Truncated text of tweet from MrPitBull, Mar 11, 2026:
She kept finding women in laboratory photographs from the 1800s. Then she read the published papers—and every single woman had vanished. Someone had erased them from history.
Yale University, 1969.
Margaret Rossiter was a graduate student studying the history of science. She was one of very few women in her program.
Every Friday afternoon, students and faculty gathered for beers and informal conversation. One week, Margaret asked a simple question: "Were there ever any women scientists?"
The faculty answered firmly: No.
Someone mentioned Marie Curie. The group dismissed it—her husband Pierre really deserved the credit.
Margaret didn't argue. But she also didn't believe them.
So she started looking.
She found a reference book called "American Men of Science"—essentially a Who's Who of scientific achievement. Despite the title, she was shocked to discover it contained entries about women. Botanists trained at Wellesley. Geologists from Vermont.
There were names. There were credentials. There were careers.
The professors had been wrong.
But Margaret's discovery was just the beginning. Because as she dug deeper into archives across the country, she found something far more disturbing.
Photograph after photograph showed women standing at laboratory benches, working with equipment, listed on research teams.
But when she read the published papers, the award citations, the official histories—those same women had disappeared. Their names were missing. Their contributions erased.
It wasn't random. It was systematic.
Women who designed experiments watched male colleagues publish results without giving them credit. Women whose discoveries were assigned to supervisors. Women listed in acknowledgments instead of as authors. Women passed over for awards that went to male collaborators who contributed far less.
Margaret realized she was witnessing a pattern that stretched across centuries.
Women had always been present in science. The record had simply pushed them aside.
She needed a name for what she was documenting.
In the early 1990s, she found it in the work of Matilda Joslyn Gage—a 19th-century suffragist who had written about this exact phenomenon in 1870.
In 1993, Margaret published a paper formally naming it: The Matilda Effect.
The term captured something that had been hidden in plain sight for generations. Once you knew the term, you saw it everywhere.
Her dissertation became a lifelong mission.
For more than 30 years, Margaret researched and wrote her landmark three-volume series: Women Scientists in America. She examined letters, institutional policies, individual careers. She gathered undeniable evidence that women in science had been consistently under-credited and structurally excluded.
Her work faced resistance. Many dismissed women's history as political rather than academic. Others insisted she was exaggerating.
Margaret didn't argue emotionally. She presented data. Documented cases. Patterns repeated across decades and institutions.
Eventually, the evidence became undeniable.
Her research helped restore recognition to scientists who had been erased:
Rosalind Franklin, whose X-ray work revealed DNA's structure—credit went to Watson and Crick.
Lise Meitner, who explained nuclear fission—omitted from the Nobel Prize.
Nettie Stevens, who discovered sex chromosomes—received little credit.
Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin, who discovered stars are made of hydrogen—initially dismissed.
And countless others whose names had nearly vanished.
Margaret changed the narrative. Science was no longer just the story of solitary male geniuses. It became a story of collaboration that included women who had been written out.
The Matilda Effect became standard terminology. Scholars used it to examine how credit is assigned, how authors are listed, who receives awards, who gets left out.
— summary: You never expected that you would end up adopting a hybrid, and if someone had told you that you would end up with seven? Well, you would have thought they were crazy. But here you are, with three different packs of hybrids that don't get along – but all want to stay with you. Yeah, it turns out crazy is an understatement.
— pairing: hybrid bts x human f!reader
— warnings/content: Explicit sexual content, rut/heat, knotting, scent marking, mating bites, minor blood, etc!
— word count: 7.1k
Masterlist / Previous chapter / Next chapter
"I've lost my appetite."
"Yoongi."
You sigh as the cat hybrid places his spoon on the table with a huff. Yoongi's nose is scrunched up, annoyance clear on his face as he gives the canines a rather pointed side-eye. Glancing around the table, you find he's not the only one that's acting a little off. Jungkook is covering his nose as he eats, shoveling food into his mouth at such a speed you're worried he might end up choking on it. Seokjin isn't far behind his packmate, his cheeks round and full with rice as he tries to clear his plate as quickly as possible. Jimin is taking small deliberate breaths through his mouth between bites, his upper body practically in Yoongi's lap as he leans as far away from Taehyung as possible. The fox hybrid, like Hoseok and Namjoon, seem unaffected by their behaviour, if not a little sheepish judging by the tense smiles they flash to the rest of the table every now and then.
It feels like the kitchen is blanketed by a cloud of tense air – one that electrifies the moment Jimin extends his hand past Taehyung's plate to reach for the salt. The low, short growl that immediately echoes within the walls of the kitchen makes you freeze, your skin instinctively breaking out in goosebumps at the guttural sound. Jimin's hand halts midair, his eyes flickering straight to Namjoon's fangs poking just past his lips.
"Right," Jimin huffs, ears flattening on his head, "sorry."
The annoyed flick of his tail behind his back tells you that he probably isn't, but he knows better than to argue with a protective alpha near his rut.
The wolf hybrid's golden eyes track Jimin's fingers as he slowly brings them back to his side, not even blinking until they're out of Taehyung's personal space. He shakes his head lightly once the perceived threat to his pack is gone, mumbling a gruff half-apology for startling the table.
You let out a slow breath, loosening the tight grip on your spoon. You catch yourself picking up your own pace as you eat, mirroring the others. The sooner you all finish eating, the sooner everyone has a chance to escape to their own corners of the house. You can tell Namjoon is itching to drag his packmates back to their room, their den, where it's safe.
"You guys can go first, we'll clean up everything," You say once the plates are scraped clean, giving the canines the out you know Namjoon is looking for. You're not quite sure why they insisted on one final shared dinner before their rut, but you do like to think that perhaps they've come to enjoy the familiarity and routine more than they realize themselves.
"Thank you," Namjoon shoots to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over, as he quickly corals Taehyung and Hoseok towards the door. He makes sure his packmates are out of sight from the kitchen before he pauses, tail tucking between his legs. Namjoon gives you a look over his shoulder, his back tense as if expecting a blow, as he softly asks, "Will you be joining us?"
"Of course," You nod, giving him a reassuring smile. "I just need to clean up here and take a shower first. I won't be long. Promise."
Namjoon's tail gives a few wags, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he nods and says, "Thank you. We'll, uh, get everything ready for you."
