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let-it-raines · 4 years

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your wonder under summer skies (7/?)

Summer in Storybrooke, Maine means one thing for its residents: tourist season. This year, for Emma Swan and Killian Jones, it means relationships ending and friendships changing all the while they attempt to figure out just what their relationship is. It’s somewhere straddling the line between friends and lovers, and there’s no guarantee of a soft landing if they fall into new territory.

rating: mature

a/n: I have been taking a little social media break and will continue to do so, but when I’ve got 90% of this story written (I really have to get to finishing it, haha), it felt wrong to keep it from you guys. So I’m slipping in and posting a new chapter! All my love ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

-/-

“Do you want some of my chips?”

“Hmm?”

“My fries,” Killian corrects. “Do you want some of them?”

“Is that rhetorical question?”

Killian sighs and rolls his eyes before pushing his basket of fries toward her. “Half the time that I offer you my fries, you say no because you’d rather have onion rings. Though, a part of me is surprised you haven’t simply taken over and started eating them without asking.”

Emma reaches over and picks up a fry, dipping it in the ketchup before popping it in her mouth. “Look, just because onion rings are obviously the superior side for junk food doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a well done French fry. And this? This is a well done fry. “Skipper barks at Emma’s feet. “See, Skipper agrees with me.”

“Skipper agrees because he wants you to feed him.”

“He can have my leftovers.”

“Bloody hell no he cannot.” Killian snatches the basket away from her. “I’m sharing my food. You hear that, Swan? It’s mine. You can’t be giving it away to the dog.”

“You should have gotten me some lunch, too.”

“I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“Did I not text you?”

“No, love, I don’t believe I got your booty call.”

Emma picks up another fry and points it in Killian’s face. “This is not a booty call. You’re working, and I’ve got work in thirty minutes. We’re taking the kids to do a relay race on the beach this afternoon, and I don’t think my body can take jumping out the window again.”

Killian chuckles and slides the basket of fries back to him. “I’m going to build you a ladder out of my bedroom.”

“I think that would be a little obvious.”

Killian shrugs. “So, a relay race with dozens of kids. Good to know that I need to avoid the beach.”

“You just wait until we do the weekend festival for Labor Day. Then you’ll really want to avoid the beach.”

“I already have it noted in my calendar.” Killian’s eyes glance up and down her face before landing down at the top of her shirt. The man can be as subtle as a whisper, but sometimes he doesn’t even try. “You know, I can do a lot in thirty minutes.”

Emma scoffs and keeps eating her fries. Okay, Killian’s fries, but he’s sharing so now they’re definitely hers. “I know you can, but I actually look presentable today, and I tend to look not presentable after, you know…”

“After I ravish you?”

Her stomach swirls, and the way Killian’s licking his lips certainly doesn’t help. They could go to the back office or go up to his bedroom right now. It wouldn’t be a big deal. She could let him do all the effort. And as much as she wants to, she really didn’t come here to have sex.

Then again, she doesn’t know why she came here. There was no way she could know that he was going to have food.

Wait no. She came here because it’s been a week since she’s seen him, and she needed someone to complain to about this family that’s in town that takes up all of the booths at Granny’s at least twice a day. She doesn’t treasure much in her life, but she treasures her booth at Granny’s.

But she’s gotten her complaining out, filled him in on everything she hasn’t texted him this week, and really, what else do they have to do?

“Where’s Liam?”

“He’s meeting with the harbormaster.”

Perfect.

“Do not touch my hair,” she tells him. “You do all of the work.”

“Don’t I always do all of the work?”

She tosses a fry at him. He misses it, and Skipper gets up from his spot to get the food. “Considering the fact that I know you like me on top, I’d think not.”

“I also like you on your knees when – ”

The bell to the shop rings behind her, and Emma sees Killian’s face before she turns around. The smirk disappears, his lips falling into a flat line, and all of the mirth in his eyes vanishes along with the crinkles around his eyes.

What the hell?

Is Liam back? She really hopes Liam isn’t back because she does not want to deal with his icy stares and snide comments today.

And then she turns around on the stool she’s sitting on, fry still in her mouth, and sees Isabella Greene.

Oh wait, she went by Tink, didn’t she? Yeah, she definitely went by Tink, which is such an awful nickname, but that’s probably not what she should be focusing on.

Emma’s stomach does that weird flipping thing again and she quickly chews the fry before pushing her hair off her shoulders and straightening her shoulders. What the hell is Tink doing here?

“Tink,” Killian whispers before clearing his throat. “Uh, hello, love. I didn’t – I didn’t know – ”

“You didn’t know I was coming back?”

“I thought you were in New York.”

“I am. I’m not here for the summer or anything. My dad didn’t rent out the house this week, so I’m here with a few friends for the week. You’re not renting out the boat are you?”

Killian can’t stop blinking, and Emma swears that if he didn’t have any semblance of self-control, his mouth would be wide open.

“Let me check. I don’t think it is.” He turns to the computer, hits a few buttons, and Emma takes her eyes away from him to see Skipper walking toward Tink. Tink immediately bends down and scratches his head, murmuring toward him. “You should be good to take it out. It is rented for next weekend, so you’d have to return it by Thursday morning for maintenance.”

“We can do that. Do I need to fill out any paperwork?”

“It’s your dad’s boat, lass.”

“So that’s a no?” she laughs, and Emma swears the woman bats her eyelashes at Killian.

Is batting eyelashes a real thing that works on men? She doesn’t think she’s ever attracted anyone by batting her eyelashes.

“That’s a no. You’ve still got the spare key, aye?”

“I do.”

“Then you’re all set.”

Killian flashes his most charming smile, and Emma doesn’t know if she’s ever felt so invisible. Skipper isn’t even acknowledging her anymore, and Emma is about to demolish all of Killian’s fries in the span of two minutes. Maybe that’s why no one is acknowledging her. She’s some kind of fry hog.

“Thank you, Killian.” Tink leans over the counter in a move Emma’s seen a million times. Hell, she’s done it herself. That works a hell of a lot better than eyelashes. “If you want to grab dinner sometime, you have my number.”

Killian’s eyes finally glance at Emma, but it’s brief. If she hadn’t been paying attention to him, she wouldn’t have noticed.

“Last time I checked, you had a boyfriend.”

“Last time I checked, that didn’t seem to bother you.”

Holy shit, the balls on this woman.

Killian’s jaw clenches, and he’s definitely grinding his teeth now. This is not how she thought this conversation was going to go. She thought she was about to end up as a major third wheel when three minutes ago she was going to be the one with her shorts pulled down and Killian thrusting into her.

But it would be fine if he wanted to sleep with his ex instead. Emma has purposely never learned about his flings, knowing they’re never going to last, but she knew Tink enough to recognize her and to know that if one of them was going to, it was going to be her. She had no idea why it ended, though, and now that she kind of does, she definitely feels like she shouldn’t be here.

Would it be more awkward to get up and leave right now or to stay?

Did Killian know Tink had a boyfriend when he was sleeping with her? Because if he did…oh fuck, if he did she might just have to punch him. She used to think things like that weren’t any of her business, but then Neal and Tamara happened and…no, she’s not going to go there. She hasn’t let her mind fully go there in the month that she’s been broken up with Neal, and she’s certainly not going to do it now.

“Last time I checked,” Killian grits out, “I was unaware of your attachment.”

Oh.

“He and I were on a break then.”

“Are you now?”

Tink clicks her tongue. “We’re having some issues.”

Oh God, this really is the most awkward Emma has felt in years, and an entire town knows her boyfriend cheated on her and stares at her every time she walks down Main Street. It may have been a month, but the news just broke last week. It has been like reliving it all over again.

At least she hasn’t seen Neal. She’s avoided him at all costs.

Maybe not having her regular seat at Granny’s is a good thing.

“Return the boat by nine on Thursday, Ms. Greene. Have a good week with your friends.”

Tink scoffs, her lips parting, and she leans back and crosses her arms over her chest.

Oh shit, Jones. That was bold.

And then Tink is turning around and walking out the door, the bell ringing behind her.

Emma doesn’t know what to say. Does she say anything at all? What can she say? She just witnessed something she definitely wasn’t supposed to see, and she is not good enough with emotions to be able to deal with this.

Where’s Mary Margaret and her emotional intelligence when Emma needs her?

Even if Emma wants to strangle Mary Margaret half the time when she’s giving some unrealistic perspective on love and relationships.

She could use some of that right now.

“How much time do we have until you have to be at work?” Killian asks as he stands from behind the desk.

“Um, twenty minutes now.”

He tilts his head back toward the office before walking past her and flipping the sign on the door over. “That’s enough time, don’t you think?”

There’s fury in his eyes, and he’s never looked taller to her than he does right now as he looks down at her with his jaw so tight she can see it clenching. He’s angry, she realizes. He’s angry that Tink came in here and tried to start something back up. She has never taken him for the type to get angry about something like that. He’s Killian. He’s got a hell of a temper, gets pissed off when he sees some kind of injustice happening, but he’s always been easygoing when it comes to relationships.

Maybe she really doesn’t know him as well as she thought.

Or, at least, maybe she doesn’t know this facet of his life.

“That’s enough time.”

Killian grabs her hand and pulls her up from her chair. She nearly stumbles, but his grip is strong enough to keep her steady. They walk quickly out of the front office and to the back, where Killian quickly closes the door and turns the lock before he’s on her, caging her in and hovering his lips right over hers while his hands push against the wooden frame. His breathing is so heavy, his chest heaving, and she’s so distracting by it that she barely notices the way her own chest is moving up and down with anticipation.

“You’re gorgeous, you know,” Killian whispers into her ear. His breath is hot as it tickles down her skin. “I’ve thought that since the day we met, but I’ve never been able to tell you the way that I wanted to.”

“You definitely could have.”

“Aye, but you wouldn’t have taken it well.”

“Who says I’m taking it well now?”

Killian laughs into her neck while he rolls his hips into hers. Emma gasps as heat curls between her thighs, licking across her skin. Her heart is pounding, and her head is still reeling. She wasn’t expecting this, then she was, and it’s been back and forth so quickly that maybe she should stop thinking all together.

Hell, she definitely should.

Not thinking means she doesn’t have to focus on the big demons in her head or the smaller ones that are telling her that sleeping with Killian might not be her best idea.

Not thinking means that she can let Killian run his lips across her neck before his teeth tug down on her earlobe. The moment he figured out that she liked that, she was a goner.

The moment they first did this, she was a goner for the way that it feels and the way that she can only focus on the feel of his lips and his hands and of every inch of him covering her. Killian keeps rolling his hips into her, and the friction of the zipper on his jeans his hitting just the right spot.

“Shit,” Emma mumbles as her head tilts back to hit against the door. “Take off your pants.”

“A little busy at the moment, love.”

Suddenly, she notices that his hands are at her waist and fumbling with the zipper on her shorts. She hears it slide down, feels Killian push her shorts and her underwear down, and then his hands are on her exactly where she wants him.

Well, almost. They’re on a bit of a time crunch, so they don’t exactly have time to take it slow.

Her hands reach between them as Killian’s lips fiercely press into hers. He’s determined with each slide of his lips and swipe of his tongue. There’s no laziness or slow exploration, and as much as she likes that, this feels too damn good to stop.

His hand stops hers, and she pulls back from the kiss. “What are you doing?”

“Let me take care of you.”

“What about – ”

“We’ll make up for it at some other time, yeah?”

Emma pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and swallows the lump in her throat. She’s so damn frustrated right now that she can’t imagine saying no.

Not that Killian lets her. His determination continues as he bends down until he’s on his knees and his hand and his lips are working her higher and higher until air is escaping her so that it’s difficult to breathe. Fuck, he’s good at this, and she doesn’t want it to stop.

Pretty much ever.

“Just like that,” Emma groans as her head tilts back to the door. Her knees are getting a little weak, her legs shaking, and she reaches forward to curl her fingers into his hair. “Oh, fuck.”

Her releases crashes over her in small waves, and her legs shake a little more until Killian’s free arm wraps around her and holds her up, pressing her further back into the door. There’s sweat prickling at her temples, and her heart is definitely going to do something unnatural that’s going to put her in the hospital.

She would rather die than tell Whale that she’s in the hospital because of an orgasm.

Damn. Just damn.

“Swan, if you don’t release my hair soon, I’m going to have a bald spot.”

Emma blinks and releases her hand from Killian’s hair, smoothing it down as he helps tug her shorts up. Slowly, he stands from the ground until they’re almost eye-to-eye, and the idiot has the biggest smirk on his face.

At least he’s no longer furious.

“Hey,” Emma hesitates, “so about earlier with Tink – ”

“That’s a story for another time,” he quickly interrupts as he scratches behind his ear. “Why don’t you go to the restroom and straighten yourself up? Wouldn’t want any of the kids asking why you look a wee bit off.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll go do that.”

Killian’s not in the main part of the office when she finishes up in the bathroom. Skipper is still sitting behind the desk, but she barely looks up when Emma walks by.

Huh.

She’d go upstairs and look for him, but she really had to go and get to work. Mary Margaret will kill her if she’s late, and she’d really rather not be murdered, especially since David will definitely cover things for Mary Margaret.

It’s not a long walk to the club, so Emma’s still the slightest bit shaky when she gets there. Mary Margaret, Ashley, and Aurora are all there and wrangling kids, each of them in matching t-shirts to coordinate teams. Emma’s the green team, and her kids look like they’ve gone crazy with the way they’re running around.

No wonder their parents pay an exuberant amount of money to leave their kids with someone else while they lounge on the beach or work from home while indulging in as many margaritas as possible.

Emma always wonders if these kids care that they don’t spend time with their parents or if they’re too young to truly realize it at the moment.

“Why do we do this?” Emma asks as she walks up to the deck.

“Because we like paychecks.”

“And the children,” Mary Margaret adds in with a bright smile on her face.

“You should have been a teacher, Marg.”

“If I had gone to school, maybe I would have. This pays better, though, and like Ashley, I’m about the paycheck.” Her eyes narrow at Emma. “Did you walk here from your apartment? Your cheeks are flushed.”

“It’s a hot day and I haven’t gotten my tan yet. That’ll happen. You guys ready to go?”

The kids end up loving the relay race.

It’s exhausting, overwhelming, and Emma ends up was an ass full of sand. But it’s so damn fun that Emma doesn’t really care about the craziness of the kids or the way that they didn’t filled up on sugar beforehand.

Okay, she cares a little bit.

But by the time they’re finished, the kids are all exhausted, and Emma and Mary Margaret send them back to the kid’s clubhouse with Ashley and Aurora while the two of them go back to their offices and catch up on emails and phone calls before opening up wedding files for all of their couples this summer. They’ve got a weddings and rehearsal dinners almost every weekend until the middle of September, and right there on the middle weekend is Liam and Elsa’s wedding. They’d wanted to do Labor Day, but that was impossible with the party the club does and all of the town’s labor day weekend festivities. Everything was booked, and there was no way Emma or Mary Margaret could have been there as guests even if they squeezed them into a ballroom.

