#also i would like to mention the pairs are simply organized by what i see most on my dash

[xviruserrorx]

Merlin Tags

#bbc merlin

Seasons:

#merlin s1 : 1x01 - 1x02 - 1x03 - 1x04 - 1x05 - 1x06 - 1x07 - 1x08 - 1x09 - 1x10 - 1x11 - 1x12 - 1x13

#merlin s2 : 2x01 - 2x02 - 2x03 - 2x04 - 2x05 - 2x06 - 2x07 - 2x08 - 2x09 - 2x10 - 2x11 - 2x12 - 2x13

#merlin s3 : 3x01 - 3x02 - 3x03 - 3x04 - 3x05 - 3x06 - 3x07 - 3x08 - 3x09 - 3x10 - 3x11 - 3x12 - 3x13

#merlin s4 : 4x01 - 4x02 - 4x03 - 4x04 - 4x05 - 4x06 - 4x07 - 4x08 - 4x09 - 4x10 - 4x11 - 4x12 - 4x13

#merlin s5 : 5x01 - 5x02 - 5x03 - 5x04 - 5x05 - 5x06 - 5x07 - 5x08 - 5x09 - 5x10 - 5x11 - 5x12 - 5x13

Characters:

Main: arthur pendragon | morgana pendragon | guinevere pendragon | merlin emrys | sir gwaine | sir elyan | sir lancelot | sir percival | sir leon | sir mordred | gaius the court physician | uther pendragon | agravain de bois

Side: mithian of nemeth | ygraine de bois | bbcm sefa | bbcm freya | bbcm morgause | bbcm nimueh | bbcm iseldir | king cenred | geoffrey of monmouth | alator of the catha |

One Off: bbcm daegal | bbcm kara | eoghan the map makers apprentice | bbcm gilli | edwin muirden | tyr seward | will of ealdor | elena of gawant | princess vivian | anhora keeper of the unicorns | tristan de bois | bbcm alvarr | bbcm enmyria | julius borden | bbcm aglain | lady catrina | aredian the witchfinder | knight valiant | king alined | the cailleach | bbcm tauren

Extra: knight!merlin | shade!lancelot | enchanted!arthur | enchanted!gwen |

Ships: (that I know of)

Arthur: #arlance | #arlyan | # armor | #arwen

Elyan:

Gwaine: #gwaincelot | #gwainevere

Gwen:

Leon:

Lancelot:

Merlin: #merthur | #mergwen | #mergana | #merwaine | #merlance | #merleon | #merwill | #merthian |

Mordred:

Morgana: #morgwen |

Percival: #perwaine | #perlyan |

| #geon | #morgal | #morra

Poly ships:

#merwaincelot | #mergwenthur | #mergwainthur | #merlyanthur |

Group Tags:

pendragon house

pendragon siblings

smith siblings

knights of camelot

people of the old religion

awotc

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part One

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: You don't show up to a meeting or report for other duties as a Spider Society member because of your period. Your boss shows up to your apartment. Word Count: 5,144 Warning: A little bit of angst?; Mention of death; menstruation, cramps A/N: There's multiple pieces of fan art for this fic. If you'd like to check it out, you can find everything linked in my masterlist! Masterlist Music Inspo (Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Nonviolent Communication" - Metro Boomin, James Blake, A$AP Rocky, 21 Savage Next Part

Part One

You were recruited four months ago into the Spider Society. Ever since the beginning, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards the leader and founder of the society. You learned quickly about his past and the way he carried himself these days.

Miguel O’Hara worked day and night. If he wasn’t in his lab working on something, he was out on missions with a select few members or on his own. There were days that you wouldn’t even see him. You wondered if anyone did on those days. You told yourself to mind your business. It’s not like you were friends and you hardly interacted anyway. You were a member of the Spider Society but one of the newest ones. You weren’t part of the most trusted members for Miguel.

And yet… There was something. You felt a need to look after him. You couldn’t understand it. You wanted to chalk it up to interest. Maybe you found his story interesting. How a man had simply replaced a version of himself in another universe to be a father, only to lose her when that universe collapsed. How heartbroken and guilt-filled he was over it. That had to be it, you told yourself. It was just intrigue. 

You figured that if you just gave in to your interest, it would go away eventually. It would fade away… So, you allowed yourself to be interested. You showed up to meetings earlier than anyone else when Miguel scheduled them. You stopped by the cafeteria to pick up coffee cups beforehand and arrived at the meeting earlier. You came in, looking unbothered and uninterested as you placed the cup of coffee in front of him, greeting him.

“The cafeteria staff gave me another cup, and I didn’t know what to do with it,” you’d say as he looked up with an uninterested look on his face.

You’d walk away and take a seat a few chairs away, picking up the nicely done reports he provided at every meeting. You did this every week with a different excuse each time. You didn’t know if he ever wondered why the cafeteria staff gave you so much coffee since that was usually your excuse. You doubted he even cared; you were just another member.

The first few times, you noticed the cup would sit in the same exact spot you’d leave it. Miguel wouldn’t even acknowledge it after looking up at you. You still brought it each week. After some weeks, he wouldn’t even look up when you placed the cup in front of him on the desk but – he started giving you a small grunt of acknowledgement. You’d walk away with a little grin, quickly putting it away when you sat down on your usual seat so he wouldn’t notice it.

Then about two weeks later, you saw it. As he was going over the reports and listening to Ben Reilly ramble on about his past because of some anomaly he caught that week, he picked up the coffee cup and took a sip. You looked away as you felt his gaze about to turn to you. The reports looked very interesting indeed.

All throughout this, you also started showing up to his lab after he and Jessica requested to see you about a mission. You noticed there was quite a mess of gadgets lying around. You offered to organize it, as it is something you enjoy and are good at. You didn’t even know why you offered but Jessica seemed eager about the idea while Miguel frowned.

“Oh, come on, Miguel. Some organization around here wouldn’t hurt, you know? Look at this mess,” Jessica said looking around, pointing at different areas cluttered with all sorts of tech pieces.

“Fine,” Miguel said as he walked away, apparently done with the conversation.

Jessica beamed at you. She seemed to like you a lot since you did your job well and didn’t get into any drama. You were like the perfect pupil. You nodded at her, with a warm smile.

So that’s how you ended up showing up once a week to Miguel’s lab to do some organizing. You show up and organize as he works on something. Sometimes he is up in the air on his platform, going through monitors. You simply greet him as you arrive before you begin organizing and cleaning. Sometimes there is no response, other times there is just a “hmm”.

These visits have led to Lyla taking a liking to you. She often asks you questions as you work while Miguel is there. You don’t know if he pays attention to what Lyla and you talk about. You honestly doubt he even listens. He is always so engrossed in what he is doing.

Lyla definitely makes the time pass faster. It isn’t like you wanted it to but the silence in the lab is… off sometimes. Lyla asks you all sorts of things like whether you have plans for that weekend, if you enjoy a certain activity because other spider members enjoy it, if you like a certain food, or how missions have gone, etc. It is always something different. You respond to her questions as you work. You are fast and efficient.

You never miss a week, and you are never late as you have made it a habit to show up at the same time. Except this week that is. You started your period and this month is kicking your butt with excruciating cramps and lower back pain. You barely make it to your home after patrolling your city, sliding into bed in pain.

You dig through your nightstand, looking for the specific medicine you take to take care of this even if it makes you extremely drowsy and dizzy. You take it and lie down, hoping it will help right away as you groan in pain. You lie in bed, clutching your stomach. The medicine definitely makes you drowsy and dizzy, but it doesn’t seem to help much with the pain. You pass out a few times but wake up again, the pain too much.

You’re so out of it that you don’t notice the time. You don’t remember the day. You don’t notice the sun out behind your closed blinds. You don’t hear a multidimensional portal open in your small apartment living room. You don’t register the heavy footsteps that move through your apartment. Your eyes are closed, hands clutching your stomach, soft groans escaping your lips. You don’t see the large shadow moving through your room until the last second.

“Go away,” you say weakly, thinking someone has broken into your home.

Despite your pain, despite feeling drowsy and dizzy, your mind still has the time to find this funny. The one day you feel like absolute crap is the day someone decides to break into your apartment. And you’re Spider-Woman! How ironic, you think. Let them take whatever they want, you think, as long as they don’t hurt you.

However, you are surprised when you feel a warm and heavy hand pressed to your forehead.

“No fever,” the voice says stating it as a fact.

You continue to clutch your stomach, eyes closed. Unbeknownst to you as you lay in bed in and out of it, a man is in your apartment. His height towers over you in bed.

Miguel O’Hara is in your apartment… Checking on you. He stares down at you as you lay in bed. He sees you clutching your stomach and as he observes carefully, he sees no injury. There is no sight of blood either. His eyebrows furrow in confusion. You are clearly in pain but why? He turns to your nightstand, noticing the bottle of pills. He inspects it. Painkillers…

His eyebrows furrow further as he realizes what it could be. He walks to your bathroom to confirm. His suspicion is confirmed when he takes a look at your garbage can, spotting the plastic wraps of feminine products. His suspicion is further confirmed when he sees a pack of feminine products on the counter, ready for easy access.

“Coño,” he says quietly as he realizes his suspicion is true.

He walks out of your bathroom, looking at your shape in the bed. You are still clutching your stomach and soft groans escape from your lips ever so often. Miguel remembers the days he used to take care of his wife before everything collapsed. It was a long time since he had even thought about doing that for a woman, but his mind started remembering everything he did to ease his wife’s pain each month. He stood there, thinking before he walked out of your bedroom and into the one room that was the kitchen, the living room, and dining room all at once… New York apartments, Miguel thought, as he took in your apartment.

You were organized and clean, but that didn’t surprise Miguel. You did organize the lab each week with such ease despite Lyla peppering you with questions the entire time. Your apartment was warm with its colors. It gave the impression of someone happy and warm. Miguel noticed a bookshelf in the part of the apartment that plays the living room. It is filled with so many books that you have some stacked horizontally over the vertical ones. An avid reader, Miguel thinks before he heads to your kitchen.

It is clean for the most part except for a plate and a cup. Miguel searches through your kitchen, looking for something specific. He returns to your room, looking through your drawers looking for something else. A few minutes later, he returns to your bedroom. You lay still. Seems that you have passed out at last. With ease, Miguel slides some homemade socks with warm rice under your sweatshirt. He places one on your stomach and the other one on your back.

A satisfied hum escapes your lips, letting Miguel know his idea was somewhat successful despite it being homemade. He gives you one more look before heading out to your living room.

He doesn’t even know why he came. All he knows is that you didn’t show up to organize the lab like you did each week. You didn’t show up to the morning meeting either. Jessica hadn’t heard from you in hours and there was no activity from your gizmo.

A few hours later, you wake up from your slumber. You yawn and stretch your body gently. You lay in bed for a few seconds, realizing your pain is gone. Now you just feel the exhaustion that comes from having a period. You sit up in bed slowly, feeling something on your stomach. You look down. Your sweatshirt is tucked into your shorts on both sides. You untuck it and two socks filled with something slide out. You furrow your eyebrows as you lift them up to inspect closer. You bring them to your nose.

“Rice…” you say, recognizing the specific scent of rice. Your eyebrows furrow but you shrug. You don’t even remember getting up to make these, but you thank yourself for doing it despite being out of it. You get up from bed slowly and check the time. It’s already evening. You decide to take a shower to ease your muscles.

Your shower is hot. You fill the bathroom with fog, but it doesn’t matter. It makes you feel like a million bucks when you get into fresh clothes, all shower and fresh. You head out of your bedroom to get something to drink and that’s when you see it. The lamps in the living room are on, there is music playing from your record player. You look confused as you step out further.

“Mierda,” you hear an annoyed male voice, causing you to jump a little.

You turn to the voice, located in the kitchen and find…

“Miguel?” you say slowly but with confusion as you find him with his back to you.

He stands in front of one of your kitchen cabinets, holding it open. There’s a screwdriver in his hand. He turns around at your voice.

“Y/N… You’re awake,” he says turning fully around now.

You take him in. He’s in his suit as always. You’ve wondered many times if he ever just dresses in casual clothes since he’s always in his suit. He stands tall, of course, and you can’t help but think how he makes your already small kitchen look ten times smaller than it is with him standing there. You rub your eyes, making sure this isn’t just some hallucination.

“Um- you are here,” you say looking at him again.

Miguel nods, turning back around to the cabinet. You watch as he uses the screwdriver. You remember then. Your loose cabinet that has been a pain in the butt for months now. You look around the place. There were some dishes in your sink, or at least you remember there being some but now they’re gone. You notice the trash was taken out. Clean dishes were put away. And to your surprise, there’s food on the stove. There’s also a sweet scent lingering in the air that you cannot pinpoint right now.  

“You feel better?” Miguel asks, with his back still to you as he finishes fixing the cabinet.

“Yes. A lot better, actually…” you say as you cross your arms across your chest, finding this situation so strange.

Miguel turns around to face you now. He looks at you before looking down at the screwdriver in his hand. The screwdriver looks like a toy in his hand, you notice.

“Yeah, well…” Miguel starts, looking up at you again. “Jessica was worried about you. She said you didn’t report to the meeting we had this morning. She asked if you had gone to my lab to organize it and when I told her no, she grew worried something had happened to you since she also noticed no activity from your gizmo. She wanted to come herself and check on you, but the baby kept her busy today. She asked me to come in and check for her.”

I nod, realizing that makes perfect sense. Jessica has grown fond of you after all, you just never realized she was that fond of you.

“Well, thank you for checking in on me for her. I’ll be sure to thank her tomorrow,” you say looking around the kitchen again.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” Miguel says, putting the screwdriver down on the counter. It looks normal sized again. You raised an eyebrow. “She doesn’t like it when people thank for her… caring. If you want to thank her, just get her a coffee and tell her you appreciate her mentorship,” Miguel explains, resting his hands on his hips.

You nod slowly, maybe it was better to just thank her for everything instead of just this act. You sigh.

“I guess you’re right,” you say, scratching your neck softly. “Did she also tell you to fix my cabinet, or did that just bother you so much?”

Miguel’s face remains void of any expression. You wanted to ask about the homemade socks with rice since it became apparent to you that you weren’t responsible for them, but you kept your mouth shut.

“I was looking for – rice when I noticed your loose cabinet and other messed up things around here. You have a shitty landlord or something?” he asks, looking around.

You shrug. “Yeah, but the rent is good.”

“You’re not exactly strapped for cash, are you?”

You shake your head. It was true. You had some money. You could afford to move somewhere else where the landlords were better but…

“Why are you still here then?” Miguel asks.

His question is laced with interest, and you can’t help but think about how this is the longest conversation you’ve had with him since… meeting each other. And even then, that conversation was probably about three minutes long. You avert your gaze from him, looking at the wall nearest to you. Your eyes land on a single picture amongst many.

You lost your Peter three years ago, just like many of your spider colleagues. Losing him has been the hardest thing you have ever experienced. You have been punched till the air was knocked out of you, you have laid in ruble with buildings crushed over you, and you have been on the verge of death many times, but nothing has ever nor will ever compare to the pain and grief of losing Peter.

As you look at the picture of Peter and you, the one you took the first day you moved into this apartment, you think about all the memories in this apartment. It was all the two of you could afford back then but you two loved it. It was your place. It was the first time you were living together, and it didn’t matter much that it was a little rundown. You guys just wanted a place to live together. You two made it what it is now. A warm and happy place where you two could come home after a long day of work. You spent hours thinking of how to decorate it. Choosing the right and most affordable couch, choosing the wallpaper, choosing where the furniture went.

In the end, it had turned into a beautiful apartment. It was a haven for the two of you but what mattered the most was that you shared it with him, your Peter. You sigh, feeling overwhelmed by the loss again. You had moved on, of course. You had to. How else would you live otherwise? And you had promised Peter you would. Your mind is overwhelmed by the sudden memories as he laid in your arms. He had been crushed by ruble during an attack by a villain, his body was weak, his eyes glistened as they looked at you. You remember caressing his face and hair. He loved it when you did that. He always said it was the perfect way to soothe his nerves. The perfect way to get him to relax and nap after a stressful day.

Your own eyes were filled with tears as you saw it. The way his life was slowly leaving his body. What hurt a million times more, if it was even possible to hurt that much, was that you knew he knew. He knew that was it. There was no turning back. There was no miracle. There was no secret medicine or miracle serum that could make him get up and walk away from this unscathed. That was it.

You held him in your arms, rubble all around you. He looked at your eyes, his own hazy, as you caressed his face and hair. He gave you a gentle smile as he reassured you, he was okay.

“You will move on, right, baby?” he asked you, his voice indicating how little time there was left. “You have to… You must promise me you will. This city depends on you.”

You nodded your head and unable to hold them back any longer, your tears spilled down your face. You remember how some of your tears had landed on his pale yet still beautiful face.

“You must promise me, out loud, darling. Please,” he said, struggling more to get his words out.

“I promise. I promise I will try my best…” you said, and he had nodded. He looked satisfied with your response.

“You must continue – you are my hero. You always have been. And you are the love of my life, darling… I only wish we had more time. That I had more time to make you happier… To make you, my wife. Please – promise me you will be open to other loves,” he had gasped out.

You shook your head. That was impossible. How could you fall for someone else when Peter was the love of your life? Peter, noticing your reluctance, lifted his hand weakly to your face. Despite everything, he was still trying to comfort you. You felt something in you break further. He wiped your tears and gave you a weak yet comforting smile.

“Please promise me you will allow yourself to love again… If there is someone out there that makes you feel like that, please promise me you won’t shut them out. Please, love, promise me,” he said, looking at your eyes and cleaning your tears away.

His voice was weaker, and you noticed his chest was beginning to rise slower and slower. The time was running out…

“I promise I will. I will open my heart if someone comes along but I promise I will never stop loving you, Peter,” you had answered, trying to make him happy in his last minutes. He smiled at you, sweetly, and thanked you. You held him close to you, breathing in his scent. You tried to hold on to his warmth desperately. You clung to him, like you could defend him from Death herself. Like you could defy her this one time.

You cried your soul out as his heartbeat ceased to beat. You cried out as his body became limped in your arms. You cried as his chest stopped moving. You cried, cried, and cried as you held him close to you like your tears and grip could bring him back.

You cursed Death.

You often worried about hurting Peter if something happened to you. You never counted on Peter being the one who left too soon.

You inhale shakily. Your vision has become blurred with tears as you continue to stare at the picture on the wall. You turn around, remembering that Miguel is there. You wipe your tears discreetly. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to force it down. Otherwise, the moment you speak, your tears will flow. You clear your throat.

“It doesn’t really bother me – and besides, I spend a lot of time out,” you finally say, sounding somewhat normal now. Though the ache is there, deep in your chest. It’s like someone stabbed you in the heart with a wooden stick and left a small piece of it stuck. It always hurts, it always aches.

Miguel doesn’t reply as you turn back around, feeling more in control of yourself. However, you can see something in his eyes. Perhaps understanding? You guessed he probably knew to some extent what had happened to you. It was a canon event for all spider-people. To lose someone.

“Have you eaten anything?” Miguel asks suddenly, dropping the apartment conversation probably for your own sake.

You shake your head. It was hours since you had eaten something. Since yesterday, really.

“There’s some food here. Let me…” he says trailing off, turning around to get a plate from a cabinet. You can’t help but feel a little surprised at how fast he learned his way around the kitchen. Then again, it’s not that large you realize. You approach the kitchen island and take a seat on one of the two island chairs as Miguel turns around with a plate of pasta. Your eyebrows raise in surprise. It is one of your comfort foods. Miguel slides it over to you, gently. A fork is already on it, ready for you.

You slide the plate closer, the scent of it making your stomach growl instantly. You’re definitely hungry.

“Thank you,” you say before you dig in. You can’t help but smile with satisfaction. It is amazing. “This is really good.”

Miguel doesn’t say anything, just watches you. You eat some more, feeling a bit self-conscious as you feel his gaze on you, but you ignore it. Or try to.

“So, are you a really great cook or is pasta one of the few things you can cook?” you ask, slowing down on your eating, trying to fill in the silence.

Miguel shrugs. “My mother taught me how to cook when I was a teenager. It stuck.”

You nod, still eating. “Great skill to have, really… It helped me and –“ you pause, realizing you were about to mention Peter. You swallow. “It helped Peter and I when we were in college,” you finish, looking down at your plate.

A hint of a smile forms on your face as you remember Peter and you cooking for the week over the weekends. You guys lived separately but shared groceries to help each other out. It saved you guys a lot of time and money and brought the two of you closer.

“It is a great skill to have,” Miguel agrees quietly as you continue to eat, looking down at your plate.

You nod silently as you finish eating. You look up at Miguel, he’s looking down at the counter. His hands are flat against the counter, and he looks lost in his own thoughts. You can’t help but take this time to look at him. The sight of him in your kitchen is really something. You think about how great he is at these things like looking after a woman when they’re on their period or cooking. You want to facepalm yourself as you realize it’s obvious he would be good at these things. He did have a wife and daughter at one point, you remind yourself. You look down at your plate.

“Oh, I made this for you, too,” Miguel says at last, breaking the silence.

You look up curiously, wondering what else he had made. He turns around towards the stove and you watch carefully as he retrieves a mug from one of the cabinets. Again, you feel surprised seeing how he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for. It disappears from your view in front of him and you hear him pour something. He turns around again, holding one of your mugs. Whatever it is, is hot as you can see steam from the top. He sets the mug down on the counter and slides it over to you. Again, his movements are gentle. You lean forward and reach for it.

“Careful. It’s hot,” he warns, as you pull the mug towards you gently.

The scent fills your nostrils quickly and you recognize the sweet scent that met you earlier when you exited your bedroom. You look up at him.

“Canelita,” you say, grinning.

Miguel nods. “Growing up, my mom said it helped with cramps. It used to help my…” he trails off.

You nod. “Yeah, my grandma used to say that, too.” You pause as you inhale the sweetness of cinnamon. “Thank you…” you reply, with sincerity, still meeting his eyes.

Miguel only nods. You drink the warm liquid, enjoying the warmth that spreads down your throat, chest, and finally your stomach. As it settles in your stomach, you feel warm and cozy.

Miguel clears his throat then and looks down at his gizmo. “Well – I should get going. I have some things to catch up on,” he says turning his attention back to you.

You nod as you place the mug on the counter gently and get up. He walks out of the kitchen portion and heads to the middle of the room. He starts clicking on his gizmo, presumably starting a multidimensional portal. You walk towards him, leaving some distance, of course. He looks up at you as the portal appears in the middle of your apartment behind him.

You clear your throat. “Hey – I just wanted to say thank you… For everything. I know Jessica asked you to check up on me, but you did much more than that. I truly appreciate it,” you say, hoping that you’re fully expressing how grateful you are.

You can’t help but think about how you’d probably still be in bed right now. Miguel nods.

“It’s no problem…” Miguel replies, though he looks like he wants to say more. You watch, waiting but he just stares back with little emotion until he nods at you and turns around. He starts walking into the portal. The bright lights coming from the portal create shadows in your apartment. You watch wordlessly until he looks behind his shoulder. “Don’t forget – don’t mention it to Jessica. She can be weird about being thanked sometimes.”

You nod. “I won’t bring it up, no worries. Thank you again. Enjoy your night!” you call out and he just nods before he disappears into the portal. The portal disappears a few seconds after him, taking away its shadows with it.

You sigh as you stand there for a few more seconds before taking a seat again on the counter island. You drink more canelita, still cherishing the warm feeling. You look at the stove. Everything is in containers and there’s no sight of dirty pans, pots, or utensils.

“Cooked and washed the dishes…” you say to yourself before taking a sip again.

Your attention turns to the cabinet you found him fixing earlier. You get up and walk towards it. You open it with no issue. You think about all the little nicks this kitchen has. Like the drawer that doesn’t come out fully or the other cabinet door that makes a noise every time you open it. Curiosity gets the best of you because before you know it, you are pulling said drawer. Your lips part in surprise as the drawer fully slides out without issues. You check the other cabinet door. No sound.

You sigh as you look around, your eyes landing on the containers. One of them is full of leftover pasta and the other one contains the canelita. Your thoughts are interrupted as you hear your gizmo go off. You turn in the direction it came from, trying to remember where you left it last night. You are usually very careful with it but last night you barely made it through the door.

You find the gizmo on the console table in the living room section of your apartment. You realize there are a few messages from your colleagues like Hobie, Miles, Ben, and Jessica. You quickly reply to the first three who asked about your whereabouts before you move to Jessica’s. You realize she sent multiple messages all ranging from asking how your last mission went to why you weren’t answering to asking if you were okay. The last one makes you stop. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion as you read it.

“Okay… You haven’t replied to any of my messages. Do I need to send someone to check on you? You’ve been MIA all day. Let me know you’re okay!!”

You look up towards where the portal was opened just minutes ago. You shake your head and reply to Jessica, notifying her about what happened. You leave out Miguel though. You put away your gizmo in its usual spot and look around your apartment, thinking. The lamps in the living room section are still on, the record player has stopped playing, however.

“Hm.”

--------------------------------------------- Translation for italicized words: Coño - fuck (it varies by country) Mierda - Shit Canelita - a tea made out of cinnamon sticks

Next Part

A/N: Might do part two. If it matters, I listened to "Nonviolent Communication" from the ATSV album as inspiration. Such a lovely song for Miguel, I think.

I love Miguel O'Hara. That's all.

[badly-drawn-doflamingo]

Brook’s Past, Military and Everything Between [ An Essay kinda ]

Brook’s past is not a thing many people seem to mention or think about, at least in full, however it’s something that's plagued me. Not only as a Brook fan, but simply out of the odd implications it has towards the future, if any. Oda’s planted too many seeds for it to utterly be nothing; there’s so much odd and seemingly out of place comments and facts stated by Brook and others towards this missing history. However, knowing that the show is beginning to near it’s end, due to time, I am unsure of what exactly will be done.

I believe however, for folks' interest and so we can have everything in one place, that compiling everything found so far can be beneficial, so, I have.

Starting with what we know for sure, Brook is from the West Blue, born 90 years ago to a certain kingdom, the same kingdom he was a military convoy leader from. We know this due to a few factors, however it’s still open to debate if it *is* the same kingdom, however seeing as he was shown as a child to already know what fencing is, practicing moves with his bow, I am just going to say he probably was. In any case, other things worth noting, on the topic of childhood, is that Brook seems to have had money. At least, stability.

Compared to a lot of the other strawhats, Brook is shown dressing very nice. No tatters, no tears, shined shoes and a full violin and bow. He also, as already stated, seemed to be exposed to fencing enough to mirror the moves. If this comes from his kingdom, it means he was exposed to it at a young age. Knowing that he was a military convoy leader, this could be taken that perhaps there were military demonstrations, perhaps the kid saw castle guard or other displays; it’s really up in the air.

We know Brook, again as stated before, became a military convoy leader. Now, the definition of what exactly that means can differ.

Wikipedia states; A convoy is a group of vehicles, typically motor vehicles or ships, traveling together for mutual support and protection. Often, a convoy is organized with armed defensive support and can help maintain cohesion within a unit. It may also be used in a non-military sense, for example when driving through remote areas.

This could mean Brook’s job could’ve been accompanying ships for protection, being a knight for his King, mediating information and goods that come in and out of the kingdom. This would make sense on why his speed was needed, a 9.2 ft man being a great choice for a leader.

His weapon also would make sense for this kind of mission, perhaps secrecy being important or at least the ability to be discreet. His cane sword, a ‘Shikomizue’, is not unique however to just him in the show, one other man using one that has been confirmed so far, that being Fujitora. The pair also share a sea, the west, and both utilize iaijutsu (quick draw techniques.) Fujitora blinded himself with said sword because of something apparently so cruel and inhumane that he rather not see anguish. This may be related to Brook’s departure from his kingdom, which is addressed later in this essay. (Fig 3-5.)

Another thing that’s worth mentioning here is Brook’s attack patterns, being unique even for his kingdom apparently. Once again, during the Ryuma fight, Brook states, and I quote;

“Ryuma: “Now tell me, what part of that wretched excuse for a body would you like me to severe with my special ‘Arrow Notch Slash?’ Brook: You don’t know a thing about that move, so do not use it’s name. I use to serve in my kingdom’s raider squad. The quick draw attack that I was most skilled at was ‘Requiem Lebanderole’. My comrades-in-arms renamed it in regards to my fighting technique.”

(Fig. 1, Brook explains his raider squad and move names. A banderole mind you is a long flag for BATTLE crusades. )

This sets up a few interesting facts. 1. Brook was in a raider squad, a kingdom’s group of marauders, as well as if not the same job as convoy leader. 

2. His techniques were unique to him, or at least specialized to a degree of having a nickname. 3. As expected, he seems to have been close to these men he commanded, adding another layer over Brook loosing the Rumbars. Being in both a raider squad and being a convoy leader at one point, if not the same point, implies either Brook was simply versatile, acting in both in separate years or periods. Or, the most likely, that he was higher ranking than expected, making him a CO, or commanding officer. (Lieutenant Colonel is another equal rank for scale, making Brook just below a Major.) This makes him quite the important figure, especially for a kingdom that seems to value its military so much, so much so that a child of Brook’s age would already know about their style of fencing, as expressed already. Brook’s devil fruit is worth mentioning here, the revive-revive fruit not likely to be found by a crew like the Rumbars. It is spoken about as if he has always had it amongst the crew, being a fact of life. However, when did he get that fruit and why? I propose where it would be useful; in combat. If your military convoy leader, your best swordsman could be shot and come right back to protect the king, would he not be utterly invaluable? You would never let him leave… But he DID leave. It’s not said why, however we have some extra tidbits of information that may tell us why, and that ALSO may tell us the answer to what kingdom he means.

( Fig. 2. Brook states his leaving of the military for unknown reasoning, the word certain being used in an odd way, establishing his bounty.) This bounty mind you all is in fact, using inflation method, 297,000,000 berries. That is a MASSIVE bounty for just a pirate. Perhaps a certain blond stole a treasure a kingdom could not replace; their convoy leader. Lets rewind for a moment and cover something that may be seen as off topic however I will come right back to the subject at hand; Calico Yorki. Yorki is an odd bird, pirate wise. He makes his crew read his bounties and information, is never shown to play an instrument/sing but makes his crew preform/they all do, and makes Brook make him dinner. (Steak, and Brook continues to be able to make it as confirmed by an SBS.) What is oddest yet, other than his large crew and shirtless habits, is his nature. A man that set to sea to play music for “orphans and crying children” as stated by himself; a crew made for “any men who love music.” Now, I could be reading into this too hard, however from his speech patterns, to this apparent need for a large family, it seems that singing to orphans may be a very personal goal. An orphan turned pirate perhaps, with lofty dreams and a heart of gold, it reads to me that Yorki may have been just that. Knowing this, orphan or not, we now can compare these facts to Brook’s life up until their meeting. A child who probably grew up being taught to fight, being around access to education, expenses and the kingdom’s training. Why would a man like Brook ever join a man like Yorki, and if it’s only music, would that not make Brook a deserter? I do not think that is the case. I will now bring forward some interesting evidence regarding Brook’s kingdom and WHY he would leave. Germa 66. During Zou to Whole Cake, a few mentions of Germa are made with Brook around, garnering interesting reactions indeed.

( Fig. 3. Brook listens but chooses not to add anything utter than silence, his music pausing as well.) This silence could be take as simple ignorance, however Brook later admits he knows of the kingdom, in fact, he knows a lot. A lot more than anyone else did, Reiju admitting interest in his knowledge and once again, Brook brushes it off.

(Fig 4, 5, Brook speaks about Germa 66.) He seems to underplay or simply not elaborate a LOT on his kingdom, as if something happened. Perhaps joining Yorki was not out of simple cowardice or need to be free, (which again if he did would both reflect poorly upon his entire character and not be in character for him what so ever,) but in fact, out of necessity. It could have been Germa 66, it could have been some other grouping, however I believe this will come to be something important. The kingdom possibilities are interesting as well, and I will list the following LIKELY possibilities. (Other options are known to not be military, like Ohara, or literally places like Thriller Bark itself.) - Toroa - God Valley - Illsia Kingdom - Soja Kingdom The most likely candidates, because again, it is labeled as certain kingdom (Fig 2.) is Toroa or Soja, however I will personally lean into Toroa. This is because of a man by the named of Byron.

(Fig 6. Byron and his information.) His nose and face shape vaguely resemble Brook, however honestly that is a stretch. What is NOT however is his familiar attire, family line and the placement of his kingdom. This could easily be Brook’s home, however again, this is just speculation. Brook very well could belong to God’s Valley, or the same kingdom as Issoh, fleeing because of something he did not agree with or literally could not stand any longer. But, that falls under possibility, not fact. This concludes the facts section, now comes the final question; What does it mean for the story? And, honestly, that can be debated. What Oda has done is plant odd seeds of information about the man, similar to Sanji and his ties to Vinsmoke, that have not been addressed nor talked about in full, or so I’ve found sufficiently. These seeds MAY bloom into what I hope will be a tie into some huge reveal, perhaps aid from a past member of his convoy or kingdom, or perhaps this will only spark conflict. Perhaps it will be minute, Brook being able to aid due to his knowledge, the man already in Thriller Bark showing his prowess by being able to command the strawhats into defeating zombies via salt and tactic. In any case, we can only hope these things mean anything, tied into some huge story that could explain why a man like him would quit for a redneck like Yorki, other than perhaps love, and what kingdom would let a man like him go willingly.

[sebscore]

gen z!reader is this sweet, bubbly, bright ray of sunshine who could honestly do no wrong, so I'd love to see a fic where in a driver's meeting gen z!reader loses their shit and calls out the FIA for their blatant sexism and misogyny in front of everyone and everyone is shocked cause they've never seen them gets this mad before.

NO ONE LIKES A MAD WOMAN

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader (+ cameos from brundle, susie and buxton) 

warnings: sexism. fia is fia'ing. swearing. my own unaccurate ruling of penalties (it's for the sake of the story, just go along with it). susie mothering. it wasn't sure to me who conducted the driver's briefing during this time so I just picked a random name from the many that I came across. 

author's note: less comedic one this time, hope you enjoy it anyway! 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

''Alright, thanks for clarifying, Checo.'' Derek concluded, glancing down at his journal to see what the next topic of discussion was. 

The director scratched his voice before addressing the drivers again. ''Uhm, we also wanted to remind everyone to be wary of what they say in the media regarding our organization,'' he stated, ''the FIA has the feeling that there have been deliberate attacks on them the last few weeks and they are willing to give out penalties if it happens again.'' 

The drivers looked at each other, confused by the sudden declaration that the FIA has been receiving ''attacks'' from the drivers. ''Can you give an example, because I think I speak for everyone when I say that I'm confused.'' George spoke up, the others nodding along to his question. 

Derek flipped through his papers, trying to find the notes his colleagues had given him regarding the ''offensive'' comments that had been made against them. 

''Oh, here,'' he put on his reading glasses, holding the piece of paper farther from his face, ''the comment they're referring to was one made by… Y/N at the previous race.'' 

The young woman's head sprung up at the mention of her name, clueless as to how she could have upset the FIA. ''What? W-what did I say?'' She managed to stutter out, all the eyes on her making her feel uneasy. 

''Uh, you were asked about the diversity in the sport and you said, and I quote: 'The FIA should do more regarding women in motorsport, there are still many things that need to be changed.' End quote.'' Derek answered her, putting his paper back in place. 

Y/N frowned at the man. ''I don't see what's wrong with that, to be honest.'' She told him, failing to see how the FIA would feel this was a ''deliberate attack''. 

The director sighed, already getting the suspicion the woman would not be happy with what he was about to say. ''Certain members of the board were offended by your words, because they saw it as you accusing them of being sexist.'' 

The silence in the room was deafening, every single person awaiting Y/N's reaction to Derek's clarification. The drivers took a glimpse at her, trying to read the indifferent expression on her face that didn't give much away about how she was feeling. 

''They think I'm accusing them of being sexist? What I meant was that they should take more actions in encouraging young girls to get into racing- I don't understand how that would correlate to me calling them sexist.'' Her usual cheerful tone was replaced by a monotone voice that almost scared some of her colleagues. 

Derek took a deep breath again. ''Well, they felt like you were insinuating it and they are offended by the alleged insinuation.'' 

''Just because they are offended doesn't mean they're right.'' She bit back, not missing a beat. 

''I'm simply delivering their message, Y/N,'' the director told her politely, wanting to remind her that he's not the person she should be upset with, ''anyway- if you go up there and apologize for your comment, they're considering leaving it as a warning for you and also the others.'' He finished the list of notes they had given him. 

The reaction from the room wasn't one he was expecting; absolute outrage. 

''She shouldn't apologize for that neither should she be penalized for it.'' Sebastian was the first one to speak up, directly looking Derek in the eye. 

The drivers agreed. ''Yeah, it's called freedom of speech.'' Max added, also not seeing why Y/N should go down there and say sorry to the members of the board. 

''Like I said earlier, I'm simply delivering their message.'' Derek repeated himself, feeling the tension and frustration growing in the small space. 

''But don't you see how ridiculous this is?'' Sebastian rebutted, hoping the man at the front could at least agree with them and say that it was indeed a weird request. 

Derek shook his head. ''I'm just the middle man, Seb,'' he sighed, turning his head towards the quiet female driver, ''Y/N, make it easier for yourself and go up there after the meeting, you don't want to receive a penalty for something like this.'' 

''I'm not apologizing.'' Her voice comes out strong, not in an aggressive way, but in a manner that lets everyone know she's not backing down. ''Give me as many penalties as you want, I'm not accepting them.'' She crossed her arms, indicating she was sticking to her words, almost stubbornly. 

The other drivers looked on proudly, glad she was standing by her belief and didn't give in simply because it would make everything ''easier''. Lewis gave her a nod, subtly letting her know he supported her and had her back. 

''Alright, then that will result in a fine of a number that is yet to be determined.'' Derek picked up his pen and wrote down that she would not come by their office, already knowing his colleagues wouldn't be happy with it. 

''Just so you know- I'm not paying that.'' Y/N said, matter-of-factly. 

Derek looked up from his journal. ''If you refuse to pay the fine, we can either add a grid-place penalty or a time penalty.'' He recited the rule as if he had done it a million times before. 

''Derek, this is stupid,'' Kimi decided to voice his opinion, ''the race shouldn't be affected, because of a comment she made that had nothing to do with racing in the first place.'' He defended her, allying behind her stance to not accept any of the penalties they give her. 

''I'm just doing my job, Kimi.'' 

''I also want to just do my job, Derek, which is racing, but these ridiculous rules to silence me prevent me from doing that.'' Y/N argued his response, just wanting him to see her point of view. 

The director's hand went over his face, seemingly wiping his agitation away. ''No one is trying to silence you, Y/N.'' He quickly answered. 

''That's why all the other drivers receive penalties whenever they question the FIA, right?'' Her comment must have shut him up as he solely put his pen down without saying another word about the matter. ''Yeah, that's what I thought.'' 

Y/N felt her presence wasn't longer necessary as she stood up from her chair, ready to leave the room and join her engineering team in preparation for the upcoming race. However, Derek felt different about that. ''The briefing isn't over yet, Y/L. Sit back down, please.'' 

''I'll see you at the next meeting, Derek.'' She ignored his plea and walked towards the door. 

The director stood up from his desk at the front. ''Y/N, if you leave before it's done, the board will-'' 

''The board can kiss my ass.'' 

''Y/N Y/L RECEIVES A 20-PLACE GRID PENALTY AHEAD OF THE 2021 SPANISH GRAND PRIX DUE TO DAMAGING REMARKS AGAINST THE FIA'' 

''FIA RE-EVALUATING Y/N Y/N's PENALTY AFTER BACKLASH'' 

''FIA SUSPENDS GRID PENALTY OF Y/N Y/L DUE TO AN ERROR'' 

The day after the driver's briefing had been quite eventful to say the least. As soon as the FIA announced that she had been given a penalty, the backlash from drivers, fans and reporters started. 

Lewis had condemned their decision claiming it was based on nothing and that nothing about her comment was an attack on the organization. His teammate, Valtteri, followed him in his opinion stating: ''Drivers should be able to say what they want to say, she doesn't deserve a penalty for that.'' 

Sky Sports F1 reporter, Martin Brundle, also came to the driver's defense. ''If we're going to punish drivers for stating their opinions, we might as well get rid of the entire sport, especially if what they're saying isn't far from the truth.'' 

After finishing P5 in the race, Y/N spoke to Will Buxton in her post-race interview. ''You must be very happy with your result today, considering you almost had to start from the very back of the grid.'' 

''I'm content with today's race, obviously would have loved a podium but Mercedes was better today,'' she chuckled, ''yeah, it wasn't fun waking up to that news, but I'm happy that it was reversed and the support I received was just- wow, I'm very grateful for everyone.'' 

''According to some sources, it got pretty heated in the driver's briefing on friday- would you like to clarify?'' Will asked her. 

A sarcastic laugh left her mouth. ''I would just like to forget about it, moving on is the best thing to do right now.'' She smoothly avoided the question, figuring she shouldn't make the FIA more mad by airing out all their business. 

''Alright, thank you so much for talking to us, Y/N and congratulations on your race today.'' He nodded, bidding her goodbye. 

On her way back to her team's hospitality, she was stopped by none other than Susie Wolff. ''Lewis told us what happened during the briefing- I'm very proud of you for standing up for yourself, not everyone could have done that.'' 

''It was so awful, Susie,'' Y/N hugged the older woman, ''it's like they just wanted to give me some sort of punishment- I don't even want to know what would have happened if I went down there by myself.'' Susie rubs her back at her words, also not wanting to think about what could have gone down. 

''It's okay now, honey,'' they pulled apart, Susie's hand staying on her shoulder, ''by the way- did you really say that the board could kiss your ass?'' 

Y/N laughed at her question, excitedly nodding her head. ''At first I wanted to say something like 'the board can stick that penalty right up their ass’ but I needed a cool getaway so I opted for something shorter.'' 

''Atta girl'' 

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @formulazeesworld @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123-blog @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis 

if you want to be added to the taglist, fill in the form!

[froggiewrites]

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.” 

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

[thisismeracing]

The (un)lucky one | CL16

― Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader (she/her) ― Word count: 2.4k ― Warnings: not proofread; mentions of food; a bit of jealous!charles; angsty but fluffy ending. ― Summary: Charles and Yn have a history back from when he was at alfa romeo, Yn used to be his PR assistant, and they were close to best friends. Now, years later, they are still friends, but Yn is Carlos’ assistant now, and she can help but root for her new friend and boss. Meanwhile, Charles is having trouble with no longer having her undying support all the time. He’s been through an unlucky season on the speedway, will he be unlucky in love too?  ― A/n: I actually liked this far better than I thought I would, so I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Let me know your thoughts by reblogging and/or leaving me an ask (anons are on) *mwah* 🤍

⁕ Based on this request. ⁕ my masterlist and my taglist ⁕ you can support my writing by reblogging, and leaving a comment (don’t forget to follow me if you like the piece)

It is easy to associate someone with a smell, taste, or color. Especially when those things are very particular. One day you see them wearing a certain shade of yellow; the next thing you know, every yellow item will remind you of them. Not of the clothes they were wearing that day, but of them. Then, they tell you their coffee order, and, of course, every time you see a venti, caramel frappuccino with almond milk, it’s their face you’ll see. When you smell the coffee, their perfume will come around too.