Yoongi is the first to break the silence once Namjoon closes the door to their room with a soft click. "God, it reeks in here."
"Seriously?" You roll your eyes at the over-the-top expression of disgust on his face.
"Yeah," Jungkook grimaces, jumping out of his chair to open the window above the sink. You can see his tail quiver as he breathes in some fresh air, "They have a very um, strong, scent."
"It's abrasive." Seokjin adds with a wince as he starts collecting some of the plates on the table. "It's supposed to be. It's there to chase away those you don't want to spend it with."
"It's even worse because they're not mated yet," Jimin interjects. "It's like a stink bomb went off in here."
"I don't remember you being this appalled by Seokjin and Jungkook's scent before their rut. Did they smell better because they're mated?" You direct your question at Jimin and Yoongi, not missing the quick glance that passes between them.
Yoongi shrugs. "Yes and no? That does help, but preys just smell much milder overall." He bites the inside of his cheek, a small furrow appearing between his brows as he admits, "Honestly, I think we were too worried to really notice it."
"Ah Jungkook, did you hear that?" Seokjin whispers loudly, plastering himself over the bunny hybrid's back with a dramatic swoon. "Yoongi-chi was concerned about us. What a sweet kitty."
"Shut up," Yoongi hisses. He swats at Jimin's arm as his packmate snickers at him behind his hand, mumbling something about betrayal as he moves to clear off the final dishes from the table.
Jungkook lets out a giggle, cheeks flushed as he sweetly says, "Thank you for being worried, Yoongi hyung."
You have to stifle your own laughter as Yoongi nearly trips, his feline reflexes just enough to keep him crashing into the counter. You can tell that the way his tail bristles is more for show than anything else, his voice taking on a softer tilt as he grumbles, "S'nothing."
"Ah, Y/n–" Seokjin waddles over with Jungkook still trapped in his arms, grinning at how the bunny hybrid pretends to break out of his hold. "We'll make sure to provide all the meals you need and leave them outside of the door. I'm sure the boys have everything else ready, but just let us know if there's anything you need."
"That's very sweet, thank you," You rest your hand on Seokjin's cheek, giving the hamster hybrid a peck. You quickly duck down with a smile as you hear Jungkook's whine, giving him a kiss too. You let yourself be pulled into the bunny hybrid's arms, the angle a little awkward, but sweet nonetheless. Your heart feels a little heavy knowing you won't be able to see them for a few days, but you know they can care for themselves and each other well at this point. You'll just miss them.
"Hyung and I are going to sleep in the living room. We figure it'd be best to give all of you some space." Jungkook mumbles against your skin, rubbing his nose against your cheek.
"That's not going to be very comfortable, why can't you just sleep in my–"
Your idea is turned down by four voices at once. "No," Seokjin shakes his head. "We'll be fine in the living room. We'll be closer that way."
"Alright, if you insist."
You give both of them another peck before Seokjin wrangles Jungkook away, letting the cat hybrids have their own turn at kissing you goodnight.
Jimin slides up to you with an exaggerated pout, batting his eyes all pretty until you give in and pull him in for a kiss. Soft purrs erupt in his chest as you stroke the nape of his neck, his lips eventually trailing their way down your neck, his soft hair tickling your skin. "Wish I could mark you up," He sighs, brushing his lips against your collarbone, "But I'd like to keep all of my nine lives intact so I'll refrain. For now."
"Is that a promise?" You grin. Based on the smirk Jimin gives you in return, you know you're going to have one hell of a time trying to make your neck look presentable once he's done with you. That is, if there's any skin left for him to even mark after you spent the next two days with the canines.
"Stop hogging her, she needs to get ready," Yoongi pulls Jimin back by his shirt, sending the disgruntled younger cat hybrid off with a pat on his ass.
Yoongi pulls you into a firm hug, layering his scent on top of Jimin and Jungkook's even though he knows it's going to get washed off soon. The instinct to lay some kind of claim is too great, especially when he knows you're spending the night with another pack. He leans back, giving you a kiss that feels much too short before he says, "Just call for us and we'll be right there, whatever the reason."
"Thank you," You nod, pulling him back in for another brief kiss.
You know it's time to slip away when Jungkook starts whining about getting another kiss – you'll never escape if they do.
A soft "sleep well" falls from your lips as you make your way to the door, but fingers – Seokjin's – wrap around your wrist, holding you in place for just a moment longer. He leans in close, his warm breath tickling the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "Be a good girl."
Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately, spreading down your neck and making the tips of your ears burn. You duck your head with a squeak, ignoring the low, pleased chuckle he lets out at your reaction. You slip your hand free, scurrying out of the room before the others can catch on to Seokjin's little comment. You're already flustered enough as it is, thank you very much.
You take a quick shower, adjusting the temperature until it's almost too hot to bear. The scalding water beats down on you as you work quickly but thoroughly, scrubbing away the day and any lingering scents clinging to your skin. Despite the steam that billows around the bathroom as you rinse, you find that your fingers tremble so hard it makes you fumble with the shower knob – a mixture of anticipation and nerves that has the butterflies in your stomach thrashing about. This isn't your first experience with a rut, but being with someone new always carries an air of vulnerability. Still, as you wrap yourself in a towel, you take a steadying breath. The boys have shown nothing but care and compassion for you so far and you know this will be no different. If anything, they're probably just as nervous to have someone new join them for their rut.
After slipping into a soft, oversized t-shirt, you make your way downstairs, your footsteps barely audible against the floorboards. The door to the canines' room is cracked open, and you can hear the gentle rumble of voices inside—low, hesitant.
You pause by the doorway, your pulse racing beneath your skin, and draw in a steadying breath. You can do this. You want to do this.
Gently, you push the door open. The room is dimly lit, warm and inviting and so them. You haven't been able to spend much time in the boys' rooms lately, with work and other obligations pulling you away, limiting your time spent beyond the common rooms in the house. Your heart does a happy squeeze at what you see – posters and pictures on what used to be bare walls, pillows and blankets covering almost every surface for maximum comfort and items carefully scattered about in a way you know is intentional. They finally feel comfortable – at home – and that's all you ever wanted.
The moment you cross the threshold, three sets of eyes are on you, warm and waiting. Taehyung is the first to move, crossing the small space in two strides to bury his face in your neck. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you close as he breathes you in, nose brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear. "You smell clean," he murmurs, not unhappily, just stating facts. "We'll fix that."