Elsa said there was no way she wasn’t having the two of them there. Liam would probably not want Emma there, and she swears there was disappointment on his face when they found another weekend.

Ass.

Emma has to take a deep breath and close her eyes as she looks at her calendar. It’s too much looking this far ahead. It’s too much, and she desperately needs to zoom back in and be a little more narrow-sighted.

She can do this.

She’s handled a hell of a lot of stuff that’s been more difficult than this job.

And this is a job. It’s good pay and stable. She loves her coworkers, and she doesn’t actually mind dealing with wealthy people all day or her awful boss or couples who are way too into each other planning their weddings.

She hasn’t been bitter about people getting married and her having to plan it for the entire time she’s worked here, and she’s certainly not going to be bitter about it now because she broke up with Neal. In the back of her mind, she used to hope and wish and maybe…but no. She’s never needed that kind of commitment. If you love someone and want to be with them, you make the commitment and you stay. It doesn’t matter if there’s a piece of paper legalizing that commitment.

Not that Neal was committed.

Obviously not.

“Hey, this says you have tomorrow off,” Mary Margaret says as she looks at Emma from over the top of her computer.”

Emma blinks and shakes her head before pushing her hair back in its ponytail. “I worked Monday this week, so I took tomorrow off to make up for it. I’ll be back to our normal schedule next week.”

“Oh, good, because David was thinking of us hosting a barbecue next Saturday.”

“Next Saturday is Killian’s birthday.”

“Oh shit. Is it?”

“Mhm.” Emma rolls her chair across the office to the mini fridge to grab her bottle of water. “So, unless you want to have the barbecue be his party, I think it’s going to have to be another day.”

“I’ll text Liam and ask if they have any other plans.”

“Why not ask Killian? It’s his birthday?”

“Oh, good point. I guess it’s not a surprise. It’ll have to be late since we all work on Saturdays.”

“Supply us all with coffee and alcohol, and I think we’ll all be able to stay awake.”

“Perfect.”

-/-

When Emma finally gets to leave at nine that night, she’s starving. She didn’t get the chance to sneak into the kitchen and steal some food for dinner, and she’d do awful things for a grilled cheese from Granny’s. Emma makes them at home all the time, but it’s never quite the same. After getting her car out of the parking lot for the public beach, she back downtown to, passing by the packed Rabbit Hole and pulling into Granny’s parking lot only to realize whose car she’s parked next to.

What the hell?

No. Just no.

She is not going in there are dealing with him tonight. Ruby said he’d been hanging around a lot to spend time with Tamara, but Emma thought that was Ruby overexaggerating. Emma hasn’t run into him once, but here he is.

Fuck.

Emma leans down to rest her head against her steering wheel before slowly peaking back up. Neal is right in front of her. He’s sitting in a booth with his dad, Tamara next to him, and Emma nearly vomits at the smiles on all of their faces.

That’s not supposed to be happening.

Tamara is just supposed to be the girl he’s fucking. She’s not supposed to be someone who he’s smiling with and who his dad has dinner with.

Emma barely ever did that.

She didn’t want to. She didn’t trust his dad. She still doesn’t. He’s not a good guy, he creeps Emma out, and she didn’t want to get anywhere near him if his pawn shop does end up being as shady as everyone thinks.

She worked too damn hard to have good things in her life to get pulled down by association.

What the hell is Neal doing?

Was it…did he have feelings for Tamara while he was still with her? Was it more than just someone to sleep with? Because Emma could deal with it when it was just physical. She could push past that. Hell, she did while she still stayed with him. If it was more, though, she’s not sure that she’s up for that.

From the way that her heart is pounding, she knows that she isn’t, that it was more between the two of them.

Fuck.

Emma slaps her hand down, and the horn on her bug goes off.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

She quickly ducks down and hides herself. They’ve got to be looking out at the parking lot, and maybe if they don’t see her in the car, they won’t think it was her. Her car isn’t exactly inconspicuous, but someone else could drive the same way. The place is full of tourists and outsiders right now. The odds of someone else driving a bright yellow bug have to be pretty good.

Or maybe he’ll think that she’s at the Rabbit Hole but that parking was full so she put her car over here.

Or maybe he’ll know that it’s her and that she’s currently hiding in her own car as if she was the one who ruined her relationship.

What the hell is she doing hiding from him? He should be the one hiding from her, not sitting in her favorite restaurant eating with his dad.

Of course, Tamara does work there, and it’s not like Emma can get the woman fired.

Or could she?

No, that’s wrong. Tamara knew Neal was with Emma, but it’s all on Neal. She’s not going to be the girl who blames the other woman and not the scumbag man.

She’s also not going to be the girl who goes inside the restaurant when she’s had a long day and doesn’t want to fake pleasantries or be the talk of the town’s gossip mill tomorrow. As quietly as she can, Emma turns the key in the ignition and pulls out of the parking lot without looking back at Granny’s. That way she’ll never know if Neal saw her or not, and that’s the only thing that will keep her sane.

She ends up driving in circles around Storybrooke and goes through a drive-thru to get herself a cheeseburger. It’s not the same as going to Granny’s, but it’s good for now. Really, she should go home, clean up a little bit, and go to bed, but she can’t seem to bring herself to. Instead she uses up half a tank of gas aimlessly driving while trying to control her breathing. It’s pretty much a lost cause when each breath is shallower than the next and soon she finds herself in a service station parking lot with her phone in hand typing out a text she definitely shouldn’t be typing out.

He answers back within a few minutes, and his car is pulling up next to hers a quarter of an hour later. He’s silent as he slides into the passenger seat, but she appreciates that. She’s not really sure what she wants to say.

Instead she stares at the tattoo inked across his forearm.

Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.

She’s always liked that tattoo of his. It’s mixed within all the angry red scars that map out his skin, and there’s something beautiful about the words coexisting with proof of an accident. Maybe one day she’ll hear the story, but for now, all she knows is those words.

Emma’s not sure if she’s getting to fail better or if it’s just the same thing over and over again.

Killian’s slushie is half empty by the time she finally speaks.

“I’m sorry about Tink showing up at your office earlier.”

“It was nothing.”

“Superpower,” Emma murmurs. “And I don’t even need it to tell that’s a lie.”

“I apologize for how I acted afterward. I shouldn’t have…hell, Emma, I shouldn’t use you like that.”

She twists in her seat and turns toward him, resting her cheek against the headrest. “We’re using each other physically. We both know that.”

Killian nods and mimics her movement. “Aye, I know, but on occasion, when I have the chance to think, I realize that sometimes I can be too gruff and too impulsive. Our friendship is first, and I sometimes forget that when I need to release some of the tension.”

“I don’t mind. I promise. I’m the same way. It’s why this is working.”

“What happened tonight that you called me here? It’s nearly midnight.”

“We’ve been here at three in the morning before. Midnight is nothing.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but it just as quickly faltered. “Swan.”

It’s so simple, the way he says he last name so frequently, but he could get her to tell him just about anything just like that.

“What did I do wrong to make Neal cheat on me? I know we had drifted apart at the end, that we weren’t sleeping together as much, but I still didn’t…the thought never crossed my mind to cheat on him. And when I found out about it the first time, I let it go. I figured it was physical. But he’s in a relationship with her, and for some reason that makes it all worse.”

So, she went there. Finally. And she doesn’t know whether or not it feels better to get it all off her chest.

“The first problem, love, is thinking there’s any fault of your own.” Killian reaches forward and tucks her hair behind her ear before swiping his thumb across her cheek. “As much as Neal had his moments, I thought he was an asshole. You have always deserved better than someone who puts your down and who betrays your trust like he did. It hurts like hell to be betrayed like that, but you’re going to be better for it.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

Emma blinks and closes her eyes as she makes another attempt to calm her breathing. “Is that how you felt with Tink?”

His tongue clicks. “I had feelings for her, but it wasn’t like it was for you and Neal. Most of the betrayal there was because of something in my past.”

“Oh?”

“Aye, but that’s a story for another time.” His hand runs along her neck until she can feel him gently tugging on some of the strands on her ponytail. “I’m actually a bit glad to see that you’re upset over Neal.”

She opens her eyes then. “You’re glad to see I got my heart broken?”

“If it can be broken, that means it still works.”

Emma swallows the lump in her throat and tries to keep her eyes focused on Killian’s, but his stare is so intense that she squirms and looks down back at his arm and at all of the ink that scatters his skin. It’s safer there. He can’t read her as easily. He’s always been able to do that and has called her out on her shit when he needs to, and she usually appreciates it.

She doesn’t know what she thinks right now.

“Sometimes I don’t want it to work,” she quietly admits as cars keep driving by the two of them, headlights brightening before fading away.

“But it does, love, and I swear to you, one day you’ll want it to again.”

-/-

@qualitycoffeethings @mrtinski @klynn-stormz @scarletslippers @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @superchocovian @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @cluttermind @lfh1226-linda @andiirivera

#your wonder under summer skies #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #captain swan

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gimmesumsuga · 6 years

Text

Orectic (M)

Orectic (adj) - ‘of or concerning desire or appetite’

Pairing: Hoseok x hybrid!reader

Warnings: Gratuitous, tooth-rotting fluff. Smut; kissing, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected penetrative sex, ?breeding kink if you squint hard enough.

Word count: 21K

Thank you @yminie for my beautiful moodboard!

“It'll just be for the week, and it isn’t like you guys haven’t spent any time together by yourselves before!”

It'd seemed like a harmless enough request when Jung Hoseok’s sister had first called him to request he come play sitter for the week; an opportunity to make some quick, easy cash during the winter months when attendance to the dance classes he taught inevitably started to wane.

“C’mon, it'll be fine!”

Sitting was probably the wrong word for it, anyway. You weren't so much a pet; his elder sibling had always been very firm on that matter from the very second she'd first brought you home. You were a companion, a confidant - a best friend who just so happened to be blessed with pointed feline ears, a sleek, silken tail, and a propensity for jumping three foot in the air whenever you turn around to find a well-placed snake-come-cucumber that Hobi may or may not have planted there a few minutes earlier.

Yes, you may have a complete and utter dependence on your guardian to keep a roof over your head and food on the table, but that's not your fault. And it's not as though his sister is wrong; the two of you do get on.

Well… at least these days you do.

When the two of you had first met over a year ago you'd been incredibly wary of him, to begin with; almost to the point where you'd visibly flinch whenever he dare address you or if he ever sat just that little bit too close. Your history hadn't been disclosed by the shelter when his sister had offered you a home, but it didn't take a genius to take a guess as to why you might be so nervous at having an unfamiliar male in your home.

While the practice has recently been made illegal, sexual exploitation remains a grotesque and unfortunate reality for all too many hybrids since they were created less than half a century ago, and it’s something you’ve remained resolutely silent about regardless of the gentle questioning Hoseok's sister has put you through. It breaks his heart to think that that might’ve been something that you’d had to face in the past, but if it was something you’d been subjected to, you sure as hell don’t seem about to admit it.

So, without a legitimate excuse with which to refuse his sister's pleading request, Hobi finds himself agreeing to keep you company for the coming week ahead. It's been a while since you've seen each other so he knows you'll probably take a little while to warm up to him again, but that's ok; he's always been the patient sort. There’s always the catnip he’s stashed in the bottom of his overnight bag, too, should the situation ever be so dire that it’s needed.

The journey to his sister's place doesn't take too long - half an hour, give or take - and along the way Hobi isn't ignorant to the lift in his mood with every mile that passes. He'll never say it out loud, but ever since his old housemate Yoongi moved out (a convenience thing, rather than any ill-feeling between the two of them) the apartment has felt far too quiet. It'll be nice to have someone to spend some time with; something to break up the monotony of his ever-present thoughts.

Index finger pressed firmly against your doorbell, Hobi’s narrow hips swing from side to side at the tinny salsa tune he hears coming from the other side of the door to signal his arrival. There’s a bright smile on his face by the time his sister answers, and when he opens up his arms to her, pulling her into a tight hug, her answering smile is just as wide.

“Jiwoooooo!” he gushes as the familiar scent of her hair floods into his nostrils. She smells safe - she smells like home - and Hobi finds himself lamenting it having been so long since the last time he came around. There’s really no excuse; not when she only lives over the other side of town. “Still just as pretty, I see,” he admires as he pulls away, patting her cheek, and as she grins back he bends to pick up the overnight bag he’d rested down by his feet, stepping over the threshold.

“Ever the charmer, ‘Seok,” she replies with a fond roll of her eyes, pushing the front door closed behind him, “How’s that working out for you? Lured any poor, unsuspecting women into your clutches lately?”

“Not since Soo-In, I’m afraid.” Hobi laughs gleefully at the expression of disgust that contorts his sister’s features at the mention of the night he’d managed to successfully seduce one of her friends - much to her horror at the time. “I must’ve lost my edge.”

Secretly, he’s worried that he might have. He hasn’t slept with anyone at all since then, and six months is starting to feel like an awfully long time…

“We can but hope,” she snarks, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised as she snatches Hobi’s bag right out from his hand and deposits it at the bottom of the stairs before sweeping past him and into the living room. She grabs a jacket hung on the back of one of her soft, crushed velvet armchairs (Hobi’s always thought they’re hideous, but then who is he to talk about good taste?) as she goes and promptly folds it into away her own suitcase, unzipped and hanging open upon her coffee table.

“So, New York, huh? You excited?” He watches her pack, stowing away all the last few essentials she’ll need for the trip she’s barely stopped talking about since she found out she was going just a short few weeks ago. Folding his arms, he notes the time on his watch; she needs to leave soon, or she’ll be late for her flight. Typical Jiwoo, always cutting it fine.

“You have no idea,” she grins maniacally, pausing with her case half zipped up, one sleeve of something hanging out the side, “People are actually gonna see my designs, Hobi. Finally! Important people!”

“So I hear,” he smiles back, and underneath his crossed arms he feels his chest swell with emotion, “Proud of you, sis.”

“I know.” She stuffs the sleeve back in and hurriedly seals the case the rest of the way, patting it firmly once it’s done. “Maybe when I’m a famous fashionista you might actually listen to some of my tips. God knows you need them.”

This time it’s Hobi’s turn to fondly roll his eyes.

“Anyway, the fridge and freezer are fully stocked, all you gotta do is get stuff out in the morning to defrost and try to make it through the week without giving yourself food poisoning.” She hauls her case off of the table with a groan and it thuds heavily on the hardwood floor as she sets it down. He dreads to think how much she’s paid for the extra luggage allowance… “There’s plenty of fish, plenty of lacto-free milk - but you don’t need to worry about that.”

Nodding, Hobi unfolds his arms and takes a glance around the room at the mention of your rather specific dietary needs. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s not noticed you when entering a room; sometimes you sit so silent and still that it’s almost as though you’re not really there until you chose to reveal yourself. He swears you do it on purpose, actually, just to watch him jump and shriek when you suddenly appear, an amused little smile tugging at your lips as he clutches his chest in fear.