What Charles didn’t know is that these associations are common when you are in love.

And he was, in fact, in love with Yn.

He was just unaware. 

Yn was his PR Assistant back when he was just a curious and hopeful boy in Alfa Romeo. They hit it off quickly, not only because she was young like him, but because she was always honest and just so fun to be around. She would walk into the room, red Converse on her feet, a coffee cup in her hands, along with a small notepad, and a pen either around her neckless or on her ear, and Charles could swear time would stop to let her pass by. 

Yn was an event.

And he was happy to witness it.

She was also very organized. She had everything noted and ready to go in a minute. She was quick with solutions to seemingly hard problems and set on her beliefs. About the latter, people would say that she was simply stubborn like Charles. But he knew better. She was passionate and driven, and he… well, he fell in love, and he didn’t notice it. 

Until they moved to Ferrari.

They have been working together for about three years now, and she had to switch drivers when they started in Ferrari. That meant she was now Carlos’ PR Assistant, and he got to have her full attention – something Charles hated. But he knew her before him, and he knew her better, that’s what he kept telling himself whenever he saw the two of them interact, whenever she had a meeting with his coworker, and not him, or whenever he watched Carlos get her coffee order wrong. He knew her better. That wasn’t much, but somehow it was enough for him.

Until it wasn’t. 

“Hey, Char,” Yn smiles when the Monegasque approaches the table, bending to leave a kiss on her cheeks, and leaving a friendly tap on his teammate’s shoulders. 

“I got you your favorite.” He has that small prideful smile on his face when he pushes the white cup towards Yn, but as fast as the smile comes, it goes when she frowns and a bit her lips.

“Thank you, but Carlos got it to me,” she shook the cup in front of her and winked at her friend and ex-boss. 

“Oh- but Carlos doesn’t know your order.”

“I finally got it right after a thousand times missing either the oat milk or the blonde espresso,” Sainz proudly stated, sipping on his water. 

“And did you get-”

“Caramel syrup, sí.” 

“Four pumps?” 

Carlos nodded, “2 pumps of frapp roast. I’m telling you, I’ve learned it.” 

Yn noticed the way Charles’ shoulders slumped just the sightless, but she thought it had something to do with the fact that he wasted time getting her something that she wouldn’t drink in the end. She did not notice, however, how his eyebrows furrowed and his grip on his cellphone got stronger watching her and Carlos go around what they were doing on Sunday before and after the race. He missed doing it with her, missed having her undying attention, missed the certainty that it doesn’t matter how boring a meeting or media duty would be because she was always just some steps away. 

The next day, Charles is getting ready for the race in the garage, and Yn is around cracking jokes about something one of the engineers did. When she turns, Charles is in his white racing suit, zipping up the front end. Yn lips tip up in a small smile, one he can read as a nostalgic one by the way her eyes roam around the piece of clothing, and takes in a small breath of air. It’s endearing.

“Missing the old days?” Charles asks, sporting a playful smirk, and Yn rolls her eyes teasingly. 

“How’d you know?” 

“It used to be just us against the world. I learned to read you.” He confessed. He almost wanted to add that he missed the old days too, but because her attention and affection would be all his, her time and her eyes would be for him.

Yn took a step closer to him and started helping the Monegasque with the front velcro of his suit. “All this white reminded me of Alfa Romeo’s suit, but though I miss our younger days, I think you look far better wearing Ferrari merch.” This time her smile is pensive and then playful after a beat. 

Charles's hands itched to hold her by the waist, bring her close, and read her eyes, but when he was about to do so, Carlos called Yn from the other side of the garage. Yn gets on the tip of her red converses and kisses his forehead, something they used to do after becoming friends on their first year on the grid, and then, just like that, she leaves to attend to whatever Sainz needed. 

When it was time to get going and get into the car, Charles tried to get a glimpse of Yn, not even a hug or their traditional forehead kiss which hasn’t happened before races in a while, he just wanted to find her eyes, see how they would silently wish him a good race, but instead, he found her with Carlos, her back to him. He watched as Yn patted his shoulder and then got on the tip of her toes to hug him. A long hug. A hug he wanted to receive. 

Charles sacked up all his anger and jealousy and got into his car. It would be a good race. The car was fairly better than the last races, and the Ferrari duo got a p2 and p3 position which increased the chances of double points. 

It's a tight race. Carlos and Charles almost lose their positions during the first few laps, but they were able to hold it until Leclerc needed a tire change. And when he came back the orders were clear: Sainz would not fight with his teammate and would give up his position for Charles. Everyone saw how Yn's face changed when Vasseur spoke through the pit-to-car audio, and man, wasn't she pissed. The camera panelled on her, and she cursed asking why couldn't Carlos have this one.

By the last lap, Charles was p3 and Carlos p5, and it was all the team's fault. Both of them could have had a podium, but strategy wasn't really Ferrari's strongest subject. 

When the three winners gathered in the small room to wait a few minutes for the podium, Charles had a small smile on his face, one which went away when the big screen in the room showed some of the highlights of the race, adding garage reactions this time. He saw Yn questioning why Carlos couldn't fight him, why wouldn't they give her boss and friend his well-deserved podium. Charles knew she fought nails and teeth for those she loved, and she wouldn't hide her disappointment with Ferrari's decision. 

He expected, however, that she would choose him to fight for because he was her closest friend there. He was with her the longest. He would have fought nails and teeth for her win. 

The podium celebration didn’t feel as good as it would back when he would have Yn’s undying support. Charles still smiled, still waved, still tried to seem happy with his achievement, and he kept the friendly face up until he got back in the garage and Yn was there by Carlos' side as usual. Sainz congratulated him on his podium, but the Monegasque only nodded, lacing his fingers with Yn’s and walking straight to his driver’s room.

“What the fuck was that mouthy response to the team's order of letting me pass Carlos?” 

Yn was still surprised by how he laced their fingers and almost dragged her to his room, so hearing his hushed and stressed tone made her frown deepen. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to in that tone?” 

Charles’ jaw tightened. “Don’t try deflecting, Yn. I saw how mad you were when I passed Carlos.”

“And what about it, Charles?” 

“I can’t believe you’re acting so unbothered by it. It was a shitty attitude, and you know it.”

“Because everyone’s supposed to adore you and always choose you?” 

“BECAUSE YOU’RE MY BEST FRIEND, AND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO ROOT FOR ME, TO PICK ME, NOT CARLOS, NOT LANDO, NOT LEWIS, BUT ME!” He exploded, voice raised, hands gripping his champagne-wet hair. 

Yn took one step in his direction, pointing her index finger at him, “Don’t you dare to scream at me, Charles. I won’t let you work off your frustrations on me, especially when you don’t have reasons to be angry!” 

“I DON’T?” he screamed again, and she raised her eyebrows. “You think watching my own team destroy my chances at being a world champion is not reason enough to be angry? Or having your best friend distance herself from you? Oh, wait! And how about seeing the woman I love rooting for a different driver?” this time his voice wasn’t as high as before, but he was still loud, he was still angry.

What he seemed to forget was that he and Yn were like a mirror most of the time. They would reflect each other’s energy and feelings. So if Charles was angry, Yn was furious. And if he was heartbroken, she was devastated. 

“I was your friend before him! I’m your best friend,” he whispered, finally letting tiredness and sadness catch up to him. 

“You are indeed, but not everything is about you or us. Others deserve to win too, and they deserve some love and attention. Carlos deserved it today. We’ll talk when you’re not acting like a dick and screaming at me for being oblivious to the feelings you kept hidden.” She stated before turning away and leaving, slamming the door on her way out. 

Charles sat down on his chair and let his head hang between his shoulders. His eyes were burning and he felt like cursing and screaming again when he heard Carlos’ voice. Now, Carlos was his friend, his teammate, a good guy, someone he even liked to have around, but he was jealous of him, he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. And right now, he was the last person he wanted to see.

“You could have told me, you know?” the Spanish closed the door behind him slowly.

“Not now, Carlos,” Charles mumbled.

“She doesn’t like me. I mean- she does like me, but not as much as she likes you, not as much as she loves you. You’re two tontos.”

“Well, you can bet she hates me now. I take it you heard how I talked to her, right? The whole garage must have heard.” 

Carlos chuckled at Charles' dramatic antics. “Not everyone heard, but yeah, some people did… I don’t think she hates you though, she’s just angry with the way you talked and probably angry you didn’t tell her you loved her sooner.”

“I’m usually unlucky, and I was afraid-”

“No, Charles,” Carlos interrupted. “The team's strategy is shitty, we take it as if we were the unlucky ones, but we are actually pretty lucky. Look at the life you have. Look at how many people love you. The woman you love loves you back. How’s that being unlucky?” 

“Yeah, I was afraid my love life would be as shitty as my racing career.” 

“I’ll let that one pass because you have the right to be upset for a bit after this stressful weekend, but you don’t have a shitty career, and you know it.”

Charles nods, snickering.

“I was jealous, you know,” he confessed after a couple of minutes in silence. “You deserve to win too. You deserve to be a world champion just like I do, but I wanted her support. I wanted her to choose me even though everyone else did. She was the only one that mattered. But I’m an idiot, and I didn’t tell her that. How could she guess?”

“Yeah, life is unfair sometimes, and feelings are hard to deal with, but the good thing is that you can work on those things most of the time. Shower, drink some water, get some food in, and then when you’re calm enough, go to her and let Yn know your feelings. Again. Gently this time, preferably.” Sainz chuckles lightly between the last sentence, and Charles rolls his eyes playfully. 

And that’s exactly what Charles did. That’s how he found himself breathing in and out in front of Yn’s hotel room door. He rings the bell after almost five minutes of silent pep talk. When Yn opens the door, she’s already in her pajamas, and he can almost see tear stains on her cheeks. Charles feels like punching his own face because clearly, he was the one to blame. 

“What do you want, Charls?” her tone was tight, and she did not invite him in, but the fact that Yn used his nickname gave Charles enough hope and courage to talk.

“I- I’m sorry for earlier,” he started. “I’m truly sorry for all these years. I should have been honest with you. I’m sorry I exploded and screamed at you. I should have told you I loved you before. And you’re right. I’m not the center of the world. Carlos deserves to win too. But it’s just- I’m usually unlucky in some aspects, and I was afraid-”

Yn rolls her eyes and grins playfully at him, interrupting his messy speech. “No, Charles, you’re actually lucky because I do love you back,” she grins, and he stares at her for a beat before crashing their lips into a passionate kiss.  

And Charles felt like the luckiest guy in the world. No winning cup felt as sweet as having the girl of his dreams loving him back. 

― ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Every time you reblog and comment on my stuff a fairy is born somewhere, make sure you're creating glittery fairies around the world hihi *forehead kiss*

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[mysingularitybts]

Put Your Records On

Pairing: Cat Hybrid!Yoongi x Human! F. Reader (you)

Genre: smut, fluff, strangers 2 lovers, hybrid!au, 18+

Appearances: Bunny!Jungkook, Fox!Jin, Human!Hoseok, Panther! Taehyung, Human! Jimin, Wolf! Namjoon

Word Count: ~30k

Warnings/tags: hybryd au! (there will be mentions of scenting, heats, and that sort of thing) let's start light with cursing, oral (f, m receiving), unprotected sex, creampies, light biting, breeding, fingering, m. masturbation, light voyeurism, oral (m2m), cum play, there's probably some other stuff i missed or simply refuse typing out here lol

a/n: this was supposed to be a small thing and then it evolved into what it is today (half plot half porn). i knew i was obsessed with kitty yoongi i just never realized i was this obsessed. this oneshot made me write things i never thought id write, it pushed me to my limits but I'm pretty proud of it. i hope you guys like it... there is so much smut also grammarly is a pain in my ass

○●○●○●○●○●

Like every morning for the past seven years, Yoongi walks to work with hands in his pockets and earbuds in his ears. The music blasting out of them does nothing to dampen the city noise as the extra pair of ears at the top of his head catches them. One of the downsides of being a hybrid, a cat one, to be precise.

Like every morning, he stops in front of a tall, glass-lined building that glimmers under the rising sun, and as always, he curses it out in his head (or under his breath) for ruining his dream. The same one that began when he first learned the purpose of the building. To become a music producer. He scowls at it for a whole minute before continuing to his destination. A minute a day is all the time he allows himself to rain on his parade.

He proceeds to walk to the small music shop tucked between a coffee shop and a comic book store. He unlocks the door fitfully, having to jiggle the keys expertly. There’s no chance of anyone stealing from the store when he can barely open the door himself. Turning on the stereo with the music of a new upcoming artist, he organizes anything he might’ve left out of place the night before and cleans the counters.

It’s become a routine for Yoongi to wake up, scowl at the glass building, go to work, endure people’s discrimination towards hybrids, close the store, go home, and go to sleep. He’s gotten so used to the repetition that when he has free time on Sundays, he feels at a loss on what to do. He’s tried opening the store those days, but then Lee, the closest thing to a father figure he has, would just get mad at him for not resting.

It’s not unusual for him to get new customers. Still, they are always the same sort of people, music students or hipsters who want to try and be cool with their indie music. Today though, he feels something change when a blue-haired girl walks into the store for the first time. The bell jingles at the top of the door as you walk in, looking around the store before beelining to the aisle labeled ‘vinyl.’ Yoongi follows you with his eyes as his tail swishes behind him in curiosity.

You’d heard of this store from a co-worker and thought it would be the perfect place to find a gift for your brother, who’s recently started a vinyl collection. You rummage through the bins trying to find anything he might like but what you see is barely anything you’ve heard of before.

Yoongi stares at you without approaching you; he usually lets the customer decide if they need help. He’s lost count of how many times people have told him they don’t need the help of a hybrid. But as you move into the third bin of vinyl out of the few dozen in the store, he decides to make a move, or you’ll be here for hours.

“What are you looking for?” he asks straight to the point.

You look up, startled, not having heard him approach you. You can’t help but stare, not because he’s a hybrid but because he must be one of the hottest men you’ve ever seen in your life. Yoongi doesn’t take it that way, as he believes you’re judging him for what he is. Instantly his cat ears pin back, and his eyes narrow.

“Well?” He prompts rudely.

“Sorry, um…Yoongi.” You say, squinting to read his name tag, “I’m looking for a vinyl for my brother as a birthday gift.” You look at him nervously as you feel him judge your entire being, wishing you had worn more makeup today and not stained your sweater during lunch.

“Anything in specific you’re searching for? What is his music taste?” Yoongi asks, bored.

“He likes electro-pop.”

Yoongi nods and directs you further down the aisle, he organized the bins himself, and you were looking in all the wrong places. You should've noticed the signs hanging above the bins designating the music genre.

“You were searching in the jazz area. This is electro-pop,” Yoongi points out.

Blushing at your stupidity, you thank him and continue to search for a good artist your brother will like. Yoongi hums in acknowledgment and makes his way back to the cash register, waiting for you to finish and ringing out other customers.

As you shift through the albums, you look up occasionally to look at the hybrid called Yoongi. He sits on a wooden stool, staring out the window. The sun hits his pale face, making him look ethereal. If she was braver, she’d ask him out, but she knows there’s no way he’d like her back. He certainly didn’t show it when he helped her.

Finally, seeing more artists you recognize, you settle on two vinyls for your gift. You walk around the store seeing as it’s your first time in it, and you stop to look at accessories for production closer to the counter. Your eyes roam the equipment, and your hand urges you to touch it. You hold back because you don’t need anything right now. Wanting and needing are two different things you need to be conscious about.

Carefully placing the vinyls on the counter, you wait for Yoongi to ring the items up. He barely looks at you as he tells you the total. That’s okay, though, as it allows you to stare at him more discreetly; you are in awe of this man with his glossy dark hair and pink pout. How could you have formed a crush on a man who has only spoken five words to you?

Yoongi looks up at the lack of response, only to find you staring at him. He frowns deeply, disturbed by the situation. Her staring differs from the people who point at his ears or make off-hand comments, yet he can’t point out why.

“Hello?” He snaps to call her attention.

“Sorry,” you flinch, a blush covering your cheeks, contrasting the blue in your hair.

“Hope you’re brother likes them,” Yoongi tells her, putting both records in a bag.

“Thanks, me too,” you stutter out with a smile.

You promptly pay and leave the store. Outside you slap yourself on the forehead for being so awkward in the presence of Yoongi. Caught up reprimanding yourself, you fail to notice Yoongi staring at you from the window with a quirk on his lips.

Yoongi thinks you’re a little odd but pays you no mind. He believed you’d be more confident with hair like yours, in reality, you’re a little ditsy. It’s cute. You smelled good, too, not that he meant to smell you, but it’s hard not to with his heightened sense of smell. You smelled like chocolates and something florally yet not overwhelming.

To a hybrid, scents are everything they can tell a lot about a person, although sometimes they can be misled. Their smells can sense a person’s mood and overall persona. A handy thing to have when dealing with people who constantly discriminate against hybrids. Times might have changed, and hybrids might have their freedom now, but it can’t erase years of slavery and mistreatment.

○●○●○●○●○●

You keep returning to the store for the next month just to see Yoongi. You didn't know it back then, but now you know he's the only one that works in the store. At first, you would buy little things to have excuses to go there, then you started to leave empty-handed happy to have seen your 'kitty cat' as you've nicknamed him in your head. At around the third week of returning, he asked for your name. You stuttered it out as his response surprised you.

"That name doesn't suit you," he said, staring at you fixedly, "I'll just call you Blue."

"Very creative, Yoongi," you laugh, rolling your eyes.

And while Yoongi is unemotional, most of the time, you've been learning how to read him. A flick of his cat ears, the swishing of his tail, the way his nose scrunches up unbeknownst to him, or the way his mouth quirks up at the side. It all means different things, and you're starting to catch up, so when he sighs, shaking his head at your words, you know he's amused.

Yoongi has gotten used to seeing you every week. Unlike many of his customers, he'd greet you with a 'good morning' and send you off with a 'careful on the way home.' When you don't come to the store in more than a week, he finds himself worried, and as another week ends with no signs of you, he becomes slightly upset. Maybe he did something to upset you. He wants to know if you are okay or if there is anything wrong, but he comes up empty-handed.

He spends his Sunday sulking in his apartment. When he visits Lee, the old man notices instantly. He is delighted Yoongi is like this over a girl. He's been waiting too long for his boy to open up and get a girlfriend. Yoongi shuts it down almost instantly and clears up that you're only a customer. A friendly customer…

Monday morning bright and early, the bell of the shop jingles, and your scent wafts to Yoongi's nose, who is in the back getting more stock. He leaves the boxes behind as he rushes to the front. "Morning, Yoongi," you greet him with a bright smile.

"You didn't come last week, Blue," Yoongi frowns, his pout very apparent and his ears twitching in annoyance, "I was worried."

"I'm sorry," you quickly apologize," I was out of town."

You hate to admit that you are happy he noticed your absence. Yoongi considers you a friend! Now you have to fulfill the promise you made to yourself. This is the perfect opportunity to ask him out. If he was worried about you, it meant he cared! If only a little.

"How about I make it up to you?" You ask slowly, looking up at him with hope in your eyes. For an extra measure, you use the advice of a friend and put your hair behind your ear to seem cuter.

"And how are you going to do that?" He asks stoically, crossing his arms.

"Let me take you out to this coffee shop on Sunday. They have local artists playing music. And before you say no because of the shop, I know it's your day off," You rush through your words before he rejects the idea.

Yoongi is surprised at your idea of making it up to him, and it shows on his face. He's unsure of what to say but gauging the fact he spent his Sunday worrying over nothing, he accepts. "Alright, you're paying, though."

"Yeah, of course!" You say excitedly, which gets Yoongi smiling.

Despite seeing each other for many weeks, you hadn't had a reason to exchange numbers until now. He writes his phone number on your phone, and you can't resist having his contact as 'Kitty Cat,' not that he notices. If he did, you were sure he would be dramatic about it. Opening the camera app, you tell him to smile, it takes a few tries, but eventually, he settles and shoots the camera a half smile.

Yoongi does the same with you. After writing down your number, he assigns the contact as 'Blue' and snaps a picture of you. Only he didn't ask you to smile; he only called your name and snapped it. You beg him to change it, but he laughs and shoots down the idea. The picture he took got your essence to a tee. While you thought it was atrocious, he thought you looked cute with the wide-eyed stare and everlasting smile on your face. Your messy baby hairs and fluffy sweater only added to your charm.

That Sunday, Yoongi waits for you by the train station. He bites his nails as he waits, a nervous habit he can never get rid of. After accepting going out with you, he began wondering if this was a date. You never specified what it was for you. Yoongi has noticed your stares and how you hang on to every word he says. He also might've heard you speaking about him on the phone outside the store about how cute he was and how he made you giddy.

He's never really been in a relationship, and he's not sure he wants one, either. It's not like he's never been attracted to someone or had his flings, but they've all been with other hybrids, not a full human. He believes he knows you and you have the best intentions, but he's guarded. In the past, he's dealt with humans that are great at first until their true colors show, and they turn into the worst. It's hard getting over his trauma.

With lots of second thoughts, Yoongi is about to bolt from the train station. His fight or flight kicked in over the whole situation. It's one thing to see you around the store, but everything will change once he breaks the barrier and starts seeing you outside of it.

It's too late as you spot him in the train station and wave at him. "Hey, Yoongi!" You chirp, giving him a hug in greeting.

"Are you okay?" You place a hand on his shoulder. You noticed when you were nearing him that he was tense and fidgety. His tail is flat against his body, unlike how it usually swishes around him. Maybe he's not feeling up to the plans for today.

"All good, lead the way!" He responds with a nod and a small smile.

Yoongi is uncomfortable as you walk side by side on the sidewalk. The coffee shop is on the other side of town, in a nicer part of town, to be exact. As a teenager, he never had a great experience in these places where people with money think they can ask for anything with the right amount of money from a poor homeless hybrid. The sad part is sometimes he was so desperate that he agreed to their requests. He's not proud, but he did what he had to survive, and now he's in a better place.

The coffee place barely resembles a coffee place. Inside are tables gathered around a small stage; where the coffee usually sits, there is alcohol instead. When Yoongi points it out, you mention that it's a fully functioning coffee place during the day, and at night it shifts to a speakeasy.

"Where would you like to sit?" You ask Yoongi sweetly, thinking about the speakers that might bother him if you sit too close.

"Over here is okay," Yoongi says, leading you to a table near the back.

You notice the speakers don't point directly at the table. You're proud of yourself for thinking about his heightened sense of hearing. There is silence when you sit at the table. Internally, you're banging your head against the table for not thinking of something to talk about ahead of time. You want to talk to him and get to know him. How do you start, though?

Yoongi, on the other hand, is perfectly happy in the silence. He's never felt the need to make unnecessary conversations. After inspecting the room, he looks at you. You look beautiful today. Your blue hair is nicely curled, with little strands framing your face. You're wearing a fluffy blue sweater that fades into white and pink that begs him to touch it and a black mini skirt. Overall, very cute. He tried to say it while you walked to the coffee shop, but his mouth didn't cooperate, leading him down a different route.

There was a question burning his tongue. A matter of what situation they are in right now. It all started as a way to make it up to him, but he can't help but feel there's more to it. Although he thought of running before, he's concluded that a date would be okay. He's in control of his life now, and if he wants something to stop, he can say it.

"Blue?" He breaks the silence; you had been looking at the stage where the first performer was setting up.

"Yes?" You smile at him gently, waiting for his question. He loved that about you, just how patient and soft you are.

"What is this?" he asks, pointing his finger between the two of you. Upon noticing your confusion, he adds, "Is this a date or just an outing of two friends?"

Your cheeks instantly flare up. Maybe you hadn't made it as obvious as you thought, "I was hoping this would be a date."

Yoongi nods at your words and gives you a small smile, "I was too."

A waiter eventually approaches the table, taking both of your drink orders. A casual conversation then erupts between the two of you. You learn that he's been working at the store for nearly ten years. In exchange, you talk about one of your hobbies, photography.

"I never asked but did your brother like the vinyl?" Yoongi wonders, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"He loved them. Turns out I know his taste pretty well," you giggle, remembering your brother's excitement over the records. He had all but jumped into your arms in a big hug. "He mentioned visiting the store one of these days to get more."

"Does he live around the area?"

"Yes! He's currently in the university nearby," You chirp, mixing your cocktail. Your foundation may hide most of your imperfections, but it can't hide the flush of the alcohol.

"Good for him," Yoongi replies in surprise. That's one expensive and prestigious university. It makes him wonder about your family and what they do; he refrains. That's a subject for another day.

Yoongi had misjudged the coffee shop earlier. He thought the performers would be pretentious people who thought they knew about music. He'd also thought they would all be humans. But as the performers go on, he notices most of them are hybrids, and the people at the tables around them are too. "How did you find this place?"

"One of my friends works here, and the other will perform later."

Jung Hoseok is one of your great friends. You two used to work together until he decided he needed a break from everything some months ago. Next thing you know, he's managing a coffee shop and hosting music shows.

"Actually, I think I see him now," you say, waving your hand delicately toward Hoseok. Yoongi looks in his direction and sees a handsome man with a bright smile. It makes him insecure.

"I'm so glad you're here, sweetheart," Hoseok exclaims, approaching the table and leaning down to hug you, "Who is this?" He asks with a twinkle in his eyes. Hoseok had already heard everything about the cute, brooding hybrid cat.

"This is, Yoongi, my date," you say, "Yoongi, this is Hoseok, the friend I just told you about."

"Nice to meet you." Yoongi shakes the man's hand firmly.

"Don't forget about me," a deep voice says from behind Hoseok.

If Yoongi thought Hoseok was handsome, he is at a loss for words to describe the man or, rather, the hybrid that pops up beside him. The panther hybrid swoops in to hug you, too, whispering in your ear how gorgeous you look. It angers Yoongi that he couldn't say it beforehand because it means he is not the reason for the blooming blush that covered most of your face and neck.

"This is Taehyung," Hoseok introduces the panther hybrid, "Tae, this is her date, Yoongi."

Hoseok and Taehyung try very hard to hide their curiosity and glee. They've wanted to meet Yoongi for weeks, so they were ecstatic when you told them you'd bring him around. They were spying on you from the back, where Taehyung was using his heightened hearing to translate your conversation.

"You're going to perform tonight?" Yoongi asks the panther.

"It's my first time. I'm a little nervous," Taehyung responds, fidgeting with his hands.

"You'll be okay; you've practiced so much," You reassure him, reaching for his hand.

"Thanks, honey," Tae smiles at you.

"We'll leave you two to your date. I gotta go present the next performer," Hoseok says, pulling Tae away from the table, whispering in his ear to tone it down before he scares Yoongi away.

Yoongi finds them both pleasant, even if Taehyung is touchy with you. It's like there was something between the two of you. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, though, so he ignores it for now.

As another performer finishes, you stand from the table, "I need to speak to Hoseok for a moment. Is that okay?"

"Of course."

His eyes follow you discreetly, watching as you speak to Hoseok. It appears as if the conversation is serious as Hoseok's smile drops. Yoongi focuses as much as he can on listening to the conversation, but it's hard when the new singer on the stage picks up the ante and strums the guitar louder. He can make out your lips as you say 'please,' but Hoseok only shakes his head no and says what Yoongi believes is an apology.

When you return, you smile at him as if nothing has happened. The rest of the show plays out. You pay as promised and head out into the cold night. Yoongi wants to bring up your conversation with Hoseok, but that's not his place. Besides, it seemed like it troubled you, and he didn't want to ruin the night.

"Did you like the show?"

"It was great; truth be told, I wasn't expecting to see as many hybrids," Yoongi confesses, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

"The owner is very pro-hybrid. It's one of the few places around here that are like that. I thought you'd like it, considering you always have the little stand on your counter." You refer to the local artists' tapes he keeps on the checkout counter; every week, he has a new one on display. You're unsure where he finds them, but you appreciate it as it helps you find new artists.

"I did, thank you," Yoongi smiles down at you and notices how you rub your hands together to warm them up. "Are you cold?" He doesn't wait for your answer as he takes your hands in his to warm them.

"How are you so warm?" You giggle.

"It's a hybrid thing," he mutters, a bit embarrassed. He's always been insecure about the things that make him a hybrid.

"I wish I was always that warm. My hands are always cold," you cutely pout.

Feeling brave, Yoongi says, "I can keep them warm."

You nod appreciatively, afraid of your voice betraying you. You walk the rest of the way hand in hand, and when you arrive at your departing point, you kiss his cheek. "For an amazing night."

"Will I see you at the store?" He asks shyly.

"Definitely."

○●○●○●○●○●

Time with Yoongi goes by so quickly. As promised, you return to the store, and Yoongi invites you out on another date in exchange. Your relationship progressed as the leaves began changing color. You didn't visit the store as much anymore as you visited each other's home. You were no longer the cute ditsy customer but the girlfriend.

You're so lucky to have Yoongi; he's much more than the grumpy cat you met. He's funny and extremely affectionate (in private, of course). It took you by surprise the first time he lay in your lap and asked you to touch his ears. You know it's a big no-no to touch a stranger's animal ears, but then again, you were no longer strangers. As you had your internal debate, Yoongi lay there with eyes closed, waiting for you. Silently praying you wouldn't be put off by it, his doubt was put to rest when you began softly stroking his pointy cat ears.

"Finally," he muttered, sinking further into your lap.

"Have you ever heard the saying good things come to those who wait?" You sass at him. Yoongi instantly relaxes, releasing a sigh of pleasure. You're weak for him, though, as your fingers brush through his hair and rub the base of his ears. He doesn't answer your question; instead, he falls asleep on you.

You're not sure if it's a Yoongi or a cat thing, but he loves his naps. Nine times out of ten, whether you're at his apartment or yours, Yoongi will nap for a few minutes, more if you're rubbing his ears. A trait you know comes from his cat side is looking for a spot in the house where the sun hits just right. You first noticed it at the store, and you thought it was because that's where the cash register is. Then you learned he moved the register closer to the big window to sunbathe. In fact, his apartment is set up in a way where his couch is mainly illuminated by the sun.

Something that is definitely a hybrid thing is scenting. You often caught Yoongi touching you or rubbing his head against your neck, a clear sign of scenting. Another way he does it is by giving you his hoodies or t-shirts. He gets all smug whenever you leave his apartment with his clothes, and whenever you return with his hoodies, and his scent is all faded, he switches them out. He wants to make it known to other hybrids that you are his.

For playing the stoic, serious guy, Yoongi loves kisses. Tiny kisses, pecks on the lips, kisses on the cheek, forehead kisses, full-blown makeout sessions, any type of thing involving kisses, he is there. You're favorite thing, though, is making him purr while you kiss.

In the past, you learned that some cat hybrids can purr and others don't, genetic differences between them or whatever. One day you were straddling his lap in a heated makeout session (one he started) and discovered he's one of the ones that purr.

Startled, you pull back with swollen lips, "What was that?"

"Nothing," Yoongi says, trying to pull you back by the back of your neck into another kiss.

"Was that a purr, Yoongi?" You insist with a teasing smile on your lips.

Yoongi, embarrassed, denies it. Furrowing his eyebrows with a pout, he mumbles, "Don't be ridiculous."

You smile at him and kiss him hard, grinding against him, "Do it again."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yoongi moans, guiding your hips over his lap.

"Do. It. Again," you say in between kisses, "It felt amazing."

"It did?" Yoongi asks with a vulnerable look. He's always been somewhat embarrassed by his cat tendencies because he has had to hide them for many years. In his head, the more human he is, the better. It gives people less ammo when they decide to be rude.

"Mhm," you nod, swiping his lipstick-stained lips with your thumb. "Honestly, it's a turn-on," you whisper in his ear.

"You'll have to figure it out then 'cause I'm not telling you," Yoongi drawls, squeezing your hips.

"Let's get to it, then," You say seductively, kissing him again.

It takes you no more than ten minutes to figure out it's all in the hair. Whenever you pull the hair on the back of his neck, Yoongi purrs like there's no tomorrow. Minutes later, you make another discovery. The purrs are especially good when he's going down on you.

"Fuck, Yoongi," you moan, gripping his hair in your fist. It's a double-edged sword you have; you pull his hair due to the overwhelming pleasure, but it makes him purr even more.

There's no way for you to close your legs as Yoongi is settled right between them. He holds tightly to your thighs with one hand as he flicks your clit with his tongue and works two fingers into you. Neither of you is sure how you got into this position, but there are no complaints.

"I'm not sure if you want me to stop or not," Yoongi teases you with a smirk, leaving kisses over one of your thighs, although his fingers continue their assault. The sound of your wetness, along with your moans, resonates through the room.

"Don't even think about it, kitty cat," you respond, propping up on your elbows. Your head tilts back with a loud moan when Yoongi rubs against that spot.

Yoongi glares at the nickname and bites just where he kissed you. He detests the nickname, so he gets testy whenever you call him that. You whine at the momentary pain, but it turns you on even more.

"Forgot you were a pain slut," Yoongi says with all the intent in the world. He hates being called 'kitty cat,' and you hate the term 'pain slut.' Now you're even.

You glare, pushing him away and shuddering as his fingers leave you empty. Your skirt falls back into place as you sit back on the couch with a pout that's supposed to make you look angry. Yoongi holds back a laugh, knowing you love being dramatic. He moves into a sitting position and grabs your hand, pulling you into his lap, where you can perfectly feel his hard-on over his sweats. His sticky fingers are on your side, playfully squeezing you.

"Don't be so pissy. You know I'm joking," Yoongi chuckles, kissing your shoulder. His hands trail over your body, squeezing your clothed chest before delving between your thighs, but you remain emotionless.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Yoongi jokes, kissing the point in your neck that makes you ticklish.

"That's not funny," you scoff, trying to hide the smile dying to come out.

"You're right, it's not," Yoongi agrees, "I'm sorry, Blue." He props his head on your shoulder with a pout, despite your messy blue hair tickling his face.

"I'm sorry too," you say rather unwillingly, turning to him.

"That's my girl," Yoongi smiles, gripping your chin to kiss you.

You squeal when he stands up, taking you to the bedroom to finish what he started.

○●○●○●○●○●

One fall afternoon, you bring Yoongi lunch to the store. He received a big batch of inventory and missed his lunch hour. Your hours at work are flexible, so you stop by one of the restaurants near the store and pick up his favorite.

"Yoongs, I'm here," you call out, not seeing him by the register.

"Back here, Blue!" You only see his hand waving from behind a pile of boxes. You leave the food at the counter and go around the boxes to see him sitting on a small stool organizing the new batch of CDs.

Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you kiss his cheek. "Come eat before it gets cold."

"One second," he mutters, stacking the CDs in a neat pile before he stands.

"Hi," he smiles at you pecking your waiting lips. You walk back to the front of the store with his hand in yours.

You and Yoongi keep a pleasant conversation going as he eats and checks out customers simultaneously. Some clients come with questions you're more than happy to take care of. All the time you've spent at the store paying off. When he's finished and the store is empty of customers, he pulls you between his legs. Instantly, you know what he wants. It's his favorite thing in the world.

"Don't act so cocky," he murmurs against your lips.

"You're too cute." Your giggle is cut short by a kiss. Yoongi moves his lips expertly against yours, stealing your breath away. His arms keep you close to him, you also feel his tail by your side as if trying to curl around you.

A moan is heard through the empty store when Yoongi nips at your bottom lip. He smiles into the kiss, proud of himself. You're so reactive to his touch. He doesn't have to do much to get you like putty on his hands.

One of his palms sneaks under your shirt, meeting with the band of your bra. Yoongi's thumb brushes over the cup, teasing at how close he is. In turn, you find yourself palming him over his jeans. He's not fully hard, holding back if anyone walks into the store.

"Don't start something you can't finish," Yoongi tells you, kissing up and down your neck.

"We can flip that sign around and go to the back room," you pant as Yoongi leaves open-mouthed kisses against your jaw.

Yoongi is about to agree when the bell at the top of the door jingles obnoxiously. Jumping apart, you keep your distance. It's an older woman who barely spares a glance towards the two of you. She continues on her way, searching for whatever. 

You pout at Yoongi, who only shrugs, pecking your cheek. The woman then appears with an old cassette of an even older artist. Yoongi had those in the back of the store with a few cassette players. He says it's for the old music teachers who reject the artists of this generation. It's a business, and he needs something for everyone.

He rings her out and hands her the paper bag. The old woman looks between the two of you with an indignant look. "Honey, you can do so much better." She says with a frail voice filled with audacity.

Yoongi tenses beside you and is about to say something to the lady when you stop him, "What are you trying to say?" You ask in a daring tone. You need to know if this woman has the guts to voice her thoughts.

"That you can do so much better than a filthy hybrid. They are beneath us, just like any other animal would be. Why don't you find yourself a nice human boy to settle with?" She states as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Yoongi sags at the woman's words. He's fine being humiliated alone but not in front of you. It's just a reality check that your situation is just a thing in passing. You'll never truly like him or see him as your equal.

"First of all, lady, I don't need a man or a hybrid to settle or take care of me. I can do that perfectly fine. Second, this man you want to say is beneath me is the most kindhearted, loving, hard-working man I've ever met. Not to mention he's the hottest too. Now take your old ass cassette and never come back." You don't scream or raise your voice. You talk in a steady dangerous tone, and by the end, you are leaning against the counter, facing the woman. 

She looks at you as if you've cursed her whole family. The moment you finish talking, she almost runs out of the store. Clearly, she hadn't expected that reaction. She probably wanted to rile Yoongi up to try and prove some stupid point she thinks she has about hybrids.

Turning to Yoongi, he's staring at you with a lustful look, "You really think that?"

"I do," you say, giving him the reassurance he desperately needs.

Yoongi steps around you, reaching for the sign on the door and turning it around to 'closed.' He grabs your hand when he returns, pulling you to the backroom. You barely get there when he pushes you against the door, kissing you feverishly. The way you stood up to the woman and defended him got Yoongi fired up.

"I fucking adore you," he gruffs before smashing his lips on yours. 

He kisses you bruisingly hard, pouring all of his feelings into it. You reciprocate his eagerness, folding your arms around his neck. You didn't realize that defending Yoongi almost made him say those three little words. He's conscious it's far too soon for that, and maybe the heat of the moment made him think of them. Still, he needs to get the 'I love you' out of his system somehow, and what better way than fucking you in his back room. 

"All this because I spoke up?" You giggle between kisses though it's interrupted by Yoongi sneaking his tongue into your mouth. 

Yoongi is in a frenzy, squeezing any part of your body he can reach; your thighs, your ass, your arms, your back, your chest. He needs to feel you close, closer than ever before. With each touch, you moan into his mouth. If he didn't love kissing you so much, he'd allow himself to listen to them. 

When you and Yoongi have sex, you always get on your knees first. You enjoy watching him struggle and get all flustered. His fingers knotting in your hair to get what he wants, making him believe he's the one in control. What can you say other than you find pleasure in giving him head? 

It works out because as giving as Yoongi is behind closed doors, he's a selfish lover. He is quick to take what he wants from you; your hands, your breasts, your mouth, your cunt. You get pleasure along the way, he draws orgasm after orgasm from you, but it's all a ruse as he gets the most out of it. Whether it's your taste, your touch, or your mellifluous voice chanting his name. You make him feel victorious. 

Today though, the roles are reversed as Yoongi breaks the kiss and drops to his knees. It's all about you at this moment; you've given him enough pleasure by defending him. You're lost in the moment; you don't question Yoongi's behavior. For you, this was just another horny adventure between the two of you. 

The kneeling cat hybrid bunches the skirt up to your hips and pulls your panties down your legs in one swift movement. His actions are firm yet careful. Decided. He hasn't even touched you, and yet you're breathing heavily. Yoongi leaves wet kisses from your stomach down to your mound. Grabbing your leg, he props it over his shoulder, giving him perfect access to your center. 

It's no secret you are wet. You have been from the moment Yoongi teased you earlier. Your body is somehow always ready for him. It doesn't help that you found everything he does sexy. Your breath hitches when his tongue licks a stripe from your opening to your clit, brushing over it with precise pressure. 

Your fist finds its place in his hair, right between his cat ears. You buck your hips with each lick and suck, Yoongi's name falling from your lips. He only keeps his eyes trained on your flushed face and swollen lips. His grip on your thighs keeps you grounded as they clench each time you close your eyes for too long. Yoongi needs you to see him worshiping you on his knees. 

It's a vicious pattern that Yoongi sticks to. Flicking your clit, fucking you with his tongue, nipping your thighs. It's enough and too much all at once. You'd be on the floor if it wasn't for the wall behind you.  

Yoongi's feline-like eyes indicate he is enjoying this as they reflect his playfulness. Your heel digging into his back and your thighs tightening around him betray you, giving it away that you're close. Not like you were hiding it as curses left your lips. 

Keeping a steady rhythm, he brings you to the edge and over the cliff. A selfless act 'cause if it were up to him, he'd edge you until you were begging and weeping. Your juices drip like a stream, and he acts like a man who spent the last year in the desert. Not a drop goes to waste. 

Only when you lightly nudge him back does Yoongi stand from the floor. His grip on you does not ease as he stabilizes your swaying form. It doesn't take a genius to figure out you're weak in the knees. 

"Fucking delicious," Yoongi purrs as he shares your taste with a kiss. Fear overtakes him at the thought of never savoring you again. There's no one as addicting as you, so sweet and intoxicating. 

You grab onto his shirt, tilting your head to kiss him deeply. It's then that you feel his hard cock pressing against you. Poor kitty is being so good to you. Usually, he would've complained by now.  

Yoongi breathes into your ear as if on cue, "I need you, Blue."  

"You have me, Yoongi," you reassure him, pulling his clothes, desperate to get them off. 

You unbuckle Yoongi's belt and pop the button off his pants, digging your hand underneath to grip his cock. He is warm and heavy on your palm. Yoongi releases a throaty moan as you pump his cock, squeezing him lightly. 

You kiss the column of his throat as he throws his head back in pleasure. Releasing him momentarily, you take off your sweater, making you hot and sweaty. Running out of patience, Yoongi pulls the cups of your bra down. 

He turns you around by grabbing you by the shoulders. You brace your hands against the wall. From behind, Yoongi fondles your breast, pinching your pebbled nipples. He pecks your naked shoulder, biting when he ruts against your ass. 

"I can't hold it anymore," Yoongi groans.

"Fuck me, Yoongi," you whine, arching your back and lifting up your skirt. 

Yoongi spreads one of his hands on your upper back, forcing you to lean forward. With the other, he grabs his member, teasing you with the tip. Your arousal coats him instantly, and with one swift thrust, he forces his cock into you. 

Both of you moan in unison. The pace is slow at first until Yoongi starts thrusting faster and harder. His grip is tight around your waist; you wouldn't be surprised to find marks there later. You remove one of the hands from the wall to find Yoongi's. He holds it against your waist, squeezing it every so often. His groans are like music to your ears. The way his voice gets deeper and raspy, you could cum just by hearing him speak. 