"Taehyung," Hoseok chides, gently pulling on one of the fox hybrid's ears as he joins the embrace from behind. His chest presses against your back, steady and solid, grounding. You feel the flutter of his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt.
Namjoon hovers at the edge, watching with soft eyes, until you reach out and tug him in. He comes willingly, slotting himself against your side with a quiet, relieved sigh. They take turns scenting you, rubbing their cheeks against your shoulders, your throat, your wrists. Marking you as theirs, as pack, at least for the coming days.
Taehyung is the first to pull back, his auburn tail swishing playfully side to side as he says, "Water and snacks are on the desk over there. There's some towels too."
"Though," he adds with a sly grin, glancing at Namjoon, "You probably won't need them. Hyung likes it when it gets a little messy."
"That's not-" Namjoon's ears flatten, then perk forward again, betraying him. A flush creeps up his neck. "I just like how strong the scents get. When we're all mixed together, y'know?"
"Sure," You concede, trying (and failing) to suppress a snort at how flustered he sounds.
"Fair warning, Hobi hyung likes to be in control when our rut hits," Taehyung adds, his tail swishing with barely contained amusement. You decide it's better to ignore the image your brain so helpfully conjures up, trying to suppress the warmth that spreads through your belly.
All of that is for tomorrow. Tonight is for rest.
Their rut hasn't officially begun, but the pre-rut tension has been wearing on them for days. You can see it in the tightness around their eyes, the way they lean into each other and you for support.
"I think it's time for bed," You gently say, steering them toward the mattress piled high with pillows and blankets. "Everything else can wait."
They go easily, too tired to even consider anything else. Taehyung crawls in first, patting the space beside him. You climb in after him, getting yourself situated in the middle of the bed. You figure the boys will just move you wherever they see fit – it's their nest, so you want them to be comfortable.
Hoseok hesitates at the edge of the bed, fingers catching on the hem of his shirt. The self-consciousness is subtle - he's better at hiding it than he used to be - but you catch the way his shoulders curve inward, the slight tremor in his hands. His tail is tucked firmly between his legs.
When he finally lifts the fabric over his head, he doesn't meet your gaze. You look at him, see the lean muscle of his torso, the faint scars that decorate his skin. His tail is tucked tight against his legs, the tip trembling slightly.
"Oh Hobi," You say softly. "Come here."
He sinks onto the bed beside you, and you take his hand, tracing the calluses on his palm with your thumb.
"I'm proud of you," You say, keeping your voice low enough that the others have to lean in to hear. Taehyung props his chin on your shoulder, soft hair tickling your neck. Namjoon settles against the headboard, watching with heavy-lidded eyes.
"I know it’s not easy, but I’m glad you trust me enough to show me this. I won't pry, this isn't the time or the place for that, but know that I'm here if you ever want to tell me about it." You squeeze his hand.
Hoseok's breath catches. His eyes shine in the dim light, wet and grateful, and he ducks his head to hide the emotion you already saw.
"Thank you," He whispers, rough around the edges. His golden tail gives a small wag.
"Thank you," You correct, and press a kiss to his temple.
The bed shifts as Namjoon finally gives in to gravity, stretching out on Hoseok's other side with a rumbling yawn. Taehyung wiggles down until he's level with you, tangling his legs with yours, his tail thumping lazy beats against the mattress.
You settle between Taehyung and Hoseok, Namjoon's hand finding yours across Hoseok's waist. The pack breathes around you, slow and synchronized, their warmth seeping into your bones.
"Sleep well," Namjoon mumbles, already half-gone, his nose buried in Hoseok's hair.
"Goodnight," You murmur, fitting yourself under Hoseok's jaw.
Tomorrow, the rut will take them. But tonight, there is only the steady rhythm of Taehyung's heartbeat against your back, the soft puffs of Hoseok's breath against your hair, and Namjoon's pleased deep rumblings to lull you to sleep.
The whimpering starts just before dawn. Soft, desperate, right against your ear. You blink awake in the dark, sheets rustling as Namjoon shifts beside you. Hoseok must have shifted in the middle of the night, moving you closer to the wolf hybrid.
Namjoon's breath comes in short, shaky bursts, his body radiating enough heat for you to feel it even though you're not touching. Despite the dim light, you can see the flush spreading down his chest, the sheen of sweat on his throat, the way his jaw keeps clenching and unclenching like he's trying to hold something back.
"Joon?" You whisper.
"Sorry," He rumbles, and his voice is wrecked already, rough and broken. "Sorry, I didn't-it's starting."
You push up on one elbow. His eyes catch the gray morning light, blown wide and glassy, pupils blown so large the warm brown barely shows. His hips twitch upward, seeking friction, and the outline of his cock strains against the cotton, thick and obvious.
"Do you want help?"
His gaze meets yours, and there's something feral in it, something that makes your breath catch. "Please."
You tug his boxers down, and his cock springs free, flushed dark and wet at the tip, curving up toward his stomach, the base already thickening. He groans as the cool air hits him, and you can hear the soft thump of his tail against the mattress.
As you move to straddle him, Namjoon sits up in a rush, hands gripping your hips with surprising strength. He pulls you forward onto his thigh instead, your core settling against the firm muscle, and grinds you down as he kisses you, his cock hot and hard against your hip. You gasp against his lips, overwhelmed by how desperate he already feels. Maybe you'd be embarrassed by how quickly it turns you on if Namjoon wasn't just as needy.
You let your hands explore his body, mapping out the feel of his chest, his shoulders, the way his back muscles move as he guides your hips. The wolf hybrid sets a rhythm that you almost struggle to follow, still a little dazed from just having woken up.
Namjoon moves his lips down your throat, scenting your neck as he rolls your clit against the firm muscle of his thigh. Your underwear is already drenched and you're doing all you can to stifle your moans as the friction builds. It's still early – too early – to wake the others up if you can help it, and yet–
"Well," Hoseok's voice is rough with sleep and something else, "That's quite the wake-up call."
You freeze in surprise, but Namjoon's grip tightens, fingers digging into your hips, keeping you moving against his thigh.
"Hoseok," He whines, and the sound is pure need, desperate and raw.
"Don't stop on my account."
The mattress dips as Hoseok moves closer, and the look in his eyes seems almost more predatory than the wolf in front of you.
