones which you thought you'd put to rest already when it came to you being with him. Yet here you were, hiding in a hallway and trying not to cry because some woman was hitting on him in front of you again . Upset because some guy had mistaken her as his date just because of how she looked standing next to him.

Sniffling hard, you tried to force yourself to stop getting so worked up over all of this. This wasn’t the time or the place. Frantically you blinked back your tears, reminding yourself repeatedly that Matt had clearly not wanted that woman's advances and that he had openly acknowledged having a significant other. He hadn't done anything wrong. You honestly weren't even upset at him.

But still, that moment had wounded you quite deeply anyway. It made you once more feel like you weren't meant to be with him.

Trying to focus on your breathing, you attempted to calm it down and even it out. You needed to relax so that you could find your way back to the ballroom and finish out the rest of the night. You’d worry about all of these spiraling feelings of inadequacy later. But as you were inhaling a slow and quivering breath in, you heard the door at the end of the hall open. Before you could even turn around to see who'd joined you, you heard Matt gently calling out your name. Eyes closing, you roughly blew out the breath you'd just taken. You hadn't wanted him to know how upset you'd been over something so ridiculous. Especially not with how far your relationship had come with him over the past few months.

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” Matt asked.

With your back facing him, you quickly began wiping at your dampened cheeks, forcing the tears back. You knew it was pointless though because you knew with his senses he had already been aware of the fact that you’d been in here crying. Continuing to roughly wipe at your cheeks, you heard the sound of Matt’s footsteps approaching you from behind.

“Yeah, I'm–I'm fine, Matt,” you answered, trying to keep your voice even.

“You're crying,” he pointed out. “You're not fine.”

Blinking hard a few more times, you tried to quickly regain control over yourself. But the moment you felt Matt's gentle hand on your shoulder, a soft sniffle snuck its way out of you.

“I know you overheard what just happened,” he told you quietly. “I heard you walking over as it was happening. I know that’s what has you upset and I'm sorry, sweetheart.”

You shook your head before looking back over your shoulder at him. Matt was standing just behind you, his glasses no longer on his face and covering his eyes, probably having removed them and slipped them into his jacket pocket when he’d come to talk to you. There was a worried crease between his brows as his eyes continued to dart around your face, scanning you over. You could practically feel the way he was analyzing your body right now.

“You didn't do anything wrong, Matt,” you assured him. “You don't need to apologize. It's just–”

You broke off on a sigh, your eyes dropping down to your red heels peeking out from beneath your dress. Matt's hand on your shoulder began to gently spin you around to face him before his other hand landed on your opposite shoulder. Both of his hands gave you a firm, comforting squeeze as you continued to avoid his stare.

“It's just what, sweetheart?” he prompted.

You winced, shaking your head. “It's stupid. Really. I got upset and I was hoping to just come out here and calm down because I know how stupid it all is. We've been over this before–I thought I was past this already.”

“Hey,” Matt murmured, both of his thumbs beginning to rub soothing little circles over your bare shoulders, “whatever upset you isn't stupid. You can talk to me, you know that. I want you to talk to me. We do have that pinky promise, after all.”

Shoulders sagging in defeat, you knew he was right and had a point. You both had long since agreed to communicate with each other. This was precisely one of those times where you needed to.

Inhaling a deep breath, you slowly released it before your eyes traveled their way up Matt's handsome form in his tuxedo. When your eyes finally landed on his face, you couldn't help but relax at the way he was gazing down at you with so much love and concern reflected in his eyes. The sight only had you feeling further idiotic for having had such a strong reaction to that woman hitting on him.

“It’s really stupid but…I just feel like all night everyone has been staring at me like I don't belong here. Or rather, here with you, specifically,” you confessed awkwardly. “Mainly the women. They've just…openly made faces at me all night long and it's been weighing on me. And then to–to come back from the bathroom just to overhear all of that? For that woman to just touch you like that? Make the comment she did?”

You shook your head, that unpleasant squirming of your heart in your chest returning at the memory. Quickly you tried to blink back the tears, not wanting to cry anymore. Matt's expression only further softened as he listened to you.

“To hear someone else openly acknowledge that another woman looked good next to you–something people here would probably never say about me–it…hurt,” you whispered.

Matt was quick to wrap his arms around your shoulders, drawing you into the front of himself as he pulled you in for a hug. Your own arms timidly rose up, encircling his waist under his suit coat as you buried your face against his chest, careful not to smear any makeup onto his white shirt. The cologne he'd put on tonight filled your nose as you breathed in, somehow calming the uneven pattering of your aching heart. He smelled good, like something warm and woodsy. Safe and comfortable. The longer you breathed it in, the more it eased that ache in your chest just a little bit more.

“I wouldn't concern yourself with the opinion of anyone here,” he told you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head. “Everyone here is so superficial and just putting on an act. And if you forgot already, they only invited us here last minute as a slight. Believe me, I've overheard some of the things being said about Nelson, Murdock, and Page when they think we can't hear. It's not you, sweetheart. I promise you that. And you know I love you,” he continued, the soft and even rhythm of his voice calming you more in his embrace. “Not a number far enough from one, right? I don't want anyone here but you and I never will.”

“I know,” you whispered back. “That’s why I feel stupid.”

“Don’t,” he replied. “You had a human reaction to the way you're being treated, sweetheart. That’s normal. It’s okay. I'm just sorry that's how you're being treated because you're here with me.”

One of Matt's hands unwrapped itself from around your shoulders, his fingertips beginning to glide their way down the back of your bare arm as his other continued to hold you to the front of himself. Your eyes closed under his touch, goosebumps rising along the skin his fingers had just brushed over. When his hand reached your wrist, you allowed him to gently unwrap it from around his waist.

“But you know,” he murmured, something about his change in tone catching your attention as his fingers interlocked with yours, “one of these days, there'll be a ring on this hand.”

Your eyes flew open, your entire body tensing against the front of him at what he'd just unexpectedly said. His fingers continued to affectionately toy with the fingers of your left hand as you stood there feeling like you suddenly couldn't breathe, your heart skipping a beat.

“And then I'll be introducing you to everyone as my fiancé at these galas,” he continued, a hint of a smile in his voice, “not my girlfriend.”

Your knees felt weak at his words, your right arm holding onto Matt even tighter, afraid you might actually lose your balance in your heels. It had been awhile since either of you had mentioned marriage, both of you having been so busy lately, but you knew it was something you both wanted. It’d been discussed. But for some reason standing there and hearing him so casually refer to you as being his future fiancé had you wondering if maybe you were closer to that future than you’d even realized. Was it possible he’d already bought a ring? You were too afraid to even hope for that, but the prospect of being engaged to him soon had your insecurities immediately draining straight out of you.

“And eventually,” Matt continued, his chin rising from off the top of your head, his lips lowering beside your ear, “I’ll be introducing you as my wife at these things. Then they’ll all have to call you Mrs. Murdock.”

Sucking in a sharp breath that got stuck in your throat, you found yourself suddenly lightheaded just at the thought of that. A jolt of excitement raced through you as Matt pressed a kiss to your cheek, and then his lips were curling into a smile along your skin. At a loss for words, you stood there with your mouth slightly parted in surprise as you tried to process the fact that he'd just said that.

“You like the sound of that, sweetheart?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed out, not even pausing to think.

Because you did. You liked the sound of that a lot. The idea that Matt really wanted only you so much that he’d make a lifelong commitment to you. That he’d put a ring on your finger as a visible reminder to everyone else that you were his, and someday, you’d get to put one on his finger that showed the world he was yours . Forever.

You liked the thought of that far more than you realized, especially here in this moment and after what had just happened out in that ballroom.

“Mmm,” Matt hummed out, his hand which wasn't currently interlocked with yours sliding slowly down your back, “wasn’t quite expecting that reaction when I said that.”

“Wasn’t exactly expecting you to say that,” you whispered back.

His hand continued its slow descent down your spine, a shudder racing up the length of it under his palm. Eventually its trajectory changed, his hand coming to rest along your hip. Holding onto your waist in one hand, his other hand still entwined with yours, Matt began to carefully walk you backwards. As you moved, his nose nuzzled affectionately against your temple while your face remained buried against his chest. You felt your breath coming in sharper, the fingers of your right hand curling around his dress shirt beneath his suit coat as you tried to keep yourself from tripping over your own feet.

“I want to make you mine,” Matt told you, an edge of the possessive Devil in his words. “And I want you to know that you’re mine. To never question it.”

Your back had just barely bumped against the wall before Matt’s hand released yours and instead came to lightly encircle your jaw in his large palm. A soft gasp slipped out of your mouth as his hand gently pushed your head back against the wall, raising it up so that your mouth lined up with his. He leaned in and your eyes snapped shut just before his lips were on yours, somehow soft and full of heat simultaneously.

You lost your footing at the intensity of the kiss, your left hand flying out to grasp onto Matt’s bicep over his suit coat just before his body pushed you further back against the wall, keeping you upright. His hand continued to hold your jaw firmly in place as he kissed you in a way that he had yet to this entire evening–a way that had your knees trembling. But just as you’d barely had a chance to match that intensity, he abruptly broke away from you, a fire burning in his hazel eyes as he focused his sightless gaze along your cheek. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, your mind still reeling in the moment.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” he told you. “And I don’t care who tries to flirt with me. There might be a whole room of other women out there,” he continued, gesturing his head back down the hall in the direction from where he’d come, “but the only one I want is right here. And if you want, sweetheart,” he whispered huskily, his hand releasing your jaw and sliding down to lightly grip your neck, “I would be more than happy to show you how much I want you right now.”

Head still resting against the wall behind you, your eyes grew wide. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“I–I’m not sure I follow,” you whispered.

Matt's face hovered a few inches from yours, that unmistakable heat still burning in his eyes as he focused back on you, a small smile on his mouth. You were positive the tips of his fingers were feeling the thrumming of your heart with where they each rested along your neck.

“There’s a room to your right,” he said. “Yes?”

Slowly turning your head, you glanced over your shoulder. There was in fact a door there, one labeled ‘office.’

“I don’t hear any cameras inside of it, and I’m guessing it has a locking door,” Matt said.

Your attention returned to him, your brows jumping up onto your forehead. “Are you suggesting we…?”

“Yes,” he replied, his smile growing into something mischievous on his face, a glint of something flickering in his eyes. “If you want to, of course.”

“But–but Matt,” you whispered in a rush, your cheeks heating as you glanced back to the door at the other end of the hall, “there’s literally hundreds of people back in the ballroom. And security roaming around. We are by no means alone here. We could get caught!”

He shrugged a shoulder, the movement drawing your eyes back to him. You could feel your heart beating faster in your chest at his suggestion, an unexpected excitement growing inside of you at the prospect of having him here at this gala without anyone knowing. The pair of you had never done anything like this before, the closest having been when he’d teased you back at Fogwell’s Gym last year. But you'd been alone at the gym that night–this was different.

“I can assure you,” he began, “that no one has even been down this hallway except us all night. Trust me, I can tell. If we keep quiet, no one will ever know but us. So it’s up to you, sweetheart.” The corner of his lip curled into a devilish smirk, the sight causing your thighs to press together. “We can certainly head back to the ballroom instead. I would be content just having you at my side for the rest of the night. Or,” he continued, the corner of his lip curling even higher, “I could ease any of your lingering insecurities for the rest of the evening first. Prove that you and you alone are mine.”

His hand released your neck as he pushed back off the wall, giving you space. Space you found yourself not remotely wanting.

“But the choice is yours,” he assured you. “Because you know I'd never want to make you uncomfortable.”

Mouth opening and closing for a moment, you felt at a loss for words as you tried to decide. There was a part of you that wanted to lead him back down the hallway and just finish out the night. It wasn't like the pair of you couldn't do all of this back at the apartment afterwards, and it would be more than mortifying if the pair of you got caught fucking in an office during this gala. But another part of you was curious. Curious to see what he meant about easing your insecurities–because you knew whatever happened he certainly would. And the thought of fucking him while everyone else was a few rooms over was tempting, especially considering the way both you and Matt had been treated so far this evening by the other guests. It'd be a little secret just between the both of you, and something about that had your blood beginning to rush to your cunt.

Ultimately the image of that woman who'd been running her hand along Matt’s shoulder flashed through your mind again, but this time something else raced through your entire body at the memory of it. Something almost possessive hit you hard. Something territorial. Without further contemplation, you knew exactly what you wanted right now.

Hands flying out, they latched onto the lapels of Matt's tuxedo before roughly yanking him towards you, immediately crashing your mouth onto his. Matt's hand tightened along your hip almost bruisingly tight in response, something like a snarl vibrating in his throat and rolling into your own mouth. The sound of it had your fingers curling further around his suit coat, your feet beginning to clumsily guide the both of you over towards the office door. After a few steps, your hand released his coat, beginning to feel around the wall for the door handle. You were too caught up in kissing Matt to actually look for it, not wanting to end the moment, but he must've realized what you were doing because he broke away from you a moment later, loosing a breathy laugh as your hand continued to blindly search for the handle.

“I take that as a yes on doing this,” Matt teased. He released his hold on your hip, grabbing you by the hand instead and shooting you a cheeky smile, one that had the corners of his eyes creasing. “Allow me,” he said.

He pulled you a few more steps down the hall towards the door, reaching a hand out and easily opening it. All the while he continued to smile back at you, his attention never leaving you. Somehow that only made you want him more–especially in that damn tuxedo.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, tugging you along after him. A giggle escaped you as you stumbled into the room behind him, your feet a little unsteady in your heels. You were still unable to believe that you were about to do what you were about to with him while so many people were nearby. But as usual, this was Matt you were with. The very same Matt who always made you feel safe and comfortable.

You had barely entered the room before Matt turned back towards you, quickly closing the door and flipping the lock on the handle. And then he was on you once more, pushing you back against the door without warning as he caged you in between his arms. His mouth was at your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the length of it like you both hadn't just been briefly interrupted. Your head fell back against the door behind you with a soft thump , your eyelids fluttering in pleasure as your hands rose up, grabbing helplessly at his back.

“Only want you,” Matt murmured against your skin between kisses. “Only you.”

He continued trailing his sensual kisses along your throat, his hips pressing you firmly back into the door. Your breath was coming in sharp already, your mind almost entirely forgetting about the gala happening just a few rooms over because of his skilled mouth. When his lips finally landed over your pulse point, you felt his teeth gently bite down on the skin, taking you by surprise and eliciting a sharp hiss of pleasure from you. Your nails dug into his suit jacket, your teeth gritting together to keep from making too much noise.

“ Matt ,” you breathed out.

“ Mine ,” he snarled in response along your neck.

The hand he had splayed wide along the door beside your head dropped down, landing on your thigh through the slit of your dress. He let out a pleased noise as he began to trail kisses past your collarbone, his face lowering to the cleavage the V-cut of your dress created. His hand began to massage the muscle of your thigh, gradually making its way further up your leg and towards your ass as his lips began to suck at a patch of skin along your breast. A dampness was steadily growing between your thighs, your eyes completely closing under his attention as one of your hands slid up and into his hair.

“Thought there was a slit in your dress,” he whispered, face still buried against your chest, the stubble on his chin tickling you with each word. “Was hoping to properly appreciate it tonight.”

You opened your mouth to respond but were cut short by his teeth placing soft nips along the swell of your left breast. His hot breath cascaded its way down the front of your dress as he did, the feel of it causing your brain to go blank. His large palm was kneading your ass in a way that had a soft moan tumbling out of your lips, one you were powerless to stop. Matt's mouth paused at the noise, hovering just above your chest as you felt his hand dragging its way back down to your thigh.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he warned, his warm palm sliding to the inside of your thigh, fingertips brushing against your cunt just over your now damp panties. “Need to keep quiet if you don't want us to get caught.”

“That might prove–”

You stopped short as Matt's fingers pushed your panties to the side. They soon began sliding back and forth through your damp folds, collecting the slick that had been steadily forming there for the past few minutes as your breath hitched. Hips squirming along the solid door behind you, a surge of pleasure raced through you when the pad of his finger began to delicately circle your clit. Eyes closed, you swore you saw white flash across your closed lids. He always knew exactly how to touch you.

“Difficult,” you finished lamely.

“Mmm,” he hummed out thoughtfully.

The pad of his finger continued tracing circles over your clit, your cunt starting to desperately ache for his attention as he did. You could feel his erection growing against your leg through his dress pants with the way his hips were still pushing you back into the door. The feel of it almost had you accidentally loosing another moan.

“Or maybe you'd rather they all knew you were in here with me,” Matt continued, his tone suddenly dark and low–something reminiscent of the Devil. “Is that what you want? For all of them out there to know you're in here letting me touch you like this?”

A quiet curse slipped out of your mouth, your back arching against the door as his finger quickened its pace, pressing more firmly against you as he did. Admittedly you wished that woman out there knew exactly what he was doing to you right now after the way she'd been touching him. You wished she knew just how much he wanted your hands on him instead of hers.

“ Yes ,” you whispered, the word sneaking its way out of your lips.

The truth of your admission surprised even you, your eyes flying open. Matt was hovering over your cleavage, his finger still drawing delicious patterns on your clit. But his face shifted ever so slightly upwards at your response, his focus turning up towards you. There was something almost dark matching the intensity in his eyes, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as a growl rumbled in his chest. Your heart instantly accelerated at the look on his face.

“Certainly caught the truth in that,” he assured you, his finger never stopping its movements along you. “So you want me to give you a reason not to doubt that you're mine for the rest of the night? Is that what you want? To stuff you with my cock and fill you with my cum so you know who exactly you belong to?”

“Yes,” you answered.

Once again you’d found yourself stunned at your admission–and how quickly you’d answered. Even Matt seemed to be taken by surprise for a brief second, his head tilting a little to the side. But then ever so slowly his hand slipped out from under your dress, his smirk growing at the faint, pathetic groan you emitted at the loss of contact.

He straightened up before you, both of his hands landing on the belt at his waist. Your eyes dropped down in the small distance between you, your heart hammering away in your chest as you watched his hands undo the buckle before sliding his zipper down. In a swift movement, he shoved his pants and boxers farther down his thick thighs before tugging his dress shirt out of the way, all the while your eyes were focused on the emergence of his erect cock springing forth. Practically salivating at the sight of it, especially considering the exhilarating situation you both were in, you whined impatiently against the door.

Matt’s eyes flew to your chin at the noise, a smile overtaking the smirk on his lips. In seconds he was pressing you back against the door behind you, one hand firmly grasping your thigh while his other roughly shoved the fabric of your dress out of the way so forcefully that you swore you heard a seam tear. But you didn’t care as he hoisted your leg up onto his hip, the head of his cock bumping against the slick of your core. Your hips eagerly twitched forwards at the contact, already desperate to feel him fill you.

Matt’s forehead lowered to rest against yours, the hand he didn’t have holding your leg in place along his hip beginning to drag his cock back and forth through your arousal. You bit the tip of your tongue more firmly with each teasing pass of him through your folds–partly in anticipation and partly to remind yourself to keep quiet. Even if you couldn’t hear the noise of the gala, there was a small part of you still aware of it continuing not that far away.

But when you felt him finally sink inside of you, you almost forgot your own name. The pair of you released a sigh at almost the exact same moment, as if you’d been waiting far too long for this connection between the pair of you tonight. Though truthfully with how long you’d had to endure chaste kisses, seeing him in that tuxedo while watching him display his intelligence in conversation all night, had felt like a new form of torture. And now having him finally burying himself inside of you felt like the sweet relief you’d been craving.

Matt rolled his hips forward into you, sliding the entirety of himself inside of you as your hands wound their way into his hair, keeping his forehead against yours. His lips brushed against yours so lightly that you almost didn't feel them just before his fingers dug into your thigh where the slit of your dress had slipped out of the way, gripping you tightly in place against him. His other hand landed with a sharp slam on the door near your head, holding himself upright.

“I’ll give you something to remind yourself that you’re mine for the rest of the evening,” his husky voice promised you. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart.”

Your whole body trembled at his words, feeling him drag his cock out from inside of you slowly at first before he sharply thrust himself back inside of you. Clenching your teeth together at the impact, your fingers curled tighter around the strands of his hair, not even worrying about how mussed it would look by the end of this. You had a feeling the both of you would look disheveled at this point no matter what, and a large part of you almost didn’t care anymore.

Gradually Matt began to pick up his pace as he began to fuck you, his hips eventually snapping forward into you so hard that your back and your ass pounded into the door behind you, the resounding bang accentuating each time he pumped into you, the noise louder than the obscene sound of skin on skin. You were struggling to keep your mouth shut, fighting to keep your pleasure quiet as Matt’s hips continued to viciously roll into you over and over again.

Eventually your lone heel on the floor began to slide ever so slightly back and forth along the tile with the intensity of each of his thrusts. One of your hands dropped down, grabbing onto his round and solid bare ass in an attempt to hold onto something. Beneath your palm, you could feel the large muscle repeatedly contracting in your hold with every pump of his cock burying itself inside of you. Eyes becoming half-lidded, your ragged breaths mingled with his sharp grunts in the minimal space that existed between your mouths. His forehead hadn’t left its place against yours, and every so often his mouth would occasionally graze your lips before he took the opportunity to seize your mouth in soft little kisses. The intimacy of the tender action was a perfect contrast to the way he was currently roughly fucking you into the door behind you.

“No one else–will ever have me–like you do,” Matt ground out between each sharp slam of his hips into yours. “You'll be–the only one–I call Mrs. Murdock.”

Your nails dug into the firm muscle of his ass at his words. You once more hadn't expected him to say that, but the pleasure of hearing it again shot straight through you so fast that you swore your whole body had ignited. With his cock filling you so wholly and those words echoing in your mind, you felt a moan building in the back of your throat.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he grunted. “The way your body reacts every time I say that–”

Matt inhaled a hiss of air, his hips faltering in their rhythm as if he was already struggling not to cum just at your reaction. The fact that he was so turned on at the prospect of you being his wife alone had your eyes snapping shut completely, that moan that had been building in your throat making it halfway out of your mouth before Matt quickly quieted it with his own, swallowing the sound.

You could feel yourself growing closer to your release already, far more turned on by hearing him call you ‘Mrs. Murdock’ as he buried himself inside of you than you could ever imagine. With the way his body was shuddering against yours, you could tell it was having an unexplainable effect on him, too. One that was drawing him fast to his own climax.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

You heard Matt let out a low groan, his hips beginning to sloppily slam into your own as his blunt nails dug into the flesh of your thigh, clamping it tighter to his hip. Your release was building just at his reaction, making you understand just how he was feeling in that moment, too.

“Call me that again,” you breathed out.

His mouth found yours immediately, latching on as he kissed you fiercely but with so much tenderness. As if he was struggling with the intensity of his own feelings at your request. When he broke away from your mouth, he stayed so close that you could feel his lips brush yours as he whispered the name one more time.

Your eyes rolled back behind closed lids, your thighs shaking as another particularly rough thrust of Matt's hips pushed you back into the door. Your cunt tightened around him as he once more filled you, the delicious stretch of him inside you one you wanted to remember for the rest of the night.

It was the pleasure-filled, deep moan that Matt so carelessly spilled into the room as he abruptly came inside of you that had you about to cum along with him. He continued to pump into you, the warmth of his release filling you as you neared your own climax. But the moment Matt whispered ‘I love you�� in a broken, breathy pant, you completely lost it.

Gritting your teeth together, you fought back the moan growing deep in your chest as best as you could, though you couldn't completely quiet it as a wave of pleasure raced up the entirety of your body. Your thighs trembled at the intensity of it as Matt's cock gradually began to slow its pace, your own orgasm washing over you in a crashing, dizzying wave that took you by surprise.

Eventually when you'd finally fallen limp against the door behind you, exhausted and spent, his hips entirely stopped their movement. Inevitably Matt's forehead left yours, your eyes opening as he carefully removed himself from inside of you before shifting your panties back in place. The pair of you were both panting hard, attempting to catch your labored breaths. His face was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat, a look of almost smug satisfaction on it.

Matt's hand gently lowered your leg from his hip, returning your foot to the floor as your hands both found their way to his hips, trying to keep your balance. Matt's own hands landed on your shoulders in return, helping to keep you upright as his gaze landed on your cheek.

“Certainly didn't expect tonight to go this way,” he mused.

“You and me both,” you breathed out, still trying to catch your breath. “I've never exactly done that before.”

When Matt was sure you weren't about to lose your footing, he released his hold on you and took a step back. With an amused huff and a growing smirk, he began to pull his pants back up and to fix his disheveled state of undress.

“Pretty sure that wasn't the first time we've done that , sweetheart,” he teased. “We seem to do that often. And quite well.”

You rolled your eyes at him as you readjusted your dress, noticing he had just slightly torn the seam when he’d yanked it out of the way. Though you didn't think it was too noticeable to continue wearing tonight.

“You know what I mean, Matt,” you told him.

“I know, I'm only teasing, love,” he assured you.

Your eyes spotted the small, decorative mirror hanging on the wall across the room, just past Matt as he continued adjusting his tuxedo. You bent down carefully, picking up your clutch purse that you'd dropped to the floor the moment Matt had pushed you back into the door, and then you made your way over to it.

“Convenient there's a mirror in here,” you said to Matt as you began inspecting your slightly smudged lipstick. “I can at least attempt to make myself presentable again before we go back out there.”

Using your fingers to wipe away the smeared lipstick as best you could, you heard Matt approaching you from behind. You saw him appear over your shoulder in the mirror a second later, taking in his out of place hair and slightly rumpled shirt. He wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing himself to the back of you as he leaned in towards your ear, your eyes catching sight of a devious smile on his mouth before he spoke.

“Now when we go back out there,” he murmured, his voice once more low and husky like the Devil’s, “I want you to remember this moment anytime anyone looks at you like you don't belong at my side. And if you catch yourself starting to believe them, I want you to do something for me, okay?”