Your walls feel so good around him. You'd tighten around him every so often; it would make him falter. The more you tense around him, the closer he gets. He pulls your back to him, so you're pressed against him. Yoongi buries his head on your neck, breathing in your sweet scent and a hand between your legs. He clumsily rubs your clit, making you climax in no time. It's perfect as the waves of pleasure push him to spill into your warm pussy. 

There's a moment where you both stay in that same position, catching your breath. Yoongi is inside you, his head on your neck, arms wrapped around your stomach. You hold onto him as best as you can with your eyes closed. He's so close to saying, 'I love you,' but fear of rejection stops him. He could live without you knowing but not without you. 

You shudder when he slips out of you. If it were up to him, he'd take you home and do it all over again, but you're expected back at work. Yoongi quickly helps you clean up and find your clothes strewn around the back room. Which is easier said than done. 

"Shit, I have to go," you exclaim after reading a text. 

"What happened?" Yoongi asks, handing you your sweater that had been covering a lamp. 

"I have a meeting in half an hour," you mumble, putting on your sweater. 

You rush out of the music store with a quick look in the mirror and sore legs. Your colleague is waiting for you when you open your office door. When you sit on your chair, you realize something is off. 

You don't have any panties on. Yoongi, that fucking sneaky cat must've kept them. 

    ○●○●○●○●○●

It had been a long week for you, with many deadlines and projects. Yoongi knows how hard you push yourself, so he worries when he calls to see how your day is and doesn't receive the response he usually gets. Something is wrong with you; that's all Yoongi knows. Yoongi changes quickly and gets takeout knowing you probably still need to eat.

He arrives at your apartment in record time, pulling out the key from his pocket to unlock your door. Yoongi has been spending so much time with you, you thought it would be easier if he had a key to your place. A week later, he gave you a key to his place. It was only fair.

He searches the familiar apartment, trying to find you, but you're not there. You're home, though, as your keys hand from the hook and your comforting scent welcomes him. He knocks on your bedroom door, and slowly, he opens the door. You're not on the bed, but that's when he sees the light coming from the bathroom.

"Blue?" He calls out from behind the door.

"I'm here," your quiet voice responds with a sniffle.

He opens the door to find you in the tub, hidden by soap bubbles. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet. The addition of your red nose confirms you've been crying for a while.

"What's wrong, Blue?" Yoongi tenderly asks, kneeling by the tub to be eye to eye.

"Just had a horrible day at work," you sniff, hiding your face with fading blue hair. It's ironic how it matches your mood. "And my damn hormones are making things worse."

"You want to talk about it?"

You shake your head no as tears fill your eyes again. Work has been stressful this past week, with so many deadlines and little inspiration. The more you work, the less motivation you have. You've only been working at the company for 3 years. How will you manage to do it your whole life?

"Want cuddles?" Yoongi asks, brushing your hair out of your face.

Seeing you shake your head, yes, he undresses and gets into the tub with you. The fact you're on your period does nothing to impede him. It's just blood.

He hugs your shoulders and makes you lean against his chest. The water is hot enough to turn his skin pink and make him sweat, but his goal right now is to comfort you.

Yoongi kisses your head and lays his cheek on the top of your head. Feeling another wave of frustration and pain, tears pour out of your eyes. Knowing what you need, Yoongi gently massages your abdomen to ease the painful cramps. It's meant to be an act of both emotional and physical comfort.

"I'm sorry I'm crying over nothing. It's so stupid." Your hand rises from the water to wipe away your tears, yet it stops midway and falls back into the steaming tub of water. It's pointless; more will retake their place.

"It's not stupid, Blue," he whispers in your ear. "What you're feeling is real; the only way you'll feel better is to let it out." Yoongi is familiar with pain. It's like an old friend, always in the back of his mind.

Yoongi's words cause more tears to fall into the bath water. You're sad and angry, and frustrated at everything except for Yoongi. You're happy he's there with you, the highlight of your day. There's no way you're letting him go from your life. The past boyfriends you've had never treated you the way Yoongi does. They were alright. They just didn't pay attention to details.

With the water turning cold Yoongi gets out to heat up dinner. He sets up the table with a candle in the middle. You're a romantic; it'll cheer you up. You shuffle into the kitchen area with the hoodie he left in the bathroom and sweatpants. Yoongi smiles sweetly at you, motioning you over.

He had placed the plates facing each other, but you take yours and put it beside his, scraping the chair over the floor to sit beside him.

"Thank you." You kiss his cheek and begin to eat.

With him being right-handed and you being left-handed, there is no way he can hold your hand while you eat. Still, you feel his tail brushing against your back, providing that comfort.

○●○●○●○●○●

"There he is! The man of the hour!" A blonde man called Jimin yells, seeing Yoongi walk into his apartment.

"I'm surprised he even remembered how to get here," the fox hybrid Jin adds, uncorking a wine bottle.

Those two men are his best and only friends. Yoongi ignores them both, dropping his backpack on the couch. He first met Jin at the supermarket, where a man was throwing off-hand comments, and the hybrid fox stepped in. He acted as if he had known Yoongi all his life and glared at the man, bearing his teeth. The man left, instantly scared that he might get bitten. Jin laughed in pure glee. His fangs might be sharper than humans, but the rest are the same. He loves scaring humans; they are so stupid.

Different from when you defended him, Yoongi was less enthusiastic with Jin. He got into an argument with Jin about how they would get kicked out, what people might think, and a whole dilemma on hybrids' appearances going downhill because of people like Jin. This was 8 years ago when Yoongi was young and much more insecure than he is now. Jin has been the one to help him ease up and accept himself.

Yoongi's still figuring out how Jimin came to be. He was Jin's coworker; the fox had invited him to hang out with him and Yoongi. The rest is history. He's never left them alone since. It took a long time for Yoongi to warm up to him, though he thinks it was part of Jin's therapy to make him more tolerant of humans. Not all of them are bad people.

"You're being exaggerated," Yoongi gruffs, sitting on the kitchen's bar stool.

"Exaggerated? We haven't seen you in nearly two months," Jin scolds him. His voice is reprimanding, but his body movements are smooth and controlled as he places a wine glass in front of Yoongi.

"What has you so busy, Yoongi?" Jimin curiously asks. He takes a swing of the wine glass, grimacing at the dryness of it. He's always preferred white wine.

"Nothing, I wanted some distance from you two always annoying me," Yoongi jests, ignoring their complaints.

"Or counteroffer he has a girlfriend," Jin then says knowingly, "That usually gets people busy." Yoongi's silence confirms his suspicions. Jin's tail puffs up in victory.

"Pay up, Jiminie!"

"Fuck," Jimin whines, patting his pockets and pretending to look for his wallet, "I left my wallet in the car."

Jin rolls his eyes at the lies. It's okay because he knew Yoongi had a girlfriend before they made a bet. Last week, he had walked by the store to see Yoongi and saw the two of you all chummy. Jin hovered outside for a minute, debating whether he should make himself known. Ultimately, he chose against it knowing Yoongi likes his privacy, especially regarding his love life.

"You were betting on me?" Yoongi exclaims in outrage. They're always betting on silly things. This is the first time they bet on their best friend. Their gambling problem is officially a problem.

"Don't ask stupid questions. Of course, we were," Jin laughs, his black pointy ears flat on his head.

"So the girlfriend? Is she hot? Have you played cat and mouse?" Jimin asks. Yoongi instantly kicks him under the table.

In the 6 years of being friends, Jimin has only witnessed one person leaving Yoongi's apartment, which was a sexy mouse hybrid. That day he also learned that Yoongi plays both ways. Ever since, he teases Yoongi by calling sex 'playing cat and mouse.'

"This was too good to be true," Yoongi huffs. This is why Jin invited them to a dinner he would cook.

Jin refuses to cook outside of his job. He's a chef at a Michelin-star restaurant, and when he's at home, he'll eat frozen dinners or takeout. A paradox of sorts, really. While Jin enjoys cooking, it also feels like a chore, so he won't do it at home. Part of it is his ego; he wants the praise that comes with being an incredible chef.

When Yoongi received the text from Jimin that Jin was cooking he almost ran to Jin's place. A free gourmet dinner? Sign him up. Despite being misled Yoongi stays. He can entertain Jimin and Jin for a few hours. There's food being prepared and multiple bottles of wine on the kitchen counter.

One glass of wine in, and he tells them the bare minimum of his relationship. Two drinks in, and he tells them you were the one to ask him on a date.

Jin is so proud to hear she is human, he's done a great job with Yoongi. Part of Jin's plan is to get him tipsy enough to loosen his tongue, which is why he picked one of the dishes that take the longest to cook. Is it wrong? Possibly, but if he doesn't do it, Yoongi will never give any info.

"She's so cute," Yoongi giggles sipping on the fifth glass, "She defended me the other day when some bitch said she deserved better."

"I take it you're happy, Yoongi?" Jimin asks him, head propped up in his hands. He's more than tipsy, getting carried away by the expensive wine Jin bought.

"I thought I was happy as I was, but then she was just there, and I got so excited when she visited the store. She's soft and kind and doesn't complain about all the kisses. She liked when I purred!" Yoongi says as if it's an outrage.

"We like it when you purr, you ungrateful cat!" Jin shouts, waving around the wooden spoon, splatters of food staining the counter.

"No, you guys tease me about it," Yoongi argues.

"That doesn't mean we don't like it!"

They don't get around to eating Jin's delicious food because they are all too drunk to think when it's done. Jin got too carried away with the timing of the food. Jimin tapped out first, disappearing from the kitchen. Jin and Yoongi resisted longer as their hybrid bodies metabolized alcohol slower.

Yoongi, who is usually quiet, can't stop talking about you. Jin, who is a total gossip, is eating up his words. It's a clear indication the pair is wasted. That and the fourth empty bottle of cabernet.

"Jin, I swear she's driving me insane. She's insatiable, and I fucking love it," Yoongi smiles widely. He's lovestruck and way too drunk. You would surely be furious if you heard how he was talking about your relationship.

"Wow, you finally found someone that keeps up with you." Jin is astonished. Yoongi has a high sex drive. When Jin got him to go out clubbing, he would always leave with someone. Hell, there were times when Yoongi would have someone with him during his heats. He had all the contacts.

"God, she has given me the best head of my fucking life, and she loves it too, always on her fucking knees. Look at this."

Yoongi doesn't think as he pulls a Polaroid out of his wallet. Given your hobby of photography, you have many cameras around the apartment. One day, he didn't hesitate to reach out and snap a pic.

It's a picture of you on your knees, Yoongi's cock in your tiny hand, and your blue hair in two braids barely covering your chest. Yoongi's ring-clad hand is holding your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth to show his white cum in your mouth.

"Lucky son of a bitch," Jin gasps, staring wide-eyed at the photograph. Yoongi is too drunk to realize how bad it is that he's sharing a picture made only for his eyes. Luckily, Jin is too drunk to remember it in the morning.

Laughing loudly, Yoongi stumbles into Jin's living room. The fox is behind him, yelling at him for rubbing in his face his thriving sex life. Jin feels guilty about the tightness in his pants, he can't help it. He has been single for too long and his job keeps him busy leaving no room for one-night stands. The only release is the one his hand provides.

Yoongi trips on Jimin, sleeping on the floor, his chubby cheek squishing onto the carpet. The room is spinning for the cat hybrid; he barely manages to fall on the couch face down, getting knocked out instantly.

The following day Yoongi wakes up with a splitting headache and a kink in his neck. He stumbles into the kitchen to get water and finds a puffy-faced Jin. He has a spoon in his hand as he eats the untouched food from last night straight from the pot.

"I'm a culinary genius," he talks with his mouth full.

Yoongi grabs the spoon Jin offers him and digs in. He moans at how delicious it is, even if it's cold and he's not quite sure what it is. This is what he came for last night.

"How did I let you fool me again?" Yoongi wonders. It's not the first time Jin has done something like this to get him to join them.

Despite their headaches, both hybrids laugh loudly, the older one choking on the food. Yoongi laughs louder, patting him on the back. He loves his two friends; it's just that he loves being on his own, too, and they can be clingy as fuck. He appreciates it when they reach out, though.

Jimin appears in the doorway with an indignant look on his face. "Some of us are trying to sleep. What has the two of you giggling like a bunch of schoolgirls?"

○●○●○●○●○●

"Help."

Yoongi looks up from the sofa seeing you with your hair parted in chunks. There are strands of hair with blue hair dye and others without.

"What are you doing?" He stands, walking over to you to assess the situation.

"I can't reach the back," you say sheepishly. Whenever you dye your hair, you have friends with you to help you out. Hoseok has helped you a bunch of times as he's used to dyeing his hair. Your brother helps out too, seeing as he learned when he was a teenager to help you out.

You thought you could do it today on your own; you were desperate to revive your hair to the bright blue that you love. You were wrong because it got too messy and complicated as soon as you got to the strands in the back.

Yoongi sighs but follows you into the bathroom. He puts on a pair of gloves and, with your instructions, applies the blue hair dye. He'll be here a while; you have long hair and a lot of it. He hopes you have another dye tube because the one on the tray won't be enough.

"You're doing it wrong," you say for the third time since he started.

Yoongi pulls your hair lightly, forcing your head back to look up at him. He glares at you in warning; he's running out of patience. You reciprocate the glare. "Ouch."

"You're the one that needs help. Tone it down," Yoongi sighs angrily, brushing the dye on the top of your head.

"I'm just saying you're not adding enough," you snap, annoyed at Yoongi.

You should've known better than to ask for Yoongi's help; you're too much of a perfectionist. You're friends know you well enough already to handle your perfectionism. Still, it's something Yoongi has yet to see much of and needs to learn.

"No, you are saying it a whole other thing entirely. I'm no expert and doing you a favor, I don't need all the reprimanding." Yoongi argues, looking at you through the bathroom mirror.

"Fine then, leave," you grit, snatching the paintbrush from his hands to try and do it on your own.

Yoongi blows air out of his nose in anger, taking off his gloves on the way out of the apartment. He puts on his jacket and slams the door behind him.

Angrily you finish applying the hair dye. At this point, you don't care if it ends up patchy. That infuriates you more. While you wait to wash your hair, you slam each drawer and door in your apartment.

In the shower, you cool down and think of what you did again. Maybe, you were a little rough and reacted wrong. You didn't mean for it to come out as it did. Hurrying out of the shower, you get dressed in the first thing you find and leave for Yoongi's to apologize to your kitty.

Yoongi is at home staring at the TV. It plays a random action movie he can't bother paying attention to. You completely ruined his peaceful mood. His ears are flat on his back, clearly showing his anger. You had no reason to treat him that way, he always helps you out, comforts you, treats you like a damn queen, and then you repay him by acting like a total bitch.

He knows it's you when he hears the door. If you're here, you're probably going to apologize. He lets you knock a few more times out of sheer spite. When he opens it, he sees you with flowers and wine, and without a word, he lets you in.

You instantly catch that his mood could be better. Fair enough. "I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. I have no excuse for it."

"I'm glad you see it that way because I do every single fucking thing you want, and I don't warrant that type of treatment," he huffs, letting some of his frustration out.

"You don't have to do everything I want," you say passively, avoiding another argument. You leave the gifts on the kitchen counter.

"You don't get it?" Yoongi chuffs in disbelief, crossing his arms.

"Get what?"

"I do all those things because I like you and want to make you happy. When you treat me like I'm stupid, it drives me nuts. I don't deserve that."

"You're right, you don't," you agree instantly, "I understand if you want me to leave."

With your head hung, you reach for the door. You think that's what he means with his words. You think he's tired of you that you pushed him away with your bitch mood. You didn't mean to act that way; it just comes out sometimes, especially when you're PMSing.

"Come back, you idiot," Yoongi sighs.

Yoongi grabs your arm, slamming you against the door and kissing you hotly. How you irritate him drives him crazy, but you're not perfect, and neither is he. He'd rather work through it than let you go.

Your hands go under his oversized t-shirt, your nails dragging down his abdomen. Yoongi hisses in pain and wraps one of his hands against your throat, squeezing lightly.

"Don't ever speak to me like that, understood?" His voice is low and commanding.

You stare at him with wide eyes, feeling a wave of arousal. It's no secret that Yoongi has that effect on you, and it amplifies when he gets controlling like this.

"Say it, Blue." Yoongi repeats, tightening the fingers around your neck.

"I understand, Yoongi," you say seductively.

With his hand still around your neck, he smashes his lips on yours, teeth and tongue included. Your arms go around him, lightly tugging on his black tail, and his hips thrust as soon as you do. It never fails to surprise him. You've learned so much in the short time you've been with him.

Yoongi hoists you up, wrapping your legs around him, letting him carry you to his bedroom. The door slams against the wall as he indelicately drops you in the bed.

"Take off your clothes," he orders, sitting on the bed. He watches you with hard eyes, waiting for you to do as he says. "Today, Blue," he scorns when you take too long for his liking.

You don't know what's gotten into him, but you like it. Starting with your hoodie-the hoodie he left behind- you reveal a pretty white bra with flower details. Your leggings go next, then your bra, and lastly, your panties. Yoongi barely reacts, motioning you to continue with each piece you take off.

"Lay on the bed," he points with his head.

You crawl onto the bed, laying on the fluffy pillows that spill with his cologne. You're expecting him to join you, you couldn't be more wrong.

"Touch yourself," Yoongi nonchalantly speaks, tongue poking at his cheek in annoyance.

"W-What?" It shouldn't be a big deal you've had sex with Yoongi many times before, but this is different. Touching yourself is something you do in private, not under your boyfriend's scrutinizing gaze.

"Touch yourself, Blue. I know you do it. You think I haven't seen the toys you hide?" He mocks you with a mean smirk.

"Yoongi, I-"

"Touch yourself, now, and look at me while you do," he snaps, sending you a glare.

If you were to say no, that would be the end of it. Yoongi wouldn't force you to do anything you didn't want. He's confident you'd enjoy this, though…to an extent.

Complying, you begin by massaging your breasts, pulling on your hard nipples just like he does when he touches you. Shyly one hand trails down your stomach, and you open your legs, revealing your pussy that Yoongi happens to love so much. It's not an assumption. He's vocalized it many times. He swears he can cum just by looking at it.

Circling your clit with your fingers, you moan his name, calling him to take you. He ignores you, fixating on your actions. A single digit slides between your folds as it easily enters you. You're soaked. It's never the same as when he does it, not as satisfying.

Yoongi notices the glistening of your juices from the foot of the bed, small wet sounds come from your body, along with your whines for him. Your eyes close in instinct while you chase pleasure.

"Open your eyes." You obey his command, your eyes focusing on his face as he licks his lips. You insert two fingers, pumping them steadily, giving him the show he desires.

"How does it feel?" Yoongi inquires, holding your knees open with his strong hands when they clench at the pleasure you're bringing to yourself. He's kneeling right in front of you, entranced.

"Fucking good," you pant, your hand reaching for the one on your knee.

"Better than when I do it?" He asks, lacing your fingers together.

"No, never," you gasp. Yoongi's fingers know you better than you do yourself. They reach depths you've never explored. They are agile and strong due to his talent on the piano. He would touch you just as he does the keys softly at first, adding force when needed and caressing lightly once the piece's climax is over. Always ready to go again and again until he perfect's it.

"Add another one," Yoongi purrs. You've taken his cock many times now. You're always tight but so ready for him.

You replicate his movements when he touches you, curving your fingers until you find that spot. The squelching sound intensifies when you add that third finger, it's music to Yoongi's ears.

A high-pitched yell from you informs him of all he needs to know, "That's it, you found it, haven't you?"

"Yes," you say in a high-pitched moan, your legs try to clench, but Yoongi's strong hands impede you.

"Stop," he says before you cum, "I said stop, Blue!" he roars when you ignore him. You are so close. His hand grips your wrist, forcing you to stop. You open your eyes, hadn't realized they were closed.

"You never listen. Do you?" Yoongi condescendingly mutters.

"I'm sorry," you say, out of breath, hoping he'll join you to finish you off.

He shakes his head, ignoring your apology, "Go on, Lick your fingers."

Obediently you bring your fingers to your lips, licking them clean as per his orders.

"You taste delicious, don't you?"

"Mhm, but you're better." Your eyes are hopeful he'll have his way with you now.

"Too bad 'cause you're not getting it today," he mocks with a fake pout.

"What?" You ask, bewildered.

"Not after what you did today," he says, dipping one of his fingers between your fold, making you shiver. He brings that same finger to his lips, tasting you.

"Yoongi, I said I was sorry," you argue, sitting up on the bed, begging for him.

"And that changes what?" He cocks an eyebrow at your words.

He grabs your chin and kisses you deeply. You numbly follow along before he pulls away, "Get dressed and come out. There's a new episode of that show you like. Oh, and don't you dare cum."

"I don't get it! I'm here begging for you, and you won't touch me." You're upset, but more than that, you're horny. Yoongi is a drug you can't get enough of, and being denied of him sends you into a frenzy. "Wasn't my apology enough?"

"Blue, I forgave you the moment you got here," Yoongi smiles at you sweetly.

"Then why?" You ask, your shoulders slumping.

"Well, just because I forgave you doesn't mean you don't need a punishment."

"And no sex was the way to go. You could do so much better, Yoongi?" You taunt him, thinking this is the way he'll give you what you want.

"Says the girl who couldn't keep her hands to herself and brought me to her apartment on the second date," Yoongi teases her.

"Are you slut shaming me?" You gasp in disbelief.

"No, I'm just saying when it comes to me, you have no control," he shrugs.

"Please, next time I'm mad at you, we'll see who has no control," you pout, gathering your clothes strewn on the floor.

"Probably you. We know how you get when you're mad," Yoongi winks.

You wanted him, he was decided, though, and a stubborn Yoongi always wins. You get dressed again, only in his hoodie, hoping he changes his mind. He doesn't. He acts as if the fight never happened, cuddles you, and kisses you, but that night he doesn't touch you the way you want, ignoring all your advances.

The following day is a different story as Yoongi fucks you like you want, ravaging your body. Everything he held back the day before he uses to his advantage. You didn't hold back one bit as you begged Yoongi to fuck you harder. The neighbors will surely complain to the landlord about the unholy noises coming from his room.

○●○●○●○●○●

“Ah,” Yoongi’s moans are hidden by the water falling from the shower. He’s right below the shower head, cold water covering his body. The past three months have gone by so quickly that his heat surprised him.

His back leans against the shower wall as he rubs himself under the cold water. His hips thrust into his hand in desperate need. Yoongi whines in discomfort; his peak is too hard to reach alone. He would call you, but he’s not ready yet. He is not in complete control when he’s in heat, Yoongi knows he’ll say things that will throw you off, and it’s not like you’ll even agree to help him in the first place. You love sex, and you love sex with Yoongi, but this is something else entirely.

Yoongi moans as he continues to pump his cock. It feels so good yet so painful at the same time. The more he reaches his climax, the more the pain intensifies. If he had you here, he’d have you against the wall as he fucks you from behind. The thought sends another wave of heat through his body.

In his horny haze, he remembers something he stole from you, a little piece of you. He shuts off the water, not bothering to dry himself. He has the panties he stole from you that day at the shop on his nightstand drawer. They have your scent attached to them. Should be enough to let him cum.

Yoongi lies on his bed, sweat, and water sticking to the bed sheets. He grabs the soft fabric and envelops it in his aching length. Yoongi fists his length, imagining he’s with you, how your hands tighten around his cock, or how you like to choke on it when giving him head. Your tight fucking pussy always feels so good. He always needs to stretch you out with his fingers. His moves quicken; the only noise in the room is his desperate moans calling for you, for his Blue. Reaching his orgasm, he covers your panties with his cum. Momentarily his temperature lowers, and his breathing slows as he catches his breath. The first day is the worst. He just needs to get over this day.

If he’d been single, he would’ve called other hybrids he knew and had helped him before. He has you know he doesn’t want to disrespect you or your relationship. He’d be thinking of you even if he’s with someone else. Due to this, through the next two days, his hand becomes his best friend.

                      ○●○●○●○●○●

It’s your six-month anniversary today, and after a romantic date, you and Yoongi desperately enter your apartment. Hands are everywhere, lips are swollen, and sex is in the air. Yoongi teased you all night under the dinner table, refusing to give you what you wanted. Your begging in his ear to fuck you in the car or bathroom not working in your favor.

The door to your apartment bangs against the wall as you push it open. Yoongi pushes you into the room, slamming the door behind him. He likes to think he has it memorized. He pulls your leg around his waist, grinding against you. You moan as he buries his head on your neck.

A cough and the scent of another hybrid force Yoongi to stop in his tracks. With narrowed eyes, he pulls away from your neck. A bunny hybrid stands at the living room entrance, a corn popsicle in his hand.

��For fucks sake Jungkook,” you say under your breath, creating distance between you and Yoongi. “How many times have I told you to call ahead?”

“I did, though! I sent you a message this morning,” he shrugs, taking a bite of his ice cream.

“The message says ‘What’s up?’” You read the message, expecting to see another one following up with an announcement of his visit. The bunny shrugs like it’s not his problem, and you sigh in annoyance.

Yoongi is confused, to say the least. Who is this stranger in your living room? Noticing his expression, you quickly introduce the two hybrids.

“Yoongi, this is my brother Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s confusion rises to a new degree; something is not adding up. Jungkook catches on to his train of thought, and with a chuckle, he adds, “Adopted.”

You had never mentioned your brother was a hybrid. You’ve been dating for six months, and that never came up once. He wonders why that is. It would explain the light hybrid scent in your apartment. Yoongi always thought it came from one of your neighbor’s apartments.

“Nice to meet you, Jungkook,” Yoongi coughs to ease the tension.

“How long are you staying?” You ask your brother, crossing your arms against your chest. You are slightly upset, today is meant to be a celebration, and with Jungkook here, that can’t happen. Still, you’re not mad. You love Kook; he’s your best friend.

“Just the weekend, I got an exam on Tuesday,” Jungkook says.

“You look really nice,” he tells you, “Were you guys on a date?”

Yoongi nods solemnly. He’s not sure what to do in this situation. He thought when he’d meet your family, it wouldn’t be in such a compromising condition. Granted, Jungkook being a hybrid helped ease his nerves. He doesn’t have to worry about a stranger judging him or you for your relationship.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” Jungkook grimaces in apology.

“Does mom know you’re here?” You ask him while walking to your room.

Clearly, Jungkook is here to stay, so you’ll change and get more comfortable. There’s no use in staying in the uncomfortable dress and lingerie you’d worn for Yoongi. You can save it for next time and surprise him with the black lace set.

“Nope,” he simply says, following you to your room.

You close the door behind you, and Jungkook continues the conversation on the other side. While you forgot to mention that Jungkook is a hybrid, you mentioned that he has no boundaries and easily gets very comfortable with people.

Feeling out of place, Yoongi waits for you on the couch. Maybe with Jungkook here, you wouldn’t like him to stay, or you’d leave with him to his place. The bunny hybrid carefully eyed him as if assessing if he was a good guy or not.

Jungkook almost falls when you open the door. You’ve changed into his hoodie, shorts, and geeky superhero socks. It’s been getting colder lately, making your feet feel freezing. Whenever you go to bed with Yoongi, you press your cold feet on his thigh, making him hiss. Then you’d remind him of his promise of keeping you warm six months ago.

“I couldn’t find the banana milk,” Jungkook pouts, following you around the apartment.

“It’s on the pantry’s lowest shelf,” you mention, flopping on the couch beside Yoongi.

You cuddle on his side when he wraps an arm around your shoulder. Jungkook returns to the living room, eyeing the both of you.

“Jungkook, don’t be so awkward,” you laugh at him, patting the seat beside you.

“I feel bad I interrupted you guys night,” he admits, flopping beside you like you did moments ago. It’s hard to say who got that from who.

“It’s no problem, Jungkook. I’m happy to finally meet you,” Yoongi adds that it’s no biggie.

Jungkook smiles at the both of you and finally eases up. He spends the rest of the night getting to know Yoongi better. You’re pleased they both get along well. If anything, Jungkook even looks up at Yoongi. When you told him you were dating a hybrid, Jungkook was ecstatic. He never mentioned it, but whenever you brought home your human boyfriends, they were always uncomfortable around Jungkook, which hurt him. 

They never understood his hybrid mannerisms. They’d begin thinking he was hitting on you after learning that he was adopted. Now with Yoongi, he won’t have that problem because he will understand.

At the end of the night, Yoongi stays. He’d offered to leave, but you didn’t see a point to it. Even if you do nothing tonight due to your guest’s heightened sense of hearing, you want him to stay to finish the celebration.

“So adopted?” Yoongi asks. He’s lying on your chest as your play with his hair. It calms him down.

“Mm, yes.”

As a teen, your mom had a friend, and she had a bunny girl hybrid as a servant. They didn’t treat her the best, but your mom was always kind to her, and they became somewhat friends. They kept in touch through the years. One day when you were 16 and Jungkook was 12, she died in a car accident. Some believe it was on purpose. 

At the time, she was working for a sketchy man, and he did unspeakable things to her that she could not repeat. By now, the law for hybrids had passed, and she was going to report him. The man followed her and ran over her with his car. Before she died in the hospital, she asked your mom to take care of Jungkook. You and Jungkook became best friends, and your parents gained another child.

“That was nice of your family,” Yoongi hums, caressing your leg.

Jungkook is lucky he was born after the law for hybrids was passed; hence, he was not separated from his mother and got to meet and get to know her. 

Yoongi never got to meet his mom, he doesn’t even have a name. If his memory is good, Jungkook still remembers her, or he has photographs. As soon as Yoongi was born, he was raised with other hybrid kids, and when Yoongi was old enough, he got sold to servitude.

“You should’ve seen him when he first moved in, shy and cute,” you gush over Jungkook. He had this wide-eyed innocent gaze. He always asked permission for everything and anything. It took your family a while to break that habit. It makes you laugh cause nowadays, he does as he wishes and has everyone wrapped around his little finger.

“Reminds me of someone,” Yoongi mentions, squeezing your thigh.

“That’s different. I was flustered by your dashing good looks!” you exclaim, lightly slapping his chest.

The following day you wake up bright and early to prepare breakfast. Jungkook walks in with his hair pointing in all directions. He kisses your cheek in greeting before sitting on the kitchen table. Like clockwork, you give him a glass of juice with a straw and a silicone tip. 

Jungkook likes biting on straws (on everything he can get his teeth on). When you stopped buying the plastics ones for the more environmentally friendly metal ones, Jungkook didn’t like that and began complaining about how he couldn’t bite into them. Falling for his whines, you bought a pack of silicone tips and then another, and then another cause he destroyed them with his bunny teeth.

“Have plans today?” You ask him, ruffling his messy hair. Jungkook leans into his touch, feeling comforted by the simple action.

“I think I’m gonna lazy around and play online if that’s okay,” he asks sweetly, knowing that otherwise you would scold him and tell him to go out and enjoy the fresh air. He doesn’t know that since you’ve been with Yoongi, you’ve turned more into a homebody.

“Of course. Yoongi and I will be heading out to work soon, but you call me if you need anything.”

You had prepared a stack of blueberry pancakes for all of you. You served Jungkook a big plate, knowing he eats like there’s no tomorrow. His bunny metabolism helps him with that, and his unrelenting energy. As you place the plate in front of Jungkook, he gently bites into your arm.

You sigh in defeat, knowing there’s no way for him to stop his biting. For years you’ve told him not to do it, but it’s an instinct of his. He does it when he’s angry, when he’s sleepy, when he’s happy, when he’s annoyed. What varies is how hard he does it.

Jungkook smiles mischievously, waiting for your complaint, but all you do is brush through his long dark hair, undoing the knots that form by his bunny ears. Just like Yoongi purrs, Jungkook makes a weird sound in the back of his throat whenever you touch him around his ears.

Yoongi, having woken up later than you, walks into the kitchen. He’s dressed in clothes he’s left here in the past months. He beelines for you, pecking your lips sweetly as you hand him a plate of pancakes.

“Morning, Jungkook,” Yoongi greets the younger boy.

“Morning, Yoongi,” Jungkook says with his mouth full of pancakes.

You sit between them, striking conversation between the three of you. It’s much easier than you thought, as Jungkook just asks question after question at Yoongi. He’s never felt more at ease with one of your boyfriends.

“Can I stop by the store later?” He asks Yoongi with puppy dog eyes.

“Sure, I’ll be there till 6,” Yoongi agrees with a soft smile. There is a lot of Jungkook that reminds him of you. While you are not biologically related, you’ve adapted to each other’s mannerisms.

In the afternoon, Jungkook stops by your office to have lunch. He always has a great time at your building since most people know him there. He hopes to work there after he graduates from university.

As promised, Jungkook then stops by Yoongi’s store. He has walked by the small shop many times but never stopped to go inside. The bell at the door jingles when Jungkook walks in. Yoongi has just finished checking out a customer.

“Hey, Kook.” Yoongi greets him, his black tail swishing behind him. He’s heard you call him Kook so many times it stuck.

“Hi, Yoongi,” Jungkook absentmindedly responds, staring around the store and its variety, from musical instruments to producing equipment to music albums of all kinds and formats.

“Your sister mentioned you were collecting vinyl?” Yoongi asks him, leaning against the counter.

“Yeah, I have a few,” Jungkook nods, looking at the cat hybrid, who offers him a sneaky smile.

“I pulled these out for you. I think you might like them.” Yoongi pulls out two pieces of vinyl still wrapped in plastic from the shelf behind him. Yoongi likes the bunny hybrid and sees how happy he makes you, so he doesn’t mind giving Jungkook a small gift.

“How do you have these?” Jungkook exclaims in awe. In his hands are two limited edition vinyls of his favorite artists. These have been sold out everywhere for a long time, and very few people sold them. Whenever they did the waitlist, the bids were ridiculous.

“I’ve got contacts,” Yoongi shrugs cockily.

“I have a feeling we’re gonna get along just fine,” Jungkook beams at him, gushing over the vinyl.

They spend quite a lot of time talking about music, and Yoongi is surprised at all the knowledge the bunny holds. There are things Yoongi thought only a few people knew, but Jungkook is proving him wrong here.

“Is there a reason you visited this weekend?” Yoongi smoothly asks Jungkook. He’s noticed some things about the bunny that lead him to think it’s not just to have a friendly visit.

“Nope, was tired of school,” Jungkook says, lying.

“Your sister has mentioned you like to skip a lot,” Yoongi adds. He’s staring out the window wanting to keep the bunny calm.

“I don’t skip that much,” Jungkook complains with a groan. His sister always exaggerates things, he barely misses school.

“Everything okay?” Yoongi inquires again.

“I know my sister worries, but I’m fine. You don’t have to do this.”

Since he came into your life, you’ve worried about Jungkook-or not so much about him but the people around him. Not everyone is tolerant of hybrids, and you know this. When he came into your life, you were already in high school, so you weren’t there to defend him when bullies bothered him. When he was 12, he wasn’t big and buff to scare people away as he is now. He was small and scrawny, your parents talked to the principal and the other parents, but there’s only so much they could do.

“She didn’t send me to do anything. I just noticed the bruise on your arm,” Yoongi points to Jungkook’s left arm.

“Don’t tell her,” Jungkook sighs, defeated. He’d tried to hide the bruise as best he could. “My roommate is an ass, and he’s always taunting me, calling me a helpless bunny. He’s provoking me. I usually leave because if I throw the first punch, I get expelled. My parents did a lot to get me into the school I wanted. I don’t want to let them down.”

“You’re doing good, Jungkook,” Yoongi says thoughtfully. He understands Jungkook’s predicament. No matter how well a hybrid does, one misstep can end it all.

“But?” Jungkook prompts, there’s always a but.

“You should tell someone, get you out of that dorm. Staying quiet will only get you so far,” Yoongi advices. From his perspective, Jungkook has a great support system and should take advantage of that.

“Maybe, I don’t want the attention, though, or for my family to worry,” Jungkook explains. They’ve done so much for him already. He doesn’t want to be a burden.

“Just think about it. Your sister is worrying and doesn’t know what’s happening.”

“You won’t tell her?” Jungkook pleads, finding Yoongi’s gaze. All he wants is to do this by himself.

“It’s not my place,” he reassures Jungkook with a nod.

Thinking of Yoongi’s words, Jungkook agrees. He’ll take care of this situation. He’ll apply for a new roommate or move in by himself. Next time something happens, he’ll speak up.

○●○●○●○●○●

One lazy morning, Yoongi stares at the ceiling. It’s too early to be up. His arm is around you as your head lies on his chest. He had woken up from a nightmare. It had been a while since he had one of those. Why is it that when things are going great, the universe reminds him of the horrible things he’s been through?

Yoongi feels you stir as you wake up. You stretch out your limbs before settling back in Yoongi’s chest.

“Why are you awake so early?” You yawn, kissing his exposed chest. Yoongi can’t sleep with many clothes on, or he’ll get too hot at night.

Yoongi hugs you close, kissing your head, “I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Yoongi hasn’t told you much about his past life. When he talks about his past, it’s mainly the part of his life after Lee adopted him. You understand it’s something he wants to leave behind and respect it. It’s time, though, Yoongi thinks.

“When I was a kid before the law passed, I was owned by this family,” Yoongi begins, “Even though I was barely a child, they would have me do chores around the house, clean up their kids’ messes, and obey every little word they said. I remember their kids bullying me into acting ‘like the animal I was.’ They would make me eat off the floor and crawl around the house till my knees were bruised. They’d get physical too, pulling on my tail and ears till I cried.”

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi,” you say sadly. You can’t imagine a child going through that, yet it’s the reality many hybrids face.

“When the law passed, I was thrown into the streets. I was alone, cold, and hungry, eating off the trash like a stray. An old woman took me in. She was nice enough. She needed company, but more than that, she needed help around the house. Mostly, I went unscathed unless I did something she thought was out of line. That’s when she’d search for her dead husband’s belt and beat me with it. I never left, though. Where would I go? When she died, I was 14, and back to the streets, I went. I went to different hybrid and homeless shelters, but there was always some sort of problem with them, and they never offered a way to get out of the streets.”

“What did you do then?” Your hands are trailing up and down his stomach, offering some comfort.

“I came to this city, hoping there would be more resources. It was the same. That’s when things truly got worse….” Yoongi trails off, thinking of his past.

“Yoongs, you don’t have to,” You reassure him, getting in a position where you can see his face. His eyes are distant, so you touch his cheek and peck his lips.

“I want you to know,” he slowly responds.

“Okay,” you nod, offering him a small smile that you hoped comforted him.

“There was this sketchy guy I always saw around, and one day he asked me if I wanted to make some money. He knew I did, and he used that to his advantage. He had customers all around the city with different tasks. All I had to do was go to the addresses he gave me, do whatever they wanted me to do, and leave. And I did, at first, it was stupid stuff to help an older man with a yard, clean a house, or do a delivery. When he had my trust, things got sketchier delivering mystery packages to rundown houses, watching some people and reporting back to him, and transporting vehicles from one side of town to another.

Until one day, he said he had an extra special job for me. All I had to do was go to an apartment in the middle of the city. I went, and there, a lady greeted me. It was unlike anything I had ever done before; she complimented me. She led me to this false sense of security and then took what she wanted.” Yoongi pauses, remembering that horrible day, “Turns out they pay a lot for hybrids in heat.”

You think of Jungkook and what would’ve been of him if your family hadn’t taken him in. Your poor Jungkook wouldn’t have survived what Yoongi went through. His heart has always been too pure, too gentle. More so, you feel pain for Yoongi for having to go through it. What he’s been through is some people’s worst nightmare, and he had to go through it all alone.

“I left after that day, didn’t accept the money that came with it or any other tasks offered to me. I spent a year in the streets, barely scraping by and hiding in alleys. There was the music store I always walked by, and one day I gathered the courage to walk in. Lee instantly spotted me and watched me as I played a few keys on the piano. An instrument that has been there for most of my life. The first family I had owned one, and I got to learn the basics by watching their kid’s lessons. The old lady had one, too, that she let me use. She actually liked when I played.

I played a song lightly on Lee’s display piano, and when I finished, Lee was there watching me. He asked me if I needed a job, and despite me showing him I was a homeless hybrid, he didn’t care. Turns out Lee had lost a son due to an illness, and he saw something of his son in me. I was hesitant initially, but Lee always proved to be an honorable man. That’s where I’ve stayed until now, repaying him for everything he did for me.”

When he finishes the story, you have tear tracks down your face. You didn’t want to cry. You didn’t deserve to. After all, you were not the one to go through that stuff, yet you felt for Yoongi. You felt the pain in his voice and the injustices he had to go through. His memories still haunt him through his dreams when he should be resting peacefully in the safety of his home.

“I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through.” Your voice is watery as you try to voice your thoughts, “I’m so happy that you found Lee and that you’ve found happiness because it’s all you deserve and more.”

“I love you, Blue,” Yoongi confesses for the first time, sitting on the bed. “It’s why I’m telling you, I love you, and you need to know my past before it’s too late.” He needed you to know in case you decided to leave.

“I love you too, Yoongi,” you cry out happily, holding his cheeks in your hands. “It pains me that you have such a tragic past, but it led you to me, and it’s not going to change how I think of you.”

With tears of relief in his eyes, Yoongi kisses you nice and softly. He loves you, and you love him. You know everything you need to know about him, and it didn’t scare you away. He couldn’t ask for anything better.

○●○●○●○●○●

By the time his next heat rolls around, Yoongi has talked to you about it. You had randomly brought up the subject one night, asking him about what he did in those instances. He had been honest about how he usually had someone helping him and reciprocated that help when the time came. He quickly added how he was all alone last time, afraid you’d think he had cheated.

It all made you feel guilty; you didn’t want Yoongi to be in pain and discomfort because of you. At the same time, you did not like the idea of someone else getting to help him and touch him when he was in such a vulnerable state. The only solution was to offer him your help to which he reluctantly agreed.

It led to a long night of Yoongi giving you a rundown of what usually happens when he’s in heat and what to expect. He pretty straightforwardly told you not to take to heart all the breeding references about giving you his babies. You’d giggled at that and told him not to worry. You might actually be into that.

The fated day finally arrives without warning. His constant fucking around with you completely masked the incessant horny feeling he gets. Your voice wakes him up, ripping him away from the dreamy haze he had been in. Unconsciously he had been rutting against her side, his cock rock hard and larger than normal.

“Yoong’s, you’re burning up,” you say, touching his forehead, which is beginning to be coated by sweat.

“I have to go,” Yoongi groans, sitting up. Despite having thrashed all the sheets, he’s sweaty and sticky, “I’m in heat.”

“Yoongi, we talked about this. You have me now. You don’t have to go through this alone,” you tell him, holding onto his arm, preventing him from getting up.

“It can be too much, Blue, and I won’t be thinking straight,” he insists half-heartedly. All he wants is your help, but he’s scared you’ll be disgusted by this side of him.

“Lie back down. I’ve got you,” you say, pushing Yoongi lightly back onto the pillows.