"Grind on him," He instructs, low and firm, watching you with dark eyes. "Get yourself there first, Y/n."
You roll your hips harder, the friction perfect, the pressure of Namjoon's cock against your hip a tease that makes you whimper. The rhythm builds slowly, each rock of your hips dragging a ragged breath from your lungs. Namjoon's hands steady you, his own hips pushing up to meet yours even through the layers still between you.
Hoseok's hand slides down, wrapping around Namjoon, stroking him in time with your movements. The dual sensation, the slide of your clothed heat against Namjoon's hip and the wet sound of Hoseok's fist working him, sends sparks up your spine. Namjoon's head falls back, throat exposed, whines turning to broken, guttural moans that vibrate through his chest into yours.
Your orgasm builds like a wave you can't outrun, pressure coiling tight in your belly. You chase it, hips stuttering, grinding down harder, faster, until the friction hits exactly right and your vision whites out. You cry out, shuddering through the pulse of release, your body going limp against Namjoon's chest as aftershocks ripple through you.
Hoseok's hand stills, thumb lingering at Namjoon's base. He watches you come down, breath still uneven, pupils blown wide. "Still with me?" he asks, voice gentler now, checking.
You nod, trembling, and he smiles, soft and knowing.
"Want to take him inside?" He murmurs, giving you the choice. "Ride him when you're ready, pretty girl."
The question makes Namjoon whine, a needy sound that vibrates through his chest. His hands find your thighs, thumbs stroking, waiting - asking with his touch.
You look down at him, at the blown pupils, the flush across his cheeks, the way his lip catches between his teeth. "Yeah," You breathe, the decision settling warm in your belly. "Yeah, I want to."
Namjoon's warm hands lift you then, helping you remove your shirt and underwear. The wolf hybrid guides your hips, and you sink down onto his cock in one smooth motion, too wet to meet any resistance. You both gasp at the stretch, the heat of him filling you, the pressure of that swelling knot already catching at your entrance. He groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his whole body trembling beneath you.
"Fuck," He breathes against your neck. "You feel-"
"Don't stop," You whisper, and he doesn't, rolling his hips up to meet yours, setting a rhythm that's already too much and not enough, the knot tugging at you with every movement, not locked yet but promising.
You lose yourself in the motion, the slide of him filling you, the way his hands grip your hips like you're the only thing anchoring him. His mouth finds yours, kiss deepening as he thrusts up, swallowing your gasp, his tongue sliding against yours with the same rhythm his body sets below. You break apart breathless, foreheads pressed together, and he smiles, soft and wrecked, before trailing kisses down your jaw, your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver.
Each thrust sends sparks up your spine, your breath coming in ragged gasps, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders. The heat builds, coiling tight in your belly, and you're chasing it, grinding down to meet him, the friction perfect, desperate, close-
A hard thrust sends pleasure sparking up your spine, and your head falls back, eyes drifting to the movement you catch out of the corner of your eye.
The dog hybrid's attention has shifted to his other packmate. Hoseok has settled behind Taehyung, chest to back. You can see the fox hybrid's breath hitch at the sudden warmth, can see the way confusion softens into something hungry as he takes in the scene before him, blinking awake. Hoseok's hand runs down his spine, slow and deliberate, and his lips brush Taehyung's ear.
"Taehyungie," He murmurs. "You with me?"
Taehyung nods, pushing back into him, and Hoseok's smile is soft, knowing. He runs his hand down the length of Taehyung's auburn tail, making the fox hybrid arch his back with a low groan.
Hoseok turns Taehyung's face toward his, catching his mouth in a kiss that starts gentle and deepens, tongues sliding, Taehyung's hand coming up to cup Hoseok's jaw like he's grounding himself in it. Hoseok's thumb traces Taehyung's lower lip as they break apart, his gaze lifting to meet yours.
"That's it," Hoseok murmurs, and you realize he's watching you watch them, his gaze dark, knowing. "Just like that."
You watch, transfixed, as Hoseok's fingers find Taehyung, two of them sinking in deep, working him open with slow movements. Taehyung's face turns into the pillow, breath hitching with every push, his hips rocking back to meet Hoseok's hand. Hoseok leans down to press kisses along his shoulder, his spine, murmuring praise against his skin even as he stretches him wider.
He adds a third finger, and Taehyung's moan breaks against the pillow, obscene and wet and desperate. The sound makes you clench down harder around Namjoon's cock, making both of you groan.
You see the moment Hoseok decides he's ready - the way his hand withdraws, the way he lines himself up, the way Taehyung gasps as he pushes in. Namjoon's eyes fly open, gaze finding Taehyung's across the bed, and something passes between them, some silent communication that makes Namjoon's hips stutter, his grip on you tighten, his own knot thickening inside you with every thrust.
Namjoon cranes his neck, seeking your mouth, and you meet him halfway, kiss messy and desperate, his hand coming up to cradle your face like you're something precious even as his body moves beneath yours with increasing urgency. You break apart gasping, and he moves his mouth down your throat, nipping and soothing the skin with his tongue.
Hoseok rocks his hips slowly, his knot dragging against Taehyung's rim with every withdrawal, making him shudder. You can't look away - the slap of skin against skin, Taehyung's fingers white-knuckled in the sheets, the way Hoseok hips snap forward with precision, finding some spot inside his packmate that makes him cry out every time.
Namjoon's hand finds your breast, thumb circling your nipple, and you're already close, tension coiling low and tight, building with every roll of your hips, every tug of the wolf hybrid's swelling knot catching at your entrance.
"Good?" Hoseok asks, voice rough, checking in with you even as his hips snap forward, drawing a cry from Taehyung. He seems to know exactly how to turn the fox hybrid into putty in his hands.
You nod, overwhelmed, and his smile is sharp, pleased.
"Touch yourself," He says, softer now, almost gentle. "Want to see you."
You slip your hand between your legs, fingers finding where you're stretched around Namjoon. You're wet and sensitive, his knot is fully formed now, a thick bulge that catches and tugs with every movement.
"Shit– Can I knot you? Please?" Namjoon half-growls, ear pinned back with the small amount of restraint he has left.
"Yeah," Your moan turns into a squeal as Namjoon somehow sets an even faster pace.
The sounds filling the room, the way Namjoon's muscles flex beneath you as he moves, the slide of your own fingers against your clit - it's overwhelming, too much.