“Speaking of; where is my ward?”

“Kitchen,” she replies shortly, exhaling a sigh, “She’s busy doing that whole ‘cold shoulder’ thing she always does whenever she knows I’m going away.”

“Oh.” Taking a few steps forward, Hobi’s able to lean forward to peer round the door to the kitchen which stands slightly ajar, and through the gap he can just about make out your stiff form sat at the kitchen table, back straight and pen in hand.

“Ah, she’ll be fine,” his sister dismisses with a wave of her hand, and as her hand passes her face Hobi notices her eyes suddenly widen as she catches a glimpse at the time. “Hooo shit. Will you shove this in the car for me while I say bye? ThankyouIloveyou,” she gushes, thrusting her suitcase towards him, and like the obliging younger brother he is Hobi does as she asks, lugging her case out onto the drive and stowing it away in the ridiculously small trunk of her equally ridiculous car with an exaggerated groan.

By the time he finds his way back inside and into the kitchen, his sister’s whole torso is wrapped around you from behind, your face almost entirely obscured by the blanket of long, black hair that surrounds you.

“Gonna miss you,” he hears Jiwoo say, squeezing you in her grasp as Hobi watches you attempt to huff her hair out from your face in a series of heavy, exasperated exhales.

“You better,” comes your snarky reply, and after a moment more your pen is begrudgingly laid down and you’re squeezing his sister’s forearm as you quietly insist that she fly safely. When Jiwoo releases you, standing straight, Hobi’s is both surprised and oddly moved by the glassiness he sees in your eyes when they dart his way, your lips parting, embarrassed at being seen in such a way. He wishes that your spine didn’t stiffen again so suddenly on seeing him, or that your tail didn’t immediately increase in size where it hanging through the slats of the kitchen chair on which you sit, glossy fur standing up on end.

It’s only a temporary reaction - he knows that - but it still kinda hurts.

“Hey kitkat,” he smiles, raising one hand in a lame, gentle wave that you slowly return, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you nervously look him up and down with eyes that are just a tiny bit too large for your face. He’s been calling you by that nickname for almost as long as he’s known you, and though you’d initially bristled on hearing it, Hobi couldn’t help but notice over time that a light blush that had started to colour your cheeks whenever he’d say it; a sweet little glimpse at the softness that lays underneath your somewhat frosty exterior.

“Hello Hoseok,” you answer softly, and oh, Hobi had forgotten the way the hairs on the back of his neck always stand up whenever you say it that way. You’re the only person in his life who ever, ever addresses him by his full name, and if he’s honest with himself, he’d happily keep it that way if he could.

Neither of you says anything then, after that, and in the seconds that follow Hoseok’s sister looks back and forth between the two of you, curiously chewing her bottom lip“Well,” she announces to break the silence, walking from the space she’d occupied behind you to approach Hobi instead, her arms held open wide in invitation to a parting hug, “I’ll just leave you two chatterboxes to it, shall I?”

“Love you,” he mumbles into his sister’s hair, embracing her with all the strength he can muster. He may be the younger sibling, but he’s always been fiercely protective of his big sister, and he has a sneaking suspicion that no matter how old they get that’ll always remain the same. “Have fun, alright?”

“Oh you bet your ass I will,” Jiwoo grins as she extracts herself from his arms. She looks between Hobi and you, frowning slightly when she sees the way you’re shyly staring down at the crossword puzzle you’ve been working on for the majority of the morning rather than at her brother stood opposite, a pen in your hand and your pointed ears flicking anxiously this way and that. “You two will be ok, right?” she checks, and Hobi gives her his best, most reassuring smile.

“Course we will,” he enthuses, directing all the positivity he can muster your way and smiling even more broadly when you meekly return it, tail swishing gently behind you from side to side, “Right, kitkat?”

“Sure. Right.”

The first couple days at his sister’s place pass without significant incident - quiet yet comfortable. It’s the same as it always has been between the two of you; a delicate dance around each other until you’ve warmed up enough to decide to lower your guard. Luckily for him, it only takes until later on that first evening for that to happen, and whilst he’d like to have thought it was his winning personality that’d done the trick, deep down he knew it was far more likely to have been the tiny pouch of catnip he’d stashed away in his jeans pocket that’d ended up luring you over to sit at the opposite end of the couch that night, rather than over the other side of the room like you usually do.

Still, it was a pleasing development, and by the third night of him staying there you’ll sit next to him whether he’s reeking of the herb or not. He’s never really spent this length of time with you before - just the two of you - and the more of it that passes the more Hobi starts to notice little quirks of yours that he’d never picked up on before; like the way you always scrape the skin off of the fish you eat (a painstakingly slow process, due to your utter refusal to ingest even a single shiny scale), or how your whole body will twitch and shudder before you sneeze.

His most favourite thing about you, though, is how you always nod off to sleep whenever the two of you are sat in front of the television. It doesn’t matter what time of day it is, or what you may happen to be watching; within an hour or so you’ll be long gone, regardless of your valiant efforts to try and fight it. Your eyes will droop and your head will bob up and down as you try to cling to wakefulness, but before long you’ll have given in and snuggled against the arm of the couch; body curled in on itself, tail wound around your form. It’ll flick in your sleep, sometimes, and Hobi can’t help but wonder whether you’re dreaming whenever he sees it happening, imagining what you might be dreaming about.

He catches himself smiling fondly at the peaceful expression on your relaxed, sleeping face all too often, actually, as the days pass, and by the third night he has to physically sit on his hands to keep himself from reaching out and to stroke his fingers through your hair like he’s longing to; just to check to see if it’s as soft as it looks, or whether your sweet triangular ears really do feel like velvet to touch.

Boy, this could be trouble.

Hobi’s always thought you’re cute, sure, but at the same time, he’s also known that you’re totally off limits. Not only are human/hybrid relationships still considered fairly taboo, but you’re his sister’s best friend. She was pissed when he hooked up with Soo-In - and she was no more than a mutual friend through a co-worker - so he can only imagine what Jiwoo’s reaction would be if he confessed he’s had the hots for her feline roommate for as long as he can remember.

Not that he’d ever admitted it to himself until fairly recently. It was a difficult revelation for even him to swallow, but after bumping into you in the hallway one morning after your daily dip in the tub - dressed in nothing but a towel, soaking wet and blushing pink - he could no longer ignore the stirring down south that your appearance inspired. Especially when you’d so softly uttered a shy ‘good morning’ through nervously bitten lips.

It’s his own growing awareness of these feelings that lead to him feeling pretty relieved when on the morning of the fourth day he receives a call from Namjoon, asking if he wants to hang out. His friend is pleased, actually, when Hobi reveals that he’s staying at his sister’s place; it’s closer, for one, and makes it more convenient to bring his own hybrids - Jin and Jungkook - along with him too. They can get a little boisterous when out together in public places (Hobi still remembers the one time Jin had indignantly thrown his banana flavoured milkshake all over Jungkook when he’d kept on bothering him for a sip once he’d guzzled his own), and you’re still a little skittish when in unfamiliar places at the best of times - without the added pressure of meeting two new hybrids on top of that - so it’s probably best that it happens in an environment in which you’re most comfortable.

You seem a little nervous about the idea when Hobi first suggests it but eventually relent, persuaded by his promises of salmon en croute for dinner the following evening should you agree. Not that he has any idea how to make salmon en croute, that is, but with the way your eyes had glistened at the very mention of it, he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least give it his best try.

You’re just clearing up the remnants of lunch when your three visitors happen to arrive, handing Hobi the dishes and plates to wash rather than get your hands wet yourself. Although you bathe daily, you still tend to avoid water when you can; flinching back whenever stray drops flick your way so often that Hobi has to fight the urge to smile. He can’t resist laughing any longer, though, when you honest to god hiss at the splash Hobi creates when he accidentally drops a glass into the water through his slippery fingers.

After you’re done looking embarrassed at having let your feline nature so obviously show through, he’s pleased to find you grinning sheepishly back, your cheeks flushed such a pretty shade that it’s all Hobi can do not to scoop some bubbles from the washing up bowl and boop them straight onto your nose.

It’s at that precise moment, when he’s grappling with the desire to verbalise just how damn cute you look with your feet pointed inward and your hands still clutching your sweater, that the doorbell rings. Your tail instantly thickens in volume, eyes darting towards the kitchen door, and Hobi’s quick to grab the tea-towel to dry his hands, shaking off the excess bubbles.

“I’ll get it,” he assures you, briefly touching your arm as he passes you by, attempting to soothe some of your nerves. It’d felt like a natural thing to do - touching you - and it isn’t until he’s walking through the living room and towards the hall that he realises that that’s the first time the two of you have ever had any form of physical contact at all, even in all the time he’s known you. That, in itself, is shocking enough, but what really gets Hobi’s smiling is the way that you hadn’t seemed to mind; not at all. You hadn’t flinched, you hadn’t frowned…

“Hey Joon!” Hobi tries to shove all thoughts of what any of this could possibly mean as he pulls open the front door to reveal his friend - as tall as ever and hair ash blonde - stood waiting on the doorstep. He’s flanked on either side by his two hybrids, both of whom slightly shorter and darker than he is, and even Hobi - as straight as an arrow as he professes to be - can admit that the three of them certainly make a striking image when stood all in a row.

“Hey Hobi,” Namjoon smiles back good-naturedly, dimples pitting his cheeks, “You’ve met Jin and Jungkook before, right?” Hobi looks between the two hybrids, noting the way both of their ears had swivelled Namjoon’s way in amongst their hair at the mention of their names. Jin’s are slightly bigger than Jungkook’s but similarly black as night, matching the tails that Hobi can see hanging behind the both of them and the hair that sits atop their heads.

“Just once,” Hobi replies, offering Jungkook a warm smile. He’s definitely the shyer of the two felines - Hobi remembers as much from before - and Jungkook’s eyes predictably drop to the floor before he manages to find the courage to smile back, pulling at his hoodie sleeves. “Come in!” He steps back from the door, allowing them entry, and Namjoon is the first to enter, shrugging off his coat, with Jin next and Jungkook close behind.

If it weren’t for Hobi knowing about the age difference between the two hybrid brothers he’d likely think that they were twins, given how similar they look at certain angles. Tall, dark and handsome are words that would easily suit either them, and as he leads the two hybrids into the living room - and closer to you - a little nagging voice at the back of his head starts to wonder whether or not it was really a good idea to want to introduce you. What if you really hit it off? What if -

“You have a lovely home,” Jin observes as his eyes travel the room, and Hobi can tell from the way his chin is tilted upward that he’s subtly sniffing the air, taking in the scene of the place - the scent of you.

“I can’t take credit - it’s my sister’s,” Hobi informs him, noticing the fascination with which Jungkook lingers by the arm of one of the sofas that happens to have a cardigan of yours lay across it, “Hers and her housemates.”

“Ah yes.” A handsome smile spreads across Jin’s face at the mention of you, growing wider as he continues to speak. “Namjoon told me another hybrid lives here, although he forgot to mention it was a female.” Namjoon, who is just sinking down into the sofa on the opposite side of the room, rolls his eyes at the suggestive tone that accompanies Jin’s words.

“Behave, Seokjin,” Namjoon scolds lightly, although there’s humour twinkling in his eyes, and when Jungkook comes to sit next to him the affection he harbours for his hybrids is plain for Hobi to see from the way Namjoon reaches out and runs his fingers through his dark hair; a gesture that Jungkook nuzzles into, a contented smile on his face. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I’ll go get her.” Presuming that you must still be hiding away in the kitchen - as is your usual habit - Hobi asks his three guests what they’d like to drink and then rushes off to find you, pulling the door to behind him. When he turns, he sees you sat at the table anxiously biting your thumbnail, your eyes wide when they land on him. “Are you coming out, kitkat?” he asks gently, busying himself with fetching milk from the fridge and a beer for Namjoon rather than putting any more pressure on you than necessary. He pours two glasses for Jin and Jungkook and then after a moment’s thought pours out a third for you as he waits for your reply, and by the time he’s putting the carton of milk back into the fridge he still hasn’t received one. “Namjoon’s a good guy, and they’d really like to meet you.”

“They would?” you ask quietly, expression so open and innocent that Hobi feels his heart thump hard beneath his ribs when he risks a glance your way. Swallowing, he nods.

“Of course.” Turning back to you, he extends a glass of milk to you in an offering, his kind smile very nearly faltering when your fingers accidentally brush his as you take it, drawing it towards your chest, held tightly in both hands. “And I’ll be right there with you, ok?” You nibble your bottom lip for a second before eventually nodding your head, pushing back your chair and rising from it determinedly.

“Ok, Hoseok,” you say softly, trustingly, and god, he’s sure he must be grinning like an idiot when the two of you walk back into the living room together at the way you keep so close to his side, very nearly touching but just not quite. Handing out the drinks that he’s brought, he introduces you, and all the while he does so he’s wishing he was ignorant to the way the two hybrid’s attentions are fixed so firmly on you, their eyes running you up and down.

He supposes it’s not something Jin and Jungkook can really help doing. Their breeding includes animal instincts, after all, so he tries not to clench his jaw too hard at the way Jin goes so far as to change seats just to sit next to you on the sofa, offering you both a hand in greeting and winning smile to match. It soothes his frustration to see how hesitantly you take it and how stiff your shoulders are as Jin kisses the back of your hand - Namjoon chuckling at the display from across the room - and when Hobi sits at the other end of the sofa and you immediately shuffle over to be closer to him rather than your feline counterpart, he can’t help but smile, feeling smug.

You stay that way as the five of you talk back and forth with a movie playing on the television to fill any silence that may fall in between, and there isn’t a second that passes during the next hour or so that Hobi isn’t acutely aware of just how close you’re sitting to him. In an effort to avoid Jin’s advances you’ve shifted so far over that your thigh is very nearly touching Hobi’s - your shoulders in direct contact - and even he is starting to understand why the hybrids seem so taken with the way you smell at this point.

And they are taken with you; there’s no doubt about that. Jin doesn’t seem to have time for anyone else - his attention solely fixed on you - and you’re not given chance to be shy with the way he’s constantly addressing you; asking you questions, telling stories and cracking some of the worst jokes Hobi thinks he’s ever heard (that’s not his jealousy speaking, he swears). Even Jungkook has come out of his shell, no longer sitting passively against Namjoon but perched right on the edge of the sofa nearest to you with his doe eyes wide and excited, his tail vibrating happily every time he manages to grab a little bit of your attention away from Jin.

Hobi swears Jungkook’s trying to do things to impress you, too - like taking off his hoodie to flex the well toned muscles and his forearms and biceps whenever you’re looking, or when he’d leapt up to fix whatever problem it was that had momentarily occurred with the DVD player and then strutted back to his seat once it was done like he’d done more than just take out the disc and give it a good blow.