“And what's that?” you asked him slowly.

Matt's nose brushed along the shell of your ear, your body straightening at the touch.

“I want you to focus on the feel of my cum dripping down your thighs,” he ordered you.

Your hands stopped what they were doing trying to fix your makeup, hovering over your face as your breath caught in your throat. Eyes growing wide at Matt's reflection, you watched as he pulled away from your ear, turning and grinning at you through the mirror.

“I know I'll certainly be paying attention to it for the rest of the night,” he said, grin growing wider.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #matt murdock #daredevil #fftd

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firefistfiri · 4 months ago

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Billy's trust event by the Coffee shop basically confirms he can... consume and smell..??

Spoilers for ZZZ storyquest chapter 3: Midnight Pursuit

To note, his smelling sense was also mentioned in chapter 3, which played a big role, because his air intake malfunctioned due to it being cheap so he didn't inhale the sleeping gas.

The air intake part of his design is not necessary for him, as Nicole stated jokingly at the end of the chapter. This must mean that in order for him to actually smell, he had to install it.

Not only that, but he sleeps just like any other person and is capable of having dreams! This guy keeps confusing me with his limits as to what he can and cannot do istg.

Him and his 5 senses... I am pretty sure that besides his seeing sense, the other senses are basically just gadgets to make him be more human.. (??) altho... how DOES he eat.. how does he eat and drink without a mouth... he has no lips! how will he get a kiss kiss?!

Help me out on this one... I was so sure that somewhere before the game was released it was confirmed that he couldn't actually drink/eat..? I am puzzled... 😵‍💫 Maybe I shouldn't think too much about this...

Let me know ur thoughts and correct me if I am wrong on any of this! Just pure observation and I might have skipped some things

This makes me really miss the character voicelines that Genshin and HSR have in the character profiles where they talk some more about themselves and others!!

bonus: Nicole being a sweetheart to Billy about his air intake malfunction ...

#zenless zone zero #zenlesszonezero #zzzero #billy kid #how does he do it... he doesn't have a mouth...#i feel like a fake fan right now!!#i REALLY miss billy kid #do yall think because of this he can feel... yk... yk what i wont even say it

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autotopic · 3 months ago

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1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

#mercedes benz

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 6 months ago

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1958 Chevrolet Corvette

This 1958 Chevrolet Corvette underwent a pro-street-style metamorphosis between 2008 and 2011. It is endowed with a 383 cubic inch stroker V8 engine, harmonized with a TH350 three-speed automatic transmission, and a narrowed rear axle featuring a limited-slip differential. The rear suspension has been upgraded with a ladder-bar configuration, adjustable coilovers, and the addition of a lift-off hood. The body, painted a striking red with white coves, comes with a detachable hardtop. Inside, a roll cage has been installed along with a B&M Pro Stick shifter, a shift light, aftermarket gauges, and black Procar bucket seats. The enhancements also include dual Edelbrock carburetors, Hooker headers, side-exit exhaust pipes, 15” alloy wheels, and front disc brakes. Acquired by the current dealer in February 2024, this modified C1 Corvette is now part of the Coffee Walk Corvette Collection in Wylie, Texas, and is offered without reserve, complete with build records and a clean Pennsylvania title.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

The fiberglass exterior is adorned in red with white coves and includes a removable hardtop and a lift-off hood with an integrated air scoop. A Stewart-Warner fuel-pressure gauge is mounted on the cowl, and the right-rear corner features a battery cutoff switch and external terminals. The gallery reveals cracks in the weatherstripping, pitted chrome, and paint imperfections.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

Polished 15” alloy wheels are shod with 25.0×5.0” front and 29.5×11.5” rear Hoosier drag tires, installed in April 2024. A crossmember supports the rear suspension, which has been modified with ladder bars, a diagonal link, and adjustable coilovers. The braking system includes front disc brakes and rear drums.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

The interior is equipped with a roll cage and Procar high-back bucket seats in black. Enhancements include a B&M Pro Stick shifter, an MSD shift light, rocker-switch controls, and fabricated metal door panels. The gallery displays flaking paint and wear on interior surfaces.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

The three-spoke steering wheel is positioned in front of a 160-mph speedometer and auxiliary gauges. An AutoMeter pedestal tachometer is mounted atop the non-functional factory tachometer. Additional gauges for coolant temperature and oil pressure are located in the center console. The mechanical odometer is inoperative, and the total mileage remains unknown.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

A Harwood plastic fuel cell is mounted in the trunk, which has been tubbed with fabricated aluminum panels to accommodate the rear wheels.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

The 350ci V8 engine block, bored and stroked to 383ci, features four-bolt main bearings. The build includes forged pistons, ARP fasteners, a polished Edelbrock intake manifold, dual Edelbrock carburetors, an MSD ignition module, and Hooker long-tube headers that flow into side-exit exhaust pipes.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

Power is transmitted to the rear wheels through a TH350 three-speed automatic transmission and a narrowed Dana 60 rear axle with a limited-slip differential.

1958 Chevrolet Corvette

#chevrolet corvette #chevrolet #corvette #car #cars #muscle car #american muscle

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spookyserenades · 2 years ago

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Trouvaille - Chapter Two

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

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

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

Word Count; 20.8k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Hi everyone, Dana here again! Welcome to Chapter Two, and thank you for reading and sending lovely responses to Chapter One. In this chapter, you'll meet more members, and the plot will continue to thicken in the coming installments. If you have any questions or comments about this fic, I'd love to hear from you. Again, if you'd like to be added to the taglist for Trouvaille, just let me know! Please enjoy this update, and thank you for your support :)

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Two hours of sleep revived Y/N enough to wake up feeling somewhat alive again, a nice, hot shower rinsing the scent of bruise cream down the drain. Wiping condensation from her mirror, she tightened the towel wrapped around her body before hastily slapping jasmine lotion on her skin. Though it was the end of August, late afternoons had started to become breezy with the bite of autumn in the air, a gentle draft floating in from the rickety window in her bathroom.

Fresh with a new pair of waffle-knit cream sweatpants, fuzzy socks, and a soft gray long sleeve tee, she reveled in wearing loungewear in the middle of the day for once – no more itchy scrubs! Satisfied with her comfortable clothing, Y/N scooped up her laptop off of her crowded desk, humming a tune while heading out to check on Seokjin again. She wondered where the other two were and if they decided to take a nap as well, or if they were wandering around the house. There were many nooks and crannies she hadn’t included in her tour, opting to show them just the bedrooms and living spaces. That way, they had more things to explore themselves.

Tiptoeing into the entryway of the green room, she nearly dropped her laptop in surprise. Seokjin was sitting upright, head turned to look out the only window unobscured by the drawn curtains. His ear flickered, picking up on Y/N’s sharp intake of breath, and gripped the water bottle he was holding tightly as his head swiveled to look in her direction.

It was the first time she got a good look at his face, full lips dropped open in shock, wide vibrant orange eyes rimmed with black lashes, sharp jawline set bracingly. His coloring seemed to be back to normal, but she wanted to get closer to make sure the fever was on its way out. Although, now that Seokjin was awake, Y/N wasn’t really sure what to say to him.

“Hi, sorry I startled you,” Y/N broke the ice, Seokjin twisting the material of the Good Charlotte shirt in his hand nervously. Tentatively, she placed her laptop on the table in the hall next to a vase. “Can I come in?”

Seokjin cleared his throat after attempting to croak out a response, beginning to move from the bed, something Y/N wished he wouldn’t do so soon.

“Y-yes…” he hoarsely replied, face screwing up in discomfort as he tried to swing his legs out from under the comforter. Y/N hurried into the room, holding her hands out in alarm.

“Oh please, don’t get up just yet! I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Y/N exclaimed, rushing to the side of his bed while he halted his movements. She noticed how he froze as she got closer, so she refrained from getting too near at first.

“I… don’t even remember getting here,” Seokjin confessed, continuing to wind the shirt in his fist.

“You fell asleep on the ride back, Hoseok and Jimin helped you in and out of the van. I think you might have gotten a fever from having to shift suddenly when you changed at the shelter. I’m sorry, that was foolish of me to ask of you,” Y/N hung her head low, busying her hands by collecting the used facecloths on the nightstand.

“No! I mean, um, it's alright. It’s actually pretty uncomfortable to be shifted into animal form for extended periods of time,” Seokjin assured her quickly, his hand shooting out to touch her wrist briefly so she could lift her head, features melting into a sheepish expression. Shellshocked by the contact, her skin tingled where his gentle fingers had brushed for a split second before they were gone. Y/N searched his eyes, watching as he averted her gaze distractedly, focusing his attention on the window outside once more. His expression was still melancholic as he watched the breeze rustle the foliage in the backyard, eyes far away.

“How’s your side?” Y/N asked gently, tossing the face cloths in the hamper by the door. Ear twitching again, Seokjin’s lips turned downwards into a frown. Not exactly the reaction she was looking for.

Seokjin, fingers trembling, lifted the bottom of his shirt, exposing the patch of gauze, a little gasp falling from his mouth. The gauze was clean, bleeding stopped, and Y/N was proud of herself for cleaning up the site so well, her nerves dissipated a degree.

“You– did you do this?” Seokjin’s fingers grazed the gauze, shoulders sagging as his hands stopped shaking at once.

“Uh… yes, I did. Again, I’m sorry, I don’t usually touch people without their permission, but I wanted to make sure infection didn’t set in so you could heal quickly,” Y/N felt like sticking her head in sand with the flow of the conversation.

Seokjin shook his head quickly, back to fidgeting with the shirt. “Oh, I’m never any good at saying what I mean, I’m grateful that you fixed it… thank you,” he scolded himself under his breath, Y/N’s eyebrows pulling together in confusion. It was instances like this that made her desperate for a little background information on the hybrid’s history, so she could understand why three out of seven so far seemed guilty for receiving kindness of any sort.

“Seokjin, how are you feeling, fever-wise? Do you need some Advil, are you hungry?” Y/N inquired, setting a new bottle of water on his nightstand. He eyed the bottle as she spoke, seemingly neither here nor there.

“I’m better, I think, the chills are gone. Really, I don’t want to trouble you with cooking for me,” Seokjin mumbled, cheeks going pink. Y/N scoffed watching the shadow of doubt cross over his face.

“And I don’t want you to worry about something silly like that. Before I saw that you were awake, I was going to check on you and make some lunch for all of us,” Y/N explained, watching the wheels turn in his head. “I’ll bring your’s to you in a bit.”

Seokjin pushed the comforter off of himself, growing antsy. Anxiety rolled off of him in tangible waves, etched in his features.

“Should I help?” Seokjin tried very hard to keep discomfort off of his face as he twisted to get off the bed once more, stubbornness in his personality becoming apparent to Y/N. It was endearing, if anything. She stopped him by dragging the comforter back over his legs, and before thinking too much about it, placed a light hand on his shoulder to ease him back against the pillows. His ears twitched in reaction to the touch, small protests coming from him as she uncapped the fresh bottle of water and placed it in his hands to replace the empty one.

“While I appreciate the offer, you should rest for a little while longer. How about this, instead of bringing lunch in here, I can help you out into the kitchen when it’s done, and you can eat with us all,” Y/N compromised, knowing that eating alone can be alienating for some. Besides, being cooped up all day was likely making him feel stir-crazy in an unfamiliar home.

Seokjin brightened a little with her offer, the corner of his mouth curling upwards shakily, shimming downwards into the bed a few inches. Obediently, he took a few swigs of the water.

“Alright, I can do that,” Seokjin conceded. Giving him a bright smile, she walked over to the bookcase in search of something to keep him busy.

“By the way, sorry about your shirt. I had to fish out one of my old concert tees after patching you up, the other one had gotten stained…” Y/N scanned the bookshelf, plucking the one she was searching for off of the middle shelf. “How about a book while you wait for lunch?”

Turning back to him, Seokjin was pulling the shirt away from him so he could examine the print, an odd look on his face as he read the text. Back at his side, she presented him with the embossed copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. He took it carefully, palm sliding over the gilded cover. Y/N switched the lamp on beside him so he could read.

“Thank you…” Seokjin cracked the book open, bringing it up close to his face so he could stare at the illustrated map of Middle Earth. His eyes were clouded with something she couldn’t place; something between nostalgia and grief. “I’ve heard of these movies, before.”

“I have the extended version box set on DVD. We could watch it, sometime,” Y/N grinned, Seokjin’s cheeks rounding out as he broke out into something adjacent to hope.

“I’d like that,” he replied quietly, Adam’s apple bobbing, eyes downcast.

The last thing Y/N wanted was to make Seokjin cry, though she had no idea why he had reacted to the subject of Lord of the Rings the way he did. There was no way she was prying, but it almost seemed like he was flipping through a scrapbook of memories from the past rather than a novel.

Sticking around felt strange, and Seokjin was absorbed in the map still, so Y/N decided to take her leave. Inching towards the door, she wondered how, or if, she could avoid provoking such a melancholy reaction from Seokjin in the future.

“I’ll come and get you in a bit!” Y/N called, leaving the door open. Retrieving her laptop from the table, she resumed her journey to the kitchen. Along the way, she kept her eyes peeled for Jimin or Hoseok; the basement door was left partially open, but there was no sign of the fox hybrid. The hallway and foyer were empty, so she assumed the two were still in their rooms.

In the kitchen, she set up her laptop for later. She wasn’t quite sure what to make for lunch, as it had been a while since she had gone to the grocery store. On the island, there was a large loaf of Italian bread and some lovely heirloom tomatoes her mother dropped off two days prior. Y/N was fairly sure she had some more ingredients to make sandwiches out of the bread, if she cut it lengthwise and then into four.

Checking out the sad state of the fridge, shelves empty but a few bottles of condiments and cartons of fruit, she groaned. While working at the hospital, she often got pizza locally or ate with her parents – and her cabinets reflected it. Spotting a package of mozzarella and a little jar of pesto, she pulled them from the fridge, humming as her stomach growled uncomfortably. It had been hours since she had eaten, herself.

After laying down a thick layer of pesto on the bread, layering mozzarella slices with the tomato, she seasoned everything with salt, pepper, balsamic vinegar and olive oil before separating the loaf into four even sandwiches. She stuck the sandwiches on a baking tray to crispen up in the oven, and emptied a large bag of kettle-cooked potato chips into a bowl, placing it on the breakfast nook table for everyone to help themselves. Getting plates out from the cupboard, Y/N sliced a few peaches from the fruit basket and arranged them on the plates and set the table with napkins, silverware, glasses and a pitcher of water.

With the sandwiches in the oven for fifteen minutes, she had enough time to prioritize items on her list on her laptop. The most important: calling her family, Ben, and the bank, which she’d tackle after lunch. Second, was ordering the phones and at least a week’s worth of clothes for all seven hybrids. She would make the haircut appointments last, and maybe even poke around on hybrid databases to see if she could get more information about her hybrids.

There was a website that hybrid owners could plug in the specific number that gets mailed to them shortly after adoption along with the official papers, not unlike a social security number. Once plugging in the number to the database, medical history becomes available to the owner, as well as information relating to the hybrid’s past, and upbringing. Of course, she would have to wait at least a week for the official adoption papers to come in the mail, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t check out some of the other features of the databases.

Contemplating on whether or not to draft up a script to read to Ben simply to get through the phone call later on, she passed a hand over her face. She had never kept a secret from him, and though it was only several hours after the adoptions, making a major life decision without consulting him even once made her feel rotten. Besides, she hadn’t called to check in on how Daisy was faring, which made her feel even worse. Talking to her parents was a whole other ordeal – her mother, she predicted, would be thrilled that Y/N decided to adopt a hybrid. However, the fact that there were seven of them, and they were all men, might temper her excitement. Her father, as she could only guess of his reaction considering he ran hot and cold most of the time; would either call her crazy or ask if any of them needed a heart check-up. Groaning, she dreaded both phone calls equally.

The scent of basil and toasted bread began to perfume the air, alerting her of the perfect time to round up the hybrids for lunch. Pushing herself off the barstool, she headed to Jimin’s room first. Past the closed door of her grandfather’s old office, the late afternoon light illuminating the house from the sunroom at the end of the hallway, the door to Jimin’s room was sandwiched between the two. It was the part of the house that got the most sun, perhaps why Jimin had chosen the blue room in the first place.

Stopping in front of the door, Y/N took a deep breath in, hoping she wouldn’t be waking him from a nap, and knocked twice.

“Jimin? Lunch is just about ready,” Y/N called, blinking as she waited for a response. Seconds passed, before she heard a scuffle against the floor and the closing of the bathroom door within his room. The door opened, the scent of lavender shampoo smacking her in the face, Jimin’s serene face appearing in the doorframe nearly making her swoon. He’d showered, judging by the wet strands of sandy hair that were slicked back, allowing Y/N to get an unobstructed view of his sculpted face. She was at a loss for words, Jimin placing the towel around his neck on the door handle to dry as he stepped out into the hallway.

“It smells good, what did you make?” Jimin asked, giving her that same intense eye contact he had in the van as he stared down at her. Gulping, Y/N recovered by tearing her eyes from him, picking imaginary dust off of her shirt.

“Caprese sandwiches! I have a bit of grocery shopping to do, the fridge is looking a little depressing. I’m thinking of ordering everything online, but in that case we can’t pick our own produce. Then again, we could go to the farmer’s market tomorrow,” Y/N babbled while Jimin made a noise of approval, trying her best not to walk stiffly next to him on their way down the hall. She was rambling, the way she always did when she was nervous, but it was hard to calm down with such a handsome man clinging on to every word she spoke.

Jimin followed her towards the basement in tandem, a sort of bow-legged shape to his stride, hands clasped behind his back. It was a shame he had to put the clothes he traveled in back on after his shower, Y/N hoped that she could overnight some other options for everyone.

“I heard Hoseok in the kitchen earlier, getting water, so he should be awake,” Jimin informed her, studying the way she lifted her hand to knock on the door with minor amusement. “He’ll hear you if you call.”

“Um, okay,” Y/N laughed shakily, not entirely comfortable with both yelling down to Hoseok and the way Jimin watched her so closely, like she was some kind of colorful lizard. Wedging the basement door open a bit more, she called, “Hoseok, come get some lunch!” Cringing at the sound of her voice echoing down the stairs, she swore she heard a light snicker from Jimin, but didn’t dare turn to blind herself with his megawatt smile to confirm.

The sound of Hoseok’s light footsteps bounded up the stairs two at a time, and Y/N figured she should go ahead and get Seokjin. Hoseok’s flushed face appeared from the top of the stairs, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple, and Y/N wondered if he was the first one to make use of the gym.

“I’m gonna go get Seok–” Y/N started, turning on her heel, before squeaking in surprise at the sight of the very hybrid she was about to fetch leaning against the staircase landing. Sleek black tail flicking back and forth lazily, he regarded the three of them with an expression that almost read smug.

“H-how long was he standing there?” Y/N murmured to Jimin, who looked like he was biting back a shit-eating grin. So this was how it was going to be.

“The whole time,” Jimin answered, Hoseok cracking up behind her. Face scarlet, Y/N felt a little foolish for babying Seokjin so hard when he could clearly get up and about, and was even more embarrassed she hadn’t even realized him standing there in the first place. Too busy trying not to trip under Jimin’s gaze, she supposed. Regardless, she was slightly humiliated.

“I’m okay now, I swear,” Seokjin assured, speaking directly to Y/N. Standing on his own two feet, Seokjin was tall and even broader than she originally thought, the material of her old shirt pulling against his shoulders and across his pecs. Overwhelmed, Y/N nodded dumbly, a shock of electricity shooting through her as Hoseok brushed past her, his hand briefly steadying her shoulder as he went. Hell.

“With the way you were passed out in the car, I thought you were on the precipice of death,” Hoseok clapped a hand over Seokjin’s back, the latter’s tail swishing in an agitated manner contrary to his amicable expression.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky I didn’t puke on you,” Seokjin pushed Hoseok away, trailing after him in the direction of the kitchen.

“Actually, it was Jimin who was cradling your top half, Jin. Try again,” Hoseok sang, reaching back to grasp his tail so Seokjin wouldn’t get a hold of it and yank. Stunned at the spectacle, Y/N peered up at Jimin curiously, who was politely waiting for her to lead the way. Finally unfreezing, she hurried to the kitchen.

“Jin?” She whispered to Jimin, who stooped to hear her. A strand of his damp hair fell forward, brushing the side of her neck.

“Those two arrived at the shelter together. They were one of the first ones of us there, took a liking to each other,” Jimin spoke softly in her ear, husky voice making her shiver. It was relieving that the three hybrids that she had brought home first all got along well, but it did concern her that she’d potentially be disturbing the easy peace so soon by bringing home others. She’d pick their brains later that night to get a sense of the others, considering Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin didn’t have a problem interacting with her.

In the kitchen, she showed them where to sit at the breakfast nook while she pulled the sandwiches out of the oven. They were perfectly toasted, and the scent alone triggered a loud grumble from her stomach, which she was positive the hybrids could hear. Hurriedly, she placed the baking tray on the island, using a spatula to slide the sandwiches on the plates with the peaches. They were chatting, too quiet for her to hear, but she adored the way the kitchen was already filled with life, loneliness be damned.

Balancing three plates in her hands at once, she carefully made her way to the booth, putting a plate in front of each hybrid, excited for them to finally get some food in their stomachs. Hoseok whistled again, a particular tune becoming familiar to her already, and she dashed to retrieve her own plate and settle down next to Seokjin. Pouring herself some water, she wiggled in her seat happily as she reached for some chips for her plate. Napkin in her lap, she paused, noticing the sudden silence around her, and lack of chewing. Looking up from her plate, she frowned.

“Something wrong? Does it smell funky?” Y/N sniffed the sandwich, wondering if the cheese had gone bad, but it smelled heavenly. Jimin ducked his head, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“No, no, we were just waiting for you to start first…” Hoseok fiddled with the stem of his water glass, face closed off a tad. Frowning further, Y/N recalled this habit from her father’s friend’s hybrid, who would never begin eating until he did. It was something they were trained to do as children in labs, she was told by her father, which always made her stomach turn – and she couldn’t believe she forgot.

“Oh, God. You don’t have to do that, ever, dig in while it’s hot! Please,” Y/N pleaded, already hating when people watched her eat, and wanting to sink into the floor. Glancing at each other sideways, they hesitantly began to help themselves to chips, Jimin spearing a peach on his fork slowly. Deciding to speed up the process, Y/N took a larger-than-normal bite of her sandwich, trying not to moan from the flavors melting on her taste buds. The last thing she remembered eating was a sad hummus wrap during her lunch break yesterday, so the cheesy sandwich was exactly what she needed to soak up any gin left in her body.

Seokjin’s elbow kept brushing her side as he ate his sandwich, cheeks filled with food as he ate with gusto. In fact, the three of them ate with such speed, Y/N found herself the last to finish her own sandwich, Hoseok batting Seokjin’s hand away for the last few salt and vinegar chips. She giggled at Seokjin’s offended expression, eyes blown comically wide, Hoseok shooting her a wink. Thankfully, she had swallowed the peach she had been chewing, because she definitely would have choked with that whole exchange.

“That was delicious. Ah, I forgot how good tomatoes can be,” Hoseok sighed in satisfaction, passing a hand over his stomach as he leaned back on the cushy booth. Y/N caught Jimin catching a drop of peach juice dripping down his fingertip with his tongue, averting her gaze quickly before he could realize he was being watched.

“Our neighbors grew them in their garden. The Robinsons, I’ll introduce you to them, they’re very kind. Mrs. Robinson is my mother’s closest friend,” Y/N informed them, chewing on her last peach slice thoughtfully. She had been meaning to go over to her neighbor’s for a few weeks for tips on starting a garden next spring, and how to go about restoring the rusted greenhouse towards the back of her property. It would definitely be a fun project to include the hybrids in, gardening was rewarding and would be very convenient to be able to pick an abundance of produce for the growing number of mouths to feed in the house.

“So, you’re close with your parents,” Hoseok said this like a confirmation of a fact, rather than a question, but it didn’t bother Y/N. The assumption he made was correct, her parents were ever-present in her life and constant support, and even thinking about them briefly made her feel uncomfortable for not consulting them about the adoptions. She nodded, collecting plates and utensils from the hybrids.

“Yeah, we’re pretty close. They come around here frequently, so I ought to beat them to the punch and pay them a visit before they surprise us,” Seokjin handed her his plate, thanking her quietly as she stood to take them to the sink. Spinning back to the fridge, she opened up the freezer, the suspicion that she had chocolate coated ice cream bars under a bag of frozen dumplings confirmed. “Ice cream, anyone?”

The hybrids were by her side as soon as the words left her mouth. Apparently, these were the magic words, and she tucked that information away for later.

Handing each of them a wrapped bar as they loitered around the kitchen island, she got to work on rinsing the plates and shoving everything in the dishwasher. Seokjin sunk into a barstool across from her, memorizing the details of the kitchen appliances and the way she loaded dishes into the machine. Meanwhile, the other two began to bring leftover items from the breakfast table to the dishwasher, ice cream coating their lips as they bickered back and forth. Cleanup went a lot faster with a few additional hands, even if they were preoccupied with enjoying their frozen treats, and it felt like they had enjoyed hundreds of meals together before.

“Y/N, can we take Jin on the tour of the place?” Hoseok asked suddenly, after tossing his popsicle stick in the garbage drawer Y/N was scraping chip crumbs into. Brightening, Y/N saw this as the perfect opportunity to slip away and make her phone calls. Now behind Seokjin still slouched on the barstool, Hoseok playfully rubbed his shoulders, the former blushing and attempting to peel Hoseok’s hands away from him. “Now that he can walk, of course.”

