#boston's finest

[cantsayidont]

May–June 1974. Bob Haney, your first name in lunacy, wrote many a strange and silly DC story in the '60s and early '70s, like this bizarre little number from WORLD'S FINEST COMICS #223. As Gotham City is menaced by the sinister Boomerang Killer, a serial killer who murders people with boomerangs (as one does), Batman, aided by ghostly hero Deadman, applies his finely honed sense of ethics to discover a shocking secret!

I should mention, just for the record, that this is not how Deadman's powers work. Deadman can possess people's bodies, but that doesn't give him access to their thoughts or memories; he could only open a safe if he already knew the combination. However, dwelling on this kind of thing in a Bob Haney script is a sure way to make yourself feel like you have a mild concussion.

Anyway, after his discovery, Batman begins acting very squirrely, which Superman quickly notices and calls him out for:

This confrontation seems to be the main reason Superman is in this story at all, since serial killers with boomerangs in Gotham would not normally be his kind of thing, and he could probably have solved the mystery much more quickly if he'd had a mind to. Anyway —

This is all very tragic, and more than slightly ableist even for a Batman story: Thomas Jr. is clearly only a little baby at the time of the accident, so while the doctor might conclude that he had brain damage, insisting he would "always remain mentally unstable...a danger to himself and society!" does not seem an evidence-based conclusion; this is Victorian-era melodrama stuff.

Anyway, Batman subsequently discovers that while Thomas Jr. is indeed the Boomerang Killer, he's been manipulated by a man named Moses Donner, who is attempting to avenge himself on the judge who once sent him to prison by getting Thomas to kill a series of randomly selected innocent people "to blackmail the judge into reversing the decision, though he [Donner] was guilty as sin!" Batman thinks this means Thomas is not responsible for the murders, but:

There's then a bunch of business in a scrapyard, during which Superman kills Donner with a wrecking ball while making an inappropriate "swinger" joke. However, Thomas has disappeared:

Uhh. That's quite an assumption, Deadman, old pal, and it turns out to be completely ill-founded. In the follow-up story in WORLD'S FINEST COMICS #227 (also by Haney, because who else?), Batman has spent the ensuing months wandering the country, brutally assaulting random acrobats and aerialists on the assumption that one of them must be Deadman, using Thomas Jr.'s body to resume his former career as a circus aerialist. Now, to be fair, Batman's concern is not wholly unreasonable: He concedes that Thomas can't do any more boomerang murders if Deadman is possessing him, but if Deadman ever stops possessing Thomas, that could be trouble. However, just randomly attacking (and nearly murdering) a series of innocent acrobats does not seem like a sound plan for finding them, and Superman is distracted with the story's ostensible A-plot, which concerns some nefarious smugglers using illegally imported gold to try to collapse the U.S. dollar, including a silly bit of business about a full-size replica of the Statue of Liberty that's only barely explained.

Anyway, after nearly killing some more people, Batman finds Deadman in Thomas Jr.'s body, just as Superman finds the smugglers. Deadman does indeed have to vacate Thomas's body temporarily, but then:

Okay, sure, I guess? Ordinarily, you'd think someone would react to the fact that Deadman just killed the guy who shot Thomas, but in the previous story, Superman killed someone with a wrecking ball, so I guess it all evens out in the end, or something.

To his credit, Batman does eventually admit he overreacted just a tad, wondering how Deadman is taking it — a great comfort to the various random circus performers Batman has assaulted, I'm sure. However, what's really important is that the ableism remains unquestioned:

That was it for Thomas Wayne Jr. for a while, but Grant Morrison obviously read these stories and took them as inspiration for both JLA: EARTH 2 (where Owlman is the Thomas Wayne Jr. of a parallel Earth) and the BATMAN: R.I.P. saga, which even includes some references to Willowwood Sanitarium.

#comics #world's finest comics #bob haney #dick dillin #vince colletta #tex blaisdell #superman #batman #bruce wayne #thomas wayne jr #deadman #boston brand #ableism #grant morrison #superbat #i guess

[bruinsbitch]

Mr. Grzelcyk is a national treasure.

via Bruins IG

#papa grizz #matt grzelcyk #boston bruins #bruins #dads trip #Charlestown’s finest

[swayoftheworld]

My 7 y.o. self would probably die if she saw Swayman because even back then she had a thing for goalies and for goalies only

#I can't help it #they must be my type #and Bruins have the finest goalies in the whole universe #but man Kraken too #jeremy swayman #linus ullmark #bruins goalies #boston bruins #ever since I can remember it always must've been a goalie

[thencomethecherryblossoms]

Only took me a bloody month 🫡

#only friends #ofts #only friends the series #bostonnick #mewtop #sandray #forcebook #firstkhao #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #procrastination at its finest baby!!!!! #thai bl #thai drama #thai boys love #not my best work #but i really needed to update this lol #pathetic boston makes his return :D

[mico-evelyn2]

I know I’ve already posted about these two but the brainrot is too strong, and their swagger too much

AND THEY SCORED THEIR FIRST NHL GOALS ON THE SAME DAY!!! (Now that’s some soulmate shit right there)

[gif creds: @mackenziereader & @hail-to-the-goalies]

#THEY ARE SO IMPORTANT TO ME 😭😭😭 #clayton keller #charlie mcavoy #arizona coyotes #boston bruins #BU’s finest 🥺🥺 #FUCK IT KELLER TO THE BRUINS REUNITE THEM #(kidding) #the hashtag: MissYou is crazy

[dev1lm4n]

untold

pairing: post-outbreak!joel miller x brothel worker!reader

summary: fragments of memories during your gradual (and rather horrendous) infatuation towards your number one frequenter, joel miller.

word count: 3.8k

warnings: explicit (18+) mdni, oral f receiving, sorta dark undertones but honestly joel's a sweetheart

notes: do reblog or comment if u enjoyed it! don't be shy to hit my ask box as well ;)

Love is stupid.

It’s lawless and frankly, holds no value in the realm you’re familiar with. Love could only exist in a world of unsullied brilliance, orderly conversations, washed hands, clean clothes, and good manners. Untarnished by the hands of the wicked, of the seven deadly sins; where birds sing out morning hymns and festive lights strung out wintry nights. Only then can love flourish. To think that such an innocent tenderness could exist within your barely nine feet by six room would be utterly idiotic. 

“You gotta pack the cigs first.”

“Huh?”

“God, you’re helpless.”

You didn’t even realize he’s tucked in a crisp stick on the very corner of your lips. His brown eyes gentle on yours as he flicked his lighter on, effectively igniting the tobacco-filled end in a slow drawl. Inside Boston’s most popular brothel after the end of government and the start of flesh-eating monsters, it was never brighter than the gathering gloom of dusk. Even at midday. It was always bleak. The bed was a plank of wood on legs, thin quilts and a ragged blanket hardly helping you through winter. But with him, it’s always a warm furnace. 

His rough fingers were quick to snatch the worn-out box of Marlboro from your loose grip. Exquisitely, he proved his familiarity with the product by ‘packing’ the filter against his palm. You weren’t sure what the action provoked, but it still had you looking up at him with stars in your eyes - twinkling fondly as if he’d just pulled out a magical rabbit out of a top hat. He looked down at you with such reverence, a little too much respect for the common whore you were, though you undeniably basked in it like fresh summer air.

Joel Miller was your light at the end of the alley. Your beacon of hope. 

“Breathe, girl.”

He chuckled oh so lovingly.

“You’re strugglin’ like a damn rookie. Come on, girl. I know you got this,” he spurred on like a goddamn sports coach.

Ungracefully, you retched on the new stench entering your airway. The taste proved to be unsuited to yours as it left some sort of disgusting filament sheet over your taste buds, yet you struggled to keep it on the edge of your lips.

Whatever Joel gifted you needed to be preserved or consumed in the finest way possible; it was a rule consistent to every paying patron you’ve dealt with, though it’s a compulsory need to be met when it comes to him. He was so engrossed in the entire fiasco playing out that he failed to give you the next crucial step to smoking a cigarette - to inhale.

“It tastes like shit, Joel. This is worse than Johnny’s battery acid cum.”

“Yeah? What ‘bout mine?”

Without giving you a much needed warning, Joel let his fingers tentatively slide along your neck. He was moving with such expertise, as if he knew exactly where the windpipe is, where you’ve been struggling terribly to inhale. He dragged his forefinger down a straight line before finally cupping the base of your neck in a firm grip. Commonly, when a customer manages to get you in a situation that’s prone to escalate dangerously, you’d be quick to retaliate. With him, it was.. different. You felt at ease, even when he’s practically in the position to strangle you.

“You taste good.”

You grinned sheepishly. Joel’s eyes traveled from where red consumed the wilted edge of your cigarette to your heaving chest. Still bare with prominent buds making their grand appearances, though the sweat from your previous endeavors had finally dried down into a light sheen. You’re undeniably angelic in the midst of all the monstrosity occurring all around him, in a way that cleared his mind and freed him of his terrors, and it sparked a feeling of guilt deep within him. You didn’t deserve this. Any of this.

“Another go at it then?” 

“Joel!”

It was the fourteenth of February.

Not until Joel Miller came prancing around with a fucking bouquet. 

Valentine’s day used to be a big deal around Boston. You could still conjure up images of the old world; a symphony of vibrant colors. Streets were adorned with heart-shaped decorations and shops showcased a dazzling array of chocolates, obnoxious bouquets, and greeting cards. The smell of cocoa and vanilla was still vivid, embedded in the back of your head even after years of being exposed to the reeking stench of sex and sweat. Working in a brothel, you learned to exploit people’s needs for romance and affection, even so, no madman has ever gone out of their way to put some thought into romancing a whore.

“Mmph.. oh.. right- right there.”

“Please, Jo- Joel. My clit. It’s right- please, no.”

Your eyes fleeted down towards where he’s located - right between your trembling thighs. He nestled his tongue towards where your natural heat is radiating from, effectively lapping up every spurt of wetness that managed to escape from your twitching hole. His tall nose constantly nudged at your bundle of nerves, each time causing your back to arch and your pelvis angled directly to where his sloppy muscle is located. You’ve told him your worries; that you were a hooker for fuckssake, you fuck guys for a living and that’d instantly make you deem unworthy of being eaten out.

Joel didn’t care one bit. Not when you’re making such sweet noises at his ministrations.

“Gotta be patient, pretty girl.”

He’s making a show out of it and it drove you insane. You averted your gaze away from him, head lolling to the side to meet his handmade bouquet propped up loosely on the small bedside table. They were fresh, some open and others in bud; you’re a little bummed you’d never get to see the ones in bud flourish as your little room was equal to a jail cell, lacking natural light. A prudent shade of pink caressed each petal, yet the kind of color that feels confident, proud to bring a newfound radiance to the shabby furniture.

The flowers felt like a mockery, a tongue stuck out to your face, everybody knew he was a madman for bringing you such gestures.

“Pay attention.”

He demanded, a carnal need for more laced in every syllable that dribbled off his lips. Joel’s eyes stuck to yours and in that moment of truth, you’re both spellbound under each other’s magic. Times like these made your brain race into untouched territory; of whether he loved you beyond the messy sheets and hushed whispers, of whether you’d escape the brothel and strive for your own. He was quick to ground you as he caressed the sides of your vulva with his ring and pointer fingers, tickled the needy hole with his middle, and pressed his thumb along each and every groove as he sought for where you ached the most.

A gentle lick upwards initiated a sharp jolt that could only be described as electrical. He pressed the end of his tongue flat against it again, then twirled gentle circles around it, and all you could do was twist the worn bedsheets in a messy crumple, splay your legs out more, and submit to his wishes. This was your gateway to heaven. He brought you the only kind of heaven you’d beg on your knees for - not the ones of unadulterated truth and clarity, but the one that’s true to the shrill, sullen, and violent world you’re living in.

It was beautiful. A moment you’d like to snap and pin with a red magnet to the refrigerator door, but it’s fleeting nonetheless.

Fuck Joel Miller and the way he’s making you feel.

“Don’t stop. Please.. please.. oh, please.”

You pleaded with all your heart, body, and soul. Nirvana was near; you could see your salvation in front of your two frantic eyes, presented among the stars scattered everytime you closed your eyes, but he cut his little performance short.

“Not yet, sweet girl.”

“You’re just my kind of man.”

Stuffed inside a dimly lit alley, amid the patronizing starlight and the warm milky glow of the moon, you leaned idly against a chipped cobblestone wall. Your figure was clad in a worn-out dress, edges tattered and stitches pulled from extended use, that hinted at both vulnerability and resilience. The night air carried a symphony of whispered conversations, muffled laughter, and faint clinking of glasses from underground taverns. It was humiliating the way your hopeful eyes met fleeting glances of passerby, assessing each one for a spark of interest, but this was your way of living. Your way to survive.

A tug on your rod, a salt and pepper man approached you with hesitant steps. You recognized the look in his old wearied eyes easily: curiosity and guilt.

“You really are. I’m really good, you know, Cherie.”

With practiced ease, you mustered a welcoming smile and gestured him to come closer in a way that made it seem like you’re withholding the world’s biggest secret. You had a certain charm when it came to attracting patrons, choreographed mannerisms that portrayed you in the sweetest manner possible. A small shy shrug here and a gentle tug of your lacy sweetheart neckline, you became a femme fatale. A true enchantress on the prowl. 

It’s one of those nights where you’re eager to make a score. Joel Miller, your number one frequenter and main source of income hadn’t popped his nose in for a whole week, and despite your thriving loyalty to him, you’d rather stash up on credits than starve. The need didn’t necessarily sweep off the guilt. You felt wrong for scouting strangers from the street to offer your services, to cater to their curiosity and help them crush the weight of societal expectations, to return their diminished ego. It felt like you’re betraying him. Another stupid thought of yours that hit the curb as soon as the older man caressed your side, his grimy fingers dirtying the pure cotton.

You felt disgusted, but really, it’s just like every other day.

“Everybody says I’m pretty.. and all the other men like me.”

He’s falling. You could watch the exact moment in real time as he weighed out his options, making peace with his moral compass.

“Don’t you like me?”

“How much-”

Bingo! Bells dinged above your head. Jackpot.

“She’s mine for the night.”

What you saw first was his thick finger, dug upon the male’s shabby shirt, forceful enough that the fabric underneath crinkled in an uncomfortable manner. Dirt underneath his nails, fingertips coarse from all the physical work he’s exerted, and everlasting scabs decorating the ends of his knuckles. You knew who it was before he brought his face to light - onyx orbs oozing off disdain as he peered from your potential patron’s shoulder. Joel could kill a man from how tightly he’s eyeing you, up and down, side to side as if trying to reason with your misdemeanor.

You watched as your ‘Cherie’ scurried off into the dark, a slow whistle drawed out of your jutted lips.

It was pissing you off. His fucking audacity.

“I’m not yours for the night,” you chimed stubbornly.

“Yeah?” Joel closed any visible gap between the two of you, trapping you between the chilly wall and his heaving chest. Your eyebrows knitted with jeering derision and in return, he scooped up every last flaky ration card from his pocket and stuffed it in your balled hand. “Now you’re mine.”

“You’re always mine. Morning, day, and night. Fuckin’ remember that in your pretty little head,” his voice taunted each and every part of you as his scruff made sweet contact with your helix. You shuddered, rocked with adrenaline. “Can you do that for me, girl?”

“Yes.”

“What’s this from?”

You sat by Joel’s relaxed knees, prim behavior with your calves tucked underneath your thighs. Gentle eyes illuminated by the gentle sway of brilliant gold. By the flickering yellow the room is dark, the shapes of the furniture distinguishable but the colors were so muted that they are almost gray. It was a different kind of night; there was a prominent uneasiness in the way he’s studying you, the lines he’s provided as guidance slowly blurring away with each and every flicker of amber. He’s never done this before. Laying loose in front of you, letting you unbutton his flannel, having you set the pace - you weren’t sure what he’s trying to convey with the sudden acceptance.

Joel is a man of closed doors, and so the prospect of seeing what’s behind thrilled you.

You looked up at him. Eyes interlocked in some kind of mutual understanding as your hand extended, cold fingers ghosting over his bare skin, and only when he gave you a hesitant nod did you let it crane down. He jolted ever so slightly, a twitch in his hooded eyes. Your thumb ran over the expanse of his lightened scar. It felt odd. Not in a weird way - just in a different, intriguing way. In a way that kept you tuned to the intimate aspect of the exchange.

The most you’ve seen from him was his pelvis bone, the thick of his unshaven bush, and his cock. He’s always made sure it’s all about you, despite being the one paying. And you respected that, all the time. Though it’d be a lie if you said you didn’t want to tear at his clothes, tug at his remaining buttons, unbuckle his belt with both hands to see all of him.

You refrained nonetheless. It looked like it was taking all of him to be this open, you wouldn’t want to scare him off with your rashness.

“Got bitten by a very scary zombie.”

He lied, adorably, was he trying to make you smile?

“Joel.”

He’d die happy at the sight of you right now.

“I thought we’re tryin’ to make this fun?”

“Fun, sure. Not absurd!”

“Okay, okay, it’s uh.. I wasn’t careful with a knife.”

You hummed softly. Not entirely sure if it was more so a mundane kitchen injury or a mugged-in-the-street injury. Your eyes traced the contours of his chest, a canvas sculpted with strength and tenderness. With sweet delicateness, your fingers continued their journey; gliding ever so softly over his warm, smooth skin up to where his gallbladder is supposed to be. Speckles of gray and black coarse hair trickled over your adventure. Each sensation rippled through your fingertips, awakening your senses to the subtle textures. Every stroke was a personal exploration, an expression of gratitude. This was where you found your solace.

“This one?”

“A trip over to Vermont gone wrong.”

“Drugs?”

He hesitated. A beat of silence from the two of you emphasized the noises from beyond your thin walls: a myriad of moans, foul words, and skin slapping.

“Somethin’ like that.”

And so, your voyage proceeded, each movement a testament to the admiration you held towards him. You wondered if he felt the same way. If he’s ever thought of the fruitless hopes you held towards him. If he’d ever longed for your existence the way you did everytime he missed his scheduled visits. You need him in the most desperate way possible, beyond the way he buried himself inside you, beyond the amount his physical existence could give. Lost in your own thoughts, you let your fingers lower.

Lower.. lower.. and lower until it rested over his clothed cock.

“And what’s this from?”

“You.”

Joel Miller has an odd habit.

Every girl in your brothel knew that he’s a peculiar one; no man has ever been this dedicated to a hooker before, to the extent where you’ve had some curious questions, wondering if he’s proposed to you or do something of the sort. Men are greedy pigs who could only take and take, every whore has established that, so the sight of his reverence astonished them. He’s too good to be true. A once-in-a-lifetime abnormality. What they’ve yet to discover was of his equally peculiar habit.

Joel loved leaving a small reminder of him everytime he’s forced to leave in weird hours of the night. A small, brightly colored post-it that’s frequently left with a stack of ration cards - always insanely over the common charge - and a trinket of some sort if you’re lucky. What he wrote consisted of a broad variety. An extension of his intrinsic need to capture and remember fleeting thoughts, to show his deep fondness of you, to let you feel the parts he’s too afraid to reveal. You’ve always chalked it up to sympathy. A poor whorehouse girl like you needed pitying and he’s doing that to fix his torn morals. 

You’d rather die than commit to the thought of him being in love with you.

He couldn’t possibly be. He’s him and you’re you, the two of you have established that.

Out of the many he’s left in your shoebox-sized room, the first one will always be the most memorable one. You remembered that it was in the peak of summer, heat almost seared your skin off your bones as a group of cicadas screamed their hearts out. The establishment is finally quiet at four in the morning. Most guests have finally stopped their endeavors and spent the night holding their pretty whores or leaving satisfied, and so you finally have the time to yourself. To relish in the satisfying silence. You lit a new candle and saddled it in its special nook - a spot on your bedside table that’s garnished with remnants of wax.

Your eyes met your pay. A good stack that was equal to three days worth of food and a place in the brothel.

Satiated, you reach over to make a proper count. That was when you discovered the vibrant yellow square, greeting you with a mystifying aura. Scribbled with a smudged wet ink, you predicted he used some kind of ballpoint pen to write the remark. Your first thought was of how corny it is. A snort uncontrollably left your lips as you observed the object closely. Never in a million years would you expect a brothel visitor to leave behind a hearty “Thank you for being here tonight” note.

You used to consider them strange, but over time you found yourself looking forward to the trivial gesture.

“Stay safe” was a quick and easy one. 

“You reminded me that life is full of surprises” bore through your heart even when it made you cringe. 

“Smile for me, pretty girl” had you by the throat.

“Can’t wait to fuck you good” elicited warmth between your thighs. 

“I’m gonna miss you” made you long for him.

This morning was the same as every day. You rose from your slumber at exactly four in the morning, grumbled at the sharp sensation down your bad back, pulled your sheets at every edge, lit a lone candle, only then could you finally relish in the daunting silence. It was so quiet you could hear every beat of your heart, every time you inhaled coldness and exhaled warmth, every time your heart squeezed at the fact that he’s not here. Just like every other day, Joel Miller left you alone. In the dark.

Your line of vision moved from where your legs were planted on the freezing wooden board, to the very top of your bedside table. This was where he first broke the sacred routine, because there wasn’t a thing on top of the rotten wood. Your pay’s not there and moreover, his post-it notes were nowhere to be seen; it’s humiliating to admit you’re a lot more concerned about the latter.

Colors drained from your face. The pink from being so deeply enamored with his gentle affection, the red from being wrapped up in a lustful haze over him, the blue from being left in the dark when he knew just how much you despised it - each and every last emotion mingled into a puzzled mess. In frantic panic, you kneeled onto your knees to try and see if it dropped down underneath, but nothing met your hand other than a glob of dust and hair. Your hope slowly began to dwindle, tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of being swindled. He wouldn’t do that, would he? That was until you made the decision to pull at your drawers with a sharp tug.

What you saw was even more baffling.

Your tongue went dry.

There were stacks upon stacks of ration cards. Every single color available at your disposal: grass green, tan, olive, and faded salmon. You’ve never seen that many officially-issued ration cards in one place before. It exceeded the amount held by soldiers when giving out pay, exceeded the best tip you’ve received in the whole year  you’ve worked, exceeded foolish dreams you’ve had of it. You let your fingers run through each fold, instinctually counting the number in each band when you knew for a fact that it’s much more than you’ll ever need. There’s a catch to this. 