Taking off your underwear, you lift the oversized t-shirt you wore to bed and straddle him. Since this isn’t a time to have tons of foreplay, you grab his hard cock, pumping it while you rub your clit to get yourself wet. Yoongi complains, wanting to feel the warmth of your pussy, swearing it’s the only thing that will relieve him.

Finally, you take all his cock, a sting following as you get used to his size. He’s so much bigger when he’s in heat you have never felt as full. Yoongi sighs in relief under you, grabbing your hips to set a pace that will please him best. His hands gripping you so tightly he thrusts into you desperately. His eyes are closed, concentrating on how you clench around him, but he needs more.

He pulls out of you and swiftly brings you to your knees, your front pressed onto the mattress. He slams back into you without hesitation, making you moan loudly onto the pillows. The room is all but quiet. You’re whining from Yoongi, pushing deep into you. Yoongi is groaning filthy words about how well your pussy is taking him, and the sound of your skin slapping reverberates.

For Yoongi, the first wave is the hardest to overcome. It takes a lot out of him to cum. He wants to so badly, but the pain edges him on. Luckily, you’re great to help with what you do next.

“Fuck me, Yoongi. I wanna have your babies!” You yell under him.

You swear your words make Yoongi’s cock swell even more, the stretch unreal. He thrusts hard, pulling away entirely and slamming back in. Tears well in your eyes. It feels too good. You’ve already cum around him once, and he barely noticed. You’re overstimulated by this new experience.

“We’re gonna keep going until you’re full of my cum,” he groans. Yoongi is drenched in sweat his hair sticking onto his forehead. His chest glistens with the dimmed lights of the bedroom.

Yoongi is entranced by how his cockhead pops in and out of your wet pussy. His length is entirely covered in your slick, making it much easier to thrust into you. You were made just for him. There’s no other explanation for why you feel so good hugging his cock.

Finally, feeling like he’s near his release, he lifts you up your back is against his front. He digs his head into your neck, breathing your delightful smell in. His scent entangled in yours prompts him to harshly bite you, leaving a mark on your neck as if he has claimed you as his. Yoongi is right, you are a pain slut, which brings you over the edge.

“That’s it, Blue, milk my cock, take all of it,” Yoongi stills as you clench around him, his nails digging into your hips, leaving half-moon marks on your skin as he empties inside of you.

“Everything you’ll give me,” You pant, your legs feeling like jelly as you slump against Yoongi.

Pulling your head to the side, he places short messy kisses all over your face. The heat waves he felt coursing through his body ceased momentarily. He pulls out of you, his cock not quite soft yet. You whine at the emptiness and how sensitive you feel down there.

Cum trickles out of you as you lay back on the bed, yet Yoongi pushes it back with his fingers. He hushes you when you shudder, kissing your thigh, “Can’t waste it.”

As you predicted, some minutes after his first release Yoongi is back on you. He kneels between your legs, grabbing your hips to fuck you like that. Yoongi is a visual person, so he takes much pleasure watching you take his cock, your cunt pink and puffy from his previous abuse. Part of his cum leaks out of you, although this time around, he doesn’t worry as he promises to give you more.

His mind flashes with the thought of you pregnant, carrying his kittens. Pretty girl. He splays his hand over your lower abdomen and presses down, he feels himself inside of you, and you see stars as he stimulates your spot. You cum again, legs shaking. Yoongi drips in sweat and, with a painful groan, releases inside of you again. Still inside you, plugging you up, he breathes heavily and lays on your chest. You brush through his wet hair, whispering sweet nothings.

“You did so well, Yoongi,” you rasp out, “Fucked me so good.”

Your throat is dry and raspy. You need water, yet you don’t dare to get up. Yoongi needs you.

“You don’t have to stay,” he whispers, “I can finish this myself. You’ve done more than enough.”

Through his haze, he offers you another exit. Heats are too much for the hybrid. He can’t imagine how much it’ll be for you. He appreciates your help but understands if you want to leave now that you’ve tasted how it is.

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should,” you reassure him gently, “I want to help you.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Yoongi insists, kissing the swell of your breast.

“You won’t,” you laugh, “I’m sturdier than I seem.”

Yoongi props up on his elbows and thrust slowly, feeling more in control. “I love you, Blue.”

“I love you, Yoongi,” you gasp. Yoongi pins your hands at your sides, lacing your fingers with his.

He’s so pretty with his face flushed. He looks softer with the needy expressions he’s making. Your legs wrap around his waist, trapping him close to you. Yoongi likes it when you get clingy and territorial. It makes him feel wanted.

You sleep hours later with your leg over his hip and his cock nestled inside you. He had managed to snooze off too. Granted, right before your alarm rings, he’s already thrusting into you. You hold onto his back, moaning into his ear and leaving scratch marks behind.

The next day you leave for work, not before Yoongi scents you and fucks you in the shower. The water washing away the remains of him. When you return in the afternoon, he waits for you, shirtless and in sweatpants laying low. He takes you against the door, jeans down to your knees.

By the third day, Yoongi is high and lazy from fucking you so much. He lets you take control, and you ride him lazily, his hands tracing the bruises on your body, some accidental, some on purpose. In his moments of lucidity, he apologizes for the roughness. It’s never his intention to hurt you. You always so kindly wave him off. You don’t care about them, just that your kitty is getting the relief he needs.

You’ve received strange looks at work, and you later learn by visiting Tae it’s because you smell like Yoongi, your usual florals and chocolate scent are almost gone. Only hybrids notice that, so Yoongi also leaves hickeys on your neck (which you hide) for the humans that might want to try something.

By the fourth day, his heat is over. You sneak out of bed to go to work and let Yoongi rest. He’s as still as the dead, exhausted and spent. When you return from work, you smell home-cooked food, and the table is set romantically with flowers in the center and candles.

“You’re home,” Yoongi says, kissing you gently, “Come, I’ve prepared you a bath.”

He leads you to the bathroom, where the tub is steaming with bath salts and bath bombs, more candles are alight, and a glass of wine rests by the tub. Yoongi helps you undress, kissing each and every bruise on your body. You giggle at certain parts as you’re ticklish. Then he offers his hand to help you into the tub.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be finishing up dinner,” he softly smiles at you.

You relax into the water and nod. Yoongi didn’t have to do any of this; it’s not like he can control his heat. It has you feeling cared for, though, and that’s something you can’t take for granted. When you get dressed, you both have dinner. He apologizes again and hopes he didn’t scare you away. You reassure him he didn’t. You even tell him you found most of it hot, including the breeding kink that came naturally with him.

Yoongi blushes and says ‘noted’ under his breath. The rest of the night, you and Yoongi cuddle, and before bed, he gives you a massage. You tell him he’s going overboard, but he insists, and who are you to refuse?

Days later, you take a pregnancy test, scared of the result. You have no symptoms, but the amount of times you and Yoongi had sex is unholy, and you’re afraid your birth control pills might’ve failed you. His heat clouds his mind, it’s designed to breed and reproduce. Each time he came, he did it inside of you. You know your birth control is 95% effective, yet what’s to stop you from being that 5%. You’re not ready for children. It’s not something you’ve spoken about, either. You pick up the test with shaking hands once the alarm goes off. It’s negative.

○●○●○●○●○●

There are days when you are too busy to go out for lunch. Today is one of those days. Luckily, Yoongi offers to bring you food for when you have time to eat something. It’s his first time visiting you at work, and he realizes he doesn’t know exactly where you work. He always thought you worked at the multi-office building near the corner.

When he follows the direction, it leads him to the building he despises. You never told Yoongi you work there. Feeling uncomfortable, he walks in, where a receptionist greets him, “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Yoongi tells her your name. It feels foreign on his tongue. He’s always called you Blue, and very few people call you by your government name as it is.

“Oh, you must be Yoongi! She told me you’d be coming. Take this pass. Her office is to the left on the 30th floor. You’ll see her name on the door.”

That’s a high number. In fact, it’s one of the few at the top. Usually, that means a high position, but you’ve never really talked about your job. Yoongi knocks on the frosted glass door with your name on it, preceded by Prod.

He wants to leave. How come you never told him you were a producer? That seems like the thing to say when your boyfriend owns a Music Store. You had told him you loved music, and that was it. Anyone can love music and not be involved at all. Not even that whenever he asked about work, you’d say you didn’t like talking about it to keep things separate. How many songs has he heard on the radio that you worked on?

He gets no response, so he opens the frosted glass door he sees a studio with state-of-the-art equipment. You were at the desk with big headphones covering your ears. He could hear a beat coming from them. He taps you on your shoulder, and you jump in surprise.

“Yoongi!” You say loudly, forgetting the headphones on your ears. “Oops, sorry.”

“Hey, I got your food,” he says, raising the plastic bag, but his eyes can’t stop taking in the studio and all the tools you had.

“You are a lifesaver,” you gush, grabbing the bag from him to open it.

“You never mentioned you were a producer,” he clicks his tongue in mild annoyance.

“I didn’t?” you ask, distracted by the food, “Huh, well, this where I work, always at your service.”

“Your boyfriend works at a Music Store, and you forget to mention your work in music,” Yoongi says sarcastically.

“I did say I worked at this building,” you roll your eyes with a smile thinking his joking.

“I always thought it was the other one with the medical offices,” he coughs, scratching the back of his neck in awkwardness.

“This is a huge miscommunication, my bad,” you say sheepishly, taking a bite of the sushi he bought for you.

Yoongi doesn’t know how to feel. He hates the building company for denying him the opportunity of becoming an artist. They were clearly against him being a hybrid despite having the talent. And here you are, working happily in what he wanted. You’re living his dream. It should make you perfect for him, yet all he feels is resentment.

You don’t sense his internal ‘debate’ as you eat. You’re too much in your head over the deadlines you have to meet. It doesn’t work in your favor as Yoongi leaves with a kiss on your cheeks with the excuse of a delivery to the shop. He had to get out of there and think clearly before he blew up on you.

He spends the whole day thinking about how you can work in a company that is against hybrids. He lets his losses get to him and project to you. So when you arrive at his apartment that night to spend time with him, he doesn’t greet you and just spits out, “How can you work in that company?”

“Excuse me?” You ask him, confused you haven’t even taken off your coat.

“That’s such a horrible company, Blue! They discriminate against hybrids. I can’t believe you’d work in such a place,” he argues, standing before you. His posture is tense and his ears and tail lay flat against his body.

“Yoongi, what the fuck? What are you going on about? The company is not against hybrids,” You exclaim, taking a step back.

“Of course they are. I lived through it,” Yoongi reveals.

You pause with wide eyes, “When? You’ve never mentioned it before.”

“Five years ago, I went to audition as a producer. They said that despite my talent, they wouldn’t hire me,” he says, fingers raking through his dark hair.

“That’s unbelievable,” you huff, crossing your arms defensively. Many hybrids work at the company, and she’s never heard complaints of the boss treating them poorly.

“How can you not believe me, your boyfriend, and believe the awful people,” Yoongi scolds her angrily. You can’t be so blind.

“Because that’s my family!” You yell, shutting him up.

“What?” Yoongi goes slack at your words.

“My dad is the company’s CEO, and I can assure you we are not discriminatory against hybrids. For fucks sake, Yoongi, you’ve met Jungkook. Would people who hate hybrids adopt one?”

You don’t like to pull out often that your dad is the CEO of the family company, but this is Yoongi you’re talking to. He cares about you, and you’ve been together long enough that it feels okay for him to know. Besides, maybe this way, he’ll understand that what he says is a lie.

His following words slip with little thought. “Who knows, maybe you just want to look good to the public?”

“If that’s what you think, fine. I’m leaving,” you respond firmly. You will not take anyone speaking shit about your family. It hurts you to hear him say those things. By insulting your family, he insults you too.

You hope Yoongi stops you, but he doesn’t. He knows what he was told. He stays silent, waiting for you to go. He’s set on his way.

It’s one long week where you barely talk to Yoongi. You give him time to apologize or reach out, but he doesn’t. When he realizes his mistake of comparing you to the ones that hurt him, you don’t answer.

○●○●○●○●○●

It has to be a mistake. There is no way your father, who runs the company, turned someone down for being a hybrid. Hell, half of the staff are hybrids. Producers, artists, HR, everything. There are hybrids in all departments. How come Yoongi didn’t see that when he visited.

You’ve spent enough time stewing on this. Time to go to the source, your father. You knock on his office door and hear faintly, “Come in.”

“Darling, how nice of you to visit your old man,” your dad jokes, standing from his desk to hug you.

“Sorry, dad, I’ve been swamped,” you apologize, plopping down on one of the plush chairs in front of his desk.

“I know, I’ve seen your reports, and you’re doing well. I’m proud of you,” he smiles at his daughter, expecting one in return. Instead, she plays with a loose thread on her sweater, not paying attention to him. “What troubles you?”

“You know the guy I’m dating,” you sigh, looking up at your dad.

“Yoongi, yes,” he nods, remembering everything you’ve told him about Yoongi.

“Apparently, he auditioned here like 7-ish years ago, and he says that you or whoever was in his audition didn’t accept him because he was a hybrid,” you say. It’s best not to beat around the bush.

“Really?” He asks, concerned, “Let me look it up.”

In times like these, he’s glad the company keeps a database of all the auditions and interview processes. One of his goals as CEO is to eliminate barriers between all kinds of people, giving them all a fair chance of working here.

“I have his file up. I remember him. He was very talented. He never came back. What a shame,” he hums, rewatching the audition.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“I couldn’t accept him at the time, but I told him to come in a year or two for another audition,” your father explains, passing you a flash drive with the audition.

“Why didn’t you accept him at the time?”

“It wouldn’t be beneficial for him at the time the regulations for hybrids in big companies were not good. They basically required full background screenings and medical exams. And the health benefits were basically nonexistent. Most hybrids don’t have past experiences, and if they do, they’re bad not because they are, but because of the situation they are put through. It wasn’t until a year later they eliminated that law, and their rights were looking better.”

“That makes sense,” you sigh in relief. You shouldn’t have doubted your family.

“If he wants, he can have another audition. You know we’re always looking for new producers.”

“Thanks, dad, I’ll mention it to him,” you smile, leaving.

This is great! Yoongi can audition, and he’ll be able to work alongside you. You just know he’ll do so well. He already has an excellent ear for music. He may be a bit rusty, but nothing a little practice can’t help. She can lend him a hand too!

“Send him my apologies. I never wanted it to seem the wrong way.”

“I will,” you say, rushing out the door.

A knock on the door interrupts Yoongi’s evening nap. He opens the door expecting Jimin or Jin, but you’re at the door with your arms crossed.

“You’re an idiot,” you shoulder him to walk into the apartment.

“I know. I’m sorry, Blue, I shouldn’t have overreacted and assumed things about you,” Yoongi sincerely apologizes.

“You think?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“I’m apologizing, don’t be a bitch,” Yoongi pouts, not liking your attitude.

“It’s just you infuriate me. I’ve been good to you. I don’t think I’ve ever done something to hurt you, and if I have, I’m sorry. But what you did was so unfair. Even if my family were as horrible as you made them seem, I’m not them. And I haven’t given you a reason to believe that,” you lightly argue. You’re not looking to pick a fight. You just want him to understand.

Yoongi hugs you from behind. His words don’t mean anything right now. He lets you vent. You relax against him eventually, grabbing the arms that were around you.

“I talked to my dad,” you whisper, “you misunderstood the situation, Yoongs.”

“Blue, I’m sure of what I heard,” he whispers back.

“My dad records his auditions for moments like this,” you say, handing him the flash drive. “You were great Yoong’s, and they would’ve hired you. They didn’t because it wouldn’t have been helpful for you.”

You explain the situation and your father’s words. If he had gone through the audition, the government tracking hybrids wouldn’t process his applications. That’s why your father told him to return.

“I-how could I have misunderstood this so badly,” Yoongi sighs defeated. He could’ve been so much happier sooner if he had only listened. He could’ve been a producer already. He would’ve met you a long time ago as well.

“It was seven years ago. You were hurt and wanted a reason to be mad,” you comfort him.

“I’ve spent seven years glaring at the building for nothing,” Yoongi humorously laughs.

“My dad says if you want an audition, you have it,” you tell him.

“Really?” Yoongi looks at you, “I don’t know if that’s what I want anymore. I gave up on that dream long ago.”

Being a producer was his biggest dream, yet after the disappointment, he instilled in himself, he came to the conclusion that giving up on his dream was for the best. Now he’s not sure he can visualize himself as a producer.

“If you change your mind, the opportunity is there.”

○●○●○●○●○●

Your relationship has kept you so busy you can’t remember the last time you went out with Hoseok and Tae to karaoke. You send them a quick text, and they both agree to meet. As per their request, you bring Yoongi and Jungkook along. The more, the merrier.

Hoseok and Tae are waiting when you get there. They’ve already picked a room. The group orders drinks, which quickly creates a buzz in the room. It takes them no less than 20 minutes to get the party going.

While you and Taehyung duet an old 80s song, Hoseok approaches Yoongi. He’d heard about Yoongis’s job offer and wondered if he would take it.

“You said no?” Hoseok repeats, his facial expression clearly surprised.

“Yeah,” Yoongi nods, taking a sip from his drink. He lightly laughs at you and Tae’s terrible rendition.

“Why? I thought it was your dream,” Hoseok asks. He knows what the job entitles. He’s worked at the company for some years now. It’s challenging and frustrating. It’ll drain you of all inspiration faster than you’d think, yet he wouldn’t do anything else in the world. His stunt at the cafe months ago confirmed that.

“It is or was. I don’t know; I feel out of touch. When I went to Blue’s office, there was so much equipment I hadn’t even seen. It’s been a while since I’ve produced too. I write less and less as the years go on,” Yoongi sighs, being honest with Hoseok.

“How about you come to my studio this week? Check it out. I can show you around. It’s not as intimidating as it seems, and I know you’ve got the talent,” Hoseok offers kindly, no strings attached.

In his mind giving Yoongi space from you is good. That way, Yoongi is not pressured to agree with whatever you say or do.

“You’ve never heard anything of mine,” Yoongi rebukes.

“Haven’t I, Gloss?” Hoseok laughs.

Yoongi’s expression is priceless. He left the underground business when he got rejected by your company. He hasn’t been called that in years.

“That’s right, I know my people,” Hoseok laughs. He didn’t recognize him at the cafe, but after you told him about the audition, he did some digging.

“Alright, I’ll go check it out,” Yoongi nods.

Maybe Hoseok was right. Perhaps an hour or two in a neutral studio can inspire or convince him. He doesn’t want to seem ungrateful, but he never envisioned himself working his whole life at the music store.

“Yoongi, come on, it’s our turn,” Jungkook calls over, holding a microphone.

○●○●○●○●○●

Yoongi returns to your apartment the morning after. The smell hits him as he exits the elevator- someone is in heat. He ignores it, but the closer he gets to your door, the harder it is to ignore. Realizing it’s coming from your apartment, he rushes in to find you pacing in the living room in distress.

“What are you doing here while Jungkook is in heat?” Yoongi hisses, staying by the door.

“Thank god you’re here, Yoongi! I don’t know what to do. This hasn’t happened before,” you cry, hugging your boyfriend.

With his arms around you, Yoongi drags you outside, closing the door behind you guys. The more distance between you and Jungkook, the better. If the smell is strong in the hallway, he can’t imagine being inside it. He fears the effect it can have on him if he breathes the scent for too long. It’s not uncommon for a hybrid’s heat to trigger another’s.

“What do you mean this is the first time it happens?” Yoongi asks. Jungkook is a 21-year-old hybrid. He must’ve gotten his heat around 7 or 8 years ago.

“Jungkook usually takes these pills to ease off his heat. He’s been taking them ever since he got his first one. I think he hasn’t been taking them ’cause he’s been spending more time in my apartment.” You try to explain, although you know very little about the subject, despite living with a hybrid for most of your childhood.

Jungkook’s bunny habits are well known in your family, and you’ve learned about hybrids, too, because of him. Heats, though, was always a subject Jungkook kept to himself because he didn’t feel comfortable sharing that part of his life with his sister. When the first one rolled around, it wasn’t so bad, and after your parents offered him the pills, he accepted. Since then, he hasn’t paid much attention to it.

It all makes sense to Yoongi now. The pills you talk about are expensive but highly effective. They basically stop a hybrid from having heat or make them asymptomatic. He’s never had the luxury of taking them, but he’s heard much about them. Enough to know that Jungkook’s heat will be more intense after not having it for so many years.

“This is bad, Blue!” Yoongi tells you, hands on your shoulders.

“What am I going to do? He’s in so much pain and won’t stop sweating and groaning!” You exclaim on the verge of tears.

“There is nothing to do,” Yoongi carefully says, “Pack a bag. We can go to my apartment while he rides this through.”

“There has to be something, Yoongi. I can’t just leave him like that!” You’re upset he would suggest leaving your brother behind in such conditions.

Your worry about Jungkook is blinding you. The gravity of the situation not making sense to you. So Yoongi takes it upon himself to explain, “He’ll be uncomfortable and in pain, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’ll survive, and in a few days, he’ll be good as new. Your presence here can make things much worse, Blue.”

“How can you say that? I saw you when you were in heat, and I was with you. I hated seeing you like that. How do you expect me to ignore Jungkook’s pain and pretend it’s not there.” You interrupt him in distress.

“Because the only way he’ll feel relieved is for him to fuck someone. He needs to get off to relieve his temperature and relieve the pain. That’s a heat. And unless someone magically appears and volunteers, there’s nothing you can do,” Yoongi grits out, frustrated at the situation. Jungkook’s strong scent started to fuzz his brain.

“Yoongi! There has to be something….” You say, not believing Yoongi’s words.

He’s getting mad that you’re not listening, and his following words come out rough, “I already told you, have sex with Jungkook or get out.”

“I’m not doing that. He’s my brother!” You and Jungkook might not be related by blood, but you can’t find it in yourself to have sex with him. If you could, you would, but you don’t believe either can get through the mental block. Ruining your relationship with your brother is not in your plans any time soon.

“Adopted brother,” Yoongi points out. You hit him in the arm, angry at his unhelpful responses, which only gets him angrier.

“Fine, get him a hooker. That will get him feeling good in no time. Still, we have to leave.” Yoongi insists, desperate to get out of the building before he gets horny.

“He is not having sex with a stranger. I refuse!”

“Well, that only leaves me, and that’s not happening,” Yoongi replies, crossing his arms.

You pause your argument, thinking it wouldn’t be the most outrageous idea. If someone were to help him, Yoongi would be perfect for it. He’s a hybrid, too, who has had to go through his ruts mostly alone.

“Are you set on that?” You ask with a grimace. You feel bad asking this of Yoongi, but you’re desperate to help Jungkook.

He looks at you in disbelief, “You are not suggesting I have sex with your brother?”

“Yoongi, just help him for now. I know the first day is the worst. Just for today, help him, please.”

“Blue, do you understand what you’re saying?” He understands what you’re saying but is unsure you do. This is a lot, and the worst part is that he’s actually considering it. It must be Jungkook’s pheromones all in the air affecting his.

“Yes, I do. I know this isn’t romantic or anything. You’re only helping him.” you nod, decided.

“Once,” Yoongi grits out, a dead serious look on his face. “I’ll be helping him this once but never again.”

“Okay,” you nod, at a loss for words.

Yoongi shoves his keys in your hands, “Go to my apartment. I’ll get there later with your bag.”

“Thank you, Yoongi.” You speak before walking down the hallway. Before entering the elevator, you look back at Yoongi, who nods at the elevator, urging you to go. He doesn’t want you in the vicinity if he’s doing this.

He takes a minute to himself, gathering the courage to do this. All doubt disappears when he opens the door and breathes in Jungkook’s pheromones. He finds Jungkook’s room and opens the door. The bunny is lying face down in bed naked. His hips rutting into the bed to feel any type of relief. His back glistens with sweat, and his dark hair sticks to his neck.

“Hey, Kook,” Yoongi says, walking to the bed.

“Yoongi?” Jungkook says in a haze, propping himself up on his elbows, but his thrusting doesn’t cease. If he were in his right mind, he’d instantly stop and cover up. He didn’t want to, though. He had to make the pain disappear.

“I’m here to help. Is that okay?” Yoongi asks, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Please,” Jungkook chokes, “It hurts so much.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Yoongi soothes him, a long finger trailing down his back. Reaching the base of his spine Yoongi tugs on the black cottontail. Jungkook whines thrusting harder against the mattress.

“Turn around,” Yoongi softly tells him.

Jungkook shakes his head, “I can’t-“

“If you don’t, then I can’t touch you, and you want me to touch you, right?” Yoongi asks him. Being in heat messes with every thought in your head. It makes hybrids think that even the smallest actions are impossible, and Jungkook suppressing his heat brings him back to step one.

With a groan Jungkook turns his body around, his cock bobs up and down as he settles on his back. Yoongi licks his lips, the bunny is so hard and ready to burst there’s a steady stream of precum coating his head.

Yoongi’s hand slides down Jungkook’s chest, admiring the hard muscle. It continues to trail down his abdomen until it reaches his pelvis. The younger boy’s hips rut, feeling Yoongi’s hands close to his cock.

Jungkook has not stopped moaning once, every little touch sending him waves of painful pleasure. He begs Yoongi to do anything, touch him, fuck him, suck him. Getting more comfortable between Jungkook’s legs, Yoongi starts stroking him. The bunny is hot and heavy in his palm. He spits in his hand for good measure, but it’s barely necessary. His thumb brushes over the dark pink tip, spreading the milky liquid down his shaft.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses, hand tugging at his hair and hips thrusting into Yoongi’s palm. His abs tense, showcasing the hard muscle underneath. It’s a sight for sore eyes that makes Yoongi’s pants tighten. Yoongi might’ve done this as a favor to you both, but he will enjoy this as much as he can.

“Look at me, Kook,” Yoongi calls the youngest’s attention, “Focus on me.”

The bunny’s hazy stare lands on the cat hybrid on top of him. He is also sweating, feeling the heat of the moment. His feline eyes are calculating, afraid of missing any of Jungkook’s response to his touch. The wet noise Yoongi’s hand makes as he flicks his wrist fills the room along with the bunny’s pleas.

Jungkook tries hard to keep his eyes on Yoongi, but when he feels his peak near, his eyes roll back, and his mouth opens. “That’s it, bunny, cum,” the cat hybrid encourages him, “You’ll feel so much better.”

Jungkook groans, feeling his peak, and it’s like some of the heat has dissipated. Ropes of white paint Yoongi’s hand and Jungkook’s stomach. Raising his hand to his lips, Yoongi licks the bunny’s cum, tasting him. Fuck, did he taste good. It would be a shame for Jungkook to miss it.

Leaning over, Jungkook Yoongi says, “Open your mouth, bunny.”

Jungkook doesn’t understand why but tentatively opens his mouth. Yoongi grabs his cheeks between his thumb and pointer finger and lets his saliva mixed with Jungkook’s cum, drip into the bunny’s mouth.

“Now swallow,” Yoongi orders him.

Jungkook obeys the cat hybrid, swallowing his spit. He never thought his own taste would arouse him and make him hard again in seconds. He blames it on the heat. With his temperature rising, Jungkook grabs Yoongi’s sides and flips them over. He kisses his sister’s boyfriend hard, leaving open-mouthed kisses down his pale neck, leaving a hard bite behind.

“Fuck,” Yoongi moans. He had forgotten that bunnies like to bite.

Jungkook needs to feel him close, touch him, taste him too. He takes off Yoongi’s hoodie and his t-shirt touching the older guy’s chest. He continues to kiss the cat hybrid, even biting his pouty lips. Yoongi lets him be in control for now. Jungkook needs to enjoy himself too.

Jungkook’s hard-on presses against Yoongi’s lower stomach, and feeling the skin-on-skin contact, Jungkook begins to thrust again, moaning into Yoongi’s mouth.

Jungkook is curious, curious about Yoongi and his body. He’s touched and kissed parts of him, but now he wants it all. With a goal in mind, Jungkook’s hand trails down the cat hybrid’s body to palm his length over his pants. Yoongi moans are swallowed by Jungkook, who continues to feverishly kiss him, but when he reaches for his belt, Yoongi stops him.

“Not today, bunny,” he breathes, the grip on Jungkook’s wrist tight, “Today, I get to use you as I please.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his brown eyes filled with disappointment.

“You heard me,” Yoongi says, sliding out from under him, “Sit up.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Yoongi kneels between his muscular legs.

Jungkook’s cock is equally hard as in the beginning, begging for attention. With a hand on Jungkook’s knee and another on his cock, Yoongi licks a stripe along the vein that runs up the shaft, instantly making Jungkook release a throaty moan.

“Look at me, bunny,” Yoongi purrs, “If you don’t, I’ll stop.”

Jungkook’s head snaps back down to stare at Yoongi, whose wet tongue licks the head of his cock. He coats the entire length with his spit with kisses and licks. Yoongi’s pink lips momentarily wrap around his cockhead as his tongue swirls the tip. He knows he’s teasing the poor bunny. It’s his way of pleasure to see the younger hybrid fall to pieces in splutters and stutters.

Yoongi teases him, going slow and shallow, drawing little whines from Jungkook’s swollen lips. Jungkook tries to push his cock more into Yoongi’s mouth, but the cat already sees it coming and pulls away.

“Yoongi, pl-ease,” Jungkook begs, teary-eyed. By now, he’s long forgotten about pleasing Yoongi as the fever inside of him gets higher.

“What’s that, Kook?” Yoongi feigns innocence, a string of saliva attaching him to Jungkook’s hard cock.

“D-don’t tease,” Jungkook stutters out. He tries to stroke himself in desperate need, only for Yoongi to stop him.

“So impatient,” Yoongi chastises, holding Jungkook’s wrist tightly, “Hands on your sides.”

Jungkook complains at the request, earning a glare from the cat hybrid, “If you’re not going to listen, I’ll leave,” he threatens. He’s just like his sister. For a moment, Yoongi entertains the idea of dominating you both simultaneously. What a treat it would be.

“No, no!” Jungkook exclaims, grabbing fistfuls of the crumpled bedsheets.

Yoongi smirks at the pretty bunny above him. His hair is messy from raking his fingers through it, long floppy ears falling to the sides, and cheeks flushed with arousal. He wants Jungkook to feel all the pleasure he can. While having sex without the rut is nice and fun, there’s something so satisfying about sex while in heat. No matter how small, every touch is amplified and can push you to the edge.

Now that Jungkook is obedient, Yoongi takes his length back into his mouth. He works getting most of Jungkook down his throat, Yoongi’s eyes water, but it doesn’t stop him. Bobbing his head to a steady rhythm, he sucks Jungkook off, his tongue occasionally dipping into the slit of his tip. The bunny is trying his best, the veins running up his arms popping from the tight grip on the bed. When Yoongi takes him deeper than before, the grip loosens as his right hand goes to the base of his cat ears.

Almost instantly, Yoongi purrs around his cock, enticing Jungkook to thrust up. It feels so good it’s overwhelming. With Jungkook pushing on his head Yoongi deep throats him, his nose brushing against the bunny’s base. Yoongi will never admit that while it hurts, he loves the feeling of a big cock down his throat.

With a few more bobs of Yoongi’s head, Jungkook bursts. His cum runs down the cat hybrid’s throat. Yoongi breathes heavily when he releases Jungkook. His eyes are red and watery, as are his nose and mouth. He continues to lightly lick Jungkook, entertained by the way his bunny ears twitch at the feeling.

Yoongi gets up from the floor as Jungkook falls back on the bed. The bunny hybrid is exhausted as his fever goes down to a normal temperature. Yoongi helps him lie back properly and covers him with the wrinkly bedsheet. Before Yoongi leaves the room, he brushes through Jungkook’s hair with his fingers, lightly rubbing the base of his bunny ears. The sleepy bunny makes an appreciative sound as his touch lulls him to sleep completely.

This is the worst of the heat. He should be able to take care of himself from tomorrow onwards. Yoongi leaves the food and water ready for Jungkook by the nightstand. Hopefully, when he’s awake, he’ll feel better.

Yoongi goes to your room to pack your bag. In there, your scent hits him mixed with Jungkook’s pheromones. If the bunnies had driven him mad, yours added to the mix just about ended him.

He lies in your bed by your pillow where your scent is strongest. It only takes him a second to undo his belt and pull his throbbing cock out of his pants. Spitting in his hand Yoongi flicks his wrist quickly, needing a release. He had his reasons for not letting Jungkook touch him, one being that it wouldn’t be fair for the bunny hybrid. He’d been in pain for too long. The other reason was you. He’d happily done this favor for you, but now you had to pay up.

Reaching a moment of clarity, Yoongi slows his pace until he stops right before his release. He stands from the bed, tucking himself in again uncomfortably, and prepares your bag. As soon as he gets to his apartment, he’ll have his way with you, and the pent-up frustration will be worth it.

○●○●○●○●○●

Almost a year into the relationship, you decide it’s time for Yoongi to meet your parents. You organize a nice dinner at your parent’s house, they don’t have to do anything you’ll be the one cooking and setting the table.

Yoongi would get there later, Jungkook as well. You thought it would be nice to have moral support. Unfortunately, you took so long to cook that Yoongi arrived while you were getting ready, which means that your dad got the pleasure of greeting him at the door.

“Ah, if it isn’t Yoongi,” your dad exclaims cheerily, opening the door wider for Yoongi.

“Hello, I got this for you,” Yoongi nervously hands him a bottle of wine. It’s the one you mentioned your dad likes.

“I was hoping it would be the flowers,” your dad jokes, happily taking the wine.

“Is that Yoongi?” A friendly voice calls from the kitchen. Your mom walks out, surprising Yoongi with a warm hug. He hands her the flowers, which she gushes about. “Such a polite boy, don’t be shy. We don’t bite, we’ll except for Jungkookie.”

Yoongi stifles a smile because doesn’t he know it. Not only has he witnessed Jungkook shamelessly biting you when you get distracted, but that day where he needed help with his heat he left Yoongi with a few nasty marks. Marks which you later covered with your own.

“Honey, I’ll be showing Yoongi my office. We’ll be back soon,” your dad says, patting Yoongi on the back.

Yoongi is nervous, terrified even. His cat ears flatten as he follows your dad to his office. He’s only heard good things about him from you, but how reliable is that? Of course, he’s good to you and Jungkook, his kids. Yoongi is a stranger.

Yoongi sits in one of the chair desks awkwardly, looking around the room. Your dad looks him up and down as if deciding on Yoongi. From looks alone, Yoongi seems like a good man, but he needs to make his concerns known.

“Why are you with my daughter?” He asks straight to the point, his friendly smile disappearing.

“Because I love her,” Yoongi responds as best as he can.

There are a million reasons why he is with you. You’re kind, pretty, intelligent, sexy, talented, honest, and so much more. Despite all the arguments you’ve had you’ve never brought the fact his a hybrid into it. All those qualities led him to love you, the most important reason he is with you.

“It has nothing to do with her job and position in the company? How it may benefit you, Yoongi?” Your dad asks. If he didn’t ask these questions, he wouldn’t be doing his job as a father. The older man needs peace of mind that Yoongi’s intentions are the right ones.

“No. I didn’t even know she worked there till two months ago. By then, I had already fallen in love with her. I wouldn’t take advantage of her that way even if I had known before. Blue is one of the kindest people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”

Your father’s tense posture relaxes, and his grin returns, “Good answer. I hope you understand why I had to ask the question. I am only a concerned father.”

“I do. Can I ask a question myself?”

“Go ahead.”

“You don’t mind that your daughter is dating a hybrid?” Yoongi insecurely asks.

“Not at all. I believe hybrids are equal, if not better, than regular humans. My children have the liberty of dating whoever they please, and I’ll approve as long as they are treated with love and respect.”

Hybrids have a good judge of character, and Yoongi can tell that he is honest and means what he says. Fear aside, he is happy to have had this conversation with your dad.

“Daddy, Yoongi?” You call them, walking in the direction of the office.

“In here, sweetheart,” your dad responds.

“Dad, stop questioning Yoongi. It’s time for dinner,” you tell him, shooting Yoongi a reassuring grin.

“I wasn’t questioning, just having a man-to-man conversation,” he says, walking out of the office.

“Mhm,” you say, rolling your eyes. He does this with each boyfriend you’ve brought home.

“Hi, handsome,” you greet Yoongi, holding out your hand for him to take. He dressed up for the occasion, wanting to impress. He succeeded.

“Hey, Blue,” he says, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. “You look pretty.”

“Thanks,” you peck him on the lips, brushing your thumb on his lips to get rid of the remaining lipstick.

“I heard that!” Your dad screams from the stairs with a laugh.

“Keep walking, old man,” you yell back, shaking your head with a smile.

Dinner was fun, and Yoongi felt like he was with family. Your family was very much like you, kind and accepting. Funny as hell, he smiled or laughed throughout most of the dinner. If he had to guess, he would’ve never known your dad was the CEO of a family company. He was very down to earth.

Not that he doubted, but your parents truly treated Jungkook as their own. The bunny hybrid has all of this family wrapped around his little finger. You grab his hand under the table and smile at him. He smiles back sincerely. He can see himself being part of this family for a long time. It heals the part of his broken heart that he thought was beyond repair.

“Let me go get dessert,” your mom announces, sanding from the table.

“I’ll help,” Yoongi pipes up, following the older lady to the kitchen.

“Now that I’ve got you here, I want to thank you,” your mom says as she cuts the chocolate cake you baked earlier.

“What for?” Yoongi asks, handing her the plates to place the cakes on.

“For helping our Jungkookie out,” she casually mentions.

Yoongi chokes on his own saliva, his mind going straight to him helping Jungkook through his heat. It was a given that it was something to keep to themselves. How close is Jungkook to his mom that he felt it was okay to tell her that Yoongi gave him not only a handjob but a blowjob? Furthermore, how can she be okay with her daughter’s boyfriend handing out favors like that to her son?

“He loves those damn vynils so much, he wouldn’t stop talking about how you gave him two limited edition ones,” she fondly laughs at her son.

“Oh, that. Yeah, no problem,” Yoongi sighs in relief. His spirit had left his body for a moment there.

“Let’s go before they start talking about the company. The dinner table is a no-work conversation zone,” your mom says, ushering Yoongi out of the kitchen as she hears her husband talking about numbers and beats.

○●○●○●○●○●

Tuesday, after dropping off lunch at your office Yoongi wanders to Hoseoks office, taking him up on his offer. He knocks, waiting for his new friend to open the door. Hoseok gives him a small tour of his studio and explains some of the newer equipment’s purposes to adjust Yoongi to the environment. Hoseok was right. This isn’t as intimidating as he’d thought. In fact, once he got the hang of it, inspiration returned to him.

“Go on, try and make a beat,” Hoseok encourages him. He already loves what Yoongi has to offer based on conversations alone. One of the reasons he left the company for a few months was for lack of inspiration. Although talented, none of the other producers offered something that spoke to him.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Yoongi tells Hoseok, knowing he is imposing on his work schedule.

“I have a meeting now, actually. It should take about two hours. Have fun,” Hoseok says, picking up his jacket from a small sofa off to the corner. Without looking behind him, he leaves Yoongi alone in the studio. Looking at the closed door, Yoongi shrugs and puts on the headphones, working on a melody that has been bothering him for the past two years. Might as well.

Getting the hang of the equipment, he falls deep into a creative flow. He barely notices time go by. The piano notes carry him to new places in his mind as they fall into place in the track. It’s like a dam has been broken down. All he has flowing down at torrential speeds, with no one there to stop him.

A hand on his shoulder makes him jump and tear the headphones from his ears. Heightened senses fail him as Hoseok stands behind him, looking amused at his startled expression.

“The meeting ran late. I thought you’d gone home. Are you okay?” Hoseok asks. His two-hour meeting turned into four. The project’s creators fell into discord about what creative direction they should take it.

“I’m okay. I didn’t notice it had been two hours,” Yoongi says, looking at his watch.

“It be like that sometimes,” Hoseok giggles. He’s found himself in that position before. Music tends to dominate the creator most times. “Want to show me what you got?”

Yoongi nods, turning on the chair to give Hoseok a pair of headphones. Hoseok expected something good but unpolished, considering Yoongi’s time away from producing. The first note of the track proves him wrong. Hoseok does not speak for the duration of the track taking in the masterpiece Yoongi created.

Hoseok is amazed Yoongi managed to inspire him more than most of the producers that work in the company. It’s raw and heartfelt, honest. It comes from a place of experience.

“You did this in four hours?” Hoseok asks, amazed.

“I mean, I’ve had part of the melody for years, but the rest, yeah,” Yoongi says nervously. Does Hoseok think it’s trash?

“It’s phenomenal. You have to consider joining the company!”

“Seriously?”

“Yoongi, you’ve got me feeling more with that track than I have in a good while,” Hoseok confesses.

Hoseok is boosting Yoongi’s confidence and ego. He forgot the effect his music can have on people. It’s addicting.

Someone interrupts them by knocking on the door and peaking their head in. It’s a wolf hybrid Yoongi recognizes. “Namjoon?”

“Hi, Yoongi!” The hybrid smiles widely, fist-bumping him.

“I see you two know each other,” Hoseok says, searching for the hard drive Namjoon came for.

“Yeah, Yoongi sometimes comes to the concerts and helps sell tapes,” Namjoon says.

“Well, his girlfriend recruited you,” Hoseok tells him.

“Blue recruited him?” Yoongi asks, surprised.

“Yeah, she bought one of his tapes from your store and liked what he had to offer,” Hoseok explains, handing Namjoon the hard drive.

“She hunted me down until I said yes,” Namjoon laughs, remembering that moment from months ago.

“Can I ask about the conditions of working here? With us being hybrids and all?” Yoongi asks Namjoon. While Hoseok has helped him so much, he needs the insight of a hybrid who works at the company to fully convince him.

“I can honestly say this job is one of the few that treats their workers equally. So far, I haven’t had a single bad or sketchy situation. If you have an opportunity to join, take it! It’d be nice to have you on the music scene again.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi has much to consider, but the more time he spends here, the more convinced he is.

○●○●○●○●○●

“What would you say if I accepted your dad’s job offer?” Yoongi asks you one night while you are getting ready for bed.

“I’d say I’m thrilled and proud of you, Yoongs,” you grin at him through the mirror.

“You wouldn’t mind working with me?” He says as he walks up behind you, eyes locked on you through the reflection.

“Not at all,” you shake your head, “I know it might seem like too much, but I assure you we won’t see each other so much that it’ll come to that.”

You and Hoseok barely see each other in the office since you mostly work on different projects. While Hoseok is a producer, he is also an artist, so he mainly works on his own stuff. On the other hand, you work for female artists and girl groups.

“I’m more worried about you being sick of me,” he jokes, throwing an arm over your chest to pull you close to him.

“Don’t be. I love you. When I get sick of you will be the day hell freezes over,” you say, looking up at him.

“I want to work on something that will make you proud and won’t make you regret your decision,” he whispers. He wants to be successful for you. You deserve only the best.

“Don’t doubt yourself, Yoongi. No matter what you do, ill be proud of it, even if it’s a kid’s song about tomatoes.” You think there is nothing Yoongi can do to disappoint you.

“I don’t think the parents will appreciate my swearing,” he admits with a laugh, knowing how much he swears.