“Oh, go ahead! You can pick a bedroom you like, just like they did, too – you don’t have to stay in my old childhood bedroom,” Y/N dried her hands on a kitchen towel, promising herself she would clean out that old wardrobe as soon as Seokjin moved out of the green room. Stumbling to his feet, Seokjin tried to catch Hoseok by his ear, hobbling after him. The men started to head towards the hall, Jimin pausing next to Y/N while Hoseok’s lively laugh echoed in the foyer.

“Are you coming?” Jimin asked, head cocking curiously. Shaking her head, she pocketed her phone, which was practically burning a hole in her thigh.

“I have to make a couple of calls, I trust you and Hoseok to show Seokjin around just as well as I could,” she assured, leading him out into the foyer. Jimin scratched the back of his neck, Y/N smiling fondly at the sound of Hoseok’s bright laughter as Seokjin pushed him around. Jimin joined the others, Hoseok eagerly ushering Seokjin down into the basement and waiting for the coyote hybrid to follow.

Sighing, Y/N dragged her feet to the patio, deciding she might as well get comfortable if she was in for an earful. Calling Ben, first, was likely her wisest option, considering he would definitely be the more disapproving between him and her parents. She groaned as she unlocked her phone, four messages since last night left unread.

Ben Alpin: Morning, granny! Someone is settling in nicely~

The first message had an attached image of Daisy seated at Ben’s glass dining room table, a comically tall stack of fluffy pancakes in front of her. She had on a pair of Disney princess pajamas Roy had picked out on a trip he had gone on with Ben months ago on a whim – talk about foresight.

Ben Alpin: You must be hungover, huh? Give me a call so we can check in, we want to see you Sunday for brunch!

Ben Alpin: Y/N, are you okay??

Ben Alpin: Call me!!!

She could put off the call no longer, she had a feeling if any more time passed, Ben would end up on her lawn. Settling on a lounge chair, noticing the sun starting to set sooner now that the summer was coming to a close, she took a deep breath and let the line ring. He picked up on the second ring.

“Jesus! Did you just wake up? How many episodes of Hell’s Kitchen did you watch while polishing off that bottle of Hendrick’s last night?” Ben bypassed hellos, the sound of a tinkling baby xylophone and childish giggles coming through the receiver.

“No, no! I’ve just been a little busy today, I’m sorry for making you worry,” Y/N breathed, wondering how the hell she would even breach the subject of her last 12 hours. “How’s Daisy?”

“Y/N, she’s an angel, I swear. Did you get that picture? I actually cooked this morning, can you believe it? Roy almost died from shock,” Ben gushed, and Y/N couldn’t remember the last time he sounded so joyful.

“Those pancakes looked delicious. I can’t believe those pajamas fit her so perfectly, too,” Y/N stalled, smacking herself in the face. She had to just bite the bullet.

“Roy’s out shopping for her clothes now. I wasn’t allowed to come, he said I’d go over budget,” Ben chuckled, saying something unintelligible to Daisy while leaning away from the receiver.

“Uh… Ben, I have to tell you something,” Y/N rushed out, biting down on her lip hard.

“What? Do you need Roy to swing by and fix something?”

“No, that’s not it. Listen, it’s about last night at the shelter.”

“...What about it?” Ben asked slowly, the sound of him walking into another room making her even more nervous.

“Well, I wandered off while you two were meeting Daisy, remember? I didn’t go to the bathroom, I found another room in the back. Hybrids were in there,” Y/N murmured into the phone, eyes squeezed shut. Ben was quiet on the other line for a moment, waiting for her to continue.

“There were more hybrids,” Ben confirmed, sounding confused. “The shopkeeper said they only had one, Daisy.”

“The room was sectioned off for aggressives and exotics, and the shopkeeper already had a potential buyer. I looked into the room, and saw them all in their shifted forms, I saw an injured jaguar, there was a wolf…”

“Wait, wait, wait. Why didn’t you say anything last night? Why do I have the feeling you did something very, very stupid?” Ben exclaimed, alarmed. Y/N swallowed, bracing herself.

“Don’t be mad, please! I had to do something, the man picking them up was going to use them for hunting,” Y/N whined, curling in on herself on the lounge chair.

“Did you adopt them?” Ben’s voice pitched upwards in surprise, however, he didn’t seem to sound angered.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered back, almost tearing a hole in her lip.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it. I’m almost proud you did something without making a pros and cons list and presenting it to me first. But still, Y/N, this is crazy. Are they with you now? You said a wolf and a jaguar?” Shocked by his reaction, Y/N breathed out heavily in relief.

“I took three of them home today. I have to go back for the others,” Y/N answered, relaxing back on her chair.

“Three? The others?” Ben repeated, astonished.

“Actually, there’s seven of them. I adopted seven,” Y/N rubbed her temples, realizing that saying this out loud sounded a lot more insane than it did in her head.

“Seven!? You adopted seven hybrids?” Ben hollered through the phone, cursing as he shut himself into a room, likely to yell at her away from Daisy’s ears. “What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how much responsibility and work comes with taking care of that many hybrids?”

Chastised, Y/N sucked her teeth, not liking the tone of condescension threading his voice. She was optimistic, not stupid, and knew that she had her share of difficulties ahead of her.

“Of course I know. I couldn’t just let them get shipped off to their deaths, Ben. Especially when I have the means to care for them,” Y/N ground out through her teeth.

“I get that, Y/N, and I’m aware that you have space for them in that house, but I’m just worried for you, that’s all. I don’t think you’d be too thrilled with me if I informed you I had just adopted seven aggressive hybrids out of the blue,” Ben drove home, a stab of annoyance jolting through her as she reluctantly agreed with him.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t be. But Ben, I promise you, it’s been so far so good today. The three here with me now are nothing but sweet,” Y/N sighed, hoping she could wrap up the conversation before the sun went down.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Part of me is happy for you, but I’m still concerned about how you’ll manage to juggle this. You just quit your job, for Christ’s sake! Can I come by this week to meet them?” The sound of Ben scratching his beard anxiously crackled through the phone.

Meeting the hybrids would likely set Ben’s mind at ease, and Y/N was hoping her friends would welcome them into their circle down the line anyways. Besides, Ben would never stop badgering her about making a half-cocked decision until he sized them up, confirming they were no threat to her. Y/N’s main concern was the wolf hybrid, who had regarded her with hostility; convincing Ben that he was harmless would be no easy feat when she didn’t even know that herself yet.

“Why don’t you come by on Friday with Roy. We can have our end-of-the-summer cookout. I think it would be nice for the hybrids to meet you and enjoy themselves. It’ll give them some time to get acclimated here before then, too.”

Ben exhaled slowly, and Y/N could picture him shaking his head disapprovingly. She picked at her fingernails waiting for his response.

“I forgot about our cookout, of course we’ll come. You have to call Laura and Alice, though. I won’t be the messenger for this bombshell,” Ben warned, though a hint of a smile came through his voice. Relieved, Y/N fist-bumped the air, the worst of the scolding over with.

“Can you bring those special cupcakes again?” Y/N requested cheekily, mouth already watering over lavender cake and s’mores flavored cupcakes – Ben always bought an array.

“I’ll put the order in today. I’m going to have to order about a hundred for the additional mouths, aren’t I?” Ben switched to speaker mode, fingers tapping away at presumably the bakery’s website order form.

“Get extra strawberry ones! Also, bring Daisy along to the cookout. Laura will be bringing Kai, maybe they can be friends,” Y/N offered, hoping to cut some additional tension. Ben chuckled.

“Brilliant idea, Kai’s only a year or so younger than Daisy, and at that age children learn from each other. We’ll be there. Listen, Y/N – I gotta fly. I think Roy is home,” Ben rushed, Roy’s voice floating through the townhouse looking for him. “Be safe. And call me if anything happens.”

“I will. Talk to you tomorrow,” Y/N bid goodbye, Ben calling out to Roy before hanging up. A significant weight lifted off of her shoulders, and her newfound excitement for the cookout next week had her itching to break out her cookbooks.

Every year since she was a kid, her grandparents hosted an end-of-summer cookout at the house. Ben had been attending the cookout for as long as she had, when they were young her grandparent’s friends, her parents, and neighbors filled the backyard with music, good food, and a toasty bonfire. As her grandparents got older, the cookouts became smaller, between Ben, her parents and perhaps a few neighbors, before the event stopped when her grandparents moved out. When Y/N moved into the house a year ago, she and Ben had decided to continue the tradition again, something her parents adored, and neighbors appreciated. Everyone brought something to contribute to the meal, and it was a memorable event Y/N was eager to share with the hybrids. Easing into plans for the cookout seemed to be the way to go when calling her parents, before telling them about the new additional guests.

Standing, Y/N stretched her arms, making her way to the long picnic dining table by the largest willow in the backyard. It could comfortably seat about 30 people, made years ago by her grandfather’s close woodshop hobbyist friend, and was as good a place as any to sit and talk to her parents. Putting the phone on speaker, she brushed a few leaves from the table and noted that it needed a good scrub.

“Honey? How are you?” Her mother picked up her father’s phone, the two always together since his semi-retirement.

“Hi mom! I’m great, is dad with you?”

“Yes, he’s right here! We’re out on the balcony having some tea, autumn is in the air, honey!” Her mother exclaimed, a huge fan of the seasonal holidays.

“Hey, sweetheart! What are you up to? Are you going to host our cookout next week?” Her father piped up, sounding somewhat far away.

“I’m sitting at the cookout table now, dad! How’s Friday looking? That’s when I’m planning on having it,” Y/N shouted like she was trying to reach someone on Mars, her father a bit hard of hearing.

“Friday’s good, honey! Full moon that night, I’ll bring some cards,” her mother crooned. Her mother was a pagan, and often liked to include others in moon rituals when she could; it was very fun growing up.

“Okay, good,” Y/N chuckled, pushing hair from her face.

“Your dad will make the famous mac and cheese! And we’ll bring all of the buns, too, and your mother’s black bean burgers,” her father shouted, his throat hoarse.

“About that… Could you make some extra? There’s going to be a few more people than last year,” Y/N braced herself, hoping that they’d take the news better than Ben.

“Sure, honey, who else will be there? Did you invite your ex-coworkers?” Her mother asked, slurping her tea noisily.

“No, actually. I have some new housemates,” Y/N replied, hiding behind her hands like her parents could see her.

“Oh that’s wonderful, Y/N! Where did you meet them?” Her father exclaimed, joy coloring his voice.

“Well, to tell you the truth, they’re hybrids. I’ve made some adoptions.”

Her mother gasped delightedly, the sound of a teacup clattering onto a saucer making Y/N’s ears ring.

“You did? Oh, darling, didn’t I tell you she would? Didn’t I?” Her mother gushed to her father, who was laughing heartily. That was definitely not the reaction she was expecting, but her mother had been known to have her random premonitions.

“You’re not mad?” Y/N confirmed, eyebrows up in her hairline.

“Of course not, honey! How many are there? We’ll make enough for everybody. I’m signing them up for my book club too! When can I see you for all the details?” Her mother rambled like Y/N did, a habit passed down.

“Seven. I’ll swing by at some point this week and bring them along,” Y/N promised, her father asking her mother loudly how many pounds of pasta he should make. She had severely underestimated her parent’s attitudes towards the adoptions, and had a suspicion they were talking amongst themselves about her solitude behind her back.

“Seven! My goodness, I’ll have to make some more bean burgers and get them in the freezer. Make sure you do some shopping, honey, your fridge is barren. Absolutely barren!”

“Yes, mom. I’m working on it, I’m hoping to get to the store tomorrow,” Y/N rolled her eyes with amusement, swatting a mosquito away from her wrist.

The sun had sunk behind the trees, it must have been close to 4:30, and Y/N’s to-do list was still stretching on and on. With the coming of evening, she started to get even more antsy for the upcoming morning return to the shelter. She wondered who would come back with her, and she hoped they all would.

“I should get going, you guys. I’m going to order some takeout and make a few online orders, the hybrids need a few sets of clothes between now and when we go to the shopping center,” Y/N dragged herself off of the bench, noticing a few lights on on the second floor of the house. The sight warmed her heart, and she was ready to return to the three hybrids waiting for her. They must have finished their tour by now.

“Alright, honey. Give us a call sometime in the next few days, we’re looking forward to seeing you and your new friends! Love you,” her father made a kissy sound through the phone, voice muffled as her mother fumbled for the phone.

“Love you both!” Y/N sang, laughing as her father hung up before her mother could steal her attention for twenty more minutes.

With the phone calls out of the way, Y/N felt like she had climbed a mountain. Crickets began to chirp pleasantly in the uncut lawn, dusk quickly approaching, and Y/N made her way back to the kitchen door and into the warmly lit kitchen. Rummaging through the “junk drawer” under the coffee maker, Y/N grasped the takeout pamphlet for her favorite Thai restaurant in town, thanking the sky for their speedy late-night deliveries. She felt like treating the hybrids to a cozy movie night with some yummy food, curled up in the cushy parlor room browsing menswear on her laptop, before getting a good night’s sleep to prepare for the morning.

Making her way out into the hall, she followed the sound of Jimin’s rugged accent to the sunroom, which was soaking up the height of the evening’s sunset. The red brick flooring cast terracotta about the place, houseplants turning the glass room into something like a cozy treehouse. Seokjin was actually misting a plant with the little glass bottle she had left on the wooden coffee table, Jimin explaining something to do with horse training to Hoseok. The three hadn’t noticed her standing in the doorway, watching as they stood around the spider plant.

Clearing her throat, three pairs of ears twitched right on cue, Seokjin immediately setting the mister down and meeting Y/N halfway across the room. For some reason that surprised her, Seokjin seemed to like having close proximity to her already despite his initial anxiety. His eyes were trained on the pamphlet she was holding.

“I was thinking about watching a couple of movies tonight and ordering out, if you guys want to join me? This Thai place is one of my favorites, it's right in the center of town,” Y/N gave the pamphlet to Seokjin, who brushed his fingers over her’s accidentally, electricity zapping through the skin once again. He hummed looking at the delicious plate of pad see ew on the front of the menu, evidently not noticing the effect his casual touches had on Y/N’s already frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, that sounds really nice,” Jimin confirmed, trying to peer over Seokjin’s broad shoulders at the pamphlet he was holding. “I’ve never had Thai food.”

“Me neither,” Seokjin murmured while he flipped through the menu, quickly handing it to Jimin so he could follow Y/N making her way to the flatscreen in the other room. Hoseok was telling Jimin to get some khao soi, trying to steal away the menu, and Jimin wasn’t having it as he tried to step on Hoseok’s light foot.

The four headed into the parlor room noisily, the large velvety sofa stacked with plenty of cozy knitted throws and fluffy pillows and simply begging to be sunk into. Y/N chose the leather recliner next to the sofa to comfortably surf the web without disrupting the others, pulling a throw over her legs and listening to Hoseok recommend dishes to everybody. Seokjin awkwardly perched himself at the end of the couch closest to Y/N’s recliner, flinching as Hoseok tossed a blanket over his lap for him.

“So jumpy,” Hoseok remarked, wasting no time getting comfortable in the center of the sofa, feet propped up on the upholstered ottoman. Jimin, distractedly lowering himself at the far end of the couch away from Hoseok, continued to flip through the Thai menu with a torn expression – Y/N has been there before trying to pick from the 100 menu items.

She stretched for the remote on the side table beside her and switched the television on. Suddenly, she had that feeling when she was watching something with her parents, saddled with the task of putting something on that everyone could enjoy, and she had no idea what that could be at the moment.

“Uh… what should we watch?” Y/N mumbled, embarrassed. Flicking through her movie library slowly, she noticed that she had been on a crappy 90’s sci fi binge for the past few months, mortification washing over her.

“Anything but that,” Hoseok gasped, lip curled in disgust, pointing at the thumbnail of The Bride of Chucky. Jimin shuddered as he looked up to see what Hoseok was referring to. Pity.

“Okay, so no dolls. Or horror? How about Harry Potter?” Y/N wondered aloud, scrolling to the series’ page. Seokjin shifted beside her, curling his legs underneath him and adjusting the chunky knit throw tighter around his body.

“I’ve only seen bits and pieces of one of them as a kid. Why not?” Hoseok finally tore the menu from Jimin, who was fluffing a pillow next to him to burrow into.

“I’ll watch anything, we didn’t watch much other than local news at the ranch,” Jimin added, reaching to fiddle with the silver hoop in his left ear. Y/N wondered if hybrids could hear from both their animal and human sets of ears, but decided to look it up later rather than ask them.

“Sound good, Seokjin?” Y/N leaned towards him, his sunset eyes darting over the summary of the film on the screen. Ears fluttering, he nodded, offering her a small half-smile.

“Okay! There’s a lot of them, so we can probably get through two of them tonight,” Y/N queued up the movie, readying her laptop as well. “I’ll order the food in like an hour?”

Hoseok gave her a thumbs up, another throw blanket pulled up to his chin like a little burrito with fox ears. There was a pad of paper and pen on her side table, and she passed it to Seokjin to write down his order.

“Put down whatever you’d like here for the order, don’t worry about ordering too much because believe me, I can eat a bottomless amount of Thai food,” Y/N joked, hoping it would inspire them to try whatever they wanted and alleviate Jimin’s indecision written across his face.

With that, Y/N started the movie, kicking up the footrest of her recliner. The hybrids settled into silence, Seokjin hastily scribbling his order down so he could focus on the opening scene with rapt attention.

While the sandwiches were in the oven earlier, with a little research, Y/N had discovered she could simply request the hybrid credit cards using the bank website, saving her from a third lengthy phone call after lunch. Logging onto the website for her local bank, she followed a link to hybrid finances, where a form popped up requesting her to link her account to the applications, as well as the names for the intended hybrids to be printed on the card. At the shelter that morning, Y/N wrote down all of the hybrid’s names in a notes app, so she diligently plugged in all of the necessary information on the forms, picked a reasonable limit for the cards, and selected an emerald green color for the plastic. Double checking all of the spelling and details before submitting the form, Y/N happily checked off one of her to-do’s while making a reminder to be on the lookout for the parcel of cards in the mail over the next couple of days.

Next were the phones. She could get a really great discount ordering seven at once through her grandfather’s company, which was how she got her own phone, plan, and upgrades. Company phones certainly came with perks, but she often found one of her cousins would steal her upgrade – unluckily for them, this time around Y/N would be stealing all of their upgrades for the next few years. Ordering the latest version of the phone she had herself, she figured the hybrids could customize their phones with cases later on rather than picking ones for them. Eyes glazing over at the price even with the company discounts and data plan fee subtracted, she worried at her lip over finding another job as soon as possible.

The phones were to arrive as soon as Monday. Y/N hummed along to the tune playing while Harry and the other first-years crossed the lake into Hogwarts in boats, the soundtrack as familiar as breathing, while googling for a good hybrid menswear website. After a few clicks, she found a site with quality fabrics and next-day shipping, perfect for what she was looking for. Along with the hybrid’s names, she had copied down their measurements and sizes so she could get them things that fit well.

Hoseok, perhaps subconsciously, began to whistle along with Y/N’s humming to the movie. Already, Y/N felt much better having the three hybrids with her – there was something so comforting about the presence of others in the home with her, making the atmosphere feel safe and cozy. Tucking away the warm and fuzzy feeling for later, she got down to business picking out some basic outfits. It was nice to have Jimin, Hoseok, and Seokjin physically there, so she could take their colorings into account when picking out shades for garments, but she found herself wishing she knew what the other four looked like. She’d stick to neutrals for them, maybe picking one or two bright items for fun.

Her cart filled up quickly. For all of them, she selected a pack of socks, undershirts, and underwear to last them for about a week, as well as three sets of checked pajama pants and soft sleep shirts. Keeping in mind the current climate, which was the last gasp of a humid and sweltering summer, she avoided sweaters and thick trousers, as hard as it was to pass up a maroon sweater that would look perfect on Hoseok. She was sure that they would end up picking up fall attire of their own choosing later on, however, Y/N was surprised that it was so difficult to suppress her urge to pick out entire wardrobes for them in one go.

A pair of jeans for each hybrid in a classic wash seemed appropriate, as well as two pairs of shorts, another pair of sweatpants, and some linen pants to beat the heat. Moving onto shirts, Y/N picked out three basic tees each, a hoodie, and one long sleeve heavy cotton shirt per hybrid. For Seokjin, she added a lavender v-neck that would complement his fiery eye color, a rustic looking beige linen button down for Jimin, and a sage green thin thermal for Hoseok. She randomly picked other shirts that caught her eye for the remaining four in their sizes, hoping that the colors weren’t ones they despised, and added some basic slides for each of them for kicking around the house. Before she could go too crazy, she checked out and made sure the order would be on the doorstep come morning.

“Who’s that?” Jimin vocalized suddenly, confusion dripping from his tone. Y/N peeked up at the screen, shooting a glance at the three sprawled on the couch, Hoseok tsking at Jimin.

“That’s Dumbledore, from the beginning, remember? He’s the headmaster,” Seokjin replied, not even sparing the coyote hybrid a glance. Y/N snorted softly, Jimin’s eyebrows still pulling together in perplexion. Seokjin, it seemed, was trying very hard to analyze every detail of the movie as if he was going to be quizzed on it.

“Yeah, Jimin, get with the program,” Hoseok chided, elbowing him in the rib and joining Y/N in her snickers of amusement.

“Should I order the food now?” Y/N checked her watch, it was half past eight, and her stomach was already starting to rumble again. She was also dying for a Saturday night cocktail.

“Sure – Jin, give her the paper,” Hoseok lobbed the pad of paper at Seokjin’s shoulder, crossing his legs so he could tuck them under himself. Lip curling with annoyance at Hoseok, Seokjin leaned down to pluck the paper that had floated to the floor and offered it to Y/N, eyes wandering curiously over her laptop.

“Thank you, Seokjin,” Y/N murmured, careful not to touch his skin again. The last thing she needed was another round of flustering emotions coursing through her.

Skimming the list of orders written in three unique hands, Y/N hid a small smile behind her laptop at the items they had picked. Some of them were her favorites, others she hadn’t had the chance to try yet, and they had picked out a pretty decent spread. She would definitely sneak in a few more appetizers and a dessert as a treat, bringing up the ordering website and filling out the delivery instructions. It would take a little less than an hour for everything to arrive, and Y/N was feeling thirsty, so she set her laptop aside and got up from her chair to skip over to the bar cart by the TV.

“Do you guys drink?” Y/N wondered aloud, assessing the dwindling supply of liquor she had left. She had felt Jimin’s stare boring into her back as soon as she approached the bar cart, hoping that he’d be brave enough to speak up if he wanted a drink.

“What do you have?” Jumping at Hoseok’s voice beside her, like he had materialized out of thin air, she pressed a hand to her chest as he winked apologetically. Recovering, Y/N kneeled, sifting through the bottles of bitters and mixers.

“Hmm… I have some vodka, a little gin, and there’s some whiskey back here, too. I might have a few stray bottles of beer in the fridge, maybe a bottle of wine as well?” Y/N was repelled by the gin from her adventures the previous night, selecting the vodka and cranberry seltzer for herself. Hoseok was examining a highball glass, offering Y/N a hand getting up while she struggled with the two bottles. He took the handle of vodka, firmly grasping her hand and pulling her up.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” Hoseok’s warm hand slid from her’s, turning to look back at the couch. “Jimin, let me guess. Whiskey,” Jimin looked like he wanted to throw a pillow at the fox hybrid, cheeks red. Y/N assumed Hoseok had guessed correctly.

“I’ll get some ice,” Y/N began to move towards the kitchen before Hoseok grabbed her by the hand again. Whirling, Y/N wondered how long she could take Hoseok’s cheeky winking.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go get it,” Hoseok stopped her, swiftly disappearing down the hall. Stunned, she tried to shake off the way stars seemed to dance in his warm eyes whenever he caught her off guard.

He returned almost as quickly as he left, somehow locating the ice bucket she stashed away under the sink, and with the chilled bottle of pinot grigio tucked under his arm. Thanking him, she plunked ice into three small tumblers, pouring a generous amount of whiskey for Jimin and mixing the cocktail for herself and Hoseok. The latter wordlessly poured a nice glass of wine into a glass from the back of the cart, ambling over to Seokjin.

“For you, Jinnie,” Hoseok extended the glass to him, trying his best not to block Seokjin’s view of the movie. Hesitantly, he accepted the drink, shooting Hoseok another dirty look at the nickname.

“Don’t call me that. It’s horrendous,” Seokjin scolded, taking a sip and pushing Hoseok away with his foot. Ducking under the screen, Y/N delivered Jimin and Hoseok their drinks, Jimin gratefully taking the glass with another blinding smile.

After returning to her chair with her drink, Y/N sighed happily, keeping her laptop powered down. Her eyes were starting to cross from staring at it for too long, and she wanted to enjoy the most exciting part of the movie. Sipping her drink, she tapped out a quick email on her phone to the local salon, inquiring about stylists available for seven cuts next week, effectively accomplishing all she had set out to do that day.

Curling up, Y/N cradled her drink as she focused back on the movie. She stole a few glances at the three on the couch, light from the TV illuminating the perfect upturned slope of Hoseok’s nose and Seokjin’s dark lashes. They looked very cozy, blankets and pillows strewn about and cheeks rosy from their drinks.

Y/N couldn’t believe how well things were going so far. A tiny part of her was set on edge, preparing for something to go wrong – perhaps her saying something to offend or a fight between the hybrids themselves. Trying to push away thoughts that had little evidence to support their outcome, Y/N instead began to think about the four hybrids back at the shelter. Guilt still festered within her that they had to stay another night, but she would have felt worse if she had forced them all to come with her right off the bat. In fact, she counted herself lucky that three with her currently seemed to like her already, which was infinitely better than the forced toleration she thought she was going to receive. She was trying to find the words she would use later on to ask them about the others in the shelter, without ruining the comfortable ambience they had built up.