You continued to rummage through your drawer, searching for his note, anything that might give you a clue to what the sudden influx of pay may signify. What met your fingers next was something blunt. Hard, stiff, and cold so it must be a metal of some sort. You took hold of what you could only assume to be the handle. Lo and behold, you’ve just discovered a revolver, it’s metal surface tarnished with age. Your heart raced as you gingerly picked up the weapon, the weight of it unfamiliar and dangerous. Joel has always hated when you interfere with his world, of guns and drugs, of robbery and murders, so what’s with the change of heart?

Beneath where the revolver was hiding was the item you’re looking for.

His note.

“I’m heading West. Tommy needs me.”

He’s not coming back. He doesn’t have to say it word for word.

“Ration cards will last you three months at best.”

Droplets of salty tears started dirtying your cheek as you clutched onto the note. Your heart shattered with each and every word, his instructions painfully etched deep in your wounded soul. You need him, you breathe him.

“Gun’s loaded. Use it to keep you safe.”

The words on the paper, though seemingly innocent and void of any emotions, held a sanction of finality.

“Leave the brothel. Find some place safe.”

Time seemed to stand still as you retreated further into yourself. This was your way out, yet it stung like shards of glass.

“I lo-”

Your eyes glazed upon the tear on the very edge of his note. A sign of cowardice. You knew what he meant to say, you knew what he tore off the page better than anyone else.

Fuck Joel Miller and the way he made you feel.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller #tlou imagine #tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us fic #the last of us #the last of us imagine #joel miller smut #joel miller angst

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Chapter Four

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

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

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

Word Count; 20.6k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Hello darling readers, it's Dana! Happy April, I am so excited to bring you this month's update; Chapter Four! We're picking up exactly where we left off, and there's lots going on in this chapter. Expect a bit more paranormal happenings in this chapter, particularly towards the end (nothing TOO frightening, but I figured I'd warn in advance) Of course, we have a few moments of angst, a handful of flirtatious banter, and a lot more information revealed about the hybrids themselves. As always, I love to hear from readers; comments or questions! Please know that I will answer each response in time, I am currently going through an emotional time with my family 💜 The taglist is still open, as well. Without further ado, please enjoy this update, and thank you so much for reading and supporting my work!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Immediately, Y/N could see Namjoon recognized the relation between her and her mother– if he was taken aback, it didn’t show. However, his face completely changed like night and day as he broke out into a fond grin at her mother after a beat. 

After a split second of deduction, Y/N figured that apparently, her mother was who Namjoon knew at the library. Feeling completely out of place as her mother hurried from out behind the desk and gave Namjoon a tearful hug, Y/N was positively flabbergasted. What were the chances of Y/N adopting a hybrid her mother knew? The book club, by law of the state, could only accept adopted hybrid members, and until a few nights ago, Namjoon was very much unadopted. 

“You came by every day! I thought something bad may have happened to you,” her mother broke free from the hug slightly, wiping a tear from her eye as she assessed Namjoon, like she was searching for injuries. 

Namjoon tilted his head, her mother right about that– he had landed in Boston’s “finest” shelter after being dragged off the street in his wolf form. Unadopted, it was likely that Namjoon had found a way to put up a front about his situation and was somehow found out later on. Her mother couldn’t have been the one to report Namjoon judging by her genuine relief upon seeing him, Y/N thought, but the missing explanation on how he had gotten into the book club in the first place was piquing Y/N’s curiosity the most. 

“I’m alright,” Namjoon replied, rich voice muffled by the velvet shawl covering her mother’s shoulder. “Something… came up,” he added as he pulled away, eyes darting from Y/N to her mother, seemingly examining similarities and differences in their features. Her mother frowned sympathetically but did not pry, seemingly knowing better than to do so with Namjoon. As if just remembering Y/N was standing there gawking at the pair of them, her mother pressed a hand to her chest. 

“Oh, honey, I forgot to call your hybrid’s name over the intercom, I’m sorry, Namjoon, one moment…” her mother rushed back behind the desk, Namjoon raising his eyebrows at Y/N, who was floundering under his pointed gaze. “What was his name?”

“Uh, mom. It’s alright. Namjoon is the said hybrid,” Y/N scratched the back of her head, Namjoon clearly unimpressed she had panicked right away not being able to find him. Her mother was instantly confused, looking from her to Namjoon with suspicion. Expecting her to make an elaborate spectacle, Y/N braced herself, only to be met with her mother’s careful composure. 

“Huh. Snuck past the law, didn’t you, you smart boy,” her mother reached out to ruffle Namjoon’s hair, dimples appearing in the wolf hybrid’s cheeks, because of course he had them. Her mother then squeezed Y/N’s shoulder, adding, “This is my daughter I’ve mentioned before, which I’m assuming you’ve gathered by now. And you can return to the book club again, I need your help leading the discussions once more. They’ve been a bit uninspiring since your absence.”

Namjoon appeared to glow under her mother’s praise, but Y/N thought she may have been buttering him up a bit too much. Her mother had a knack for flattery. There was also the unspoken that hung around the atmosphere, her mother’s lack of interrogation and swift acceptance forming a pit in Y/N’s stomach. Usually, she’d be the type to pry out every detail of how Y/N had managed to become acquainted with Namjoon, but shockingly her mother refrained, seemingly occupied in rummaging around in the returns rack. She pulled out a book from behind the desk, handing it to Namjoon: Wuthering Heights. 

“This is the book we’re reading for the next two weeks. Started it yesterday, so the others don’t have too much of a head start yet,” her mother folded her arms over her chest, looking particularly smug that they were reading one of Y/N’s favorite books as she noticed the eager grin growing on her daughter’s face. “You can ask Y/N just about any question you have about that particular book and she’ll bring out all ten of the essays she’s written on it.”

“Jesus, mom. Exaggeration much?” Y/N scoffed, watching Namjoon carefully tuck the book under his arm. “I only wrote two essays on it,” she muttered under her breath, unable to deny her great obsession for everything Bronte circa her college days. 

“Excuse me, I’m scheduled to meet someone for an interview here at 10, but I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go?” A young man anxiously gripping a map interrupted the conversation by catching the attention of her mother behind the desk. 

“Oh, you must be Joseph! I’ll take you up to the office myself,” her mother exclaimed, glancing at Y/N and Namjoon. “I’ll see you two on Friday, alright? Y/N, honey, don’t put that salt on the windowsills, it’ll stain the finish,” she added, motioning for Joseph to follow her around the desk. 

With that, she was gone in an instant, leaving Y/N with a hybrid who still seemed to resent the fact that she thought he had run away. Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Y/N started to sweat under the beret she was wearing, cursing her wardrobe choices that morning already. 

“Uh… well, your introduction to my mother was less painful than it was when she stopped by to meet the others yesterday,” Y/N began thoughtfully, spinning around to face Namjoon, all imposing height and narrowed, probing eyes. Her stomach turned uncomfortably, reminding her she had yet to eat anything that morning. “Come on, Namjoon, I’ll buy you a pastry from the cafe here,” she motioned towards the small counter at the front of the library littered with small bistro tables, comfortably walled off by planter partitions.

With an arched brow, Namjoon sucked in his cheeks as he reluctantly followed Y/N to the counter, ears turned flat against his skull. The woman working by the oven was pulling out a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls, the saccharine scent of buttery confection making Y/N nearly swoon. Fishing around in her bag, she pulled out her wallet, promptly ordering a cinnamon roll and an espresso for herself. Catching Namjoon gazing at the cherry pie displayed in a glass cake stand, she thought about getting him a slice before thinking the better of it. He seemed like the type to want to order his own food. 

“Hiya, Namjoon! The usual?” The cheery woman from behind the counter gave Namjoon a kindly smile, placing a tiny cup under the espresso machine for Y/N. Brightening up a bit, Namjoon nodded, crowding behind Y/N as the woman added a hot black coffee and a slice of cherry pie to Y/N’s order. Forking over the cash, she waited silently at the end of the counter with Namjoon for his pie to be heated up in the oven. 

He hadn’t said anything to her directly since they were in the car. Namjoon must have had questions, simply because Y/N knew she had her own fair share, but he seemed to be in no hurry to voice them as he plucked a brown leaf off of the potted plant sitting at the end of the counter. Once Namjoon had his mug and pie balanced in his hands, Y/N found a little table for two vacant at the corner of the cafe. Seated across from Namjoon, taking what seemed to be a soul-satisfying sip of coffee with his eyes closed, Y/N found she had forgotten every question she was going to ask him. Shrugging, she dove into her cinnamon roll, still hot from the oven and practically melting in her mouth. 

“What’s that salt for?” Namjoon asked suddenly, using the side of his fork to collect a bite of pie on the utensil. He gave a pointed look to Y/N’s tote bag as he chewed his pie, ignoring the surprise on her face. 

“Hmm. If I said it's for witchcraft, what would be your response?” Y/N decided to answer truthfully, with the knowledge of him likely being able to sniff out a lie in the forefront of her mind. If he called her crazy, she could handle that, but a liar was something she no longer wished to be with any of the hybrids. In fact, she’d planned on coming clean with the others about the ghost sighting in the house later that afternoon when she got the chance. 

Namjoon, sipping his coffee thoughtfully as he scanned her face, seemed to consider her words carefully. Setting his mug down, he sat back in his chair with a sigh. 

“I already knew your mother was a witch, she told me– not that it was very difficult to piece together. So, it makes sense you practice too… but that doesn’t really answer my question. What, exactly, do you need black salt for? Protection from something?” Namjoon clarified, with particular emphasis on the last question. 

Opening and closing her mouth, Y/N abruptly drained her espresso cup for some kind of a lifeline, not expecting Namjoon to be so direct or even have knowledge about the uses of black salt. He nonchalantly went back to enjoying his pie, waiting patiently for her explanation. 

“Okay, sure. It’s for protection, I think the house is overdue for some cleansing and some boundaries to keep a few uninvited guests… out,” Y/N toed around the issue as honestly as possible without including the word ghosts, deciding it was a little strange to be discussing something like that in a library cafe. Returning to her cinnamon roll, she chased some icing at the edge of the plate with a crispy layer of pastry. Y/N had yet to plan out the exact ritual she was going to conduct, fleetingly wishing that she had her mother’s old spellbook at the house to consult. 

“I read a lot about modern witchcraft here. I didn’t know all too much about it before I met your mother at the book club,” Namjoon confessed, crumpling up his napkin on his empty pie plate. “If I hadn’t seen certain things myself, I’d write it all off as new-age garbage.”

Tilting her head, Y/N’s curiosity had climbed tenfold. For someone so burly and serious looking, Namjoon’s apparent interest in the occult came as a great surprise. Not to mention, she desperately wanted to ask about what “things” Namjoon had referenced seeing to make him a believer at all. It didn’t seem like the time nor place, however.

“Namjoon, not to change the subject, but how were you able to get into the book club?” Y/N blurted out the first thing that came to mind, distantly hoping he wasn’t withholding any embarrassing stories her mother had relayed to him about her daughter. 

“You mean, while I was unadopted,” Namjoon returned bluntly, holding his hand up in response to Y/N offering a piece of her cinnamon roll. “It was easy enough, I created a fake certificate on one of the computers in the lab here after seeing a flier for the book club nailed to a telephone pole.” 

“Oh,” was all Y/N could think to say, the explanation much simpler than she had anticipated, feeling silly that she had asked at all. Pushing her plate away, she again wondered how he had ended up in the shelter considering her mother knew him well enough to be so moved by his absence. Someone must have ratted him out, but who, and how did they even find out about his forged certificate? 

“Should we get going?” Namjoon interrupted her internal dialogue, his chair scraping against the floor as he collected their cups, plates, and his book. Scrambling to her feet, Y/N tried her best to keep up with Namjoon’s long strides, almost falling over upon seeing his beautiful smile directed at the woman behind the counter. 

On the way back to the car, she caught Namjoon casting a look at the desk where they had met her mother, but she wasn’t there, cueing the corners of his mouth to turn down in disappointment. Clearly, she had left a lasting impression on Namjoon. 

Outside, the weather was still cool and pleasant, tourists ambling down Boylston street with great shopping bags swinging from the crooks of their elbows. The black salt in her tote bag felt like it weighed one hundred pounds, placing it in the backseat of her car as she slid in. The tinny old tape resumed, crackling to life in the speaker, Mick Jagger sounding more like Kermit than anything. Namjoon, once settled in his seat, started reading Wuthering Heights straight away, leaving Y/N to focus on the route home and planning out some kind of cleansing and banishing ritual in her mind.

“Wow. Stick Style?” Namjoon let himself through the iron gate Y/N pulled open, taking him around the front upon remembering she had put the bar lock across the sliding kitchen door the night before out of paranoia. 

“That’s right,” Y/N confirmed, carefully navigating the brick walkway to the porch in order not to trip. One of her missions for the day was to watch her clumsiness, and a stray loose brick would put a kink in that plan for sure. “This one was built in 1886 for a judge and his family.”

Namjoon was busy admiring the trees crowding the yard when Y/N noticed the packages piled up on the doorstep, squinting as she tried to see what they were. Bending to collect them, one was a thick packet from the bank, and the other was a medium sized box from her phone carrier. The hybrid’s credit cards and phones arrived far quicker than she had expected, to her delight; they’d be able to buy what they wanted that afternoon at some of the shops and even call her if they wandered off and lost her. Tucking the packages under her arm, she managed to unlock the door while her tote bag slid down her arm, pushing the door open with a loud creak. 

The house was lively. The scent of bacon nearly knocked her off her feet, a lovely song coming from the piano upstairs, and there was chatter Y/N could hear coming from far off in the kitchen. Someone had lit the candles in the sconces on the wall, making the house feel cozy compared to the cool, overcast morning. Grinning, Y/N felt glee well up inside of her, the house feeling so lived-in already that it reminded her of the holidays with her grandparents as a child. Tossing a look over her shoulder, Namjoon hesitated at the threshold of the front door, appearing to size up the scale of the home, before entering the foyer behind her and shutting the door firmly. Upon further consideration, he locked the deadbolt behind him, Y/N raising her eyebrow but saying nothing. 

“Good morning Y/N–” Seokjin bounded out of the kitchen, a strip of bacon in his hand on its way to his parted lips, freezing as he registered Namjoon behind her. Slowly, he lowered his arm, recovering pretty well once he noticed Y/N trying to juggle the packages and her tote bag threatening to crash to the ground, the jaguar hybrid promptly catching the bag and setting it carefully on the staircase. “Hello, Namjoon,” he greeted evenly, waving with his piece of bacon. Y/N snickered, Namjoon offering a short nod in response. 

“Did Yoongi make you some breakfast?” Y/N asked Seokjin, his tail flicking back and forth languidly as he shook his head. Upon mentioning the leopard hybrid’s name, the music upstairs abruptly cut short. Y/N was reminded once more of the hybrid’s incredible hearing, sending a shiver down her spine. No more late-night trips to the kitchen for some shredded cheese out of the bag. 

“No, Jimin,” was his response, nodding his head towards the kitchen. “Yoongi’s tinkering around on the piano, and hasn’t even come down yet. Nor Taehyung.”

“Mind if I take a look around?” Namjoon interjected, arms crossed over his chest as he stared straight into Y/N’s face, expression neutral. Clearing her throat, Y/N tried to make a “go ahead” motion with her arms while holding the packages. 

“Be my guest,” she side-eyed the box of things she had collected for him at the foot of the stairs, which he had yet to notice. “Find a bedroom you like, while you’re at it, and come find us after.”

“Sure,” Namjoon agreed absently, slowly taking off down the hall towards Jimin’s room. Thoughtfully munching on his bacon, Seokjin shrugged, following Y/N to the kitchen in her pursuit of a letter opener. 

At the island was Hoseok stirring cream into Y/N’s old Darth Vader mug, face puffy with sleep, and she caught a glimpse of Jimin by the stove dressed in his new jeans and the beige linen button down. Upon further examination, he had a bit of batter on his nose as he flipped a pancake expertly on the skillet. Hoseok offered her a sleepy smile, patting the bar stool next to him for her to sit while Seokjin swiped more bacon from the plate by Jimin at the stove. 

“Morning, Miss Y/N, would you like some pancakes, or bacon before Seokjin eats it all?” Jimin turned around, flinching as Seokjin attempted to collect the batter off of the coyote hybrid’s nose with an index finger. Snorting, she shook her head, feeling the cinnamon roll from the library cafe sitting in her stomach like a boulder. 

“No thanks, sweetheart, I got something to eat on the way home with Namjoon,” she answered easily, using the letter opener to hack open the packet from the bank. Hoseok, while stiffening at the sound of the wolf hybrid’s name, couldn’t help himself by nearly hooking his chin over Y/N’s shoulder to peer at the letter she was scanning, offering simple instructions for the card activations. Pulling out her phone, she followed the steps, smirking at the sound of Hoseok noisily slurping his coffee in her ear. 

As she was peeling the cards off of the papers from the packet, the glass slider behind her slid open, making her frown as she realized her and Namjoon could have entered that way after all. Peeking over her shoulder, she knew who it was before she got a good look– Jeongguk.

Dressed in every black item that Y/N had purchased for him, his complexion was a tad on the paler side, Jeongguk looked quite bewildered as he stumbled into the kitchen. Clearing his throat, he absently tossed a cigarette butt– smoked down to the filter– into the ashtray outside before shutting the door hastily. Frowning, Y/N stacked the credit cards on the table, wondering why he seemed so freaked out, but held her tongue out of stubbornness due to the previous night’s spat. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Hoseok called out, a note of disgust coloring his tone as he watched Jeongguk distractedly melt onto the booth of the breakfast bar. Jeongguk waved his hand dismissively, scribbling something down in his notebook with the pen from behind his ear. Rolling his eyes, Hoseok returned to his coffee while Y/N began to open up the box with the phones. 

“Morning,” Yoongi entered the room, a serene look on his face as he accepted a mug of coffee from Seokjin. It was nice to see some of the hybrids get along so amicably so far, and Y/N was trying to squash the small voice in her head telling her they were just putting on a front for her benefit. 

Putting the box of phones on the barstool next to her, Y/N double-checked to make sure the proper amount of devices were in there before taking her hat off to run her fingers through her hair. Eyes were on her as soon as the hat left her head, Y/N self-consciously wondering if her hair smelled sweaty or something. Jimin began to harshly wash pans immediately after, his honeyed strands of hair falling into his face as he worked. 

“Anyone seen Taehyung yet today? It’s almost noon, and he was the one most eager to go out today,” Seokjin remarked, passing a hand over his stomach as he returned uncooked bacon to the fridge. Y/N was unsurprised Taehyung had locked himself away while she was gone, considering he had even excused himself from the parlor yesterday as soon as she was unconscious. He didn’t seem to have any interest in getting to know the others. 

“He’s up. I heard his shower going while I was working on the piano,” Yoongi replied, cracking his knuckles as he went to sit across from Jeongguk at the breakfast bar. Either he was trying to bury the hatchet, or was keeping an eye on the elk hybrid; either way the latter hardly looked up from his notebook. 

“Working?” Y/N repeated with confusion, wondering if he was writing a musical or something. 

“Yeah, tuning it. You had a kit in the compartment under the piano bench, and some of the keys were a little flat,” Yoongi explained patiently, tracing a dainty pinky finger around the lip of his coffee mug while he spoke. This sparked excitement within her, thinking once again about lessons to inquire about at the music store later that afternoon, especially now that the piano was getting looked after by someone like Yoongi. 

“That song you were playing when I came home was very pretty,” Y/N complimented, hoping she, too, could play half as well as Yoongi one day. His cheeks turned pink, murmuring a thank-you, studiously staring out the window. 

Y/N passed her fingers over the glossy credit cards, the ridges of Namjoon’s name on the top card making her wonder where he had ended up. With Hoseok next to her, definitely more quiet than usual, she made a mental note to keep an eye on the fox hybrid that afternoon now that Namjoon would be joining them on their outing, or so she hoped. She still didn’t know if sad-sack Jeongguk would come with them, but leaving him alone in the house made her feel melancholy, even if he was a brat. 

“Hoseok, are you going to shower before we leave? I can smell the sweat coming off of you all the way from here,” Seokjin suddenly complained, leaning forward on the island to sniff in Hoseok’s direction dramatically. Hoseok let the comment roll off his shoulders, patronizingly stroking Seokjin’s hand from across the island with a grin. Displeasure washed over Seokjin’s lovely face comically.

“I’ll make sure to wait for you in the shower, cupcake. Maybe you should join me for a morning workout next time,” Hoseok pushed himself off of his barstool with a great heave, chuckling at Seokjin’s angry barking insults as he vanished from the room. 

“You should know by now not to try and out-fox the fox with verbal shell games, Seokjin. It’s getting embarrassing for all of us, at this point,” Yoongi called out from the breakfast bar, making Y/N chortle loudly. Seokjin frowned, his tail flicking back and forth in an agitated manner. 

“Alright, come on,” Y/N sighed, brushing away a tear of amusement from the corner of her eye, “I’ve got something for you guys. Figured you’d need these in this great age of technology,” she stood, scooping up several phone boxes from the open package to deal out like cards, sliding one each across the island to Jimin and Seokjin before delivering two more to Yoongi and Jeongguk at the breakfast bar.

The room was so quiet, a pin could drop and it would sound like a gunshot as each hybrid stared at their phone boxes, Y/N biting her lip as Jeongguk took his phone from her like a live grenade. 

“Uh, remind me to give you my number when you set the phones up, just in case anything happens and you can’t find me physically, or something,” Y/N babbled, wondering if now was a bad time to pass out the credit cards, considering the astounded looks on everyone’s faces. “Hmm. I guess I should look for Taehyung… Namjoon too. We’ll leave in about a half hour?” She continued upon further silence from the hybrids, catching Seokjin examining the box of his new cell phone like it was an exotic insect. 

Yoongi nodded robotically, Jimin whispering something to Seokjin as they both read the back of their phone boxes. Tucking the credit cards in her skirt pocket and scooping up the remaining phones, she offered the stunned hybrids a warm smile before heading towards the hallway. Jimin looked like he wanted to follow Y/N, but Seokjin caught his wrist and started to point at something on the box. 

In the hallway, Y/N took a deep breath, nearly stumbling over Namjoon’s box of items by the stairs. Cursing, she regained her balance, almost toppling over again as she heard the door to the green room from behind her creak loudly. Dread flooded through her in an instant, praying the old hag ghost wasn’t two paces from breathing down her neck. Spinning around, she was relieved to see Namjoon peeking his head out from behind the door, an eyebrow raised. 