You come with a cry, your body tightening around Namjoon. He groans, thrusting up into you through your orgasm, and then he's coming too, knot swelling impossibly larger, locking you together. His hips jerk in short, helpless thrusts as he spills inside you, filling you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, whining high and broken through his release.
Taehyung twists beneath Hoseok, reaching back to pull him deeper, and Hoseok's rhythm falters, his knot catching, locking him to Taehyung as he comes with a ragged groan, burying himself to the hilt. He drops his forehead to Taehyung's back, catching his breath.
The fox hybrid follows, spilling over his own stomach with a cry, and for a long moment there's only the sound of harsh breathing, the pulse of Namjoon's knot where you're joined, the impossible intimacy of being tied together.
You can't move, locked to Namjoon while he softens slowly, the knot keeping you pressed close, his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your neck. Across the bed, Hoseok and Taehyung are similarly tangled, Hoseok's hips still making small, involuntary thrusts as he comes down, Taehyung shivering beneath him.
The space smells of sweat and sex and pack, thick and heady. Namjoon is still hard inside you, still locked, his breath hot against your skin. When the knot finally releases, enough to pull free, you both groan at the loss, at the wet rush that follows. But Namjoon is still trembling, still needy, his cock already stirring again against his thigh.
"Still?" Taehyung laughs, low and rough from where he's collapsed nearby. "Want me to come over there and take care of that?"
Namjoon shudders, flustered, pressing his face harder into your shoulder. "Later."
The next hours pass in a blur, bodies shifting and resettling, the room growing hotter as the afternoon stretches on. You're drifting somewhere between waking and not when you notice Hoseok beside you, Namjoon's arms wrapped around him from behind, his face buried in Hoseok's neck.
The dog hybrid's bare chest catches the golden light, and you trace one of the thin scars there without thinking.
"Still handsome," You murmur. He huffs a quiet laugh, pleased, and catches your hand to press a kiss to your palm. You can hear the muted thuds of his tail against Namjoon's leg.
Taehyung crawls over you then, heavy-lidded and warm, his hair mussed. The fox hybrid's eyes are bright despite the feverish look to his skin. His hands feel burning hot as they slowly move up your legs, parting them.
"Up for another round?" He gives you a lazy grin, fingers pressed into your hips.
"Thought you'd never ask." You tease, making yourself comfortable on your back.
He settles between your thighs, already hard, and pushes into you slowly. You feel every inch, the stretch of him, the way his breath catches when he's fully seated. His forehead drops to rest against yours. His ears are perked forward, listening to every sound you make.
"Good?" He asks, voice rough.
"Yes," You breathe, arching up to meet his next thrust. "Oh, god, keep going."
He pulls back, almost all the way out, and you feel the drag of him, the slick friction, before he pushes back in. Deep. His hips roll against yours with a filthy precision that has you gasping into his mouth. He settles on a rhythm that's unhurried, grinding against that spot inside you before pulling back to start again.
You can hear the bed shifting, the low murmur of voices, but you're too focused on the heat building between your legs. His tail teasingly brushes against your legs with every thrust, making your skin feel like it's on fire.
The fox hybrid's ears twitch when you moan.
"Look at you," Taehyung murmurs, and you force your eyes open. He's watching your face with dark fascination, his pupils blown wide, his ears perked and straining. "Look how pretty you're taking me."
He shifts his angle slightly, grinding deeper, and your moan breaks sharp and sudden.
"That's it." He groans, hips rolling harder now, losing some of that practiced control. "Let me hear you."
You do. You can't help it. Each thrust sends sparks up your spine, his cock dragging against that spot inside you with every stroke, the stretch of him perfect, the slap of skin against skin filling the room. His ears flatten, then perk, flatten again as he chases his release.
You can feel his knot building. The base of his cock thickening with every thrust, pressing against your entrance with a promise of fullness that makes you whimper. He groans at the sound, hips stuttering, snapping forward now, less rhythm, more need.
"Fuck," He breathes, "I'm gonna-"
"Do it," You gasp, and he does. He drives deep and stays there. His knot swells, locks inside you as he comes with a ragged groan spilling hot and thick. His hips jerk in short, helpless thrusts against yours, his ears flat against his skull.
You follow him over the edge. Your orgasm rolls through you in waves, your body tightening around him, milking him through each pulse. He groans into your neck, breath hot and ragged. The knot keeps him anchored, keeps you full, the stretch shifting from pleasure to something almost too much as he softens.
His weight settles heavy on you. His ears twitch, then relax, one perking half-heartedly at a sound from across the room before drooping again. You're still locked together, his knot a thick pressure keeping you full, when you hear it. Soft, wet sounds from the corner. Namjoon's voice, muffled, then Hoseok's groan, broken and desperate as he pulls back.
The dog hybrid looks wrecked as he crawls across the bed. His hair is damp at the temples, his cock hard against his stomach. Namjoon stays on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His gray ears are perked up, his tail wagging slow and satisfied.
Hoseok runs a hand up your thigh, fingers tracing where you're stretched around Taehyung, and you shiver at the contact, oversensitive. Your body aches in the best way, muscles loose and warm, but you know your limits. Hybrid stamina or not, you're only human - and you've already pushed further than you expected. Still–
"One more?" He asks, and his voice is soft, checking, but his eyes are dark, hungry. "Can you take me after?"
Taehyung makes a protesting noise, still locked inside you, but Hoseok shushes him, leaning down to kiss him slow and deep, his hand still stroking your thigh, your hip, the curve of your waist. “My turn, pup,” He murmurs against Taehyung's mouth. "Then you can have me again after. Whatever you want."
The fox hybrid's hips make a small, involuntary thrust at that, and you both groan, the knot tugging at your sensitive flesh.
"Holding you to that, hyung," Taehyung grins, lazy and satisfied.
"Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything else," Hoseok laughs, and kisses him again, filthy and deep, before turning his attention back to you.
He runs a hand up your calf, your knee, the inside of your thigh. His fingers find where you're stretched around Taehyung, where you're wet and full, and he groans at the feel of it, at the heat of you.
"Beautiful," He breathes, and his voice has gone rough, reverent. "Look how open you are for us. For me." He presses a finger alongside Taehyung's knot, testing the stretch, and you gasp, oversensitive, your hips jerking toward the sensation. He stills immediately, watching your face. "Okay?"