You laugh along, “Me either. Maybe that will set you apart from the competition. Oh! How about a cursing alphabet?!”

“You’re a genius,” Yoongi fake gasps, making you giggle. He sweetly kisses your cheek, “Let’s go to bed.”

○●○●○●○●○●

Yoongi hires a new employee for the Music Store in a matter of weeks and begins his new job. As you said, he doesn’t get to see you much, if only brief glimpses in the hallway before you get pulled away to a meeting or studio.

With Hoseoks and Namjoon’s help, he quickly gets the hang of everything in the studio. Currently, he’s a producer. He creates music he likes and collaborates with artists who want to use his songs.

It’s been smooth sailing; his supervisors and senior producers are happy with his efficiency and creativity. They often seek him out for input on work of their own. Yoongi couldn’t be happier.

He delves into his work, giving it his all. It’s everything he ever wanted and more. But with that also comes pressure. Pressure to improve and better himself. Like he wants to upstage himself every day, and that takes time.

○●○●○●○●○●

A Saturday morning two months after Yoongi began working at the company, you wake up to your boyfriend sitting at your desk working away.

He can’t hear you, as you call him, because of the massive headphones over his ears. You let the sheets fall off your naked body and walk over to him, sitting on his lap.

“Morning, Blue,” he says, kissing your head and hugging your waist, preventing you from sliding off his lap. Yet his eyes stay trained on the computer.

“Whatcha doing?” You ask, ignoring the computer to kiss his neck.

“Just finishing something up,” he sighs as his grip tightens on your hip.

“I was thinking we could go out today to the countryside, drive around and get some fresh air,” you suggest, brushing his hair away from his eyes. His cat ears flicker on the top of his head with the gesture.

“Give me an hour to finish this?” He asks, looking down at you.

“A kiss first,” you say.

Yoongi rolls his eyes with a smile and leans down to press his lips against yours. You pull him closer by the neck, deepening the kiss. You’ve missed him. Now that he doesn’t work at the store, he doesn’t have as much time to spare.

You see each other every day, mainly in the mornings and late at night when he returns from work. You haven’t said anything about the matter giving him time to adjust to his new job and schedule.

“Alright, one hour,” you say, standing from his lap. Before you walk away, you feel a smack to your butt. “Hey!”

“Couldn’t resist,” Yoongi laughs as you rub your butt cheek to soothe the sting.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” you pout, escaping to the bathroom.

Yoongi quickly got ready one hour later, and you both headed off to the countryside. Yoongi drives your car with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh.

“Is it everything you expected it to be?” You ask Yoongi about his job.

“It’s better than I ever thought, Blue. And I have you to thank,” he says, squeezing your thigh.

“I mean, I only cleared up a misunderstanding. You’re doing all the work, Mr. Genius,” you grin.

Everything you’ve heard about Yoongi has been good. As a company member, it makes you happy that he works there, and as his girlfriend, it makes you proud. Everyone can see how amazing he is, and he’s all yours.

“Tell me, what songs have I heard that you’ve worked on,” he asks you.

The day was yours to enjoy, and you did. You needed this time with Yoongi. You had been so used to spending so much time together that you missed him like crazy.

Yoongi needed this too you are his inspiration, after all.

○●○●○●○●○●

Yoongi taps his foot on the floor of the elevator. The company’s CEO, aka your dad, called him up to his office. He sounded normal on the phone not mad, so maybe it’s just a catch-up?

Still, his survival instincts tell him he’s in trouble and should run. He shoves them to the back of his head as the elevator dings and opens its doors.

The secretary tells him to go on ahead into the office. Your dad is there, ruffling through paperwork and signing documents.

“Yoongi, you’re here, good!”

“Is everything alright?” Yoongi asks, sitting on the edge of the seat.

“Yes and no,” he says, folding his hands on the desk.

“Oh?” Yoongi simply responds over the knot in his throat.

“Relax, Yoongi, it’s nothing too bad,” the man reassures him,” I really like that track you submitted, as did many of the artists.”

“Really?” Yoongi says with a small smile.

“Yes, the problem is no one has managed to capture it as well as you,” the CEO explains.

“I’m sorry. Should I continue working on it? Submit a new track?” Yoongi’s insecurity causes him to ramble and miss the CEO’s point.

“No, Yoongi. I was actually thinking of you performing them,” he explains.

“But I’m not an artist; I’m a producer.”

“That’s true, but there’s one step more to become an artist, only if you’d like that,” the man says, offering Yoongi what most would believe is a promotion.

“You want me to be an artist?” Yoongi questions, did he hear right?

“Yes, much like Hoseok or Namjoon. You already have this track, and I know you’ve been working on others with those you can create an album,” the man suggests encouragingly. “What do you say?”

“What if people don’t like me?” Yoongi wonders.

“We can do a test, arrange for you to open for Hoseok’s show, and get a feel of the vibe,” your dad says.

“I’ll do it,” Yoongi nods, “Thank you, sir.”

○●○●○●○●○●

Depending on who you ask, the CEO’s decision was both good and bad. For Yoongi, it’s a dream come true. After he performed his single in Hoseok’s concert, it was clear that most loved the song and the passion Yoongi brought to the stage. You were in the crowd, cheering him on louder than anyone.

But with great power comes great responsibility. If Yoongi was a workaholic as a producer, he’s even more so as an artist working on his new album. He feels the need to prove a point and create a near-perfect album.

His days and nights are spent at the studio, and whenever he’s not there, he’s also at home working.

You have supported him every step, offering him advice when he asks. You make sure he eats at least two meals a day and sleeps a few hours a day.

As the weeks go by, it’s like your relationship has been on the back burner and is no longer a priority. You let it pass, knowing this is important to Yoongi. He’ll snap out of it soon enough.

As five o’clock comes around one Friday night, you go to Yoongis studio. You both get off work at the same time maybe you could go home together as well. Yoongi has been staying till nearly midnight in the studio this whole week and leaving home stupidly early. The only indication that he slept with you being the kisses on the forehead he gives you when he gets home.

You knock on the door in case he is in a meeting, but his voice lets you know you can go in. He’s slouched in his rolling chair as a beat replays on the speakers.

“You okay, Yoongs?” You ask, having the feeling that he’s not.

“Frustrated,” he says pointedly over the music.

Coming up behind him, you hug him as best you can. He grabs one of your arms around him and kisses the back of your hand.

“Take a break from it,” you say, “Let’s go home. You can come back Monday.”

“I can’t, Blue. I’m so close to finishing it,” Yoongi responds.

That seems to be his usual excuse nowadays ‘it’s almost done,’ and yet it’s not a lie. Yoongi just has a problem with self-control. As soon as he finishes a track, he starts another one.

Taking a more straightforward approach, you push his chair away from the desk, turning him around to face you. “You’re taking a break, Yoongi.”

“I don’t know, Blue,” he says, unconvinced.

“Yoongi, please,” you beg, sitting on his lap, “I need you,” you whisper in his ear.

Those words alone are enough to get Yoongi fired up. Guilt also seeps into his bones as he knows he’s neglected you a little. It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve last been together, a rare occurrence. At a certain point in you’re relationship, you had sex every day of the week. He comes to the conclusion he has to pleasure you here and now. He can’t leave his Blue like this for another second.

He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you close to kiss you. The kiss soon turns frantic with wet tongues and harsh bites. Yoongi’s hand leaves your hip as the other caresses one of your thighs. Slowly it stops at your knee and gently forces it apart to trail his hand under your skirt. He first squeezes the inside of your thigh, eliciting a soft moan from your swollen lips. With his index and middle finger, he presses your center over the thin material of your underwear. Yoongi works his fingers around the area, feeling the wetness seep out of you.

“More,” you sigh over his pink lips. Pulling your panties to the side, he traces your outer lips with his fingers making you needier by the second. A series of begs come out of your mouth, urging him to fuck you with his fingers at least. Light as a feather, he touches your sopping center up and down, toying with your clit. Your hips twitch the slightest bit, pleasing him beyond extremes. He loves to see you struggle.

Dragging his index finger down your folds, he pushes his finger in. He groans into your mouth, forgetting how oh-so-tight you are. “Yes, Yoongi, just like that,” you sensually moan as he moves his finger in and out. Soon he adds another finger, and he feels as if his fingers almost suffocate with how tightly your gripping them. “Fuck Blue, such a tight pussy. Will you be able to take my cock?”

“I can do it, Yoongi,” You whine, laying your head on his shoulder. Yoongi scissors his fingers, stretching you out. He can’t wait to be inside of you. His cock becomes rock hard, straining under his tight jeans at the thought of using your pussy. How could he let so much time pass? He’s an idiot.

“You should cum over my fingers first,” he murmurs, using his thumb to rub her clit in fast circles. It’s his goal to make her cum around his fingers first. Feel her walls pulse and tighten even more.

You squirm on top of him, chasing your release. With a few more thrusts of his curling fingers, you become undone. Your body uncontrollably tenses on top of him, your teeth biting at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, causing him to moan. He hates to admit he likes that more than expected.

“Good girl, Blue,” Yoongi tells her, pulling his fingers out of her and spreading them to see the slickness between them. Your eyes watch as he places his fingers in his mouth and sucks them clean.

“Fuck,” you moan out at the erotic sight. You need his cock now. Standing from the uncomfortable chair, you undo the zipper of your skirt and let it fall to the ground, along with your shirt. Next goes your bra and panties, which you throw with your foot in his direction. He is quick to catch them and stuff them in his pocket. It might not be the first time he sees you wholly naked, but what a sight you are. Standing as you came into the world in his studio confidently, you have curves in all the right places and perky tits with pink nipples topping them off.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” You say with a wicked grin.

“You’re perfect.” not the first and hopefully not the last time Yoongi grabs his phone and snaps a picture. It doesn’t beat the real deal, but it does get him off whenever you’re not around.

Not wanting to be left behind, Yoongi removes his hoodie and t-shirt in one motion. To tease your needy ass, he takes his time unbuttoning his jeans while keeping his eyes focused on you. You’re biting your lip and playing with one of your nipples as he does. Finally, he eliminates the last layer of clothing, leaving him bare in front of you. You moan at the sight of him. His cock big and thick, a vein running along its length, and his tip almost red. Wetness coats your thighs, your mind plays too many scenarios to comprehend.

Both take rapid steps towards the other and meet in the middle with a searing kiss with tongues twisting together in a dance. You roam your hands over his arms, pecs, and toned stomach. His black tail brushes against your side at the same time. Sneakily you grab his cock in your hands, pumping it a few times. Yoongi gasps, breaking their kiss as you touch his sensitive head, spreading his precum on his length. He leads you to the small leather couch in his office and makes you straddle him. “Are you ready, Blue?” He asks, rubbing his tip back and forth on your slit, getting it wet with your slick.

“Just do it, please,” you beg, touching his shoulders. Yoongi lines his cock with your entrance and slowly pushes you down on him. You feel inch after inch entering you. You missed the feeling of him stretching you out. All you can do is hold onto his strong shoulders and moan.

Yoongi has to concentrate hard on not finishing too soon. The way your warm walls feel around him is excruciatingly good. He takes a moment to compose himself before he begins to slowly and deeply thrust up into you. “That’s it, Blue. Take it all,” he groans.

“Fuck, Yoongi feels so good. I missed you,” you sob into his ear.

The room is humid, with sounds of moans and the slapping of skin. Yoongi picks up the pace, moving your hips to the rhythm he set to fuck harder into you. You bounce on top of him, sweat trailing down your neck and into your chest. Leaning forward, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking and nibbling repeatedly. He swears he can feel you get wetter as it coats his cock and the top of his thighs.

“You’re driving me insane, Blue.” He’s losing control. There is no way he’s lasting much longer. The closer he gets, the more irregular his thrusts become. With his fingers digging into your hips, he shoots his load inside you as you moan at the sensation of being filled. It warms you up, and with his cock still inside you, you feel full and satisfied. You don’t care at the moment you didn’t get to finish, you relish being this close to Yoongi.

Yoongi lays limp under her for a second, eyes scrunched and teeth biting his lower lip. You spread kisses on his jaw and neck, leaving little marks behind that will fade by morning. His skin is sweaty yet delicious as you lick up the column of his neck. Tugging his lip away from his teeth, you softly kiss him, lips slotting together flawlessly.

Being the gentleman he is, Yoongi unexpectedly gets up, wraps your legs around him, and sits you on his desk. He pulls out of you and observes his seed seeping out of your pink pussy. Kneeling on the floor, he then licks up your slit. You cry out from the sudden pleasure and sink your fingers in his hair, causing him to purr. Locking eyes with you, he pushes his tongue into you, tasting a mix of you and him. He rubs your clit as he licks until you can barely speak.

“O-oh my g-god, kitty,” you mewl, tilting your head back and propping yourself up with a hand before you collapse on the control panel.

The way your body reacts assures Yoongi you’re close. Speeding up his movements, his lips wrap around your clit and suck. Finally, as you climax, he bites down gently on your bundle of nerves amplifying whatever you were feeling before. With toes curled and no control of your body, you push Yoongi away before you pass out from the pleasure.

Coming down from your high, you look at Yoongi and begin laughing, “That was fucking great.”

“I had to make up for lost time,” Yoongi chuckles, standing between your legs and hugging you.

“Let’s go home?” You plead with your eyes.

“Let’s go home, Blue,” he says, playing with a strand of your hair.

○●○●○●○●○●

You give your keys to your car to the valet and walk into the fancy restaurant. Your parents had invited you to dinner to catch up, Yoongi was supposed to come but last minute, said he couldn’t because he had a lot going on.

What you hoped was only a phase has become routine. Too many times, Yoongi has canceled on you or stood you up. He sleeps in your apartment but gets home exhausted and barely speaks to you. It’s incredibly frustrating.

You thank the waiter as he pulls your chair out for you and pushes you in. Your parents are already sitting with a glass of wine.

“How are you, honey?” Your mom asks sweetly.

“I’m okay,” you respond, trying to pretend you are okay when in reality, you’re not yourself.

You never wanted to become the girl dependent on her boyfriend. You like to believe you’re not her. Then why is Yoongi’s absence affecting you so much? You’re known at work for your cheery, happy songs, yet all you’ve written for the past few weeks have been sad songs. They are bangers, but not what your artists require.

As soon as you walked in, your mom knew something was off. You’re not carrying yourself as you usually do, your shoulders are slumped, and you’re looking down at the ground as you walk.

“Where’s Yoongi? I thought he was coming.” She asks, immediately knowing the problem.

“He had a lot going on in the studio,” you repeat his excuse, swirling the wine served in your glass.

“I must say he has exceeded all expectations. I expect his album to be a hit,” your dad says excitedly, none the wiser.

“I’m happy to hear that. He’s so worried over it and is overworking himself,” you force a smile, “Just now, Yoongi was saying he was behind on a track.”

“Behind? Yoongi is ahead of schedule. I’ve told him to take a break,” your dad scoffs, looking over the menu.

“What?” You ask, meeting his gaze. All this time, he’s been telling you he’s behind. It’s one of the reasons you haven’t confronted him. You want him to do well, after all.

“At the speed he’s going, we can release his album two months before scheduled,” your dad shrugs.

“Good,” you say dryly.

Immediately after dinner, you rush back into the studio, finding Yoongi still holed up there. You slam the door open, startling him. He looks at you up and down, seeing you all dressed up, beautiful.

“How was dinner?” He asks, turning back around to face the screen. Missing your response, he turns back around, “What’s wrong?”

“Two months ahead? What the fuck, Yoongi?” You yell at him, arms crossed over your chest.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, standing from his chair to come closer to you.

With each step he takes forward, you take one back, “Your album. My dad just told me you’re ahead of schedule.”

“Well, yeah, but there is still so much work to do,” Yoongi responds sincerely as if there’s nothing wrong with his confession.

“I’ve let you do as you pleased, thinking you were still adapting, getting used to the industry, but you’ve been holed up in here, ignoring me because you want to?” You ask him, trying to ignore the knot forming in your throat.

“I haven’t been ignoring you,” he shakes his head, trying to reach out to you.

“Yoongi, when was the last time we went on a date? Hell, the last time we had breakfast together?” You ask him, knowing it’s been far too long.

Yoongi stays silent, confirming your thoughts. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed since he was hired.

“Exactly, I can’t even remember when we had a proper conversation that wasn’t about work,” you say, frowning. You tried to ignore all the red flags but no more. This isn’t good for you or him.

“Blue, you don’t understand,” he begins saying.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You yell as your fists clench at your sides, “Min Yoongi, I’ve been working here for far longer than you have, and I have never once made you a second priority. I’ve always made time for you and checked up on you. My life is not my job; it’s only part of it. I understand this is your dream, and I want it for you so badly, Yoongi. I’ve been rooting for you all this time, and I still am. But I didn’t know that in achieving your dream, you would give me up. I want you to succeed, and I want to be by your side when you do. I want to be there for you in your new life, in your ups and downs. I want to be a part of us. But if you can’t commit to me, if you don’t let me be there for you, then what are we even doing?” Your eyes are welled with tears when you finish speaking. You refuse to let them fall.

You stand there vulnerable, letting Yoongi into your thoughts, and all he says is, “This is what I’ve always wanted, Blue.”

This. Not Us. Yoongi doesn’t want you that much is clear.

You don’t have any more fight in you. You’re tired of waiting on him. If he doesn’t want you, why stay?

“If you let me walk out, I’m not coming back.”

You turn around, walking toward the door. Yoongi stays quiet through it all. He thinks this is for the best. You are right, he’s been neglecting you. It’s not fair for either of you. He hates seeing you go, he loves you with all he has, but this is his one chance. The only opportunity to make everything right.

You beg for him in your head to call out your name. All you want is for Yoongi to stop you and make you stay. You could go home together and forget all of this happened. It’s Yoongi’s choice, and he chose to see you close the door behind you.

To think tomorrow was your first anniversary.

END OF PART 1

PART 2 COMING SOON

Taglist: @its-yagirl-raelynn @severecatsheep @hyunjingin @kikiisda1 @xjiminsthighsx @seoul9711 @lovelytaes-blog @wittyreader @blackdriedroses @innebulae @sugak00kie03 @tokiodori @hemmofluke @strxwbloody @clevercoley @ysljoon @hajimaoppaa @onlythebest-106 @enchanting-coffee @mrskimjoon @rinkud @belikejk @goldietigers294 @petalsofink @bangtan4everr @fanficscuziranout

If you want to be added comment, send me a message or ask!

[juniperdugong]

Perfection {Teaser}

No one has looked at you like that. With such admiration, such kindness. Taking in all your details and intricacies. Playing with a piece of paper and through it piecing together what was meant to be you. Eyes glancing back and forth with a smile. Oh god, why did the mortician have to have such a sickly sweet smile as he looked at your corpse? Why did your soul not leave when it was meant to?

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack (simply bc this concept is not normal in the slightest babes), Romance, Angst(?)

Warnings: Mentions of death, corpses, and gore (Nothing in depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Necrophilia(?), It's more like Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || Nudity || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

Teaser WC: 518

Songs that inspired this fic

A/N: Hey, people...First fic and it's one based on all the different renditions of Frankenstein...Because of course, I would. My incessant need to write stories with insane premises is shining right now. If you listen to the playlist I hope you don't mind the mix of goth, rock, and folk. Oh lord, in my mind I just feel like Mingyu would be the type of hopeless romantic to fall in love with a dead person. I hope y'all enjoy!

Not proofread!

Series Masterlist

He was oh so gentle with you. The way he was careful with his movements as he heaved your stretcher onto the table. Your eyes followed him as he went ahead and gathered various things from around the room. Setting them on a table near you. A deep breath settled in him as he scanned your body. You felt vulnerable in this state, not much you could do about it but still. He got a clipboard and read through it. As he did he circled you, tapping gently at different parts of your body as he went along. Assessing your situation and what he would have to make "presentable" no doubt. Then he stopped. Pausing as he made his way back towards your head. Another sigh as he gazed at you. "You were so pretty. I wish we had met under other circumstances y/n." If a heart was in your body it would be beating so fast right now. His hand reached out and grazed your forehead. Is he moving the hair from your face? If you had working veins you would be blushing wildly. This is crazy. You've decided that this is crazy. Your soul for some reason has decided to stick to your body instead of following the heavenly trumpets towards the pearly gates of paradise. And here you were, prisoner in your own skin, unable to move or speak or do much of anything. And the only thing on your mind is the man who is preparing your body??? Oh, Christ. What the actual hell is happening? Also, why does it seem like the mortician is just as invested in you? Are morticians supposed to have organ jars in their preparation rooms? You suppose they do take care of those sorts of things, plus he's the professional in this situation, right? "The more I look at you…The more I wish…What am I saying?" he shook his head with a huff. Your eyes were open, not like you could willingly close them, but you were somehow able to see in this state. You could see the way the protective gown fell on his arm, very faintly outlining some sort of muscle. The way his breath caught on the mask, not shallowly at all either, a heavy breath. Almost like when he looked at you you had taken it away and he was grasping to get it back. The gloves that held snug to his big fingers, his warm hands, the ones that graced you gently with every touch. So caught up in memorizing his features you hadn't noticed that he was tracing your inner arm and staring right back at your lifeless eyes. "Actually, you might be perfect and these might just be perfect circumstances y/n…" he tilted his head as he said those words, gazing deeply at all of you, taking you in like some person at the other end of the bar. Why was he walking away? What did he mean by perfect? Is he walking over with one of those jars right now? Lord, you should've followed the trumpets…

{Right on time, just minutes after voting closed, let me know what you think, love you all!}

[goingmerryfics]

Could you write reader in a poly relationship with Ichiji, Niji, and Yonji? I love your writing <3

The Germa Boys’ Plaything - Ichiji, Niji, Yonji x Reader

Content: ‘forced’ relationship, jealousy, these boys are toxic and unfeeling but you like them anyway, love language talk, quick mention of Judge

Notes* I’m glad I’ve gotten the chance to meet these three already! I definitely think a relationship with one of them would be tricky, let alone three. So here are my thoughts on a poly relationship with these boys!

Ichiji, Niji & Yonji

The relationship had started without a plan or a label. You were simply… chosen one day and told by Ichiji that you were to be his personal handmaid. What you didn’t know is that would entail more duties than what you had signed up for when you began your work with Germa 66

It became more and more obvious that Ichiji liked you and that he just… Couldn’t express that. He simply labeled you as his one day and then you two were a couple. There wasn’t much input you could have on the situation

Of course, his brothers also decided they wanted to be involved and it became a whole thing

They’re always arguing over you. Jealousy runs high- so high that they’re not afraid to bring it outside for a fight just to decide who gets to sit next to you

Neither of them are the nicest partners, but they also don’t treat you too badly

Unfortunately, you like them, too. So you don’t actually mind being in this situation

Of course, there are long times when you don’t get to see them. When the boys are on missions or training, you are explicitly ordered to attend to your duties and not to be as distraction

By now, you’ve forgotten where the line was drawn between ‘handmaiden’ and ‘girlfriend’. But even that label didn’t feel right to give to yourself when it came to Ichiji, Niji, or Yonji. You were more of a plaything sometimes

They definitely make you feel like a doll at times. A toy to fight over at times

It had never been labeled specifically as a polyamory, but that’s 100% what it is

Because none of the three cared to actually sit down and work things out, the lines are very blurred when it comes to the relationship you shared with each of them. There were no rules or guidelines for each other to follow, making it a very confusing arrangement

Dates were rare, too. Usually the boys just wanted you around them as a pretty thing to keep by their side. But rare does not equal non-existent, thankfully

Ichiji knows you best, being the first man to become involved with you romantically. He knows your birthday, he orders your favorite flowers to your room sometimes, and he’s the first one to think to have a private dinner organized for the both of you with your favorite food as the meal, paired with whatever wine works best with that

Niji on the other hand, is more of a physical lover. He’s always got his hands on you somewhere if he can reach you, and dates with him are any situation where he can touch you. A walk around the castle with his arm around your waist, having you sit in his lap and making out in the library, and the like

Yonji is the most expressive out of the three and a beast with his words. He knows just what to say to make you feel special- often showering you with compliments. He likes to whisper things to you whenever he passes by as well, whether it be a sweet compliment of your outfit and how it looks on you, or a heated promise of a late night visit later. Yonji is awful with dates and tends to forget to organize them or just loses interest in whatever you’re doing together quickly. You usually take the reins on your ‘dates’, and end up doing things that are quick or simple together

You’re not sure if Judge approves of you or if he even knows of the situation. You’re not going to be the one to tell him, that’s for sure

[anon-sect]

A famous actor who transformed his fan into his socks. Is an a good Idea for a story, isn't it?

Picture source: internet

A local radio station was running fund drive for a charity. Sending on to the fun drive also put's your name into a lottery. A winner would be picked from the lottery to meet a celebrity of their choice that was on the list of over a hundred celebrities that volunteered for the fund drive.

Jake had always wanted to meet Ryan Reynolds in person. He was excited when he saw his name on the list of celebrities. He sent in a good amount to the fund drive. They emailed him back that his name was entered and the celebrity he picked would be the prize if his name was picked from the pot in thirty days.

Thirty days later, Jake had received a notification that his name was picked, and the celebrity was also contacted. The shocker was that the actor invited him to his home to meet in person as another part of the prize for donating to the fund drive. Jake couldn't wait to finally meet him in person.

The organization paid for his flight over to meet Ryan Reynolds and even the hotel he would be staying at. What Jake didn't expect was that Ryan came to pick him up personally to drive back to his place. Jake felt like he had died and gone to heaven.

Once he got to Ryan's place, he was amazed that he was actually at his house. It was enough to ride in the car with the actor and now to spend time at his house was a dream come true.

While Ryan was chatting with his guest, he felt a slight hole in the big toe of one sock and the pinky toe of the other sock. Both socks had a hole in them. This pair did last at least the last three years. Some crazy fan paid him to just be his socks forever. He thought is was crazy, but the fan wanted it so badly. That decision turned out to be one of the best he made. Human transformed socks were way more durable than normal socks. He would have to trash these socks, but he didn't have another spare on hand. He then looked at this fan who was so excited to meet him.

"I want to show you a magic trick, if you don't mind." Ryan spoke to Jake.

Jake was curious. "I didn't know you did magic tricks." He spoke, wondering what he would do. He saw Ryan get up and come back with two drinks. He handed one to him and they both guzzled it down. "So what trick are you going to do?" He asked.

Ryan opened up the TF Ray app on his phone. 'You will see." He spoke as he snapped the flash on his camera. Jake was replaced with a brand-new pair of human transformed socks. He picked them up. "My last pair of special socks finally has a hole in them after three long years. Maybe you can last even longer." Ryan paused. "I put in triple the durability formula in your drink than I did with the last one. So, you should be my socks for at least seven- or eight-years minimum." He took off his shoes and removed his old sock. He put on his new socks and put his shoes back on. He walked over to the trash can and threw them in without even saying goodbye. They were simply socks to him after so long on his feet. His new socks would get the same treatment.

Ryan called the hotel to tell them that the guy left early to go back home, and to check him out of the room. He wiggled his toes in his new socks. It was something special to use a person as his socks. He rather enjoyed controlling a fan with his feet, thanks to that first guy. This guy probably didn't want to be socks, but oh well, he was his socks now.

Jake had mixed feelings about his new existence. He really loved this actor, but he didn't want to be stuck as socks for the next eight years or so. Not to mention, the actor's shoes didn't smell all that great. He wanted to be out of his boots soon. Being walked on and toe wiggled showed just how much the actor now controlled his life. He was completely being dominated by his favorite actor. The bad part was that no one would even know. Only Ryan would know how special his socks were. There was only one good thing about his condition, he would get to spend a lot of time with Ryan, even though he would only be regarded as just an object on his feet.

[hotchfiles]

third. damn your love.

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 1,2k

chapter 3

      Days had passed since the last time you spoke to James, and if it was up to you, things would stay as they were. But it had never been that way. Everything would always depend on James' desire. You rarely tried to communicate with him, afraid his girlfriend would catch you both. That was also why you didn't seek for him. You remained quiet, waiting for him or, on days like these, waiting and hoping he wouldn't show up.

      You were still very much upset about what happened last time, but unfortunately, you were more disappointed in yourself than actually angry at James. You simply hated the power you let him have over you, hated how much you wanted to do or say something and still giving in to his whims. It was as if everything changed when he got too close, as if it were just the two of you in the vastness of the universe, no one to interfere.

      Even so, you were getting tired of it, just as you had grown tired of trying to discuss what you were and what future you had continuing such a relationship. You were beginning to realize that the person who might be messing things up was you; after all, you were the mistress, not Lily. They were the happy couple and you were the one meddling where you shouldn't.

      You shook your head quickly, trying to forget such thoughts, you were taking advantage of the solitude of the night, surrounded by photos and documents from work, you had decided about a month ago to change the way your department was dealing with its archive, but still hadn't had the time to do it, mostly because of work itself but also... Because of James. You rolled your eyes at the realization that you were thinking about him again and turned back to the photos.

      Your department mostly archived the obliviations revolving everything around what happened and not who it happened to. It was a good way to actually find the files you might need, but when it got to the file what really matters is the people. Who were the muggles, where do they live, how do they live, why were they exposed. And those details were too scattered around. Some of your colleagues said you just cared too much about the muggles you wiped the memories from, which you did, but it was also a matter of organization.

      Before you had a chance to lie down after all the work you've been doing, you heard a frantic knocking at the door, and given it was 2 A.M, you knew who it was. You take a long, deep breath and debate whether you should open it or not, but seeing that the lights were still on and he would notice them, you felt like you had no choice, even if that wasn't entirely true.

      You mentally cursed yourself and opened the door, his hands were quick to push you against the wall, slamming the door close with his foot as his lips worked your neck.

      "James..." Putting both hands on his chest, you prepared yourself to push him away, trying to find the strength to get him out of there. "Stop," it came out weakly, much more than you intended to, almost letting yourself be carried away by his touches.

      But then, a flash of awareness came back to you as you heard him groan, everything you thought about earlier and everything you wanted to say to him with it, you felt your strength return and pushed him away, looking at him showing as much seriousness and firmness as you could master, your breath still uneven.

      "Come on, honey, we've moved past this little game of you pretending you don't want me and denying me, come here," he said, approaching you again. You watched him come closer once more and moved aside, walking towards the kitchen. You needed to drink something if you were really intending to continue with this.

      Sure, your first option had been to avoid him for at least a couple of weeks so you could organize your thoughts, but it was simply impossible to avoid James.

      "We need to talk," you said coldly after filling one of your largest wine glasses. You heard him sigh, took a sip of the drink, and felt a knot in your stomach when you saw him sit at the small kitchen table. You were definitely not expecting that. You were absolutely sure he would deflect and try to take you to bed, as he had done the last time you said those words. Seeing him willing to talk hit you hard, and you lost the words you wanted to say, resorting to the first ones that came to your mind.

      "You disappeared," you shrugged.

      "As if you weren't used to it," James raised an eyebrow in your direction and looked at your glass. He knew your didn't drink casually, only if you were nervous. "If you must know, I wanted to come earlier, but Lily wouldn't leave my side after I turned down Wimbourne's offer. So we're like, totally wasting time."

      "You seemed so sure. What changed your mind?"

      "Just decided not to keep rubbing her the wrong way. Know her well enough, don't feel like dealing with her making my life hell over a stupid transfer."

      You felt an unfamiliar anger take over you. You absolutely hated the way he talked about her, as if she was the worst person to be with, such an annoying, bad girlfriend. If she was so bad, why was he with her and not with you?

      You drank the remaining contents of your glass in one go, sighed loudly, and looked at him, taking in every detail of him—the curls, the lips, the glasses you liked so much, the tired eyes but never without that sparkle you knew so well. Watching him always calmed you down in some way, but it didn't work as you thought it would. You were too tired.

      "You're a bloody bastard," you were firm but he shrugged, smiling slightly. "Not a joke. You're a dickhead. And I've let myself be made a fool by you. I've let you into my house, complaining about your girlfriend, and I've let you use me for almost an year now, hoping that you would change."

      You shouted what had been stuck in your throat for so long, and he got up, realizing how serious you actually were.

      "You agreed to this," he said coldly, crossing his arms and biting his lower lip. "We haven't been a couple for years, and we agreed on that."

      "Bollocks! You came to my apartment and intoxicated me with your stupid scent, with your touches, your voice. You know I've never been able to get over you, and you take advantage of that when you're fed up with her."

      You ran your hands over your face in agony, trying to control the tears that were already inevitably trying to escape your eyes. You passed by him awkwardly and went to the living room, sitting on the sofa.

      "Where are you trying to go with this?" He asked from the kitchen.

      "Where are we trying to go with this?" You replied back, looking at the floor, and silence was your only answer. "What am I to you? We spent almost four years not being friends, talking to each other once in a while and meeting at some parties because of Sirius and Rem. Then last year, you show up at my door drunk, saying you need me. What am I to you? Come on, tell me."

      "You're my best friend, and apparently, you're in a bad mood, on your period or something," he said, leaving the kitchen, and you watched him leave, frustration building up in your stomach. "I'll call you later when you're back to yourself."

      "Yeah, go away! You never talk when you know you're wrong anyway, bloody coward," he slammed the door behind him after he left and you got up, even angrier, grabbing one of the vases from your shelf and screaming in frustration as you threw it at the door, breaking it in tiny pieces that now covered the floor.

      You looked at him with tears in your eyes and you knew surely that James could feel how hurt you were by his actions, and that was your intention, you were silent, not having said a word to him since he had arrived to your house, despite his countless attempts to talk to you and apologise, your stubbornness was lasting almost an hour now and you knew he was about to lose his temper, so you decided it was time to speak before you weren't in the right anymore.

      "Where were you?" Your voice was low, tired, frustrated, and you had all reason for that, leaving you alone in the hospital's waiting room while your mum was freaking out all over the place seemed like a reasonable reason to be upset.

      "Quidditch practice, c'mon, try looking into this from my perspective." James tries to get close to you again and you move away, wiping away the tears that were stubborn enough to keep rolling down your cheeks, you cross your arms and he scoffs at your denial.

      "And what's that, really? Using that bloody mirror so I could tell you my father had a heart attack and I needed you, and then proceeding to continue to play? Is that it?"

      "What? No… I'm new to the team, I can't tarnish my name by running out of training." You roll your eyes and it's your turn to scoff, throwing your arms up in the air, not believing what you're hearing. "Don't do that, listen to me, take me seriously. My grandfather's heart went through worse countless times, and he was always fine. I knew your dad would be fine."

      "Yes, I remember, because I was by your side during all those times." You don't even mention how different it was just by the fact your dad was a muggle, in a muggle hospital, no healing magic to help. You glanced at the clock, it was late and you were both alone, your mom forcing you to stay there and rest; you feel your eyes wet and don't bother trying to stop them from falling, "James, as a friend, you're my best friend, if you're not going to be with me when I need you, who will? Will quidditch always be above me, above us?"

      "Please don't talk like that, honey." He runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sits down next to you, lowering his head and covering his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, you're right."

      "Because if it's always like this, maybe we should break up," you say at once, feeling your heart clench and holding back the sobs that join the tears.

      "You're tired, go to bed, I'll make you some tea, I'll stay here in case you need me in the middle of the night." He ignored what you said completely, getting up and going into the kitchen. Part of you felt relieved that he hadn't accepted the suggestion, but a large part was annoyed that he'd simply run away from confrontation, that he'd been such a coward.

      It had always been quite rare for you and James to actually fight, maybe that wasn't a good thing, considering you kept everything inside until you exploded, but while you were dating it was quite pleasant, when you disagreed on something, one of you would always give in; but when you did fight, it was unbearable, James had always been cold during fights, always the type to leave before finishing the conversation, while you were the explosive and impulsive one, talking way too much without thinking, yelling more than you probably should, and then you wouldn't speak to each other for days because of it.

      From past experience, you imagined he would disappear for a while, so you sighed and switched off the lights, heading to your room, more than ever you just wanted to sleep, sleep for a few good hours and put your mind at rest, but you knew yourself too well to know that after what happened, you would definitely end up dreaming about James, but you hoped it would be something good, something that would relax you at least during your sleep.

      Just before falling asleep, you remembered to reply the e-mail your mother had sent you during the day, saying how much your dad and her were loving their visit to France and were thinking about staying to help your aunt with her restaurant. Your heart ached when you realized it wasn't a joke, your mom saying at the very end that she knew you had your own exciting life but that they would love to have you with them there.

      A chance to run away.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx @dreamsygirl

[lumiolivier]

In Another Life

Series: One Piece

Word Count: 5153

Rating: T

Pairing(s): ZoSan

A party at Mihawk's (or his desperate attempt to socialize his protege) takes a strange turn when Zoro hears a piano upstairs.

(I've also never written One Piece fic before. Please be gentle.)

Zoro never saw any point in the large, lavish parties.  Nobility or not, Zoro didn’t understand Mihawk’s appreciation to peacock himself.  And for what?  To show off?  To make connections that he’ll ultimately break?  Of course not.  Mihawk had a difference reason for this particular party.  Mihawk was to hold…a flesh auction of sorts.  Not for money or anything like that.  To see his young protégé finally not mope around their villa another summer.

“Do we have to do this, Mihawk?” Zoro whined as he went through yet another suit fitting, “Can’t I just sit this out?”

“No,” Mihawk stood his ground, watching the tailor’s hands work quickly, “You’re going.  Like it or not.”

“I’m leaning toward the not part.”

“Zoro,” Mihawk groaned, “How long has it been since you even knew what a woman looked like?”

“I’ve seen women before,” Zoro rolled his eyes, beyond irritated with him, “It’s not like I’m a stranger to people.”

“Then, why do you always act like it?” Mihawk asked, “Zoro’s too good to be around other people.  Zoro’s always going to be off by himself.  Zoro would rather be alone playing with his sword than having someone else play with it for him.”

“Can we not be disgusting?”

“Can you simply humor me for the night?” Mihawk ordered, “It’s not like I’m asking you for a vital organ, Zoro.  I’m asking you to actually socialize.  Locking yourself away isn’t good for you.”

“Do I not see you every day?” Zoro pointed out, jerking at the pin prick in his hip, “Ow!  What the hell?”

“I’m so sorry,” the tailor winced.

“Don’t make it a habit,” Zoro let it go.

“I’m serious, Zoro,” Mihawk insisted, “You need to be more socialized.  You’d be amazed at what a little elbow rubbing will get you.  Consider this another lesson.”

“You teach me in the ways of the blade,” Zoro reminded him, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Then, consider it a bonus,” Mihawk did his best to hold his composure, but the thought of running Zoro through with his own blade gave him much temptation.  But then, it dawned on him.  What had Zoro so antisocial.  But he needed to guide the conversation in the right direction, “Why do you refuse to make any connections?”

“I don’t need them,” Zoro blew him off, idly staring into the mirror in any other direction but his own eyes.

And that’s when all of Mihawk’s theories made sense, “Is this about Kuina?”

Zoro’s jaw tensed up at the mere mention of her name.  The last time he ever truly got close to someone.  His grief tightened up in his stomach.  And he shot a piercing glare at Mihawk, “You had no right.  You had no business bringing her into it.”

“So, it is a Kuina problem,” Mihawk shooed away the tailor and sat at the edge of Zoro’s bed.

And without hesitation, Zoro drew his blade from its sheathe.  Even when being poked and prodded at by the tailor, he wouldn’t be caught without it on him.  He held the tip of his blade in Mihawk’s face, “I said, you have no business speaking her name.  Drop it.”

“And what have I always told you?” Mihawk lowered Zoro’s blade, “Don’t draw your blade unless you intend to draw blood.  Calm yourself.”

Zoro wanted his blade to taste blood.  To let the iron fortify the blade even more.  But he conceded and returned his sword to its sheathe, “I stand by what I said.”

“As do I,” Mihawk assured him, “You will be there.  And for a change, you will be socialized.  Do we understand each other?”

“Please, Mihawk,” Zoro begged, “Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything,” Mihawk got up from the bed and started walking out, “I’m merely saying you’re going to be there.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“I’m not putting bamboo splinters under your fingernails, Zoro,” Mihawk started walking out, “You’ll live.  It’s just one night.”

The moment the door closed, Zoro threw himself into his bed, hoping to get in a quick nap.  Yeah.  It’s just one night.  Easy for you to say.  You’re used to this garbage.  Hopefully, I’ll be able to get in a drink or two.  Or three.  The prospects of the evening started to sound a little better.  Mihawk usually does bring out the top shelf booze for this.  Maybe it won’t be so bad.  As long as he’s not lining them up for me, we should be fine.  Zoro stared up into the gilded ceiling.  Maybe tonight won’t be so bad.  And slowly, Zoro started to drift off. 

But then, night fell over the palace.  And the staff were abuzz with party preparations, decorating, showering the palace in all the lavish furnishings and fabrics Mihawk insisted upon.  And of course, Mihawk oversaw everything.  From the colors, the textures in the drapery to the food left out for the guests to help themselves to, nothing would be put out without Mihawk’s seal of approval.  Which brought him to his next task.  Quite possibly the most important one he had.  Making sure his flight risk protégé didn’t prove himself a flight risk.  Alright, Zoro.  Where have you run off to?

Mihawk checked the gardens, the stables, the library, the study.  Zoro was nowhere to be found.  But then, he realized who exactly he had been looking for.  And the one place he failed to look.  Mihawk trudged upstairs and knocked on Zoro’s bedroom door.  And was met with silence.  I know you’re not napping at a time like this, Zoro.  At least you better not be.  Mihawk didn’t bother with the invitation and walked into Zoro’s bedroom.  Sure enough, still sleeping like a baby, Zoro continued to drool on himself, ever so slightly.

“Oh, Zoro,” Mihawk let out a heavy sigh of exasperation, “You’re lucky I don’t want you dead.  Get up.”

“Mmm…” Zoro rolled over, ignoring Mihawk entirely.

“You know,” Mihawk sat at the edge of the bed, “I have you mostly pegged as a flight risk.  But I should know better.  And truly, that’s on me.  Because why would you run from tonight’s party when you could simply sleep through it?”

“You’re letting me sleep through it?” Zoro mumbled into his pillow, “Thanks, Mihawk.  I knew you’d understand.”

“Zoro…” Mihawk growled, “If you’re not awake, alert, and fully dressed in the next hour, I am taking all of your swords and running them through different parts of your body. Do you understand?”

“Alright!” Zoro snapped, reluctantly rolling off his bed, “I’m up.  There.  Happy now?”

“Quite,” Mihawk praised, “Thank you.  Go on.  Your suit should be finished and in the closet.”

“Wonderful,” Zoro dragged himself toward his bathroom.  But he made a quick stop at his closet, noticing the garment bag hanging in it.

“You could’ve chosen any color under the rainbow,” Mihawk pointed out, “And yet, you decide to go with black.”

“It’s simple,” Zoro took the hanger and brought it with him, “Is that a problem?”

“Not what I would’ve chosen for you personally,” Mihawk shrugged, “If I had my say, it would’ve been a deep red.  It’d suit you.”

“Black is good, too,” Zoro brushed him off and shut the door behind him.