Onscreen was Harry facing off Professor Quirrell in the climax of the film, the only sounds coming from the dialogue and Hoseok graciously pouring Seokjin another glass of wine. Their dynamic was interesting; Seokjin seemed to regard Hoseok as an overactive little brother, while the fox hybrid definitely enjoyed pushing the jaguar’s buttons and catering to him at the same time. Jimin, at the other end of the couch, still looked lost trying to keep up with the movie plot, his wrist dangling over the armrest swirling whiskey around in his glass contemplatively. His butterscotch eyes were narrowed, a pointer finger tracing over his lower lip slowly while bright lights of the onscreen magic cast beautifully over him no matter the color.

Moments later the heavy brass clanging of the knocker affixed to the front door made Seokjin cringe out of his seat, panic settling over his smooth features and miraculously not spilling the glass of wine in his hand. Alarmed, Y/N stood, assessing the frightened flicker of his tail and the way his ears pressed flat against his skull, the other two alert from the source of the sound but watching Seokjin with concern.

“Seokjin, honey, that’s the Thai food,” Y/N said gently, a tentative hand on his upper arm as she offered him a small smile. He uttered a small oh, hastily putting his glass down, expression still scandalized. The sudden loud noise triggered a response within him that Y/N had seen before in animals she had treated, usually ones that came from zoos that had trick shows. Tabling the issue, and not wanting to make assumptions, Y/N gave his arm a final pat, heading to the front of the house to relieve the delivery man.

“H-hold on, I’ll help,” Seokjin hurried after her, shaking his head quickly as if to compose himself.

Feeling him at her heels, Y/N hummed a tune, swinging the heavy front door open. To her surprise, the delivery man had left the two large paper bags stuffed with containers, as well as a small plastic bag filled with freebies, right on the porch. Before she could move, Seokjin darted out to the porch, scooping up the two paper bags and blowing his overgrown wavy bangs out of his eyes. Giggling, Y/N thanked the universe he had recovered from his fright almost as quickly as it happened, waiting for her in the threshold as she scooped up the bag of sauces, chopsticks, and free mango sticky rice the restaurant owners generously added to her large order.

Holding the door open for her, Seokjin closed it after she hopped into the foyer with his hip. Back in the living room, she had him set the bags on the table, her mouth salivating as the scent of lemongrass filled the room. Unpacking the containers one by one, she admired the spread: pad thai, tom kha kai, pad see ew, a few containers of khao pad, two curries, three orders of spring rolls and the mango sticky rice. Y/N had no idea where to start, figuring they could all have bites of everything, and sat directly on the floor in front of the coffee table.

The second Harry Potter movie was already queued up, Y/N dialing the volume down while they ate so she could finally fish around for information about the remaining four at the shelter. Seokjin eased himself down next to Y/N, his tail curling around the foot of the coffee table. Jimin, in a similar fashion, dropped to the floor on the other side of Y/N, back to the movie. Grinning to herself, she concluded that he had given up on following the plot.

A strong hand placed her drink down in front of her, refilled and even containing a straw. Looming over her was Hoseok, enjoying his own beverage, humming in acknowledgement of Y/N’s surprised thank you. With him sitting across from her, she motioned for them to dig in, taking a nice sip of her drink while watching Jimin inspect a crispy spring roll. Hoseok made the cocktail taste leagues better than she ever could, somehow.

Munching on a bean sprout from the pad thai in front of her, Seokjin broke apart his wooden chopsticks and accepted the container khao pad Jimin passed to him. Minutes passed of the four exchanging boxes of food and little cups of sauce amicably, Hoseok going straight for the mango sticky rice before anything else.

“Guys, can I ask you a few questions about the others back at the shelter?” Y/N swiped a spring roll in the carton by Seokjin, trying to look as nonchalant as she could. Jimin made a noise as he chewed on a mouthful of rice, nodding while Hoseok surreptitiously shoveled a giant clump of noodles past his lips, ducking his head.

“Well, I only got to the shelter a little over a week ago. Seokjin and Hoseok were already there, and I think that Yoongi has been there the longest…” Jimin recalled, staring up at the ceiling in an attempt to remember the sequence of events. “I like Yoongi, he’s the only one who would actually talk to me, apart from Hoseok and Seokjin, of course,” he finished, taking a long sip of whiskey.

“Yoongi’s alright. Doesn’t get my jokes, though,” Hoseok added, pushing a sprig of cilantro around on a takeout lid.

“How about Taehyung?” Y/N pressed, setting her chopsticks down.

“He was brought in on the same day as Jeongguk– the elk– on Monday. He hasn’t spoken a word, even when he shifted a few times and I asked where he was from,” Jimin answered, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. Y/N poured him a new glass of whiskey, hoping she wasn’t liquoring them up too much.

“That kid is strange. Like, more bizarre than Jin,” Hoseok stressed, face screwed up in over-dramatic seriousness. Seokjin threw a napkin in his face.

“Maybe he just doesn’t trust you, nasty fox,” Seokjin scolded, clearing away a polished off container of spring rolls into one of the paper bags, ignoring the genuinely insulted expression on Hoseok’s face.

“Alright, enough of that, you two,” Y/N warned, turning to Jimin for the more detailed answers to her questions. “The shopkeeper didn’t seem to like Taehyung very much. In fact, he didn’t want to be within ten feet of him, any idea why?”

“I’m not sure why. He did show up with some bloody clothes, though, maybe he got in a fight on the street. The humans couldn’t have seen the blood, I think it was probably still on the black jacket he was wearing, but we all could smell it. Human blood,” Jimin grimaced, leaning back on his palms. Seokjin shifted next to Y/N uncomfortably.

“Well, since we don’t know what happened, I wouldn’t race to any conclusions. For all we know, he could have been defending himself,” Y/N encouraged cheerily, Hoseok shaking his head while stabbing a piece of mango with his chopsticks.

“As for Jeongguk… what little he has said, well, I’m not about to repeat in front of a woman,” Jimin sighed, watching Seokjin continue to busy himself with cleaning up the coffee table. Y/N scoffed, not having the heart to tell him she swore like an 18th century sailor.

“Jeongguk is definitely an angry son of a bitch. He and Yoongi had a spat the day Jeongguk arrived,” Hoseok voiced, downing his drink and pulling his eyebrows together at the bitter vodka floating at the bottom of the glass. Jimin frowned at Hoseok’s cursing, but chose to hold his tongue.

“About?” Y/N wondered, helping Seokjin pick scraps off of the table.

“Who knows? I was in the bathroom when they started hissing at each other. Yoongi is pretty mild-tempered, so it must have been over something personal. Jeongguk makes a lot of assumptions, when he does open his mouth,” Hoseok waved his hand, Jimin nodding in agreement.

“I was pretty out of it, even then. Jeongguk said something about Yoongi being pampered, which is rich considering Yoongi looks like he hasn’t had a square meal in months,” Seokjin added surprisingly, a dark look crossing over his face. So, Jeongguk was not well liked.

Considering this, Y/N stirred her drink, savoring the last of Hoseok’s creation. She could handle bickering, but often got herself in trouble by being unable to back down from confronting bullies. The last thing she wanted was to get on the bad side of any of the hybrids, but she wouldn’t allow them to tear each other to pieces, verbally and physically – she foresaw some altercations between herself and the elk hybrid already. As for Taehyung, the little information she got wasn’t entirely helpful at the current moment, but certainly triggered her curiosity. She was set at ease by the hybrid’s insistence that Yoongi was amicable, at least.

“Then there’s Namjoon,” Seokjin reminded her quietly, eyeing Hoseok, who was suddenly immersed in the movie on the screen, ears angled to the television. Namjoon, the wolf hybrid, the one Y/N was most nervous to bring up. Noticing the way she clumsily dumped some bean sprouts from a takeout lid on the floor at the mention of the wolf hybrid’s name, Seokjin reached back, offering her a sip of his wine by bringing the glass close to her face. Humming, Y/N took the glass without thinking too much about it, the cool sweetness of the wine braving her.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Y/N lamented, giving Seokjin his glass back. Chuckling, Seokjin took the last sip of the wine, his thick lips wrapping around the same spot her’s had touched seconds before. Tips of her ears burning, she stole some mango from Hoseok while he studied the movie a little too hard.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t like anybody,” Seokjin assured her, pouring yet more wine for himself.

“He was the last of us to get to the shelter. They brought him in Thursday morning, the day before you came in,” Jimin recounted, stretching his arms out languidly. “Brought him in as a wolf, which was pretty bizarre. The rest of us were shifted when we first came in, but Namjoon hasn’t shifted at all since he got to the shelter. Don’t even know what he looks like, honestly, I thought he was just an actual wolf, at first.”

Hoseok was stiff as a board, his usual lax posture replaced with a rigid spine and white knuckles gripping his empty glass. Y/N blindly reached for the vodka handle on the bar cart, wordlessly pouring a heavy handed shot into his glass across the table. Forcing a tight smile on his face, Hoseok basically poured the liquor down his throat, remaining silent.

“So, you guys know about as much as I do about him, then,” Y/N tried to keep the disappointment out of her tone.

“All I can say is, he definitely behaves like a wild wolf that I’ve seen at Yellowstone. Ornery and distrustful,” Jimin rubbed his eye, stifling a yawn. It had gotten pretty late, but Y/N was feeling wired, armed with a few new bits of information to ready her for the morning. Hoseok’s silence on the topic of Namjoon had also given her an inkling that the two had an instance of bad blood, but he was sufficiently clammed up and wouldn’t even make eye contact with her as they all began to return to their previous seats on the furniture.

Once the conversation surrounding the hybrids back in the shelter had ceased, Hoseok slowly unthawed, cracking a few more jokes at Seokjin’s expense as the jaguar hybrid’s eyes began to slip closed periodically even as he tried very hard to follow the rest of the movie. When the credits rolled, Hoseok carted the used drink glasses to the kitchen and washed them while Jimin arranged the bottles of booze back on the bar cart.

“What time do you want to head out in the morning?” Hoseok asked Y/N upon his return to the parlor, his flushed face sleepy and softened. Balancing a wobbling tower of leftovers, Y/N calculated travel time with traffic.

“I think seven will give us plenty of time to get there when the shelter opens, I’ll meet you by the front door,” she replied, wanting to push away the stray lock of hair over his eye.

“Sounds good. You should get some more sleep, now,” Hoseok steadied her for what seemed the thirtieth time that day, his solid grip on her waist preventing her from crashing into the coffee table. Sheepishly, she ducked her head, agreeing, and pondered if she should take up yoga again so she would stop wobbling all over the place like a lunatic.

“You too. Goodnight, Hoseok,” she smiled, Hoseok returning the sentiment, before disappearing in the direction of the basement. Jimin, in a similar manner, bade her a good night and thanked her for the delicious dinner, promising to write a list of necessities for the morning trip to the drugstore upon her request. His eyes were almost shut completely as he stumbled his way out of the parlor, taking a wrong turn down the hall before correcting himself in the opposite direction.

Seokjin stayed behind, carrying the garbage to the kitchen while Y/N stacked the leftovers in the fridge. Beside her, Seokjin slid the near-empty bottle of wine into the fridge, his hip accidentally bumping her into the shelf door. He was tipsy, apologizing profusely and giggling uncontrollably all the while. Y/N tossed him a bottle of water, which he caught against all odds, leaning back against the stove while he uncapped the bottle. She was still bothered by Hoseok’s sudden change in demeanor earlier, considering he was the one who kept things upbeat the whole day. Seokjin, under the influence and apparently eager to assist, was the perfect candidate to squeeze out a reason at the moment– his closeness with Hoseok the cherry on top.

“So… what was with Hoseok when you brought up Namjoon?” Y/N asked, only feeling partly guilty for taking advantage of Seokjin’s relaxed demeanor. Fiery eyes narrowing as he processed the question, Seokjin considered while peering into the foyer to ensure the basement door was closed. Slyly, he put a finger to his lips, motioning her closer with the same finger. Curiously, Y/N approached him as he stooped down to whisper to her, hand on on her shoulder to keep her put.

“Hoseok… he’s terrified of wolves.”

In the snow, Y/N could hardly see a foot in front of her as she ran, sharp shards of ice raining down from the sky paving her precarious path and stinging her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks hotly, chest tight as she tried her best to dash away, away, but her legs were never fast enough. At least, not fast enough to make an escape, to outrun her pursuer, and he was hot on her heels. As she turned back to gauge his distance through the withered trees, a furious roar from inches away wracked a sob from deep within her. Her foot got caught in an exposed root as she desperately tried to get away, a sickening crunch and agonized scream ripped from her throat as she dropped like a rock. Her ankle bone had broken through the skin grotesquely, the tendons raw and exposed piercing through her flesh. As blood pooled around her trembling form, her vision grew blurry, hot breath by her neck as her pursuer closed in on her, saliva dripping from blood-tipped fangs. Tearfully, she knew this was the end, the creature snapping its jaw, tasting her blood as it soaked the snow around her. In her final moment, she wanted to look her executioner in the eye; the last glimpse of the golden sun held within them.

Gasping, Y/N shot up in bed, heart pounding as she pressed a shaky hand to her chest. With the other, she tore off her quilt and examined her right ankle, which was very much still intact. A horrifying nightmare to say the least, Y/N pressed both hands to the back of her cold-sweat soaked neck shakily. She hadn’t had a nightmare like that in years, catching her off guard completely. Blinking rapidly, Y/N pulled her quilt up around her shoulders, scanning the room to calm herself down. Returning to sleep was not an option after all of that, but luckily a drizzly dawn had begun to trickle through her curtains. It was a hell of a way to start the day, especially with her itinerary, but the silver lining was more time to prepare herself for the morning.

Showering off the nightmare seemed like her wisest choice, inhaling the calming scent of eucalyptus hanging from her showerhead as she boiled her skin under steamy water. For some reason, she could tangibly feel the blizzard from her dream sinking into her bones, her subconscious torturing her for late-night drinking two days in a row, presumably.

Drawing her curtains open to peek at the sky, inky clouds hovered above the treeline, light rain falling. Gingerly, she sat on her bed in her towel as she applied her lotion, hearing a soft thump from the basement. Her heart began to race again before she remembered Hoseok, who was probably getting ready himself, and cursed herself for being so jumpy. In the mirror over her dresser, dark circles and a pallor to her complexion reflected her jarring wake-up call. Mumbling, she rubbed some blush onto her cheeks and dotted concealer under her eyes to mask the evidence, throwing on a thin hooded sweater and jeans.

Yawning as she left her bedroom to find some sneakers to slip on, Y/N tried her best to tip-toe past Seokjin’s closed door, not wanting to disturb him at the early hour. Before she and Hoseok left, she wanted to leave out something for the other two hybrids to have for breakfast. Blindly, she searched the cabinets in the kitchen for anything worthwhile, coming up with a jar of granola. Setting it on the bar with dismay, she wrote a note using a sticky pad, noting that there were eggs and a stray tub of vanilla yogurt in the fridge they could help themselves to. Maybe they could make a parfait with the fruit left in the bowl next to the sink, or a few scrambled eggs with toast in the breadbox. She turned on the coffeemaker so they could have some hot coffee when they woke up, hoping it would make up for her and Hoseok making a Dunkin’ run without them.

Y/N heard the basement door gently close, quickly dashing into the hallway to meet the fox hybrid. Standing by the front door, Hoseok had a lock of hair sticking straight up on the back of his head, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

“Good morning,” Y/N whispered, peering down the hallway to make sure she hadn’t woken Jimin. Hoseok yawned, tail stiff as he stretched his arms behind his head sleepily.

“Morning, you were up early,” Hoseok remarked in a sleep-thickened voice, watching her skitter away from his searching eyes to grab her car keys off the peg by the door. Grimacing, Y/N grasped a couple of umbrellas, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Mm. I guess I’m still used to my morning routine from work,” Y/N answered softly, unlatching the front door and letting Hoseok out. He made a small noise of surprise on the porch, pointing at the ginormous box sitting on the stoop. That would be their clothes, right on time.

“Oh! I should probably bring this in, I don’t want it to get wet,” Y/N eyed the rain leaking in from the weathered slats of the porch roof. The box was cumbersome, Hoseok shaking his head and chuckling at her as she attempted to heave it over the stoop.

“Are you going to let me help you, or should I watch you struggle?” Snapping her head up, she shot Hoseok a look somewhere between disbelief and a scowl, his arms crossed while leaning against one of the porch beams. A smirk danced upon his lips, eyes teasingly squinted.

“Help. Please,” she hung her head in exasperation when she saw the fox hybrid wasn’t budging upon her silence.

Clearing his throat lightly, he was at her side in an instant, bending down to lift the box with her into the entrance of the house. A sharp grunt coming from the back of his throat, lean muscle strained the sleeves of his tee as he lowered the box on the floor, careful not to drop it on Y/N’s foot.

Gravel crunched wetly under Y/N’s sneakers trudging to her car, still reeling from Hoseok’s shameless provocation. It had been an embarrassingly long time since Y/N had interacted with men apart from Ben, Roy, and her father; she had lost her ability to engage in flirtatious banter, if that was what that was. Hoseok was heartbreakingly beautiful and clever as a whip, in comparison to her bumbling rambling and clumsiness Y/N was downright disappointed in herself. What happened to the girl in undergrad who threw caution to the wind and slipped sexy bartenders her number, who challenged herself to charm the subject of her desire into putty in her hands? Was she really that out of touch with her romantic skills? Rain soaked through her hood, dampening her mood further as she considered listening to a god-awful podcast for flirting tips in the future. The thought made her miserable.

She led Hoseok to her car, a powder blue 1986 Toyota Land Cruiser that belonged to her father, which had a rear window that would not open and a dented fender. Y/N preferred the look of older car models, more like works of art rather than gray lumps of chrome, and her dad’s old car was free. It made her feel like she was in an old storm chasing movie from the 80’s every time she went for a drive, which was a fun bonus. Unlocking the doors, Y/N slid into the cigarette scented leather seats, the worn material soft and comforting. Hoseok climbed in next to her, twisting around to check out the back seat, empty besides a stray serape blanket for her occasional picnics.

“Wonder who will come with us today… probably Yoongi. I don’t know what was with the pouting yesterday, he could have eaten something other than a ham sandwich Gerry threw at us twice a day,” Hoseok fastened his seatbelt, bringing an ankle up to cross over his knee.

“Are you serious? That’s all you got?” Appalled, Y/N turned the engine over, jaw hanging loose. She felt like running Gerry over with her Land Cruiser. “What the fuck is wrong with that guy? He ought to be shot.”

Hoseok made a startled noise in the back of his throat, studiously looking out the window as he appeared to be holding back a laugh with his ears turned down. Away from Jimin, she felt she could swear freely again without him clutching his pearls– though he’d hear them soon enough, she predicted. Starting down the road with rain pelting the windshield, the wipers dragged through the water sluggishly, needing a replacement.

“Well, I’m sure Jeongguk would agree with that sentiment. He’s missed a few sandwiches for telling Gerry to pound sand up his ass.”

“I’m liking Jeongguk a bit more now.”

“Oh yeah? Hopefully you won’t have to eat those words,” Hoseok raised an eyebrow playfully, Y/N rolling her eyes as she passed through the town center.

“I grew up with a lot of male cousins, a lot of them talked trash constantly. I can handle a brat,” Y/N responded, recalling her eldest male cousin’s jabs directed precisely on her insecurities. Her skin was thicker because of it, at least.

“Brat is a generous word for Jeongguk. Dick suits him just fine,” Hoseok mused, expression thoughtful.

“We’ll see, maybe he’ll have a fit or two and get it out of his system. I can hope, at least,” Y/N sighed, giving Jeongguk the benefit of the doubt until she spoke to him herself. Hoseok fell quiet, checking out a paperback book Y/N had left on the floor by his feet. She wasn’t sure what book it was, she prayed it wasn’t a trashy romance novel recommended to her by the internet.

The best part of the morning was the promise of not having to deal with Murphy and his precarious driving skills now that she was driving in with her own transportation. There was enough space for the remaining four hybrids to sit in the back of the car, thankfully. She’d rather chew glass than ask Gerry for any more favors; he’d be lucky if he had teeth by the time she finished business with him.

“Oh, this is from Jimin. He brought this down to me late last night,” Hoseok pulled a folded piece of paper from his sweatpants pocket, placing it in the cupholder. “All he wrote was ‘toothbrush and toothpaste’, humble cowboy.”

“We’ll stop by CVS on the way back for toiletries, I should get some more gauze for Seokjin. I’m sure you need some things as well, Hoseok,” Y/N grinned, noticing his ear twitching out of the corner of her eye. Chortling, Y/N shook her head, halting at a red light and gesturing to the glove box.“I have some CDs in there, wanna pick one?”

Curiously, Hoseok leafed through the plastic cases, the clacking sound of him rapidly searching through the albums making her wonder which ones she still had in her car. Hopefully not just Christmas and midwestern emo music. The light turned green, and she was forced to tear her eyes from Hoseok’s contemplative profile.

“Metallica, Dio, Black Sabbath… What year were you born, again?” Y/N winced, feeling like she was in high school band class again with Beatles snobs.

“Listen. Sometimes you just need to blow off steam screaming to War Pigs after a bad shift!” Snorting, Hoseok continued to sort through the CDs while Y/N drove on.

“I suppose, if you’re a father of three in the eighties,” Hoseok murmured, flipping over the back of an unlabeled mixed tape.

Moments later he slid a CD into the player, tucking the case under his leg. Trying to peek at what he picked out, she squeaked as his palm came up next to her face, blocking her view.

“Eyes on the road, darling, it’s a surprise!” Hoseok exclaimed, fingers punching buttons on the radio and jacking up the volume. He was lucky she didn’t drive off of the road with that remark, her face so hot she had to roll the window down, not caring if rain soaked her to her bones. Hoseok didn’t seem to notice her fluster as she leaned out of the window, nearly swerving off of the highway as a motorcycle zoomed by and startled her. The Beach Boys began to play sunnily through the old speakers, a smile spreading across her face as the rain ran down her cheeks, cooling the flesh.

“Good choice,” Y/N praised, unable to look him in the eye yet. Pretending to focus on navigating the highway into Boston, she hummed along to the opening track.

“Since summer’s almost over, it was only right.”

“Is summer your favorite?”

“Of course! Who doesn’t like more sun, longer days, and fruit?” Considering this, Y/N agreed with him, however partial she was to autumn.

“You have a point, you’d get along well with my dad for those reasons alone,” Y/N pulled off the ramp into Chinatown, only minutes away from their destination. She started to get antsy in her seat with anticipation. Hoseok drummed his fingers against the door to the tune of the music, apparently satisfied with the amount of teasing he doled out.

Before she knew it, they were parked in front of the shelter, Y/N nervously straightening out her sweater. Hoseok stared at the weathered shop sign with disgust, grip on one of the umbrellas tightening and untightening.

“Shall we?” Y/N cracked her door open, Hoseok giving her a tight nod before exiting the vehicle with the umbrella.

The shop was open already, the door propped open with a wooden wedge and Gerry stocking boxes of shoes into the cubbies by the window. Hoseok slowly entered the building behind her, sticking close to her proximity. A loud football game played on the tiny TV mounted to the wall, Gerry grumbling at it when he spotted Y/N and Hoseok.

“Ah! My new favorite customer,” Gerry exclaimed as they floundered near the register, palpable anxiety radiating from Hoseok. “I see youse brought one back, how’s he holdin’ up for you?” Gerry looked Hoseok up and down with a suspicious glint in his eye, Y/N grinding her teeth as she bit back a curse directed at the bastardly old man.

“He’s great, thank you,” Y/N managed.

“Go on and ‘ead to the back. Need me to call up Murph again?” Gerry asked eagerly, reaching for his phone on the desk. Y/N shook her head, jabbing her thumb towards her car parked outside.

“I have my own transport, from now on,” Y/N began towards the back room, carefully watching Hoseok drag his feet next to her. Gerry shrugged and remained in the front of the store, shouting at the TV.

The door to the four remaining hybrids was already open, keys to the cells handing tantalizingly from the knob. Hoseok ran a hand through his mahogany locks as he looked to the ceiling like he was praying for an angel’s protection, and Y/N was reminded of Seokjin’s words from the night before; Hoseok… he’s terrified of wolves. Pocketing the keys, Y/N pushed her way into the room, butterflies rattling around in her stomach for both herself and the fox hybrid.

“Hate to say I told you so after all your bitching, Jeongguk. She even came back with Hoseok alive,” a gravelly, unfamiliar voice chided to her left, Y/N seeking the owner of the voice straight away.

On the bed, a lithe figure leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, a long spotted tail flicking languidly like a satisfied cat. Probing hazel-green narrowed eyes watched her with an arched brow, a smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. His ears were similarly spotted to his tail, blending into the long black tresses framing his face, and he was fully dressed in the outfit Y/N had picked out the day before.

“Yoongi, why would I be dead? Does she really look like a murderer to you?” Hoseok pulled his eyebrows together incredulously, cocking his head. Yoongi stood, nodding to his right.

“No, but he said you all were off to the chop shop,” Yoongi leaned against his cell door, veined hands coming through the bars to clasp together on the outside. Floored, Y/N stepped out from behind Hoseok, wanting to get a look at the elk hybrid and ask what about her read Freddy Kruger.

Sitting on the edge of his bed was Jeongguk, a man about the same age as Y/N. Most notably as far as his appearance went was the pair of elegant velvet antlers encircling his head like an esoteric crown amongst layered mixed chestnut hair. Heavily tattooed elbows leaning on his knees, Jeongguk was shaking his head at the floor, a deep scowl darkening his face. Backtracking on her confrontation, noticing the ring hugging his lower lip, Y/N inched closer to Hoseok, who peered down at her curiously.