“Sorry, you startled me,” Y/N breathed, Namjoon stepping out into the hall with a grunt of acknowledgement. 

“I think the sooner you do that protection ritual, the better you’ll feel,” Namjoon remarked, hands on hips. He wasn’t wrong about that, Y/N thought. “This room taken?” He nodded towards the green room where Seokjin had stayed. 

“No, you can have it,” Y/N tried her best not to shy away from his close proximity, the sensation of him towering over her a bit overwhelming. “This box is for you, some clothes to get you through the next couple of weeks and toiletries. Oh, this too,” Y/N nudged the box on the floor before remembering the phones in her hand, hastily handing one over to him. Eyebrows furrowed, he pocketed the phone swiftly, more interested in the contents of the box of clothes he kneeled down to take a look at. 

“Hey, we’re all going to head out into town in a bit to get some fresh air, and you’re invited as well, of course,” Y/N said, suddenly feeling shy as he leafed through some of the shirts she had chosen for him. Namjoon hummed, the sound slightly gravelly, his ear flickering. 

“I’ll go with you,” Namjoon agreed, stretching back up to his full height, his face softer than she had seen it before, at least directed towards her. “Thanks, by the way,” he added gently, lifting the box off the ground, taking one last look at her before hauling it into his room.

Reeling, Y/N absently trudged up the stairs, unable to get the look he had on his face out of her head. A ghost of the fondness he had shown for her mother reflected in Namjoon’s expression, and even if it lasted for a moment, it felt precious to her. As she reached the second floor, she heard Hoseok’s whistling from the basement. Hastening to Taehyung’s room, Y/N paused to listen for any movement, but heard nothing. Before she could knock, the door flung open, Y/N’s jaw hanging open as she dropped her hand limply. 

“Are we leaving?” Taehyung leaned against the door jamb, dressed in his blue long-sleeve and dark jeans. His hair was still wet from the shower, ringlets surrounding his face like a cherub. Tapping his foot, Taehyung seemed eager to embark on their outing as he peered out into the hallway, scanning the surroundings. 

“Shortly, yes,” Y/N replied, the scent of sandalwood coming off of him powerfully. As they started down the hall together, Y/N chatting mindlessly about the events of the morning and giving him his phone, she couldn’t help but think that Taehyung had to be one of the easiest to talk to. 

Like Jimin, Taehyung listened intently, but wasn’t so intense in his gaze as she talked, having more of a calming– as opposed to dazzling– effect on her. Out of everyone, he seemed to be the most excited about the phone, opening it immediately and passing it to Y/N to plug in her phone number. She did so blindly as they reached the kitchen, Taehyung sticking to her side closely as she created a contact for herself. 

The kitchen was in a bit of commotion as they entered, Hoseok loudly complaining about Seokjin polishing off the bacon, and Jimin trying to keep up his carefully-constructed patience as he told Seokjin how to turn on his phone. Yoongi had migrated to the coffee bar, apparently making himself a to-go cup, and Jeongguk was already typing away on his new phone at the breakfast nook. 

Y/N made her rounds putting her number in the other’s phones, Jeongguk reluctantly parting with his when she reached him. She endured the awkwardness of their interaction, the words he spat the previous night hovering in the air starkly. She could tell, by the set of his jaw, that Jeongguk was likely recalling the events, avoiding her eyes expertly. Feeling Taehyung breathing down her neck as she punched the digits into Jeongguk’s phone, Y/N hurriedly handed it back to the elk hybrid, who was huffing impatiently. At least, she thought distantly, he had the decency to look a little sheepish when she smiled at him sweetly. 

When Namjoon entered the kitchen, every head turned to look at him. Y/N only registered the disturbance when she couldn’t hear Hoseok and Seokjin bickering anymore, looking up from Jimin’s phone with interest. Namjoon, standing stiffly at the threshold of the kitchen, scanned each hybrid briefly, spending a little more time watching Taehyung linger at Y/N’s side at the sink. Returning Jimin’s phone to him, Y/N cleared her throat, nervously shooting a glance at Hoseok, who had either subconsciously or accidentally pulled Seokjin in front of him like some kind of meat-shield. Even Yoongi, wiping down the counter, seemed perturbed by the wolf hybrid’s presence, his ears turned downwards. The tension in the room was nearly suffocating, all of the ease vanishing as soon as Namjoon walked in. 

“Well, now that everyone’s here, we can head out now,” Y/N clapped once in an attempt to dissolve some of the tension, only succeeding in making Jimin jump in surprise. Patting his back gingerly in apology, she inched towards Namjoon without Taehyung following her like a shadow, to her surprise, while desperately hoping to corral everyone out to the car in one piece. “Ready?”

Y/N walked in tandem with Namjoon out the front door, counting heads like a school teacher as each hybrid exited the house. They grouped together in cliques, Yoongi and Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok– Jeongguk, of course, was by himself but stayed close to Yoongi curiously enough. The five lingering by the Land Cruiser kept considerable distance from both Taehyung and Namjoon, who also appeared to stay clear of one another. 

Without a question, the rest of the hybrids said nothing as Namjoon slid into the passenger seat promptly, Taehyung reluctantly climbing into the seat behind Y/N. Seokjin, mumbling about Hoseok pushing him too harshly, crammed himself in the third row of the car beside Jeongguk followed by the fox hybrid. Before Namjoon could put the horrid Rolling Stones tape on again, Y/N switched on the radio, a Britney Spears song filling the car with a bit of sunshine. Once again, Yoongi found himself in the center seat of the second row with a grimace on his face, making eye contact with Y/N in the rearview. Trying to appear apologetic, she gave him a half-smile as she pulled out into the street. Hoseok began to whistle along to the tune of Gimme More. 

After finding a decent parking spot at the cluster of shops in the middle of the town and passing out the hybrid’s new credit cards, everyone flooded out into the square in a mostly orderly manner. They parked closest to the music store, which was right across from Judy’s metaphysical shop where Y/N was planning to pick up hours to pay for all future expenses. Seokjin, kindly, held the door open for everyone to enter the dusty-smelling music store, smiling politely at an elderly woman ambling in behind Y/N. 

Upon entering the store, everyone peeled off in different directions. Shiny electric guitars, polished brass trumpets, and long coiled bunches of cables hung from the pegboard walls, large drum kits and cases of vinyls were strewn in every direction. The place was sensory overload, positively crammed with inventory and unique looking people working behind the counters, unfazed by the seven hybrids running all over the place. Namjoon, of course, was by the single small bin by the front door overflowing with two dollar tapes. Passing by Taehyung at the jazz vinyl shelf, Y/N made her way to the far corner of the shop where the piano sheet music was displayed in crates, Yoongi scanning a thin booklet in his delicate hands, his spotted tail curling around his leg placidly. 

Curiously, and not without the feeling that she had no idea what she was looking at, Y/N pawed through a crate of piano music from movies, trying her best to give Yoongi enough space to move around in the tight corner. She fumbled with a book filled with the score from Grease, suddenly aware of the gold-green eyes burning a hole into her cheek while she was trying to decipher the foreign symbols evidently depicting musical notes. Glancing at Yoongi out of the corner of her eye, she sighed, putting the book down upon seeing his wry grin.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Y/N groaned, too shy to venture up to the counter and ask the middle-aged man with a graying ponytail and scally cap about lessons. “I can’t even read sheet music– the guy giving me my lessons would probably laugh me out of the practice room. The window of learning this type of thing has probably closed for me anyways.”

Yoongi scoffed, leaning his hip against the crate he was previously leafing through, a stack of booklets tucked under his arm. With narrowed eyes, he scanned the pout shadowing Y/N face. 

“That’s all bullshit, anyone can learn to play an instrument at any age,” Yoongi started, tucking a long strand of hair behind his ear, “You know, I could just teach you piano. We can do weekly lessons, and start small. Why bother paying someone here when you have a piano and a teacher already at home?” 

Mouth opening and closing, Y/N squeaked out something like what, realization crashing down on her embarrassingly. She hadn’t even thought to ask Yoongi, and he brought up an excellent point– for what reason should she drive down to the music shop weekly for lessons when she could play the old piano at home that sparked the interest in the first place. Expectantly, Yoongi searched her face, waiting for a coherent answer to his proposition. 

“You’d do that? I mean, that would be great– I’d really love that,” Y/N managed, Yoongi nodding purposefully. Showing her a booklet from the stack under his arm, Y/N read the title: Piano Classics for Beginners. Heat blooming in her cheeks, she realized Yoongi must have hatched this plan on the ride into town. 

“We can start with this. I think Fridays would be good for lessons, that way you’ll have all week to familiarize yourself with the piano until our first one,” he tapped the cover of the book as he spoke, thinly veiled excitement showing on his expression. Glowing, Y/N agreed fervently, absolutely enthralled to have both lessons and an opportunity to bond with Yoongi on her horizon. 

Yoongi went back to sorting through the piano books, eyeing each title carefully. Still riding the high of his offer, Y/N left the leopard hybrid in search of Seokjin or Hoseok. The two were arguing by the counter, Hoseok audibly more loud than the jaguar hybrid, one of the women working behind the counter awkwardly fiddling with a roll of quarters as she witnessed the dispute. Frowning, Y/N approached, trying not to panic that Hoseok was leaning his back against a wobbly and expensive looking French horn on a stand. 

“How could you just watch him stroll right by and out the door? You were right there next to the bulletin board, Hoseok,” Seokjin pointed to the front of the shop, eyes bulging out of his skull as his tail flicked back and forth in an urgent manner. Hoseok groaned, arms crossed over his chest as he noticed Y/N standing in front of them. 

“What happened? Hoseok, please, you’re going to knock that over,” Y/N pulled him closer to her by his upper arm, away from the French horn the woman behind the counter was anxiously staring at. 

“Jeongguk left, like five minutes ago. Hoseok just told me,” Seokjin pushed a worried hand through his blue-black waves, eyebrows pulled together in distress as if he was about to be scolded. Not ideal, Y/N thought.

“It’s okay, he has a phone now, remember? He probably went out for a smoke or to check out another store. I’ll give him a call if he doesn’t turn up in the next fifteen minutes,” Y/N tried her best to soothe Seokjin, although she was worried herself that Jeongguk was already hitchhiking halfway to Vermont. 

“That’s what I tried to explain to him, but he managed to blame me for Jeongguk’s departure,” Hoseok groaned, clearly exasperated by the whole conversation. Seokjin shot him a thanks a lot look. 

Scanning the shop, Y/N realized that Jeongguk wasn’t the only one missing. Jimin, too, had vanished, and Namjoon looked ready to leave by the door with a plastic bag full of tapes as well. Taehyung and Yoongi were in line around the opposite side of the counter ready to make their own purchases. Chewing her lip, she turned back to Hoseok, knowing he had likely seen Jimin leave as well. 

“Did you happen to see Jimin leave?” Y/N asked, catching Hoseok’s attention mid-glare directed at Seokjin. 

“Yeah, he went to go look for the elk,” Hoseok rolled his eyes, finally maintaining distance from the French horn as Y/N yanked him away from it once more. Breathing a small sigh of relief that she already had someone out there searching for Jeongguk, Y/N waited patiently for Taehyung and Yoongi to check out and make their way to Namjoon by the door. 

“Find anything good?” Y/N asked both Taehyung and Namjoon as they exited the shop, trying to ignore the bickering behind her coming from Seokjin and Hoseok, even Yoongi joining in on the pettiness. 

Taehyung clutched his flat paper bag filled with his goods close to his chest, a warm smile across his lips, slightly pulling one of the vinyls out to show her a Mad Season record. Y/N recalled she never asked him what he was going to say about that band. Namjoon, swinging the bag in his fist as they walked out into the bricked courtyard, looked down at Y/N in a detached way. 

“They had folk tapes, mostly. I saved the least… grating ones from the bin,” Namjoon replied slowly, eyes going from her face to Taehyung’s, an ounce of suspicion in his voice. 

Nodding, Y/N could palpably feel ice forming between the wolf and Kodiak hybrids as they stared at one another, wondering what possibly could have happened in the short span of time spent together to warrant the hostility in their eyes. Considering the amount of the hybrids that already disliked one another; Hoseok and Namjoon, Jeongguk and everyone else, and now Namjoon and Taehyung, Y/N felt that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. She held no regrets, of course, but she definitely had the feeling that she’d need some help from her friends to get the hybrids to loosen up a bit at the cookout on Friday to prevent a bloodbath. 

Shivering at a particularly brisk breeze rolling by, Y/N searched the courtyard for any sightings of Jimin or Jeongguk, spotting Jimin’s honeyed head of hair peering into the window of the bookstore. Ditching the two hybrids in their icy stare-off, she hurried over to the coyote hybrid, his hands tucked into his jeans pockets as he strolled further away from her to the next storefront. 

“Jimin!” Y/N called after him, his ears immediately perking up as he swiveled around to look at her. His expression changed from happy surprise to guilt almost instantly, halting his movements as she made her way to his side. “Any luck finding Jeongguk?” 

“No, I’m sorry, Miss Y/N,” Jimin wrung his hands together, eyebrows pinching together in likely annoyance towards the elk hybrid. Patting his forearm gently, Y/N sighed. 

“It’s alright, Jimin, I appreciate you coming out here to look for him, though,” Y/N fumbled for her phone in her tote bag, ready to find Jeongguk’s number and call him. In the car earlier, she had each of them send her a text so she’d have all their contacts as well. Hoseok sent her a fox emoji, Seokjin and Jimin a simple “hello”, but all Jeongguk had sent was a period. 

“Y/N, I think he’s in there,” Hoseok shouted from across the courtyard, pointing dramatically at the storefront towards the exit. Squinting, Y/N barked out a laugh in disbelief, because of course Jeongguk had wandered into the metaphysical shop that happened to be her future employer. 

“Thanks, Hoseok!” Y/N panted, jogging over with Jimin to where most of the hybrids had clumped around by the metaphysical shop. “You guys can go into whatever store you like now– I have to stop in here anyways, and it’ll probably be for about a half hour. We can meet up after by the fountain over there, and get some ice cream before heading back. Okay?” 

Hoseok took one look at the sign for the metaphysical shop, frowned, before giving her a thumbs-up and dragging Seokjin towards the chocolate shop two doors down. Taehyung, still glaring at Namjoon, followed Yoongi and Jimin to the bookstore, while the wolf hybrid remained by Y/N’s side. Watching the others go made a smile grow across her face, the tension dissolving from the air as Y/N could see closer bonds already being formed– Hoseok’s arm slung around Seokjin’s shoulders, Jimin laughing at something Yoongi had uttered in his ear. 

“You coming in with me?” Y/N nodded towards the tinted glass door of Judy’s metaphysical shop upon noticing Namjoon not budging from her side. 

“I’d prefer to keep an eye on that elk hybrid. Him slipping away again might cause another fiasco,” Namjoon replied calmly, Y/N raising her eyebrows. She wouldn’t have categorized the last fifteen minutes as a fiasco, actually congratulating herself for remaining calm, however perhaps he could sense the underlying dread that had been flooding through her. Shrugging, she mumbled a “thank you” bashfully as he opened the door for her, the jingling of the witch bells fastened to the door announcing their arrival. 

It was dark in the small shop, and absolutely reeking of myrrh incense. Enya played on a CD player by the door, dim fabric colored lamplight allowing some visibility for the crowded shelves of candles, books, statues, and other oddities. In the corner of the shop, by the table of amulets, was Jeongguk, turning over a silver object between his thumb and forefinger. Not even bothering to inform him that they had formed a search party after his unannounced departure from the music store, Y/N found her way to the case in the back of the shop, which served as the checkout counter and a jewelry display. No one was behind the case– Judy must have been in the back room where tarot readings were held. Namjoon shuffled his feet behind her, running his fingers over a beautiful chunk of amethyst on the crystal table. 

Leaning on the case, Y/N admired bejeweled athames within it laying on beds of velvet. The shop was filled with so much inventory, and judging by the humongous book by the ancient register, it seemed everything was cataloged by hand. Y/N would certainly have her work cut out for her learning all of the wares, not to mention trying to recall what everything was used for or even called. 

“Oh, the wolf. How nice,” Jeongguk suddenly commented, noisily setting red candles, a stack of incense, and the silver amulet he had been holding when they came in on the checkout case. The amulet was some kind of saint medallion, but because Y/N was unfamiliar with Christianity, she had no idea who it was. Namjoon said nothing, heading over to the bookcase and pulling out leather-bound grimoires at random. 

“Hmm. These are pretty,” Y/N remained civil, examining one of the beautiful hand-dipped candles Jeongguk picked out. He grunted in response, impatiently tapping on the glass of the case and staring at the beaded curtain to the tarot reading room. 

Sighing, Y/N set her gaze on Namjoon while he was turned away, the muscles of his back flexing and relaxing as he hefted a large book off the shelf to leaf through. As if sensing that she was staring, Namjoon’s face tilted to the side, the length of his eyelashes catching lamplight as he locked eyes with her. Reddening, Y/N broke eye contact, not being able to shake the feeling that there was a certain familiarity in the color of his eyes. She could hear Namjoon approaching the case once more, Jeongguk groaning as he pulled a tattooed hand through his hair in exasperation. 

The clattering sound of wooden beads knocking together made for a good excuse to ignore the fact that Namjoon had returned to his spot behind her, once again crowding her against the glass case like he had at the library cafe. Judy, the shop owner and close friend of her mother, abruptly barrelled into the room from the back, carrying a large, old wooden chest she heaved onto the workbench behind the case the three of them were standing in front of. Pushing her rectangular spectacles up her nose distractedly, Judy’s crystal bracelets made clanging noises as she held up a single sun-weathered finger up to the three patrons waiting for her attention. 

Jeongguk shifted next to Y/N, looking aggravated as the woman began to leaf through the contents of the wooden chest. From behind her, Namjoon slid a well-worn copy of some sort of supernatural encyclopedia onto the case, his fingers accidentally brushing her forearm leaning onto the glass before yanking his hand away like he was burned. Gritting her teeth, wishing that either Hoseok or Taehyung were there to bring her a sense of ease, Y/N coiled her arms around her midsection as she tried to get space sandwiched between the elk and wolf hybrids. 

“Y/N, wonderful to see you after so long. Gentlemen,” Judy began after several moments of muttering to herself looking through the wooden chest, finally facing and greeting them standing before her. “Sorry for the wait. My assistant– er, son– recently went off to college, so it’s been difficult for me to keep track of my papers and whatnot…” 

Judy rang up Jeongguk’s items as she spoke, punching numbers into the old cash register noisily and pulling out tissue paper to wrap the candles. Glancing at her watch, Y/N made sure they still had time to meet the others without having to scramble. 

“My mother came to see you, am I right?” Y/N smiled at Judy, who was carefully tucking Namjoon’s book into a paper bag. Nodding with a chuckle, Judy pushed a curly strand of sandy hair from her face. 

“Oh, yes. Making promises without you being here– can you start next week?” Judy pulled out a packet of paper she had retrieved from the chest earlier, handing it to Y/N promptly. Snorting, Y/N flipped through the packet of inventory she was to learn, nodding sagely. Hopefully, by next week, the hybrids would be fairly settled in enough for her to leave them for a few hours. 

“How many days a week would you need me?” Y/N absently handed her credit card over to pay for Jeongguk and Namjoon’s items, forgetting that they had their own. Jeongguk made a noise of surprise, stuffing his card back into the pocket of his black jeans. 

“Only three; Monday, Wednesday, Thursday. Business has been slow ever since the colleges are back in session, and my son can come back on the weekends to help out. Sounds good?” Judy returned Y/N’s credit card to her, sliding the bag of items across the case towards Jeongguk, who she eyed in a thoughtful way. 

“That works for me,” Y/N agreed, although partly concerned that a three day work week wouldn’t garner much for a paycheck. 

“Here, honey. I think this will help you. Wrapped it up for you this morning,” Judy added suddenly, reaching behind her desk in the corner for an item. Accepting it, Y/N turned the smoke cleansing stick of cedar and rosemary over in her hands, positively amazed. She had forgotten Judy was a psychic medium, likely picking up on her need to cleanse and protect her home, and chose the perfect botanicals to assist her in that endeavor unprompted. 

“Thank you, Judy,” Y/N said sincerely, carefully tucking the herb bundle into the bag Jeongguk had in his hand. Judy waved her off, thanking her for picking up the hours at the shop, before a young woman came through the shop door for a scheduled psychic reading. Taking it as their cue to leave, Y/N corralled Jeongguk out the door, Namjoon following close behind her. 

Taking a lungful of incense-free air outside, Y/N felt hopeful about her new job. While it was likely an in-between before her next career move, it was refreshing to work someplace so vastly different. Jeongguk asked where they were meeting the others, walking very quickly to the fountain that Y/N had pointed to and away from her and Namjoon in a seemingly disturbed manner. Craning her neck up and back to look at Namjoon, she caught his narrowed eyes following Jeongguk’s form, jaw set dangerously. Clearing her throat, she managed to snag his attention, a degree of hostility slipping from his expression as their eyes met. 

“You’re going to work there?” Namjoon asked questions in the form of fact confirmation, Y/N noticed. 

“Mm-hmm. Just until I figure out what to do next,” Y/N replied, Namjoon’s half-torn ear fluttering lightly as she spoke. She wondered what had happened to it, with a feeling of melancholy flooding through her. “Gotta pay the bills in the meantime.”

“Things would be better, if the rest of us could actually get jobs,” Namjoon bit, Y/N feeling a tad awkward in his reference to the law forbidding hybrid employment. Not that it stopped certain businesses from exploiting hybrid labor illegally, which is what happened to Yoongi and likely some of the others. 

“I won’t deny the truth in that, Namjoon,” Y/N muttered lamely, not really knowing what else to add. It’s not like change in the medieval laws about hybrids would happen overnight, as much as she wished it would. All she could do was take the best possible care of her hybrids, and hope that as time passed things would change for the better. 

Namjoon was quiet after that, walking slowly by her side as they made their way to the fountain at the center of the courtyard. Everyone was waiting for them already, each with a bag or two of things that they had bought from various stores, Yoongi lazily lying on his side on the ledge of the fountain and enjoying the afternoon sun. 