Mihawk rested his head on his knees, beyond done with Zoro’s reluctance.  It still seemed like yesterday this sad boy begged at his knee to teach him the ways of the blade.  Better than what anyone had ever taught him before.  And how irritating he was then.  But the fire in those sad eyes got to him.  And Mihawk couldn’t tell him no.  His raw talent was too good to just throw away.  It needed to be nurtured and cultivated into something great.  However, it was a shame Mihawk couldn’t do the same for Zoro’s personality.  At least, that was how Mihawk saw it.

“Zoro,” Mihawk leaned against Zoro’s bathroom door, grateful to hear the bathtub running, “If you need anything, come find me.”

“What about the house staff?” Zoro asked, already slipping into his bath water.

“They’re busy,” Mihawk insisted, “You find me directly.  Alright?”

“Fine,” Zoro shut his eyes again, doing his best not to fall back asleep.  But he knew sleep would elude him.  He had bigger things on his mind.  Why would Mihawk be so hellbent on me finding someone at this party?  Is he really getting that sick of me?  I thought we were good.  It’s not like he’s asking me for a kidney.  I guess I’ll suck it up for the night.  It’s just one night, right?  Unless I have to sit and deal with whoever ends up finding me tonight for the rest of my life.  Ugh…Just what I need.  I can’t just have a good night with some decent booze, can I? 

As time passed, Mihawk took one last look at himself in the mirror, appreciating what he saw.  Because there’d be no way that at the very least Mihawk would go with a cold bed tonight.  However, this party wasn’t for him.  And as he walked down the hall, he kept his fingers crossed.  Please, Zoro.  Don’t tell me you went back to sleep.  Tell me you didn’t continue your nap in the bathtub.  Tell me you’re fully dressed and ready for this party.  Because I don’t think my heart can handle you still being in shambles. 

“Zoro?” Mihawk didn’t even bother knocking.  He just walked right into Zoro’s bedroom. 

Where Zoro had come out of the bathroom, doing his best to figure out how cufflinks worked, “You call for me?”

“Thank God,” Mihawk let out a sigh of relief, getting an eyeful of his prodigy.  Although, he couldn’t help himself, “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to put these damn things on,” Zoro continued his struggle, “How does anyone put these on?”

“One cufflink at a time,” Mihawk took them away and pulled on Zoro’s sleeve, “Honestly, Zoro.  Have I not taught you better?”

“In a perfect world,” Zoro grumbled, “This shirt would’ve had buttons on it like I asked.”

“But,” Mihawk stood his ground, “I told them purposefully to leave the buttons off because of the cufflinks I got for you.”

“You didn’t get those for me,” Zoro pointed out, “You won them in a poker game.  That I watched you cheat at.”

“You get my point,” Mihawk hushed him, “Is this the kind of attitude I can expect tonight?  Because I’m not canceling.  There are already guests arriving.  And you’re not going to embarrass me.”

“Do forgive me,” Zoro rolled his eyes, still wanting no part of this.  Unless it had a proof on it.

“Zoro,” Mihawk begged, “Please.  At least try to have a good time tonight.”

“Fine,” Zoro caved, already with his eye on a good sake.

“Thank you,” Mihawk finished off his cufflinks, “Now, go downstairs.  Go meet a nice girl.  Call it a night.  Will that be so difficult for you?”

“Probably not,” Zoro walked out of the safety of his bedroom with a sword on one hip and two swords on the other.  Because he wasn’t going to leave without a little piece of Kuina on him.

Once he made it to the ballroom, Zoro established a nest.  Granted, he knew he wasn’t going to be at one of the tables in the back.  Oh, no.  That meant going unseen.  The head table was where he’d be.  That didn’t mean he couldn’t still make his nest.  He had a bottle of sake for the table and his favorite bottle opener.  Carefully, he ran his blade along the cork and started drinking.  Although, the sudden pop caught some attention.  Zoro knocked the bottom of the bottle on the table, tipped it toward the ceiling and got his first drink down.  Just a little something to take the edge off.  And he could tell right then and there.

This party would be his hell.

The last thing he wanted to do was sit and listen to Mihawk talk shop with the other nobility.  He didn’t care how their businesses were doing.  He didn’t care about their personal lives.  None of that interested him.  If the goal was for Mihawk to find a lovely young lady to keep Zoro warm for the evening, the bottle of sake was a much better place to look.  No one was even worth Zoro giving them a chance.  He just wanted to spend a little time alone.  However, at the height of the party, Mihawk wasn’t going to let him leave so easily.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mihawk grabbed Zoro’s wrist.

“Bathroom,” Zoro brushed him off, “If that’s alright with you.”

“Fine,” Mihawk stopped him, “It’s funny, Zoro.  I haven’t seen you with anyone all night.  In fact, you’ve hardly strayed from my side.”

“Maybe you should’ve invited better guests,” Zoro played it off like he didn’t care, but he was bored out of his skull and he wanted nothing more than to…use the bathroom.  Yes.  The bathroom.  Just as he told Mihawk.

“Or better yet,” Mihawk growled, “Someone else should be a little more personable.  I asked you one thing, Zoro.  And I need you to come through on that.”

“So,” Zoro groaned, “Do I get to go to the bathroom or not?”

“Go,” Mihawk let him go, “Maybe you’ll sober up some.”

“Yeah,” Zoro walked away.  Wouldn’t that be a damn shame?  He couldn’t stand it anymore.  He wanted nothing more than to escape that party the second he stepped foot in it.  The ballroom was abuzz with activity, with people dancing, with people talking.  It was maddening.  And Zoro wanted nothing more than some peace.  And if he had to retreat to the bathroom to get that peace, then so be it. 

However, on his way, the faint sound of a piano caught his attention.  The band played in the ballroom, but none of them had a piano.  It was oddly soothing.  The only room with a piano in it was the drawing room and it was a rarity anyone was ever in there.  Regardless, Zoro followed the sound.  Because anything was better than the overcrowded party in the ballroom and going back to Mihawk.  And someone had to have been playing it.  Zoro would finally socialize the way Mihawk wanted him to.  And then, Mihawk wouldn’t have a reason to throw a tantrum.

The closer Zoro got to the piano, the faster it played.  He just wanted Mihawk off his back.  But he kept a tight grip on his sword hilts.  Faster and faster, the piano played on.  Zoro couldn’t even recognize the song.  But once he got to the piano, no one was there.  Zoro scratched his head.  Where the hell was that coming from?  I know I heard a piano up here.  It’s right there.  So, who was playing it?  Regardless, Zoro knew there was someone up there.  There was someone who wandered away from the party.  And no doubt with Mihawk’s treasures in mind.  So, he drew his blade.

“Show yourself,” he called out to the empty room.  And yet, silence.  Zoro looked all around the piano.  Still nothing, “I said, show yourself!”

And yet, the still silence remained.  Zoro sat on the bench, still not sure where the music came from.  He put his fingers to the keys.  Where was it coming from?  Am I finally losing it?  There was a piano playing in here, right?  Clearly, there’s a piano.  But who was playing it?  Zoro let it go and rested his head on the keys, letting out a messy chord.  Whoever it was, at least I get some peace and quiet for a change.  I told you already, Mihawk.  This party was pointless.  I need the rest more than I need to socialize.  But just as Zoro sat back up, a sudden chill ran through his head.

“Soft…” a voice echoed through the mostly empty room.

“Who are you?” Zoro stood up and drew his blade, “Show yourself!”

“Soft…” the voice spoke again, “Like moss…”

“I said, show yourself!” Zoro spun his blade, waiting for someone to show up, “I won’t ask again.”

“I heard you the first time,” the voice moaned, “I can’t help it.  I’m shy.”

“Then, tell me who you are,” Zoro looked around for where the voice was coming from and yet…There was no one there.

“I guess it’d be rude of me not to talk to you face to face,” the voice finally took form on the piano.  A man, “You’re easily worked up, mosshead.  Did you know that?”

Zoro had seen a lot in his time.  But never did he see someone apparate out of thin air, “Where the fuck did you come from?!”

“Thank you for proving my point,” he laughed, “Like I said, you’re easily worked up.  And if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you just saw a ghost.”

“I…” Zoro blinked a couple times, still coming to grips with what he just saw, “I…Are you a ghost?”

“Unfortunately,” his incorporeal legs dangled over the edge of the piano, “I am sorry if I startled you.  But your piano was too pretty to pass up.  Do you live here?”

“Last time I checked,” Zoro backed away, “I’m almost positive there’s a priest downstairs.  You need to go.”

“No…” the ghost begged, “Please.  I don’t want to go yet.  I heard the party downstairs and…It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a good party.”

“Who are you?” Zoro asked, “There’s no way you’re just some random ghost that busted into Mihawk’s house like this.”

“Mihawk…Mihawk…” the ghost thought it over, “No.  Sorry.  Not ringing any bells.  But you think I could see?”

“See what?” Zoro scoffed, “Mihawk’s sham of a party?”

“Sham?” he wondered, “What makes it a sham, mosshead?”

“Would you quit calling me that?” Zoro rolled his eyes.

“And I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours,” the ghost laid on his stomach, his elbows up on the back of the piano, “Deal?”

“Why should I tell you my name?” Zoro argued, “I’m not the one who lured me up here.”

“Did you like it?” the ghost asked, “It got a little heavy toward its end, but someone was coming and I figured I’d get out as much as I could.”

“Not really my thing,” Zoro brushed him off, “It’s Zoro, by the way.  Roranoa Zoro.”

“Sounds like a mouthful,” the ghost rolled over to his back, “Tell you what.  If you bring me down to that party you say is downstairs, I’ll tell you my name.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Zoro pointed out, “You said you’d tell me yours if I told you mine.”

“So, I’m renegotiating a little,” he shrugged, “Come on, Zoro.  Please?  I’ve been up here for a thousand years and I’d love to see a good party.”

“Have you really?” Zoro asked, “You’ve been a ghost for that long?”

“Not really,” he giggled under his breath, “I’ve only been like this for the last couple years.”

“And,” Zoro started to relax a bit more, sitting back down at the piano, “What happened?  If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I got stuck on a rock in the middle of the ocean,” he told him, “And I didn’t have anyone to come rescue me.  It was a long few months being out there, but now, I’m free.  I can come and go through here all I want.  And no one’s going to tell me no.”

“What if I told you no?” Zoro argued.

“But you won’t.  Do you know how I know that?”

‘How?”

“Because,” the ghost smiled, “You haven’t looked away from me for the last ten minutes.  If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you thought I was cute.”

“Please,” Zoro shook him off, “Why would I think that?”

“Because I am cute,” the ghost retaliated, “I mean…Come on, Zoro.  Look at me.”

“Yeah,” Zoro scoffed, “I’m sure you had all the ladies swoon over you in your living life.”

“You’d be amazed,” he got up from the piano, “Would you feel more comfortable if I was more tangible?”

“What do you mean?” Zoro looked at the ghost strangely, “You can do that?”

“Of course, I can,” the ghost’s translucency went away as he sat on the bench next to Zoro and held his hand, “See?  I’m just as solid as you are.  Truly, mosshead, I’m starting to think I’m the first ghost you ever met.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong,” Zoro got up from the bench and checked the liquor cabinet.  And came up short, “Damn…”

“What?”

“I was looking for a drink,” Zoro told him, “But it looks like I have to go downstairs for that.”

“And I could come with you,” the ghost insisted, doing a little spin, showing off his dark, pinstriped suit, “It’s not like I’m not dressed for the occasion.  Please?  I just want one party.”

Zoro wanted to go back to the party like he wanted to be shot in his foot.  But his curiosity got the better of him.  All he wanted was to know who haunted the halls of Mihawk’s mansion.  And if that meant him going back to the party, then so be it.  But that would come with some stipulations, “If we go down there, are other people going to be able to see you?”

“Just as much as you can see me now,” he nodded, “They’ll also be able to feel me, too.  I’ll be just as tangible as anyone else in the room.  They’ll have no idea I’m a ghost.”

“And,” Zoro went on, “What will you being at this party entail?”

“I just want to go to this party,” the ghost fell back over the piano, “Is that so much to ask?”

“It’s one of Mihawk’s parties,” Zoro grumbled under his breath, “So, yes.  It is.  Fine.  I’ll take you downstairs.”

“Wonderful!” he hopped down from the piano, “Let’s go!”

Zoro knew he’d live to regret this night, but if it meant him having Mihawk out of his hair, he’d be alright with it.  And so, the two went back downstairs to the ballroom where the hustle and bustle seemed to only get bigger.  Zoro rolled his eyes at the spectacle.  Great.  Just wonderful.  And yet, he looked over at the ghost, who couldn’t have been more thrilled to see such a beautiful ballroom.  The food, the string quartet, the people, the dancing.  It all completely swooned him. 

“Zoro…” the ghost took his hand, “Thank you.  I don’t think you realize it, but this is the best gift you could’ve given me.”

And in that moment, there was a strange tug in Zoro’s chest.  One that he didn’t know was possible.  But it managed to force a smile onto his face, “You’re welcome.  I’m glad I could do this for you.”

“And I know it’s making you uncomfortable,” the ghost took his arm, “But really.  It’s not going unappreciated.”

“Don’t mention it,” Zoro shook him off, “I’m going to go get a drink.  Can you do that?”

“I can,” the ghost nodded, “If it’s not too much trouble, cabernet.”

“What the hell is cabernet?”

“Oh, dear, sweet Zoro,” the ghost teased him, “It’s the one in the pretty black bottle.  Probably with a red label.  Says cabernet on it.  Maybe even Cabernet Sauvignon.  You can read, can’t you?”

“Of course, I can read!” Zoro snapped, “And now that I’m thinking about it, I brought you to your party.  You still haven’t told me your name.”

“My memory’s a little fuzzy,” the ghost sighed out, “Maybe a little red will bring it to light.”

Great.  This one thinks he’s funny.  I’m keeping you away from the actual clown here.  Regardless of Zoro’s opinions, he was still a man on a mission.  And there was a beautiful bottle of sake sitting unattended on the top shelf.  And next to it were all of Mihawk’s wines.  Zoro skimmed through the labels, hoping to find one that said cabernet on it.  Fortunately, a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon sat on the shelf.  He let out a little sigh of relief as he poured a glass for his new…friend.  Or the ghost that seemed to attach himself to Zoro.  And he knew the rest of the night would be miserable, so Zoro just grabbed the sake bottle.

“Here,” Zoro sat at his spot at the table and put the wine in front of him, “I got your stupid wine.”

“Mm…” the ghost picked up his glass and meticulously studied his wine.

“What?” Zoro scoffed, “Afraid I poisoned it?  You’re already a ghost.  Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a sadist?” the ghost assumed.

“I’m not a sadist,” Zoro took a heavy drink straight from the bottle.

“Fine, fine,” the ghost backed off, “But…I suppose I couldn’t trouble you for a dance, could I?”

“You said you wanted your party,” Zoro pointed out, “You didn’t say anything about me having to participate.”

“Please, Mossy?” the ghost begged, “If you dance with me, I’ll tell you my name.”

“Uh-huh,” Zoro rolled his eyes, “You also said you’d tell me your name if I brought you to this party.  And you’d tell me your name if I got you your wine.  Why should I believe you’ll tell me your name if I give you a dance?”

“Because,” the ghost rested his head on Zoro’s shoulder, “I asked nicely for that dance.  And I swear on my past life and my current one that I will tell you my name.  But you have to dance with me.”

Zoro hated his own curiosity.  But he wasn’t going to break.  Instead, he just got up from the table, “I’m going to go get some air.”

“Wait, Zoro,” the ghost called after him, “Don’t go.”

“Don’t follow me,” Zoro took the bottle with him, “I don’t need this party.  I don’t need the socializing like Mihawk said.  And I sure as hell don’t need to be jerked around by some fucking ghost.”

“Zoro…”

But Zoro was already gone.  Lost in the crowd.  He really did just need to get some air.  Something about the gardens were quite peaceful.  Zoro found himself under the gazebo and sat on the cold ground.  It’s just some damn ghost.  Why am I letting him get to me so much?  Zoro knew the reason.  Zoro knew exactly what it was.  And he hated himself for thinking it.  Because it meant proving Mihawk right.  It’s because it’s not her.  I would’ve thought if I had a ghost attached to me, it’d be Kuina.  Why?  Why does it have to be him?  I don’t even know what his name is.  Why is he getting to me this bad?

“Zoro…” a familiar voice floated through the air.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,” Zoro grumbled.

“I know,” the ghost sat with him, “Why’d you run off?”

“I had a lot on my mind,” Zoro kept cryptic, “I needed somewhere to make it all stop for a while.”

“If it was because of me,” the ghost took his hands, “I’m sorry.  I really don’t mean to jerk you around like that.  It’s just been a while since I had anyone do anything for me.  I liked it a little too much.”

“Oh,” Zoro let it go.  But there was a sense of peace in his thoughts again.  And the music drifted outside.  Zoro got back on his feet and offered the ghost his hand.

“What’s this for?”

“What else?” Zoro shrugged, “You did say you’d give me your name if I gave you a dance.”

“Oh?” the ghost managed to muster up a smile, “Alright.  But ask me properly.”

“What?” Zoro looked at him strangely, “What do you mean, ask you properly?  Do you want to dance or not?”

“Wow,” the ghost giggled a bit, “What a gentleman.  Hard to believe you haven’t been married off ten times over by now.”

“The sarcasm is not appreciated,” Zoro took the ghost’s hand and pulled him a little closer.

“Alright,” the ghost teased him, “I see someone’s not feeling shy anymore.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the ghost reveled in the feeling of someone else’s touch.  And in Zoro’s movements, “Hey…Mossy…Can I ask you something?”

“What?” Zoro started to relax a little more, the sake finally hitting his bloodstream.

“Do you think…” the ghost nestled his head in Zoro’s shoulder, “Maybe we met in a past life?”

“I don’t know,” Zoro spun him around, “Maybe.  How do you think we met?”

“I don’t know,” the ghost thought it over, “Maybe we met on a boat.  A big boat.  With a restaurant on it.”

“Maybe we hated each other.”

“But maybe…We didn’t.”

“What?” Zoro wondered, “You think we were friends?”

“I think we were more than that,” the ghost admitted, “But you have your thoughts of our past life together and I’ll have mine.  We’ll close our eyes and pretend like both are real.”

“Who knows if our past lives together are real or not?” Zoro brushed it off, “But…We got tonight, don’t we?”

“Zoro…” the ghost awed, “That’s the sweetest thing you could’ve said to me.”

“Don’t read too much into it.” But Zoro couldn’t take his eyes off the ghost’s.  So deep, so beautiful…And his face so soft and gentle…And the ghost’s slender hips against his own…And he found his peace.

In the silence, the ghost couldn’t help himself.  He knew there was no way Zoro would make a move.  So, the ghost moved into Zoro’s face, barely an inch away.  And to his surprise, Zoro pulled the ghost in for a deep, sweet, and tender kiss.  One that put everything into alignment.  And everything would be ok.  When he pulled away, Zoro still couldn’t believe it happened.  On his list of things that could’ve happened that night, kissing a ghost in the garden was not on it.

“Zoro…” the ghost’s voice broke, “You…”

“Again,” Zoro blushed, “Don’t read too far into it.”

“Fine,” the ghost couldn’t stop smiling, “Do you really want to know what my name is that badly?”

“After that…” Zoro admitted, “I don’t even care anymore, Ghost.  Tell me.  Don’t tell me.  But…I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to do that again.”

“Well,” the ghost rocked back on his heels, “What if I wanted to?”

“Then,” Zoro thought, “I guess I’d have to prove you wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Zoro pulled the ghost back in, his kiss getting deeper, his tongue finding its way into the ghost’s mouth, “I can be a gentleman if I want to be one.”

“Is that so?” the ghost melted inside, “Why couldn’t I have met you in my living life?”

“Because,” Zoro pointed out, “Then, I would’ve had to mourn you twice.”

“Zoro…” the ghost gave him one last little kiss, “My name is Sanji.”

[annestie]

What Do You Mean Betrothed to Him? - Chapter 1

Summary: For as long as Neteyam could remember, he had been betrothed to the eldest son of the Metkayina Olo’eyktan. A boy about his age. The agreement had come through their fathers, many years before either boy could remember.

So when, Jake announced that they would be hiding in Awa’atlu, Neteyam isn't that surprised. Though, what he does find strange was the confusion of his siblings. They ask why Awa’atlu, why not another clan or island or village. To Neteyam, Awa’atlu seems like the obvious choice, especially with their connection there and Neteyam has talked to them about who his betrothed is.

Neteyam wouldn’t have forgotten to mention that part. Right?

Pairing: Ao'nung x Neteyam

Word Count So Far: 3349

Notes: I haven't really mentioned it but my Ao3 is now locked to users only due to AI scalping but I will be posting this fic here for everyone to read. This was a fun write.

Also thank you @crystalskies42 for helping. I know we're still iffy on the "does it count as being a beta reader?" but you helped so you get credit. She have some AMAZINGLY angsty fics that will destroy you. 10/10 would recommend :D

Growing up betrothed is a strange ordeal. You know that one day you will wed; but, unlike those around, you know who. There’s no real question to it. Your fate already decided from the moment the agreement made. And sure while no betrothal is without Eywa’s blessing it’s still hard not having the choice.

Neteyam doesn’t even remember a time where his betrothal hadn’t loomed over his life. A constant thought in his mind that his future had already been decided for him. He used to be jealous—a terrible, fiery emotion—of those around him that could choose. That they had a choice and he did not, simply because of who he was born to.

However, along that path of jealousy, it changes. At some point, a point that Neteyam no longer quite remembers, his feelings of jealousy transform into something else. Something that definitely couldn’t be called jealously.

Maybe it’s Ao’nung’s stupid charm or Eywa, herself, intervening, but at some point Neteyam falls and he falls hard. If he had actually fallen, it would have been flat on his face from a tree.

Really, Ao’nung insist it was his charm that had done it. Neteyam is less so convinced by that; though, does let his betrothed continue believing whatever he wishes in the pure act of wanting to see the other happy.

Such a weird thing, love that is. Such a light emotion at the face; a simple care for someone yet it controls so much of life. Like the way Ao’nung sacrifices all his clams to Neteyam when he visits as he knows those are Neteyam’s favorite. Or how Neteyam takes Ao’nung on his ikran, as the latter doesn’t know how to ride a tsurak yet; though still loves that feeling of flight.

So after everything, when the decision is announced that they would be hiding within Awa’atlu, Neteyam’s happy even despite the circumstances. When you’ve lived the way he has you learn to find the best in the worst. In this case, getting to live with the betrothed he had accidentally fallen for.

Neteyam carefully packs the last of his things that he would be bringing. The most of what he’s packing are his jewelry and other accessories. He would be leaving most of his clothing as the weaving is simply too heavy for the water. They would weigh him down and drag, making it even harder to swim and keep up. Something he had learned firsthand.

Besides, he could always steal some of Ao’nung’s clothes while making new ones. Sure, Ao’nung might have some protests; however, it would certainly be rude for Ao’nung to deny his betrothed like that. So very rude.

As Neteyam packs the last few straggling things, he wonders if he even needs this much. Ao’nung had things. Things that Neteyam likes. Does Ao’nung really need all those brushes and clothes and whatnot just for himself?

They were getting married in a year or two, and the announcement would have been this year if it wasn’t for… Well you know. The formal announcement that is. The one where they would officially announce it to the clans. Currently the knowledge their betrothal is sort of limited, not that they try very hard—if at all— to keep it secret.

So soon, they’d probably have a marui built for them, seeing as Neteyam would be moving to Awa’atlu. They would be sharing much of their things as well. Which brings back the question, does Neteyam even need to pack this many things if they are soon to be wed?

“I guess you must be happy, I mean, you can finally choose for yourself,” Lo’ak comments as he walks into the pod and crouches down beside Neteyam.

Distracted, Neteyam looks up confused. Not having caught any word of it, too busy thinking of marriage. A few years ago, he would have thought himself gone insane if he heard that. “Sorry, wasn’t listening,” he quickly tells Lo’ak, looking away from his things.

“You must be happy with your betrothal and all,” Lo’ak says with a smile.

“Yeah. I am,” Neteyam replies back, blissfully unaware as his attention is on finishing the last of his packing and figuring out what to actually bring.

“You’ve been there before, haven’t you? With dad? What was it like?” Lo’ak asks. Out of everyone, he and Spider had been the most nervous of the move. Understandably, of course.

“Yeah, every year. It’s beautiful,” Neteyam says. That’s really the only way he could describe the waves that hit against the shore and the soft, warm sands that draw you in. The way the sun lights up the beach in the most stunning way. And how it all just mesmerizes as the eclipse is setting.  “You can even finally-” Neteyam’s cuts himself off as Neytiri enters the pod.

“We leave soon, are you both done packing?” Neytiri asks as she picks up more of their things to bring out to the ikrans.

Neteyam nods gesturing to the few bags he has on the ground. Most of them were already at the ikrans.

Neytiri nods then turns her attention to Lo’ak. “And you?” she asks with a look that you certainly don’t want to challenge.

“Uh, almost,” Lo’ak lies with a nervous smile.

Neytiri huffs, tossing the bag she has in her hand over her shoulder. “Finish it now,” she commands him before leaving.

Neteyam laughs slightly to himself. “Come on, I’ll help you,” he tells Lo’ak as soon as Neytiri is out of earshot. The topic of Neteyam’s own betrothal lost to the chaos of packing.

It isn’t long before after that they’re in the air.

Neteyam has completed this exact flight so many times that he allows Paysyul, his ikran, to simply fly the way. She knows exactly how. She had always loved trips, especially ones to Awa’atlu. Though, Neteyam suspects that the love is out of the extra treats Ao’nung gives rather than anything else.

This trip is like any of the other ones they’ve flown. Well, besides the extra company. It’s a little different flying with five ikrans rather than two. Also the many more breaks they need to take because of the extra people and stuff.

Tuk and Spider don’t have ikrans, so their stuff got distributed to everyone else’s’. Which is fine; though, to not overwork the ikrans they do need more frequent break.

Tuk and Spider spend the trip bouncing around between the different ikrans. At each break, going with someone else. To keep it fair. However, Neteyam suspects it’s more likely to keep everyone from getting on each other’s nerves.

They arrive in Awa’atlu a little after midday, close to the eclipse. The time of day where darkness hasn’t started yet but still the rush and energy of earlier is gone. A time of winding down where the last tasks of the day are completed. The sun still shines in the sky; but it’s the start of the end of the day.

The familiar sounds of a conch alerts the village of their presence. Neteyam can’t help the smile that forms at the thought of seeing Ao’nung. Even if their actual reunion would probably have to wait until later. Perhaps that’s only for the better. Eclipse has always been Neteyam favorite time of day in Awa’atlu.

They need to get uturu first before anything else, which may only prove harder with Spider. Hopefully their betrothal and arrangement have softened the Olo’eyktan and, specifically, Tsahìk to the idea of good sky people.

They end up landing on a sand bank that Neteyam has never seen having any specific use in the years he’s visited. Almost immediately, a crowd forms around them.

They should be used to Omatikaya; though Neteyam supposes that it’s more to do with the amount of people and the fact they haven’t seen a sky person. There’s murmurs and mumbles about the crowd as Spider walks past which only confirm Neteyam’s suspicions.

Neteyam carefully places himself between crowd and Spider. He knows most of those know, or at least know of, him and he can only pray that the respect they hold for him translates to Spider. Although, perhaps that is second in need, the first being to get the permission to stay.

Just before the Olo’eyktan and Tsahìk can appear, Neteyam watches as a certain Metkayina pushes his way through the crowd. Their eyes lock almost immediately and Neteyam can’t help the way his face lights up at seeing the other.

It takes everything within Neteyam to not run to Ao’nung. All he wants is to sit with the other and relax in each other’s company as they tell of the year, they’ve been apart. Of the things they’ve done. Of the parts they’ve missed. And of the things they wish for.

Ao’nung grins as well, it brightens his face in the best way. It’s a smile that Neteyam has surely missed seeing. How he’s missed the other, Neteyam thinks as he looks Ao’nung over.

It’s been longer than when the trip would normally be. A few months. So little time looking back; but they seemed so lonely in the moment.

However, their moment is interrupted by the Olo’eyktan calling out to them­­­­—specifically Jake. “Jake Sully, what are you here for?” Tonowari asks, stepping towards the other. “Especially at a time like such.”

The two of them have a fairly good relationship from what Neteyam’s seen. Certainly better than the one Ronal and Neytiri hold, even with their children’s betrothal there’s just something about the two that doesn’t mesh quite right.

“I wish we were here on better circumstances,” Jake says. He goes on going into as little detail as possible to explaining it. Telling Tonowari only what they need. Uturu. Sanctuary.

Slowly, Neteyam’s eyes drift back Ao’nung. Something that’s become a bit of a habit from a few trips ago. The rest seems to tune out as Neteyam watches Ao’nung secretly sign, “I missed you.” Neteyam’s smile widens.

Neteyam’s thoughts grace the idea of signing something back; though, he’s quickly pulled back to the actual problem at hand. They could talk later, he reminds himself. Once, Neteyam and his family weren’t possibly getting kicked out of the clan.

The Tsahìk walks out from the crowd, her eyes immediately set the family. “This was not the agreement,” Ronal says, circling the family. “And you even bring the thing you are running from.”

“No,” Neteyam protests, hopeful that his standing and somewhat good relationship with the Tsahìk will ensure he isn’t kicked out. “He—Spider—is one of us. He is na’vi.”

Ronal looks unconvinced as she stares more intently at Spider. “He is like them.”

“In body but not spirit. He was born here and has lived just as we have.” Neteyam protectively puts himself between Ronal and Spider. “Please, he is just as na’vi as the rest of us.”

For a moment everything stills, Ronal looking Spider up and down in scrutiny. In that moment, all that Neteyam can think of what will happen. Would Neteyam stay and his family leave? Would they send Spider back with one of them as an escort? Would they all leave?

“I trust him as yours then,” Ronal finally says before stepping away. Which isn’t the best, though not the worst either.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Neteyam smiles. “Thank you,” he says. All he had to do now is pray that Spider be on his best behavior for anything he does will reflect fully on Neteyam. Though, he’s not even sure if Eywa can stop Spider and Lo’ak. Great Mother have mercy.

Once Ronal makes her way to Tonowari, the two share a look of contemplation. An unspoken conversation as they both make their final decisions. Neteyam has seen the two do it before; with many of their decisions they had done the same.

Until, Tonowari sighs and looks back to them. “With all that you have done, your presence is always welcome. However, in order to stay, you must learn the way of water,” Tonowari announces, gesturing around them. “You must all learn the way of water,” he then says. more pointedly in Spider’s direction.

To Spider’s credit, he doesn’t back down at the Olo’eyktan. Rather he puffs his chest out and nods, holding himself with as much confidence as he can muster.

“My son and daughter will help teach your children,” Tonowari says as he waves Ao’nung and Tsireya over. “For now, we will show you to your marui. You all must be tired from your journey.”

They’re led through the village by Tsireya to their new home—a marui as it’s called.

Neteyam had met Tsireya a few times, then again with her being the tsakarem and their trips only being a week or so he never spent much time with her. There was always something to be done, a dinner to attend, responsibilities to care for. It seemed almost as if their schedules were made for the two to avoid one another.  

Another reason Neteyam prefers the eclipsed nights to the days. Not only was the island absolutely stunning but most of his day responsibilities were also done. Besides the dreadful dinners that is.

The marui they’re led to is much bigger than the one that Neteyam and Jake had usually stayed in. It does makes sense though. They barely even spent any time there during their visits, only using it to sleep really, perhaps eat or meal two but that was often a rarity.

Trailing behind the rest of his family, Neteyam watches as they all gladly enter the marui and begin throwing their things down. The day had been long and the trip tiring. He is not happily awaiting the tedious unpacking he knows will soon ensue. Their mother is not one to let the things go unpacked.

Sighing, Neteyam looks around again. Hoping that Ao’nung had stuck by. Quickly, he catches the other’s eyes and walks over.

Neteyam grabs Ao’nung’s hand and pulls him off to the side. Just out of the way of the Metkayina carrying things to the marui and, maybe coincidentally, out of the view of his family. “Meet me later?” Neteyam asks with a smile.

“By that cove?” Ao’nung says back with a grin. Neteyam could happily stare at his betrothed’s face the entire day.

“Of course. I’ll come by at the eclipse start.” Neteyam squeezes Ao’nung’s hand once more before leaving to help the unpacking.

It takes much strength to walk away after but Neteyam does so gracefully. The only reason being that he knows that they will much time later. Time that they usually did not have. Such a luxury.

“That’s mine!” is the first thing Neteyam hears as he enters their new home, followed by an irritated, “Nuh uh!” He could already feel the headache.

It’s just after the eclipse when Neteyam quietly slips out from their almost completely unpacked marui. He casts a quick goodbye to his family and smiles at the knowing looks his parents give. Then, ventures out going towards what—or rather who—he truly seeks.

The cove Neteyam’s headed to has been their ‘spot’ for years after discovering it together by accident. It’s beautiful to say the least.

It’s hidden. With you having to hike almost to the center of the island then swim all the way through a tunnel simply to get there. The trek is worth it though.

The cove itself is stunning. The ceiling of it is covered in many small gaps where light filters in and casts beautiful rays onto the pool of water below. The rays dance in the water, even in the dimly eclipsed light. During the day the light rays are charming; but once the sun is covered it’s breathtaking. Illuminating the closed space in the most mystifying way.

The hardest part is finding the opening of the tunnel with it being so small and covered with foliage. Though, with how many times Neteyam’s made the trek, it isn’t hard to let his legs lead him the way. The path through the forest is winding and confusing with many turns seeming wrong or backwards. But, no matter how wrong the path seems, it always leads there.

The tunnel has many air pockets along the way. Air pockets that Neteyam used to need frequently when they first found the cove. Neteyam truly thanks finding the spot for the reason his breath is so well trained.

It’s not long before Neteyam’s already reaching the end of the tunnel. Already praying for Ao’nung to be there. Immediately as Neteyam surfaces, he finds a certain na’vi awaiting him just as he had hoped.

“’Teyam,” Ao’nung says softly as he helps the other up onto the rocky shore of the cove. “It’s been too long,” he muses

Gladly taking the other’s hand, Neteyam grips it tight. Almost as if he fears that if he were to let go, it would disappear. “It’s only been a few months more than usual,” Neteyam says even knowing those few months had been filled with the most longing he’s ever experienced.

“Torture is what it was,” Ao’nung supplies, almost reading Neteyam’s mind.

Neteyam pulls himself the rest of way onto the shore. Then, quickly, the two wrap their arms around each other in an embrace. An embrace that seems so fulfilling yet too little. After so long, it’s welcome but not enough.

“Torture, huh?” Neteyam asks, leaning his head back slightly to look at the other.

“The worst.”

Neteyam leans in again, capturing the other’s lips with his own. A kiss that he had wished for from the moment their hiding had been announced. A kiss that Ao’nung had obviously longed for as well.

They aren’t quite that open to such displays of affection in public. Which is why it’s even more of a blessing that they had found this secret cove of sorts. A quiet, beautiful, hidden paradise to themselves.

They do eventually have to break apart though. Rather unfortunately, they both do need to breathe. A terrible thing really. However, it does give the chance for them to talk, another thing that Neteyam delights in. That they both delight in.

Many times their conversations have spanned hours into the night. Where their parents almost decide to send out search parties in their absence, only for the two to return just in time.

It’s happened so much though that they hardly ever worry anymore. Simply glad that the two betrotheds are so happy with one another.

There is much to catch up on. Much to tell and explain. So Neteyam soon finds himself sitting with his back against a rock as Ao’nung uses his legs a pillow. Simply talking of the missing time.

“Tell me of it,” Ao’nung says, looking up towards Neteyam. Grinning at the other, Ao’nung takes hold of Neteyam’s hand.

“Of what?” Neteyam questions with a small chuckle as he gently runs the fingers of his free hand through Ao’nung’s—now loose—hair.

“All of it,” Ao’nung says, squeezing Neteyam’s hand.

“There is too much to tell,” Neteyam says. “We would be here for hours, maybe days,” he jokes though he isn’t that opposed to the idea once speaking it aloud.

“Fine. Tell me of your brother then. The sky person.”

“He’s just that. A brother. He grew alongside us. Spent most of his days, and even nights, with us,” Neteyam explains with a smile. He’s told Ao’nung a little of his siblings before; though with the limited time they usually have, it doesn’t come up as much. “He is very stubborn; I think you two will get along fine.”

“Hey!” Ao’nung protests. “How dare you? You wound me. Your own betrothed,” he says dramatically.

Neteyam doesn’t feel any remorse though does bend and place a kiss atop Ao’nung’s forehead which seems to quiet him. “I’m so deeply sorry for that,” he says. “But I don’t hear you denying it.”

The two laugh. Their laughs echoing against the walls of the cove. How they’ve both missed this in the time they’ve been apart.

[wooahaes]

under the sun [hoshi]

pairing: non-idol!hoshi x gn!reader

prompt: darl+ing inspired fic.

word count: 11.4k~

warnings: food mentions. skinship. sappy soonyoung who falls for reader kind of quick. mentions of soonyoung being insecure in his feelings for reader due to other people having feelings for them. very minor injuries (head bumps).

daisy’s notes: hi i didnt realize the last part was posted in february. i am so sorry sdkfhdsf also if you’ve been removed from the taglist, its because your name wasn’t popping up!! :(

< day 3 || masterlist  ||

summary: It all starts when you wake up in a field without a name  or any memories to define yourself with. Thirteen men take you in as  one of their own, and slowly you begin to wonder what is going on within  this world… and between you and one of them.      

Soonyoung, from day two, considered himself to be a little forward with skinship when it came to you. From cuddling up to you that night (with your consent) to the teasing way he pretended to sleep in a little longer just to have a moment alone with you. Truthfully... Something about you made him feel a little flustered. He chalked it up to the fact that you were a new face here and that he always got a little choked up when new people were around (not enough to not be social with them, for sure, but enough that he watched himself a little more). Teasing Chan came easily to him: inviting you to cuddle with him and Seungkwan felt like a small leap to take when you were still so new. Maybe with time, he thought, he’d get more comfortable with you and be able to be the bright, funny Soonyoung that everyone else knew him to be.

But you? You’d realized pretty fast that the Soonyoung you heard in stories wasn’t the Soonyoung you were getting to know during your early days of living with this group. Stories of the wild things he’d do, chasing adrenaline sometimes, or the funny, loud things that came as a byproduct of him being this larger than life guy... didn’t fully match up with the mellow Soonyoung you were seeing.

And very quickly you realized that Soonyoung worked harder than some of the others, more than you expected. Your early days with the group were filled with being tasked to work with people like Seungcheol or Jihoon or Soonyoung, all because they seemed to take over the task of teaching you different things. You’d spent a day with Seungcheol, learning how to identify ripe plants and how to prune them, until he let you go to go play games with Chan (at Jeonghan’s slight push to do so), another with Jihoon to learn the way they organized their stock room... but both of them let you learn a little by doing. Most of it had been watching, sure, but both gave you the opportunity to teach you that first day by letting you try for yourself to make sure you were doing things right. Soonyoung was the one who always insisted that you focus your efforts on learning from him and watching, that he’d let you try later. He wasn’t as hard on you as you’d heard he would be (you’d heard Chan gripe early on that Soonyoung called him out for not washing a shirt as thoroughly as he could have--mainly because it hadn’t been Chan’s shirt and Soonyoung wasn’t going to let him half-ass something for someone else), but you realized that it was because you were still new. You simply didn’t know yet.

The absolute strictest he’d ever been with you, though, was because of your own slip-up. Seungcheol explained to you one morning that they try to have major clean-up days every few weeks, sometimes more often if he noticed things in disrepair. Dragging things outside to give them a proper cleaning, someone washing the countertops and tables and everything more fully than they usually did: things that were a hassle because while your home wasn’t a mess, there always seemed to be something in the way. It was usually the same day all bedding was washed and hung out to dry, too.

It was a simple thing, a clumsy mistake, to step out of line right as Mingyu was toting something outside with his back to you. Soonyoung had been standing nearby, and his harsh Stop! had startled you before you were yanked out of the way. He’d held you against him for a moment, Mingyu glancing over for a moment before realizing he’d nearly run into you. He’d apologized, as did you for not getting out of the way, and things went on as Soonyoung held you a little longer than he had intended to. Once the way was clear, he let you go, watching where Mingyu had disappeared outside.

“You need to be mindful of others,” Soonyoung said, a little harsher than he had meant to. He realized it, only to soften back up, “It’s okay,” he gently patted your head. “I get caught up in things sometimes, too. But--”

“It could have hurt both of us,” you said with a nod. “I understand, Soonyoung. I’ll be more careful.”

He smiled a moment later, taking your hand to guide you back inside. He’d help with carrying other heavy things in a little bit--for now he would at least make sure you’ve had a snack since breakfast (while grabbing one for himself, too, to use as an excuse). Soonyoung had already started up a small conversation about how this was usually one of the busier days they dealt with--but he liked the hustle and bustle of it.

“It feels familiar,” he said. “Maybe I grew up with people always moving like this...”

You realized in that moment that as mellow as Soonyoung could be when it was just the two of you, he was... also a bit of an enigma, in a sense. You’d seen the cute way he’d tease the others, or heard the loud laughs that followed something he did--but that was a stark contrast to the quieter man you were starting to grow more used to when it was just the two of you. The same man who gently pushed food toward you while others were working, just to ensure that you were being taken care of. And the same man who left you with a gentle pat on the head again after shoving his snack into his mouth, reminding you that he wasn’t mad in case you were worried--mistakes happened. He just took it upon himself to make sure no one got hurt under his watch.

You watched Soonyoung rush over to Jeonghan, offering to take part of the laundry load from him happily, already talking about what they thought Mingyu (or Seokmin or Junhui--no one was quite sure who was going to figure out those plans) was going to make for dinner tonight. A moment later, you turned back to the slices of fruit you’d pulled from, smiling to yourself.

Soonyoung, you decided, was someone who clearly cared about everyone there... even if it meant taking a subtler route to make sure you were okay.

Soonyoung, you decided, was very cute. A little weird at times, sure, but in the most endearing way. Ultimately, you thought he was an interesting person when it came down to it. A few days later, you’d realized that he could go from mellow, calm Soonyoung who politely chatted with you about how you were adjusting, to...

Well. The Soonyoung who ran straight into you, cackling as he was busy escaping a ranting Seungkwan who did not have Mingyu to hold him back. He had thrown you off your balance, and sent you sprawling onto the floor, head hitting the ground pretty hard. You’d let out a yelp of pain, hands flying to the back of your head to try and knead away the pain (and you were so thankful you didn’t pull away your hand to find blood), only to hear Seungcheol hop up from his spot on the couch, already  barking at Soonyoung to be more careful.

Soonyoung, however, was already profusely apologizing to you. He knelt down next to you, gently pulling your hands away as he tried to look you over. A few days ago, he had gently scolded you for getting in the way--and now he was flustered and upset with himself. “I didn’t see you, really--” His fingers pressed into the back of your skull, and he frowned as he pulled away, a small sense of relief on his face that you weren’t visibly injured.