It’s merciful, really, that you don’t seem particularly taken with either of them. You’ll engage them in conversation, sure, smiling politely and answering their questions in that soft, timid way in which you so often speak, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Is it wishful thinking on Hobi’s part that the smiles that you give him seem far more genuine? Warmer, sweeter somehow? It might well be, but that doesn’t stop him enjoying it.

“Want another beer?” Hobi offers to Namjoon as he places the empty one back on the coffee table and then leans back into the plush sofa with a contented sigh, crossing one leg over the other.

“Nah, gotta drive,” he dismisses, and Hobi is just about to turn back to you to ask more about the trip you and his sister had taken to the beach last summer when Namjoon speaks again, grabbing his attention back. “I wouldn’t mind a coffee, though?”

“Sure,” he smiles at his friend, about to rise from his seat feeling secretly loathe to leave you alone next to Jin when he’s looking at you that way, but before he can stand you’re doing it in his stead, brushing off your skirt.

“I’ll do it, Hoseok, it’s alright,” you offer, and he wishes you a quiet thanks as you turn your back and make your way into the kitchen, your tail gently swaying from side to side behind you. He doesn’t realise he’s watching you go until he catches Jin’s eyes and realises that he was doing the same, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing a little at the smirk that twists the elder hybrid’s full mouth.

“I’ll go give her a hand,” he announces, rising from the sofa and exiting after you faster than Hobi can think of an excuse to stop him without looking like an unreasonable asshole. When Namjoon engages him in conversation he finds that he’s only really half listening, his mind preoccupied with worries of what the two of you might be doing next door.

Jin wouldn’t try anything, right? The two of you have only just met, and -

The sound of china breaking barely a minute later has Hobi leaping to his feet and rushing across the living room at lightning speed, his concern for you rendering him completely oblivious to the bemused looks on Namjoon’s face on witnessing his nervous behaviour, or the sound of the younger man calling his name. Shoving open the kitchen door, the scent of the freshly brewed coffee that’s spilt all over the otherwise pristine white linoleum floor invades Hobi’s nostrils, but that assault is nothing in comparison to the punch in the gut he feels at the sight laid out before him.

You, trapped against the kitchen table with Jin at your back, your eyes wide with alarm and shaking hands hovering in midair whilst the tall hybrid’s arms wind tighter around your waist. Jin’s face is nuzzling at the juncture of your shoulder and your neck, and Hobi feels his stomach twist with horror when he sees a flash of Jin’s perfect white teeth immediately prior to him dragging them along your otherwise flawless skin, purring deep.

Anyone who didn’t know you as well might mistake the sound you make at that moment as one of arousal, but Hobi knows better. It’s a whimper of fright, not pleasure, and when he sees the way your ears are pinned back against your scalp as you helplessly twist and squirm in Jin’s unyielding grasp, Hobi feels his blood begin to boil, temper rising until he can practically hear it roaring behind his eardrums.

“Get off her,” he snarls as viciously as any predator might, his hands clenched in angry fists at his sides, and at the sound of Hobi’s voice Jin abruptly looks up, his lips pulling back to display his teeth in a show of aggression, tail lashing wildly to and fro behind him.

“Mine,” he snaps back possessively, and Hobi is just about to go for him - more than ready to forcibly rip the other man’s hands off of your body if need be - when suddenly Namjoon is holding him back, one large palm planted firmly on his shoulder.

“Seokjin!” Namjoon’s voice is just as firm as his grasp and laced with dominance. “Let her go,” he commands, and Jin visibly falters, licking his lips. His eyes, which had been almost entirely pitch black when he was attempting to stake his claim, are suddenly clearer again, and they flick back and forth between Hobi and Namjoon unsurely as he slowly loosens his hold. “Now.”

It takes a couple of seconds for Jin to fully remove himself from you, and during that time Hobi’s gaze never leaves your face. He tries so hard to reassure you with just the look in his eyes, wanting nothing more than to rush over and take you in his arms as soon as you’re free of Jin’s, and he would if he didn’t think such a barrage of physical affection would only startle you more.

You flee from the room too quickly for Hobi to have the opportunity to comfort you, anyway, regardless of his desires. You run past him with what looks suspiciously like tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, your lips pressed tightly together, and when Hobi impulsively reaches out to touch you he's met with a response from you he's never had before; not in all the time the two of you have known each other.

You flinch away as his fingertips brush your skin, almost as though he’s scalded you, and though it hurts to see you jump away from him so, it’s less than the pain he feels on hearing the sound that you make as he does so. For daring to reach out to you, you emit a harsh and angry hiss, and as the ugly sound passes your usually soft, sweet lips, you wear an expression more feral and guarded than he's ever witnessed on you before. It leaves him speechless - desolate - and it isn’t until Namjoon speaks that Hobi is able to break out of the state of shock your rapid exit has left him in.

He tears his gaze away from where it’d lay staring blankly at the doorway through which you’d ran, running his hand through his hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Namjoon hastens to apologise, dropping his hand from where it’d rested on Hobi’s shoulder, “He’s not supposed to be in rut yet - if I’d have known I never would’ve brought-”

“I think you should go,” Hobi interrupts harshly, unable to bring himself to look at the hybrid in question who’s come to stand sheepishly at Namjoon’s side, staring down at the floor in shame.

Realistically, Hobi knows he shouldn’t be so angry. It’s not as though any hybrid enjoys being such a slave to their animal instincts, or can even be held fully accountable for their actions whilst they’re under the influence of them, and yet… “Joon, it’s fine,” he sighs, attempting to soften his tone when he realises just how mortified his friend appears to be. “But I still think it’d be a good idea for the three of you to head home.”

“You’re right,” the taller man concedes, letting the hands he’d been so fretfully wringing together fall back down to his sides. “Come on, Jin - let’s get you home.” Mournfully, the hybrid stood next to him nods and then silently follows him out of the room, his tail tucked between his legs; ears pressed flat against his hair. Jungkook doesn’t ask what had happened when the three of them re-enter the living room, but the change in atmosphere is enough to tell him not to question Namjoon’s sudden announcement that it’s time to leave, and as Hobi follows them to the front door the younger hybrid lingers at Jin’s side, looking worried by his brother’s sudden and drastic drop in mood.

The goodbyes that are exchanged on the doorstep are a little strained, but Hobi manages to summon up the enthusiasm for a parting hug goodbye with Namjoon at least; a tight-lipped smile on his face as he pulls away. That same fixed smile remains as he waves them off, and Hobi is just about head back inside and shut the front door when all of a sudden Jin seems to have a change of heart and turns back. He returns to the doorstep despite Namjoon calling his name, seemingly undeterred by the cold suspicion with which Hobi regards him.

“I really am sorry,” he tells the human male earnestly, eyes wide. Hobi knows the sincerity of Jin’s expression should spur some feeling of forgiveness toward the hybrid or lessen the anger he feels, but he’s not ready to let it go just yet. Not until he knows you’re ok. “Please, apologise to her for me.” A stiff nod is all that Hobi can manage in reply, but it seems enough for Jin. The handsome feline gives him a small, regretful smile and then returns to the car where Namjoon and Jungkook are already waiting, its electric engine impossible to hear over the music playing so loudly inside that Hobi’s surprised it doesn’t make the windows shake.

Hobi doesn’t linger at the doorway to watch them go; too lost in his own thoughts to spare another on waving goodbye. He wanders back into the kitchen and sets about mechanically cleaning up the split coffee, but all the while he does so all he can think about is you; how scared you looked when you were trapped in Jin’s arms and the tears he’d seen in your eyes. The vicious way you’d hissed at him when all he wanted to do was hold you tight…

Are you crying upstairs in your room now, he wonders? It breaks Hobi’s heart to imagine it, but no matter how badly he wants to climb the stairs and go check on you, his own anxieties won’t let him. What if you’re angry at him? It was his fault for inviting them all over, after all, so he wouldn’t blame you for being mad. He’s not sure what he’d do if you turned him away from your room, or worse if you decided to hiss at him again, or told him that you hated him.

Wringing out the cloth over the sink, he watches the brown liquid he’d mopped up swirl away down the plug hole and mulls over what he should do. By the time he’s finished cleaning up, he’s decided that it’s probably better idea to just wait for you to come down and just apologise then, rather than trying to rush or push you. That way, you’ll both get a chance to regroup and calm down rather than make the situation worse.

Not only that, but it might provide some valuable time for Hobi to figure out how the hell he’s going to make a passable salmon en croute to make all this up to you.

In what appears to be a fortunate stroke of serendipity, Hobi’s usually subpar culinary skills seem to have vastly improved since the last time he’d tried to cook anything from scratch. The smell coming from within the oven is enough to make his mouth water, and the last time he’d peeked inside the filo pastry he’d spent so long painstakingly preparing looked perfectly golden and crisp. If this doesn’t get him back in your good books, he’s not sure what will.

He’d been wary of leaving you at home alone to go and fetch the ingredients he’d needed - at first - but had reassured himself that after the kind of afternoon you’d both had, the chances of you wanting to leave the house were probably slim to none; especially since hybrids aren’t technically allowed to roam the streets by themselves.

Still, he’d bought dinner as quickly as he could using the money his sister had paid him, and by the time he’d returned home, Hobi was relieved to find everything exactly how he’d left it. Well… maybe relieved might’ve been the wrong word. It was positive that you’d not gone out wandering, sure; but not that you’d remained holed up in your room with the door firmly shut.

And that’s where you remain now, some two hours later, with Hobi stood with his fist gently knocking against the wood and a nervous look on his face. There’s nothing but silence on the other side to begin with, and for a moment Hobi wonders if you might’ve just fallen asleep. He cautiously knocks once more, just in case - he wouldn’t want you to go hungry - and after a second or two more he’s able to make out the sound of rustling sheets and footsteps coming nearer.

Ever so slowly, the door opens to reveal half of your face. One red-rimmed, puffy eye that looks warily back at him through the small gap and Hobi’s heart sinks on seeing it. You’ve been crying exactly as he’d feared, and now he feels even more guilty than he did before, a lump in his throat as he forces a smile.

“Hey, kitkat,” he begins, voice soft, “I made dinner if you’re hungry.” Your one eye flicks down the floor and back up again, but for the moment that’s all the response he gets. He can tell from the shape of your mouth that you must be biting your bottom lip, though - not that that makes him feel any better. “I made the salmon like I promised.” At the mention of fish, Hobi swears he can see your one ear twitch with interest. He widens his smile encouragingly, letting the offer linger in the air, and after a second or two more his patience pays off.

You open the door to the bedroom the rest of the way, flashing a meek, hesitant smile as you mutter,

“Ok.” It’s not much, but it’s something, and as the two of you head back downstairs again Hobi can feel a hope that everything will turn out ok starting to kindle in his heart. In gentlemanly fashion he pulls out a kitchen chair on which for you to sit at the table, smiling encouragingly as you lower yourself onto it, nervously pulling on your sleeves, and he tries not to let the silence bother him as he dishes up dinner for the both of you, one plate at a time.

“I hope it’s alright,” he says as he places your portion in front of you; pastry parcel of fish next sat next to a mound of freshly steamed vegetables Hobi prays he hasn’t overcooked, “It actually turned out to be easier than I thought.” You say nothing, but when Hobi turns around from fetching you a fresh glass of milk from the fridge he can see your nose twitching with interest as you inspect your meal. That has to be a good sign, surely?

“It looks good, Hoseok,” you reply timidly, picking up your knife and fork, and as he sits opposite you, you finally look up at meet his eyes, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he beams back, and in the centre of his chest he feels a pleasant warmth bloom at the smile you return right before your gaze drops back down to your plate.

Hobi can’t bring himself to take a bite until you’ve first had yours, and it’s with bated breath that he waits while you slice into the pastry and then scoop it onto your fork, losing flakes along the way up to your mouth. You don’t say anything as you chew, either, but by the way your tail starts to swish happily back and forth behind your chair and the eagerness with which you dig in for more, he presumes it must’ve turned out as well as he’d hoped.

When he finally takes himself a bite of his own, that suspicion is confirmed. The two of you eat in companionable silence with just the sounds of your knives and forks scraping against the plates to fill it for a while, but with every mouthful Hobi takes he can feel the weight of the apology he’s so desperate to make sitting heavy on his insides. Your mood seems to have lifted now that you’ve eaten, so that’s something. At least it might make you more receptive to what he has to say; less likely that he’ll be hissed at again.

Taking a deep breath, he settles his knife and fork down on the plate for a moment.

“I’m really sorry,” he starts, awkwardly placing his palms on the flat of the table for lack of knowing what else to do with them, “About what happened earlier.” Abruptly, you stop eating - your cutlery poised in mid-air - and it’s only after a second or two that you finally recommence what you were doing, scooping up a mouthful of peas without looking up from your plate.

“It’s alright,” you quietly answer, but Hobi gets a distinct feeling that it’s not.

“I shouldn’t have invited them over. I never would’ve done if I’d have known Jin was in rut-”

“How could you have known?” You do look up when he says that, jaw working up and down as you chew, gaze steady. “It’s not season; it was just bad timing and bad luck that’s all.” Your attention turns back to your plate but Hob can't help but stare, shocked by how casually you're speaking of it after so little time has passed - how frightened you'd looked before.

“But the way he acted towards you…” Sighing, you finally pause, resting your wrists on the edge of the table with knife and fork in hand as you look back at him with those wide, feline eyes of yours. There's a sadness in them that Hobi finds hard to witness; a world-weariness you shouldn't possess at the tender age you share.

“I've had worse, trust me,” you state, and the bluntness with which you confess it has Hobi sick to his very stomach. All the dark things that they'd feared might fill your past seem as though they might be true, and now he finds himself wanting to hold you even more desperately than he did before; to care for you and comfort you until all those horrors are long forgotten - dead and buried in the past where they belong.

“I'm so sorry,” he mumbles because it's all he can think of to say, his brows furrowed as though in pain, and the sad smile that you give him only makes his heart hurt all the more.

“Don't be,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, and as you say your next words Hobi is baffled by the light pink flush that colours your cheeks, matching your bashful expression. Why are you blushing now, of all times? “Besides your sister, you're nicest human being I've ever met.”

And just like that, Hobi's feels like he could sing.

The air seems to clear between the two of you, after that. You seem in a better mood for the rest of dinner, more relaxed and talkative, and you even go so far as burst into peals of laughter when Hobi makes the mistake of trying to speak around a mouthful of peas and subsequently inhales one of them. Your reaction may sound callous, but you’d made sure to withhold your amusement until after he was done coughing and spluttering over his meal and only then gone on to tease him about the delightful shade of magenta his face had momentarily turned once you knew he was no longer in mortal danger.