“Y/N!” Hoseok sang, startling her as he skipped from around the fountain once her and Namjoon approached the meeting spot. Aggressively, Hoseok grabbed her wrist, yanking her away from Namjoon without sparing him a glance and pulling her to the opposite side of the fountain. Heart slamming up into her throat at Hoseok’s firm grip, she barely registered him straightening her out by her shoulders as he pushed her in front of Seokjin. 

“Look, Jin got these for the cookout you’re having,” Hoseok nudged Seokjin, who was holding a startlingly large bucket of toffee from the chocolate shop. Seokjin looked embarrassed, his cheeks pink and rounded as he sheepishly held out the bucket for Y/N to see. Immediately, she turned to mush at the thought of Seokjin picking out something to contribute at the cookout, and he was clearly proud of his choice, particularly when he gauged the joyful reaction on her face. 

“Wow Seokjin, everyone will love those, they look delicious! That was so kind of you, honey,” Y/N gushed, the red in Seokjin’s cheeks deepening as he lifted the lid off of the toffee so she could take a look. The slabs of toffee wafted a buttery scent, making her mouth water. Seokjin plucked a small shard of the toffee out of the bucket, suddenly grinning slyly. 

“Here, try some,” Seokjin lifted the piece of toffee to poise inches from her lips, stunning Y/N as her mouth dropped open involuntarily in shock. Absently hearing Hoseok chuckle, Y/N stood stunned as Seokjin pushed the toffee between her lips, the confection immediately beginning to melt in her mouth as he pulled his hand away. 

“Good?” Seokjin mused, tilting his head playfully. Positively burning up, Y/N carefully chewed the toffee as Seokjin smirked at her, closing up the tub. Tearing her gaze from him, her eyes regretfully landed on Hoseok, who sent her a cheeky wink. 

“Delicious,” Y/N murmured, feeling scandalized in front of the two hybrids clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. Did she really just let Seokjin feed her?

“Shall we get ice cream now, darling?” Hoseok shoved his hands in his pockets, still grinning at her smugly. Rolling her shoulders back, she agreed, casting a look over her shoulder as she felt someone approach from behind. To her relief, it was Taehyung, shooting a wary look at the peanut gallery in front of Y/N. 

Hurrying to Taehyung’s side with her cheeks still aflame, Y/N did her best to round everyone else up and usher them into the old-fashioned ice cream parlor to wrap up their afternoon outing. The parlor was filled with the scents of rich fudge and waffle cones, and the space was quite limiting with the eight of them jammed against the glass display case of gallons of ice cream. 

Y/N was pushed by Namjoon’s frame behind her into Jimin’s side by the register, patiently relaying each ice cream order as Jimin calmly repeated them to her in her ear. The teenaged boy taking the orders seemed to be overwhelmed by the amount of hybrids in the parlor at one given time, staring at Jeongguk’s antlers with shock as the elk hybrid elbowed his way towards Y/N to request some mint chocolate chip ice cream, which made Namjoon make a sound akin to gagging from behind her. 

Since there was hardly any room for everyone to sit inside the shop to enjoy their ice cream, Y/N opted to bring everyone back to the fountain to eat. She sat in between Yoongi and Taehyung, managing to keep her distance from Seokjin and Hoseok for the moment. They appeared to still be yucking it up at her expense, sitting together on the grass a little ways from her feet. Jeongguk took his ice cream to the opposite side of the fountain, playing some kind video on his phone in a foreign language; one that sounded pretty close to Latin. 

Namjoon had found a spot to enjoy his coffee ice cream on a bench not too far from the fountain, Y/N able to keep an eye on him. She regretfully realized she did nothing but fill him up on sugar and coffee since he had come into her care, as she shoveled a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth, watching the wolf hybrid admire the yellowing leaves of the tree he was under. 

“Hmm. I forgot to ask… Do you have a record player back at your house?” Taehyung spoke lowly, his voice hard to hear over the babbling of the fountain behind them. He had long finished the small cup of strawberry soft-serve he held balanced between his knees, his records placed neatly by his feet. 

“Yeah, there’s a set-up somewhere in the room with the piano. It’s likely in one of those big cabinets, my uncle was a vinyl collector when he grew up there in the 70’s. His collection of records is in the garage, too, if you wanna pick through that when you get bored,” Y/N recalled, licking some cream from her lips in thought. She prayed that the record player still worked, although a new system would make an excellent Christmas present for Taehyung. 

Taehyung leaned back on his palms, gazing at her through the thick of eyelashes. His hair was dry by now, curly and wild with the wind that mussed the strands, hiding his rounded ears in the volume of it. Y/N noticed that Jimin, who was sitting beside Taehyung, had very obviously placed his shopping bag of books between them to get some space. She could tell he was listening to their conversation, with the way Jimin’s ears were angled forward and alert, twitching to the sound of Taehyung’s deep tone. 

“How was the ice cream, Taehyung?” Y/N crumpled up her napkin into her own empty cup, sighing contentedly. 

“Very good,” Taehyung murmured, suddenly dropping the eye contact he’d been maintaining. Like all of the hybrids, Y/N swore that they held some sort of spellbinding power in their gazes. “Thank you,” he added, absently clicking his heels together while staring at his sneakers. 

“Don’t mention it,” Y/N waved her hand, feeling embarrassed. 

“Ah, maybe I should have gotten the matcha ice cream…” Yoongi suddenly lamented beside her, elbows leaning on his knees. Frowning, Y/N turned to him, forgetting he was so close as her thigh pressed into his. Immediately, Yoongi stiffened, peering at her intensely through the corner of his eye. 

“Oh no, was the lemon sorbet gross?” Y/N felt her lip jutting out in a pout, disappointed Yoongi was unsatisfied with his half-melted treat. Yoongi cleared his throat awkwardly as he tore his eyes from her face, choosing to glare at Hoseok on the ground instead. 

“No–” 

“You should have gotten the matcha. It’s amazing,” Hoseok insisted, a smugness worming its way into his tone as he both cut Yoongi off and took a loud bite of the waffle cone he was eating. “Want some?” 

Hoseok extended his mostly-devoured cone towards Yoongi, who screwed up his face in disgust. Snorting softly, Y/N shook her head at Hoseok, his cheekiness seeming to get under everyone’s skin– Y/N found it endearing. 

“Get that out of my face, Foxy,” Yoongi complained, leaning closer to Y/N and firmly pressing his thigh into hers as he extended his leg to push Hoseok over with his foot. It was Y/N’s turn to go stiff, the warmth of Yoongi’s leg against the flimsiness of her tights overwhelming. She barely registered Hoseok tumbling over into Seokjin’s lap with an evil cackle, Seokjin nearly choking on a bite of his chocolate ice cream cone as he tried to fling Hoseok’s head off of his leg.

Feeling a chill wash over her despite the warmth coming from the contact with Yoongi, Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, rubbing her arms to rid herself of goosebumps. She had no idea why she was feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden, the sensation close to how she felt moments before the incident with the ghost the night before. Trying to nonchalantly take in the surroundings, praying that there wasn’t some sort of apparition following her around now, Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she locked eyes with Namjoon from his spot on the bench. 

Oh, so that’s where the chill was coming from, she realized, the expression on Namjoon’s face icy and closed off as he glared at her. His body language was coiled and tense, jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed fractionally once they caught hers. Hair stood up on the back of her neck as she was unable to look away from him, absolutely at a loss for why he seemed so pissed off at her. She hadn’t even spoken to him in at least twenty minutes; perhaps he was feeling left out? Y/N cocked her head at him, mouthing are you okay? 

Namjoon simply sucked in his cheeks, getting up from his seat and tossing his ice cream cup in the trash by the bench. Concerned, Y/N watched him storm off in the direction of the car, torn between wanting to go after him and not wanting to rush the others who were still eating and enjoying their afternoon. After a few more moments of distractedly listening to Hoseok tease Yoongi, who had thankfully inched away from her, she got up with Jimin to gather up trash and dispose of it where Namjoon had minutes prior. Namjoon had left his bag of tapes on the bench accidentally, as Jimin pointed out keenly. 

“How are you doing, Jimin? Find some new books?” Y/N tried to stop worrying about what she had done to tick Namjoon off, scooping up his bag of tapes carefully. Jimin held his book bag behind his back in his clasped hands, grinning down at her kindly. 

“Sure did, Miss Y/N. I wanted to pick up some local interest literature, to get an idea of what this area is like,” Jimin explained as they headed to the car, quickly placing a gentle hand on her back to direct her away from a divot in the grass that would have caused her a rolled ankle. “Watch your step, there.”

“That’s right, you’re not from around here. How long have you been away from Montana?” Y/N wondered, breathing a sigh of relief that she could spot Namjoon leaning against the car from about twenty feet away. Jimin was quiet for a moment, a sort of sad look in his golden eyes while he processed her question. 

“A little over a month, now,” Jimin responded wistfully, the corner of his mouth turning upwards as he met her eyes. Y/N recalled that there was a possibility Jimin had a family back in Montana, one that had no idea where he had ended up. The thought pierced through her heart painfully. 

Jimin helped her load everyone's bags into the trunk, Y/N carefully avoiding Namjoon as she took Jeongguk’s bag from him gingerly, offering him a small smile. He was truly becoming an expert in abstaining from eye contact with her. Closing the trunk, she stretched her arms out as she waited for everyone to get into the car, Namjoon still leaning against the passenger door with a scowl. Steeling herself, she approached him. 

“I grabbed your tapes, you left them on the bench,” Y/N started, Namjoon’s eyes narrowing at the sound of her voice. He looked her up and down, seemingly analyzing the way she was nervously rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. He didn’t respond to her, increasing her anxiety while he simply stood there imposingly.

“Is everything alright, Namjoon?” Y/N managed to squeak after a beat, the impulse to squirm under his scrutinizing extremely overpowering. His ears were turned back, straightening up to his full height to grasp the handle of the car door.

“Sure,” he replied flatly, yanking the door open and heaving himself in, slamming it in her face as she flinched backwards. Even more confused than she was before trying to speak with him, Y/N numbly got into the driver’s seat, feeling the tension between her and the wolf hybrid beside her so intensely it nearly took her breath away. 

Shakily, Y/N turned the radio on as per Hoseok’s request from the back seat, somewhat relieved that the others didn’t seem to sense her discomfort from what she could tell. Before pulling away from the plaza, Y/N checked the rearview to make sure everybody was accounted for, locking eyes with Yoongi accidentally. He had a knowing look on his face, gaze flicking between her and the back of Namjoon’s head, tracing a finger over his lower lip. Grimacing, Y/N threw the car in reverse, promptly ignoring the wolf hybrid next to her for the short duration of the ride back to the house. 

After pulling into the driveway back at home, to Y/N’s surprise, everyone divided off in different directions. Yoongi had gone up to the piano with Taehyung in search of the record player, Hoseok to the basement with Seokjin, and Jeongguk had disappeared in the backyard with a cigarette and one of his new candles. Both Jimin and Namjoon had retreated to their respective bedrooms, leaving Y/N by herself standing awkwardly in the foyer. 

Kicking off her shoes, Y/N figured she could take a shower and cozy up in bed with a movie before one of them sought her out again. She tiptoed past Namjoon’s room on her way to her’s, hoping that she wouldn’t provoke him into further annoyance considering their rooms were so close together. Even with his door shut tight, Y/N felt like he could see through the wood as she went by. Shivering, she recalled the small, sweet smile he offered her just hours ago, trying to wrack her brain to come up with an explanation of his soured mood. 

Perhaps she should have articulated her thoughts better during their conversation surrounding the hybrids getting jobs, but there was not much she could do about that now that so much time had passed. Entering her room, she rubbed her eyes, feeling the chill from the drafty bathroom window enticing her to curl up in bed with sweats. To her shock, either Jeongguk or Namjoon had left the herb bundle from Judy on her nightstand, although she caught neither of them sneaking into her room when they arrived home. She was a bit distracted, however, telling Taehyung exactly where to look for the record player upstairs. Either way, her heart squeezed, fingers brushing over the herb bundle.

After a brief shower, Y/N hightailed it out of her bathroom to prevent another ghostly encounter, dressing in her softest sweatpants and crawling into bed with her laptop. Supposing that now was as good a time as any to figure out how to cleanse the house, Y/N put a Halloween movie on while she scribbled out her general plan for the ritual. Between the campy noise of the film she had on and the tinkering sound of the piano from upstairs, Y/N began to feel ease slip into her body. The fact that the house was so full of life now was hard for Y/N to believe, even if it came with some difficulties so far, it felt so right. 

Just as she had finished the steps for her ritual, which she had planned to do the following morning at dawn, her phone pinged. Thinking it was one of the hybrids, Y/N fumbled for her phone tangled somewhere in her quilt, pushing wet hair out of her face. Humming in excitement upon realizing the message was from Alice, Y/N shut her movie off, scooching down further in bed. 

Alice Santos: facetime now okay?

Without responding, Y/N clicked the icon to call her, both excited to catch up with one of her closest friends and nervous to announce her adoptions of all the hybrids. She had a feeling Alice would be a bit more dramatic than Ben had been. The phone rang twice before Alice’s face appeared on the screen, squealing upon seeing Y/N. 

“Hold on, hold on. Before you say anything, I’m adding Laura to the call,” Alice’s raspy voice filled Y/N with warmth, her nails clacking against the screen as she searched for her twin sister’s contact. Y/N could hear Alice’s cat, Heathcliff, mewing loudly at her from his spot on the couch beside her. 

Seconds later, Laura, lovely as ever, popped onto the screen as well, sitting in a rocking chair with her son Kai on her lap. Both Y/N and Alice cooed at the boy, just shy of two years old, his chubby little cheeks smeared with a bit of applesauce Laura was trying to feed him. 

“I miss you guys so much!” Y/N whined, recalling the last time she saw both of them– a little over a month ago at Alice’s poetry book release party. 

Alice worked as an editor for a local paper, which often took up most of her time, up until she published her book. Now, she was busier than ever doing pop-up readings and working on her newest book, on top of the work from the paper. Y/N was extremely proud of Alice’s accomplishments; her dreams of becoming a successful writer as a kid started to come true right before her eyes. 

Similarly, Laura had her hands full with not only her two year old son, but the vlog channel she created after Kai’s birth to document motherhood with her husband Tyler as the faithful cameraman. The channel took off, thanks to Laura’s infectious sunshine personality and creativity, her videos featuring recipes, craft tutorials, and Q&A’s. 

“I miss you more, Y/N, how did the job exit go? Are you free finally?” Alice produced a bowl of ice cream from behind the phone camera, curling into a ball on her tiny couch to tuck into it. Alice, the more forward of the two twins, never liked how much Y/N’s job at the vet clinic had drained her. 

“My last day was Friday,” Y/N confirmed, pouting slightly. She had to admit, she felt guilty that she didn’t even miss working at the clinic yet, quickly chalking it up to how busy she had been with the hybrids over the weekend. 

“Thank the Lord for that,” Laura chimed in, bouncing a babbling Kai on her knee while adjusting his tight brown curls. “That place was sucking the life out of you, honey.”

“Hey, you’re doing the cookout this Friday, right? Ben texted me… what should I bring? I was going to make a sangria or something,” Alice pondered, giving Heathcliff a scratch under his chin. 

Discussing the details of the cookout for a few moments, she and the twins decided on what they’d bring, the conversation turning towards Ben and Roy’s adoption of Daisy pretty quickly. Y/N brought up her idea for introducing Kai to Daisy, which Laura was already onboard for. 

“I’ve been meaning to introduce Kai to hybrids for some time now. Children really seem to love them, and there’s so many hybrids in Boston these days,” Laura explained, tugging on the end of one of her collarbone-length twisted braids. Y/N sucked in her cheeks, nodding. Would now be the time to tell them about her hybrids?

“Y/N, by the way, when Ben texted me… he said you had news,” Alice raised a manicured eyebrow, setting her bowl down with a mischievous smile. Heart plummeting to her ass, Y/N cursed in betrayal. 

“Ugh! He can never keep his mouth shut, I swear!” Y/N groaned, shoving her face into a pillow in dismay. Her heart began to race, knowing that if the twins began to shout at her through the phone, the hybrids would hear every word. Her headphones were missing from her nightstand, so unfortunately there was nothing she could do if that possibility came to fruition. 

“So, what is it? Are you dating again?” Laura urged gently, getting up to put a sleepy Kai in his crib. 

“God, no. I, uh…” Y/N began, sweating profusely, “I adopted hybrids. Friday.”

Silence rang out on the other ends of the lines, Y/N biting her lip hard enough to draw some blood. And then, deafening chaos. 

“You WHAT?” Alice roared, spooking Heathcliff off of the couch and out of view. Cringing, Y/N watched Laura scramble out of Kai’s room to bolt into her own, shutting the door so she could join in on the yelling. 

“I thought hybrids weirded you out?! Y/N, what happened? Are you going through a quarter-life crisis?” Laura enunciated in an intense tone, looking like a stern school teacher. 

“Guys, please! They can probably hear you,” Y/N begged desperately, pulling her quilt over her head in an attempt to muffle the sounds coming from her phone. 

“How many? Y/N, I can’t even begin to articulate how insane this is for you. I mean seriously, are they kids? Do you have men living in your house right now?” Alice began to panic, running a hand through her bouncy curls in distress. Cringing, Y/N turned the volume on her phone down to the lowest possible setting, trying to ignore her bloody lip in the reflection of the camera. 

“Y/N. How many? You know what, fuck it. I’m coming over and canceling my reading tonight,” Alice continued after Y/N’s tense silence, the window showing her frantically getting off her couch to yank her car keys from the hook by her apartment door. 

“Alice, no–” Y/N yelped, bolting upright in bed as Laura joined in on the chaos. 

“Alice, relax! You can’t cancel that reading, your publisher’s going to be there,” Laura reminded her twin, her pretty face pinched in concern as she continued to tug on her braids anxiously. With a groan, Alice dropped her keys on the phone, giving Y/N a scathing look. Taking a deep breath, Y/N decided to give all of the details to prevent any more rash ideas. 

“There’s seven of them, and yeah, they’re men…” Y/N began in a shaky voice, trying to ignore Laura’s gasps of horror. “They’re really sweet, all of them, and I think things are going very well so far.”

“Yeah, until one decides to enter your bedroom in the middle of the night!” Alice interjected, shaking her head constantly. Blanching, Y/N coughed, wondering how the hell she was going to face the hybrids later that evening, God forbid they heard the conversation. 

“No, that’s not going to happen. I… trust them. Listen, they were all going to be sold to a hybrid hunter, and I just couldn’t bear the thoughts of what would happen to them after I saw them at the shelter. No one should have to live like that, running for their lives, an object of sport,” Y/N defended the hybrids, thinking about shutting herself into her closet to lessen the chances of Namjoon hearing her just a few feet down the hall. 

“Well, that’s all very valiant of you, Y/N, but let’s be real, here. They’re still men that you just met, living in your home!” Alice spat in a more hushed tone, as all of their yelling had woken Kai up even through the phone. 

“I hate to be a bummer, too, Y/N, but Alice is right. I’m really worried for you. Hybrids are very strong, and they still have animalistic instincts. You’re not used to being around hybrids, you’ve practically avoided them your entire life, apart from Keaon when we were little,” Laura added, trying her best to soothe Kai wailing from his crib. 

“God, what’s with people bringing up Keaon lately, I swear…” Y/N huffed, so aggravated that she was thinking of asking Jeongguk for a cigarette after she hung up. “I’ll be fine! I was a vet, remember, that has to count for something. And my parents already met them. There's the cookout on Friday, too, so you guys can meet them and make an assessment then.”

“Oh, so you want us to wait four more days for the cookout to feel out whether they’re creeps or not?” Alice deadpanned, Y/N yanking her hair at her roots. 

“C-creeps,” Y/N squeaked, tearing a bigger hole into her bloodied lip. 

“They might be! For all you know,” Alice replied, though her tone began to soften when realizing how upset Y/N was becoming. “Just please be careful, Y/N. You’re known to be too trusting.”

“Yeah, honey. We just want you to be safe,” Laura grit out, hefting Kai out of his crib and trying to juggle the phone while she pat his back. Y/N sighed raggedly, grateful for her caring friends, but quite sad that she seemed to be one of the only people so far to actually believe that the hybrids were non-threatening. 

“I’m safe, I promise,” Y/N murmured, gathering up her quilt to combat the chill she felt washing over her. The drafty window in her bathroom had to be tackled this week. Alice audibly cringed at Kai’s sobs, increasing in volume steadily. 

“I gotta go, my loves. I think he needs to be changed. Be safe, Y/N, and good luck tonight, Al,” Laura shifted Kai to sit on her hip, his tear-stained cheeks wobbling as he cried. 

“Shit. I should start prepping for my reading, too,” Alice began ruffling some papers off-screen, though Y/N could tell she was still unconvinced by the whole hybrid thing. 

“Call you guys on Thursday?” Y/N asked in a small voice, guilty that she had upset her friends. 

“Of course. We need regular status updates or I will come over there,” Alice threatened, the edge in her tone gone, however. She offered Y/N a half-smile, the three women exchanging “I love you”s before hanging up. 

Groaning as her phone hit the pillow beside her, Y/N ran a palm over her face tiredly. She strained her ears for a moment, trying to locate where the hybrids were in the house, but she was met with complete silence. Frowning, she decided there was no way she was going out there so soon after the messy phone call, pulling her laptop onto her chest and fumbling blindly for the thick envelope of adoption certificates she had received at the shelter that morning resting on the nightstand. 

The papers were weighty, a gold seal stamped over each one and the thick script of both her name and the hybrid’s name printed in stark black ink. Squinting, she searched for the ID number on the certificate she was holding– Yoongi’s, spotting it with an ah-ha at the bottom left corner of the paper. Excitement surrounding learning some new things about the hybrids, taking over the discomfort she was feeling over the phone call with her friends, Y/N brought up the hybrid database on her laptop, plugging the 9-digit ID for Yoongi into the appropriate search bar. The screen took a few moments to load, before a spreadsheet flashed onto the page. 

The first thing she noticed was an outdated picture of Yoongi, from probably about three years ago. His cheeks were filled out, and he looked a lot healthier, it dawning on Y/N that he now had dark circles under his green-brown eyes. Pouting at the picture, she recognized the second as him in his leopard form, the background most definitely of the shelter she had adopted him at. The rest of the spreadsheet had information. 