Seungkwan had already reached for your hands, pulling you back up to your feet. “Are you okay?”

You nodded after a moment. “It just hurts a little,” you said. “It’s fine.”

Seungcheol let out an aggravated huff. “It didn’t sound like it’s fine. Are you sure?” He gently nudged past Seungkwan to stand before you, looking you over carefully. “Are you dizzy? Is the light bothering you--”

“I think they’d know if they were concussed, Cheol,” Seungkwan huffed. “If they say they’re okay, then they’re okay.”

“I’m sorry,” Soonyoung had stood up, hand grazing your arm for a moment before he pulled away. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“They’ll be okay if you all stop crowding them,” Chan called out, coming over. He offered his hand to you, and you gladly took it, letting him pull you from the circle that’d formed by the three. “If they start to look worse, I’ll bring them back,” he started to guide you toward the tunnel out. “Okay? I’ll look after them.”

A moment later, Seungkwan had started fussing about how Chan just stole you away without anyone getting a chance to say something. Chan had merely smiled at you, guiding you back outside to get some fresh air, only to pause as he leaned around to glance at the back of your head.

“Channie, I’m fine,” you insisted further. “Really--It was just a bump.”

Chan sighed, hand still securely holding your own. “I know,” he said. “But if you really do start to feel bad, then tell me, okay? You started to look a little suffocated in there...”

Maybe that’s because you were starting to feel that way. You appreciated their concern, sure, but between Seungcheol slightly grilling you to make sure you were okay, Seungkwan trying to speak on your behalf, and Soonyoung still apologizing (and calling out a final one as Chan led you outside)... It was a little exasperating to say the least.

Chan had decided to distract you for a little, walking down to the river with you and abandoning his shoes to walk into it. Despite his attempts to goad you out into it with him--the day was beyond warm and the water felt great, you decided to stay back in favor of watching him from the grass. Even when he paused while walking along, noticing something in the water, you had stayed back--calling out to ask what it was. He said nothing, pocketing it for himself before unconvincingly stating that it was just a pretty rock he’d take to Minghao later (maybe he would paint something pretty on it if he asked).

When you returned, Soonyoung had been waiting for you. You waved for Chan to go on ahead, and waited for Soonyoung to speak. Once the two of you were alone, he finally met your gaze, suddenly so much shyer than you knew him to be.

“Are you mad?”

You furrowed your brow at the question. What reason did you have to be mad at him? When you shook your head, you could see the relief on his face.

“I’m really sorry,” he said, quieter this time. “I just told you to watch out for others, and then I--”

“It’s okay,” you said, taking his hand in yours. “Accidents happen. You didn’t mean to run into me.”

“You didn’t mean to get in the way, either,” he said, “and I scolded you for it.”

You pouted. “Telling me to watch out for others wasn’t really scolding me, Soonyoung. I mean it: it’s okay. If it wasn’t, I’d say so.”

Soonyoung seemed to finally accept that you weren’t mad or upset with him, slowly nodding as he took your words in. “Okay... But I still want to make it up to you. You looked hurt,” he said. “So I’ll do something nice for you, okay?”

“You really don’t have to--”

“I want to,” he said, fingers curling around one of your hands. “Okay? I’ll figure it out. It’ll be fun.”

Something about the twinkle in his eyes made you smile. You were certain Soonyoung already had an idea forming, and who were you to deny something nice? With a nod, you gave him the go-ahead, and he smiled at last. He leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead after gently pulling you to where he could do so comfortably, and then took off running, saying he’d have it all figured out. All you would have to do is be there.

A few days later, Soonyoung had stolen you away halfway through chores to go swimming together. Most of the time, Soonyoung hated ditching in the middle of working... but Seungcheol had given him a light push to do it. He’d kept making comments about how Soonyoung was working too hard, that it was too hot today for Soonyoung to go above and beyond, that he was sure no one would hold it against him if he decided to run down to the lake...

Seungcheol wasn’t subtle in the slightest. But it had taken Jihoon looking up and telling him to just go find you already for Soonyoung to finally agree to do it. He’d run off, waited until you finished washing laundry, and told the others he was stealing you for today. It earned a groan from Chan, Seungkwan trying to pick an argument with him, and Hansol pulling Seungkwan back and telling him that he’ll have to cover for them next time they want to be lazy (which Soonyoung would do in a heartbeat: they deserved to rest sometimes, too). He’d gathered his things while you were working and shoved them into a bag.

To be honest, he’d been waiting for a day like this. He knew you’d seen the lake before, but today was finally the perfect weather for swimming. He’d only been debating whether he should steal you away during chores or waiting for you to be done, bag packed and ready to go. The moment the lake was in sight, he dropped the bag onto the ground, stripping off his clothing until he was only in his underwear as he ran ahead of you. The dock seemed to shake with each pounding footstep, but Soonyoung had already taken a running leap into the water, making a big enough splash that you had thrown your arms up to protect yourself from any stray droplets that happened to reach you.

He resurfaced, the dyed blonde hair clinging to his skin as he turned, smiling when he found you again. “Aren’t you getting in?”

You’d felt embarrassed all of a sudden as you began to strip off your own clothing to match him. With the heat rushing to your face, you decided to make a joke instead. “Turn around, you pervert.”

He’d laughed, but obliged. “It’s not too cold, by the way. It feels really good.”

You’d been more careful with your clothing than he had been, dropping it into a pile before making your way down the dock. The feeling of the warm sun kissing your skin was nice, but you could only imagine the reprieve the water would give you from the heat of the day. Soonyoung turned around to face you again, and you didn’t fail to notice the tiny once-over he’d given you before moving back to give you space. You sat down, watching him for a second as you hesitated.

“It’s okay,” he said, gentler this time. “I’m here.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, reaching up to you. Then he hesitated for a moment. “You don’t have to get in if you don’t want to.”

You took his hands a moment later, though. Wordlessly, Soonyoung helped you down into the water. Your chest pressed against his own, his hands lingering at your hips for a moment, and he smiled at you before he finally let go.

(For a moment, Soonyoung wondered if your lips were as soft as they looked... then he shoved that thought away. Not now. You were his friend. Nothing more.)

“So?” His eyes were twinkling. “How does it feel?”

It wasn’t as cold as you had expected it to be (Soonyoung had thrown his full body into it, after all, so you weren’t sure if he’d just pushed past that initial shock of cold or not). To be honest, it was heavenly compared to how hot it was out. “You were right,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s the perfect day for this.”

He smiled, pushing himself back through the water as he splashed at you with a giggle. “So...” He said. “Now that we’re alone...”

Oh no. You felt questions coming.

“Do you like Chan?”

... Chan? Sure, he was cute (all of them were attractive, to be fair), but you shook your head. And you did it again and again when he asked about Seungcheol and Joshua, too...

Before he could get down the entire list, you stopped him. “I don’t like anyone like that.”

Soonyoung nodded. “Okay... But you know you don’t have to hide your feelings if you have them. It’s just the fourteen of us now,” he bobbed a little in the water. “If you ever develop feelings, you shouldn’t be afraid of them.”

“What, do you have feelings for someone?” You’d quipped. Soonyoung smiled: he liked seeing this side of you.

He shook his head. “I love my team,” he said with a teasing lift to his voice, “including you, now. I was just thinking about it the other day...”

Was he a romantic? You had never considered Soonyoung to be like that compared to someone like Minghao or Mingyu or... potentially even Seungcheol, now that you were thinking about it. “I think we all love you, too,” you said instead of asking what you wanted to know.

“I know,” he smiled cheekily. “But we’re talking about you,” he said. “I just...” He grew quieter for a moment. “I’ve thought about it a lot. Not with you, but with the others, too... I think if any one of us were to confess something like that, we’d be okay with it. We’re adults,” he looked at you. “No one would get kicked out if something went wrong. It’s just us now, I think. We shouldn’t be afraid to feel things like that...”

Maybe he was a romantic. “I’ll keep it in mind,” you said. “To be honest...”

He hummed, perking up.

“I think... You’re all handsome.” He had laughed at your confession, head thrown back, and you splashed water toward him. “Don’t laugh! You are! All of you are handsome... Stupid Mingyu knows it, too...”

“Okay,” he said. “But where do I rank then?”

Oh, the tease. You splashed water at him again. “You don’t get to know!”

“So you have ranked us!”

“Soonyoung!”

Once his laughter had quelled, he turned to you, deciding to change the topic despite how much he wanted to know. He asked something about chores instead--what you hated the most or something--as he ignored the heart-fluttery feeling that had started to take root within his chest. It’d go away with time, he was sure of it. He just wanted to enjoy this time alone with you instead, having said what he wanted to say.

Yet on the walk back home, he felt the need to be more serious about it. “If you like someone, you should tell them,” he said at one point. “I think hesitating too much will only hurt you in the end. We’re all that’s left now.” His eyes met your own. “We should love one another freely and openly. There’s no point in hiding it forever.”

You had promised to keep that in mind, and it made him feel safer. Maybe Chan would confess his feelings for you if Soonyoung gave him the same pep talk later. It was clear that Chan had already begun to crush on you from the first day he met you, happy to find someone so similar to himself. Sure, the guy had bonded with Hansol and Seungkwan for similar reasons--but you and Chan were still newer than the rest of them. Soonyoung thought that the two of you would fit well together, too.

That night, he dreamed he was in a dance studio. He couldn’t remember what he was doing, or who he was with, or what music had been playing over the speakers... but he remembered gazing at himself in the mirror for a moment, only for a sharp yell be what drove him out of his dreams. No one in the room had said a word as Soonyoung woke up, looking around for who had called out...

But his gaze fell to you, sleeping peacefully beside him. That little mouse plush toy someone had made you was tucked into your arms, and Soonyoung found himself smiling at the view. How cute. He reached out, almost about to brush a tiny strand of hair out of your face, when he realized how... intimate that felt. He drew his hand back, and just watched you for a second longer.

Maybe he should take his own advice sometime.

Soonyoung loved dancing.

It was something he had always done since he came here, the song in his heart that was ever changing being enough for him to move to. There were a few others who danced, too (Jun, Minghao, and Chan: all with their own styles that Soonyoung found intriguing to watch), but... Sometimes, at the end of his chores, Soonyoung would go off by himself and find a space to be alone, and then he’d choreograph to the parts of a song Jihoon had written. The ones he’d commit to memory, just so he could dance to them. He always had ideas as to how he thought the choreography would go, and sometimes he’d show Jihoon if he felt like it. He’d never forget the afternoon where Jihoon and Joshua had been playing guitar together, and Soonyoung had pulled the others into dancing with him. It was before Hansol had come, and just shortly after Seungkwan remembered his name. Deep down, he hoped to make a new memory like that--not just with you, but with Hansol and Chan as well.

Dancing was freeing. There was a record player out in the city, somehow intact, that he brought back with him forever ago. He’d shoved a few records into his bag and he’d been careful with them (although he noticed the silent way Seungcheol grabbed another one that Soonyoung had fully intended to leave behind after a debate between them, and the way it was later tucked in with the other records). None of them were recognizable to Jihoon--not in the way his songs felt strangely like home to him and everyone else--but the five-person group on the faded cover felt so... familiar to him. Jeonghan seemed to recognize them, too. Sometimes the two of them would just sit together and listen.

Soonyoung put everything in order one day. The others had assembled a group to go out on a picnic together, and, last he heard, you would be going with them. With the place mostly to himself (at least the nearby area being clear), Soonyoung had pulled out that same record and began to play it. As long as he wasn’t disturbing anyone, he could lose himself in the music. The others had been stressed lately (so had he--this was just his way of getting it out), and some of them needed the quiet. Last Soonyoung heard, Seokmin and Mingyu had gotten into an argument over something and still weren’t fully over it. Maybe that was why Jeonghan suggested the picnic. He’d put the two of them on cooking duty alongside Jun, just to give them a common thing to work on. Soonyoung would have to hear the story from someone else later.

The music began, and Soonyoung took a deep breath. And then he lost himself in the upbeat song, soaring in a way that only dance could do for him.

And when he was done, he had been facing the open entryway. When he opened his eyes, there you were, wide-eyed but clearly impressed.

“Soonyoung...”

He suddenly felt sheepish, already apologizing for not noticing you sooner. He’d gone to turn off the music as you took a cautious step into the room, stopping him before he could do so.

“You’re really good,” you said. Soonyoung watched as you took another step, and began to wonder if maybe he’d been rubbing off on you. Jihoon told him that you overheard him playing his music during those first few days, and you had wanted to shy away instead of listen outright--the same way Jihoon had tried to shy away. You stopped, toying with your sleeve. “Were you a dancer before this?”

Soonyoung opened his mouth to say yes, although he wasn’t sure why. But he nodded after a second, embarrassment catching up with him and turning his face warm. “I think so.” Then he watched you, brightening back up, “Do you dance?”

You shook your hands. He extended his hands to you.

“Do you want to?” He said. “You don’t have to be good at it. I won’t be too harsh.”

His light teasing had earned a chuckle from you, and you placed your hands into his. He pulled you into the room with him, taking a few steps back.

“Are the others gone?” He asked, and when you nodded, he swore his heart rate began to pick up. It felt... weird to be so close to you without anyone else around. Sure, he’d gone out to the lake with you not too long ago, but this felt... different. More intimate. The others knew where the two of you were and that you were together. This felt secretive.

“The picnic group went out earlier...” You had paused, clearly trying to recount everyone’s whereabouts with a quiet hum as you thought. “Jeonghan ended up backing out to go on a walk with Cheollie... Hansol and Kwannie are up in the attic playing games...”

Soonyoung swore, for a moment, that his heart was going to burst at how cute you were. The quiet hum as you continued to wrack your brain, the way you pursed your lips a little... How could one person be so cute?

“Hao and Jun are fishing together, but they went out with the picnic group... So it’s just us. And maybe Wonwoo, but I think he said he wanted some space to himself today.”

Soonyoung nodded, hands still holding your own. Something about being alone with you made him flustered again, especially with having you so close to him. But he stepped in time with the music with you now, abandoning all thoughts of choreography in favor of simply having fun with you. It was silly to just swing your arms, to twirl with you, but it earned a smile from you. That was all he could want.

“Do you choreograph stuff yourself?”

“For these songs?” He asked, and then paused. “No. I think... I just learned them from someone else. But everything for Jihoon’s work is mine, I think.” At least, it felt more like his. Maybe he had learned it from someone else, too. But if Jihoon’s music was real, maybe Soonyoung choreographed to it with friends. That felt... a little right, but it was harder to explain that to you. “I’ll teach you sometime,” he said. “It’s fun.”

Soonyoung danced with you a little while longer, although it felt much more like the two of you were goofing around to music... while also holding hands. Soonyoung had to wonder if you noticed how rough his hands felt in places--from all the hard work he does with the others. As much as he tried to take care of himself, that was something he felt he was never really able to get rid of nowadays. Your hands were still slightly soft, in his opinion. If he let himself think on it longer, he’d... easily say that he enjoyed holding them.

And then you slipped. Whether it be on sweat or just you misplacing your foot, Soonyoung would never know, but his instinct was to hold onto you tighter as he tried to catch you. You had hooked an arm around him to try and steady yourself, only for him to get pulled down with you. He didn’t think. He just pulled you into his arms as quickly as he could, one hand cushioning the back of your head as the two of you hit the ground. With your face smushed into his chest, he just stayed there for a moment, mind processing what just happened.

As soon as he realized it, he drew away from you, propping himself up on his knees as he sat next to you. “Are you okay?”

He watched as you sat up after a moment, reaching up to brush your fingers where his hand had just been--saving you from a nasty knock to the head. You lifted your eyes to meet his. “Are you?”

“Hm?”

You blinked, and then grew flustered as you shook your head. “Never mind. I’m okay.” Your hand dropped down onto the floor, and you avoided eye contact, face growing even warmer. “Thank you for cushioning my fall.”

He smiled a little. “At least you didn’t get hurt this time.”

That made you furrow your brow, and you looked up. “Huh?”

“Oh. Um. Last time...?” He grew more flustered. “When I ran into you...”

You realized what he meant, and then giggled. “Right. Thank you, Soonie,” you stood up, offering him your hand. “I’m glad I have you looking out for me.”

Soonyoung felt his own face growing hotter at the nickname, but accepted your hand. He let you pull him up to his feet, and he looked over to the record as it continued to play. “Sometimes...” He looked at you. “I’ll work on things with the others. With, um, Seokmin and Seungkwan. We tried calling ourselves Soon-Seok-Seung once, but it didn’t really fit right...” He trailed off. He never was sure why it didn’t fit, it just felt... wrong.

“Really?” He noticed that your eyes had lit up in intrigue. “You guys perform together?”

He nodded. “Do you want to see?”

And oh that smile... “I’d love to.”

He’d pull something together. He had went to promise that to you, only for Wonwoo to pass by. He looked over, noticing him take a few steps back, asking if either of you had eaten yet. When you admit that you hadn’t, Soonyoung decided to bite back the promise he wanted to make to you. It‘d be better as a surprise anyway. The two of you had followed Wonwoo back to the main room, only for the sound of Chan calling out to you drawing you away from them. Soonyoung watched you go, a tiny longing within his heart as you called back out to Chan.

Wonwoo had stopped, too, looking at Soonyoung for a second. Then he, too, watched you disappear. “It’s obvious.”

Soonyoung blinked, looking back to Wonwoo. He knew his feelings were obvious, but... He decided to play dumb instead. “What is?”

Wonwoo looked over with a hum, and then chuckled softly. “Never mind.”

And for a moment, Soonyoung felt like Wonwoo knew something that he didn’t.

Soonyoung found himself drifting closer and closer to you. The days went past, and that meant it was getting closer to your first month of living with these men. Which meant that Soonyoung needed to start making plans. He’d depart from your side to call out to Seungcheol and Jihoon, and the three of them would reconvene elsewhere. The plans were the usual ones they pulled together: drinking and games and music. Jeonghan would likely bust out his paints again. Jihoon said he would check with Minghao, who had already begun drying flowers during your first week there since they’d need some new ones for decoration. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have the leftovers from Chan’s celebration, since they didn’t throw any of those out, but it felt... wrong if they merely re-used everything from his celebration.

Soonyoung took it upon himself to figure you out further, then. The group liked trying to find something extra special to each person, and Soonyoung was probably in the best position to figure out what you liked. The two of you had been seated in the shade, a bundle of flowers next to you. Seungkwan had taught you how to make flower crowns at some point, and Soonyoung watched as you worked.

“Do you remember anything now?” He asked from his spot on the ground, rolling onto his stomach as he peered up at you. “It’s okay if you haven’t.”

You carefully weaved a little yellow flower into the chain you were making. “Nothing I haven’t said before.”

“Which is?”

You hummed to yourself for a second. “My parents or someone cut up some fruit for me as a snack when I was younger. I don’t really remember anything past that. Just... eating strawberries. It’s not much.”

Soonyoung frowned a little. That was it? What could he do with that? He’d figure it out. “Okay... So what do you like?”

You looked up, and Soonyoung was sure you already knew what he was trying to do. But with a smile, you continued to make your crown. “I like a lot of things. Living here with you guys is probably close to the top, though.”

“How cheesy,” he teased with a giggle.

A slight roll of your eyes punctuated with your own giggle. “I dunno! I like a lot of things here.” You hummed to yourself as you thought. “I like... cooking with the others. Dancing with you was fun... and Jihoon’s let me listen to him sing a few times, but I think that’s because I was with Hansol. I like that, too, actually: going off with Hansol and the others is fun. And the time Jeonghan painted flowers on my face...”

Soonyoung was listening attentively, filing every little thing away in his mind. He’ll find something in there, he was sure.

“I... really liked watching you dance,” you said, quieter this time. Like you were confessing something for only him to hear. “You’re really good at it.”

Soonyoung felt the heat rush to his face at how earnest you sounded. Then it hit him: you liked him dancing. He could work with that. He popped himself up and off the ground, making up some excuse that he forgot about something Seungcheol had asked him to do. He quickly pecked you on the cheek, promising he’d catch up with you later.

(He didn’t know that you had been left sitting there, face burning hot as you touched the spot his lips had just been... only to smile to yourself a moment later. What a cutie.)

Soonyoung had found Seungkwan first, dragging him by the arm to where Seokmin and Jihoon had been talking by some stroke of luck. He had tripped over his words endlessly, but managed to get the gist across: they needed to pull together a little performance between the three of them. When Soonyoung said it was for you, Seungkwan had agreed easily enough. The two of you were friends, and he was happy to contribute his talents if it meant making you happy. Seokmin agreed, too: he liked performing, and knowing that you liked watching Soonyoung dance meant this would definitely be something you would enjoy.

And then he saw Jun and Mingyu, and pulled away from the conversation to call out to them. They had sugar, it shouldn’t be too hard to make candied fruit, right?

“I’ll even help--”

Mingyu and Jun both shot their heads up, already turning the offer down. “You can help prepare the fruit,” Mingyu said, gentler than his initial rejection. “We don’t want burnt sugar.”

Soonyoung smiled to himself, agreeing. He was going to make this the best possible experience for you. That much he would guarantee.

Despite how hard Soonyoung had begun to practice with the others... He knew he couldn’t control Seokmin or Seungkwan. Not that he ever wanted to, but it didn’t take long for him to realize just how seriously he was taking all of it. They’d begun working on a song with Jihoon, and Soonyoung felt as though he already knew bits and pieces. Yet writing was hard. It always was, Jihoon had told them: there was a reason why he never managed to break through and finish a song. But they’d meet up, they’d get things down, and then end up dispersing when nothing else came. Or sometimes Soonyoung would manage to rope them into learning the choreography he had already come up with for the part they already had down. Truthfully, Soonyoung wouldn’t have done it if the moves weren’t just... in his head. Something that seemed to haunt him as he went about his day, humming the part that Jihoon did write in a way that he later confessed felt like he knew it. Soonyoung had joked that they were plagiarizing songs or something, but he felt it, too. But in working on a performance befitting of your celebration, perfect enough for you, Soonyoung had to push you away to keep the surprise.

Which became really, really hard when Jeonghan let it slip that you’d asked about him multiple times. The others were meant to keep you distracted, and now... It felt wrong to avoid you when you seemed so concerned.

Jihoon was the one who called it quits, and told Soonyoung to go rest. Goof off. Relax or play games with the others--he didn’t care what, but he was done for the day. He’d ended up telling him to go and he’d finish the damn song on his own when Soonyoung pushed (your celebration was fast approaching, after all), before calming down to say that he felt like the space was what he needed to finish the song faster. He knew what he wanted it to say, he just... needed to sit with his own voice for a bit before reapproaching it as a group.

So with the rest of the evening to himself... That meant Soonyoung needed a distraction. And Seungcheol’s shoes, left out for anyone to take, was the perfect target. He’d grabbed them while Seungcheol wasn’t looking, and slipped them on with the plan to go out for a bit and maybe tease Seungcheol for leaving his things out again.

Of course, Seungcheol looked up from where he’d been resting for a few minutes, and immediately noted. “Soonyoung-ah!” He groaned, and Soonyoung almost giggled to himself--this wasn’t anything new at all. “Those are mine--” He sat up, only to realize what Soonyoung had grabbed that morning to wear. “Is that my sweater?! Soonyoung--”

At the end of the couch was a hat. One that Seungcheol claimed as his own forever ago, and one that he must have put down when he stopped to rest for a bit.. All within seconds, Soonyoung lunged for it, grabbing it before Seungcheol could get it, and took off running to go find you. He cackled at the sound of his name being called out, taking pure glee in being able to tease Seungcheol again like this. He made his way through the tunnels and out into the church before rushing outside, finding Minghao and Jun working on hanging laundry today.

“Where’s Mouse?”

Immediately, Minghao rolled his eyes and pointed off toward the river. With a thanks called over his shoulder, Soonyoung took off running, hearing Seungcheol calling after him once more. Soon enough, he had spotted you, and threw himself into the grass beside you.

Before you even spoke up, he’d pulled the hat off of his own head and pulled it onto yours securely. He smiled to himself. As much as he liked stealing it... He thought it looked way better on you. Most things did nowadays.

You blinked at him, pushing at the rim of the hat so you could meet his eyes. “Hi?”

“Hi.” He smiled at you, a mischievous glint glimmering in his eyes. “Now we’re partners in crime.”

And oh, that shy smile that crossed your lips. “Okay?”

“Do you want to go for a run?” He asked, looking ahead. “The lake is nice at this time of year. Didn’t Joshua tell you that? Or Chan?”

You furrowed your brows, tilting the bucket hat back a little further so it’d stop hanging awkwardly in your face. “Why would I want to--”

“Soonyoung-ah!”

Soonyoung only giggled, grabbing your hand again as he pulled you up and off of the ground. He looked at where Seungcheol was making his way out, still calling after him. You watched as Soonyoung raised an arm, waving at Seungcheol happily and calling out his own greeting in kind... only to immediately turn to you, wink, and then take off running with you in tow. His hand held tightly onto yours as he guided you away and toward the lake, away from where Seungcheol would chase. He’d wait for the two of you to come back eventually rather than follow you that far.

When Soonyoung looked back, he could see you holding onto his hand tightly, your other hand holding the hat onto your head. Even though the two of you weren’t being pursued, he kept running, the high of feeling free filling his body. Hopefully yours, too.

The two of you ended up collapsing into the grass eventually, laughing together now that you were at the lake and under the shade of the nearby trees. Even still, Soonyoung held onto your hand. His lungs ached for air, legs tired from running after spending so many days practicing for hours on end and drilling the choreography in Seungkwan and Seokmin’s heads. But when he looked over to check on you, you were smiling at him again. The laughter quelled, melting down into the eventual sound of two people breathing.

You sat up, pulling the hat off of your head. “So this is...?”

“Seungcheol’s.” Soonyoung then kicked a leg up into the air, pointing at his shoes, “These are, too. And so is this,” he tugged at the sweater he’d pulled on earlier after he found it lying around.

Seungcheol never really cared if someone borrowed his clothes. He just wanted people to ask first. This group was like family to him, and sometimes families shared things like this. Or maybe there was something more intimate than family. Soonyoung had thought to himself one night that he must be soulmates with everyone in that room. That was why boundaries seemed to break down between one another, why Seungcheol didn’t care (hell, sometimes he seemed happy to share little things like that with others) about people borrowing his things. As long as they asked, he’d be happy to give them the go-ahead.

So, to Soonyoung and literally everyone else, this meant teasing him by casually stealing things every now and then.

(It was at this point while Soonyoung gave you a loose explanation that your gaze flickered down to his collarbones, and you realized he was likely only wearing the sweater, no other shirts since it was warm enough out...)

“He keeps leaving his things around,” Soonyoung said, settling into the grass. “And I told him I’d steal them if he did.”

You slowly laid back down on the grass. “And now we’re partners in crime.”

He giggled for a moment, only to realize that you had never let go of his hand. His gaze fell back to your face, and he felt his heart sink a little. “I’ll take the blame if he’s mad,” he said, more concerned this time. You were new, he reminded himself. Maybe you were scared of angering Cheol (a hard thing to do) and potentially kicked out (an impossible thing to do). “Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t,” you were smiling again. “We’re partners in crime now.” Gently, you squeezed his hand. Your head fell to one side, meeting his gaze. “So we’re in this together, right?”

Together. Soonyoung’s gaze fell to your connected hands for a moment, before he looked at your face again. You were looking at him with this tenderness he hadn’t experienced before; not here. Maybe in another life, he had. But here? Living alone with all of the others? He knew he was cared for, but this... This felt different. His voice caught in his throat, and he nodded, sheepish all of a sudden.

“Good.” A light laugh colored your voice, and you pulled your hand free from his with ease.

You watched him for a moment, before gesturing for him to sit up. When he did, you shifted to where you could pull the hat back onto his head. With a tiny adjustment, you smiled at him again.

“There.” You settled back into the space next to him. “It looks better on you.”

I think you look good in anything. The compliment stayed on the tip of his tongue, because you took his hand again. Hell, you’d even grown closer to him while putting the hat on him...

“Soonyoung?” He could see you smiling, and he swore he’d die right then and there from how fast his heart was racing. At least he’d die seeing an angel. “Cat got your tongue?”

More like mouse. “I...” He started, gaze flickering down to your lips for a moment. “I’m just resting,” he lied.

“Okay.” Your head rested on his shoulder. “As long as you’re okay.”

Soonyoung had always been good at filling space when it came to conversation. And yet now, with you believing his stupid lie, you took that task onto yourself. You’d talked about something you did with Hansol the other day, or the fact that Mingyu had helped teach you how to prepare fish (whether you ate it or not, you said something about how you liked being helpful). All of this being spoken aloud in a low, soothing voice while you played with his fingers. And all Soonyoung could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss you.

At some point, he shifted so he’d be somewhat on his side as he watched you speak. He’d stopped holding your hand with one hand, but you gladly accepted his other, playing with the ring around his pinkie that he’d found weeks ago. Eventually, your eyes met his, and you began to trail off as something... changed between the two of you.

And, stupidly enough, Soonyoung went in for it, your lips meeting his own. He kissed you hard, almost as if he was scared that he’d open his eyes and you’d be gone. Even stupider, Soonyoung thought that you kissed back. When he opened his eyes again, drawing back, you were staring at him, all starry-eyed and lips slightly parted.

Oh. Fuck.

An apology already was tumbling its way past his lips as he scrambled back, realizing what he had done. He kissed you. Fuck, did you even like him like that? Or did he just plant one on you without thinking? Despite the way you called his name, telling him to wait, he took off in the opposite direction to go home. He’d feel guilty for leaving you once he stopped, but it was a straight shot home. You had plenty of sunlight left in the day. If you didn’t come home, then Soonyoung would go looking for you without a second thought, but now...

He hid in the gardens, making himself as small as he could. He could hear you calling for him later. When you inevitably disappeared inside of the church, he followed you in, waiting until you disappeared into the underground passage before he made his way into the attic instead. Maybe you wouldn’t come looking for him there. He made his way over to the bed, collapsing onto it with his head in his hands. When he eventually heard someone coming up the ladder, he was afraid it was you.

Instead, it was Seungcheol, who sighed loudly when he saw him. He pulled himself up and into the attic, “Just ask,” he said, as if the stupid hat and shoes and sweater were what made Soonyoung hide out. “I’m not mad anymore.” He came over, sinking down into the space next to this. “Did you have to drag them into this?”

Soonyoung said nothing, the way he kissed you replaying in his head over and over now. Did he have to drag you into this?

“Soonyoung?” Seungcheol sighed again. “I’m not mad.” Soonyoung could feel the hat get pulled off of his head, and Soonyoung slowly raised his head to look at Seungcheol. He watched as his brows knit together, realization dawned on him immediately. “... Did something happen?”

Soonyoung’s voice was still back by the lake, lost in broken, messy apologies that he couldn’t fully say. He just dove in and wrapped his arms around Seungcheol tight, face buried in his shoulder as he fought back the urge to cry. Seungcheol had stiffened up at first, taken aback by the action, but Soonyoung only hugged him tighter.

And Seungcheol knew. He had heard you telling Chan about it before he came looking for Soonyoung. You hadn’t wanted everyone to hear it, but Seungcheol just... almost stumbled into view (which would have stopped you), and he had questions that needed answering, so he listened instead to you recount how Soonyoung kissed you hard enough on the lips to mean something. When Soonyoung finally drew away from Seungcheol, he looked afraid. Whether it was of facing you or facing the others, Seungcheol couldn’t be sure.

“If you love them, you should tell them,” Seungcheol said in a quiet voice. Gentle as he could be. He understood how Soonyoung felt. “No one will be upset.”

That was a lie, and Soonyoung knew it. He buried his face back into Seungcheol’s neck, still fighting that choking urge to sob. He knew. He knew he wasn’t the only one who loved you like this. He knew that Chan did. He knew that Cheol did, too. Fuck, Soonyoung thought a few others had begun to fall for you as well (and why wouldn’t they? Soonyoung thought you were wonderful, and couldn’t picture his existence without you now). It felt selfish to love you so much when he knew the others did, too. What had he done to deserve your love?

Seungcheol’s arms settled around Soonyoung after a moment, gently rubbing his back. “I’ll send Jihoon up with dinner. If you want to sleep up here, it might be good to get some space. Don’t worry about Mouse,” he felt a gentle pat on his back, just to reassure him. “I’ll talk to them.”

He wanted to say No, don’t. He should talk to you, shouldn’t he? But he just drew away from Seungcheol with a numb nod of agreement. Space sounded nice, too. Yet when Seungcheol stepped away, Soonyoung had grabbed him by the wrist. He waited until Seungcheol finally looked at him, and he swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to love them like this.”

Seungcheol understood: I know you love them. I’m sorry. But Seungcheol reached out, ruffling his hair instead. Like an older brother, Soonyoung thought. “We’re adults,” he said, the lighthearted tone enough to soothe over some of Soonyoung’s fears. “No one will be mad at you as long as you treat them right.” 

He felt safer. Right. That’s all anyone would want, right? For you to be safe and loved and treated right? That’s all anyone there could want. That was why they stayed with each other, after all. It was a different kind of love that Soonyoung felt for you compared to the others, but the word itself was the same. And Soonyoung knew that as much as he loved you, he loved the others equally, maybe even more: this love for you was new and small and had space to grow, but he knew he did love you in the way he’d loved the others... things were complicated.

Seungcheol left him there, and eventually Jihoon came up with a package dinner in his bag so he wouldn’t have to struggle with carrying a tray up there (enough for the two of them to eat together, Soonyoung noticed). He’d teased him lightly about hiding out up here, something about making the task of bringing him dinner harder, but he sat down with him on the floor and waited until he began to eat. Just to make sure he would.

“I also brought this...” Jihoon pulled out his songwriting notebook. “I wanted to finish the lyrics with you. Seokmin and Seungkwan helped a lot, but there’s a verse I couldn’t figure out... Maybe we could finish it.” He thumbed through the pages lightly, “It doesn’t feel like this song was meant to be mine alone.”

(Soonyoung noticed that... sometimes, Jihoon talked distantly. Like there was still someone missing from the writing process of his songs.)

“I’ll play it for you when we’re done,” he said. “I think you’ll like it.”

And he did. With Soonyoung and JIhoon working together, the rest of the song just seemed to fall fully into place. He watched as Jihoon grabbed the guitar from the corner of the room, playing it well and singing it even better. It felt... right in a way that Soonyoung couldn’t describe. The same kind of right he felt when Chan came to them almost two months ago, like everything had fallen into place. Like this song was meant to be.

Soonyoung could see the words JUST DO IT written at the top of the page, and found himself smiling. “Is this a sign?”

“Yes.” Jihoon didn’t miss a beat. “From all of us. It’s painful to watch you stare at them every day--You look like a sad puppy waiting for its owner.”

Maybe so. His sappy, love-filled gazing at you hadn’t gone unnoticed by pretty much everyone. His smile fell, though, and he began picking through his dinner. “I kissed them.”

“I thought so.”

Soonyoung’s head jerked up. “You what?”

“They kept looking for you,” Jihoon said. “More than usual. It felt like they wanted to say something. They only stopped after Seungcheol told them that you needed space tonight--but it’s obvious what they wanted to say.”

Soonyoung felt his heart skip a beat. You were looking for him? “So you think...”

“You already know,” Jihoon said. “So tell them.”

Soonyoung looked over the lyrics again. They weren’t tailor-made for you or even this situation, but they gave him a confidence boost he had needed after everything went down. Just do it. So he nodded, already making plans in his head to tell you the right way. “I will.”

Soonyoung found you the next day with a goal in mind. Despite how hard it already felt the moment he saw you, still so radiant despite being covered in dirt from the vegetables you harvested, he knew he wanted to confess to you right. He’d already given Seokmin his thanks for watching over you, having overheard how you’d gone to him and confessed your fears that Soonyoung was upset with you. Not that he blamed you: he kissed you and ran away when he realized how much he felt for you. You were just... clueless to it all. To how he fell for you over the past month, faster than he ever thought.

“Soonyoung,” your gaze had softened when you saw him. You set down your bag, dusting yourself off as you straightened up to face him. “If it’s about yesterday, it’s okay--”

He shook his head. “I want to tell you how I feel,” he said, taking your hands in his own. “But I can’t yet. Can you wait for me?”

You gaped a bit at first, struggling to string together words for a moment. Then you pressed your lips together, exhaling hard through your nose as you gathered your courage. “Soonyoung, if you don’t like me, it’s okay--”

“Will you wait for me?” He pushed further, squeezing your hands. “Please? I wouldn’t ask you to wait otherwise.”

Oh. Oh. That said it loud and clear: I wouldn’t lead you on like that. You smiled after a moment, so shy to this new feeling of reciprocation between the two of you. “How long?”

“You’ll see,” he said, unable to fight back his own smile. “A few days. And I’ll meet you outside under the big tree in the courtyard. Okay?”

The moment you gave your okay, Soonyoung pressed one quick kiss against your forehead before rushing off to find Seokmin and Seungkwan (only to find them talking with Jihoon). They could pull things together in a few days. Hell, they already had a song they’d been working on together--never fully able to finish on their own, but that wasn’t the point. Maybe one day they’d teach the song to the entire group for fun, but this little thing was their song. Of course, he didn’t expect the others to finish what the three of them had written with the help of Jihoon... but Jihoon had waved off the idea that he had finished a song. It was all of them together. They had finished the lyrics together, and the melody just... came to him.

“Maybe that’s what’s missing...” Jihoon had said softly under his breath. A thought that Soonyoung would return to once he had said the things he needed to say.

It hurt to not see you for those next few days outside of meals, but Soonyoung had a job to commit to. If he could woo you with a song, then maybe his dedication would tell you how you made him feel. How deeply he had begun to love you, wanting to give you his all... even if some of the song started to feel a little targeted at him after a while. Maybe it was the pointed way Seokmin and Seungkwan sang at him sometimes when they were goofing off while rehearsing. If Soonyoung didn’t talk to you directly, then he was pretty sure everyone else was going to. Even without seeing you as much as he wished, Soonyoung found joy in the way he could curl up to you at night, only to find you snuggling up to him soon after.

(He just yearned to officially call himself yours, mentally kicking himself for this self-imposed commitment. He could just say it. He could. But... Where was the fun in that?)

The morning of your celebration, he felt you stir in his arms. Your eyes found his after a moment, and he smiled, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

“I’ll see you soon,” he said in a quiet voice. “Rest well,” another kiss, “Thank you for staying with us.”

You’d pawed through the air toward him as he climbed out of bed, breaking his heart a little bit to have to leave you. He made his way through the main room, glancing over to where Jun and Seokmin were busy with making candied fruit for you (alongside with other food for the party). How early had they woken up to start preparations? He was sure Mingyu would help soon, but that he would have already eaten breakfast and headed into the church to start preparing things. After running through his morning ritual and shoving some quick breakfast into his mouth, he went to join the others where they’d been busy cleaning everything before getting things into place.

Soonyoung knew how boring it had to be to kill hours. But he knew that Chan would go to fetch you when time came, and instead focused his efforts into everything.

“Soonyoung,” Jeonghan called out from where he was helping set chairs back up, “you’re dancing again.”

... Was he? He stopped his movements, looking up with a slight head tilt. “Huh?”

“They’re going to love it,” Jeonghan said with a small smile, continuing to pick up another chair. “So don’t worry too much, okay?”

Right. He just had to have faith that you would... and that you could understand what he was saying with it. 

Was it wrong to be a little jealous of Chan? He watched the way that Chan came back in, holding the curtains open for the two of you to enter through with his hand holding your own. Despite taking part in throwing dried flowers around you, in watching Seungkwan as he crowned you with the usual flower crown that he crafted himself... He wanted to be the sole person you paid attention to. Chan stayed at your side, even while Seungcheol gave the usual “thank you for staying, we love you”  speech that ended up making you a little emotional (was he truly down so bad, as Hansol would say, that he wanted to wipe your tears away?) in doing so.

At least he knew you were loved by not only him. In the casual way Chan had an arm around you, or the joke that Hansol cracked to hear your laugh--even if it was at Seungkwan’s expense, judging on the way Seungkwan had playfully elbowed him. The way Mingyu had brought you a small snack, talking about how they’d all worked hard on everything. He could see the way Minghao attentively listened when you spoke, the way both Jeonghan and Joshua happily answered your questions about previous parties and whatnot. Wonwoo wordlessly fixed your flower crown as he was passing by to get another drink, while Jihoon and Jun had been talking to you about something that Soonyoung hadn’t caught. Hopefully no thinly veiled comments about what was to come--everyone knew at this point, except for you. Seungcheol merely stood off to the side, watching everything with this fond look on his face.

You were loved. Truly, Soonyoung wanted nothing more for you to know that, and he was sure that you knew.

Seungkwan and Seokmin had disappeared into the backstage area to pull on the matching jackets. Or, well, it was as matching as they could get--similar enough that it unified them as a trio. Jihoon had elbowed him on his way to get his guitar.

“Stop staring,” he said, “it’s obvious.”

Maybe it was, even to you, but Soonyoung was okay with that. Life was too short to not say the things he needed to... Even if he was putting it off to do it with flair.

When Soonyoung peeked out at you through the makeshift curtains, you were eating a candied strawberry in a seat that someone had ushered all of you into. You were back to talking with Hansol and Chan, flower crown still perched on the top of your face. Seungcheol had that same fond look on his face as he poured drinks, refilling your cup before planting a tiny kiss on the top of your head before moving on. The moment drinks were doled out for everyone, Soonyoung gave him the quick okay as they were all ready. Jihoon had pulled the guitar strap over his head, heading out to his stool just off the stage so that he could be ready.

Seungcheol cleared his throat, quieting down the group. “For a while, we didn’t do things like this,” he said with a nod toward the room around him. “We found joy in each other, but we never thought to celebrate it. If it weren’t for Seokmin, we likely wouldn’t have started this.”

(Soonyoung could see the tiny way Seokmin smiled a little harder as he adjusted his jacket before swiping a hand through his hair, making himself look more presentable.)

“I know I shouldn’t bring it up,” he said, “but we’re all that’s left as far as we know. When someone makes a choice to stay here and embrace community among strangers... It’s hard. I think we all struggled with it.” A moment of agreement among them all, quieting down just as soon as it started. “That’s why we celebrate ourselves: to remind ourselves that we’re a group... And that we love each other.” He turned to you. “Mouse,” he paused, correcting himself with your name, “You wouldn’t know this, but we like performing for one another. Joshua sang when we had our cook-out right after you came, but we usually do... More. Jihoon will sing, Minghao has danced before. Sometimes we have nights where we perform, but you’ll see those eventually. If you want, you can join us--or you can watch. No one will hold it against you.”

(Soonyoung can see the nervous way you smile, leaning further into Hansol’s side. Maybe he’ll teach you a dance sometime... It’s a nice dream , to be honest.)

“I know I said it before,” Seungcheol said, “but thank you for staying. For deciding you want to help us. And for loving us, too. Several of us have plans for tonight, but Soonyoung insisted on going first with Seokmin and Seungkwan.” He stepped back to his chair. He smiled with pride, cup raised toward the curtains, “Soonyoung! Make us proud!”