In fact, as the rest of the night goes on Hobi starts to wonder if the events of earlier that afternoon might have been a blessing in disguise. When he suggests that the two of you watch a movie after you’ve finished helping him clear and wash the dinner plates you seem particularly receptive to the idea, eagerly picking out a title you’ve been wishing to watch. Your offer to share some of your highly prized lacto-free ice cream also catches him off guard - you’re usually a little possessive when it comes to your food - though when Hobi elects for the tub of mint choc chip that he’d had the foresight to purchase earlier he swears he sees a hint of relief in your eyes. He scrunches up his nose on witnessing it, unable to resist the urge to smile at how endearing you are to him in all that you do; from the way you practically scamper into the living room ahead of him with a spring in your step, to how you curl both arms protectively around your ice cream tub as you devour it, ears quivering with delight.

You don’t sit at the other end of the sofa to him that night; you sit right beside him. Your bodies aren’t close enough to touch but near enough for Hobi to feel your body heat, and enough for him to almost jump out of his skin the first time your head falls forward and then bobs up again as you once again succumb to the temptation of sleep, as is so often your habit. Honestly, he’s surprised the force with which he startles doesn’t wake you, or that he manages not to scream. Trust you to ask to watch a horror movie and then abandon him by falling asleep during so that he’s left scared shitless and all alone.

Still, it’s not as though he’s really paying attention to the movie anymore. Once he’s certain that you are really as fast asleep as you look, Hobi can’t find the will to pass up such a perfect opportunity to admire your face. The two of you are the same age and yet when you sleep you suddenly appear so much younger to his eyes; so innocent and unburdened. He wishes he were brave enough to reach out and touch you - to brush back the piece of hair that’s fallen down across your forehead without fear of waking you. Would you mind, he wonders? Would you -

A high-pitched scream from the tv has Hobi jumping in his seat again, heart racing a mile a minute as his head whips round to face the offending sound. He’s relieved to find there’s no horrific spectre crawling out of the tv toward him as he’d so irrationally feared there might be but just as his breathing is starting to even out something else happens to steal it all together - sucking the air right out of his lungs. It’s not ghosts or goblins that’s accelerating his pulse now, however, nor is it fear that’s widening his eyes; it’s the feel of your body leant against his and the weight of your head resting on his shoulder that’s flustering him so. He glances to the side to sneak a peek at you and sure enough you’re still fast asleep, your lips slightly parted with the steady inhales you take, chest gently rising and falling against his arm.

For a while, all he can bring himself to do is look at you. Hobi tries not to breathe too deeply for a little while so as not to wake you but then has to give that up when the lack of oxygen starts making him light-headed and thankfully, you only snuggle closer as his lungs expand. There’s a contented smile on your face that he automatically mirrors, and though he still can’t work the courage to touch you it somehow doesn’t seem to matter so much anymore - not when you feel so warm pressed up against him, your legs drawn up onto the sofa and your knees digging into his side.

Hobi’s sure that there’s a smile plastered on his face the whole way through the rest of the movie, and he’s glad you’re not awake to see what a ridiculous sap he must look. You probably don’t even realise what you’re doing, or have any idea of the way it makes him feel to hear your soft little sighs, and when the movie is over Hobi’s almost reluctant to let the moment end. It has to, though; it’s getting late and you deserve to sleep in your bed rather than against his bony shoulder.

“Kitkat,” he calls softly, “The movie’s finished.” If there’s one good thing about having to wake you it that at least he has a legitimate reason to touch you now, and it’s with a shy, cautious hand that he reaches out to gently touch your arm. You stir lightly on contact, mumbling something under your breath, and once Hobi has managed to tame the ridiculous butterflies in his chest he rubs that hand up and down your arm once more, jostling you lightly. “Time for bed.”

You murmur again, moving yourself up off of his shoulder with all the co-ordination and grace of someone that’s still half asleep, and by the time you’re peeling open your eyes and groaning out a confused ‘hmm?’, Hobi’s sure you probably won’t remember ever having slept on him at all.

“You slept right through it,” Hobi tells you, smiling as your delicate eyebrows furrow into a frown.

“I did?”

“You did,” he confirms, and at that you moan, frustrated with yourself, “I don’t know why you bother trying, sometimes.”

“No,” you sigh, pausing to yawn in what you’d probably say was a very unladylike fashion - mouth wide open and tonsils on display, “Neither do I.” You yawn again, closing your eyes as you extend your arms above your head and scratch around the base of your ears, messing up your hair. Hobi’s never seen you look so relaxed or unguarded before, and he loves that you’re letting this side of you show - even if it is because you’re not really yet fully awake. You stand from the sofa, rising up onto your tiptoes to stretch out your limbs with your arms extended upward, and Hobi has to turn his head not to be tempted to look at the little slither of skin he knows will be exposed when your sweater inevitably rises up. He still swallows at the thought of it, though; still feels the heat of it on his cheeks.

“You coming up?” Your question totally derails him for a moment, and when all he does is stare at you, mouth gaping like a fish, a bemused smile spreads across your face.

“Oh, yeah, soon,” he manages to sputter out once he realises it was merely a question that you’d spoken, rather than an invitation. You nod, satisfied, tail flicking rapidly from side to side as though you’re trying to stretch that appendage out, too.

“Well, sleep well when you get there,” you smile, playing with the hem of your sweater as you stand over him, and when Hobi wishes you a goodnight in return you simply nod your head and turn to leave only to pause again once you reach the door. “And thank you again for dinner, Hoseok,” you tell him softly, and if Hobi didn’t know any better he’d start to think the way you’re lingering was an indication that you were reluctant to part ways, too. “It was lovely.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies once again, totally oblivious to the huskiness his own voice has developed on seeing the way your front teeth are pressing into your bottom lip, hips gently swaying from side to side as if in time to some music that only you can hear.

“Night.” Neither of you mention that this is the second time that you’re saying it, or that somehow it feels different from any of the other times you’ve said it before.

“Goodnight,” he whispers back as you slip out into the hall, and once you’re gone Hobi slumps back into the sofa cushions, running a hand over his face.

Fuck; he is definitely, definitely in trouble.

The next day does nothing to help Hobi’s growing affections towards you wane; if anything they seem to get stronger with every passing hour. He’d come downstairs in the morning to find that you’d already cooked him breakfast - sweet egg toast, just the way he likes it, sat alongside a fresh cup of coffee (extra milk, hold the sugar) - and the sheer look of happiness on your face when he’d been so surprised and so grateful for the effort you’d gone to had made it difficult for Hobi not to want to grab you and kiss your right then and there, right across the kitchen table.

You’re acting differently towards him, and Hobi can’t quite figure out why. It’s not an unwelcome change, by any means - just a little sudden - and he can’t get used to suddenly being the one that being stared at rather than the other way around. You linger and you look, and every time he catches you you’ll blush an even deeper shade of pink than the last time; though it still doesn't seem to stop you.

Most surprising of all, though, is when you suddenly suggest that the two of you go out somewhere for the day. It catches Hobi so off guard he almost chokes all over again but somehow you end up convincing him to take a trip to the aquarium in the centre of town, and on the journey there Hobi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look so excited; tail practically vibrating with joy the whole time you’re sat next to him in the passenger seat.

The people selling tickets look a little nervous to be allowing admittance to a feline, and he’d worried that their whispered conversation about whether to let you into what could be considered an all-you-can-eat buffet for someone like you might bring you down - but it doesn’t. You remain chipper, ears pointed and smile wide, undeterred by the odd looks people send your way when you stand with your nose pressed right up to the aquarium glass making quiet little clicking noises at the back of your throat as the fish pass you by.

It’s as you’re standing watching majestic sea turtles pass you overhead that Hobi first feels the tentative brush of your fingertips against his. It’s a fleeting touch but it’s enough to make his heart feels as though it’s stopped beating in the time it takes for you to do it a second time, looking anywhere but directly at him as you smoothly slip your hand into his - the way the tip of your tail is flicking this way and that giving any indication that you might be nervous at all. Immediately, it feels as though his palm is too sweaty - his whole body far too warm - but you don’t seem to mind. In fact, after a moment longer you go so far as to link your fingers between his, squeezing back at the experimental tightening of Hobi’s hand around yours, a secret smile on both your faces.

Neither of you mention this new development, but others around you certainly seem to. Hobi’s sure he hears an old woman tutting as they pass, shielding her grandchildren from the sight of you as if it’d somehow corrupt them to see, but he could care less what she thinks - what anyone thinks. All he cares about is how perfectly your hand seems to fit inside his and how you don’t seem to want to let it go, even when he pays extra for you to have the chance to feed the otters, or touch and feel the open-topped coral display.

Absentmindedly, he realises he’s probably blown all of the money his sister had paid him in advance for doing her this favour, but Hobi doesn’t care about that either. It’s worth every penny to see you like this; happier than he’s ever seen you before.

Your good mood persists when the two of you get home, too. After lunch you decide you want to take another shot at watching last night’s movie again, and though Hobi knows it’s pointless and that’ll probably end up finishing it alone, he doesn’t have the heart to point that out to you.

Much like the following evening, you choose to sit next to him on the sofa. This time, though, you’re close enough to touch, a thigh pressed alongside his, and as the movie progresses Hobi tries not to let it show how greatly it affects him to have you turn your body towards his and purposefully snuggle up, leaning your head on his shoulder. You draw your legs up again and curl into him, your tail curling similarly around the curve of your behind, and the next time it flicks up into the air during a particularly frightening moment you let it come back down to rest across his thighs rather than the sofa; little by little, closer and closer.

Hobi feels like he can’t breathe when you lay your arm across his torso with one palm pressed flat to his stomach, but he’d happily suffocate if it meant you’d never move. He, in turn, lays an arm bravely across your shoulders, and at the happy little sound you make as you wriggle up against him, his lungs suddenly feel as though they’ve re-inflated with air. Relieved that you’ve accepted his token of affection, Hobi allows himself to relax back into the sofa cushions to better enjoy the feel of you next to him and relish in the moment.

If ever there was a time to touch you the way he’s longed to, wouldn’t it be now? He drags his eyes away from the film to look down at the top of your head and the soft, silken ears that sit amongst your hair, and as though you’re able to feel the weight of his gaze on you, you suddenly look up; a small, coy smile appearing on your lips when you realise he’d been staring. Hobi smiles back, eyes creasing into crescent moons of happiness, and then very gingerly starts moving his hand towards your hair. He does it slowly to give you plenty of time to pull away but rather than flinch you simply blink, maintaining his stare with that same, gentle smile on your face as he starts to run his fingers through your hair.

It’s just as soft as he’d imagined - like silk between his fingers - and at the contented way you close your eyes and tilt your head back into his palm, Hobi is emboldened. Carefully, he inches his fingertips closer to the base of your ears.

“Is this ok?” he asks quietly, not wanting to break whatever spell it is that he seems to have you under, and when you nod your head in consent he goes ahead and slips his fingers deeper into your hair to seek out the spot where your scalp and ears meet. When he begins to scratch at their base as he’d seen Namjoon do to Jungkook the day before, a sound erupts from you that he’s never heard before; a deep purr of pleasure that vibrates through your chest and shoots straight into to his groin, filling his insides with heat. Hobi feels guilty for it spurring such a reaction in him, but how is he supposed to help himself when you start grabbing at his t-shirt and twisting your back to turn yourself further towards him? Or tilting your head back into his hand to encourage him further, eyes blissfully closed?

“Does that…” Hobi has to clear his throat before he can continue; enraptured with how velvet soft your ears feel against the pads of his fingers. “Does that feel good?” Somehow your purring only seems to get louder when he asks you that, and suddenly you’re turning your head towards him and pressing your face into the crook of his neck. You start nuzzling into him, alternating between kissing his throat and rubbing the angle of your jaw against every inch of available skin as you tug at his shirt, and it’s only from having observed domestic cats do something very similar before that Hobi understands what it is you’re trying to achieve.

You’re scenting him - rubbing yourself all over him and mewling so prettily as you do it - and before he knows what’s happening you’re suddenly up on your knees on the sofa next to him, very nearly climbing onto his lap.

Hobi stutters your name as his hand leaves your hair, sliding smoothly down the length of your back. He only remembers about your tail once it’s too late and he’s already touching it, palm brushing against its silken base where it protrudes from the purpose made gap in fabric of your jeans. The very moment he touches it you moan wantonly - lips parting against the cheek you’d been so busily kissing - and your back is arching to stick your rear further into the air, an enticing curve that -

Suddenly you stop, deathly still as your hot breath blows against his face with every laboured breath you take.

“Are you… are you ok?” he asks, quickly removing his offending hand. He hadn’t realised how out of breath he is until you’d stopped nor how hard he is inside his jeans but now you have he… well now he’s just nervous, waiting for you to say something - anything - to break this awkward silence.

“Fuck,” you whisper under your breath, and then out of a state of complete inactivity, you suddenly spring into action, lurching back away from him and scrambling off the couch, red in the face. You can’t look him in the eye as you stand there tugging on your sleeves, and Hobi is just about to reach out to try and take your hand when you take an abrupt step back, shaking your head. “Hoseok, I’m sorry,” you gush, voice breaking, and to his horror he realises you look as though you’re about to burst into tears at any given moment, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I can’t…”

You run from the room before he can say anything more, and for the second time in as many days, Hobi’s left staring at your exit with wide-eyed confused written all over his face.

What the hell just happened? Did he… did he do something wrong? Has he inadvertently crossed some kind of line he didn’t know existed? Hobi will be the first to admit he knows nothing about the do’s or don'ts when it comes to hybrid/human relations but it wasn’t as though you seemed to dislike anything that he was doing; the opposite, in fact.

Hobi groans, leaning forward and pushing his face into his hands before running them back through his hair, biting his bottom lip with worry as his mind turns over and over in search of answers. It’s not getting him anywhere, though; he knows the only way this’ll get sorted out is if he actually gets up off of his ass and goes upstairs to speak with you. And yes, it might well be awkward, but not as awkward as it’ll be come the morning if things are left this way. Whatever relationship the two of you have built this week will be all for nothing otherwise, and Hobi isn’t willing to let the way he’d felt this afternoon when your little hand was held in his go without a fight.

Bracing himself for the possibility of the most horrendous rejection of his life, Hobi climbs the stairs and heads towards your room. Just like yesterday, there’s nothing but silence on your side of the door, but he doesn’t let that keep him from raising his fist to knock, steeling himself with a clench of his jaw and a shuffle of his feet.

You answer far quicker than he’d expected you to, your voice hesitant as you call back,

“C-come in.” Cautiously, Hobi pushes open the door and steps inside, closing it gently behind him. You’re sat against the headboard of your bed when he enters, your knees drawn up to your chest and your arms wrapped around them, and Hobi is relieved to see that this time your eyes are free of tears. You do look flushed, though, in both your face and across the top of your chest, and as he approaches your bed you watch him warily, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“I’m…” Oh god, how does he put this? “I’m sorry if I… if I did something wrong or… or if that was too much or too fast?” He feels as though he’s grasping at straws; embarrassed at how flustered he feels when the two of you never even got so far as kissing. What happened downstairs on the couch can’t even be classed as heavy petting, but Hobi’s wanted to touch you that way for so long that somehow that brief moment had already felt like so much more than that.