Yoongi, Min; panthera pardus. DOB 03/09/93. Place of Origin: unknown. Was illegally claimed without formal adoption by Boston, MA “The Black Lodge” bar and nightclub owner **** ******, along with hybrid’s mother of same species. Performed illegal hybrid labor since childhood at the place of business. Mother now deceased. Was turned into Gerry’s Hybrids by nightclub owner’s son upon his father’s death. THREAT LEVEL: 6/10 - HYBRID PHYSICALLY RESISTED APPREHENSION ONCE REPORTED, TWO AGENTS INJURED. 

Hand over her mouth as she read, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like her heart was breaking. Even with the small amount of information on Yoongi, it was deeply personal; she didn’t even know Yoongi had a mother, as the majority of hybrids were lab created. Anger rose up in her when she thought of Yoongi being kicked out of a place he had known all his life, saving the form to her computer and reluctantly moving to the next certificate at random. 

Jimin, Park; canis latrans. DOB 10/13/95. Place of Origin: Yellowstone National Park Hybrid Lab. Worked as ranch hand in the Yellowstone National Park from birth, up until 07/22 of the current calendar year. Abandoned position, and illegally crossed-country by bus, was found wandering streets of Boston, MA in a frantic manner. THREAT LEVEL: 6/10 - HYBRID HAS BEEN TRAINED IN SEVERAL FORMS OF SELF DEFENSE AND IS EXPERT IN SELF PRESERVATION, AS PER HIS PREVIOUS EMPLOYMENT TRAINING. EXHIBITS ANXIETY IN CLOSED SPACES. 

Eyebrows pulling together, Y/N examined the lovely picture of Jimin on the form, his smile just as blinding through the screen. He had on the hat that she had returned to him upon taking the hybrid’s previous belongings back from Gerry. Jimin, nor Yoongi, for that matter, seemed to strike her as a 6/10 “threat level”. Shaking her head, she figured that whoever wrote the spreadsheets were likely biased against hybrids in general, how ironic. Eagerly, she moved on – Hoseok’s sweet face filling her screen with an extremely old picture of him, perhaps during his adolescence.

Hoseok, Jung; vulpes vulpes. DOB 02/18/94. Place of Origin: Paris Hybrid Lab. Raised in labs internationally since birth. Transferred 24 times. Remained unadopted throughout, despite several possible adoptions that ultimately fell through. Has aged out of lab adoption centers by the time he had reached Boston, MA. Upon unsuccessfully meeting requirements for shelters in MA due to temperament, hybrid was brought to Gerry’s Hybrids. THREAT LEVEL: 5/10 - HYBRID KNOWN FOR DECEIT, CUNNINGNESS AND ATTEMPTED ESCAPE OF SEVERAL SHELTERS. HYBRID EXCELS IN ATHLETICS AND CAN SUCCESSFULLY OUTRUN PURSUERS. FLIGHT RISK.

Eyes bugging out at the “24 times” Hoseok had been moved around the world, from shelter to shelter, Y/N muttered a colorful cuss. It was no wonder Hoseok had been so weird when Jimin asked where he was from, Hoseok was seemingly from both everywhere and nowhere. 

Next, Y/N plugged in Taehyung’s ID number, thrumming her fingers against her laptop while the page loaded. Taehyung’s picture was extremely blurry, almost akin to a mugshot. Taehyung’s eyes looked vacant in the photo, Y/N shivering, then gasping when she saw how little information the form had. 

Taehyung, Kim; ursus arctos middendorffi. DOB 12/30/95. Place of Origin: unknown. Report called in anonymously that an unadopted hybrid had been hiding at a 24-HR cafe for several weeks in Boston, MA before the hybrid was dropped off at Gerry’s Hybrids. THREAT LEVEL: 8/10 - HYBRID EXTREMELY UNWILLING TO BE APPREHENDED, COMBATIVE. DUE TO SIZE OF THE HYBRID WHEN SHIFTED, HYBRID IS TO BE REGARDED WITH CAUTION. MULTIPLE INJURIES TO AGENTS UPON APPREHENSION. 

Frowning, Y/N was disappointed she couldn’t glean more information about the already elusive and enigmatic Taehyung. He had told her he was from Alaska, which was missing from the form. Other than that, all Y/N gained from his form was his whereabouts just before his adoption. Again, she wrote off his ‘threat level’ as an over exaggeration; Taehyung was so gentle.

Grasping Jeongguk’s certificate while twisting her mouth, Y/N waited to see his smug face show up on her laptop screen. Like Taehyung’s, Jeongguk’s picture looked like a mugshot, his serious expression making her snort a little into her palm. Part of her wished it was an older picture– she loved seeing Hoseok’s from youth. 

Jeongguk, Jeon; cervus canadensis. DOB 09/01/97. Place of Origin: Los Angeles Hybrid Suppliers. Raised with others of his species in the supplier lab, hybrid was noted as uncharacteristically aggressive compared to kin. Hybrid is known to have escaped from Los Angeles Hybrid Suppliers at age of 20 and has been at large since. Was caught by hybrid patrol in abandoned Steinert Hall (Boston, MA) with several thousand dollars worth of recording equipment and other oddities. Hybrid was promptly brought to Gerry’s Hybrids due to extremely volatile behavior during apprehension. THREAT LEVEL: 9/10 - HYBRID CONSIDERED HIGHLY DANGEROUS. WAS ARMED WITH WEAPONS AT THE TIME OF APPREHENSION, SKILLED AT FIGHTING, ERUPTIVE PERSONALITY. FLIGHT RISK. 

Y/N was rigid in her spot on her bed, not quite expecting so many brand new details into who Jeongguk was. Perhaps in her let-down of Taehyung’s report, she had expected Jeongguk’s to be similar. Biting her nails, she scanned his information again, wondering if everything she had read so far was overstated. While Jeongguk was certainly rude, he had yet to demonstrate dangerous behavior. Additionally, she had no idea what a supplier lab was.

Besides, what piqued her curiosity the most was not only his journey from Los Angeles to Boston, but how he was caught. Steinert Hall was an old piano concert hall in the heart of Boston that had been abandoned for years– he must have broken in– but why? Further, she wondered about the items he was caught with, recording equipment and “other oddities”. Was he filming a movie? The thought made her even more confused, and it was not like she could ask him yet. She had a feeling she’d be met with anger. 

The room began to get a little darker, late afternoon creeping up on her as she hurried to get through the last two hybrids. Setting the others aside carefully, she picked up Namjoon’s certificate, sliding a finger over his ID number. To her shock, barely anything showed up for Namjoon, not even a picture. 

Namjoon, Kim; canis lupus occidentalis. DOB 09/12/94. Place of Origin: unknown. Report called in that an unadopted hybrid was participating in a club illegally. Hybrid was apprehended in shifted form around the outskirts of Boston, MA, outside of a mobile home. Brought to Gerry’s Hybrids promptly due to shifted state and volitility. THREAT LEVEL: 10/10 - HIGHLY DANGEROUS. INJURED 6 AGENTS SERIOUSLY. BEHAVIOR IS EXTREMELY AGGRESSIVE. SUSPECTED TO BE RAISED IN WILDERNESS DUE TO BEHAVIOR. 

Swallowing hard, Y/N cast a look over towards her bedroom door, convinced that Namjoon could hear her thoughts as she read through his information. She had only interacted with Namjoon for only a few hours, and he didn’t seem as though he had been raised in the wilderness; Y/N just assumed he was slow to hand his trust over. Though– he injured six agents? This came as quite the surprise to Y/N, as she had naively thought that agents that brought in stray hybrids were trained to be cautious; however, she had come to a strong conclusion that the agents were likely people who provoke stray hybrids into aggression. Thinking once again about Yoongi, who was one of the most gentle of the hybrids so far, she couldn’t imagine him injuring somebody unwarranted. 

Heaving a great sigh, she plugged in Seokjin’s number before tucking all of the certificates safely back inside the envelope on her nightstand. To her sudden delight, a very old picture of Seokjin was attached to the page, estimating him to be about twelve in the photo. His cheeks were cutely rounded, though his expression was quite stoic. 

Seokjin, Kim; panthera onca. DOB: 12/04/92. Place of Origin: Milwaukee Hybrid Lab. Raised in a group of over 300 exotic hybrids to be sold to circuses and zoos. Hybrid was exemplary subject at lab, was sold to Cirque ******* at age of 22. Traveled and performed with the circus up until 08/13 of the current calendar year following incident at a show in Boston, MA resulting in hybrid injury. Hybrid was left at Gerry’s Hybrids, consequently. THREAT LEVEL: 6/10 - HYBRID DOES NOT HAVE A PAST OF AGGRESSIVE BEHAVIOR PRIOR TO INJURY. SUFFERS FROM EXTREME PTSD, ANXIETY AND PHOBIAS - IF TRIGGERED, HYBRID BECOMES ALARMED AND POSSIBLY DANGEROUS. FLIGHT RISK. 

Y/N felt nauseous reading about Seokjin’s past, wanting to hurl her laptop clear across the room. Sweet Seokjin, the one who didn’t mind when she grabbed his wrist to pull him along, the one who polished off the bacon that morning, had suffered such an abrupt abandonment recently. To learn that was how hybrids were treated by a company that was entrusted with his care, with such little regard to what happens to them after they are no longer “of use”, made Y/N sick to her stomach. All she wanted was to dash into Seokjin’s room to gather him up in a hug, recalling how feverish and dismayed he was the day he had arrived in the house. He had recovered remarkably well, considering, but Y/N still felt he’d have a long way to go before he truly recovered from the experience. 

Laying back in bed, desperately trying to process everything she’d read, her brain was a jumbled mess. Echoes of her friend’s valid concerns on whether or not she could handle the seven hybrids bounced around in her skull; and guilt crept into her body as she doubted whether or not she could. Of course, she would never consider bringing them back, abandoning them again, but she wanted them to live happy lives. Y/N wasn’t entirely sure if all of them would truly ever be comfortable around her, considering their past treatments. She worried that she wouldn’t be able to hide her anxiety from them that night, Yoongi’s conversation with her the previous night coming back to her once more. They’d be able to sniff out her nervous sweat from a mile away. 

The more she thought about her conversation with Yoongi, minor details came back to her. Namely, before they were interrupted, Yoongi had begun to talk about something called scenting. She never got around to asking him about it earlier that day, as he had promptly dashed up to the piano after returning from the shopping center. Curiously, she reached for her laptop she had pushed off her legs in disgust, googling “hybrid scenting” and clicking on a wiki page at random. 

Again, Y/N’s nausea returned. According to the article, hybrids, in order to properly bond with the humans that adopt them, must “scent” the human to feel secure. Hybrids are known to be possessive over the humans in their lives, particularly their adoptive human, and will initiate their scenting ritual once comfortable enough around the human. Scenting can happen often or rarely depending on hybrid type, predators are likely to scent more frequently, but it wasn’t an exact data collection. The actual ritual included a bite, one that drew blood from the human and in a location close to arteries (where scents are apparently “concentrated” to hybrids), before saliva from the hybrid soothes and “cauterizes” the wound. Feeling her stomach flip at the thought of any of the hybrids not only biting her, but then soothing the wound with a swipe of a tongue, was so overwhelming she had to shut her laptop and bolt out of bed. 

Cursing Yoongi internally for not disclosing scenting first, Y/N fanned her face frantically while she paced about the room. Should she bring it up to them? The thought was humiliating, but the article stated the longer the hybrids wait to scent their adoptive human, the more uncomfortable it gets for them. Apart from Yoongi, none of them even mentioned it yet, which was concerning to her. She knew that the shame fell on her, for not knowing basically a thing about hybrids in general. However, she still didn’t feel ready to bring it up over dinner. 

Yelping at the sound of a large thump coming from above her, Y/N slapped her palms over her face a few times to return the color back to her cheeks, her appearance in the full-length mirror positively scandalized. The sound of Jeongguk’s heavy stomping from back and forth into his bathroom made her spring into action, wanting to bolt into the kitchen and work on dinner so Yoongi wouldn’t have to. Casting one last look at herself in the mirror, feeling like she looked calm enough to bump into one of them without raising suspicion, Y/N slowly pushed her bedroom door open and peeked her head out. The hallway was empty. 

Taking a deep breath, Y/N marched out into the hall, skipping past Namjoon’s door; unsurprisingly it swung open once she reached the end of the hall. Pausing, she looked over her shoulder, offering Namjoon a tiny smile as he poked his head out of the door. His silvery hair was damp and in his face, likely from the shower. She hadn’t even heard it turn on. Y/N waited for Namjoon to catch up with her, his expression hard to read once he was inches away. Finding it hard to look him in the eyes, Y/N resumed her route to the kitchen without a word, Namjoon hot on her heels. 

“Who was on the phone?” Namjoon demanded, a slight edge to his voice but the volume of it was not enough to frighten Y/N. Blowing hair out of her face, she knew Namjoon could hear her, but she could still pray the others hadn’t. 

“My friends from childhood, they’re twin sisters, Laura and Alice,” Y/N answered simply, not wanting to over explain. The kitchen was dim, Y/N flicking on all the lights and gesturing for Namjoon to sit on one of the barstools. Lifting a brow at her, Namjoon hesitantly sat down, Y/N trying to keep the mood light. At least he seemed to have cooled down from whatever ticked him off after getting ice cream. 

“They don’t like us. They think you’re in danger,” Namjoon leaned back on the barstool, arms crossed over his chest. Sighing, Y/N retrieved two wine glasses from the cabinet, pouring a healthy amount of Cabernet for the two of them and sliding the glass for Namjoon across the island. Eyebrow shooting up further into his hairline, Namjoon watched her take a hearty swig. 

“What do you want me to say, Namjoon? I made an uncharacteristic decision, and to be fair, you are all men. They have a right to be worried about me, no matter how unfounded it seems to you. It’s not that they don’t like you, either. I think if anything, they’re questioning my sanity,” Y/N stated calmly, finally mustering up the courage to stare at him directly in the eyes, leaning over the island. Taking another sip of wine, she waited for the wheels to turn in his head. 

“Do you think you’re in danger?” Namjoon continued to interrogate after a few moments, long fingers running up and down the stem of his wine glass. Humming, Y/N felt the red wine warm her belly, close enough to Namjoon to feel his breath fan over her face. 

“No. Should I?” Y/N countered, pushing herself off of the counter in search of something to scrounge up for dinner. She heard the scrape of glass across the granite island, peeking over her shoulder to catch Namjoon, eyes cast upwards mid-eyeroll, glass to his lips. 

Silent for a few moments, Y/N started to hum a tune suspiciously close to Smells Like Teen Spirit, rummaging through one of the lower cabinets for a rice cooker. Wondering just how much rice she’d have to make for eight people, she hefted the appliance and a 15 lb bag of sushi rice onto the counter beside the stove. Biting her lip, then wincing at the pain from the hole she had bitten into it earlier, Y/N estimated around 3.5 cups of uncooked rice in the pot, before bringing it to the sink to rinse it a few times. Pulling up the sleeves of her thermal, washed the rice until the water ran mostly clear. 

“I think you’d be a fool if you didn’t,” Namjoon suddenly pointed out, Y/N looking at him with surprise. His wine glass was empty, his eyes narrowed at her. Scoffing, she placed the pot of rice into the appliance, drying her hands on her sweatpants and switching on the rice cooker. Taking a deep breath, she painted a lopsided smile on her face, pouring Namjoon and herself a second glass. 

“Well, call me a fool then, for being optimistic,” Y/N muttered over the rim of her wine glass, Namjoon’s shoulders stiffening a fraction, his ear flickering. “Besides, the twins will be here for a cookout on Friday. If you’re still upset by then, you can talk it out with them. I think they’re scarier than you, Namjoon.”

“Please,” Namjoon snorted humorlessly, turning his head to drink from his glass. Shrugging, Y/N returned to the dinner making process, pulling vegetables, sauces, and a package of flank steak and the egg carton at random. She decided to make a bunch of things to stick in a rice bowl, and the hybrids could choose what they wanted. 

While rinsing some green onions, thankfully without any more questioning from the wolf hybrid brooding on the barstool across from her, Y/N heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. Perking up a little, perhaps hoping for someone to brighten up the mood, Y/N craned her neck towards the kitchen entrance. 

“Hey Seokjin! How are you doing?” Y/N grinned, pushing down the sadness that surfaced when she remembered the information she had just learned about him. Grinning back, Seokjin came up to her side, watching her chop the green onions, nodding once at Namjoon. “Wine?”

“Hmm, sure. I’m good, also. What are you making?” Seokjin cocked his head, putting his hand on her shoulder to reach a wine glass for himself when it was too high and far back for Y/N to get on her own. Shuddering at the sudden contact, Y/N hurriedly poured him a glass of the Cabernet, returning to the vegetable prep. 

“I’m making some vegetables, some beef, maybe a few fried eggs… figured we can just make our own rice bowls with ingredients you like,” Y/N explained, slicing through a bell pepper. Seokjin leaned his hip against the counter beside her, watching carefully. 

“What happened to your lip? Are you okay?” Seokjin asked, a strong current of concern in his voice. Absently brushing her fingers by her lip, but not touching the skin, Y/N tried to shoot him a comforting look. 

“Oh I’m fine, don’t worry about me! I just bit it too hard. Happens all the time,” Y/N waved her hand, sliding the sliced peppers into a bowl with the flat of her knife. Seokjin grunted softly, apparently unconvinced, eyeing Namjoon distrustfully. The jaguar hybrid moved to sit on a barstool as well, a few away from Namjoon, settling in to watch her cook. 

“Hoseok made me do “yoga” with him,” Seokjin informed her, his lips curling around the apparently unfamiliar word, making air quotes simultaneously. Using her elbow to wipe a stray tear from her eye chopping an onion, Y/N giggled picturing the two hybrids meditating side-by-side. 

“Really? I love yoga, though I haven’t done it in a while…” Y/N tried to subtly monitor the two hybrids sitting across from her in case of an incident, Namjoon leaning his body across the island to help himself to more wine. Finding the bottle empty, he heaved a sigh, getting to his feet. 

He was easily able to find the wine cooler, carefully reading each label before selecting the same brand the three of them had been drinking, Seokjin and Y/N exchanging surprised looks. Namjoon used a sharp thumbnail to slice open the foil covering the cork on the bottle, frowning once he realized the bottle wasn’t open completely. He began opening drawers at random, likely searching for the opener, Y/N eyeing him while she began stir-frying some of the vegetables. Each time he came up empty-handed, his ears drooped further, looking almost adorable. 

“Need some help?” Came Yoongi’s gruff voice suddenly, pretty much materializing from the entrance to the kitchen from the parlor. Already feeling the wine dizzying up her head, she was grateful for any help at all to finish dinner. Making a small noise of delight, Y/N nodded, and Yoongi immediately began to assess the marinades and flank steak she had brought out from the fridge, using a rubber band from his wrist to tie up his long locks. Y/N made a mental note to dig up her bag of scrunchies to offer him later that night. 

While Yoongi and Seokjin began to chit-chat about the jaguar hybrid’s yoga experience, Namjoon had successfully located the bottle opener in the drawer beside where Y/N was stir-frying, aggressively trying to jam the corkscrew into the cork with gritted teeth. He definitely didn’t know how to use it. Taking pity on him, and more or less wanting a fresh glass of wine for herself, Y/N set her wooden spoon down, holding her palm out for the corkscrew. 

“Here, let me, honey,” Y/N stepped to the side, taking the wine opener from the wolf hybrid’s slackened grip, his entire body locking up at the sound of the pet name. Internally, she scolded herself as heat crept up her neck, but it was hard to resist the term of endearment when he looked so cute when he was frustrated. Hopefully, he wasn’t insulted. “It’s tricky, I’ll show you how my dad taught me.”

She briefly explained the steps, pulling up the cork halfway, before stepping away once more and talking him through the last step. Y/N could have sworn his ears, the human set adorned with simple silver hoops, turned a faint shade of pink, but she also could have imagined it. Namjoon muttered a thanks, swiftly refilling her glass for her, before dashing away a bit clumsily back to his own seat. Chuckling, she took a sip of her wine and returned to the frying pan, her elbow brushing Yoongi’s as he began both cooking the steak and making what appeared to be tamagoyaki in a second rectangle pan she didn’t even know she owned. Damn, she thought, he works fast. 

“Can I try some of that?” Yoongi jutted his chin towards her wine glass while he reached for the salt pinch bowl, his tail brushing the back of her knee with the movement. Wordlessly, she passed her glass over, Yoongi grinning slyly as he took a delicate sip. A low hum of enjoyment came from the back of his throat, Y/N hurriedly cracking some pepper into her frying pan to cover up her fluster. 

“Want a glass?” Y/N cleared her throat, Yoongi taking another sip and raising his eyebrows at her. 

“No, we can just share this one,” Yoongi chuckled, setting the wine glass on his side of the counter with a clink. Eyes bugging out of her skull, Y/N squeaked out an “okay”, trying her best to focus on finishing up her part of the meal prepping. Yoongi seemed to enjoy her reaction to his words, snickering every few seconds as he rolled up the tamagoyaki with a pair of chopsticks. 

“You had an interesting phone call, huh?” Yoongi passed her the wine glass after several moments, Y/N reeling as she was snapped out of eavesdropping on Seokjin’s attempts to initiate conversation with Namjoon. 

“Shit. Did everyone hear it?” Y/N hissed, after almost choking on her mouthful of wine. “You were upstairs, for Christ’s sake, weren’t you?” 

“Yeah, we did. And yes, I was,” Yoongi answered playfully, covering his completed steak dish and moving to slice the tamagoyaki. “I mean, your friends weren’t exactly speaking softly.”

“No, they weren’t,” Y/N agreed mournfully, wondering if the remaining hybrids had their feelings hurt, due to their absences. Currently, it was the longest she had gone without seeing Taehyung, other than when she was sleeping, since she brought him home. “Next time I’ll wear headphones,” she added determinedly. 

“Mmm… that might help. Might not. Super hearing, remember?” Yoongi pointed to one of his spotted ears, a teasing lilt to his voice. Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically, abandoning him by the stove to check on the rice. Muttering to herself, Y/N turned to the island with a rice paddle, wishing Yoongi hadn’t stolen her wine glass for the time being. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a third person sitting at the island beside Seokjin, swirling a whiskey glass in his hand.

“Oh! Didn’t hear you come in, Jimin!” Y/N exclaimed, catching the coyote hybrid’s attention at once. Flashing one of his beautiful smiles, Y/N relaxed a fraction. Jimin was so polite, even if he had heard Laura and Alice over the phone, Y/N hardly expected him to say anything about it. “You guys have a knack for sneaking up on me.”