"Yes, yes," You gasp, and he smiles, relieved, working you slowly.
"So good," He murmurs. "Taking Taehyungie so well, and now you're going to take me too. Aren't you?"
"Please," You whisper, and he rewards you with a second finger, the stretch burning so perfectly you whimper.
"That's it," He praises, his free hand stroking your hip, your waist, the curve of your breast.
"Let me feel you. Let me feel where he is." He's watching his own fingers move against you, fascinated, his cock twitching against his stomach with every sound you make.
"You're so wet," He murmurs, almost to himself. "So full of him. And now I'm going to fill you too."
He withdraws his fingers slowly, deliberately, and you whine at the loss. But then Taehyung's knot finally recedes, enough to slip free with a wet rush that makes you both groan, and Hoseok is there, lining himself up, pushing in before you can feel empty. He's thicker than Taehyung, or maybe you're just that sensitive, and he groans, long and low, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.
"Fuck," He breathes against your skin, his voice breaking.
"You feel- you're so-" He can't finish, his hips already moving, short thrusts that grind deep, that reaches a spot inside of you that makes your vision blur.
"Tell me," He demands, lifting his head to catch your eyes. His own are blown wide, desperate, vulnerable in a way you've never seen from him before. "Tell me how it feels."
"Full," You gasp, arching up to meet him. "So full, Hoseok, I can feel your knot-"
"Not yet," He groans, his rhythm stuttering, losing precision. "Not yet, I'm going to-" He shifts his angle, grinding against you, and his hand finds your clit, circling in time with his thrusts.
"Come with me," He begs, and there's something raw in his voice, something stripped bare. "Please, come with me, I want to feel you."
He's swelling already, you can feel it, the thick pressure building at your entrance, the stretch of him forcing through. He groans when it catches, when he has to work it inside, the burn so intense you cry out, your nails digging into his back.
"Fuck," He gasps, "Fuck, you're so-" He bites down on your neck before he finishes, hard and claiming, not enough to break skin but enough to bruise, enough to mark you as his.
His knot locks, pulsing thick and impossibly full, and he comes with a ragged sound against your throat, spilling hot and endless inside you, his hips making small, helpless movements while you're tied together, locked full of him.
He doesn't pull away after. He stays pressed close, his weight warm and solid, his breath hot and fast against your neck. "You're perfect," He whispers, and his voice is wrecked, raw. "Perfect. Taking us both. Taking everything we give you."
He presses kisses to your bruised throat, your jaw, your mouth, soft and reverent where before he was desperate. "Thank you," he murmurs against your lips, and it sounds like a prayer. "Thank you for letting us stay - and for being here with us."
You shake your head in silent understanding, your chest still heaving from the intense orgasm you just had.
After, when Hoseok finally slips free with a wet rush that makes you both groan, he props himself up on one elbow. His hand finds yours, fingers threading together, and he brings your knuckles to his lips. "Okay?" He asks, searching your face. "Was that- are you okay?"
"I need a break," You wince, letting out a tired laugh. "But I'm more than okay."
The dog hybrid smiles, the tension leaving his shoulders. His eyes are soft now, sated, but there's something else beneath it, something nervous and hopeful. He takes a deep breath as his tail goes limp on the bed.
Hoseok's voice shakes as he whispers, "I'm ready."
Namjoon doesn't hesitate. He can feel the shift in the air, knows just what his packmate means. He reaches out for both of them, his hands steady even as his breath comes fast. "Come here."
They move toward him without hesitation, Hoseok curling against his left side, Taehyung settling on his right, and you watch as Namjoon draws them in until all three are pressed together in a circle, foreheads touching. Hoseok's ears are flat, nervous. Namjoon's tail wraps around Taehyung's middle, his hand catches Hoseok's, anchoring them.
The air around them feels almost delicate, sacred, in the way the afternoon light glides across their skin. You can't look away. It feels like witnessing something private, something you shouldn't see, but you know that couldn't be further from the truth. You're here because they want you to be.
"Are you sure?" Namjoon asks, and his voice is barely above a whisper, stripped of all his usual confidence. "Both of you?"
"Yes," Hoseok breathes, and he's shaking, you can see it, his hands fisting in the sheets. "I want- I've wanted this for so long. To be yours – to belong to both of you. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to admit it."
"Don't be sorry, hyung," Taehyung says, and his voice is thick, his eyes bright with tears that haven't fallen. "We would've waited forever for you."
The wolf hybrid makes a noise of agreement, his throat bobbing. He swallows, trying to steady himself, to find the certainty he needs for all of them. It doesn't come, but he moves anyway. He's the alpha. It's only right that he initiates the mating bites.
He strikes first, fast and sure, his mouth latching onto Taehyung's shoulder. It's all it takes for their instincts to take over. Hoseok's teeth seek out Namjoon's throat immediately, below the jaw where his pulse beats, a soft whine breaking from his throat. And Taehyung, trembling, follows a half-beat later, biting down on Hoseok's neck.
You wince as the blood drips down their skin. It's a flurry of limbs and tails as they quickly move to bite the packmates they haven't yet, completing their bond. Your heart aches at what you only can assume is years of wanting finally being realized - of their bond being sealed.
They stay pressed together for a while, lapping at the wounds and nosing into each other's necks. They murmur things too soft for you to hear, their ears perked and alert as they no doubt pick up on it. When they finally turn to you, their eyes are different. Softer, maybe. Or sharper, more focused. Complete.
They look at you like you're the next thing they need, and the want in it makes your breath hitch.
"Everything okay?" You ask, still frozen, not wanting to ruin the moment before they're ready. You might not understand what a bond feels like, but you do understand the gravity of it.
Taehyung moves first. He's always been the quickest to reach for you, the least guarded, and now, bonded and high on the feeling, he doesn't hesitate. He pulls you down to the nest, his hands warm as he buries his face in your neck and breathes you in, slow and content.
"You stayed," He murmurs, smiling against your skin. "I knew you would."
"I promised," You say, and he hums, pressing closer.
They all take turns scenting you, nosing into your neck, your hair, your wrists, marking you with their presence. Namjoon's tongue traces the bruise Hoseok left on your neck, and the contact sends a shiver through you, oversensitive and spent. Taehyung nuzzles behind your ear, humming something tuneless and happy.