“Hardly. What, do you think we’re living in a James Wan film, Jeongguk?” Hoseok’s hands landed on his hips, tutting at the elk hybrid. Finally snapping his head up to curl his nose into a snarl at Hoseok, Y/N caught the glint of a barbell threaded through the arch of Jeongguk’s left eyebrow.

“I’m not one to be as trusting of a fool as you, fox,” Jeongguk bit back, midnight eyes boring a hole into Hoseok’s face. His sight landed on Y/N, tugging on the hem of her sweater, uncomfortable with the clear distaste written all over his face while assessing her. “How am I supposed to know the motivations behind a girl so injudicious as to adopt seven male hybrids without even meeting them first?”

Blood draining from her face, Y/N took a step backwards at the venom dripping from his tone. So, her few hours conflict-free had ended, and she was in the line of fire. Stiffening, Hoseok cast a look back at her, offering her a soft half-smile; hopefully you won’t have to eat those words.

“Oh, just shut up, would you rather be running in the woods from some asshole in a polo shirt with an automatic rifle?” Yoongi groaned, running a wiry hand through his hair tiredly. Jeongguk cursed at Yoongi under his breath, then fell back into silence. Swallowing hard, Y/N tried to piece together the fragments of her courage, seeking out the other two hybrids behind her.

Watching the spectacle unfold quietly was Taehyung on the bed in his corner cell, laying on his back with his hands clasped on his stomach. His expression was placid as he twiddled his thumbs, cocking his head as his eyes caught Y/N’s. Roaming over her, he absently wet his lips with a sliver of tongue, his strange red-brown irises soulful and deep. Y/N recalled that he hadn’t spoken at all during his time spent at the shelter, so she was highly doubtful that he would chime in on Jeongguk’s verbal evaluation of her, though it looked like he had questions burning in his eyes.

“Yoongi, how long do you plan on staying here? Are you coming today?” Hoseok spoke up, tapping a foot on the concrete floor. Y/N nodded once in hello to Taehyung, who blinked at her stoically, blowing a piece of dark hair from his eyes.

“Well, she seems persistent; I thought for sure she’d be back by late afternoon yesterday to dump you all back here. Now that you’re here and breathing… I can’t choke down one more of those sandwiches,” Yoongi complained, although not confirming he was to join them outright.

Y/N stalked off to the far corner of the room, mustering up the confidence to say hello to Namjoon, equally as silent as Taehyung and out of view. Stopping short, she squeaked, noticing the neatly folded pile of clothes and shoe box still sitting outside of his cell, untouched. Disappointment sunk in her stomach, peering into Namjoon’s cell, where he was curled up in a ball, facing away from the center of the room. She knew he was awake, the exchanges between everyone not exactly whispers, so he was actively ignoring them. Still in his wolf form, Y/N wondered how long he could sustain himself, Seokjin’s confession that hybrids staying in their animal form for too long became uncomfortable popping up in her subconscious. Shuffling her feet, Y/N tried not to look crestfallen, returning to Hoseok’s side.

“So, will you come with us, Yoongi?” Y/N asked hopefully, pushing away the possibility that she may have to return to the shelter for several days to come. She wasn’t sure what she could do to win enough trust from Namjoon to at least look at her, let alone shift, but she was beginning to worry for him. If he had arrived on Thursday, he would have been living as a wolf for two whole days already, and possibly longer.

Yoongi considered for a moment, casting a look around his cell, before shrugging.

“Might as well,” he conceded, hands diving into his sweatpants pockets. Smiling as brightly as she could, she retrieved the keys to his cell from her own pocket, freeing him from the space, watching him stroll out lazily. With narrowed eyes, he looked down at her, kaleidoscope eyes taking in her likely poorly masked worry.

“You said it’s Y/N, right?” He confirmed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s right,” she shifted her weight, the hollowness of his cheeks making her heart clench. Clearing her throat, she gazed past him, reading the expectant look on Jeongguk’s face.

“How about you, Jeongguk? I can see you’re not a fan of me, but at least you can get out of here,” she stated bravely, proud that she could keep her voice from wavering. An eyebrow arched with her words, Jeongguk rose to his feet, studying her head to toe once more.

“Fine,” was all he said, after a deep sigh. Tentatively, she unlocked his door as well, letting him push the iron bars towards her. He was even more intimidating inches away, muscular and imposing, making his way to the mouth of the door leading out. Hoseok patted her back awkwardly, as if to congratulate her on her bravery. She was extremely grateful to have him with her at that moment.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N shook off her nerves, making her way back to Taehyung, who was standing by his door with his graceful fingers wrapped around the bars.

“You too?” She exclaimed, pleasantly surprised. Blinking at her again, he gestured to the lock, which she hastily made short work of with the keys. Hoseok was snorting with laughter, saying something to Yoongi about making up a sign language to interact with the bear hybrid.

Taehyung quickly left his cell, expression relieved as he walked into the open area of the room, but kept his distance from everybody. Y/N could hardly see his rounded ears atop his head, hiding amongst a cloud of curly black hair, and if it weren’t for the day before seeing him in his other form she would have written him off as fully human immediately.

“Good luck with him,” Yoongi nodded towards Namjoon, looking pointedly at the stack of clothes outside of his cell. Gritting her teeth, she stood a little taller, preparing to give another speech to someone who couldn’t (and wouldn’t) respond. Fishing around in her pocket, she grasped a hold of her car keys, approaching Hoseok.

“Here, Hoseok. Do you mind starting up the car for me? I’ll be out in just a minute,” Y/N sighed, the fox hybrid examining her face with an ounce of concern. He took the keys from her hand without a word, and she offered Yoongi the umbrella she was holding. Yoongi stared at her incredulously, gaze shifting from her to Hoseok suspiciously, tucking the damp umbrella under his arm.

“The asshole who runs this dump has some of my stuff in a bag in his office,” Jeongguk spoke from the door suddenly, eyes trained on the door down the hall. “He’s got everything we all had when we got here.”

Astounded, Y/N curled her hands into fists, so ready to beat an old man it wasn’t even funny.

“Jesus Christ, that guy. That would have been good to know,” Y/N muttered. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll grab the bag before I meet you in the car,” Y/N promised, ignoring the yeah, right look on his face.

“Come on, let’s go,” Hoseok pushed Yoongi to the door, Jeongguk already disappearing from her sight. Taehyung followed suit slowly, gazing down at his shoes. The room suddenly filled with deafening silence, Y/N returned to Namjoon’s cell.

“Namjoon,” she started, the wolf’s ear turning towards her but otherwise remaining rooted to the corner of his space. “I’m going to have to keep coming back here until you agree to return with me. I don’t mind, but Seokjin told me that it can be uncomfortable to stay shifted for so long– that worries me. I can’t stand Gerry, this shelter is terrible, and I want to get you out of here, so I guess you’ll have to put up with me bothering you every morning until you decide to trust me a little.”

Namjoon lifted his head, turning it to lock eyes with Y/N, her breath caught in her throat. He was truly a beautiful wolf, dark with amber honey eyes, a small chunk of his left ear missing that she had not noticed before. He wasn’t growling at her, but his face was certainly guarded and calculating, which made her grow quite hot in the chilly cinderblock room.

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning, Namjoon,” Y/N sighed softly, accepting that today wasn’t his day. He watched her as she went, shutting the door to the room behind her with a solemn clang.

Returning to the storefront where Gerry was stuffing a Subway sandwich in his face, Y/N leaned against the register with her mouth screwed up to prevent expletives from falling out.

“They’re still there,” Gerry said through a mouthful of salami. “Pretty bold of youse to trust a fox with car keys.”

“Hoseok is trustworthy,” Y/N insisted harshly, slapping her hands on the tinny table. Startled, Gerry put his sandwich down. “Give me the bag of their belongings, please.”

The rusty wheels in Gerry’s brain turned slowly, appearing to not understand, before grumbling and retreating to his office. He came back with a large half-filled black garbage bag of items, thrusting it into her arms. Disgusted with the treatment of the hybrids, she all but spit on the floor, heading to the exit.

“Don’t forget the wolf, tomorrow. I’m tired of feeding ‘im,” Gerry called, jacking up the volume to his football game.

Aggravated, Y/N stomped through the rain to her car parked on the street, yanking the trunk open and sliding the bag gingerly next to her spare tire. Rain soaking her hair, the precipitation much heavier since she and Hoseok arrived, she finally indulged her desire and spat on the sidewalk by the entrance of the shelter. Rounding the front of the car, she climbed in, the heat turned on blast and The Beach Boys playing once again. Aware of Hoseok eyeing her in the passenger seat, she hastily buckled in, wet hair sticking to the back of her neck. In the rearview mirror, the backseat was crammed with the other three hybrids, Yoongi squished in the middle seat while Taehyung and Jeongguk flanked either side, both of them trying their best to glue themselves to the doors to get some space.

“I got your stuff, bastard put it all in a trash bag,” Y/N huffed, backing out of her space, twisting around to look out the back window. Jeongguk was rolling his eyes, chin resting in his palm, his white tee shirt soaked with rain. Yoongi, tucking a long strand of inky hair behind his ear, was attempting to warm himself up by sticking close to the vent blowing hot air into the cab.

“Let’s stop at Dunkin’ before we head to the drugstore,” Y/N pulled out into the street, anxious to get some food into Yoongi as soon as possible. Tension was palpable in the car, with Taehyung’s silence, and Yoongi and Jeongguk’s tangible strain between them. Again, she was grateful for Hoseok, with his sunny, encouraging smile and whistling to the CD playing softly.

One didn’t have to drive very far to find a Dunkin’ in Boston; they were practically on every block. The one she chose shared a parking lot with a Chinese restaurant and a drugstore, and she was attempting to find a spot closest to the doors. Once stopped, she rifled through the center console for her wallet, tucking it into her pocket with Jimin’s list and rubbing her eyes– itching for some caffeine.

“Okay, time for some breakfast,” Hoseok spoke suddenly, clapping his hands together. He headed out into the parking lot, followed by Taehyung pushing his way out of the car, arms over his head to shield his face from the rain. Watching Yoongi slink out of the backseat, Y/N scrambled to catch up with everyone, locking up the car after Jeongguk begrudgingly trudged behind her. She felt a little awkward with the atmosphere, Jeongguk clearly unimpressed and Taehyung stone-cold, and was hoping Hoseok could work his magic to lighten up the mood once in the coffee shop.

Confectioners sugar and toasty coffee perfumed the thick air inside of the Dunkin’, the scent bringing her back to pre-class breakfast runs. Jeongguk plopped down on a chair by the door, arms leaning on the coffee-stained table, watching Y/N suspiciously as she set her umbrella down next to him. Deciding to kill him with kindness, she flashed him her best shit-eating grin, joining Yoongi and Taehyung by the menu signs while Jeongguk gaped after her.

“What are we getting?” Y/N pondered, knowing that she was going to dive in on the hash browns. Additionally, she planned on getting a half dozen donuts for Jimin and Seokjin waiting at home. Yoongi hummed, arms coming around to hug his midsection.

“How’s the matcha latte?” Hoseok inquired from behind Y/N, his voice right next to her ear.

“Mmm. Not that great,” Y/N grimaced, Yoongi snickering next to her. After a few moments, she had Hoseok and Yoongi’s order, sending the fox hybrid over to Jeongguk to get his as well. Turning to Taehyung, who was smiling softly at a little kid eating munchkins with his parents nearby, Y/N said his name a couple of times before he realized she was trying to get his attention.

“What would you like?” Y/N asked, assuming he would point at the menu. His angular face turned thoughtful as he considered the menu once more, surprising Y/N by opening his mouth to speak.

“Sausage, egg and cheese on a croissant and a macchiato, please,” the deep timbre of his voice shook her to her core, nearly keeling over as soon as he spoke. Nodding dumbly, Taehyung gave her a curious glance and made his way to the table the others were sitting at.

Standing at the window, Y/N made the lengthy order, the cashier exasperated as she continued to add items to the tab. She handed Y/N the beverage tray of assorted hot and iced drinks, Y/N taking an indulgent sip of her sweet iced coffee and sighing happily. Making her way to the table, she dished out the drinks; a boring black coffee for grumpy Jeongguk, a fruity Coolatta for Hoseok, Yoongi’s iced americano, and Taehyung’s macchiato. She lowered herself down next to the latter, wondering if he’d begin to join in on conversation or lapse back into silence as he stirred his coffee.

“So, what exactly made you want to adopt seven hybrids?” Yoongi deadpanned after a moment, Y/N choking on her sip of coffee and pounding her chest to clear the liquid from her lungs. She wasn’t expecting to be asked a question like that in broad daylight, that soon. Hoseok cleared his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable with Yoongi’s directness, while both Jeongguk and Taehyung read bored and absorbed in their drinks.

“Uh… to be honest with you, I’ve been looking for roommates for about a year now. I haven’t had much luck; most of my friends have either moved states after college or started families of their own. Everyone else I’ve met from placing internet ads claims my house is either too old or ‘seems haunted’,” Y/N made air quote motions with her fingers, Hoseok snorting softly. “I thought of the off-chance of seeing you all in the shelter that night as a lucky find,” fiddling with her straw, Y/N cringed at her choice of words, unable to come up with anything else.

With narrowed eyes, Yoongi considered her explanation, appearing to not wholly believe it. Thankfully, before he could respond, the cashier was calling out her order number. Jumping up, a nonplussed sound coming from Taehyung at her clumsy movement tripping over the chair, Y/N made haste for the food. On her way back to the table, she caught Hoseok reaching across the table to smack Yoongi’s arm, teeth gritted.

Setting the box of donuts for Jimin and Seokjin down, Y/N began rattling off the various sandwiches in search of each respective owner, grateful for the temporary pause of difficult inquiries. Placing the bag of hash browns in the middle for everyone, Y/N got to work on unwrapping her sandwich.

“Why would people think your house is haunted?” Taehyung spoke again, Y/N halting her chewing and throwing him a sideways glance. In the harsh lighting of the room, the shades of carmine in his eyes became more pronounced. Yoongi and Hoseok exchanged a look of utter disbelief at the sound of Taehyung’s voice, a hashbrown hanging limply from the leopard hybrid’s mouth in shock.

“Christ, he speaks,” Jeongguk muttered through a mouthful of bacon. Ignoring him, Y/N set her sandwich down.

“It’s an old house, I’ve been restoring it but it still needs a fair bit of work. The yard is all overgrown, and it’s at the end of a dead-end street…” Y/N sipped her coffee thoughtfully. “Besides, it’s filled with my grandmother’s old antiques. You can get lost in some of the back hallways, and there’s the occasional odd noise with no known source every now and again. I suppose there’s a number of reasons people think it’s haunted,” she answered truthfully, Taehyung chewing lightly on his straw with pointed cuspids while she spoke.

“Shit. Maybe we are living in a James Wan film now,” Yoongi joked, wiping grease from his fingertips on a stray napkin. Hoseok frowned, his thunder stolen as Y/N giggled at Yoongi’s amused gummy smile. “Have you ever seen a ghost in the house?”

“Well, no, not recently at least,” Y/N’s eyes glazed over, memories from her childhood locked away in the darker recesses of her mind coming to the surface. “When I was a kid I thought I saw spirits, but that could have just been childish imagination.”

She was aware of Jeongguk staring at her now, suddenly interested in the turn of conversation. Still holding a grudge about the way he spoke about her in the shelter earlier, she refused to give him the satisfaction of looking embarrassed with his examination of her side profile.

“The bar I used to work in was haunted as hell,” Yoongi volunteered, sitting back in his chair. Curiosity piqued, Y/N leaned forward, wondering if she had ever been to that bar during a paranormal tour in college. As Yoongi looked out the window, she got a good look at him; there was something familiar about his face, but she doubted that she had ever met him before as the amount of bars in Boston was astronomical and the chances were slim. Even drunk, she believed that she would have remembered someone as strikingly unique looking as Yoongi.

“Ah, so you worked at a bar? Did you know Jimin was working as one of those National Park hybrid rangers? All the way in Montana, too. I keep trying to ask him how he ended up all the way here, but he won’t tell me,” Hoseok pouted, slurping his Coolatta noisily. Taehyung’s hand crept across the table comically slow to grab a bag of hash browns, eyes flickering between everyone as if he was stealing from somebody.

“That’s why he’s weird. He’s one of those guys,” Yoongi’s eyes were wide, Y/N missing the piece of information that caused understanding to wash over everybody else’s features.

“I’m sorry. What do you mean?” Furrowing her eyebrows, Y/N gathered up trash from Jeongguk, who was rolling his eyes at her again.

“Hm. You don’t know about the hybrid rangers, huh?” Yoongi tossed his sandwich wrapper in a high arc across the table, somehow perfectly landing in the trash can beside Hoseok. “Something like fifty years ago they passed a law that hybrids can be employed in National Parks with a bunch of perks. I’m sure you know hybrids cannot work as humans do, unless they sneak around and find under-the-table type situations– like me. At the moment, being a hybrid ranger is the only legal form of employment a hybrid can take up; and you’re pretty much born into it. My guess, Jimin’s family is all back in Montana, living in a cozy little cabin paid for by the U.S. government. Why he left, that’s beyond me. Most hybrids would kill to be one of those rangers,” Yoongi muttered the last part of this statement, eyes downcast.

In her limited research of hybrids over the past years thanks to Ben’s interest in adoption and at her father’s insistence of reading interesting articles, Y/N hadn’t come across the law Yoongi was referring to. When it came to the many government legislations regarding hybrids, it was unsurprising that Y/N had not a clue about a legal employment option for them. She did know about illegal hybrid labor in corners of the country, which often made front-page news, as well as laws stating unadopted hybrids roaming the street would be brought back to shelters once discovered.

“Hence why he’s ‘weird’. He wasn’t raised in labs like the rest of us likely were; he acts more human than hybrid,” Hoseok added helpfully. Y/N hadn’t really had the same thought process– her brief time with Jimin wasn’t enough to make an accurate judgment on his behavior compared to the other hybrids.

With the food finished by now, she noticed Jeongguk getting fidgety, she figured it was a good time as any to move onto their drugstore run. Hoseok gathered up all of the trash as Y/N stood, feeling sluggish after the greasy and sugary breakfast, scooping up the box of donuts for Seokjin and Jimin. Tossing her empty coffee cup, she felt Taehyung looming behind her like an apparition, shuffling his feet against the scuffed floor. Hoseok held the door open for everybody, Jeongguk muttering ‘kiss ass’ the whole way out into the rain and through the doors to the pharmacy.

The blinding lights of the pharmacy had spots appearing in Y/N’s vision after being in the grayness of the rainstorm, the medicinal smell of VapoRub making her feel slightly ill. Handing out baskets to the hybrids, she told them to get what they needed, Hoseok trailing after Yoongi down the shampoo aisle and Jeongguk disappearing to the back of the store where the vitamins were. Taehyung remained by her side, and shrugging, she pulled out Jimin’s scant list and started towards the direction of dental care.

Humming, she examined the toothpaste options, selecting the best one and plopping two in her basket. She would have to shop for Seokjin, as well– and upon further consideration, she added a third tube for Namjoon. Taehyung was quiet beside her once more, watching her pick out a pack of charcoal toothbrushes, hardly placing anything in his own basket he had set on a display of paper towels. Seeing his disinterest in filling up his basket, unlike Hoseok who zoomed by to pull a mouthwash off the shelf in a flash, Y/N sighed and turned to the bear hybrid with a fourth tube of toothpaste.

“Taehyung, is this toothpaste okay for you? I think it’s probably the best one, the all-natural brand tastes terrible,” Y/N waved the tube around, Taehyung now leaning against the display with his hands buried in his pockets.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Floss too?” Taehyung suddenly lurched forward on the balls of his feet, the movement graceful, hand skimming past her face and plucking a pack of floss off of the shelf. Dropping the item into her basket, Taehyung peered into it, before grabbing a wooden-handled toothbrush for himself and adding that as well. Blinking rapidly at the speed at which he could move at the drop of a hat, Y/N eyed his side profile with awe.

“Hmm. What else should we get? Jimin didn’t write as detailed of a list as I would’ve liked…” frowning, Y/N looked to Taehyung for advice; she wasn’t sure what sort of things the men would need right away.

“Body wash. Maybe some lotion, deodorant. Razors and shaving cream,” Taehyung spoke very slowly, ticking off items on his long fingertips as he rattled them off. Grateful for his input, Y/N nodded enthusiastically, waving him to follow as she weaved through the aisles to retrieve everything.

He pointed out the best brands for items such as the razors and shaving creams, which she would have been puzzled over for minutes pondering over the sheer selection. Balancing the basket on her hip, she filled it with several bottles of body wash from the top shelf, nearly dropping it while trying to juggle the box of donuts she was still holding. Taehyung gently took the basket from her, slinging it over his forearm, and reached the last bottle she couldn’t grasp.

“Thanks, it’s not too heavy?” Y/N gestured towards the basket, feeling flustered all over again under Taehyung’s stoic stare. He shook his head, one of his ears twitching as a loud peal of Hoseok’s laughter came from the next aisle over. Grinning at the sound, Y/N set off to find him, hoping that everyone had gotten what they needed.

Yoongi was deliberating between two different hair brushes with Hoseok, who was insisting on a boar-bristle.

“Yeah, I get what you’re saying about oil distribution or whatever, Foxy, but the plastic brush is literally half the price. I just need it to work,” Yoongi was insisting, plopping a little plastic brush into his half-filled basket.

“Hi, guys! How’re you making out?” Y/N asked, Hoseok releasing the brush hanging on a hook he was checking out upon hearing her voice.

“I think I’ve got everything I need, just trying to help Yoongi out with proper hair care,” Hoseok squinted at Yoongi’s long hair with distaste.

“More like trying to lord over my choices,” Yoongi murmured, organizing the things in his basket gingerly.

“Where’s Jeongguk?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, not having seen the elk hybrid since they arrived. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to look over the shelves for any sign of antlers peeking out from an aisle.

“By the counter already,” Yoongi pointed, expression turning disdainful.

At the register, the three hybrids bumbling after her, Y/N felt relief wash over her when she spotted Jeongguk with his basket already up on the counter. While she didn’t believe that he truly would have ditched them, she was still nervous around him and the thought did cross her mind at least fleetingly. In his basket was the bare minimum, a bottle of saline like Y/N used for her new cartilage piercing, allergy tablets, a stick of deodorant, a package of BIC lighters. He was staring at the shelf behind the register with longing, Y/N following his gaze curiously as the teenage boy at the register began to ring all of the items through.

“What brand?” Y/N asked slyly, eyes roaming over the shelf of cigarette cartons. Stiffening, Jeongguk shot a sideways look down at her in surprise.

“Marlboro. Reds,” he answered, biting down on the ring hugging his lip.

“Three packs of the reds, please,” Y/N asked the young boy, who dropped them into a plastic bag and handed it to Jeongguk. As soon as Y/N stuck her credit card into the reader for everything, Jeongguk was gone, his silhouette visible through the window as he broke into one of the packs and his new lighters. Y/N would have loved to enjoy a cigarette at that moment, but wouldn’t dare ask for one from Jeongguk after his almost frantic dash to the sidewalk.

Taehyung hefted six bags onto his arms himself, leaving only two for Yoongi and Hoseok to grab before Y/N could reach for one. She followed after them heading to the exit, doing her best to shield the donut box from the rain with her arms. Cigarette smoke from Jeongguk wafted in a cloud as soon as she got out onto the sidewalk, rain soaking his hair and face as he cupped his hands to light what she presumed to be his second.

“You guys wait here, I’ll pull the car around,” Y/N shouted over a clap of thunder, Hoseok catching her by the hem of her sweater before she could dash out into the parking lot. Puzzled, she stared at him with wide eyes, him slotting one of the open umbrellas under her arm to keep her dry. Throwing him an appreciative, embarrassed smile, she stepped directly into an ankle-deep puddle, getting away as quickly as possible before he could laugh at her.

Stashing the donuts away, Y/N pulled up to the curb to the hybrids waiting under the awning of the Chinese restaurant. This time, before Hoseok could reach the passenger door, Taehyung beat him to the punch and clambered in next to Y/N, Hoseok whining behind him. With a tight-lipped smile, Taehyung shut the door in his face, brushing droplets of rain off his arms and stowing the bags he was carrying by his feet.

“Fucker,” Hoseok muttered acidically, sliding into the back seat next to Yoongi. Trying not to look amused at Hoseok’s bitterness, Y/N peered into the backseat through the rearview mirror, making sure everyone was present. Jeongguk looked significantly more relaxed than he had earlier in the morning, however, a thin veil of annoyance still blanketed his features as he fumbled with one of the packs of cigarettes in his hand.

“Alright, let’s head home,” Y/N murmured, mostly to herself, the rain getting heavier and more difficult to navigate through.

“Your wipers need a change,” Taehyung commented, leaning forward to squint at the way they uselessly flung small amounts of water off of the windshield. “I know how to do that,” he added.

“Really? I’d need to get the parts, though,” Y/N raised her eyebrows, wondering how she would find wipers for a car from 1986.

“You’ll find them in a junkyard, if there’s one around here,” Taehyung informed her, as if he had read her mind. Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel, she made a mental note to call up the junkyard in her town later on to save herself a trip if they didn’t have the wipers she needed.

Traffic was slow as she tried her best to see out of the windshield, rolling down her window to poke her head out occasionally to get a better view of the road. It seemed others on the road were taking precautions in the downpour by crawling on the highway, Y/N impatiently squirming in her seat. She started to feel bad for leaving Jimin and Seokjin alone, especially without many groceries in the house.

Y/N desperately needed to get to the supermarket; she had no idea what to make for lunch, let alone dinner. With the weather, the last thing Y/N wanted to do was lug paper bags back and forth to her car, but they couldn’t live on takeout forever– she thought for some ridiculous reason the hybrids would think she was incapable of feeding herself, and therefore themselves. Maybe one more night of pizza delivery before she could stock up wouldn’t be the worst, but it was the less than ideal option for her.