With a shared smile between the three of them, Jihoon began to play. Seokmin pushed his way out of the curtains immediately, greeting everyone with something that felt right in a way Soonyoung never knew it was: They call us Boo-Seok-Soon.

Every chance he got, Soonyoung smiled at you. Even when he was left slightly panting (his nerves were tiring as hell--he needed this to be perfect for you) and tired from the high energy number, he was smiling at you. The group applauded (and you were so, so happy and smiling hard enough he thought your cheeks must be hurting). He just hoped you understood what he meant.

It was silly as several others started hurling questions at the trio, as if they were interviewing them post-performance. A question about what came next from Boo-Seok-Soon (...and a question as to when the hell Seungkwan remembered his last name), which only led Soonyoung to deflect all questions to their manager and producer, our Jihoonie. It had turned his face red as he said he’d consider trying a new song for them as a trio if they wanted to collaborate, taking the question a little too seriously (but Soonyoung liked it: maybe they’d do something again in the future). As soon as he could, he threw himself into the empty chair next to you and held back the urge to kiss you again right then and there.

It was cute to watch the way you went around to hug everyone once the night started winding up, already sleepy. He disappeared outside as quietly as he could, planting himself underneath the large tree until you would come to join him. Some of them had already gone off to bed, likely to wash off the paint from Jeonghan (or the marker from various members--everyone’s marked up by the end of the night by paint or ink). Meanwhile, Soonyoung just stood, waiting nervously for you.

How was it that you made him so nervous? Performing from everyone was second nature to him, and yet you were the one who made his heart race.

He could hear you raise your voice, “Soonyoung’s missing? Ah... It’s fine. I’ll go find him!” As if you didn’t know all you had to do was step outside. Your eyes were glimmering as you turned to him, smiling hard at the sight of him.

You didn’t hesitate to run toward him as soon as the door was shut behind you, already wrapping your arms around him. His hands fell to your waist, beaming with pure, unfiltered joy at having you close to him again. The two of you were maybe a little tipsy at this point in the night, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to tell you. Soonyoung was so, so ready to love you the way you deserved to be loved.

“Did you like it?” He asked when you drew back, hands resting on his chest.

You nodded eagerly, eyes twinkling. Or maybe that was the stars... But Soonyoung thought he liked the ones in your eyes far more. “So... Just do it, huh?”

He smiled a little harder. “Jihoon said it was a message from everyone to us.” Soonyoung paused, thumb running along your skin. “Ah... Well... To me...”

You giggled. “And?”

His gaze flickered down to your lips for a moment, hands reaching up to cup your face. “May I...?”

You leaned in, happily kissing him instead. His nose bumped against your own, and you just giggled, turning your head a little more so that you could kiss him happily.

Yeah. Soonyoung could definitely get used to this.

general taglist: @twancingyunhao​ @wonuziex​ @synthetickitsune​ @cinnamoroxie​

under the sun taglist: @shiningstar-byulxx​​ @twogyuu​​ @strawberri-uyu​​ @bbmyungho​​  @thedeeppoet​​ @heeseung-lover686​​  @jeonncafe​​  @bfwonu​​  @dreamhannies​​ @yourfavoritefreakyhan​​  @amethyistheart​​ @jeonnyread​​  @nap-of-a-starr​  @fr0g-filez​

[bookworm551]

The Great War | Part 3 | Neteyam x Omatikaya!reader

Summary: You and Neteyam were childhood friends, always looking out for each other, but when the Sky People returned, neither of you could have anticipated the way it would affect your relationship with one another.

A/N: Like I said, you weren’t going to have to wait very long for this part since I had written it along side part 2. Thank you to everyone who replied on my previous parts, y’all are awesome! Here’s some more for you, including some lovely Kiri content. I’ve got the next part mostly done too, so hang in there. Also, I may or may not do a spicy part 5. What do y’all think?

4.2k words

Warnings: canon-typical violence, angst, mentions of death

Part 1     Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

Three days later was the day of the mission which you weren't allowed to join. It was one of the largest offensive attacks that Jake had organized, with several dozen members of the Omatikaya enlisted to help fight, but not you.

In that time, you had avoided Neteyam like he was death itself. He had tried to approach you a couple of times, but each time you simply walked away. When he would try and follow you, you would find a friend to talk to, making it awkward for him to try to speak with you. Each of his siblings had tried talking to you to figure out what happened between you and their older brother, including Tuk, but they each got the same deadpan answer of, "I'm not talking about this."

He even went so far as to speak with your father, a fairly introverted Na'vi who became even more withdrawn after the death of his mate. You were somewhat startled when he tried talking to you about Neteyam, but you quickly shut him down much to your father's surprise.

"He is one of your oldest friends," he pointed out as you were eating together one night. "You should speak with him about what happened." You bit into your food in annoyance and after a moment of silence, you responded gravely, "He is not my friend anymore." The words tasted bitter as you spoke them, and it broke your heart, but there was one thing you had found value in yourself; your ability to fight. And he had taken it from you. You couldn't forgive him for that.

On the day of the battle, you didn't see Neteyam or any of the other warriors off when they left for the attack. Instead, you had busied yourself with weaving a blanket on the loom that had been in your family for generations. There weren't a lot of quiet skills that you excelled at, but this was one of them. You tried not to think about the war party as you worked in silence, instead, thinking of what you could work on next to stay occupied.

As you continued working, you heard someone enter your tent. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw Kiri walk in. Immediately, you were on guard, but you didn't try to send her off.

"It looks beautiful," she complimented your progress kindly. You gave her a suspicious look before turning back to your work on your loom. "I'm not talking about Neteyam," you told her dully. "Neither am I," she countered, sitting at your side. "I'm talking about your blanket."

You scoffed quietly. You were very defensive around her and her siblings, and you weren't convinced that she came just to talk about your weaving abilities. Despite your misgivings, you decided to try having a normal conversation.

"This loom was created by my father's grandfather," you told her after a moment of silence had passed. "The skill of weaving has been passed down through my family for many generations. It makes me feel closer to my ancestors." Kiri watched as your fingers moved expertly across the threads. "I understand," she replied sincerely. "I enjoy learning about Eywa and the art of healing from my grandmother."

You nodded quietly. "You would make an excellent Tsahik," you told her. Though the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik were usually a mated pair, it was not uncommon for the roles to fall to separate members of a tribe. Such was the current case in your tribe, as Mo'at was the current Tsahik, while her daughter's son was Olo'eyktan. So, too, was it within reason that the next tribe leader and spiritual leader could be brother and sister.

"Perhaps," she said modestly, "though I still have much to learn before then." She paused, and you could feel her gaze on you. "So does my brother before he takes my father's mantle." Your mood instantly dropped at the mention of Neteyam. "I told you that I'm not talking about—"

"He told me everything."

Your hands stopped working. Irritation burned through your chest, and you ground your teeth to keep from cursing. "Of course he did," you muttered angrily as you continued your work, not looking at Kiri.

"To his credit," she defended, "he was resolved not to say anything." She then smugly added, "I had to violently threaten him to get the truth out of him." You smirked despite yourself. Kiri was probably one of the most passive members of the Omatikaya, and the thought of her doing anything violent to her warrior brother was comical. The truth was that she had probably threatened to involve their mother, and that would be enough to get him to talk.

"Listen," she said gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. You paused your work. "I know better than most that my brother can be a skxawng. He always believes he is right, and he hates not being in control of a situation." You sighed in exasperation, knowing that her description was painfully accurate. She continued, "But I also know that he is like that because he cares so much about the people around him, and he is absolutely terrified of losing you."

You close your eyes, your hurt and sadness resurfacing after all your effort to suppress it the past few days. "He thinks he is protecting you, but he cannot see that he is pushing you away," she said. Her words made sense. Deep down, you knew that he did what he did to keep you safe, but it was the fact that he broke your trust that made you never want to speak with him again.

"He had no right—," your voice cracked. You took a breath and tried again. "He had no right to speak to your father about it. I should be out there fighting with them, not stuck here being grounded and useless." You felt tears prick at your eyes, and you huffed in exasperation. You did not want to cry now.

"He should not have betrayed your trust," Kiri agreed solemnly. "That was wrong for him to do. But you are more than a warrior, and you are not useless." You scoffed, but she pushed at your shoulder so that you faced her better. "You are an excellent hunter and possess a great talent for craftsmanship," she told you earnestly, gesturing to the detailed patterns on your partially finished blanket. "You are well-liked and respected among the People, and you are one of my dearest friends."

You glanced up at her face, taking in the avatar-like features that made her stand out amongst the other Na'vi. Even though she was barely into her adulthood, she had a mature countenance that surpassed all the other clan members your age. Her voice was deep and sincere as she spoke to you, causing your defensive attitude to start to crumble.

You shook your head softly. "I don't feel valuable when I'm here," you confessed quietly. "I feel that my only useful skill is to fight." She looked at you sadly. "That is not the truth," she argued gently. "What will you do if the Sky People leave, and there is no more war?"

You blinked. You had been so consumed with defeating the invasive humans that you hadn't considered what would happen next. Everything seemed to revolve around the war, so thinking of a future without it was difficult for you to imagine. Kiri didn't say anything as you contemplated her question. "I don't know," you admitted finally. "I never really thought about what happens after." She didn't say anything, she just sat and watched you carefully.

"I suppose," you began hesitatingly, "I suppose since I lost my mother, I have only been focused on the war. I have not given much thought to anything else." Kiri tilted her head slightly sideways in mild curiosity. "You've never thought about your future?" She asked.

"I've thought about my Uniltaron trial," you responded. "But now, even that has been taken away until your grandmother gives her blessing again." Kiri gave you a look of mild exasperation. "That is not what I meant when I said your future," she told you.

Ah.

You used to daydream about how your life would look like when you were grown. You would think about having a mate, harboring a secret hope that you would find one in your best friend. You would wonder about the life you would have. Would you have a family? Would you be able to see a world beyond the forest? You stopped asking yourself questions like that when the war came and left its ugly stain on your life.

"I haven't thought about such things in a long time," you said quietly to Kiri. She let out a sympathetic sigh. "It's hard to think about right now when everything is so unclear," she admitted. "But in such uncertain times, we must stick together as one People." She grabbed your hand with her own five-fingered one.

"I won't ask for you to talk to him," she clarified, "or to forgive him. But I want you to know that holding on will not make anything about this bleak situation any better." You looked away from her gentle gaze. You knew she was right, but there was nothing Eywa had made stronger than your stubbornness.

"I don't know how to let go," you admitted after a second. "Every time I think about it, I am refilled with anger." You rubbed your face in exasperation. "I don't know how to face him after what he did to me." Kiri squeezed your hand. "I can't tell you what to do," she said slowly. "It is for you to decide."

Looking down at your clasped hands, you meditated on all the negative feelings you had: anger, hurt, sadness, longing. It was overwhelming. "I just feel lost," you whispered emotionally. Kiri frowned sadly and pulled you into a tight hug. You felt all the emotions rise up in your throat as your friend held you. "That's okay," she whispered back. You pulled her tighter and felt tears run down your cheeks, but you tried to rein in your emotions.

"He misses you."

Three words and all your defenses came down, and you started shaking with sobs. You released all of your longing and pain into your breakdown. All the rage you felt towards the humans who took away your mother, all the frustration you had about your injury, and all the hurt feelings of Neteyam's betrayal came flooding out of you in one cathartic cry. Kiri held you the whole time, rubbing your back comfortingly. Breathing in ragged breaths, you finally choked out, "I miss him too."

After you were able to regain your composure somewhat, you pulled back and saw that Kiri had also been crying with you, albeit quietly. You wiped your face and tried to even out your breathing. "Thank you," you told her finally, your voice hoarse from crying. She wiped her own tears and smiled at you. "Of course," she said softly.

Kiri stayed with you for a while longer before you asked for some privacy. Feeling emotionally drained, you decided to rest for a time. You felt less burdened now that you had confided in her. You thought about what she had said regarding your grudge against her brother, and you felt the truth of it in your heart. Holding onto your anger towards him was not only hurting him, but it was also slowly killing you, too. With that thought in mind, you fell asleep.

You were awoken by the sounds of excited and anxious voices outside. Feeling better after your nap, you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and pushed out of your tent. Dozens of people were rushing towards the front of the camp hurriedly. The war party must have returned.

Joining in with the crowd, you pushed your way to the entrance of the cave. Though you weren't quite ready to forgive Neteyam for what he had done, you still wanted to speak with him so that he at least had the opportunity to apologize, and maybe then could you could work towards some form of resolution.

Taking in the scene of the returning warriors, you were immediately alarmed by what you saw. There were many warriors who had left on this mission, but there was just over half that number presently settling back into camp. Your heart sank. This was a heavy loss, perhaps the worst your people had suffered in a battle since the Sky People had returned.

Pushing through the crowd, you looked around desperately for your friends, specifically Neteyam. You spotted Lo'ak as he landed, but before you could call out to him, he immediately jumped off of his ikran and ran over to where his mother had just landed, holding a figure in her arms.

Your world stopped when you realized it was Neteyam.

You stood rooted to the spot in horror. He was hunched over in front of Neytiri with his eyes screwed shut in pain. He was gripping at his right shoulder weakly, and you saw to your dismay a large glass shard had lodged itself upwards into his chest.

Neytiri, as carefully and urgently as she could, pulled her son from her ikran. "Mother!" She cried out frantically, looking around desperately for the Tsahik. Mo'at pushed her way forward and took in the sight of her grandson with a sharp breath. "Come quickly," she told them before turning to Kiri with a quick order to prepare certain herbs and medicines for Neteyam.

Stumbling forward, Neteyam followed their leading hands toward the medical tents. He was leaning on his mother's strong figure as he walked slowly upwards. The crowd had parted to let them pass, and gasps rose up from people as they saw the serious injury he had.

You couldn't move, couldn't speak. You wanted to do something, anything, but your arms and legs felt like lead, and your voice was stuck in your throat. Neteyam's eyes passed over the crowd in an unfocused daze, but when they glanced at you, he seemed to zone in on your face.

You saw him mouth your name, then, as he passed by, you heard him say in a ragged voice, "I'm sorry." Hearing him seemed to snap you out of your paralysis. Shoving through the crowd, you did your best to keep up with him and his family towards the healing tent, but more and more people were showing up to see the war party, making it difficult.

You finally made it out of the sea of people as Neteyam was entering the tent. You tried to follow them in, but Kiri stood blocking your way. "You need to go," she told you, gripping your shoulders tightly. You shook your head desperately. "No," you begged. "No, please, let me in." Her grip tightened, and her voice hardened. "You need to go," she repeated. Looking at her face, you could see the fear in her eyes, and it made your resolution falter.

"No, Kiri," Neteyam's pained voice called out from behind her. "I want— I want her here." Kiri hesitated for a moment before dropping her arms and letting you in. You immediately rushed to his side. He was heaving in uneven breaths, his whole face contorted in pain.

"Neteyam," you whispered his name emotionally, cupping his face in your hand. He opened his eyes for a second to look at you, raising his left hand to you. You instantly took it, and he closed his eyes in another pained grimace. "I'm sorry," he panted. "I'm sorry for everything." Tears gathered in your eyes. You had wanted an apology from him earlier, and now it was a cruel irony that he was giving it to you with a large glass stake in his chest.

Gripping his hand tightly, you brought it up to your cheek, holding onto his wrist with your other hand. You couldn't speak with all the emotions in your throat. This couldn't be happening. He didn't do stupid things like get hurt. Now, in addition to all the anger and hurt you'd been swimming in the past few days, you were hit by an overpowering wave of fear.

Around you, Mo'at and Kiri moved quickly to set up everything they needed to remove the glass shard and to treat the wound it left. Neytiri sat opposite of you on Neteyam's right side and held his other hand, whispering prayers to Eywa.

Mo'at moved in closer to his head, setting down bowls full of poultices and towels nearby to help treat the wound. "We are going to remove this," she warned him. He nodded his head, his breathing increasing as he anticipated the pain of the extraction. "Hold him down," Mo'at ordered. Kiri pressed down on his left shoulder next to you with most of her weight and place a steadying hand on his forehead.

Without any other warning, Mo'at pulled the shard out of its lodge. Neteyam instantly reacted, squeezing your hand so tight, you thought it would break. His cries of pain seethed through tightly clenched teeth. The two healers worked with dizzying speed once the glass was removed.

In the midst of the chaos, you heard someone at the tent. Looking over your shoulder, you saw Jake standing at the entrance. He looked like he'd been through hell, and now he was staring down at his injured son in distress. "How is he?" He asked quickly. You shook your head uncertainly.

Behind Jake, Tuk came in to see her brother. "Is he okay?" She asked in a small voice. Before anyone could answer, Mo'at said sternly, "Too many people." You understood your place was not there amongst the family, so you moved to get up and leave, but Neteyam kept his grip on your hand. With a grunt, he pulled you back down and whispered, "No."

Your heart ached. It was just a few hours ago that you were resolved to never speak to him again, but now, you were desperately holding onto every word he managed to say. How could you have been so stubborn? Guilt gnawed at your heart, and you gripped his hand tightly.

Jake saw his son's reaction. With a quick nod to Neytiri, he decided that he would be the one to go. Guiding Tuk out gently, he gave her some comforting words to calm her down.

You weren't sure how long the healers worked, but it seemed to stretch on for an eternity. After removing the glass piece, they gave Neteyam a sleeping draught that knocked him out almost immediately. While he was asleep, they continued working on him to stop the overflowing blood and stitch the wound together. The glass had left a clean, straight cut in his muscle, but Mo'at had determined that nothing vital had been damaged.

With the wound mended and patched up, the two exhausted healers took a break to check up on the other wounded. Neytiri had gotten up to find her mate and other children to check up on them. You never left his side, and you couldn't take your eyes off his unconscious face most of the time. Now it was only you and the resting warrior in the tent. You told the others that you would stay until he woke up and alert them of his consciousness.

You sat cross-legged next to him with a prayer cord in your hands. It was a leather band cut into five strips that you braided as you sang a song to Eywa. The song you were singing quietly to yourself was the prayer of healing. Your fingers braided expertly as you sang, and you zoned out so completely that you didn't even notice Neteyam stirring next to you.

"I've never heard you sing before," he commented quietly, breaking you out of your reverie with a start as you finished the song and the braid. "It's very nice." Under any other circumstances, you would have been embarrassed, but you were so relieved to hear his voice, it didn't even matter.

"You're awake," you gasped softly. "How do you feel?" He grunted in pain before responding, "Never better." You sighed and rubbed your face, feeling slightly relieved at his sarcasm. With your relief came the exhaustion you had been fighting off for hours, not to mention the emotional weariness that had taken its toll on your spirit as well.

"You look terrible," he said with a faint smile. You looked over at him before slightly smiling back. "You look worse," you responded. His wittiness was more than welcome to you after watching him writhe in pain just a few hours before. Looking at him now, you felt all the remorse in your heart for pushing him away. You never would have forgiven yourself if something worse had happened to him.

"Neteyam, I—"

He held up a hand to stop you. "Don't," he whispered softly. "Let me speak first." You swallowed your words and nodded silently. You remembered how he had apologized to you earlier as he was being carried away, so you figured he probably wanted to get it off of his chest now that he wasn't in a chaotic scenario anymore.

He dropped his hand down to rest on your knee, tracing his fingers gently across your skin. He sighed and looked up at you. "I do not know how to tell you how sorry I am," he began. "I knew you wanted to fight, but I was afraid that something would happen to you again if you went back into battle."

He paused, thinking about the past few weeks since your accident. "I have been living in fear every day since your injury," he admitted quietly. "I could not focus on anything except making sure you were safe. So, when you told me about your migraines, I felt justified in telling my father to keep you out of danger."

His words were hard for you to hear. It still made you upset knowing he intentionally betrayed your trust, but you listened intently to what he was saying.

"I see now that I have been trying to control something that only Eywa has power over," he said. "You had every right to be angry with me, and I am very sorry for what I did." You closed your eyes, letting his words sink in. After a moment, you opened them and looked down at your injured friend.

"I was angry," you agreed. "I was angry because for so long, I have only ever felt that I was useful when I fought in the war. So much of who I am stems from being a warrior and fighting the Sky People." You paused to think about your conversation with Kiri, and how your self-worth came from your identity as a warrior. "When I was taken out of the war party, I felt so lost, like I didn't have any other purpose or use," you continued. "I felt helpless and worthless."

Neteyam looked up at you with sadness. "You are not worthless," he insisted quietly. "You are precious to me, even if you could never fight again. That is why I told my father so that I would never lose you." He was staring at where his fingers were tracing over your leg, and you could see in his face that he was reflecting on the days since you last spoke. "I did not realize that by telling him, I would lose you anyway," he finished sadly.

His words made your throat tighten, and your eyes squeezed shut as tears threatened to spill over. You had to take a few breaths to steady yourself again.

"I am sorry I pushed you away," you told him finally. He shook his head at that. "No, I pushed you away," he said. "I never should have told my father. You were right to react the way you did." You didn't know what to say, so you didn't respond, looking down at him regretfully. He reached up his hand to trace the side of your face slowly and gently. "I will never push you away again," he whispered.

Your breath faltered at his touch, and for a second, you sat in silence, unable to speak. You leaned into his hand and closed your eyes for a moment. "I missed you," you said at last. "I don't want to fight anymore." He was looking up at you tenderly. "Never again," he agreed.

A loud voice walked by the entrance of the tent, pulling you from your quiet, intimate moment. "I should get your family," you told him quietly. He dropped his hand back to his side and nodded reluctantly.

You stood up to leave, but you paused and looked down at him. "I forgive you," you said earnestly. "For everything." His eyes held yours for a moment, relief and tenderness shining in them. "Thank you," he whispered. It was barely audible, but it punctured all of the tension in your chest. Then, with a small smile, you added, "That includes you almost dying." He grinned at you. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that, too," he said.

You shook your head with a smile, and you walked out to go find his family.

Next part

[little-annie]

Tape N⁰1

---

Steddie | 4.6k 🔞

Read on ao3 ⤵️

---

Okay, so maybe Steve Harrington was a little, just a touch, Bi- Curious. 

A term he'd learnt from Robin when he'd mentioned his curious thoughts from his teen years- 

Everyone feels this way, right? Like, guys dream about other guys but also girls, so that's not gay, right? And it's totally normal to feel my heartbeat pick up when a man gets naked on TV, right? Everyone feels that way about Johnny Depp, he's a good looking guy.

-and she explained to him, quite simply, "Steve, honey, that's kinda gay." To which he responded with a simple "Huh," and then was instructed to maybe watch a gay porn and see how it makes him feel. He supposed it was the safest option anyway. Going out to a bar and picking up a guy could go wrong in more ways than one. He liked his face, thought it was quite pretty actually and didn't want to have it rearranged along with his brain for yet another time. At least with watching a tape, he was safe and not using another person for his self exploration. Well, like with porn that's what the actors expected and consented to upon filming. Right? So what's the harm?

—

Their morning was the usual, Steve waking up at the ass crack of dawn to go out for a run, getting home just in time to witness Eddie shuffling from the kitchen to the living room, settling onto the couch with his feet tucked beneath him, holding a large mug that contained probably a pound of sugar and a few dozen ounces of coffee. His hair was ungodly, smashed flat on one side and frizzy to all hell on the other. Always ringless and clad in simple grey sweatpants or sometimes just his boxers. The sight alone made Steve's stomach flutter, let alone the fact that he was the only person on the planet that got to witness Eddie in this form.

Sleepy and a touch grumpy because "Jesus H. Christ, Steve, close the damn blinds, it's too early for sunshine,” Eddie was never a morning person or for as long as Steve knew him anyway. The young metalhead getting out of bed and wanting pure silence and dim lighting to slowly ease him into the land of the living, plus needing a terrifying amount of caffeine and sugar to consider him a functional human being, maybe some people would think he was a dick in the morning but if Steve was honest with himself, he kinda loved it.

On the mornings where Eddie didn't come shuffling out of his room like a grumpy gremlin, maybe because he had a nightmare and couldn't sleep and didn't want to wake Steve up for the third time that week to climb into his bed for moral support, Steve would brew him a cup of coffee, make his favourite for breakfast (chocolate chip pancakes) and knock gently on his door, to say a quiet good morning and set the tray of goodies on the floor in front of Eddie's door for when he got up.

But this morning, the pair had some time for each other, a rare occurrence for their mornings. Steve's classes didn't start until 1pm and Eddie was up before he'd left. Steve drew the blinds closed, allowing only a gentle flow of sunshine to enter the room and sat on the opposite end of the couch before taking a chance to talk to Eddie before 9am. 

Gently nudging the other man's thigh with his socked foot, Steve gained Eddie's attention, though his expression with something combined of a scowl and smile, like he was trying to keep up his grumpy morning routine but didn't entirely hate Steve. 

"You sleep alright last night?"

The doe eyed man simply shook his head before he took a long sigh, slouching deeper into the couch and spoke, voice still gravely from sleep or more likely the lack of, "No, but I have to mail a few packages and actually have shit to do today, so here I am, amongst the living far too early for a man who only just fell asleep at 4am."

That wasn't totally out of the ordinary, Eddie was a bit of a night owl, but he looked exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and complexion somehow whiter than usual. "Nightmares?" Steve asked, knowing the answer was more likely than not a yes.

Eddie hummed an affirmative, taking another sip of his coffee and scowling out the window when he heard a car alarm outside begin to go off

"You know, if it still helps, you're always more than welcome to wake me up or join me. I don't mind. I'd rather lose a few minutes myself while you climb into bed versus you losing several hours." If anything, it made Steve's nights easier too, he still had nightmares but after years of coping with them on his own, he had a system down. Wake up, have a shower, maybe go for a walk and just start his day from there, as long as it was after 4 am anyway. But with Eddie by his side, he felt safe, hardly had nightmares when the man was in his bed and conscious of it or not, Eddie always seemed to know when they did occur. Rolling over in bed to pull Steve against his chest or carding his fingers through his hair.

But last time that happened, they woke up nothing short of tangled together, morning wood ever present and Eddie quite literally springing from bed upon the realisation. At first Steve was hurt, but like he kinda gets it now, he knows Eddie's gay, the guy probably felt guilty or something of that sort upon realising their predicament. But it's not like he knew Steve was (probably/ realising he was at the time) Bi-Sexual and honestly was kinda into the metalhead. Hell, if Steve woke up hard and cuddled into a friend he thought was straight, his reaction would probably be the same.

"Eddie I mean it,-" Steve persisted after receiving a noncommittal nod as an answer, "-if you're worried about last time,-" Eddie's gaze shifted to meet his once again, amber eyes hooded by dark thick lashes, a subtle blush creeping up the young man's cheeks, "- don't be, I didn't mind."

"You didn't mind," Eddie quietly scoffs, "-you didn't mind your raging homosexual of a roommate getting a stiffy in your bed? Ha, sure Harrington. Let alone it digging into your thigh?" He scoffs again, averting his eyes back to a random stain on the carpet in front of him, trying to hide the blush on his cheeks behind his coffee mug.

Shrugging, feigning confidence and totally not freaking out over his minor confession, Steve remains persistent, "Didn't mind it."

It was then that he watched Eddie's nose crinkle and brow furrow, an indecipherable look on his face that only grew more puzzling to understand as his eyes shifted back to meet Steve's. Almost like he was searching for something but wasn't quite sure what.

They remained silent for a few minutes, the ambient sound of the city bleeding through their brick walls and into their bones, the sound of coffee being sipped and shallow almost anxious breathing. 

Then it occurred to Steve, if Eddie was going to be out this morning maybe he'd finally have time to watch one of those tapes Robin suggested. "Hey, um, wh- when are you gonna be back?"

Eddie hummed in question, taking a sip of his coffee, refusing to look at the man next to him.

"When will you be back? I uh, I could try to have lunch ready for you before I leave for class." Not that he wasn't asking an honest question, he was, he'd probably pop a frozen lasagna in the oven to be ready for when Eddie got home, but he also wanted to know how much time he had to himself for his 'research' while Eddie was out.

"Eleven, maybe." Eddie quietly spoke into his mug, downing the rest of his coffee, getting up and quietly padding back to the kitchen. 

Before Eddie could disappear back into his room, Steve spoke up glancing at the stack of boxes piled by their front door, "Okay, well, I'll have something ready for lunch before I leave then. Hey, uh, you need some help getting those boxes down to your van?”

Eddie worked his jaw, seeming to consider the offer before drawing in a silent breath and waving Steve off with a flick of the wrist, "Don't you worry your pretty little head Harrington, I got it."

—

Twenty minutes later Eddie was making his way out the door, boxes in hand as he smiled and wished Steve a good rest of his morning.

And okay, so maybe the indication of how excited Steve was to watch those tapes should have been proof enough. 

Perched by the window his heart hammered in his chest as he waited to watch Eddie drive off in his van. No more than seconds later did Steve find himself scrambling to his room, digging out the tape from under his bed and popping it into the VCR in the living room. 

Much too eager to even take the extra few steps to the couch, Steve plopped down feet from the TV and sat crisscrossed, waiting for the tape to roll.

Whoever had the tape before (which ew, now that Steve thought about that, hopefully the guy washed his hands) neglected to rewind the tape and apparently so did the video store. Without much warning the deep growl of moans began to pour from the TV in front of him and a blur of bare, tanned, hairy skin danced across the TV. It took a moment for Steve to process what was actually happening, but at least he wasn't appalled so that meant something he guessed and the sound of a man's deep groan made his briefs tighten, but immediately he knew this specific tape wasn't for him. He supposed he didn't find the men attractive, they were good looking, sure, but cookie cutter and lacking anything that he'd consider to be unique, alluring. No tattoos, pricing, scarring. Nothing that set them apart from the rest he supposed.

With less reservation then he probably should have had, Steve popped the tape out and without a thought pushed to look back in his and Eddie's tape collection. Behind the mix of horror, action and rom-coms,  Steve found Eddie's not so secret, secret stash of porn tapes. 

Was this over stepping some boundary ... maybe… but Eddie was a gay man, supposedly one with taste so it couldn't hurt to look. Out of the handful of tapes, they were surprisingly similar to the one Steve just ejected. Tanned, muscular, hairy men, some in gym shorts or cropped sports jerseys, but there was one, unmarked black case and a sticky tab on the tape that read "N⁰. 1" . It was weird but weird had to mean something other than cookie cutter right?

So Steve popped the tape in.

Sitting on the floor in front of the TV, Steve watched as the static turned to a dark, poorly lit bedroom, the only light being that of a lamp covered with a hanky. The low droll of metal music played in the background, audible enough to drown out the steps of the man walking into the frame. He was hardly visible, the dark glow of the room set a beautiful cast of shadows over his toned back and mess of long dark curls. 

Already Steve was intrigued, this tape had a set of mystery, darkness and need. He felt his heart hammer in his chest sending the blood rushing south and he hadn't even seen anything other than this man's backside. But what he had seen was breathtaking.

Yeah this would do.

Before he missed anything too important Steve checked the clock, he still had over an hour until Eddie got home. With more haste than necessary, he ran to his bedroom, retrieving a box of tissues and a bottle of lube. By the time he settled back on the floor in front of the TV, the man on the screen was laying on a bed, leaning back on his elbow as his one hand lazily stroked his generous length. Steve wished he could see the guy's face, wanted to watch his eyes and the twist of his lips as he let subtle gasps escape into the air, but the man's identity was hidden in the shadows. His lower abdomen to toes only visible in the frame.

Fucking good enough though.

Soon enough Steve mirrored the man's position, leaning back on an elbow, sweatpants wrangled just low enough to expose himself, heavily lubed hand matching the steady pace in front of him. Breathy gasps began to climb their way up his chest while he continued to take in the body before him. A slender toned frame and subtle muscles flexing with every twist of a wrist. 

'Fuckin’… Christ …' followed by louder gasps and shaky breaths, the voice on the screen groaned, its owner's pace quickening once again, the bed beginning to gently shake under his haste.

The man's voice alone nearly sent Steve over the edge, for some reason it sounded so familiar but good god did it do  something to him. "Oh fuck," Steve gasped, digging his nails into the carpet below him, toes curling and ecstacy boiling in his veins. He was so close. Moving quickly Steve pulled his shirt up his chest, exposing a blank canvas ready to be painted. Biting his lip, until nearly painful, he moaned along with the man on the screen, hardly being able to keep his eyes open from pleasure alone. 

He wanted to watch the other man come goddammit, he wasn't going to finish until he did. Thankfully he didn't need to wait much longer, staggered movements and a deep rattling groan later Steve joined the man in toppling over the edge. The sound alone made his bones ache for more. 

Chest and stomach painted white, air hot and breaths staggered, Steve took a minute to collect himself. Listening to the man on the screen pant, barely catching the smattering across his lower abdomen, Steve wanted to crawl through the TV screen and lick the dark haired beauty clean. Though apparently he was capable of that himself, moving into the light enough to expose a dim shadow of his lower face the man lifted his hand to his mouth, licking off any and all traces of his own release with a deep groan of satisfaction.

"Holy fuck," Steve gasped, out of breath and taking more effort than he deemed typically necessary to lean forward and stop the tape to rewind it. As the VHS spun back to its beginning, Steve took his time lazily cleaning his chest and stomach, come getting stuck in his copious amounts of body hair as he went. He'd have to shower before he went to class for sure.

With a groan and shaky knees Steve got off the floor, tucking himself back into his sweats when he remembered he'd promised Eddie lunch. "Fuckin' Munson," he huffed to himself, knowing for a fact if he didn’t feed Eddie the man would forget to himself. Making his way to the bathroom to wash his hands and start a shower, Steve soon found his way back to the kitchen, popping the frozen lasagna into the oven and heading back into the living room to clean up the disaster he left behind.

Shoving the tapes back in their designated spots, porn in the back, rom-coms in the front, it eventually looked as if Steve was never there. Minus the image burned into his brain of his dick in hand and another man's body on TV.

Carrying on like normal, almost an hour later Steve found himself in the shower thinking of the man again. Long dark hair, lean and toned figure, a raspy groan that'll forever be ringing in his ears and how badly he'd wished he could have seen his face and feel his skin beneath his fingertips. Maybe the guy had more tapes. Oof, imagine that. Would it be weird to ask Eddie if he had any more of this guy?

Probably.

After painting the walls of the shower white and gasping so aggressively his throat was sore, Steve wrapped a towel around his waist, the fabric irritating his overly spent cock and padded back into the main living area. 

Perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island he couldn't help but chuckle to himself knowing he'd have to give Robin an update on his research findings. That'd make for an interesting conversation. But before he could even begin to dwell on the topic the buzzer to the oven sounded  signalling the Lasagna was ready. 

Hair damp and still only in a towel, Steve made his way to the stove where he pulled on a pair of oven mitts and opened the oven door to feel the rush of heat wash over him. Typically soothing, the warmth was a bit much after his recent activities so with a huff of lingering exhaustion Steve removed the lasagna. And because his mind was too preoccupied with 'Holy Shit, I'm 100% Bi-Sexual & Jesus I just watched Eddie's porn,' he didn't quite hear the door to the apartment open but he sure heard as Eddie's loud, sing songy voice bellowed, "Honey, I'm-"

Though he heard it, it scared the shit out of him too, causing him to jump and brush the metal pan against his gut. Searing his skin he tossed the pan on the stove top with a yelp, "Ah! FUCK!" 

The motion of the jump in pain also caused his towel to hit the floor.

"Steve you alright?" Eddie called from the entryway where he was probably toeing off his shoes, voice bleeding concern before he rushed to the kitchen.

Buttass naked and cursing under his breath at the pain blooming on his stomach, Steve tried to gather his bearings before Eddie entered the room, "Don't come in here, give me a sec."

But of course it was too late, Steve was bent over grabbing his towel, ass facing out of the kitchen, pointing directly to Eddie who was rounding the corner and stifled a rather obvious giggle at the sight before him.

"Fuck man," Steve huffed in embarrassment, standing upright  wrapping his towel securely around his waist, wincing when the fabric brushed his fresh burn.

Cheeks growing redder by the second, it took Eddie a moment to meet Steve's eye but when he did, he couldn't help but appear concerned, "You okay there, Big Boy?"

Steve deadpanned, moving to the sink to get a cool cloth to soothe his burn, "Please do not call me Big Boy after you just saw me naked"

"All I saw was your ass! Nothing else, I swear!"

"Uh-Huh," Steve laughed to himself, wincing once again as the miniscule movement of his skin pulled at his new brand.

The room silent for all of two seconds, Eddie took the time to glance over Steve's nearly nude form while he searched for the source of the younger's outcry, only noticing the blooming red mark above Steve's towel as the man moved to drench a rag in the running water.

"Oh, you burnt yourself," Eddie's voice was concerned, caring, almost soothing in itself. With careful steps he approached Steve who was now leaning against the sink, cool cloth pressed to his scorched skin. Eddie was close, his breath would have ghosted Steve's skin if he stepped any closer, the atmosphere suddenly felt so intimate, the wooden floorboards creaking under his feet with every motion. Eddie's hand hovered mere inches from Steve's that held the cloth, "Let me take a look?" He asked, looking up at Steve through thick eye lashes.

Butterflies swarming in his gut, Steve nodded, eyes never once leaving Eddie's face while he pulled the cool cloth back to reveal his burn. He watched as Eddie's lips turned down and he quietly spoke, "Oh Stevie," the man's eyes remained on the brand as he gently squeezed Steve's wrist and continued, "wait right here, I think I have some burn cream in my room."

What Eddie had burn cream for, Steve didn't entirely know, but he didn't question it, the man was a walking hazard so he supposed it made sense to have precautionary supplies. Before he could ponder the thought much longer Eddie had returned with a small tube in hand.

He was back in Steve's space once again, but now his eyes were focused on Steve's, watery from the pain and pupils still blown wide from his post release bliss. Eddie pursed his lips into a flat line, waving the tube of burn cream between them before he quietly spoke, a nervous tinge to his voice and a blush to his cheeks, "You, uh, you want to do this or you want me to?"

Really Steve should have thought about it more, he was still only wrapped in a towel, dick and balls, a gentle breeze from being revealed or truthfully jolted back to life in what would be an even more embarrassing turn of events, but he didn't think about it much more than that. The want to have Eddie take care of him, forcing the word from his lips before he could second guess himself.

"You," he quietly breathed, knowing his cheeks probably matched the colour of the burn on his tummy.

Eddie swallowed, eyes searching Steve's, working his jaw for a beat before he confirmed, "Yeah?"

Steve nodded, the feeling of butterflies in his gut feeling comparable to a tornado.

"Okay," Eddie gave a single tight nod, eyes focusing on the sink while he waved Steve off to the side, "scooch over then Sugar, I need to wash my hands first."

The nicknames weren't anything new, but they still made the blood in Steve's cheeks churn, he loved them, probably more than he should honestly. But he listened, stepping off to the side while Eddie scrubbed his hands clean, tube of burn cream pinched between his front teeth.

And then he turned towards Steve, cheeks red while he gave him a nervous smile and softly spoken, "Let me know if it hurts too much, ‘kay?"

Steve nodded and tried his damndest to suppress the shiver that racked his body as Eddie stepped back into his space, placing one hand on his bare hip, cool rings a welcome contrast to his flushing skin while he steadied Steve. With soft, gentle movements, Eddie brushed the cream over Steve's burn, if it didn't hurt so much he'd probably be suppressing a moan as opposed to a wince.

Eddie bent closer to the abrasion, checking it over, dull breath barely ghosting over Steve's abs, "You're staying home today okay? I want to keep an eye on that."

And if Eddie was being selfish, wanting to take care of Steve for a day, that was his own secret to keep.

Standing up, Eddie turned to wash his hands in the sink, looking over his shoulder to talk to Steve, "Go put on some sweats, no shirt, we don't want fabric clinging to that and I'll pop in a movie for us."

Steve knew there was no point in arguing but if he remembered right, Eddie had shit to do and he voiced that concern, to which the metalhead responded, "Don't worry your pretty little head. I got my stuff mailed, everything else can wait. Now go get changed, I'll meet you back in the living room."

So that's what Steve did, changed into a pair of sweats he wasn't entirely sure were his or Eddie's, passed on a shirt and settled onto the couch to wait for his roommate. A few minutes later the older man returned in comfy clothes himself, a beer in each pocket, weighing his sweat pants down to a dangerous depth, dark hair peeking out from between the cropped band shirt and hemline of Eddie pants. He deposited two plates and beer onto the coffee table then proceeded to move towards the TV, evidently plopping down where Steve jacked off an hour ago. He picked through the movies until he settled on some Rom-Com.

He turned back to Steve with a smile, "I know, not quite my jam, but you're injured so I guess I'll concede."

Eddie joined Steve on the couch where they cracked a beer and watched the movie in silence until the lasagna had cooled enough to the point where they could actually eat, to which Steve groaned and teased Eddie about his odd choice of topping his own lasagna with Ranch, like a psychopath.

They continued to playfully banter back and forth for the remainder of the movie, Steve nudging Eddie with a socked foot anytime he said something dumb (read: something that made the butterflies in Steve's stomach worse.) 

And that's how they spent their day, watching movies, teasing one another and eventually doing the dishes and laundry together. Several movies and a few loads of laundry in, they found themselves perched on the fire escape, night sky hanging above them, backs against the warm brick wall and asses aching from the metal grate beneath them. Shoulders and thighs pressed against one another they smoked in silence, taking in the sounds of the city around them.

"Today was nice," Steve softly spoke, shuffling to sleepily lean his head on Eddie's shoulder, wincing as his burn rubbed against the fabric of his sweatpants in the confined position.

Eddie stilled for a moment, breath hitching while Steve sunk deeper into his position. Eventually taking a shaky breath, he settled and replied, "Aside from burning yourself?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah it was hey?" Eddie's hand found its way to Steve's hair where he gently carded through Steve's once famous locks, "Wish we could do this more often."

Leaning into the touch and ever so slowly melting from the sensation alone, Steve quietly asked,  "Why don't we?"

Eddie shrugged, jostling all of the parts of Steve that rested against him until he came up with an answer, "Guess we're both just so busy."

"Well let's not be so busy." Steve yawned before drifting into a momentary slumber, nuzzling deeper into Eddie's shoulder as the city around them soon joined.

—

Later that night Eddie helped to wash Steve's burn and reapply the burn cream, adding a bandage to it for the night to shield it from the blankets that could potentially rub against it and cause irritation. With burning cheeks and a whirlwind of butterflies in their tummies both men found their ways to their own bedrooms, settling in for the evening, reminiscing the last several hours they'd spent with one another. They couldn't remember the last time they'd had a day like that, if they'd even had. But they both knew it was nice, something they could get used to, something they wanted more than just in a blue moon.

That night Steve dreamt of calloused hands brushing over his skin and the moans of a man he'd only heard on the TV.

While Eddie, the night owl, stayed up until the early hours of the morning, withering in his bed under the dark glow of a hanky covered lamp, hand clasped over his mouth to silence his sounds. Simultaneously completing his 'work' for the day and adding to his (and now Steve's) not so secret porn stash beneath the living room TV.