You clean them up, careful not to touch the actual bites, letting them scent and kiss you all they want while they experience what seems like the euphoria of being mated. Taehyung keeps coming back to your mouth, kisses lazy and uncoordinated, grinning against your lips when he misses and gets your chin instead. He's drunk on the bond, on you being there, and he tells you so, warm and bright, until Hoseok pulls him down to rest his head on your thigh.
As they try to rest and come down from everything, the room goes quiet except for their breathing. You're stroking Taehyung's hair, mindful of the area around his ears, his eyes already heavy. Their heats may have taken the backseat for now, but you suspect it won't be long until they're ready to go again, judging by the flushed hue that has returned to their skin.
You stay awake a little longer, listening to them, feeling the rise and fall of chests against your back, your side, your thigh. Taehyung murmurs something wordless and content, and you feel it too, whatever this is, humming under your skin.
Happiness.
a/n: so... it's been a long time since the last chapter... 🤠 life and my health got in the way of writing this sooner and for that i can only apologize. i have the next six weeks off before i start my new job, so i'm really hoping that i can get at least a few more chapters out before that happens! i hope that some of you are still here and excited for the final six or so chapters of abundance 🥹 i feel really rusty so please let me know if you enjoyed it, it truly boosts my motivation (and will, lol) to write so much!! 💖
i'm flying out tomorrow to see our boys in london, so everything will be answered once i'm back home again!!
I want to boost everything this person has said and add on.
The reason I call myself a tomboy now, despite it being seen as a childish word and having had someone swear at me over it because ‘tHeRe’S nO suCh thInG as BoY thInGs anD giRL thIngS sHut uP’ is because I couldn’t call myself that or be like that when I was a kid. It was seen as a negative thing and I was already bullied enough. “Looking like a boy” was the worst thing that could happen to a girl.
And I’m not even 26 yet. We aren’t talking 30+ years ago, we are talking 2000s and even 2010s. It’s only since trans people have become more accepted in the past few years that gender nonconformity has too.
And the people who helped me accept my gender nonconformity more than anyone else? Were trans people. They taught me, “there’s nothing wrong with how you feel. You’re still a valid woman no matter what you wear, how you have your hair or what you’re into ❤️”
And don’t even get me started on how people treat gender nonconforming men. JK Rowling has a lot of nerve to be like “uwu boys can wear dresses and only us gendercrits accept that!” when she has, even in recent works, made femininity in men a negative trait, as well as making masculinity in women a negative trait also.
A lot of people still don’t accept gnc people even now. Just last year I had someone tell me they’d never let their daughter “dress like a boy”, and I’m always terrified to walk into a bathroom in case the next JK Rowling is in there, sees my gender expression and pepper sprays me or worse.
“There’s no such thing as boy things and girl things.” I don’t need to be told that and I’m sure 99% of trans people also don’t need to be told that. Tell that to the society that hates us both instead of actively encouraging that hate.
Gonna point out the og tweet thread is now full of terfs saying that life was better for gay people in the fucking 80s, that it was super easy for them to be a tomboy in the 70s and 80s and therefore it must have been that way for everyone, and that it was totally acceptable to be a gnc gay person in the 80s! 🤪
They’re rewriting history as we speak to try to argue trans acceptance is making it harder to be gay and gnc for youth than it was to be gay in the 80s. This is a blatant lie.
Sally Manners has spent her life avoiding the man whose name is etched on the inside of her thigh. Until suddenly she can’t. (Avengers fanfic, Tony Stark x OFC, Soulmate AU)
Tumblr already has a personalization algorithm it's called my beloved mutuals who have great taste and only wish to psychologically damage me sometimes
{15} - Morning Mist - Yandere!Dragon!Ateez X Chubby!Reader
Yandere AU & Dragon AU
Genre: 18+ MDNI - Mature, Horror, Angst
Pairing: Ateez X Reader
Words: 6,425
Warnings: There's some mentions of blood and a past massacre, but I think that's all. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.
A/n: I've been wanting to continue this story for so long now, and I'm glad I'm finally getting back to it. I know a lot of people will be disappointed it's not a PG update, but this story is what's currently at the forefront of my mind. I can't promise updates will be frequent or steady, but I'm itching to write even more as I'm going to post this. Right now, in my mind, this is the story that wants to be told the most. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Enjoy~
Also, gentle reminder that I do not do tag lists.
Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Mini Masterlist
Two weeks.
It’s been exactly two weeks since the incident took place at Rose Village, and Yeosang has yet to see you at all. No one has kept him away from you, for this is all his own doing. After what happened… what he said… He doesn’t know when he’ll be able to face you again, even if he longs to go to you. To hold you in his arms and fully succumb to the pull of his imprint is all that he desires. He desperately wants to be by your side, but knowing everything he does about how you receive dragons imprinting on you, he’s barely been able to face himself.
Yeosang is not worthy of you, and he knows it. Without a doubt, you deserve better than him, especially at this moment in time.
To say that he was surprised by his own outburst would be an understatement. Of course he was upset at watching that pathetic excuse of a man take a swing at you from behind. He had been feeling off all day, especially with how casual you and Yunho seemed to be with each other. However, he never expected for the slip of his tongue.
Yeosang has always prided himself on his reasoning skills. Observation and deduction have always been his specialties. He can always tell what’s upsetting his brothers before they can even admit it to themselves, and he’s always been able to sense things that others may not yet have come to realize. He may be cool, calm, and collected, but Yeosang has never not been able to figure out what has been bothering himself.
If only he had been more honest with himself. Maybe then he would have finally admitted what had always been creeping beneath the surface. The foreign feelings that weren’t actually all that foreign after all. Ones which he had shoved down deep, refusing to admit how quickly they had built within, until that dam had finally burst.
Instinct had drowned out logic, until the only thought on his mind became protecting you.
You. Someone who had been so guarded when he first met you face to face. Someone who would have let his brother die without a second thought, were it not for how Hongjoong made that stupid deal to leave you alone. A deal which lasted all of a few weeks, in totality.
Looking back on it now, Yeosang doesn’t think any of them could have truly stayed away. Not even if they had actually wanted to.
Yeosang knows you would have killed them all that first night if provoked again. Looking back on it now, he would not have held you to it. You had every right to smite them where they stood. Even more so when San, Wooyoung, and Jongho all broke the original deal. Yet, you spared them. You showed them a kindness Yeosang knows they never have deserved. Least of all from you.