By the time they had made it about halfway home, Y/N’s phone began to ring, making her curse under her breath as she blindly grasped for it in the cupholder.

“Hello?” She breathlessly answered, not able to check the caller ID due to her focus on the road.

“Honey, it’s me!” Her mother replied, urgency lacing her tone. Y/N could hear her tinkering with what sounded like metal bowls.

“Hey mom, what’s up?” Y/N brightened her tone, switching to a slower lane to get off the highway shortly.

“I’m just letting you know, I’m coming over to the house in an hour or so. I went to the farmer’s market this morning to buy you some groceries and I packed up some meals for your freezer,” her mother said breathlessly, the snapping sound of plastic tupperware coming through the receiver.

“What!?” Y/N squawked, alarmed that she’d have to introduce her to the hybrids so soon. Running an anxious hand through her hair, she felt Taehyung jump next to her at her outburst, Yoongi and Hoseok making noises of confusion.

“I knew you weren’t going to make it to the store in the next few days. I could hear it in your voice. Honey, you can’t live on calzones, much less expect your new friends to eat takeaway every night,” her mother explained calmly, Y/N’s face becoming hot as she realized the hybrids could probably hear every word her mother was saying.

“A little head’s up would have been nice,” Y/N spit through her teeth, humiliated. Her mother laughed, the sound mirthful and easy.

“That’s what this is! Anyways, I’ll see you soon. I’ll even send you a message before we walk over.”

“We?” Y/N squeaked, mortification flooding into her even more quickly by now.

“Honey, are you becoming hard of hearing like your father? He’s coming with me, I need some help carrying the containers of bean burgers,” her mother sighed, tutting at her.

“Uh. Um, okay… I-I need to focus on driving, here, please text me before you leave,” Y/N rushed, on a new mission to get home as quickly as possible. Her mother said goodbye, promptly hanging up, Y/N stiffly placing her phone back in the cupholder.

“What was that all about?” Hoseok asked from the back seat, though she knew he could hear every word of the conversation through the phone. Grimacing, Y/N sped up the car, tapping her left foot against the carpeted car floor impatiently.

“Looks like you’ll all get to meet my parents today.”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj

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

#bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts ot7 x reader #hybrid au #bts ot7 x y/n #bts hybrid au #bts fic #bts au #bts hybrid x reader #bts hybrid fanfic #namjoon fanfic #seokjin fanfic #yoongi fanfic #hoseok fanfic #jimin fanfic #taehyung fanfic #jungkook fanfic

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cookiethebirdthing · 6 months ago

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Sanae wiped her brow, flicking sweat droplets onto the floor. Tsukasa practically melted into the cushions, breathing heavily. The heat outside had been nearly unbearable, but they were back in the cool air conditioned rooms of the Moriya Shrine.

It was quiet for a moment, apart from the gentle hum of central air. Eventually, Sanae gave a proud smile and shot her arm into the air. Tsukasa's ears perked up as she heard the telltale intake of breath, her tail already lightly wagging.

“Alright, Tsukasa!” she cheered, “we managed to sell all of the portable air conditioning units! This will bring faith to the shrine for sure!”

Tsukasa quietly yipped in agreement, finding words far too tiring at a time like this. Though she was once used to suffering through the sweltering Gensokyo summers, that was no longer the case. Thank goodness for that.

Sanae continued, “There really is nothing better than air conditioning! It's a marvel of technology!”

Just then, the shattering of glass sounded through the shrine. A black and white blur shot into the room, nearly colliding with Tsukasa. Rather than crash into any of the furniture, however, it halted its movement fast enough to kill a human.

“Heya, Sanae!” Marisa called from where she floated in the air. Or rather, where she sat on her broom, floating in the air. There was an unusual object hanging off it however. Not a lantern, but a sizable glass jar, with white shapes crammed in seemingly as tight as physically possible.

“Oh hi, Marisa,” Sanae responded with a smile. “What's that on your broom?”

Marisa blinked a few times and tilted forward dangerously. She righted herself with a jolt and gave a laugh. “What? Oh this thingy? I call them phantoms in a jar.” She paused. “It's got phantoms in there. Not sure how many, I kinda lost count when I was collecting them and came to with it all full like this.”

Sanae tilted her head, “Why would you put phantoms in a jar? Is this one of those Gensokyo things?”

“Huh? Nah.” Marisa shook her head. “During the Summer, I collect these little guys so I can do this!” She shook her broom violently, jostling the container. The shapes inside suddenly started pushing their way past each other as if trying to escape.

“What's that supposed to do? Oh, by the way, Tsukasa and I spent all day installing air conditioning units around the Human Village! Being freed from the oppression of Summer heat is sure to bring lots of faith to the—” Sanae’s ramble was cut off as the temperature in the room dropped far below what the air conditioning was capable of. She stuttered out the rest of the sentence, “—shrine… Oh.”

In the end, the air conditioning units they sold became little more than non-functioning trinkets to most of the villagers. With the cooling power of phantoms, why would they need something as silly as that anyway? A few villagers did find some use out of them, and so a bit of faith trickled in. At least it wasn't a complete waste of time.

#little gay writing snippet or whatever #marisa kirisame #sanae kochiya #tsukasa kudamaki #i love air conditioning #writing this in the bliss of an air conditioned room during 30° heat #oil fire #my writing

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justmediocrewriting · 10 months ago

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“Messy,” {r.z}

A/n: and the second installment of the dialogue prompts, this time featuring our beefy mosshead ;) this is only the second part, I’ve got 10 more to make, and I’m already having the time of my life. I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Warnings/tags: explicit sexual content, irrumatio, rough!zoro, lots of bodily fluids (spit, cum, juices, sweat, etc), deepthroating, dirty talk, explicit language, cock worship, d/s undertones, slight dumbification, outdoor sex, semi-public sex, Zoro really likes to pull hair, 100 follower NSFW dialogue prompt special

Genre: smut

Pairing: Zoro x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Prompt: “Don’t make a mess, baby.” (#2 on the list)

“You’re so fuckin’ messy.”

Zoro’s statement from above you was punctuated by a stinging in your scalp when he used his grip in your hair as leverage to repeatedly fuck his cock deeper into your throat, spreading open the walls of your esophagus as if he didn’t care that you were on the brink of blacking out from poor oxygen intake. The chill of the evening air slightly cooled your heated skin, but it did nothing to douse the flame of arousal burning hot in your gut, and the fresh air didn’t clear the fog from your head either — it was impossible to think clearly or feel anything other than fiery arousal when Zoro was using you like this.

You moaned around his thick cock, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head from the heady taste of salt in your mouth. Your nose was clogged with the scent of Zoro, so much so that the minute breaths you could pull through it were saturated with the scent of sweat and sword oil, a mixture that you had come to define as unique to the swordsman, and it was so mouthwatering, almost as much as the cock in your throat.

“You’re fuckin’ droolin’ all over my cock. You like it when I fuck your little throat like this?”

Zoro’s hips snapped at a rapid pace, the weight of his balls slapping against your chin as each rough thrust landed him buried to the hilt in your throat. The velocity of his thrusts left little room for recovery in between, your head already light and floaty from the deprivation of oxygen, so you barely even registered the fact that spittle and drool was currently being fucked out of your mouth and plopping down onto the deck. But Zoro noticed, and that visual combined with your glazed over eyes looking up at him as if his cock was the best thing you’d ever tasted, as well as the wet glide the copious amounts of liquid granted, sent him into a near-feral frenzy.

Zoro knew you couldn’t answer him, but his filthy questions never stopped, lips dropping a litany of abrasive verbal abuses as his pace never faltered, cock drilling into your mouth almost painfully.

“You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to take my cock down your fuckin’ throat.”

“Fuckin’ look at you. All fucked out just from this. I bet you’d love this cock in your pussy right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuckin’ take it, baby.”

Every single word rumbled by that deep voice sent heat flaring straight down to your core, your clit throbbing in time with your rapid heartbeat as your pussy clenched around nothing — Zoro’s comment about you wanting his thick cock in your pussy wasn’t too far off the mark. No matter how many times he fucked your holes they never truly adjusted to the stretch of his massive cock, the slight discomfort of it offering you a euphoria that previous partners had never managed to touch. Of course you’d love to have Zoro’s cock in your pussy… but this right now, the smooth glide of his cock across your tongue and the intrusion of his length in your throat… there was nothing that could beat that at the moment.

Zoro’s hips stuttered and his cock twitched on a particularly rough thrust, momentarily hardening even further within your mouth. Excitement and anticipation clawed up your spine, because you knew what that meant — Zoro was close, and soon enough he would be rewarding you with a stream of hot, salty cum straight down your throat.

“Fuck, your mouth is gonna make me fuckin’ cum. Fuckin’ touch yourself, baby. Rub that pretty pussy while I fuck your face.”

Your hand dropped down immediately to comply with Zoro's order, your pussy more than welcoming the touch when you shoved your fingers past the confines of your panties and promptly shoved two of your fingers inside. They slid in without any resistance, your walls wet and mushy from arousal, and you set a rapid pace to match with Zoro’s. It wasn’t the same as Zoro’s cock, but the stimulation of your mouth and cunt being filled cinched your gut with hot arousal, and with just a few well timed curls that familiar coil formed.

The deck became home to a symphony of muffled moans, grunts, squelching and filthy curses, orchestrated by the act Zoro and yourself were partaking in — there was a risk that came with this, one that would be hard to recover from, as anyone could walk out at any point to find Zoro’s cock buried in your throat. But somehow, that risk only made the coil wind tighter, the edge of danger adding an enticing amount of lewdness to everything.

Zoro’s words faded into mere grunts and groans, and his thrusts became even faster, sloppier, his hand in your hair tightening and moving your head in a contrasting rhythm than that of his hips — he was close, his cock throbbing and twitching with every rough thrust into your throat, and you pulled your fingers out of your cunt to harshly rub your clit with as much velocity as you could muster within the confines of your pants and underwear. You wanted to cum when Zoro did, so you could feel that euphoria of an orgasm at the same time.

“Fuck, fuck, here it comes. Don’t make a mess, baby; swallow every fuckin’ drop.” Zoro growled, hips reaching a peak speed before slowing to a near stop, your nose pressed into the pubic hair just above Zoro’s cock as he buried himself as deep as possible.

Your throat constricted around his cock as you gagged, your brain screaming at you to pull back as your ability to breathe was stolen from you, but Zoro held your head in place with a firm hand as his cock twitched once, twice, then throbbed heavily as ropes of cum splashed against the walls of your throat.

“Shit,” Zoro breathed, the curse being dragged out and completely drenched with pleasure. “Fuckin’ — yes, fuck, take it all.”

Zoro’s hips moved in small thrusts as he rode out the rest of his orgasm, saltiness bursting over your tongue as droplets of his spent smeared over it with each little buck. You drank down the remnants fervently, sore throat constricting pleasantly with every swallow, and when Zoro pulled his cock out and demanded you to open so he could make sure you swallowed everything, you did so without hesitation.

“Fuck, that’s my good girl. Did you cum, baby?” Zoro ground out, his dick beginning to soften slightly in the aftermath of his orgasm.

With a start you realized that no, you hadn’t. You’d been so wrapped up in the sensation of Zoro’s come sliding down your throat that your fingers had completely stopped moving. You gave a small shake of your head. Zoro reached a hand down and stroked his thumb over your lips, his own quirking up into a devilish smirk.

“We’ll have to fix that baby. You did so good, and you deserve a reward. Get on your fuckin’ hands and knees and let me fuck you ‘til you can’t take it anymore.”

I probably should have clarified this in the first installment of the series, but these prompts won’t be written/posted in numerical order. My brain does really have the focus to do it that way, so whichever prompt offers me the most motivation is the one I’m going to write. I hope you all enjoyed this one, because I sure did ;))

#opla #opla x reader #one piece live action #opla zoro #opla zoro x reader

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thatsrightice · 1 year ago

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F-14 TOMCAT ISSUES AND ACCIDENTS

The following is a compilation of issues with the F-14 Tomcat that have been encountered by pilots throughout its lifespan due to both mechanical and other reasons. Some are based on individual accidents and some cover epidemics in which many aircraft were lost to the issue *cough* compressor stalls *cough* basically it’s a bunch of ways you can hurt your fav characters in your fics so if you write something pls let me know cause I want to read it!!!

The issues range from minor hydraulic leaks to an explosion where pilots survive but the aircraft is literally in a million pieces.

LAST UPDATED 10/25/2023

Added some links to relavant FFFOTDs

Side note, the F-14 was a frickin massive tank of a fighter jet. She has taken damage to major components and still been able to land safely, so every situation is pretty unique.

Water Damage- Any type of water intrusion would cause issues with the electrical systems. It was a very common thing, so much so that they would have to duct tape anywhere water might be able to enter as a precaution when they knew it would rain.

Hydraulic Fluid Leaks - The F-14 did leak hydraulic fuel fairly often. There was a joke going around that if there isn't a bucket leaking hydraulic fluid underneath the plane then you are out of hydraulic fluid.

The Staple - On F-14 As and Bs, they would limit the jet to 4Gs maximum for three months and then they would install a metal staple to the bottom of the aircraft just forward of the tail hook. The point of the staple was to prevent severe bulkhead cracks and fuselage delamination by reducing the torquing moments caused by material fatigue. The staple is described as being a 1 foot-long and 1 inch wide solid steel part that looks exactly like a staple. As a part of their pre-flight checks, pilots would have to hang on it to ensure it wouldn’t fall out.

Airbags - Now and then, the airbags would rip and they would have to fix them.

Hydraulic Failures - Hydraulic failures happened somewhat often, but not often enough to be a prevalent issue. Generally speaking, it was common knowledge that if an F-14 wasn't leaking hydraulic fluid then it was out of hydraulic fluid. They would place buckets underneath to catch the liquid when the aircraft was not flying.

An incident from 1988 resulted from a complete hydraulic failure of both the main and the backup systems. They ruled the accident to be caused by the combination of failure of a relief valve and material failure. The Commander of the Pacific Fleet at the time believed that it could have possibly been the result of entrapped air that had been introduced into the hydraulic system through minor system maintenance.

AICS Programmers - They would have to start the airplane and then run the intake ramps aka would have to cycle the intake ramps otherwise they wouldn't be able to get off the ground.

Flap-Slat Lockout - If the flaps on either side of the jet didn't program at the same rate, it would cut it out and lock them up. They were then unable to move them as the lockout was a precaution to prevent asymmetry. This forced pilots to land without flaps, requiring an extra 22 knots during landing. It was difficult to land when they were locked out, and in many situations the end result would be pulling up next to the carrier and ejecting. Flap-Slat Lockout was a consistent issue throughout the Tomcat's life.

Unreliable Fire Warning Light - Sometimes the fire warning light would just barely start to flicker on and steadily become more prominent. Overall "just a bad system." You never actually know if there's a fire or not.

Wings Won’t Come Out - This happened at NAS Oceana. The airplane landed at a speed of 230 mph, so very close to the F-14’s stall speed. When the wings are stuck back, you can't hit the brakes during landing because there is no anti-skid and you would overheat them, if you pulled the stick back you would rotate, and with the wings back you have no spoilers so there is nothing to slow you down. In this particular incident, the pilot was able to take the long landing, but if this issue was encountered at sea it would require an ejection or divert to an airfield nearby if possible. No big explosions or fires though, it’d be a fairly calm procedure and the plane could fly into range of the ship for easy retrieval after ejection.

Low Fuel (Barricade Landing) - Bad weather at night combined with air traffic personnel being too occupied with diverting tons of airplanes, launching tankers, etc. can cause an aircraft to get low on fuel. There was a situation covered in the F-14 Tomcast episode called "F-14 Barricade" where they were unable to refuel using a tanker and were forced to do a barricade landing for their safety. They were almost forced to pull up alongside the carrier and eject. After the landing, one of the crew calculated based on the amount of fuel left that they only had about 90 seconds of flying left. This is literally the only night F-14 barricade landing ever I am pretty sure (in real life Maverick's doesn't count lol). I like it because the pilot and RIO had to tell the aircrew straight up "You have to take us now" because the pilot could no longer see the tape on the fuel gage. The crew tells their story really well and it’s really funny to listen to, especially considering the fact that they had to keep sending them around because they fucked up setting up the barrier.

Hitting the Canopy (During Ejection) - Goose's story is based on a real story in which a RIO hit the canopy during ejection and broke his spine. The reason the pilot does not also hit the canopy is because the ejection sends the RIO out first. The canopy is ejected after a couple of seconds after the handle is pulled, then the RIO is ejected after a second or two, and then the pilot another second later. The ejection seats also launch them in different trajectories so the pilot and the RIO do not collide in the air, meaning they may or may not end up in the same area. The solution would be to wait for the canopy to clear before ejecting but sometimes your don’t have that luxury.

Front Landing Gear Failure During Takeoff- While launching off of the catapult of the aircraft carrier, the nose gear attached to the shuttle broke. The landing gear and shuttle proceeded to the end of the runway without the jet, hitting the end of the ship at 305 knots and damaging the front of the carrier. The jet went off the ship with far less speed than necessary (at barely 60-70 knots) and began falling into the water as it was not enough to get the Tomcat in the air. They ejected to barely 50 feet high and were in serious danger of getting run over by the aircraft carrier. In the accident covered on the Fighter Pilot Podcast FPP004 - Ejection Seats, the RIO tells the story of his survival and the tragic loss of the pilot.

Radome (Nose Cone) Detachment - An F-14 Tomcat lost its radome during a flight due to the failure of the latching mechanism. The radome crashed into the canopy, shattering te glass of the windscreen. The pilot could only see out of a 3 inch hole in the windscreen due to the cracked windshield. He couldn't hear anything due to the noise of the wind in the cockpit, so he was unsure of the state of his RIO but assumed he was unconscious because he hadn't ejected them. The pilot flew over the carrier three times before successfully landing the plane, despite having glass in both eyes and a broken collarbone. It turns out that the RIO had been completely unharmed but with comms down he was unable to tell the pilot such. Upon landing the plane, the pilot was medevaced for eye surgery and then returned to the US.

Midair Collision - F-14A BUNo 159832 was a midair collision between two F-14 Tomcat. In this particular situation, one of the airplanes was able to divert to a nearby airport due to losing part of the right wing whereas the other crew was forced to eject. Obviously you could probably picture a situation where both jets went down.

Landng with Damage - Tomcats are a very sturdy aircraft, often described as being a tank both due to how much fuel they were able to carry and the sheer size of the aircraft. There has been an incident where an F-14 landed without one of its vertical stabilizers. In the Radome Deatchment section, the pilot was able to land the plane. The following video shows an aircraft, although not an F-14, landing aboard an aircraft carrier with significant damage on its right right side.

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Single Engine Cat Shot- There was an incident where an aircraft had engine issues the moment it left the carrier. Immediately after the launch, they lost the left engine, and the first thing the pilot did was go through engine failure procedures, wingman at their side. They set up for an engine start using normal air before they attempted a cross-bleed air start using bleed air from the right engine to rotate the starter in the left engine, but neither worked. The pilot addressed the fuel distribution situation by feeding the right engine with fuel from the left to even them out and then they began dumping fuel to get to the "max trap" weight. Upon successfully landing, the Commanding Officer initially believed that the pilot had allowed the left engine throttle to roll back to idle during the acceleration of the catapult stroke, however, after maintenance personnel spun up the engine to troubleshoot, the engine spun well past its normal rpm immediately without the mechanical load it usually carried by the tower shaft meaning that something was very, very wrong. An image of the aircraft after launch can be seen below. Note the singular engine lit up.

F110 Afterburner Failure - The new engines installed were great, but they initially had a problem with the afterburner. In one recorded accident, the pilot lit the afterburner, damaging the afterburner can's lining and leading to an explosion. The Navy prohibited use of the afterburner below 10,000 ft on the F-14+/B/D until the problem could get solved but it took nearly a year to remedy.

"Thump Bang" - The easiest way to incorporate any sort of accident is to call it what the Naval Aviators call a "thump bang". A "thump bang" refers to a series of events that occur when an aircraft experiences some sort of issue they described as a "thump" and then an explosion. It's kind of hard to describe what is like in the cockpit during this sort of accident as it could have happened quickly or could have been a delayed explosion, and it could have been caused by any number of reasons. If they don't know what actually happened, they'll call it a "thump bang" and can only hypothesize what occurred. The likely scenario would have been an issue with the TF30 engines.

TF30 - The "Turd in the punch bowl, " the TF30s had two specific issues that were kind of intertwined.

Throwing Fan Blades - One of the largest issues with the TF30s was that they were with the fan blades. When the fan blades become eroded or damaged over time, they no longer compress the airflow efficiently, potentially leading to an engine stall (see Compressor Stall below). Additionally, the TF30 was known for "throwing" fan blades. This is when the fan blade becomes detached and is shot out to the side into the interior of the aircraft. Not good. Pretty bad actually. They didn't initially know they were throwing fan blades until after a couple of accidents. when they started to be more common they would retrieve the aircraft from the water (if in large enough pieces and then investigate the cause.

Compressor Stall - The actual biggest issue with the F-14 Tomcat and its TF30 engines is the compressor stalling. They literally happened all the time from a variety of different causes. Generally speaking, the compressor stalls were the result of disruption to the airflow into the compressor of the engine. The compressor has fan blades that require the airflow to be undisturbed for maximum efficiency. It was theorized to be the result of foreign object debris (FOD) ingestion into the engines. They check religiously for loose objects on the airplanes as a result, oftentimes having a crew member dive into the intake ducts to check for loose bolts. Additionally, compressor stalls could be caused by operating the aircraft outside of its limits, improper handling, etc.

The F-14 had a gated afterburner, meaning it had 5 “gates” inside of the afterburner and each one lit up a flame rack. There was no variable thrust, so it had to be either on or off. Each of the five racks was labeled as a zone. Zone 3 is what they were allowed to take off with. Coming in or out of afterburner with any angle or attack would cause the compressor to immediately stall. This was mostly due to poor design of the intake.

In general, approximately 30% of F-14A losses were attributed to high-altitude compressor stalls. When one engine stalls, more often than not it will induce the other engine to stall as well. There is a procedure to counteract the compressor stall, the specific protocol was to ease the amount of Gs, slow down, the T.I.T. would go crazy and you shut it down. Or in fighter pilot slang, “ease, slow cook it, shut it down.”

One incident in particular that was assumed to be caused by engine failure resulted in an explosion that looked so bad it was a miracle the pilot and RIO survived (see image below). The pilot escaped with minor burns to his hands, face, and neck and was able to fly within a couple of weeks. The RIO sustained more serious burns on his hands but was flying again after several weeks.

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Not Touching Them For Two Days - True story; they flew best when they were used a lot.

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thetomorrowshow · 5 months ago

Text

learn to play it right

Final installment of the trust au.

There will, at a later date, be short stories set in this universe.

“What is going on?” Jimmy whispers.

Scott peers down, down at the massive crowd of people gathering, at the long line twisting down the mountain side and into the city.

“I have no clue,” he whispers back.

There are—there have to be hundreds of elves down there, all dressed in black robes, waiting outside the church. And not just elves—others, fae, humans, royalty. Far too many for any normal event. Far too many.

What’s more, a large portion of those actually gaining entrance into the building below are royalty, many of which are elves, but just as many . . . aren’t.

Scott and Jimmy are lying on the roof of the Church of Aeor, early on this cold morning, where they’ve been waiting for two hours—they had arrived just before sunrise, Scott’s exhausted wings barely carrying them to the church’s rooftop. There, with the vantage point it posed and the relative cover from any onlookers, they’d heard and seen the arrival of hundreds of people—including Lizzie, surrounded by a guard of twenty soldiers.

Jimmy had almost gone to her right then. Scott had felt him tense, heard the slight intake of breath, had panicked at what might happen to them if Jimmy were to shout down at her. Scott had subtly readjusted his grip on Jimmy's upper arm, ready to pull him back if need be, his other hand in the air, ready to cover the man’s mouth if he decided to do something stupid.

Jimmy didn’t do anything, thank Aeor. He just gazed down at his sister, mouth moving silently.

Scott turned his eyes back to her as well, marching up the hill to the church. Lizzie looked . . . strong. Her chin was held high, her hair braided back perfectly, her jewelry shining in the weak morning sunlight. She wasn’t dressed in greys and blacks any longer, the mourning period for Jimmy long over, but where she usually wore pastel shades of pinks and purples, her current dress was a deep blue, pinned up again and again in graceful layers, a train spilling out behind her.

Her presence was a regal one, and every person already making their way up to the church had slowed and stopped and stepped aside, allowing her to pass.

She had come straight up to the church—and Ilphas, of all people, had greeted her outside—and they had ushered her in, while the main part of her guard was redirected.

Since Lizzie, they've seen Joel, Katherine, and Pix arrive and be granted entrance, along with various other figures of elvish royalty. Other elves—and guards of arriving rulers, such as fWhip right this moment and Scott’s blood positively boils at the sight of him—wait outside, silent, looking toward the church.

Then Gem arrives, and Scott’s heart collapses into relief that she’s actually still alive. By some miracle—dear Aeor, how had she survived?

Last time he’d seen her, she had been in a heap on the ground, hair white as snow. That sight has haunted his nightmares for weeks.

She’s here, though, hair as red as ever, face solemn as she enters the church, followed shortly by Shelby (who looks exhausted in her shabby clothes, head bowed) and Joey right beside her (Scott blinks back visions of Joey pulling on his wings to wake him up), adorned with far too much gold weaved into a headdress and around his neck, the most brightly dressed of anyone there.

In fact, all of those waiting outside the chapel are dressed in black.

Scott is starting to have a sinking feeling that he knows why everyone might be showing up to Rivendell’s church on an inconspicuous weekday morning.