Logically, he knows it’s probably a good thing that you stopped things before they went too far. The situation between the two of you is far too complicated; there’s too much at stake if it all goes wrong.

“We can just forget about what happened, ok?” he offers when you’re slow to reply, your gaze focused down at the blankets on which you sit rather than Hobi’s searching eyes, “I don’t want things to be awkward between us, so don’t worry. No hard feelings.” It hurts him to pretend as if none of this matters - as if it’s all nothing but a bit of meaningless flirtation and nothing more - but Hobi would rather stuff all his feelings back down again than risk losing your friendship entirely. “If you changed your mind it’s-”

You look up, grabbing nervously at the denim of your jeans.

“I didn’t-” You abruptly stop, sighing with frustration. “-I haven’t changed my mind, I just…” Hobi takes a step closer to the bed, and as he draws nearer to you he notices that your hands are trembling. Your whole body is, actually. Does he really make you that nervous?

“What’s wrong, kitkat?” The permanent blush that’s present on your cheeks darkens further on hearing your nickname, and as Hobi gingerly sits himself down on the edge of your bed he watches you restlessly shift, tucking a strand of hair behind you ear.

“I’m not… in full control of myself right now,” you confess down to the bedsheets, avoiding his gaze. Frowning, Hobi tries to catch your eye.

“What do you mean?” he persists. You press your lips together, tensing for a moment as though you're working yourself up to something.

“I'm in heat,” you blurt out in a rush, and even Hobi is aware of how wide his eyes must appear when you finally look up and find him practically gawking back at you. “I'm not supposed to be,” you hasten to add, “It's not season yet but… but with what happened yesterday and Jin and I think it... it set it off early or something, I don't know.”

Hobi struggles to think of what to say when you fall silent, anxiously awaiting his reaction. It certainly all makes a lot more sense now; your sudden desire for physical closeness, your affectionate behaviour… what happened downstairs….

“Oh god,” you groan, mistaking his dumbfoundedness for horror. You shove your face into your hands, and when you rake your hair back off of your forehead Hobi can make out beads of perspiration lining your hairline; evidence that what you say is true. “I'm sorry, Hoseok… You must think this is so… so gross.”

“Of course not.” He's quick to try and assuage your fears, not wanting you to believe for even a single second that he would think of you that way. “It's not your fault.”

Besides - if Hobi is being honest with himself - seeing you like this has only made him desire you even more; complexion flushed with hormones and heat, pupils wide with want, body quaking. You look more alluring than any creature he's ever seen before, but this is hardly the time to tell you that. He doesn't know much about hybrid heats, but from what he's heard they can be almost unbearable to endure if left un-sated or untreated.

“Do you have something you can take?” Hobi asks, “Does Jiwoo have some medicine stashed away for you somewhere?” He tries to pretend he doesn't see the way your eyes are travelling the length of him up and down as he speaks, or how you lick your lips while staring at his own before you next reply, shifting your bottom on the bed.

“Don't think so.” You sound a little distracted as you answer, biting into the flesh of your bottom lip. The look in your eyes is starting to make Hobi a little nervous - nervous and excited - so he quickly moves as if to stand from the bed before he's tempted to go making any unwise decisions.

“I can go get some, it won't-" Quick as a flash, you're suddenly on your hands and knees and your hand is wrapped around Hobi's wrist, keeping him from walking away from the side of the bed. He swallows as he looks down to where your dainty fingers have ensnared him, and when he looks back up and into your eyes the predatory gleam within them has all of his blood rushing south between his legs.

“I don't want the pills,” you purr softly, and looking at you now Hobi never would have been able to guess you were the same woman who was sat so nervously on the bed just a few moments ago.

He feels you tug at his wrist and allows you to pull him back down to sit on the mattress; unable to resist your siren call. As soon as he's within reach you're leaning forward on your hands and knees to nuzzle yourself against him like you were before, purring low, and then your lips are at his ear, teeth nipping at the lobe as you whisper into it,

“I want you, Hoseok.”

For a second, Hobi is sure he forgets how to breathe.

“Me?” he blurts, very nearly choking as he speaks. He’s fairly sure that that’s what he heard but it seems so unlikely - so fantastical - that even as you continue to press soft, slow kisses to the sharp angle of his jaw, he still feels the need to check.

“You,” you confirm lowly, crawling further forwards on your knees. Your shoulder bumps into his, and as your mouth trails lower down onto his throat Hobi feels one of hands encroach onto his thigh, squeezing through his jeans.

“I… uh…” Unsure of where to put his hands, Hobi finds himself clutching your blankets as his head tilts to the side, willfully exposing the most sensitive parts of his neck and shuddering when you kiss and lick and nuzzle at them. “I’m not sure this… t-this is a good idea.” A disgruntled noise rumbles past your lips and onto his skin, vocalising your displeasure.

“Why?” You pull away for just a second, long enough just to look him in the eyes, and though they’re wide and feigning innocence, the lustfulness within them only makes you harder to resist. You’re going to be his downfall; of that one thing Hobi is sure. “You want me.” He blushes at how bluntly you state the fact, laughing nervously. Has he always been so transparent? “And I want you,” you persist, dragging his gaze back to yours by tugging at his shirt, balling the material in your fist.

“But… Jiwoo.” Your face is so close to his that Hobi doesn’t need to speak louder than a whisper to be heard, and at the mention of his sister your ears swivel outward, a smile tugging at your lips.

“She doesn’t need to know, Hoseok,” you assure him, leaning in further to brush the tip of your nose against his. Barely a centimetre lays between your lips, and as his eyes zero in on the soft, pink petals of your mouth Hobi’s impressed by the strength he manages to summon in order to resist you. He deserves a medal for this, really, what with how long it’s been since he last had a woman practically crawling into his lap. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

Who knew you could ever be such a temptress? Who knew a smirk could ever look so delicious on a face as sweet as yours?

“Won’t you help me?” Slipping your hand from his shirt down onto the seat of his jeans, you nudge your nose against his cheek, eyelashes fluttering prettily against his skin. “It hurts, Hoseok,” you whine softly, and when you press the heel of your hand against the rapidly swelling bulge between Hobi’s legs his breath hitches in his throat, his hands clutching the blankets even harder than before. “I haven’t been bred in so long.”

He’s powerless to stop the groan that falls from his lips on hearing that, especially with the way you’re rubbing your palm along the length of him through his jeans so enticingly. The only way he’s able to hold it back is to sink his two front teeth into his bottom lip, shutting his eyes to avoid the sultry look in yours, but even having done that he knows this show of willpower won’t last long.

“Will you do it?” you plead, groping at his crotch, and Hobi can feel himself starting to perspire from the sheer heat that’s radiating off of you; every breath you speak blowing hot air across his face to further boil his blood. “Please, Hoseok.” Your pretty eyes close and in turn, so do his, and in the split second that follows before your lips press gently to his, Hobi is sure it feels as though his heart might burst through his chest with how frantically it’s beating - how desperately it soars.

It’s a brief kiss - a chaste one - but as you pull away licking the remnants of his taste from your lips, Hobi’s mind is made up. He can’t fight this any longer; he doesn’t want to. Consequences be damned.

“Please, will you fuck me?”

“Fuck, yes,” he declares thickly, and in that instant all the passion he’s been so painstakingly holding back is suddenly set free in a flurry of lips and teeth and limbs.

His mouth crashes into yours and his hands release the bedsheets to tangle instead into your hair, pulling your face further onto his own as you kiss him back with equal fervour, very nearly tipping forward into his lap with how eager you are to close the space between you. Hobi’s no longer careful about avoiding your velvet ears, either. He digs his fingers into the base of them and takes advantage of the way your mouth falls open in an enthusiastic moan to push his tongue past your lips to seek out yours. The taste of you has him longing so desperately for more than he starts impatiently pushing you backwards, leaning his weight on you until you’re falling onto your back amongst the covers beneath him, and when he pulls away to survey you the heaving of your chest has him swallowing thickly, cock twitching in his jeans.

“You’re so hot, god,” he groans into the base of your throat, the tang of your sweat almost sweet on the tip of his tongue. He means it in every sense of the word; amazed by how blisteringly hot your breast feels underneath his palm when he begins to greedily grope and squeeze through your sweater. “You’re burning up, baby.”

“Kitty,” you gasp out as his hand slips under your clothes to get a better feel, your nipple quickly hardening under the simplest brush of his thumb, “Call me kitty.”

“Kitty, hmm?” he enquires, relinquishing the tender skin of your throat he’d been gently sucking on in order to look up and see you nod, coy. He feels a swell of satisfaction in his chest when he sees how fucked you look already - how blown out your pupils are - and when you gasp as he tweaks at your nipple that satisfaction transforms into a smirk of pride.

You’re so responsive to his every touch that if it weren’t for your condition Hobi’s sure he’d take great satisfaction in drawing this out and playing with you for hours and hours on end but for now he resists that urge, settling instead for stripping you of your sweater. You’re naked underneath - naked and flushed all over - and Hobi devours you greedily with his eyes, grinning down at you as he begins to similarly unbutton your jeans, knelt at your side.

“What a pretty little kitty you are.” Holding your gaze as you blush even darker, he begins to peel you out of your jeans an inch at a time. You have to lift your hips in order for your tail to slip free, but the moment your bottom lands back on the bed you begin to help him further by pulling your legs free as he drags the denim further down, ripping off your socks as he throws your jeans to the side. Unashamed, you part your thighs to display yourself to him, and Hobi groans aloud at the sight of the ruined, sunshine yellow underwear that’s clinging like a second skin to your core.

You’re sopping wet - dripping with desire - and on seeing how it affects him to see you so Hobi can only try not to cum on the spot at the salacious way you then nibble your lip and slip your thumbs into the waistband of your panties to dispose of them, too; laying yourself bare.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear,” he tells you breathily, a little light-headed at how little blood there is to fill the rest of his veins when there’s so much of it rushing between his legs; so hard that it feels he might burst. You don’t seem to register his words, though, too preoccupied with pushing yourself up off the bed onto your elbows and tugging his lips down onto yours by the front of his shirt, eager tongue licking its way into the hollow of his mouth.

“Take off your clothes,” you murmur into the kiss that desire has made uncoordinated and sloppy, pulling at his shirt once more, “Hurry, Hoseok, please.” Your saliva wets his lips but neither of you mind and when he has to separate himself from you in order to tear the offending article of clothing off you practically chase after his lips, stealing them back as soon as you have the chance. Now that his chest is bare you can’t seem to keep your hands off of him, either, sliding your palms down from where they’d rested on either side of his neck to grab at his biceps, nails digging in deep to make him hiss and curse.

When he coaxes you onto your back they change target, trailing down his chest to start impatiently tugging at his belt as your hips roll upwards from the bed into nothing, and as Hobi kisses his way down your chest, cupping your breasts in either hand, you start to whimper and whine beneath him. Your skin is so smooth - the weight of your breasts perfect in either palm - and the gasp of pleasure that you inhale when he takes one of your nipples between his teeth has Hobi groaning as he sucks it further into his mouth, wet and warm.

“Please, Hoseok!” you cry he flicks at it with his tongue, gently pinching the other between his thumb and forefinger until you’re mewling and twisting and only then letting go to kiss lovingly at the swell of your breast. He removes the rest of his clothes as he spends precious moments worshipping your flesh, slipping down his jeans and boxers in one and unceremoniously kicking them free of his limbs, peeling off his socks as he repositions himself to kneel between the legs you so obligingly spread to make way for him. As he lies back down on top of you and recaptures your lips, your arms wrap around his shoulders to draw him in close, holding tight, and Hobi can’t get enough of how perfect your naked skin feels against his. With every shift of your hips, the softness of your stomach brushes against the swell of his cock and the friction feels so good that he can’t stop the way he instinctively starts to grind back against you, smearing your skin with pre-cum.

The slight sheen of perspiration that lines your skin aids the glide of his hand as it ventures down across your stomach, too far gone now to want to draw this out any longer or tease you any further. With your fingers grasping at the back of his hair, he gets his first feel of the warm, slick wetness that’s coating your core and immediately he groans, captivated at how eagerly you invite him in; legs spreading, hips tilting, lips parted in a soundless gasp of pleasure.

He's sure he's never known a human female be this wet - this responsive - and as his digits trail up and down your slick, swollen folds, Hobi absentmindedly wonders whether it's a hybrid trait that has you reacting so generously to his every little touch, or whether this is a new experience for you too. Are you always this way, or is it because it’s his body that you’re trapped beneath rather than any others that you’re acting like this?

Could this really all be just for him? Could you really be as wrecked as your whimpers of his name against his lips make you sound?

Hobi dares to pray that all his runaway thoughts might be true as he loses himself in the feel you. His fingertips gently part your lips to rub against your entrance, and as your hips lift up from the bed as if trying to encourage him inside, Hobi lets one finger shallowly dip inside and rocks his pelvis into yours to seek out the friction his neglected cock so desperately needs. The way you clutch at his shoulders and writhe underneath him bolsters his confidence, prompting him to slide that one long, lonely digit knuckles deep into your blistering heat, and every inch is so tight - so wet - that Hobi swears he can feel the phantom squeeze of your pelvic floor around his length as your insides constrict around his finger to drag him deeper.

“M-more,” you mewl as he withdraws his digit and then plunges it forth again; a little rougher this time. Your head has fallen to the side to press your face into the pillow and there’s an expression of exquisite agony painted across your features that Hobi can’t imagine he will ever tire of seeing. Underneath him, your whole body is trembling with a need so great that it’s starting to affect him too; his breath similarly shaking with his every laboured exhales. “Need you, please.”

“Don’t want to hurt you, kitty,” he soothes as he closes the space between your bodies, chest to chest as his lips press to yours in a sweet, loving kiss, “Gotta get you ready.” As your noses brush, Hobi adds a second finger alongside the first to stretch you open further, clenching his jaw to keep himself from moaning at the way you clench even tighter around the intrusion and cry out into the kiss you share. Your fingernails dig into the breadth of his shoulders as he curls his digits towards himself inside of you, seeking out the sweet spot inside of you and then flexing them back and forth once he’s found it, pleased at the way you squirm, begging him for more.

“I’m ready now!” you insist, and suddenly you’re attempting to change position even whilst you’re still trapped beneath him, wriggling so impatiently that Hobi’s forced to withdraw his fingers from you and sit back on his heels, watching with widened eyes as you roll over onto your stomach and then push yourself up onto all fours. His aching cock jumps against his stomach at the way you arch your back to raise your behind further up into the air, your tail twitching restlessly where it hangs slightly to the side down one of your buttocks, and when you reach back to grasp the other and pull your cheeks apart to better display your hole, Hobi swears he hears himself whimper at the sight.