“Darling Y/N, it’s not our fault you have plain old human ears,” Hoseok’s voice suddenly came from her left, making her flinch so hard she dropped the rice paddle on the floor. Gritting her teeth, she turned to scold him for being mean, his face apologetic as he bent to get the rice paddle for her. He was dressed in a set of pajamas, with his new slippers on, freshly showered; grinning at her as he extended the rice paddle out to her. “Whoops, sorry. Forgot you were clumsy, too.”

“Hoseok!” Seokjin barked from his seat at the island, corners of his lips turned downwards in disapproval. Hoseok made that strange whistle tone Y/N was becoming increasingly familiar with, his expression becoming uneasy once his chocolatey eyes landed on Namjoon sitting at the end of the island. “Knock it off,” Seokjin ordered. 

“Relax, Jinnie, I’m only teasing,” Hoseok replied, his voice a little strained as he patted Y/N on the back. Grimacing, she went back to fluffing up the rice in the cooker, Yoongi shooing Hoseok over to the breakfast nook by handing him the platter of sliced tamagoyaki. Starting to feel a bit sweaty, the red wine coursing through her with a vengeance, Y/N polished off her shared glass of wine much to Yoongi’s dismay. 

Y/N snuck a look at Namjoon, who had turned his head to stare at Hoseok with mild interest. Namjoon’s cheeks were pink with the alcohol, and a majority of his steeliness had softened. Absently, Y/N found herself pouring him a glass of water from the fridge door dispenser, sliding it across the island to the wolf hybrid while Seokjin continued to scold Hoseok from his seat. 

Her and Yoongi worked quickly to place everything on the breakfast nook, Y/N feeling quite tipsy suddenly as she found herself giggling at everything that came out of Yoongi and Seokjin’s mouths. Vaguely, she heard Yoongi ask her if she could call upstairs for Taehyung and Jeongguk, obediently following his direction and slightly swaying her way to the foyer. The loud voices of the hybrids from the kitchen had her practically squealing like an idiot, so pleased that she wasn’t alone in that big house anymore. Upon reaching the banister of the stairs, Y/N gripped one of the carved balusters with clammy hands. 

“Jeongguk, Taehyung! Dinner is ready,” Y/N shouted up the stairs, probably more loudly than necessary. Humming to herself, she caught an image of her reflection in the hallway mirror, her cheeks flushed and eyes a bit squinted. Two sets of footsteps bounded down the wooden staircase rapidly. Without wasting a second, Jeongguk flew right by her, head turned to look at her suspiciously as he passed. Pouting at his frame retreating into the kitchen, she turned back to Taehyung, who was leaning over the banister she was gripping, staring at her curiously. 

“Were you drinking wine?” Taehyung cocked his head, a ghost of a smile across his lips as he leaned in close to her. Both overwhelmed and overjoyed to see him, Y/N nodded enthusiastically. 

“Did you find the record player, Tae?” Y/N asked eagerly, wanting to push a stray curl out of his face to see his pretty garnet-colored eyes better. She didn’t even register the nickname for him that had easily fallen from her lips, but Taehyung certainly did. 

“Tae?” His deep voice rumbled with amusement, leaning even closer to her, Y/N widened her eyes, practically able to count his eyelashes. For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. 

“Y-yeah, sorry, it just sort of fell out,” Y/N spoke nervously, barely above a whisper due to his proximity. Taehyung shook his head, chuckling, his curls brushing her forehead with the moment. 

“No, I like it,” Taehyung quickly assured her, pulling away from her personal space and descending the remaining stairs. “Let’s go, Jimin is wondering where you are.”

Trying to catch her breath, Y/N turned to gaze into the kitchen, noticing Jimin heading to the foyer with his whiskey glass in his hand, a quizzical expression on his face. Hurrying after Taehyung, who kept shooting her mirthful glances, Y/N swore under her breath. Those hybrids were definitely trying to mess with her, she concluded, stumbling over her own feet to catch up with Taehyung’s long strides. 

Thankfully, when she felt herself nearly toppling over by the coffee bar, Jimin caught her by her elbow, tutting in disapproval with a touch of merriment in his eyes. Sheepishly, she let him steady her, feeling like she was being herded as he walked behind her with both hands around her upper arms to steer her towards the breakfast nook. Waving Jimin off, embarrassed, Y/N slid into the booth next to Hoseok. Jimin, snickering, returned to his barstool beside Seokjin. 

“You should take it easy with that red,” Hoseok murmured into her ear, scooching his own glass further away from her when she surreptitiously tried to sneak a sip. “One of us is going to have to scrape you off the floor.”

“No you won’t. I can drink,” Y/N insisted, slightly offended. She stuck out her lower lip at the fox hybrid, who appeared to be trying not to laugh at her. Muttering something like “mean fox”, Y/N begrudgingly took a gulp from a glass of water that had somehow appeared in front of her as if by magic. 

“Sure,” Hoseok hummed, accepting two bowls of rice from Yoongi, ferrying them back and forth to everyone in the kitchen. Hoseok set a bowl gently in front of Y/N, his arm pressing into her’s with how close she had sat next to him. 

As she was piling on some vegetables into her bowl, a couple of the hybrids leaned across the breakfast nook to add an ingredient to their own dishes before returning to a barstool. Unfortunately, not all of them could fit in the breakfast nook, Taehyung across from her, Jeongguk squeezed in between the Kodiak hybrid and Hoseok. Munching on a piece of tamagoyaki, Y/N flinched when she felt the empty space beside her fill up clumsily by Namjoon, who had inelegantly toppled into the booth with his bowl. Surprised, Y/N pressed closer to Hoseok, trying to free up more space for Namjoon’s large frame. Namjoon must have been more tipsy than she thought, barely even noticing Taehyung scowling at him from across the table. In fact, Namjoon seemed completely relaxed for once, his cheeks full of rice and meat as he ate. 

“Ugh,” Hoseok groaned lowly, blood in his face draining as he pushed food around in his bowl with his chopsticks. Y/N patted his back soothingly, hoping he’d be able to push past his fear of Namjoon enough to eat. Especially considering Namjoon had rice stuck to his face, he wasn’t exactly threatening at the moment. 

“The tamagoyaki is delicious, Yoongi!” Y/N called over to the island, the leopard hybrid’s ears immediately perking up. Looking over his shoulder, he smirked at her, holding up a stir-fried pepper with his chopsticks. 

“Good job with the vegetables, yourself,” he returned, his sharp incisors flashing as he took a bite of the pepper. 

Luckily, the meal passed by amicably. Taehyung had worked up the courage to start a conversation with Hoseok, likely due to noticing the fox hybrid’s discomfort with Namjoon’s presence. As always, Jeongguk mostly kept to himself, but very visibly enjoyed the contents of his meal, even asking Yoongi for more rice. Y/N eased off of Hoseok a bit, his skin far too warm for her to comfortably lean against for a second longer, forcing her to be pressed closer to Namjoon. Thankfully, he seemed to be running a bit cooler than the fox hybrid, the fabric of his thermal soft against Y/N’s forearms. At the contact with her body heat, Namjoon jumped a little, his hand knocking over Y/N’s empty water glass. 

“Whoops! Good thing it’s empty,” Y/N giggled, righting the glass and peering at Namjoon’s startled face. He was staring at where their arms touched, tongue peaking out to catch some steak sauce on his lower lip. Making eye contact with her, Namjoon actually chuckled over his minor blunder, to Y/N’s delight. 

“Is this your first time drinking, or something, wolf?” Jeongguk suddenly accused, eyebrows lifted as he witnessed Y/N and Namjoon drunkenly giggling at nothing. Y/N frowned, hoping that he wasn’t about to sour another evening. Namjoon stopped laughing, setting his chopsticks down in a wobbly manner. 

“Yeah, actually,” Namjoon answered, Y/N’s eyes bugging out of her skull while Jeongguk pounded on his chest, a mouthful of rice going down the wrong way at the wolf hybrid’s response. 

“Wait, seriously?” Y/N gasped, a hand over her mouth in surprise. Namjoon nodded somberly, his lips pursed. Hoseok, quietly, tugged Y/N sweatpant leg, giving her a disbelieving look and mouthing what the fuck. 

“Yes, seriously. I didn’t really have many… opportunities to drink alcohol in my life,” Namjoon explained, eyes narrowing at Taehyung from across the table. Taehyung looked unimpressed with the conversation, sipping on his own glass of wine silently. 

“Jesus. I should have asked before liquoring you up earlier,” Y/N rubbed the back of her neck, swearing to herself to try and make more healthy choices as far as food and beverages go for the hybrids. Hoseok snorted next to her, draining his wine glass less shakily than he had before. At least he was loosening up, and she counted it as progress. 

“It’s alright. I knew what it was when you poured it, I could have refused,” Namjoon sighed, a small smile across his face as he pushed his empty rice bowl away. Glancing sideways at Jeongguk, Y/N watched him try to bite back laughter, crumpling up his napkin into his bowl.

Stirring ingredients into her bowl, Y/N tried her best to finish everything in it. Yoongi was truly an amazing chef, the seasonings on the steak were perfect and paired very well with the sweetness of the tamagoyaki. She could definitely get used to his cooking, thinking that he could even help her out with some of the food for the cookout on Friday. Additionally, she had the piano lesson with him on that day, the thought making her squirm in her seat with excitement.  

At the island, upon checking on the other three hybrids from her spot at the breakfast nook, it appeared that Yoongi and Seokjin were fighting over the last bit of steak. After a few moments of bickering, Seokjin reluctantly placed the piece of meat in Yoongi’s bowl, to Y/N’s relief. Jimin had finished his meal, and was by the fridge putting ingredients back in their places. 

After asking Namjoon to scooch out of the booth so she could help with clean-up, Y/N had to resist helping him get his footing, not wanting to push her luck with him that night. He caught himself on the frame of the door to the patio, Y/N truly amazed just how friendly he got with just a few glasses of wine. She wondered if in the morning, he would go back to being steely and interrogative. Hoseok, leaping out of his seat, immediately put distance between himself and the wolf hybrid, traipsing over to Jimin to chat. 

Moving to the island, she asked Seokjin if he ate enough while he bashfully nodded, not a speck of food left in his bowl. In fact, they had no leftovers, Y/N realized as she collected serving dishes, trying to be as balanced as possible so Hoseok wouldn’t accuse her of being a lightweight again. Squeezing past Yoongi at the sink, she deposited the dirty dishes beside him, searching for the granite cleaner. However, she didn’t get very far in her pursuit to clean up. 

“Hey! You two cooked, we can clean,” Jimin suddenly complained, pulling Yoongi away from the sink. “Miss Y/N, you should sit down, before you injure yourself,” he added calmly, snapping his fingers and pointing at her while shooting Seokjin a look. 

Opening her mouth to protest, she felt herself getting dragged away by the jaguar hybrid, who promptly lifted her off of her feet and planted her on a barstool. Squeaking when Seokjin wrapped his hands around her waist to lift her, Y/N felt torn that his hands were gone as quickly as they were there. Face on fire, she watched Jimin push Yoongi onto the seat next to her, the leopard hybrid rolling his eyes and instructing the coyote hybrid to not use steel wool on the ceramics. 

Forced to watch Jimin, Hoseok, and Taehyung tidy up the kitchen, Y/N drummed her fingers against the granite of the island, craning her neck to locate Jeongguk and Namjoon. The wolf hybrid, to her surprise, was viewing a video that Jeongguk was playing on his phone over the elk hybrid’s shoulder, his eyebrows pulled together in thought. Jeongguk, very quietly, was murmuring something urgently to Namjoon. Y/N wondered if hell froze over, or if she should go to the liquor store the following morning to pick up more cases of that particular Cabernet. 

Taehyung, returning an unused bag of edamame to the freezer, pulled out a popsicle for himself, leaning on the island beside her to enjoy it while Jimin and Hoseok finished the cleaning. Seokjin, who had excused himself to the bathroom five minutes prior, returned with the ends of his bangs wet, like he had splashed water on his face. 

“Taehyung, where did you get that? I want one too,” Hoseok whined, eyes zeroing on the frozen treat in his hands. Taehyung pointed to the freezer drawer with the treat, Hoseok scoffing. “Thanks, real specific,” He mumbled, rummaging through the freezer to locate one of the mango popsicles. 

Seokjin, wiping down the breakfast nook, began humming a tune, the timbre of his voice sweet, though the song was quite melancholy. Y/N gazed at him over her shoulder, catching the bittersweet smile on his face while he hummed. Sighing, Y/N settled into the barstool, enjoying the sounds of everyone’s voices as they bantered. Her eyelids felt heavy, her palm leaning on her cheek, her brain yelling at her to stay awake to enjoy more time with her companions. 

After a few moments, her eyes snapped open, an eerie silence filling the room. She registered Jimin, across from her at the sink, his eyes trained at the threshold of the kitchen and his ears perked up in alert. Blinking, she noticed Hoseok was locked up rigidly in the same manner, opening her mouth to ask what was wrong. Swiftly, she was cut off. 

From upstairs came a large thump, Y/N’s blood running cold. Yoongi, from beside her, wrapped a hand around her wrist, putting a finger to his lips when she looked at him in panic. Silent again, for a moment, she strained her ears the best she could, her heart racing. Was there an intruder in the house? Or worse, was the paranormal situation escalating before she could tell them about it? 

Breaking the silence came the sound of the record player in the piano room crackling to life, the sounds of an old jazz record floating down the stairs hauntingly. Feeling the room grow several degrees cooler, Y/N began to hyperventilate, totally unprepared for the night to take a horror-movie turn. Squeezing her wrist in an attempt to soothe, Yoongi gave her a pleading look. In addition to the record player going off on its own, several pitchy notes on the piano began to ring out periodically. Nausea welling up inside her, Y/N began to shake, praying to the sky an apparition wouldn’t appear in front of everyone. She had not the faintest idea of how to handle the situation, let alone correct it, in her current state. 

“What the fuck is going on?” Hoseok spoke first, baring his teeth and gazing towards the stairs. Jeongguk, who had moved away from Namjoon in the commotion, ran a hand through his hair in stress. He began to chuckle humorlessly, locking eyes with Y/N. 

“There’s a fucking spirit on the grounds, and now it’s inside,” Jeongguk pulled out the silver amulet from his pocket, turning it over between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve been trying to exorcize the house since I got here.”

“What?” Y/N breathed, feeling faint and overwhelmed. Yoongi moved to rub her back soothingly, but not much could be done to calm her down. She was already seeing spots of darkness in her vision. 

“It’s malevolent. It’s been following you around since you were a girl,” Jeongguk added distractedly, rolling up his sleeves, revealing tattoos that Y/N realized seemed to be made up of religious symbols from several cultures. With that, he squared his shoulders, exiting the kitchen and bounding up the stairs with determined confidence. 

“Jeongguk, don’t go up there!” Y/N cried, stumbling out of Yoongi’s embrace and fleeing after the elk hybrid. Between the shouts from the rest of the hybrids in the kitchen and the increased lack of oxygen she wasn’t getting, as soon as she reached the foyer, Y/N felt her body hit the marble before she felt nothing more. 

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00

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

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

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader x Son : Instagram AU

Liked by jackharlow, yourusername, cassiewyatt, claybornharlow, and 6,888,356 others

ezharlow Boston 📍 anything fun to do here?

View all 1,200 comments

jackharlow We’re here for work, what do you mean fun????

ezharlow No, you’re here for work. I just came for the free ride.

yourusername Ezequiel 🤦🏻‍♀️

alizemiaharlow You’re ugly.

ezharlow Your father!

alizemiaharlow 😳

cassiewyatt LMAAAOOOO tio Jack is going to slap him upside the head.

ezharlow He already did 🙄 thanks

•

Liked by yourusername, alizemiaharlow, urbanwyatt, cozane, and 7,986,345 others

ezharlow Someone come get this old man, he doesn’t know how to act at his old age!!!!!

View all 1,200 comments

yourusername He’s not old, deja a tu papá, stop making fun of my husband!!!!!

ezharlow Mom, why are you always defending him?

yourusername Because he’s my man and I’m gonna stick besides him 🫶🏼🤞🏼

jackharlow That’s right!!!!!!! Ez, is time to give up, she’ll never leave me!!!!

ezharlow Yeah, I’m starting to realize that!!!!

user Im wondering if this is their regular bickering father-son thing or Ez grew up hating Jack 🤔

user Right? He’s always coming for his neck in the comments.

ezharlow I’m sorry you can’t joke around with your dad. Leave your daddy issues away from my dad and me.

cassiewyatt *cries in daddy issues*

urbanwyatt Come again?

cassiewyatt No not me, them!!!!!

alizemiaharlow 😭😭😭😭😭

user Cass you sure you don’t have daddy issues? Since your parents divorced at a young age and Urban left you?

cassiewyatt Lmaooo, no I don’t have daddy issues. I’m well aware of my parents history, since I lived it. My dad never left me, nor my mom, what you failed to see was that I was always with both of them unless they had to work. They both were very hands on during my childhood, so don’t worry about me and my issues, because I might have a lot of them, but daddy issues or mommy issues aren’t one or two of them 😘

ezharlow What you’re not about to do is come for my family under my posts. This is why I barley even do social media. You “fans” feel entitled to my parents and to my uncle, it’s annoying. So consider yourself blocked.

•

jackharlow added to their story

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ezharlow added to their story

•

Liked by jackharlow, yourusername, alizemiaharlow, cassiewyatt, yourbestiename, and 7,567,456 others

ezharlow My best friend for life 😊🤞🏼 throwback with momma ❤️

View all 1,900 comments

yourusername My baby boy 🥺 extraño cuando estabas así de chiquito 😩 te amo.

ezharlow Te amo momma ❤️

alizemiaharlow Mommy’s boy at it’s finest 😂

ezharlow Sure am and what about it?

yourbestiename I took these 😩 you were the cutest little boy ever!!!!!!! Always wanting to be next to your mom.

jackharlow He still does with his annoying ass

yourusername 😭😭😭😭😭

ezharlow Why are you whining? We’ve come to a realization that she will always pick you over me 🙄

jackharlow You finally get it 😂🤭

yourusername Aht aht 👎🏼 I take no sides

•

Liked by urbanwyatt, jackharlow, newbalance, yourusername, alizemiaharlow, and 6,976,387 others

ezharlow Fit of the day 🤞🏼

View all 1,200 comments

cassiewyatt I need to get you in the bedroom fits page asap!!!

urbanwyatt Uhhh nooo. I handed that over to you for YOUR fits, not his!!!

ezharlow You’re so jealous

urbanwyatt Of you kid? Never!!!!!!

alizemiaharlow 🔥 🔥

jackharlow You’re welcome 🙄

ezharlow For what exactly?

jackharlow You got good style because of me.

ezharlow OHHH OKAAYYY OLD MAN

•

Liked by jackharlow, yourusername, alizemiaharlow, yourbestiename, and 7,567,887 others

ezharlow They’re apart for a week and my mom somehow can’t find a chair to sit on 🙄. Side note, the little demon spawns are growing and I know I joke a lot, but I’m excited to be a big brother!

View all 1,200 comments

yourusername What do you mean? Your father is my chair, my favorite chair at that 🤭

jackharlow 😋 😋

ezharlow Oh come on 😡 keep the nasty off my page.

alizemiaharlow You’re finally able to say you’re a big brother 🙌🏼 😭

ezharlow Now can you stop calling me little brother all the time? It’s annoying.

alizemiaharlow No because that’s what you are tonto.

cassiewyatt They’re the cutest 🥺 excited for the twins to get here 😭

druski They’ve always been annoying, I would’ve of thought after many years they would’ve gotten sick of each other 🙄 🤮

ezharlow I’m only allowed to come for them and make fun of them, you? Not so much so leave them alone.

jackharlow 😂🙌🏼

allabouttheharlows You’ve been really active on social media this week. Love that.

ezharlow You’ll have to thank my dad for that. For someone who hated being on social media himself, he’s schooling me about being active.

allabouttheharlows Thank you dad jackharlow 🤭🤭🤭🤭😊😊😊😊

jackharlow Lmao

user so is Ez single????

jackharlow Good question….. he did get lots of girls numbers while on our trip.

selenosunni left and right talking about “call me sometime sexy”

cozane When a girl handed Jack a paper and he didn’t want to get it but once she said it was for EZ 😭😭😭😭😭 Jacks entire face changed Lmaoo

shloob EZ SHOW ME YOUR WAYS!!!!!

ezharlow It’s that Harlow blood

jackharlow So which girl are you going to call?

yourusername JACKMAN!!!!!!!

jackharlow I’m curious that’s all, don’t you want to know who your future daughter in law would be? Get to know her? Or are you going to scare every girl away?

yourusername He’s not allowed to go to work trips with any of you anymore.

yourusername Bye, don’t make me out to be a toxic mom, I’m more than excited to see who my babies end up with, but all in good timing. NO RUSH YOU HEAR ME KIDS!!!!!!?????

ezharlow LMAAAOOO

alizemiaharlow Welcome to my world!!!!!!!!!!

ezharlow I don’t like your world!!!!!

•

TAG LIST

@heavyhitterheaux @harlowsbby @arination99 @cmalass @jackharloww @minkookie95 @deannaard @jacksmoviestar @harlowcomehome @fdl305 @httpkoylinnn @xoxokiaraaxoxo @hoodharlow @automaticpeachsong @amethyst09 @aliciacat20 @allyson15 @gabbylovesreading @stefansalvatoresgf @violetdreamsworld @carma-fanficaddict @jasminxts @itsaaliyah2 @itsyagirljaz @harrycanyonmoonn @neon-lights-and-glitter

#jack harlow #instagram AU #ez harlow #jack harlow x you #jack harlow x yn #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x y/n #jack harlow fic

[itsmelb]

Sometimes, I wish I could watch my fav BLs for the first time again...just remember the moment when:

Porsche saved Kinn behind Hum Bar. He's wearing his old Chucks while Kinn is wearing my fav ombre suit. They ride the motorbike and Porsche aka Jom steals Kinns watch... epic.

Kim kills those mfers in the Bar while Chay plays the video game. After that Kim sits on the fire escape and smokes. Hot. Also the Wdys video sequence. Traumatised us all. Yah. Epic.

Vegas torturing that one gang member and puts on that cover suit thingy. His face is full of blood drops and he smiles. Shit went and will go down. This character will hunt me I swear.