Pearl arrives last of all the emperors, marching right on in, and Scott knows that there won’t be anything to see from out here.

Not that Rivendell isn’t an . . . interesting sight, at the moment.

The fog of the morning obscures the nearby mountain peaks, tinged red in a way that could be the rising sun (though Scott doubts it). The landscape and city aren’t dead, but . . . muted, almost, as if some of the color and life has been slowly drained. There’s no snow on the ground, and it is summer, but usually there’s a morning frost year-round. The earth seems cracked, dry, neglected.

And, of course, red—red tentacles, he supposes, thread through the city—still, perhaps, but Scott swears they shift when he looks away. One stretching from a normally-busy intersection, curled around a lamppost. Another that wraps all the way around the library, the stones buckling inward under its grip. The flowers of the royal gardens are overrun, large and small vines choking them out of the dirt.

The touch of his brother is clear, but to Scott, the most significant change is the eerie feeling of stale death haunts the air. Death that clings to the back of his throat, to the pads of his fingers, to his cracked lips.

He hates this. This is his land, his country, his people, and Xornoth—

No. Anger will get him nowhere but dead, and he can’t die yet. They have a purpose, here.

To think. He was so worried about Jimmy blowing everything by calling out to Lizzie, while Scott just has to look at nothing in particular to be tempted to scream out a challenge to Xornoth while his lungs still have air.

“We have to get inside,” Scott mutters to Jimmy, shamefully caring more about removing himself from his once-beautiful Rivendell as it suddenly overwhelms him and less about saving Lizzie. “There’s a window in the rafters with a broken latch—or, there used to be. I don’t see why anyone would think to repair it. We can go around to it and swing in.”

“Why do you know that?”

Scott shrugs as well as he can, belly-down on the roof, eyes still fixed on Ilphas below as the elf greets guest after guest. “Good place to hide out from my brother, growing up.”

Forgetting his anger, it might be best for them to get inside a building, anyways—every time Scott sees one of those horrid red tentacles out of the corner of his eye, he thinks it’s Xornoth come to kill him once and for all. They’re terribly exposed in their current place, and it’s a miracle they’ve not been spotted yet (though they’d had a close call with Pix glancing heavenward as he entered).

So Jimmy follows closely (close enough to touch, of course) as he shuffles down the roof, to the back of the chapel, where luckily nobody has begun to congregate.

It isn’t as easy slipping in through the round window there as it used to be—it swings out, for one thing, which almost knocks Scott off his balance entirely as his arm swings out with it. When he flips himself around and starts to slide down the edge of the roof, his feet dangle in freefall for a second (his stomach flips, though Jimmy has a tight grip on his wrist) and the windowsill is just too thin for the thick winter boots he's been wearing, his feet scraping against it for unfound purchase. With only a moment of panic, though, he manages to get both heels hooked on the inside and pulls with all the leg strength he has, slipping away from Jimmy, his back falling with another swoop in his stomach.

It’s more the flapping of his wings that helps to pull him in than it is his quad muscles, but Scott somehow manages to shimmy into the window, barely keeping himself from falling flat on his face.

He makes far too much noise, stumbling over his own feet and almost hitting his head in the cramped attic space, but once he has something of a breath in his chest he scoots over to the side (there's really only five square feet of space in there, after all) to let Jimmy in.

Jimmy goes about it in a . . . creative way, meaning that Scott’s heart almost drops out of his chest when he sees Jimmy fall past the window.

“Jimmy—” he gasps, reaching out far too late (frost brushing against the rough wood wall), just as he notices the fingers curled around the ledge.

Jimmy heaves himself up on his upper arm strength alone, and Scott knew he was betrothed to a swimmer but holy—

Jimmy falls into the room on his hands and rolls, landing hard on his backside. The entire tiny room rattles; they both freeze.

“Hopefully nobody heard that,” Scott whispers, voice pitched high.

Jimmy nods, laces his fingers between Scott’s, and scrambles to his feet (though still bent over to accommodate the low ceiling). “Yeah. Where to?”

Scott pushes past him to the only door in the room, an old, roughly-hewn door that probably hasn’t been opened in decades, lifting it just slightly to avoid scraping it along the floor.

The sound of low murmuring reaches Scott’s ears, along with the gentle strains of harp music. He takes a deep breath, then looks out.

The door leads to a dark drop, though Scott knows that in the darkness is a corner of the chapel partially walled off to hide a ladder. If he sat down here, on the sheet of wood before the door, his feet would find the first rung of the ladder on the wall below. But if he instead slides to the left, tiptoes along the wall a bit, that sheet of wood leads to the beams of the open main rafters—an access path for fixing the light fixtures.

And that is where Scott goes, carefully stepping across the beams, wings flared to keep his balance.

Jimmy is right behind him, his hand now clutched tightly around the joint where Scott’s wing meets his shoulder blade, keeping up a steady stream of whispered curses as he steps behind him. “Scott—if I fall—”

“You’ll probably land on some duke, so don’t do that,” Scott advises, glancing down at the dizzying array below. Sure enough, that looks like the Duke of Evien right under where Jimmy would land.

It’s an absolute miracle that nobody is looking up to the dark rafters, because the church is packed with people. The chapel seats close to five hundred, Scott knows, massive as it is, and yet every pew is filled, people left standing, lining the walls, crowding the entrance.

Scott tears his eyes away and creeps along, careful to test every step before putting his full weight on it, until he reaches a sheet of wood a bit more like a platform than the walkway, where he can kneel and peer down below. Jimmy joins him, slides their hands together.

“What’s going on down there? Why is Lizzie here?”

Scott scans the room, trying to spot everyone. All of the emperors are seated near the front—Lizzie behind Shelby and Joey on the left side, fWhip and Gem on the right side beside Katherine and in front of Sausage—and seated at the very front is Joel, then a priest that Scott remembers kind of liking whenever he attended chapel, then two empty seats.

And before them is the altar. Atop the altar is an unwrinkled white linen, with a very familiar crown resting on it. Scott's own crown. The one that had been hand-crafted for him when neither of his parents recovered from their horrible illness.

It’s a rather beautiful crown, if he does say so himself. A golden base, threads of gold crawling up to support and wrap around several white crystals, clear gems woven into the gold. Scott’s always been impressed by the workmanship that must have gone into such delicate materials to make them into the sturdy thing, and it’s clearly been polished recently, as the crystals catch every ray of light and absolutely sparkle.

Ilphas is walking down the aisle, he notices, and they pause right beside the altar for the briefest of moments before turning out to the crowd.

“Respected guests,” they say, voice ringing through the vaulted ceiling of the chapel. Everyone immediately hushes, turning their eyes forward. “The service will begin with a traditional elvish hymn, written thousands of years ago. The lyrics are in the Old Elvish tongue, but they envision the glory of the afterlife that awaits . . . that awaits. It will be performed by Sarelir of Arde’s Line and Cacil of the Far Forests.”

They incline their head and step back down to sit beside the priest, who shifts slightly, as the harp once again strikes up and an elf stands from the front row, rolling their shoulders.

Scott is absolutely transfixed.

“What’s going on?” Jimmy whispers again. “What is this?”

It’s so surreal, Scott’s not even sure what to say.

“This—this is my funeral,” he finally manages. “We’re watching my funeral.”

“This is so odd,” Scott whispers, for what’s probably the seventh time.

“It’s not fair, is what it is,” Jimmy tells him. “Did I have a funeral?”

“Yes, of course,” Scott says absently, too focused on the priest’s readings in Old Elvish to even look at Jimmy. ‘It was a lovely service.”

“I wish I'd been there,” Jimmy grumbles. “Who spoke?”

“Joel gave the sermon, but . . . several people spoke. Er, Lizzie cried during her speech.”

“Wow. Was it sad—I mean, she cried, right—but like, sad, or a good sad?”

“Why are they doing this in Old Elvish?” Scott wonders aloud. “Usually, the priest wants people to understand the blessings. My funeral ought to be entirely in Common.”

As a testament to the lack of understanding, the mourners down below are beginning to look a bit bored. Lizzie is paying rapt (if somewhat vacant) attention, and Gem seems to have some sort of idea of what’s happening (as she’s taking notes), but Joel is fidgeting with the buttons on his purple coat, and Sausage is pelting little pieces of paper at fWhip’s back.

Even the native elves seem confused, disinterested. Some are frowning, focusing hard to understand (and those must be scholars, librarians, and priests, those who have studied the language for a considerable amount of time), but most are simply gazing forward with no sign on their faces that they are even listening.

His people. . . .

His people look unwell.

Their skin appears somewhat wax, though perhaps that’s just the low lighting and the black clothing—even so, many familiar faces are certainly thinner than Scott remembers, and their eyes are dull and redrimmed and scared, and Scott can’t stand to see them so.

But how on earth is he going to make this any better? How will he do anything but fail?

There’s a quiet noise from below, almost a snort, and Scott looks away from the elves to see Joey, head slumped back and eyes shut, mouth half-open in sleep.

“I wasn’t gonna say it, but this is kind of boring,” murmurs Jimmy. “My funeral wasn’t, right?”

“Jimmy, I honestly don’t remember much of what happened at your funeral right now.”

“I wish I could’ve seen it. Then I would be able to compare.”

The priest finishes up cyr sermon with a statement that Scott recognizes despite the language barrier, one that’s spoken at every kingly event he attends—“Blessed by Aeor may our king be.” Then ce sits, and after a moment, Joel gets up and stands behind the altar.

He takes a moment to look out over the massive congregation, the scribes waiting to write down every word he says, the fellow emperors before him.

Scott sees Joel’s shoulders raise in a deep breath, then he speaks.

“When I was asked to do this bit, I was . . . kind of intimidated,” Joel says, straightening his sash. “Jimmy’s was different—there weren’t very many traditions I had to know about, but it seemed like every day I’d get a message from Rivendell informing me of whatever other thing I would have to keep in mind. I’m honestly just glad that there isn't a body—I never quite figured out which shoulder I was supposed to pour oil on.”

A couple of chuckles, mostly from royals of other empires. Some of the elves shift uncomfortably; Scott can just barely see Ilphas from this angle, but he can practically hear the elf’s disappointed sigh at Joel’s flippancy with sacred customs.

“We do the whole mourning thing a bit differently in Mezelea,” Joel says. “I know when Jimmy died, Scott had his year-long bit, and Lizzie had forty days. Mezelea has three days—and only that much if you’re close to the person who passed.

“I took those three days. I may not have known Scott too terribly well, but we were friends, I guess. We were friends, and I know what he’d want me to do.”

Joel looks out over the crowd again, massive as it is, head turning left and right.

“I’m not going to say what Lizzie did at Jimmy’s memorial,” says Joel, voice hard. “But know that I mean it. And the emotions that Lizzie incited in your souls then ought to be roaring right now. Can you feel that? Can you—”

CRACK.

A red tentacle bursts through the floor, and before anyone can do anything, before anyone can draw breath to scream or even acknowledge its existence, it smacks into Joel with enough force to send him flying into the wall to his right, where he slumps and lays limp.

“No—!” Lizzie cries out, standing, but she doesn’t rush forward as with a flash of darkness—all the candles and torches go out, flickering back as red, darkness seems to sweep the room like the death outside, and Scott swallows against the ill, sticky feeling in the back of his throat—the demon himself appears, standing before the altar.

His life as the usurping ruler of Rivendell must be treating him well. Gone are the torn robes, the grimy grey armor—he wears clean armor, matte black in the near-darkness, his robes below grey, a black cape fixed around his shoulders.

His hair is still unbrushed, long and scraggly, and the crown—or, perhaps, a physical pair of antlers—is still on his head, red glistening from the tips. Scott can’t see his face, but he’s dreamed it so many times that he doesn’t need to.

He can picture the way those horrible, bulging maroon eyes rove amongst the crowd, the too-sharp too-big smile with too many teeth as he surveys his prisoners, his prey.

Scott shudders.

He’s been (almost) killed by Xornoth once already.

Can he stand a second time? Can he walk calmly toward that horrifying visage, give him the deranged joy of his brother going to him as sacrifice, a futile attempt to save his people?

The new lighting bathes the chapel in an eerie glow and mist rolls out from Xornoth, obscuring Scott’s vision even further. Gasps and screams from the sudden appearance go silent as everyone waits, dreadfully, for the demon to speak.

Xornoth takes a long, deep breath, an inhale through his nose as he tilts his head back, taking in all the mourners in black.

“There is such power here,” he says eventually, distorted voice bouncing around the high ceiling. Jimmy squeezes Scott’s hand, silent and radiating terror.

Has Jimmy ever seen the demon? A nasty sight for the first time.

Or does he just sense the end, as awful and impending as it is for Scott?

“Such power. Godly power. And many don’t even know it,” Xornoth says, each word deliberate and dripping. “Who knew that the gods still dwell on earth?”

He stares out at—at someone, but Scott can’t tell who.

What? Gods?

There’s Aeor, of course, but Aeor isn’t physically present. Nor is Exor, despite both gods’ champions being here.

Scott knows that other gods exist, but most others aren’t terribly bothered with the elves. Different cultures have different deities, and of those of the Thirty-Three, only the two brothers had ever been documented in contact with the elves.

“And I will soon be more powerful than them. But first . . . a little victory, a personal achievement for me. Elf?”

Xornoth looks behind himself, and Ilphas, slowly, rises.

“Declare me king with my brother’s crown.”

Oh, now that is going too far.

Scott can feel his blood positively boiling. Of course, Xornoth has to have this. Not only is that his crown, it’s also entirely against every burial tradition and even ancient law! It’s nothing but a way to gloat, a move of blatant disrespect and total power.

Nobody will stand against him, though. Nobody can. All they would be met with is death.

And yet, as Ilphas carefully picks up the crown, held in their right hand, they tuck their left hand into their robe.

Scott sees it before anyone else, he thinks. Xornoth takes a knee at the altar, head bowed, setting his dripping and blackened crown of Exor (so it is a crown, not antlers—though—are those bleeding holes in the top of his brother’s head?) on the white burial sheet. The demon doesn’t see a thing. Not the way that Ilphas draws near, nor the way they hold the crown far from Xornoth’s head. Not the flash of silver that Ilphas pulls from their robe and drives into Xornoth's back—

In a fluid move that sends his dark cape swirling around him, Xornoth rises and spins on his heel and grabs Ilphas by the throat, just as he had Scott so long ago.

The hundreds of people in the chapel cry out in a cacophony of sound—Scott can’t see them, Xornoth stands and lifts Ilphas, Ilphas’s shaking hands drop both the crown and the dagger as they futilely push against Xornoth—

The elf chokes, Xornoth’s grip so tight that Scott just knows his windpipe is being crushed—

Xornoth throws Ilphas to the ground with a solid thud and raises his right hand, turned out so the audience sees all that happens. They all fall silent, waiting, dreading.

A red mist—or a flame, maybe, some kind of magic that glows and burns Scott’s eyes like smoke—begins to form in Xornoth’s hand, swirling and intensifying.

“Let this,” he growls, “be the first example of the punishment that awaits insolence.”

He closes his hand, curling the magic into his fist, and points it down at Ilphas—Ilphas stirs slightly, but not enough to move, to dodge the blast about to come, and Scott isn’t going to let another person die while he stands by and watches—

He doesn’t think. Scott throws himself down from the rafter, falling, air rushing through his ears and the ground speeding closer as his aching wings flare out at the last second to catch him, landing one knee on the ground, one hand out to steady himself (ice spreads out across the floor in a crackling radius from his fist), in front of Xornoth.

Silence.

And then the chapel bursts into noise.

Scott straightens up, dusts off his hands, even as Xornoth stumbles back, face slack with shock, the magic vanishing from his hand.

He may be about to die, but Scott feels that he ought to be acknowledged in history books for that entrance.

He’s about to say something cool, like “miss me?” or “I’d like my crown back, thank you” when there’s a whoosh of air right beside him—

Followed by a thud and a loud crack!—

As Jimmy lands in a heap beside him, one leg bent in a way that it surely shouldn’t be capable of.

Scott stares. Xornoth stares. Ilphas stares.

Jimmy raises his head, grabs onto Scott’s rough tunic and drags himself up, hands clinging to him, careful not to put weight on his leg.

“Did you just break your leg?” Scott hisses.

Jimmy nods, face scrunched up in pain.

“Why?”

“It’ll heal,” Jimmy gasps. “Just—just give me a second.”

“Jimmy?” a familiar voice cries, and Scott glances out to see Lizzie, vaulting over the pew between her and the front of the room. “I—what—?”

“What the f—” Sausage’s quite reasonable question is cut off by fWhip’s exclamation of “How are you both alive?”

Lizzie doesn’t get close at all before Xornoth points at her; another horrid tentacle bursts through the ground in an explosion of stone and wraps around her legs, tearing her dress. It swings her through the air over their heads and slams her into a marble pillar near the back of the chapel, which cracks and crumbles onto her motionless body.

The church goes silent again, every person who just moments ago had been rushing to get out of their seat and to the door now frozen in place.

“So,” Xornoth sneers, squaring his shoulders. “Back from the dead? And your little fish boy, too. Was losing once not enough?”

Kind of his thoughts exactly, really. Glad they're on the same page.

What on earth does Aeor expect him to do?

Why is he back?

He has to say something. He has to look like he has some sort of plan, because literally every second of this mission has been last-second decisions with nothing concrete to follow and he hates that, he can’t give Xornoth a reason to gloat atop everything else.

But Scott doesn’t even have the chance to come up with a witty comeback before literally everything explodes.

There’s a ringing sound.

A piercing ringing, drowning out every sound that might be expected, and when Scott goes down, it’s almost . . . slow.

Slow . . . slow, as if by some consideration, the air has decided to thicken to the point of near-water, taking Scott down . . . down. . . .

Scott’s sent flying forward, something hard crashing into his back, holding to Jimmy for dear life as he probably shouts but can’t hear anything but the ringing. They both crash to the floor, Scott beside Jimmy, his eyes squinted shut, one arm pulled up to cover his head.

A hand grasps the back of his coat, pulling him back, dragging him away from Jimmy; an acrid smell washes over Scott and he knows who has him even if he can’t open his eyes for all the dust and grime in his vision—

And then something else knocks Xornoth aside, and Scott stumbles to the side and rubs at his eyes enough that he can squint and see that the entire left wall of the church has been blown off entirely, right behind where he had just been standing.

Rivendell outside, not long ago looking more muted than anything, is bathed in the same red dimness as the chapel. The clouds overhead are dark, darker than a normal raincloud, the ground absolutely writhing with dozens of those massive red tentacles.

His Rivendell, his beautiful Rivendell. . . .

Xornoth is on the ground in the settling dust and splinters of the destroyed marble and spruce wood of the walls, wrestling with—with Katherine, of all people. Jimmy’s still on the ground, covered in scrapes and dust but sitting up, pouring from his waterskin onto his leg, and there are other guests everywhere, panicking and pushing—and the ringing fades, just slightly, then more and more and they’re shouting and screaming and trying to make their way out.

Scott ignores them and stumbles outside through the very large new door, tripping over chunks of marble. The air inside the church is thick with dust, and if he can get out of there maybe he’ll be able to properly see what’s going on.

Once he steps outside, however, something in the air shimmers. Then wobbles.

Then, out of literal thin air, the Grimlands army begins to emerge (clearly identifiable by their strange boxy uniforms and leather helmets), marching through the gardens between the palace grounds and the rest of the kingdom and inexorably toward the church and the masses there.

“No way,” Scott tries to say around the dust choking his throat, the words escaping as more of a cough.

He turns back around, ready to warn everyone to flee—

The guests, just moments ago a mass of chaos, are slowly forming rows behind him, each with a weapon drawn—lots of daggers, of course, but some short swords, some spears, some maces.

Where—what?

How? Why?

The mourners—all these people here to mourn Scott, not just those that were permitted into the chapel, but the hundreds outside as well—have somehow become a small army.

And Joel comes limping through the center of the crowd (they shuffle aside, clearly looking to him for guidance), covered in the dust of the rubble, a bit of blood trickling down his temple.

“Glad to see everyone’s here and ready to fight,” Joel shouts, heading up toward Scott. “We’ll be joined by more as soon as they notice.”

He turns, claps Scott on the shoulder, then points to the approaching Grimlands soldiers. “Fight!”

Their little band, so far no larger than the force of rebels that Jimmy had been leading across the prairie (so many less than the Grimlands, surely), breaks forward at a run, some yelling, some brandishing their weapons. In the middle of it, Scott and Joel stand (and Scott instinctively takes a couple of steps back, fully aware that he has zero control over his curse right now).

Joel looks exhausted—Scott had seen how hard Xornoth threw him into the wall, so he’s honestly surprised that the man is even walking. And not only walking, but apparently leading an army?

“I don't know how you’re alive,” Joel says, grinning, “but it’s good to have you, for however long it’ll be.”

Scott’s imagined this moment several times in the past weeks—reuniting with friends who thought him dead would be inconceivably emotional, perhaps even distressing (as it was with him and Jimmy). But instead of all the planned phrases he came up with for Joel, all he can manage is,

“Why does everyone have weapons?”

Joel chuckles. “We got them to everyone who needed one before the service.”

“You handed out daggers as party favors for my funeral?”

“We’re trying to take back Rivendell, we had to do something! We didn't really expect you and Xornoth to show up, honestly. Can you still do that ice thing?”

“I can’t control it without Jimmy,” says Scott, and as if to punctuate his statement, several icicles shoot up from the earth.

If Joel is confused by his mention of Jimmy, he doesn’t show it. “You don’t need to control it, you just need to not hit our people.”

Joel runs off before Scott can say that part of having a lack of control means that he can’t exactly avoid hitting their people.

There’s people running, yelling, fighting. Xornoth and Jimmy (and so many others) are somewhere in the rubble of the half-destroyed church behind him. Red tentacles are bursting out of the ground all around, lifting up their ragtag bunch of fighters. fWhip’s army is approaching, growing larger and closer by the minute.

And Scott’s here in the midst of it.

He flexes his fingers and runs, ice spreading from every pounding footstep.

Jimmy watches, biting his lip, as his leg mends, the bone tingling and straightening. The pain dissipates bit-by-bit, and though it isn’t fully done, Jimmy stands, shaking it out.

Joel’s on the ground, by the wall that collapsed, and Jimmy stumbles over to him. Miraculously, none of the wall fell onto him, but he’s still unconscious, blood dripping down his cheek.

Jimmy pours some water from the skin on his belt onto his fingers, lightly touches his head. Joel stirs, starts to sit up, starts to rub his eyes, as if he had never been more than stunned.

As much as Jimmy longs to stop and hug him, or talk to him, he moves on, over to the altar, beside which Katherine lies in a heap, alone on the floor, blood seeping out under her.

Where’d the demon go? Not his problem. He needs to help these people, then probably—Lizzie? Find her among the rubble? Go after Scott?

Jimmy kneels and places both hands on Katherine’s shoulders, holds her for a moment, letting the tingling feeling leave his fingers and enter her.

After a moment, Katherine moves a little, mumbles something, and Jimmy heads to the next person, just beyond Katherine.

Scott’s advisor, Ilphas, is sitting against the back wall of the chapel, massaging their throat. They look at Jimmy with something like wonder in their eyes as Jimmy kneels down before them and places a gentle hand on their throat.

Ilphas flinches back at the touch, but the appearing bruise recedes under Jimmy’s fingers, and when he draws back, they prod at their throat, apparently amazed.

“You . . . you are a god,” breathes Ilphas.

“Cod, actually,” Jimmy corrects, then heads to the other side of the room, toward a woman cradling her arm.

“Jimmy!”

Jimmy whirls to the side as someone grabs his elbow—Pix, smiling, eyes shining. He’s covered in dust, like everyone else, but he seems almost . . . happy.

“It’s time,” Pix says. He nods once, pats Jimmy’s shoulder.

“Sorry, time for what?”

“The sword.”

Right. Right! Pix had given him the sword, ancient and covered in runes, with the strict instructions to give it up when the time came. Jimmy’s been waiting, assuming that he would instinctively know the time, but apparently it’s . . . now.

He reaches over his shoulder, grasps the hilt, but Pix shakes his head.

“Not to me,” he says. “Scott. Give Scott the sword. Hurry.”

Oh. He can do that.

Which way did Scott go?

Lizzie is dying.

She knows she’s dying, because her vision keeps going grainy around the edges, and she can’t feel her legs, and a huge chunk of marble has pierced her stomach, blood seeping out all around it.

There’s something that she has to do, then.

She promised herself over a month ago that if she was ever dying, she would do it.

So Lizzie reaches with numb, trembling fingers into her satchel, past the cold hilt of a dagger and landing on the squishy-yet-solid mass that had been left in the pouch with the mysterious book.

Scott pushes a piece of hair behind his ear, rolls up his sleeves for the third time. He’s just narrowly dodged away from a soldier viciously slashing about with his sword, hidden briefly behind a tree that he had once read a history book under.

He’s in the midst of the battle, and he really doesn’t have any sort of control over all of the snow and ice, and he hadn’t carried any other weapon, so he's been trying to avoid just about everyone—

“Scott!”

He whips around—

Gem.

He’d seen her face back then, stone-like and motionless, her hair white, her body slumped in a way that clearly communicated she wouldn’t be getting up again any time soon.

He was certain he’d killed her when she wouldn’t respond to fWhip’s shaking.

But now, she’s alive. She’s alive and moving and breathing—and she’s hurrying toward him across the battlefield that used to be a very lovely park, her bag outstretched.

“You’re going to get him now, aren’t you?” she asks breathlessly, shoving her bag into Scott’s chest. It ices over as he accepts it.

“The crystal’s in there, and one of the boots—we couldn’t find the other,” she tells him with a grimace. “We’re really doing it this time, right?”

Scott just stares at her, his arms burning where her fingers had brushed them.

She’s okay.