You’re so pink inside - so ripe - and every fold and crevice is glossy with your juices, begging to be tasted.

“Please,” you beseech, voice shaking as your hips sway tantalisingly from side to side, grabbing at the pillows on which you lean, “Please!” Hobi takes to his knees and quickly shuffles forward to assume his rightful position behind you, placing his hand on top of yours and squeezing it tight, alarmed by the genuine distress evident in your cries. For a second your trembling seems to settle; soothed by his touch, a sigh of relief leaving your lips.

Hobi wishes he could see your face so he can kiss you and comfort you - look into your eyes - but he knows that’s not what you’re interested in from him right now. There’s only one thing you want and you’re already rubbing yourself against it, angling your hips so that Hobi’s swollen cock is slipping back and forth between the groove at the tops of your buttocks. The sight of it is so erotic that his body seems to start moving all of its own accord, pelvis rocking gently to push back against you, and Hobi can feel himself frowning with the effort it takes to hold back as he grabs a hold of each of your hips to stop you, knowing he’ll cum all over your back if you carry on for even a second longer.

Once more you call out for him, sobbing his name into your pillow, and on hearing your plea for mercy Hobi finally grasps himself by the base of his cock and nudges its blunt, swollen tip against your folds, hands shaking. Your tail shudders with expectation, torso tensing under his palm as you brace yourself, and just as he’s about to finally give in and sink himself into the heat he can feel radiating out from your core, Hobi falters.

“I…” he chokes out, stomach sinking as he realises what a grave miscalculation he’s made, “Fuck, I-I haven’t got a condom…”

“Doesn’t matter,” you gasp out, and it’s only because of the firm hold that Hobi has on your hips that you’re unable to sink yourself back onto his length as you’re attempting to. “It’s not a real heat. I’m not-” You have to pause to let out a mewling whimper, a tremor running down the length of your spine, top to bottom, “-not fertile.”

“You’re sure?” He deserves two medals for this, he thinks; ten in fact. You’re so ready that your juices have already wetted the tip of his length, and it’s only the thought of his sister’s wrath that keeps Hobi from taking you then and there, as deep and raw as you desire. It’s a struggle though, and as his fingertips dig deeper into the flesh of your hips your tail flicks irritably from side to side, temper easily frayed under the influence of your heat.

“I’m really, really sure,” you groan in frustration, and past your shoulders he can see your head flopping forwards to rest in your hands, fingers twisting in your hair. “Please,” you beg, and this time it’s a quiet whimper that passes your lips rather than a cry, muffled against your palms, “Please, I need it.” Your voice sounds thick with tears, and as Hobi leans forward to press consoling kisses against your lower back he feels your hand suddenly land on top of his where it lays upon your hips, grabbing it tight. “I need you - just you. Only you.”

His lips linger against the curve of your spine, eyes closed as he lets the weight of your words settle in his heart. Do you realise the way those words make him feel? The seeds of hope they plant so firmly in his mind? Probably not, but now’s not the time to focus on such things.

Hobi straightens up after one more kiss, trailing one long-fingered hand down the path his lips just travelled down your spine, a tightness in his throat as he shuffles forward so the front of his thighs meet the backs of yours.

“I’ve got you, kitty,” he coos down at you, his head tilting to the side to watch as the head of his cock disappears between your folds, slow and steady, “I’ll give you what you need.” Pressing forward with his hips, Hobi’s thighs begin to shake as you welcome him in. Your back arches, knees shifting even further apart to try to open yourself up for his considerable girth - spreading, stretching - and you’re so tight, so scorching hot inside, that Hobi can feel himself starting to sweat already; and he’s not even all the way inside.

“Fu-fuck,” he hears you gasp out into your hands as he grits his teeth, determined to take his time so as not to hurt you despite wanting so desperately to force every inch of his length inside of you in one glorious, mind-numbing snap of his hips. He knows that under the influence your heat you can’t be trusted to know your own limitations; you’ll take too much, too hard, and Hobi will be damned if he’ll take advantage of your current state just to satisfy his own -

Noble as his intentions are, all of them are rendered null and void when you suddenly push yourself up from elbows to palms and jolt your body back against him, spearing yourself on his cock with a moan of sheer relief. Your head is thrown so far back that Hobi can see the pinks of the inside of your ears, the tips of your hair becoming wet with perspiration as the tendrils drape down onto your back, and Hobi’s not sure that the sound he makes as he becomes so suddenly buried within you is even human - a string of half-uttered curse words flooding from his lips as he grasps onto your hips for dear life, forcing you to keep still.

Immediately you tug against his hold, pulling yourself off of his cock and then sinking back onto it over and over again, mewling and moaning, and Hobi finds himself so paralysed by pleasure that he’s powerless to do anything but let you. He’s entranced with watching his length disappear inside of you, dripping wet when it reappears, and powerless to resist how eagerly your walls devour every inch of him, greedy for more.

“Hoseok,” you moan, the curve of your behind bouncing against his abdominals, “Hoseok, move!” Blinking, it’s at that moment that Hobi realises that all he’s done up until now is kneel completely still and let you use his body to get yourself off. He swallows, embarrassed at having been so entranced by the sight of you that he’d completely forgotten his part, but just as he’s about to get with the program and show you some of his very best moves you suddenly fall still, huffing with frustration.

“Should I give Jin a call?” you jibe, twisting your neck to look back at him over your shoulder, and if it weren’t for the playful glint in your eyes and the curl of a smirk on your lips Hobi might have actually let his feelings get hurt. You’re trying to push him into action - goad him - and god damn it, it’s working. “Clearly I was wrong to think a human could do a hybrid’s job.”

Hobi’s eyes narrow jealously at your mention of the elder hybrid, his jaw clenching, and he knows he doesn’t imagine that little shiver of excitement he sees pass through you as a sudden growl erupts from the back of his throat. He snatches a hold of your hair and tugs your head back, sharp, snarling at the way you shriek with a mix of pleasure-pain, and his fingers dig deep into the flesh of your ass as he grabs a hold of that, too, shoving himself in deep.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who was begging for my cock five minutes ago,” he reminds you, jolting his hips forward again so the head of his cock smacks into your cervix and then holds it there, snug inside your walls. With his grip on your hair as leverage, Hobi straightens up and pulls you with him onto your knees so that your back is pressed to his chest, skin on skin. “Only me, you said.” He whispers the words into your ear, delighting in the way you shiver and sigh as he then presses his lips to the slope of your neck, sliding his cock in and out of you from underneath at a pace so agonisingly slow that it tortures you both. “Isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes,” you whimper, body flinching in his grasp when he bites into your throat and then draws the flesh between his teeth, sucking harder and harder until he’s sure to have left a mark behind, “O-only you.”

“That’s right,” he confirms after having relinquished your neck with a soft, wet pop of broken suction. Each of his hands are now full of the weight of your breasts, his fingers busy with best manipulating your pebbled nipples in whichever way will best make you gasp and keen. “So why don’t you lay back down for me, kitty, and take your fucking like a good little queen?”

Frantically nodding your consent, you gasp a yes; a soft sound that turns into a sharp shriek at the unexpectedly savage thrust Hobi delivers into you, slamming his hips into your behind so hard that you jolt forward, falling back down onto your hands and knees. With one palm pressed squarely between your shoulder blades, he forces you down further till you’re laid flat out on the mattress, his knees keeping your thighs spread wide apart as he sinks down with you.

“There you go,” he soothes, hooking his hands under either side of your hips to tilt your pelvis upward and allow him to sink even deeper inside with a groan of pleasure so low that it vibrates through his chest. Earnestly, he starts to move, gradually picking up speed with every forward cant of his hips. He has exactly how he wants you now and you’re exactly how he’d imagined you’d be; soft, pliant, vocal. “Perfect,” he moans aloud, vocalising his final thought, “Such a perfect pussy. So warm and wet and - fuck - just for me.”

“Yes!” You push back against him, toes curling into the mattress as your head turns to the side where it lays on pillow, supple mouth hanging open. Like this, Hobi can watch every single bit of pleasure he’s giving you mould your features, and he loves how little you care to hold it back, letting out each and every sound you care to make; frowning, gasping, grabbing at your pillow. It feels as though you're completely at his mercy, and he'd be lying if he said that didn't get him off.

“This is what you wanted, wasn't it?” he asks you through gritted teeth, thrusting forward so hard that your whole body lurches with the force of it, “Is this hard enough, huh? Is this what you want?” The sound of skin slapping against skin is almost loud enough to match your cries as Hobi drives into you as hard as he possibly can, dragging you onto his cock with the unforgiving grasp he has on your waist.

Incensed by your climbing pitch, Hobi lashes out and smacks his palm against your ass impulsively, and god, the way your core contracts around him when he does it is so exquisite that he can't help but do it a second and third and fourth time. By the time he's done you're very nearly sobbing with pleasure and your legs are shaking so badly you can't keep your hips up anymore - can't find the strength to push back against him - so Hobi wraps his stinging hand underneath your waist and holds your pelvis up for you, the position allowing him to rub two fingers against your clitoris at the very same time.

“Are you gonna cum for me, kitty?” He can tell you're getting close by the ever increasing tightness of your walls, squeezing his cock impossibly hard with each and every thrust. “Gonna show me how bad your pretty little pussy needs breeding? How much you want my cum?”

You’re too far gone to reply; too overwhelmed by pleasure to formulate anything other than the syllables of his name as they pour from your lips. Hobi’s fingertips slip and slide between your legs as he pushes the both of you closer and closer to the edge, and when your body starts to tense beneath him - your nails dug deep into the mattress - he knows you’re very nearly there.

“C’mon baby,” he grunts, letting his weight drop down onto his elbow to close the distance between your bodies as far as he possibly can without pressing on the base of your tail and hurting you in the process. Lay so close to you he can push even harder - even faster- slide every single inch so deep that it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins. “Let me hear you purr.”

“Hoseo - oh! Fuck, fuck!” Every muscle in your body begins to twitch as your orgasm draws near, and it takes Hobi every ounce of willpower he has to keep going despite the pressure building in his own abdomen - how engorged his aching cock has become as it pistons relentlessly in and out of you. He’s not sure he’s ever been so desperate to cum in his life, but he’ll be damned if he finishes before you do. He’ll make you scream his name if it’s the last thing he ever does.

“I’m gonna, oh god, I - Hoseok!” you shout as your whole body goes stiff, your core squeezing so tight that Hobi can’t even pull out anymore; trapped inside you as your walls milk him for his cum. Your broken call for him may well have been lost amongst the feathery down of your pillow but even so, it proves more than enough to finally push him over the edge, finally giving in and letting go with a deep, guttural groan of pleasure.

“Oh f-uh-uck,” he moans languidly, pressing his face into the space between your shoulder blades to muffle the sounds that pour out of him as his hips undulate against you, his buttocks clenching with every drop of cum that pulses out to coat your insides. Even when it starts becoming too sensitive to bear Hobi can’t seem to keep himself from moving, rocking his softening cock in and out of you just an inch or two, no more, just to better enjoy the sensation of his cum spilling out of you in time with his slow, gentle thrusts.

You seem to be enjoying the feel of it, too; head turned to the side on the pillow and a blissful expression on your face. Your eyes are closed and you’re purring happily - well and truly satisfied - and seeing you like this fills him with a sense of pride he can’t even begin to describe as he places a sweet, gentle kiss against your shoulder blade, smiling to himself.

“Feel better?” he asks quietly once over-sensitivity has forced him to separate himself from you, taking great care to not simply collapse on top of you now that all the exertion seems to be catching up with him. He lays at your side instead, wincing slightly at the ache in his thighs and then promptly forgetting all about it the moment you choose to lay your head on his chest, snuggling close and exhaling a contented sigh.

“Much better,” you confirm, laying your arm across his waist and placing a kiss against his pectoral, a silly smile stretched across your pretty face. Ever so gently - as if moving too quickly could suddenly steal the moment away - Hobi curls his arm around you to draw you even closer. He looks down at you, observing every fleeting sigh or flick of your ears with an adoring look in his eyes, and after a few quiet, contented moments pass he realises that that funny feeling has returned in his chest; that same weight, that same tightness.

Now, though, it seems even stronger than it did before, and when you finally open up your eyes and look up at him wearing an expression far too innocent for the things that have just come to pass, that sensation gets so heavy that it’s almost a struggle to breathe. He looks away, a little frightened by the strength of what he’s feeling.

“Hoseok?” Your voice is so soft and gentle that Hobi almost doesn’t hear you call his name, preoccupied as he is with watching your hair fall through his fingers. He meets your gaze again and tries to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart and the little voice inside his mind that’s whispering promises of fulfilled hopes and dreams if only he were brave enough to actually open his mouth and tell you how he feels.

“Do you think…” He swallows, nervous to hear what you’re about to say. “Do you think we can do it again?”

Three more times Hobi finds himself buried between your thighs that night, and each and every time is just as hot and heavy as the last - just as intense. He’s always considered himself to have fairly good stamina in the bedroom but by the time you finally fall asleep in his arms - well and truly out for the count -he’d been very near to throwing in the towel. Every inch of his body aches from having been so determined to make each and every time just as good as the last - to give you a night neither of you will ever forget.

If retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have pushed himself so hard. If he hadn’t maybe he would’ve had enough energy left to appreciate how perfect it felt to fall asleep with you curled into his side, your limbs - tail included - wrapped up with his.

Unfortunately, Hobi doesn’t get the chance to relish a slow and sleepy awakening with you either. It’s the sound of his sister’s front door opening and closing and her shrill voice calling your names from the bottom of the stairs that jolts you both awake, and it’s with hushed whispers and wide-eyes that the two of you scramble to pull on your clothes and try your best to make it look as though you hadn’t just spent almost the entire night tangled up in each other’s arms.

As luck would have it, Jiwoo is far too excited to see the both of you to notice that something might be amiss. The lengthy tales she tells of her many exploits abroad take up almost the entire morning, and though Hobi tries his very best to seem interested - and he is, honestly, he is - he can’t help but be constantly distracted by the sight of you sat across from him at the other side of kitchen table; so near and yet so far. Your eyes will meet as Jiwoo gesticulates wildly between you, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement as she speaks, and each and every time they do the prettiest of blushes will fill your cheeks. A secret smile will spread on your face and you’ll bite on your bottom lip to keep it from growing too wide, eyes glancing away, and every time it happens Hobi sits there and wishes he could just lean across the table and kiss you more and more and more.

Mercifully, after what feels like hours of nodding and smiling along, Jiwoo finally runs out of steam. His sister may be a relentless chatterbox but she's not immune to jet lag, and eventually she begins to stretch and yawn over her empty mug of coffee, declaring that it's time for bed.

“I gotta say, I almost didn't expect to find the place still standing,” Jiwoo comments as the three of you filter back into the living room, and behind her Hobi smiles wryly down at his feet.

“Who do you take me for, ‘woo?”