Cher kneels in front of Boss Gun and asks him to be his faen. Boss kisses him enthusiastically on the cheeks and the mouth. I love my idiots sm.

Mew knows about Tops car adventure with Boston. But he seduces Top (like how hot is Book here omg) and the plays the audio. Omg. That was acting in its finest form!!

Pat and Pran stand on the room top and Pat tells Pran he can't be friends with him. They kiss so desperately I swear best roof top kiss in the history of Aofs roof top kisses. Wow. Speechless.

Mhok and Day are sitting between the mountains. Day looses his sight. They both cry because Mhok is the last image he saw.

Palm lost his mom. He and Nueng are in that shitty motel room. Palm is drunk and Nueng gave him some pills in his beer. They dance and kiss. Palm is sad and it's all so shitty. In that night Nueng leaves.

Gun and Tinn are backstage. Tinn cleans Guns face with the cotton pad (Nivea ad) and he tells him how good he has done the performances on stage. Gun nearly cries.

Zo opens the door again after he teased Joke. He pulls him in and they kiss like they're starving.

Alan and Jeff are rollerskating and Alan nearly falls. Jeff catches him. They talk. Alan gives him the bracelet with the A. He has the one with the J on and then they make love at home.

Charlie is dead. And Babe mourns. Oww. Pavel did so great.

Heart cries because his mother won't learn the sign language for him. Li Ming is there and holds him while he cries.

Wen and Jim kiss on the sofa. They are finally boyfriends after shit went down. Because Alan was still in love with Wen and Kaipa with Jim. Alan and Kaipa have a dinner at the chicken stall.

Prapai comforts Sky after he tells him about his traumatic experience. They are both crying.

Just to name a few 😉

#kinnporsche #kimchay #vegas theerapanyakul #guncher #topmew #patpran #mhokday #palmnueng #tinngun #jokezo #jimwen #alangaipa #alanjeff #charliebabe #heartliming #prapaisky #bl series #my personal rambles

[cherubispunk]

UP IN YOUR ARMS (CHAPTER ONE) -Noir!Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader

summary: The Canary Club. Illicit. Underground. Dangerous too. But nowhere near as dangerous the affair you and Joel start there.

a note from Lucy: chapter one! I'm digging my own grave here. thats all im saying. i promise it is focused on joel and the reader later in the chapter. im just setting the scene for differnt relationships in the series.

playlist

wc: 6969 (haha lol) Warnings: 18+ MDNI! DARK CONTENT! 1940s!au, no outbreak, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s and Joel is in his 40s), smut. p in v sex, oral - f receiving, oral through panties, choking, groping, sexism, mentions of racism, touch starved joel, me being back on my bullshit, drinking, ,smoking, throwing fists because men are stoopid and cant talk things out, cheating on the readers part, but joel knows this and still fucks her like the horny bastad he is. *sigh*, use of pet names such as doll, cursing, ww2 references, an unhealthy relationship between reader and joel, mentions of blood, let me know if ive missed any warning out that should be tagged. 6969 words of unedited bullshit because im piss drunk and cant for the life of me edit.

series m.list | m.list

The jazz band was one of the finest groups in the city. ‘Only the finest for The Canary Club’, as Johnny had put it. 

Johnny Boy Finnick. 

Now he was a man. Played sports in college, muscular, strong arms that pinned you to the wall or mattress or table. Hands that shuffled playing cards with ease and had you screaming far after the night was over. Deep blue eyes and blonde hair that never fell out of place from its slicked back style. Not even after he had crushed someone's jaw under the weight of his pummeling, bloodlusting fist.  

Johnny made a name for himself bootlegging liquor, too young to fight in the first world war. Took over as The Boss of Boston. It’s how he got his name. Johnny Boy. Fresh faced but the heart of a ragged old man. Lost it all after the second world war, gained it back not long after. A killer with a bone deep yearning for blood, money, violence, and you. 

He sat in his pressed suit, legs parted as he leaned over to display his full flush to the table, flashing a killer smile when he collected the money off his right hand man and three more of his boys. You smiled from the bar, beads of your dress twinkling in the low light of the speakeasy, ready to waltz over with another old fashioned and drape yourself in his lap.

“Thanks, Henry.” You smiled at your oldest friend, taking the drink he had placed down in front of you on the bar. Henry was your age, 25. A boy from Hartford, Connecticut, grew up in Kansas, then moved here looking for work in a big city. Honest, hardworking. Sweeter than cherry pie. And his little brother Sam was just the cutest pip you'd ever seen. 

“No problem, Doll.” He teased, which deserved a roll of the eyes from you. 

“How many times have I asked you not to call me that?”

“This would make it…” he glanced up for a second, as if calculating within his mind, “one too many times to count.”

“Funny.” You gave him a quick bitter smile. All in good fun, clearly, for he took no offence. He just shot you a smile, running a clean rag over the bartop, collecting two glasses and wiping the rings of condensation they left upon maplewood. 

“Your man looks thirsty. Might wanna take him his drink now. Before he gets the wrong idea about me talking to ya.” You sighed, craning your head slightly to look back at Johnny who scanned the place with a scowl. It made your skin crawl the thought of his temper snapping again. Despite it, you left Henry with a playful wink his way before swanning back over, placing Johnny’s drink in front of him and a vermillon kiss to his cheek. 

Johnny sneered at the affection, wiping your lipstick stain from his cheek. All the confidence you had fell to the floor and shattered miserably. Liquid courage sloshed on the cured wood floor.

“Fuck’s sake, Doll. What you do that for?” He demanded of you, the disgust in his cruel cerulean eyes sending a chilling, agonising jolt down your spine. 

“Sorry, Johnny.” You shied away, folded your hands together, eyes on the floor.

“Ain't you gotta powder your nose or something? Go on. Piss off.” 

He was right. You’d be on soon. Drenched in the spotlight. Under the scrutinising, side cramping glare of everyone's eye. You could do with the quiet. So you shuffled off to your dressing room without a word more, holding back tears with your breath. 

In the mirror, you mourned the girl you were. Mourned the life you had before it all turned upside down. Mourned the man you fell in love with. And the monster you had no choice but to stay with. 

—

Joel was fuming. If you touched his skin you'd reel back with a scorched yelp because his blood ran hot, fast and thick under his flesh. Trust Tommy to catch himself in the web of underground crime. Always a joiner. Always a deserter too when things got heated. And who was left to untangle him from its intricate, venom snared weave? Joel ‘Gubbins’ Miller. He might as well have ‘mother to my brother’ branded on his forehead. Because that's what he was now. 

The war ended four years ago and ever since Tommy had been searching for his purpose. Preached about it round the dinner table in their grimy, mildew inhabited apartment like a preacher would his sermon. And every time it set Joel’s teeth on edge. Because he knew what came after the downfall. The pickup. 

Now, however, Joel was determined to nip this lunacy in the bud. Tear it up from the soil by the new roots. 

The Canary Club was one of the few remaining speakeasies around in Boston. To a cop it was practically a ghost of an establishment. Might as well not be there. But to a man like Joel, whose brother never stopped babbling on about the next best thing he had cooking for himself, it was as easy as pie.  

A shroud of cloud hung just above Boston’s looming buildings, teaming with the early moon to create a murky gloom over the dim city’s sin. It seemed to fill the hollow, smoggy air as they cast dark, taut shadows over the slick, grimy roads. The sky threatened rain for the third day in a row. A place that reeked of underground crime, drug rings and watered down, once bootlegged alcohol, laced with what one can only assume to be illegal too. All of that was washed down with the constant sour smell of new rain upon dirty tarmac. A city plagued and tarnished by its own rejects.The promise of work bought them in. But the lifestyle spat them back out. Chewed up and ruined by their own humanising hope.

He and his brother came in search of work. They were getting nowhere down south in Texas. On the dole and barely able to afford a loaf of bread between the two of them. Even their own mother hardly recognised her boys after the war. Said they were empty shells of men. Husks of the boys she raised. Killers. 

The woman was a pacifist at heart. And it was a trait that Joel not only saw as weak, but typical of women. Or that's what his father had socialised him into thinking. He didn't know where his father’s ideals ended and his started. As the days went by he saw more of the violence his father harboured in himself. Grimaced at the lug in the looking glass. 

Joel was no pacifist. But he didn't storm through the doors either. No gun was in hand ready to send people screaming bloody murder. That was stupid. A mistake that he knew could wind him up on the concrete in the flooded gulley with a bullet in his head where blood and water could finally mix. Instead he stole in quietly in the ambience of playing cards and a Jazz band, ordered himself a drink, and sat at the far corner of the bar where it was dimly lit. Just enough for him to see his drink and the room, but his face still remained shadowed. 

While he sipped in ponder, he took the chance to people watch. Scan the patrons for any uncanny resemblance of dear Tommy. But nothing. He seemed distracted by the careful and steady hand that polished glass after glass, though each of them were spotless before touching the rag. 

A pointless task. Some may say sisyphean. But the boy doing so knew when eyes were on him. It was a very rare occurrence if not related to his race. People of any darker colour were ogled often in these parts despite it being more accepted within the north of America. There was still divide and segregation. However, this new patron wasn't looking for Henry’s skin colour, rather contemplating how on earth a boy such as him had ended up in such a place. What connection he had to the gang. Was he like Tommy? Roped in at the side of the side of the road and choking on his remaining pride. Or in a sticky financial situation? All these questions seemed to circle like the rag in the crystal glass Henry held. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Joel asked him with an ex-smoker's voice, brow dark in the shadow. The boy looked up, eyes youthful, but they'd seen things no man should have to. 

“Henry.” He said after a beat, quick to refill Joel’s glass when it was empty besides a drop circled thin and amber in the bottom. “Yours?” Joel lifted his head, taking a sip before placing his glass back on the bartop in furrowed brow contemplation. 

“Joel.” He leaned forward on his forearms, haunched over the bar, before looking around again. “Whatcha doin’ here, Henry?” 

Henry laughed slightly, looking down at his feet before back in Joel's eyes. And what he was met with was the hollow ache of a man scarred by war. Henry’s face fell flat. 

“Working.” 

“No…I mean in Boston.”

Henry cleared his throat at the sudden, and even brash way Joel approached his question. So much that it took him a second to frown and then reply. 

“Came from Kansas. Hard for a black kid to find honest work there. Especially with a family to look out for.” His words were solemn and reflected a truth Joel knew all too well growing up down south. Even if he never lived it in his own white skin.

“You look a little young to have a kid.” 

“I don’t. I got a brother.” Joel nodded as he listened, waiting for him to go on. Which he did after a beat of silence. “Bright kid. Bright future too. He’s deaf though. Got a lot stacked against him in this world. Mom can't bring in enough to fund education for ‘im. So I stepped up.”

“No Daddy?” Joel asked and Henry shook his head. “How’d you end up here then?”

“A girl.” The look Joel gave Henry was sceptical. But the young boy was soon to put a stop to it all. “Not a girlfriend. Just a girl. We grew up in the same building. She moved up north for a life and I followed a few months later. She met a guy. A wealthy guy. And she wrote to me often of how swell Boston had been for her.”

Joel wasn't the questioning type. Neither one to beat around the bush. But Henry intrigued him. Reminded him a lot of Sarah. The challenge she had faced with the colour of her skin that he, as a white man, would never understand. He felt a guilt about it every day that flared up in the dark of night before his eyes closed for restless and futile sleep. “And this guy?”

“Him.” Henry nodded subtly over to the table of men playing cards. Poker. A game Joel knew well in the frontline and in Egypt where he fought. Him and a few others often huddled together in their own game. Nothing but the last pair of intact socks to bet on, or a single cigarette to get them through the night. Joel quit smoking the moment he got back. Knew it was something that made him unpredictable and jittery in the best of situations. “Johnny Boy Finnick. A big name in these parts.” 

Joel followed Henry’s gaze, but his attention was snagged by the unmistakable head of dark curled hair facing away from him. He knew his brother anywhere and his blood began to boil as he threw back his second drink and slammed the empty glass on the bartop. 

“Hey, man-” Henry tried, shoulders straining as he stood to attention. Joel didn't pay him any mind. Merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before his bar stool sharied upon the varnished wood floor. He cared not for the noise. Only the feeling he would get once his closed fist met the bone on the bridge of Tommy’s nose. 

Trumpets flailed to a stop and drums failed mid blow. The room fell silent after a chorus of gasps. 

He loved his brother. Deeply. So much it caused a chasm of a rib cracking hole in his chest every time Tommy slipped up. But he saw red now it all caught up behind his lids that blinked once. That split second of not seeing and before he had a chance to second guess, he was gripping the back of tommy;s collar and wrenching him up to his feet to deliver a shiner to the face. 

Tommy staggered back, and everyone at his table stood up with the intention to harm. Yet no one but the brawling brothers fought. As he gained his footing again, he also gained his senses, recognising Joel anywhere. 

“Joel, what the fu-” He was hardly able to finish before another shooting pain split his bottom lip open and Tommy’s mouth was filled with the taste of his own bitter blood. Blood he and Joel shared and were now shedding in a futile fight of nothing but testosterone. That was enough to send the same foul blow to his kin. Joel winced, knowing the crescent of a bruise that would bloom on his cheekbone overnight. One of Tommy’s many rings sliced his skin. He felt warmth in crimson dribble from a fresh flesh wound. 

“Hey!” One loud and bellowing voice that had the power to command a whole unit of men boomed out before neither Joel or Tommy had the chance to throw another fist. It was for the better. Any more and Joel’s knuckles would have bruised purple. A colour of shame. 

It was Johnny. And his face was stoic as he stared each brother down with a burning gaze that had even Joel’s hairs stood on end at the nape of his neck. Like an army stood to attention before the first charge. Except he didn't move. Joel knew now where he stood in the food chain of this speakeasy. And it was right at the very bottom. “You!” He pointed at Tommy. Go clean yourself up.” And Tommy went as pale as a funeral sheet before nodding meekly. His face melted from shock to shame in the blink of Joel’s very eye before he grumbled something under his breath and passed Joel with a sharp clip to his shoulder. 

It's his turn now. 

At this point you'd come out to see what the commotion was for. The walls, while thick upstairs in the printer's press, were thin in the basement. And you;d heard silence and the spit of a man as his blood splattered with spit on the floor in the doorway. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doin throwin’ fists in my god damned club for?!” He roared. And Joel had to take the duration of both inhale and exhale to get his lips and tongue to work. But the scowl on his face said it all. “Huh?!” Jonny’s nostrils flared like a spanish thoroughbred bulls’. 

“That’s my brother you got workin’ for ya. I ain't havin’ him in some shady drug ring you got goin in. I aint!” 

Jonnly was no stupid man. Hr was smart. Quick minded and knew a man with balls. But Joel also knew very little. So this one time, he took the approach of calmness, and used his usual lying tongue for truth. Any other time it would she forked like Lucifer's serpent form. But now he was a man of coolness. “Right.” Johnny nodded at him, his tone was one that could soothe a ravenous bear. But with an edge as sharp as a knife. So sharp it could slice skin in one swift swoop. “Sit down.” He commanded calmly. “Let’s get you a drink.” 

With a wave of his hand a cha was pulled out. Two heavy handed brutes shoving Joel down into a chair, an old fashioned presented to him by Henry in front of him on the maplewood table. Then Johnny addressed the room gently. Set its patrons at ease. The music played its jazzy, jolly tune once more. People spoke again.And Johnny took his seat opposite Joel. 

“Look here…” The gangster waited for Joel to give him his name. Which he did. “Joel, I appreciate a strong swing as much as the next guy. But I don't appreciate it in my establishment.” Joel nodded in understanding. His temper ashamed him. How it ran hot under his skin. Fizzled white when provoked until he saw red in rage and swung. Never blindly though. He wasn't a loose cannon like the  broken soldier stereotype enforced. Just a fractured man. 

“You’re a soldier aint ya?” “Was.” Joel said gruffly. Curtly and he brewed a stare across from Johnny.

“Oh, nah.” Johnny shook his head, swirling his drink in the crystal glass, “Once a brother in arms, always a brother in arms. The war sticks with ya. You’re a soldier.” “Fine. Yeah, I'm a soldier.” 

“I know the war. I served like you. Left a boy and came back a shell of a man. Now look at me.” Joel took a moment to calculate his motive here. Johnny’s arms stretched wide with a smirk of pure pride as he gestured to the heart of his Boston crime empire. “I got money. I got birds.” He held up his glass to Joel, “I got liquor.” then leaned forward and spoke in a grave tone, "What you got?” 

Joel swallowed harshly, unable to answer because he had nothing in reality. 

“You got a job?” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “No.”

“Figured. Hard finding work when all the women are competent enough to do it themselves. Fight for your country. End up on the streets. You don't die a hero like you thought you would. No one knows your name.” He scoffed, holding fingers up in air quotes around competent. It left a bitter taste of disgust in Joel’s mouth as the father of a daughter. Curled the edges of his tongue distastefully. Made him kiss his teeth to hold back the insult. “Well, people know my name.” Johnny paused again, the air grew thick between them and smouldered on their shoulders. He was squinting at Joel opposite him, sizing him up. Joel was rugged. A strong build and most likely a strong character too. Something Johnny could always do with having in abundance. And so when the devil's own smirk curled at his lip, Joel felt a question brewing at the very tip of his tongue. One that would change his life for better or worse. Regardless of it he declined or accepted. “And they could know yours too.”

Joel didn't want to admit it for the sake of his crumbling pride, but the man had it all. Even a good five years his junior, the man made a living for himself. Picked himself up from the dirt and used bloodshed and bodies for the foundations. 

“I could use a guy like you–”

“No.” Joel put his offer down flat before it had the chance to meet the air. 

“Hear me out.” He said calmly, and held up a hand, “A roof over your head. A steady income. A little extra dough in ya pocket?” Johnny rubbed his thumb and index finger together in the older man's face. An action to which Joel’s nostrils flared. It was embarrassing to even mull over. “Come on,” Johnny smirked. “Give it a go.” 

The southerner’s lips pursed, as if he was thinking it over. Which he was. But to what lengths would he go? Sure, Joel was conditioned in a short few months to kill. He was good at it. Mowed down men on the frontline like clockwork. And his trigger finger twitched at the thought of holding that power once more. But that didn't mean he was a man without morals. The men’s blood he;d coat his hands in had families. They were someone's son. Probably someone's husband or father. Joel knew the hollow ache loss left. The imprint of a shadow it left. The chasm ripped in your chest. Loss felt like an agonising, deep, helpless pit. But here was Johnny, throwing him a rope 

“You know, you’re right. This ain't the time to talk this over.” Johnny held his hands up and leaned back in his seat before they clapped back in his lap. Now you were at Johnny’s side once more. But the figure of Joel in his chair had something jumping in your bones. Tongue curling to taste his very words.  “Dollface here will patch you up.” 

You raised a brow, giving the two of them a dirty look. “Excuse me? Do I look like a nurse?” You shut up when Johnny glared. Swallowed your pride, and sighed inwardly. You both hated and loved the power he held over you. As much as you despised it at times, Johnny had your being wrapped around his finger like a puppeteer holds his strings. And tightly. You felt his tug at the strain in your limbs. 

“And you come back here tomorrow. We’ll talk in my office over a drink and a cigar. A good fucking drink.” 

—

Joel swallowed harshly when he saw you. Eyes, wide and decorated by dark mascara lashes, white liner on lower waterlines, face of a doll like Johnny’s nickname for you suggested. The red lipstick you had re-applied moments prior was glossy, inviting him to stumble over velvet words he would hear you speak. Lean closer so the blood red could graze the shell of his ear while you would whisper a dirty joke at him. 

He followed as you led him down a corridor off to the other side of the bar. Your dress seemed fit for hypnotising him into your bidding. Surely you were a siren who climbed the strats of a pier of the east coast and arrived here. Something about the beauty you wielded was not the everyday sort. It was the type you see women bend over backwards to achieve even a glimmer of for their man who came back after work. He could see himself now. Loosening his tie, hanging up his coat and hat. Leaving his briefcase and sanity at the door to see you in a pinafore and pin curls. Pretty gingham dress. He’d sit at the table and either be presented by you or a meal for his satiation. He’d prefer to devour the sweetness between your legs. 

Your hand in front of his face had his attention now. Fingers snapping. Nails manicured and painted the same shade as your lipstick. 

“Hey, you listening?” You asked, face set into displeasure. Joel straightened as he cleared his throat.

“What?” His tone was gruff and he mirrored your expression to you. His southern accent catching you off guard, but is intriguing. 

“I said sit down.” 

Joel looked over at the chair set at a vanity mirror you gestured to with an extended arm. The second time he had been asked to be seated. The second time he obeyed. 

You took your time to wet a washcloth in the small basin in the corner with warm water. Took the bottle of whiskey you stashed last week from the bottom of a rickety chest of drawers. Joel watched you in the mirror, eyes narrowed a fraction to make sure you were of no threat to him. He knew he could take you easily. In more ways than one. The power imbalance had his length twitching in his trousers. 

Your hands weren't gentle as you sat on the vanity between his legs. You took his stubbled chin in your grasp and jerked his head up into the light, tilting it to take a closer look at the gash. 

“Stay still.” You said curtly, holding the rag to the opening of the bottle and wetting it. You then pressed it over the pad of your finger. The initial touch made his teeth bare at you and a hiss to escape his mouth. His large wrist enclosing around yours to make you stop. “I said,” And you yanked your wrist from his hold, “stay still.” 

He did as he was told again. Silence setting his between the odd hiss from him and twitch of muscle under weathered skin. The crows feet at the side of his eyes were old. He clearly had lost his smile to something in the past. But you didn't ask, only wondered as you wiped the dried blood clean from his wound. “Fuckin grown man and you cant take a little sting of a cut.” You mumbled under your breath to yourself in amusement. Followed by a small huff of dry laugh.

“Maybe if you weren't digging your fingers into a fresh bruise I wouldn’t be wincin’.” You shot him a look and let go.

“All done.” And you held up your hands for good measure. 

“What are you doing here anyway?” You asked, tossing the rag aside and crossing your arms. He reached for the whiskey and took a large gulp, pursing his lips at the slow burn in the back of his throat. 

“None of your business.” 

“What’s your name?”

“You know my name.” He stated lowly. He was right. But you found a sick satisfaction in having any man you liked bend to your will. Answer any question you so pleased to hear the answer to. 

His bones groaned as he stood up from the chair. Your coat draped over the back of it fell to the floor and you swiftly got up to swipe it from the floor and hand it on the hook on the back of the door before pressing your back to it and facing him. Blocking his exit.  “Move.”