He’s spent so many nights remembering that final moment, when the ice exploded out of him and she collapsed, when he barely had a moment to mourn before he was gone, too.

She’s here now, and there’s a bruise on her temple and her red hair is coming out its braid, and her face is smudged with dust, and she’s grinning and so very alive.

It feels good to know that he didn’t kill one of his friends.

Scott opens the bag, and sure enough, the crystal is sparkling within, a familiar, hated boot squished in next to it.

“Well?”

Scott looks back up at Gem, at the hope shining in her eyes, at the smile that he never thought he’d see again.

Does he tell her that he’s dying?

That she’ll have to go through it again in a matter of hours, at most?

Does he prepare her in some small way, or give her a couple of moments of freedom from the grief?

Scott doesn’t have time to make a decision, however, because something to the left crashes.

They both turn, toward the church, not too far away but far enough—

It happens as if in slow motion, crashing through the rubble and still-standing bricks, straightening to full height as stone cascades off it and any people nearby flee.

There’s a monster bursting through the remains of the collapsed wall.

A monster.

Hasn’t enough happened?

The monster is blue, and scaly, and twelve feet tall at least, with long pink hair that tangles down its shoulders and covers its face. It stumbles out of the church, stretches a little, and immediately grabs a Mythland soldier with both claws and chucks him as far as it can.

“What in the world—?” Gem gasps, running toward the monster.

As fun as it sounds to run directly toward the killer lizard thing, Scott decides to turn the other way, looping Gem’s bag over his other shoulder so it doesn't bang against his satchel. The monster, luckily, keeps heading down the path, towards the city itself and not toward his palace, which overlooks the entire city from its place beyond the church.

Scott heads that way, scaling the ivy trellises on the low wall between the gardens and his palace grounds, where already the battle has spread. There’s soldiers and Rivendellian rebels fighting right and left, and horrible black-and-red flags (hung in the place of Scott’s typical blue and gold) have been torn down and trampled, like rags under the feet of the battle.

Scott dodges through the fight—he isn’t sure where he’s trying to get to, just somewhere away, somewhere he can maybe pray for the strength to face his death with dignity—

There’s a storm coming. A snowstorm, judging by the dropping temperature and the little flurries that fall before Scott’s eyes. The land round about is growing even darker, the clouds above looming more and more threateningly.

Scott shoves past a falling soldier, stumbles over an uneven chunk of frozen ground, straightens and continues—

A flash of lightning, followed by a rumble of thunder—

He’s there.

Oh, no.

Xornoth is right there, up ahead maybe . . . maybe forty meters, waiting.

Staring at Scott.

His eyes are maroon pits of nothing, his skin grey and distorted. His blackened lips are stretched into a smile, his long, matted hair falling down around his shoulders. Again on his head is that horrid, dripping crown of antlers, in such opposition to the golden antlers in Scott’s satchel.

He is doom, he is death, and Scott can taste it on the frosty air.

This is the end.

Scott retrieves Aeor’s crown from the Codmade satchel at his side, sets it carefully on his head. Lightning flashes again—Xornoth is closer, red mist rolling out around his feet, spreading across the grounds.

The fighting gradually comes to a standstill—some unspoken beckon brings all eyes toward them, shifting in their formations until there's a good crowd of onlookers surrounding them, watching. Waiting.

Scott doesn’t have a weapon. With Jimmy’s hand in his, he hasn’t needed one—he’s been one.

But Jimmy isn’t here.

And Scott is going to die.

At least Jimmy won't have to see it.

He squares his shoulders, fumbles in Gem’s bag for a moment, extracting the crystal, cool and heavy in the palm of his hand. He lets her satchel fall, ignoring the boot within.

Xornoth actually laughs, the sound barely carrying to Scott over the growing wind.

“You’re going to try that again?” he calls, slowly striding toward Scott, each step deliberate, more mist clouding out with every thud of his clunky boots against the ground. “It failed, brother. Why would it work now?”

Exactly Scott’s question. But he doesn't really have a choice, at this point. It’s not like he can run from the demon.

The wind whistles in Scott’s ears, almost like the ringing of the earlier explosion.

This is it.

Xornoth draws his sword with a shiiing—black, and, like his crown, dripping. He didn’t have a sword before, back on the windswept plateau, did he?

Scott swallows back the cold fear in his throat at being run through with that sword, darkness spilling into his insides, but he puts up one hand, ready to send a burst of ice or something—

People are screaming, yelling over the wind—

There isn’t any ice—

Scott’s hair is whipped into his eyes by the wind and he can’t see much but he sees Xornoth come forward, sword ready to strike—

He can’t move, his feet are literally frozen to the ground—

He squints his eyes shut, dear Aeor please—

Something warm collides with Scott, holding him in a suddenly-warm (warm, home, his Jimmy) hug and he hears a sound kind of like a squnch followed by a gasp in his ear.

The wind dies—not calm, not dwindling, but sharply, leaving silence and the sound of Scott’s heaving breaths and thudding heart.

He opens his eyes to golden, too-long hair, and he feels just barely like he has a tenuous hold on his curse.

He feels warm.

Scott leans back just the slightest bit. Jimmy’s right here, and maybe it’s selfish, but he just wants to see his beloved once more before he dies.

Jimmy’s pale lips tremble as he gives Scott a small smile.

Blood drips from the corner of his mouth.

Jimmy is holding him, and Scott looks past his shoulder to Xornoth right there, holding. . . .

The sword in Xornoth’s hands is buried in Jimmy’s back, and Scott looks down—the point of it is sticking out of Jimmy’s gut, shining with blood. His tunic is rapidly becoming soaked with blood, and Scott realizes that Jimmy is less hugging him and more collapsing onto him.

He’s going to throw up.

He’s going to sob.

Jimmy is dying right in front of him, and Scott can do nothing but hold him.

Xornoth catches Scott’s eye, smirks, and twists the sword.

Jimmy grunts, eyes fluttering closed.

Horror wells up in Scott—horror and anger, cold and terrible, and the snow begins to fall properly as lightning flashes against the dark clouds.

His betrothed is dying in his arms—Jimmy threw himself in the way of the sword to save Scott and now he’s dying, he’s dying again, Jimmy is dying in his arms—

“Scott,” Jimmy breathes, trembling against him. “Scott . . . the sword. . . .”

“I know,” Scott says, frantic, not sure where to put his hands or what to do because everything sounds like it’s coming from underwater and he feels sick, he doesn’t know how to help, “it’s okay, I’ll get the sword out, you’ll be okay—”

“No,” Jimmy interrupts, the sharp nails of his left hand digging weakly into Scott’s shoulder. “Take the . . . the Rune Sword, Scott. . . . It’s time. . . .”

Scott’s eyes catch on the hilt of that sword that Jimmy always wears on his back, that he doesn’t unbuckle even to sleep, the one with the sparkling runes carved into the leather grip.

Xornoth notices it, too. His face goes slack with shock—and maybe a little fear—

In one fluid motion, Scott reaches around Jimmy and withdraws the sword from its sheath with a rring!

The effect is immediate.

Deep inside, the broken parts slide together perfectly with a satisfying click. A tingling spreads down Scott’s limbs, the ice around his ankles melting instantly.

His chest feels like it’s going to burst with something close to elation. Everything feels so—so right, so whole.

He feels like he can take in a full breath without fear that his soul will crack apart.

He feels like there’s a little warmth in his bones—not that the frost is melting, but that it’s a proper part of him.

He’d described it, once, as a door. A door that he had to push against with all his might to keep it shut, and he only had the strength to do so when with Jimmy.

That wasn’t quite right.

It isn’t a door. It’s a piece to a puzzle that has finally been recovered, set in place in the center of his chest.

He feels like everything is right.

He feels powerful.

Snow whirls around him, and he raises the rune sword.

Xornoth tugs his own sword out of Jimmy (who slides to the ground and lays there, crumpled) and raises it, more in a fighting stance than an execution this time.

Scott moves more on instinct than anything else—and not his own. The instinct of someone from long ago, someone who once wielded this very blade against Exor’s Champion.

He parries Conal’s—Xornoth’s attack, swinging the sword like he was born for it. He was trained with a sword, wasn’t he? Long ago—years—centuries—

He steps into Xornoth's space, keeps walking him back—Xornoth is definitely concerned, now, and it’s as if power is literally radiating down his entire body from the crown of antlers. This feels right, this is perfect, his every vein and nerve are singing in perfect harmony—

Alinar attacks relentlessly, frost curling down the sword, illuminating sparkling runes on the blade. The ground beneath them has become ice, and the demon slips with every shuffling step back and he was made for this. He swings and blocks and steps like it’s all a great dance choreographed by the gods, perfectly in time with his God on High, and the music within him swells as he spins Conal around, steps too close to him, and pushes him to the ground, kicking out his knee.

“Please,” Conal-Exor-Xornoth gasps from the ground, his sword fallen to the side, “please . . . Aeor, have mercy. . . .”

“This is mercy,” Alinar-Aeor-Scott says, and he drops the crystal onto the demon’s shoulder before plunging the sword through it, dropping to his own knees to drive it as far as possible.

The crystal ripples as the sword passes through like water, and straight into the demon’s shoulder—

Scott screams, it burns, his arm—

Conal screeches as well, writhes on the ground where the sword has him pinned, red mist is bursting out of him and slowly being absorbed by the crystal and it hurts, it’s as if a sword has cleaved through his own shoulder but Alinar holds on, he has to save his people—

And then it’s over.

The crystal lands on empty, frozen ground, now purely red.

The demon is gone.

It hurts too much to keep going.

Scott had fallen to his knees to push the sword into Xornoth, and now he falls the rest of the way.

He slumps to the ground, sword under him, and knows no more.

It nudges at his cheek, hairy and soft, and Scott’s eyelids flutter as his vision blurs and clears, barely focusing on the stag’s noble muzzle.

Scott lets out a breath, short and shallow. His whole body aches, from the tip of his forehead down to his toes, and he cannot even find the strength to raise his head, see his injuries.

For a moment, it seems that blood streams down from between the stag’s antlers, as it so often has.

He’s lying on the forest floor, spongy mud and soft grass under him.

It gives him a moment of vertigo—usually he looks down on the ground, no?

Then the stag speaks, its white eyes fixed on him. It doesn’t move its mouth, just stares at him as Scott hears its words echo through his head.

“Ni’iun ñe ndie Ndíoxī xi’iun, se’eii. A va’a?”

Scott’s mouth whispers the response.

“Va’a vá.”

The stag huffs, nudges again at his cheek.

“Kunda’avi iniyuu yo’o, se’eii. Kundi yu’u nu takundi’i ña’a, ra kuvi kī’viun ñe ndiviyuu xi’i kūsūnku.”

His eyes roll, just slightly, as the stag blurs in his vision.

“Va’á và,” his lips breathe. “Tixa’viniu.”

“Kūsūn, se’eii.”

Scott’s eyelids are almost too heavy to open.

His body aches, somewhere not quite beyond the realm of consciousness. It feels. . . .

He isn’t awake. Not really. Just drifting toward wakefulness, the pain more present with every passing moment.

There are strange, oddly-shaped words on the tip of his tongue.

The way his body is laid is beginning to be uncomfortable. He shifts a little to see if it’s a better position, and it is for a moment before becoming exponentially worse, so he shifts back to how he’d been.

Where is he?

(A forest floor?)

His first thought is Jimmy’s little tent out in the woods, but whatever he’s lying on is far more comfortable than Jimmy’s worn bedroll. And his second thought is the Rivendell infirmary, but he banishes that thought from his mind as soon as it appears. There’s no way that would be possible.

Maybe it’s just a really soft patch of ground?

Scott forces his eyes open, blinks a couple of times to adjust. It’s very . . . white, he supposes. Very clean.

Very familiar.

This . . .this is the Rivendell infirmary, isn’t it?

He tilts his head up as much as he can, looks around himself.

It’s rather dark. Only one lamp is burning on a bedside table across the room, all the curtains drawn.

And beside him, snoring in a chair, is Pix.

Of all people, Pix isn’t really the one that he expected to see here. He didn’t really expect to see anyone. Usually when he wakes up in the infirmary, he’s all alone.

Why is he in Rivendell?

It takes a moment of retracing his steps—traveling to the Ocean Kingdom, getting sidetracked, taking all night to fly to Rivendell, crashing his own funeral—to get mentally caught up.

He remembers being . . . more. More than himself. Those moments are odd in his memory, as if in slow-motion, and he doesn’t quite feel connected to them.

Did he . . . did he defeat Xornoth?

No.

Against all odds, did he do it?

Did Jimmy die?

“Pix,” Scott croaks, swallowing. His throat is so dry. “Pix.”

Pix starts, sits up properly. “What? What is it?”

He blinks several times, pushes his shaggy hair out of his face (his crown is nowhere in sight) and scans the room until his eyes fall on Scott.

“Oh,” Pix says, eyes widening with clear surprise. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Scott’s really not sure how he’s feeling. He feels sleepy, for the most part. Sore. Like his limbs are weighed down. “I don’t know. Jimmy? Is . . . is Jimmy okay?”

Pix smiles, just the slightest bit, absolutely still surprised. “Of course. Yes, he’s doing all right. Still healing, I believe—it takes more than a day to recover from a mortal wound, after all. Now, how are you? How is your arm?”

Jimmy’s all right.

Jimmy survived.

They both survived and Xornoth—

“Xornoth—?”

“Defeated.”

“And everyone else?”

Pix chuckles. “Everyone is fine, Scott. Well, Lizzie’s a little . . . different. But there were surprisingly few casualties from the battle, and Rivendell has been reclaimed—I believe Joel tried to claim it for his own, actually, so you may need to be reinstated relatively soon—but you needn’t worry about anything while you recover.”

While he recovers?

Recovers from what?

Why is he in the infirmary? Scott doesn’t remember getting injured. The last part he remembers is—well. . . .

He was different, wasn’t he?

It hurts his head to think about. It’s odd to try and place himself in those final moments, a sword that both was and wasn’t his dancing in his hands, the absolute rightness of the union within him, the fear on his foil’s face.

“How is your arm?” Pix asks again, and Scott looks down at himself.

Lying atop the grey blanket that covers his body, his arms look normal. They don’t feel out of the ordinary. He flexes the fingers of his right hand, then—

Pain shoots down his left arm as he tries to move it, and Scott can’t quite bite back a groan. Now that he’s aware of it, his arm just aches—his shoulder seems to pulse with angry heat, and it’s suddenly all he can do to not just lie his head back on the pillow and cry.

Dear Aeor, it hurts.

He doesn’t remember injuring his shoulder. He doesn’t remember getting hurt at all, but with his battle with Xornoth being so . . . odd (he remembers not being himself, thinking thoughts that didn’t belong to him) so it could have happened, he supposes?

There’s no wrappings on his arm, though. He's still wearing that old tunic that used to belong to Jimmy, and the tan sleeve of his long-sleeved undershirt hasn’t been cut away or rolled up. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.

“What happened to my arm?” Scott asks, doing his best not to panic, when a fresh wave of pain has mostly passed and he can speak without gritting his teeth.

Pix’s eyes are sad, old, and he takes a moment for a deep sigh. “You’re so young, Scott. Alinar was over six hundred when he defeated Conal. You’re just over a hundred.”

A strange statement to make, but not untrue. Scott waits as Pix seems to collect himself, resists the urge to demand more answers. Pix will tell in his own time.

“The sword that belongs to you,” Pix says after a long moment, “is a sword that was crafted by the God of Death for Aeor himself. He used the sword to bind Exor to the Void in the End, and when Conal found Exor and brought part of him back to this world, Alinar wielded the sword to bind him to a crystal. As you did with Xornoth this morning.”

Silence.

What?

“This is all—much information,” Scott says, head spinning a bit—Aeor? The God of Death?—as he tries to figure out what exactly Pix is and isn’t saying. Why does Pix even know these things? “But what does that have to do with my arm?”

“That sword,” continues Pix, “is a binding sword. The runes that adorn it are the magic of the God of Death—it imprints itself on one’s very soul. It bound your magic to you, instead of letting it run wild. And it now has bound Xornoth to the crystal that Gem created.”

Pix sighs, scrubs at his bearded cheek. “The sword could have been more precise, of course. But when two persons already are bound to one another, what the sword does to one will affect the other. And you and your brother have been bound together since before your birth.”

“I—how? Because we’re twins? Or—”

“I don’t wish to worry you with prophecies and the like,” Pix interrupts (which, for the record, sounds like an excuse to Scott). “But know that many have spoken of you, surrounded by the living gods as you are. And since both you and Xornoth have pieces of Alinar and Conal, and Aeor and Exor . . . even without the prophecies, you have been bound.”

That doesn’t make sense. Bindings? Gods?

Does it?

What sort of prophecies is Pix talking about?

“We’re really just lucky Jimmy never accidentally stabbed himself,” Pix mutters. “That would have been bad for you.”

“Sorry?” Pix waves him off. “Oh, nothing. We can discuss it more at another time. Just know that you and Xornoth are bound, and the sword is also binding, and in using the sword to pin Xornoth to the crystal you’ve also pinned your own arm."

He’s what?

“Does my arm still work?” he asks, trying to move his fingers again. His index finger just barely twitches.

“Not well, certainly. And it will hurt for the rest of your days. As far as I’m aware, and not due to his lack of trying, Alinar never discovered a way to regain the use of his own arm without freeing the demon.”

Right.

Um, that’s. . . .

That’s fine. That is absolutely fine. So his arm will always hurt. For the rest of his life, he’s essentially going to be one-handed.

He can process that later.

He’s curious. Terribly, terribly curious. How on earth does Pix know all this? Why has he chosen to tell Scott now, after everything, instead of saving him some time and giving him the answers before any of this happened?

Those questions pale in comparison to his most important concern, of course.

“But Jimmy—”

“Is going to be fine,” Pix finishes, smiling again. “He’ll probably be in to see you in the morning. Now, would you be all right alone? I have some other business to attend to.”

It’s maybe two hours later that the infirmary door creaks open again and Scott hurriedly wipes his eyes with his one working arm. He’s a king, and kings don’t cry when something bad happens. And in all honesty, something good happened. Something very good happened. He’s selfish to think of himself in this time.

“Scott.”

Scott’s head shoots up at that achingly beloved voice. “Jimmy,” he whispers desperately.

Jimmy’s standing there, in the doorway to the infirmary.

He’s a little green around the gills, and his green tunic is torn and stained coppery around his stomach, and the shadows under his eyes are deep and waxy, but he’s alive. He’s alive and right there and they made it.

It only takes a moment of staring at each other before Jimmy hurries over to his side (his stride is stilted somewhat, one arm clutched around his stomach) and kisses him.

It’s quick, and not at all deep, and just once Scott wishes they could have a kiss that isn’t urgent and aggressive with the thrill of survival, but it’s Jimmy and it’s kissing, so he supposes he doesn’t mind it too much.

Jimmy only breaks the kiss to pull Scott into a hug, and he smells like river and earth and is very damp, but Scott just hugs him back with his one arm and tries not to cry into his shoulder.

Jimmy’s alive.

They’re both alive, and Xornoth is defeated, and they can finally just be happy.

They made it.

“I can't stay,” Jimmy says, voice muffled against Scott’s shoulder. “Lizzie and I are going to go reclaim the Codlands.”

Scott gives a wet little chuckle. “By yourselves?”

“Honestly, we probably could,” Jimmy laughs. “Have you seen Lizzie yet? She’s massive.”

“Sorry, what?”

Jimmy finally pulls away, eases himself into the chair that Pix had vacated with a bit of a grimace. “Yeah. Apparently she ate this weird, squishy ball thing that she found in an old book? And—”

“No,” Scott groans. She didn’t. “I literally told her—”

“—and it turned her into this huge blue sea monster. So she’s giving me a ride to the Codlands, and we’re going to kick Mythland out once and for all!”

Scott does recall seeing a monster break out of the church during the battle, before choosing to go a different direction. And that was Lizzie? “Is—is she going to turn back?” he asks incredulously.

Jimmy shrugs. “We’ll see. She and I . . . we have a lot to talk about. And Pix said something . . . odd.”

“Did he imply that you’re a figure of legend that had been prophecied about?” asks Scott drily.

Jimmy nods.

“Well, that makes two of us.”

Jimmy grins, looks down at the floor.

It’s quiet for a moment. A comfortable quiet, not strained or awkward or anything of the sort.

Scott takes a moment just to stare at him—at Jimmy’s straw-colored hair, the glimmering scales pushing through the scar tissue on his face, the sharp cut-off of one of his ears, the delicate spindles of the other.

In the low light of the moon’s glow, he’s gorgeous. He’s always gorgeous, of course, but something about the way the light cast from the window falls over his lover’s brow leaves Scott in awe.

Jimmy is beautiful.

Scott’s sorry there was ever a time he hadn’t noticed.

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy says eventually, just as Scott’s mind has turned back to pondering his arm.

“What?”

“For—for everything. For the whole—” Jimmy waves his arms. “You know.”

Slowly, Scott shakes his head.

“Lizzie told me—well, she said it was really hard. And I know it was, but I kind of figured that—well, I’m not that important. I didn’t think anyone would be very sad about my death after a week or so had gone by.”

Jimmy shifts, one hand on the back of his neck; something in Scott’s stomach squirms uncomfortably, something that he’s been resolutely pushing down since that hug that broke his curse.

“And Lizzie—Lizzie didn’t like that. She said that I don’t know what you all felt and went through, and I don't get to decide what you feel. She’s kind of mad at me, now. And I didn’t really understand why you were upset with me at the camp, but I think I’m starting to get it now. So, I’m sorry.”

It does still hurt. Scott can’t just forget crying himself to sleep almost every night. He can’t forget looking at himself in that black veil every morning, his eyes red and heart broken.

But Jimmy’s here.

“I’m not sure I really get it, either,” Scott confesses. He doesn’t, kind of. He had been so terrible with Jimmy, and for what? For being alive? “But . . . she’s right. I—I lost you, Jimmy. I thought I would never see you again. It . . . it was difficult to leave that grief, I think. It was difficult to have it all built up inside, then have the reason taken away. You’re left with all sorts of awful feelings and . . . and no reason to have them. Does that make sense?”

Jimmy doesn’t respond.

But after a moment, he reaches out and takes Scott’s good hand in his, thumb tracing over the back of Scott’s hand.

His stomach flips, just like every time.

“You don’t have to hold my hand everywhere anymore,” Scott says, more for a lack of anything to say than to try and push Jimmy away. “Something about the sword being magic and fixing it, I’m not really sure. But I can control it now.”

Jimmy frowns. “Wait a second—the sword?”

At Scott’s nod, he continues, “Does that mean that it was the sword all along? Because I, like, always had it with me?”

Wait.

Does that actually make some sort of sense?

Scott had thought it was the power of Jimmy’s love, overcoming even the most stubborn of curses, but maybe Jimmy was just a conductor of sorts for the sword, giving Scott a temporary binding whenever they touched.

Scott’s head hurts. They’ve won, yes (and how wonderful it is to think those words), but each of his current issues feel beyond comprehension. His whole body kind of aches with the need to sleep, the need to process everything that’s happened, the need to just take a break.

“What time is it?” he asks idly. Jimmy shrugs.

“Past midnight. I’ve been asleep for a while, so I’m not really sure.”

So has he.

Well, he’s spent enough time resting. He needs to get up, organize his country, help the injured, properly send fWhip’s army packing.

Jimmy tries to push him back down when he sits up, but Scott swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands, his left arm hanging limply (and hurting quite a lot) at his side.

That's going to take some getting used to.

Dear Aeor, he desperately wants to lie back down and rest until the end of time (or, at least, until Jimmy returns from the Codlands). He doesn’t give in to the longing, though, just squints his eyes shut for a very long time and eventually takes a step.

He really doesn’t want to sleep, anyways. Memories (bad, sharp, unforgiving) push from the sterilized scent of the infirmary, and now that he’s stood he just wants to leave.

He doesn’t want nightmares.

“A king never rests,” he says when Jimmy tries to convince him to lie down. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

“Let Pix and Katherine handle it, okay? Sleep—”

“But you’re going to be—”

“Lizzie and I will be fine, you can—”

“I don’t want to sleep without you,” Scott manages (which was absolutely not what he meant to say), and Jimmy goes a little pink in the cheeks.

“And I need to explain some things, and organize, and . . . there’s business that requires me. Just as there’s business that requires you.”

Jimmy shakes his head, gives him a gorgeous little smile. “Right. Just don’t overdo it, okay? I’ve got to go, but I love you.”

Jimmy leaves with another soft kiss—and Jimmy’s alive, Scott thought he’d gotten over the novelty of it weeks ago, but Jimmy’s alive and they’re back in Rivendell and they have their whole future ahead of them—

And then he leaves the palace as well, stepping outside to look over the kingdom, once again rightfully his.

Even in the dim light of the night, Scott can see the destruction. The very walls of the palace has been pulled down, rubble all over the grounds. The gardens are wartorn, the grass stained red with blood or demolished tentacles, and there are people here and there, cleaning or carrying away bodies. The full moon shines upon the destroyed church down the hill, illuminating its crumbled walls in a holy glow.

Scott limps down the stairs, down, down to the palace grounds—he picks through patches of destroyed grass, abandoned weapons and armor, exhausted people helping others. He walks down the lawn, down to that spot where the grass is so beaten down that it forms a clear circle where soldiers had paused to watch, all eyes turned toward where the final battle had taken place.

And in the grass near the center of the circle, he finds a cloudy red crystal, the size of his palm.

Scott picks it up, weighs it in his right hand.

Then he puts it in his pocket.

The language used to represent the language of the gods is Mixteco.

[translation:

“You have the power of god with you, my son. How do you feel?”

“Bad.”

“You are my beloved, child. Follow me in all things, and you will enter into my rest.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Rest, my child.”

End translation.]