“Need I remind you of the summer of ‘01?” Hobi cringes at the mere mention of the ill-conceived house party his 16-year-old self had decided to throw during one of his parent’s week-long absences. His friends had made such a mess of the place with their underage drinking that it was only thanks to his big sister's help that he hadn't ended up getting his ass kicked when they'd gotten home the next day - and she's never let him forget it.

“I think you'll find I've matured since then,” he grins, pausing by the sofa and leaning his hip against it, arms folded.

“Sure you have.” Jiwoo rolls her eyes fondly. “He didn't go bringing any girls back, did he?” she jokes, directing the question at you and then lifting her eyebrows expectantly when all you do is stare blankly back at her, too caught off guard by the question to answer.

Hobi quickly covers for you by forcing out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

“‘fraid my dry spell is still going strong.” Your eyes meet his over Jiwoo’s shoulder and he flashes you a reassuring smile that you awkwardly return, tail flicking nervously behind you.

“Good to know,” Jiwoo yawns, covering her gaping mouth with the back of her hand and smacking her lips once it's done. “Would've been a shame to have to burn those sheets.” Hobi tries very hard to maintain an innocent expression despite his guilty conscience, trying not to tense when his sister walks into his arms and embraces him, squeezing tight. “I guess you'll be heading off home then?” she asks she pulls away, and on finding himself unable to think of a quick enough response to say otherwise Hobi simply nods, following Jiwoo up the stairs to pack his things whilst you stay behind with the intention of clearing up breakfast.

Anticipating that she'll fall straight to sleep, Jiwoo says her goodbyes at the door to her room, thanking him again with a sweet smile and a kiss on the cheek. She probably wouldn't be anywhere near as grateful if she knew what it was she almost walked in on this morning, and as he repacks his overnight bag his thoughts are awash with anxiety.

This wasn't how he'd pictured this morning turning out. The two of you were supposed to have time to talk all this through once you woke up; figure out what's going to happen next and where - if anywhere - this should go. He swears Jiwoo wasn't meant to be back so early but… actually… now he looks at his watch, it turns out to be a lot later in the day than he'd originally thought.

Not that that should come as a surprise; it's not exactly shocking that the two would sleep in late after everything you got up to.

Heading back downstairs with his bag in hand, Hobi wonders if maybe might be able to steal you aside for just a moment or two now that his sister's gone to bed. It's not ideal by any means, but frankly he'll take what he can get over leaving a great big open question mark hanging over the two of you.

You very nearly bump straight into each other when he enters the living room, both of you flinching backward to avoid crashing in the doorway and then laughing lamely when you realise what you've done.

“Hi,” Hobi greets you, cringing internally at how absolutely unnecessary the greeting was. Still, he feels a little better when you say hello back, smiling coyly down at your feet, and as the two of you stand toe to toe Hobi's suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to touch you again. He reaches out to smooth a wayward piece of hair off of your face, and as he leans close Hobi swears he can smell his aftershave lingering on you.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, trying to keep his voice low, and god does it pain him to withdraw his hand from your face.

“Tired,” you reply just as quietly, “But good, thanks to you.” He can't help but grin at that, very aware of how his face feels as though it's filling with heat at the meaningful look in your eyes.

“Glad I could help.” He gives you a second in hopes that you might say something more to save him the nervousness of doing so, but when all you do is keep looking back at him with those sweet, innocent eyes of yours he figures he's going to have to be the one to do it - the one to address the elephant in the room.

“About that,” he starts, shuffling on the spot, “About last night… what are we - I mean - how do you think we-"

Jiwoo shouting your name from her room completely interrupts what he was trying - and failing - to so in-eloquently say. He falls abruptly silent as your eyes dart off to the side, peering up the staircase to check whether or not she's there - whether she might see the two of you stood so close - and when you promptly call back that you're coming in reply Hobi realises that the moment has well and truly passed.

It'll have to wait till another time; another day, another meeting… hell, another phone call will do.

“Sorry,” you apologise sheepishly, ears pressing flat against your hair but perking up once he smiles, shrugging loosely.

“It's alright.” He pauses, trying not to let his smile falter. “You better get up there,” he says, glancing over his shoulder up the stairs. “I'll see you soon, I guess.”

You smile warmly, and just as he's about to step away and make for the front door, you reach out and curl your hand around his forearm, stopping him in his tracks. He raises a questioning eyebrow at you but all you do is smile some more, your gaze flicking down to his lips right before you close the gap between you and bless him with a sweet, parting kiss.

It's brief and it's chaste, and yet it makes Hobi's heart thud just as hard as any of the others you've shared.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his mouth, and by the time he opens up his eyes you're already gone.

When Hobi had thought that clarifying the ins and outs of your relationship would have to wait till another time, he never once predicted that three months on down the line he'd still be completely none-the-wiser as to where the two of you stand.

He can't deny that part of him had been glad to get home. He'd missed the sound of the ocean lapping against the shore adjacent to which his apartment block stands and the smell of freshly baked rolls that creeps under his door each morning, courtesy of his elderly neighbour that lives next door.

Still, however nice it is to be back in his own space - back in his own bed - he can't seem to get you out of his head. Now when he lies amongst his bedsheets bathing in the morning sunlight all he can imagine when he closes his eyes is you how you should be right there, sprawled out next to him with your smooth skin all aglow, crying out to be touched.

If he'd thought the place felt quiet after Yoongi had moved out, it's nothing compared to how it feels now.

He feels like a bit of a chump now, for thinking that you'd call. It's as much his fault as yours, he supposes, that the two of you haven't talked since he left; he could pick up the phone just as easily as you. He'd worried Jiwoo would answer if he did, though, and then what would he say? Before that week all the contact that the two of you had ever shared had been as a threesome - always with Jiwoo present or involved in some way - so would she be suspicious if you and he suddenly started chatting just the two of you now?

It's not even as though three months is a long time for him to go without seeing his sister. There have been periods before where he's gone almost six months without making the journey across town to touch base, and yet somehow these twelve weeks have felt infinitely longer than any that have gone before.

He knows why, of course; he'd be an idiot not to realise. He misses you - misses you every damn day - and he really wishes it wasn't so. The more time that passes without hearing from you the easier it is for him to start to believe the nasty little voice in his head that's whispering he's a fool; why else wouldn't you have tried to contact him unless everything he felt - feels - for you is as one-sided as he fears?

Eventually, as time goes on, Hobi manages to convince himself to start to let it go. He should have never gotten his hopes up in the first place and he should've known better than to read into the way you acted during your heat. He was just in the right place at the right time, that was all, and the intimacy you shared was just a means to an end and that's… that's ok, he reckons. He's glad he was there to help you, regardless, even if that's all it was or will ever be.

Besides, it probably wouldn't have worked out anyway. The two of you are from almost completely different worlds, and -

“Jung Hoseok!” The frantic banging on his front door and the familiar sound of his sister's voice hollering his name from the other side startles him so badly that he very spills the boiling hot water he'd been about to pour into his cup all over the counter, yelping as he jumps on the spot.

He hastily places the pan back on the stove as the banging continues, and then rushes to the door with a nervous lump in his throat that feels as though it's getting bigger with every step he takes.

“You better open up this damn door right now or I swear to-" Hobi yanking open his door cuts Jiwoo off abruptly, her mouth slamming closed - though it doesn't stay that way for long. Before he can ask her what's wrong - what she's doing here - she starts to rant and rave once more. “What did you do?!” she exclaims, cheeks tinged red with anger, “I leave you for a week - a week - and you go and-"

“‘Woo, woo,” he interrupts, holding up his hands in innocence, eyes wide in the face of her fury, “What am I supposed to have done here? It'd be nice to know what I'm getting yelled at for before you kick my ass.”

“Not what - who!” she hisses. Suddenly stepping aside, Hobi’s stomach drops as he watches his sister tug you into the middle of the door frame from where you'd been lingering just out of sight, and from the moment he lays eyes on you Hobi knows exactly what's wrong.

You're in heat again; a real one, this time. He'd be able to spot it a mile off. Your pupils are dilated and your eyes are slightly glazed; every inch of your trembling body shining with sweat. It's practically dripping off of you, and even from several paces away he can feel the heat radiating off you and hear the pained whimpers that are falling from your lips - ears flat and tail tucked between your legs.

The look on his face on seeing you in such a state must give him away because suddenly Jiwoo is repeatedly slapping him on the arm with her tiny, furious hands, cursing his name.

“For fucks sake - you did, didn't you?!” she blusters, continuing to slap even as he ‘owowow’s’ and flinches under her barrage. “She won't take her pills, ‘Seok, and you wanna know why?” As his sister backs off and gestures to you, Hobi can practically see the apology and embarrassment in your eyes. “She wants you, ‘Seok, and apparently, only you'll do!”

His eyes dart nervously back and forth between you and Jiwoo, caught somewhere between the urge to explain and the burning want to help soothe your pain.

“I… uh…” he starts, but Jiwoo simply cuts him off, shaking her head as she gently pushes you forwards toward him, her hands in the small of your back.

“I can chew you out later for this,” she grumbles, “But right now… she needs you more.” Unsure about what else to do, Hobi holds open his arms to welcome you into them and then very nearly falls over with the force with which you rush into his embrace. With your face nuzzling against his chest, you instantly begin to purr, long and loud, and as he wraps his arms around you to pull you close you cling right back, sighing happily when he presses his face into your hair and kisses between your ears.

“Urgh,” Hobi hears his sister grimace, but when he looks up he's surprised to see her wearing a smile rather than a frown - albeit a reluctant one. “Of course you two would look fucking adorable,” she groans, “I hate you both.” He can't help but grin smugly back at her as you begin to plant needy, frantic kisses against his neck, clenched fists tugging at his shirt.

“Hoseok,” you whimper against his jaw, pushing your body against his, and at that Jiwoo decides to make a rather rapid exit, pinching her eyes shut so as not to see her best friend and her brother all over one another.

“Just… just call me when you're done, ok?” she says, waving a hand your way with her eyes still closed. Hobi's rather glad they are, actually, considering you're now tugging at his belt and sinking to your knees.

“Uh-sure-ok!” he hastily replies and then promptly swings the door closed just in case Mrs Kim from next door decide to pop her head out to see what all the fuss is about - and just in time, too. His back crashes against the wall as you grasp him by the hips and push him back into it, his pants and underwear already hanging around his knees as he grunts and groans your name.

Needless to say, the next few hours pass by in a bit of a blur. The two of you get lost in each other exactly as you did before - sweat and skin and tangled limbs, grabbing hands and deep, unyielding kisses- and if Hobi thought you were insatiable the first time it's nothing to compared to how ravenous you are now you're in a genuine heat. By the time you're finally through with him Hobi isn't sure he'll ever be able to get it up ever again, though when he gazes down sees the look of perfect contentment on your face - just like before - he's sure he'd still give it a damn good try if you asked it of him.

“Kitkat,” he whispers, brushing his thumb against your cheek. The other is pressed to his chest as you snuggle up to his side, every inch of you swelteringly warm, and your eyelids flutter as he touches you, slowly pulling open your eyes.

Hobi hates to wake you - he can empathise with you feeling so tired, after all - but part of him fears if he doesn't say all the lines he's rehearsed in his head for so many months now that the chance may escape him again. How long would it be until the next time you need him again, should he let that happen?

“Hoseok… what's wrong?” you ask, mirroring the frown that he realises he must be wearing as you similarly place your palm against his cheek, concerned.

“Nothing,” he assures you, making a considered effort to smooth out the lines etched across his forehead. He takes your hand and turns his head to press a kiss to your palm, heart fluttering with both nerves and excitement at the way your eyes sparkle in response to his affectionate gesture. “I just…” He steels himself, taking a breath. “I missed you, that's all.”

A beat goes by, and as it passes Hobi's sure he sees you take a deep breath too, your cheeks filling with a blush.

“I missed you too,” you answer quietly, biting down on your lip, and Hobi swears his heart is about to burst out of his chest at any given moment at the way you shyly smile. “I was… I'd hoped that you'd call.”

“You did?” he sputters out, flushing with embarrassment when you chuckle your amusement back at him, pushing back a piece of his fringe that'd fallen into his widened eyes.

“Of course…” you smile, and Hobi can barely believe that this is happening - that any of this could be true. He must've fallen asleep, or surely he must be dreaming. How else could you be lying there next to him looking as perfect as you do; bathed in the afternoon sunlight as it pours in through the window, aglow with happiness. “I like you, Hoseok… I've always liked you.” You blush as you say the words and roll further onto your front, his sheets slipping further off your shoulders to expose more skin.

“Really?” he asks, because for all the sunshine attitude and positive disposition he displays to the rest of the world, underneath it all he's just as insecure as the next guy; struggling to believe someone as perfect as you would want to waste all your time and affection on him.

“Wasn't it obvious?!” He laughs because, no - no it wasn't - but he's glad it is now. He can see the affection in your eyes as you gaze up at him; can feel it in the gentleness of your touch. Quietly, you go on, “I told you, Hoseok… I only want you.”

“Me?” he repeats shyly, feeling like some love-drunk fool. He knows it might sound like he's fishing, but quite the opposite is true. He needs to hear it just one more time to believe it might be true; that you really do care for him as he does you.

“Yes,” you patiently reply, “Just you.” Your grin grows in time with his, hips rocking happily from side to side under the covers. “Only you.” Happy butterflies swirling inside his abdomen, Hobi takes your face in both of his hands, palms cupping your cheeks and thumbs tracing the angle of your jaw. “My mate.”

“That’s right,” he confirms in a whisper, and then draws your face towards his to kiss you; sweet and slow and deep. It feels as though it goes on forever but Hobi’s in no rush, enveloped in warmth from the sun shining hot through the window onto his back and the heat of your body pressed to his front, your hands pressed neatly to his chest.

“What are we going to do about Jiwoo?” you ask once the two of you parts, settling down to lie with your head on Hobi’s chest and his fingers tracing circles into the skin of your arms.

“Ah, I’ll take care of her,” he dismisses casually, pressing a kiss into your hair. Sure, Jiwoo might be mad for a little while, but you’ll get over it; Hobi always has been able to wrap his big sister right around his little finger given adequate time and enough shopping trips.

“Besides, he muses, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “I hear Yoongi has an adorable new pup at the shelter who needs a good home.”

“Oh?” Your ears flick with interest, a mischievous twinkle in your eyes as you quickly catch his drift, “A dog?” Hobi nods, slouching further down into the pillows and squeezing you tight.

“Jimin, I think his name is.”

“Jimin, hm?” His heart swells with affection for you as he watches you mull it over, thinking so hard it’s almost as if he can the cogs in your mind. You shrug your approval a few seconds later and Hobi can’t help but wonder if you’d be anywhere near so accepting of the idea a canine entering your lives if it weren’t for the need for the two of you have some serious making up to do where it comes to his sister.

“It might not be such a bad idea, I guess; lord knows she could do with a good rutting.”

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