“Tell me your name.” You crossed your arms, jutting your chin up at him. 

“Don’t make me move you, princess.”

“Tell me your name.” 

Joel bit his tongue, the vein in his neck starting to pulse visibly under his skin that once again went hot. 

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Because I’m nosy.” You smiled, sarcastic and saccharine. “And i want to know the name i’ll be moaning tonight as i touch myself under the covers.” 

“Fuckin-” His jaw ticked, nostrils flared in his disdain. You kept your smile as he pinched the bridge of his nose with a small guttural noise from the back of his throat. A headache was starting to coil behind the strain of his eyes. “Joel.” And he looked back up at you. It still wasn't enough “Miller.” Your smile was genuine this time, just as sweet. You uncrossed your arms, standing up straight from the door to hold out your hand and give him your name in return. He rolled his eyes, reaching for the handle and swerving you. He pulled the door but you used your body weight to slam it shut with your back again. A loud slam and a creak of protest from its hinges.

“Where are you from, Joel?” 

“Is this a game to you, girl?” Joel growled. 

“Yes.” The smile you had was sly. Foxy. A  single finger ran down his chest and dared to slip just under his shirt’s collar. “I like games.”

“You don't wanna do that.” He warned, dark eyes burning you up inside from your very core. It was the look of a man’s lust that had been left untouched, unloved for quite some time now. It strained at his morality. But who were you to give up the warning and keen hand of a man who so desperately needed a release to the coiling tension of his shoulders. You saw it. Felt it in the rhythmic yet chaotic hammer of his heart against his ribs. As if it were trying with all its might not to break his own bones clean in two and lurch from its enclosure of flesh and bone. 

“And why not?” This was a devils game of chess. Careful calculated words from loose tongues and taking each other's moves in as you exhaled a counter. And oy had him three moves from checkmate. His king weak in defence, your advances stronger  by each word that fell into his eras from your red painted, enticing lips. He could feel his limbs being string up for you to pull at like a puppeteer in an advanced level of her craft. But he was no kind man. His words were even less forgiving than his disposition. 

“Because I aint a kind man. Haven't been for a long while. And I know types of things a man like me would wanna do to a pretty girl like you.” 

“I doubt it would be anything new.” You cooed, watching your finger as it traced a line lower over his buttons,  stopping at the top of his belt buckle and just shy of teasing at the growing bulge in his trousers. 

The tension between you was thicker than molasses. And it seeped through the cracks of his better judgement to the part of him that hungered for touch. That was ravenous for a single one of your fingers. 

“I don't think Johnny would like that.” 

“And I didnt like the way he spoke to me earlier.” You pouted. The way a child would when dined a sweet treat before dinnertime. 

“That aint a good reason to start an affair with me. Because when i get my grubby hands on ya there ain't no going back, doll.” 

His words were enticing you more. To have a man obsessing over your body. Your curves. Your voice singing his name as he fucked you dirtier than anyone into anything. Joel was that man now. He knew it in the very marrow of your bones that you were trouble. His new little minx. So it was no surprise when his lips crushed yours under the full weight of his sexual frustration. 

It was needy. Heated. A clashing of tongues and teeth as he pressed you with his entire simmering being into the wood of the door. His bulge grinding desperately into your thich that parted his legs. 

His tongue swiped your lower lip before drawing it back between his teeth for him to suckle on until it tingled deliciously. He was jealous with his touches. Groping your hips as the sating of your dress that crumpled to the floor. It revealed sweet sweet skin. Skin Joel wasted no time in delving in for the first damning lick. A pleasure to every sense. Sight, taste, touch, smell, sound. 

Heavy breaths were exhaled into the dewy skin of your clavicle, tongue languidly sliding over the high points of your collarbones and enclosing in a sharp suck over the skin just above your right breast. It sent a chorus of heavenly sinful, light and airy monas from your mouth and floated into his ears. His lips were chapped and weathered in contrast to the silk smooth of your skin. It was delightful. 

He went lower, got to his knees as he drank up the sense of a woman's skin for the first time in years. This was the taste of true damnation. He was past the opening of hell's gates and somehow found heaven in the parting of your thighs down the newly trodden path of your navel. 

He pressed his open mouth to your clothed cunt, tasted the seeping slick you gave him on his tongue and gluttonously inhaled your musk right at the apex of your thighs. Your fingers tangled into the curls of his messy, wind wrecked hair. Keening your hips up to press into the curve of his aquiline nose, and riding the burning in the pit of your belly starting to grow. Your head fell back against the door. Your mouth unhinged and letting out moan after sigh after mewl of his name. His face buried between the meat of your thighs as his hands gripped your asscheeks and spread them so he could push his face deeper between your folds. Your underwear drenched and ruined from your wetness and his spit while he tongued your hole through the flimsy lace. 

You pulled him back, smirked at the wreck he was with his lips sticky and shiny in the light of your dressing room. To then pull him up to your lips so you could curl your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself on him. It’s where the taste belonged. Among notes of whiskey and chewing tobacco and drugstore gum. 

His large hands pawed at your hips once more, listing you so your legs could wrap obediently round his waist. That's how it worked now. He wanted, you gave. And willingly like the sounds that fell into his motu like sweet, freshly harvested honey. Ut had the feel of money. Powerful and green like spring leaves. But with the warning of rotting when summer meets its tragic and fatal end. It was like trying to cross a canyon with a broken limb. Near impossible. The last sip of a drink that would ensure drunken and slurred movements. It took even the nest of a man his entirety to deny you, But deep down, Joel was a weak man. Strong in body, maybe mind too. But weak in soul. And he gave in with the cashing of your back against the vanity mirror. 

He had his faults. He knew that. And you did too. It had you wondering how a man like Joel loves. Did he change for his chosen lover? Or was he just as rough a callus as he was with everyone else. Would he destroy and ache and leave you wondering when your body would be at his whim next and how he would bend it to his will. Or would he let you lean into his embrace as he kissed down the column of your throat to the holy entitled epiphany between your thighs. The glisten of your hot cunt aching to be touched by anything. His everything. 

So you reached for his belt. So you undid it along with his buttons to touch his heated skin, To feel the blood flow beneath as the strain of each of his muscles. You ran a hand across his chest and he let his head fall back as a woman touched him for the first time as a man of war. A veteran.

He felt like he had been cast in gold by the sun for the first time in his life. Shed his skin for a new layer reserved just for you. As if he was thanking whatever resided up there for you. He was no believer in god, but, Jesus Christ, he was starting to believe in some form of higher power. You were proof that there was a blessing for him to steal away from the world. It was in your sound. Your taste. Your touch. It beckoned him the way your finger did, curling into the collar of his shirt to clash your lips with his and let. He had no autonomy over the moan that fell into his mouth where it festered at the back of his throat and was swallowed with a desperate and heady inhale. 

You trod roads into his skin with your touch. Ones he knew he would follow later that night in an erotomaniac’s pleasure. And you finally pulled his length free from his trousers. Your underwear was soon to follow and your slick aided the way he managed to sink so smoothly into your sopping heat. A squeeze he would commit to memory and savour like the taste of fresh and ripe fruit. Because you were. Fresh and youthful in age. Ready to be devoured to the core as a gleaning red apple would be. The very same one that even took in the garden of eden. Temptation. Fruit flesh to signify sin. 

He took his first bite out of you with a satisfying crunch. And keep devouring until there was nothing left but the remnants of your birth, ready to be resurrected, grown again in the form of a new tree. 

He stilled once he bottomed out, letting himself bask in the moment. The first time he was nestled deeply in the walls of your cunt. He heard your quiet whimpers for him to move. Felt the way your pert nipples brushed his sweat slicked skin. It was a ghost of a memory the last time he felt this. The heat of someone in the throes of intimacy. And it was all over him. It was the very air he wes starved of. The past was all paled in comparison because of the way your hips bucked pathetically to feel his thrust inside you. To get him going. No one had needed him this rawly, this undignifying before. 

A single hand clamped over your mouth, stilling your movements. He felt the tickle of your exhale against the pinky finger. 

“Stay still…” He commended with a swallowed down groan when you clenched around him, ironically repeating your words from earlier.

You looked at him. The glazed over, far away look in his eyes. His voice low and laden in a gravelly tone that came from the very back of his throat. You pulled him forward to lick it out again with your tongue when his hand fell to your throat. It gave a warning squeeze. And you once again canted your hips in protest. 

This time he moved. And it was like poetry as it hit that toe curling spot inside you. Made your eyes close in blissful ignorance of what this would do to you. YOu slick drooling from your cunt onto his shaft until it shined at his very base and dripped down his heavy balls. 

His hand squeezed your throat tighter. Had you yelling for him in a suppressed squeal. His other hand clamped around your mouth for you to moan into. Your words of praise lost on his ears, listened to by his palm instead. Every devil was fuelling this act of infidelity. This act of carnal sin you both needed. Ut unwound your bones, but had the coil in your belly cramping with each swift buck of his hips. 

You met his swift thrusts in a desperate attempt to be of use to him. Finding it hard to breathe, yet alone Your cunt spasmed delectably. Searching for a new feeling. A feeling primal and dirty as the streets of Boston. Your eyes rolled back in your head as your legs trembled while he went on, giving you something you would remember from this day forward, A sentence of being binded to him.

You were in the arms of the devil himself. St his ,ercy. Nsd nothing felt more thrilling than the pleasure that rolled at a landslide's power and pace down your spine into your core. 

Another squeeze round your throat. Another unhinged moan into his hand. He snarled, baring his teeth at you before pressing his face into the crook of your neck and biting down. Your eyes closed and painted a picture of stars. You were close to seeing angels by now and the deep ache of pleasure grappled your flesh and had goosebumps flicking up to attention over your flesh.

His chest heaved with each curl of his hips. Your exhales heavier by the second while you moaned his name like a mantra to his hand. His teeth imprinted on your back like a randhishing. A mark of the sin that was witnessed by the two of you that day. Your voice was shrill. A repeated ‘Joel! Joel! Joel!’

“Fuck, yeah, sing f’me doll. Sing f’me. Let em know who’s doin’ this to you.” He panted in vain. “Tell me.” “Feels so good–”

“Again.” He demanded. 

“Feels so good! Too good!” 

And it was. He had you burning white hot at the end of an illicit teather. You gripped his back with talons of hellbirds. Clawing at his shirt clad back. The wings of hi shoulderbales. The snake length of his spine. 

“That’s it. Tell ‘em. Tell me! Tell me in making you feel fuckin’ good.” 

“You are. Harder Joel.” His pace was like poetry. Ripped you in tow and had you displayed to him. One knee was hooked over his hunched shoulder, spine curled as his forehead pressed to yours. `The new angle had you singing like a songbird. High and melodic in tune.  Your kitten heel slipping off and clattering to the floor without a second thought. The head of his cock nipped your cervix. The lewd wet sounds of your pussy smothering him in your slick and your shared moans filled the room. Everything of you was his now. You couldn't even think of giving this up to Johnny. Yes, he fucked you dirty. But Joel fucked you like it was his sole purppose of living. Like it was what gave him life. 

You fell. You fell as soon as you hit your climax with a mewling moan that ended Joel right there and then. Coming together with heavy breaths and shaking, trembling chests. His release inside of you, strings of his come smearing you in him. Marking you for later. Well and truly ruined for any other warm body that dared to slip into your sheets. 

But falling was not the problem. Only when you hit the ground is what causes all the grief. And the look you shared once the gold haze of afterglow faded was what confirmed this. 

What have you done? How would you live without this?

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x #the last of us #the last of us fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #lu’s little bookshelf #joel the last of us #tlou #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel x reader #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel x reader smut #joel miller tlou #up in your arms #1940sgangster!joel #noir!joel

[call-sign-shark]

Bird of A Feather || Peaky Blinders x OCs

A short story for the wonderful @evita-shelby inspired by her moodboard gift Bird of A Feather.

Words: less than 1k

TW: Tommy and Heaven together (this is real warning for any HYE reader😂), allusions to drugs, overdose and sex. Ethical slur because of the show. Also this is not proof read, we die like men.

Notes: Reference to this chapter of HYE.

None of this was supposed to happen.

It was what Heaven thought when she watched her own reflection in the mirror of the ridiculously expensive suite's bathroom Mr. Shelby had booked for their stay in Boston. As she reflected on her new life, her slender fingers nervously tried to untangle the long gold and diamond earring chain Tommy had gifted her prior the trip. The vortex of her raging thoughts was so wild that she didn't hear the door opening, nor the husky and charming voice that called her name. Her body suddenly jerked when she felt one strong yet warm hand resting on her shoulder — She turned around in one vivid movement, the angelic complexions of her face only relaxing when they met with familiar turquoise eyes.

"Are you ready?" Tommy asked, one of his brow slightly arched as his piercing and ice-cold iris carefully observed the white-haired woman's features.

"Almost, but I can't seem to get rid out of this damn knot."

"Let me check." Three words again, said with the same collected tone whose deep and sultry voice sent shivers down her spine. Without wasting more saliva, Tommy brought his hands to the jewel and started to untangle it. "Don't you like it?" He broke the silence, "You always wear gold, but diamonds make a delightful echo to your crystal eyes." The thought of Tommy noticing such trivial details about her still felt odd considering how profound their mutual hatred had been for years. But Lizzie taking the kids had given them a little push.

"I do." She reassured, offering him a faint smile. They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating off him, as well as the elegant fragrances of his cologne tingling her nostrils.

"So why do you look so unhappy, ay?" He finally succeed in rearranging her earring, his calloused fingers gently grazing her reddened earlobe before finding rest on one of her cold cheeks. Tenderly. Lovingly.

"I'm just a bit anxious. I always hated big gatherings, let alone when the whole crowd is made of political figures, rich heirs and nobs." The way her lips pouted and her expression turned into a childish one as she pressed her face harder against his comforting palm snatched an amused snort from him, and yet… Tommy understood — her wild soul belonged to the forest and mountains no matter the expensive jewels and finest, seductive dresses. Heaven was not cut for this hypocritical world. The gangster leaned over her dainty frame and brought his face closer until their fiery breathe mixed and their nose touched.

“Think of them as your stupid little preys, just like you did in the forest. You might be on their territory but you are the predator here, and they should be the ones quivering with fear. Not you.” He pronounced this in intoxicating whispers that manage to lull her anxiety — or maybe it was because she was focusing on how his breath had quickened now that their mouths were so close. Batting her eyelashes, the white witch slowly nodded: they would be the real menace of the whole ballroom. Tommy drowned himself in the frost desert of her eyes for a bit, his thumb slightly pulling her fleshy lower lip down, “And if it is not enough, remember that I’ll stay by your side and keep you out of sorrow.” As he concluded, his placid face split in a wide and fierce grin that showcased his teeth. A genuine Tommy Shelby’s smile, scarcer than the rarest gem.

“And I’ll keep you out of it too.” She replied, mirroring his smile but with a more moderate one.

“That’s it, Devil.” He affectionately called the petite witch before his sweet liquored lips crashed against hers, the whisky taste blinding all her other senses and making the world outside fade to black. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, surges of electricity cursing through her body as the infamous gangster deepened the embrace. Amidst the chaos they had left behind in Birmingham they stood, his free hand pressing on her lower back to pull her closer until his strong chest flattened her small breast and every of their curves fit snugly altogether. After all that separated them, Tommy had finally won: his brother’s beloved angel belonged to him and only him… Conquered and with her wings pinned, Heaven forgot how wrong it felt and gave in, her tongue shyly waltzing with her old enemy’s. With that wicked brother-in-law she wished to see dead not that long ago. When their mouth parted and Heaven tried to break the embrace to go back dolling herself up, Tommy grabbed her wrist firmly, pupils dilated with pride and lust.

“No. Kiss me again.” His husky voice ordered.

The whole party was probably the most boring one she had ever attended and to make her evening worst, Americans proved that their awful tastes also encompassed alcohol. Not the smallest bottle of red wine had been put on tables, only dry and bitter champagne they were proud to show off as if it was the pinnacle of the French culture. Heaven winced after the first sip and immediately put the glass back where she had taken it, hoping no one had notice her bad manners — she definitely wasn’t one of them, and navigating among the upper-class crowd was not as easy as Tommy made it look. Her mind started to form the words “Arthur would never…” but soon her heart tightened in her chest and she forced herself to chase away the thought of her beloved former husband. “Arthur is not here anymore.” Tommy’s voice echoed in her head. In truth, the lanky gangster had stopped being there the moment he relapsed in drug again, trading cocaine for opium. It had been too much and, loyal to her principles, Heaven left. Never ever she would have imagined that Arthur would be found months later in the Chinese quarters with a syringe in his arm, devoid of life. And while she was spitefully musing over and over again on these cursed memories, two vicious pair of eyes stared at her.

“She looks like she’s about to murder everyone here.” A bewitching feminine voice resounded, catching the attention of the tall American man standing next to her, “I like that.” Eva added, bringing the fine crystal of her glass to her blood-red lips to sip the fancy cocktail she had ordered. At her words, Jack’s mouth curled in a shark-like smile, the scar on his upper lip stretching as he did.

“And she’s hot.” He said, the couple giving each other a conspiratorial glance, “That’s what you were about to say, weren’t you, Goddess?” His manly hand discreetly slipped from her lower back to her ass, grabbing one of her cheeks firmly. Eva snort in reply, side-eying her cheeky husband before focusing her attention on the delicate but wild angel that was impatiently waiting for Tommy to come back from his smoke outside. Lost in her contemplation for a short while, the Mexican witch wondered how such a seraph-looking creature could wear a stare that cold. How could she radiate off something that… Unsettling? Anxiety-inducing? Threatening? She couldn’t even find the right word.

“Feeling sinful, Daddy?” The Mexican beauty, sublimed by an overtly expensive red dress, cooed with a sultry tone that would have turned the meanest man to a brainless drooling dog.

“With you? Always, Goddess.” He winked at her before leaning for a kiss on her temple but a few seconds later the two future presidential couple saw their new associate coming back to the ballroom and heading straight to the lonely white-haired brat, “So you were right, she’s Thomas Shelby’s sweetheart. The Gypsie bastard got himself a fucking pretty pussy.”

“A witch.” Eva corrected, her tone stricter as she pronounced the word, “And he’s rather handsome too. Both are highly fuckable.” She mused, her dark eyes never leaving the newlyweds.

“Well, let me introduce you to them then! After all, we’re in business together now.” Jack suggested, burying his nose in his wife’s long dark hair to relish on her enchanting perfume. Fuck — if they weren’t that busy he would have ruined her cunt in another room right now.

“Excellent idea, Jack. Introduce me to them.” Eva emphasizes on the word, finally looking at the tall American with the flames of sin dancing in her evil eyes. It was all it took for Jack to understand his wife’s intentions… And they were in total harmony with his. “I hope we could officialize our partnership with them in a more intimate and fun way than just a handshake.” As possessive as they were together — as possessive as the English and French mirror facing them — Eva foresaw their agreement about her perverse suggestion, but the truth was there was no need to be a clairvoyant witch for guessing right.

The four of them were all sinners.

#Peaky blinders #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x oc #Tommy Shelby x reader #Cillian murphy #Jack Nelson #Jack Nelson x Oc #Eva Smith Riley #Heaven Shelby

[pinesource]

Chris Pine attends the screening of THE FINEST HOURS on January 28, 2016 in Boston, Massachusetts.

#pineedit #cpineedit #dailymenedit #menedit #flawlessgentlemen #mancandykings #chris pine #event

[dasphinxone]

Okoye x Attuma: Arranged Marriage AU...Sorta?

Not me thinking of an AU where the Talokanil pretty much run on the concept of "What we don't kill, we keep."

So instead of Okoye getting blown off the bridge in Boston? Shuri stops the fight just before that, which allows Attuma to take Okoye to Talokan too. And since they fought to a draw, he's basically all like, "But we're married now since it was impossible to kill you? And you drew first blood on my face? I don't see the problem, especially now that our kingdoms are united twice over."

(anyone who wants to take this up to write, feel free 😂)

"What do you mean twice over?!"

"Your princess? Our new queen?"

"Come again, shark man?!"

"Your princess, she is married to our God King. That makes her our queen now."

"SHE IS WHAT?!"

"He gifted her with his beloved mother's bracelet? A gown of the finest jade? She partook in our meals, just as you did at the great feast upon the last sun cycle?"

"I was starving! I’ve barely eaten anything since you kidnapped me down to this infernal place."

"Why did you not tell me you required nourishment?! As your husband, it is my my duty to provide for your every need, in ba'ate'el." (warrior)

"WE ARE NOT MARRIED!"

"You wear my cloak. You live in my home. You sleep in my hammock-"

"The only reason I wear your things is because you offered and it's always so unbearably cold down here!"

"Then I will build us a new abode in a grotto near one of the volcanic vents. My wife shall never feel discomfort so long as I live."

"That's not the point-!"

"Did you not just say that your surface dweller body does not agree with the current temperature? It will not do for you to sleep in a place not advantageous to your health! I can warm you up while I finish building our new home-"

"I sleep here because its the only room with a hammock and you sleep wherever it is you do when you leave me alone...to sleep."

"If you do not wish to lie alone, say so and I will join you."

"I'M NOT CONSUMATING ANYTHING WITH YOU, SHARK MAN!"

"Only if you wish it. I am not dishonorable and would never force you to lay with me without your full desire. Marriages have occurred with less."

"I...I have a husband-!"

"The traitor who betrayed you and your country and is now imprisoned? That is no husband worthy of anyone, let alone you. Besides, we are married. He no longer matters."

"By Bast, how do you even know about him?!"

"Our queen mentioned him to me."

"Shuri's been gossiping with you?!"

"Why would she not? I am a frequent visitor to her lab and her brilliant mind is the talk of the whole city. Even the scientist I should have killed has much in the way of intellect I did not expect of a surface dweller."

“This is INSANE!”

“To the contrary. Our queen is rather logical and contains great acumen. K'uk'ulkan chose wisely in a wife. Their union, like ours, will bring glory to both our nations!”

*Okoye FACEPALMS*

#okoye x attuma #okoye #attuma #black panther okoye #attuma of talokan #black panther #wakanda forever #talokan #talokanil #love at first fight #love at first face slash #attuma's down BAD #okoye is so done with this shit #but she's kinda intrigued #shuri ships it #when she remembers to #cause Namor is hella distracting #riri is loving all the drama #danai gurira #alex livinalli