That’s you, though, isn’t it? Your exterior may be as solid as stone, but beneath it all lies a heart that shines likes the most intricate of gems found beneath the earth’s crust. You are as stable as a mountain. Imposing, strong, and unmoving. Dig a little deeper, and one can uncover how fiercely you care. You are not afraid to protect your own, let alone stand your ground. Your love runs deep, and those lucky enough to experience such a delicacy get to see that softer side of you much more often than naught.
A love Yeosang yearns for, even if it’s still difficult for him to admit it to himself.
Jongho had given him an earful the moment they had gotten home. A fact of which irritated the elder dragon, considering how quiet Yunho had been through it all. Yeosang knows that without a doubt, the taller male was in the exact same position as him. He saw the way Yunho’s own eyes flashed a deep gold the moment that disgusting man went to strike you. He was just lucky Yeosang decided to act first.
“You cannot dictate whether or not we imprint on her, Jongho.” It was Hongjoong that had said those words, having been privy to the loud shouting the youngest had been doing. “Sometimes we cannot control our own emotions, let alone our own basic instincts.”
Jongho had stormed out after that, flying off to who knows where. He needed time to sort out his own head and calm down. He knows it’s irrational to take things out on his brothers. Hell, he’s known San and Wooyoung have already imprinted on you, too. They both have been, for quite some time now. Logically, he knows the more of them that imprint on you, the better chance you have of opening yourself up to them. However, there’s a part of him that’s scared.
What if you realize that one or more of his brothers are a better fit for you than he is? What if you realize that he’s never truly been worthy of you?
That night you shared together in your special clearing on top of that cliff flashes through his mind.
Instantly, Jongho knows that he has nothing to worry about. He’s always known his brothers imprinting on you has been a very real possibility, and at first, he had always been open and excited about the idea. Only, after everything you’ve all been through, he’s a little more cautious about the fact. The way some of them had treated you at the start… if they were anyone else, he would have gutted them where they stood. Though, he knows that only you have the final say as to who’s truly worthy of yourself in the end.
You’re starting to care for all of them. That much is true.
Jongho can only hope that out of all of them, he’s the one you accept first. Based on everything that’s already happened, he has a feeling he will be. That is, if you haven’t already begun.
You, on the other hand, have been taking the past two weeks to teach both Mingi and Seonghwa everything that they have missed since Wooyoung and San have begun training under you. The crash course is intense in its own right, the two of them getting frustrated easily when they do not understand something. They both have a lot of catching up to do, but despite a few setbacks - Mingi accidentally almost burning a part of the forest down in his infinite wisdom, and Seonghwa nearly tearing up the Neo’s garden in his rage - the two of them have come a long way.
There is still much to learn, which is exactly why you currently find yourself personally testing them on every different herbal and medicinal mixture that you can. Every now and then, Yunho or Hongjoong will chime in, seeing as they also aren’t as firm in their understandings of tonics and such as Jongho, San, and Wooyoung are. Three dragons of whom sit off to the side at your picnic table, watching on as their brothers wrack their brains to come up with a solution to your hypothetical problem.
“No, no, no,” Yunho frowns, shaking his head. “Mugwort is good for counteracting drowsiness, not inducing it.”
“We’re not trying to induce drowsiness,” Hongjoong frowns. “We’re attempting to expel a foreign body.”
“Why not just used diluted frost berry leaves?”
Mingi turns to face Seonghwa with a frown, “Because we were told this is a scenario where none are available to use.”
Off to the side, both San and Wooyoung shift restlessly over the wooden table they sit upon. San has his legs propped up on the bench, his one knee bouncing continuously. Wooyoung, on the other hand, keeps kicking his foot lightly in the air, seeing as his legs dangle freely off of the side.
“Well, then, why don’t we just make a scenario where we go find some?”
“It doesn’t work that way.” You shake your head, arms crossed over your chest. Observing the four dragons across from you, you meet Seonghwa’s gaze. “There will be times when you will not have easy access to certain plants or remedies. You need to be able to think on your feet, and compensate for that which you lack. You also cannot always rely on your powers. They should always be a last resort in these types of scenarios.”
An exasperated exhale leaves the eldest’s nose, turning back to face the other three males standing beside him. His own arms rest crossed over his chest, foot tapping the earth repeatedly as he wracks his brain for a solution.
“Can we give them a hint?” San practically begs. “Please?”
“No.” A pointed look is sent his way from you. “They need to figure this out on their own. If this scenario were to ever become real, you won’t always be around to help them. They need to learn to be able to take care of themselves without relying on others to do such things for them, or providing them with the immediate answers that they seek.”
Before another word can be said, three presences are making themselves known. All seven of their heads whip in the same direction, watching the tree line until Renjun, Sicheng, and Jungwoo all appear.
“Good.” You hum, nodding once firmly. “You’re all getting better at sensing things.”
In the back of your mind, you wonder if they can sense the other presence creeping closer and closer to your clearing with each passing moment.
“They could sense us coming?” Jungwoo’s eyebrows raise, nearly into his hairline. A playful slap is given onto the back of the male on his right. “Damn, Renjun. Looks like your cloak is slipping if the Halas can sense you.”
“With an ego the size of yours, it’s no surprise that we were sensed.” Renjun deadpans. In a few steps, he crosses the short distance to stand beside you. “How’s the training going?”
Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice how both Sicheng and Jungwoo join San and Wooyoung at the picnic table. Jongho, on the other hand, pushes himself onto his feet from his spot on the bench, walking over to join both you and Renjun.
“Quite well,” You hum, turning your attention back onto the four dragons once more putting their heads together to solve your hypothetical. “If they can answer this correctly, I only have one final question to ask them. The rest, they will have to strengthen on their own.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“They’ve all come a long way.”
Renjun takes a moment to observe you, noticing how you stand completely relaxed. Your arms have long since fallen to your sides, shifting to clasp your hands gently behind your back as you watch the males before you. He knows you’re well aware of your surroundings despite your lax composure, a small, fond smile tugging onto your features. One which he hasn’t seen in over fifty years.
“So have you.”
“Well, your cubs are patiently waiting for your signal.” Sicheng turns his attention from San towards that small group of dragons currently arguing whether bloodroot, or a combination of mint and honey, would be better suited for the scenario you’ve posed. “Don’t be surprised you have a gallery the moment you do.”
“Oh, I fully expect it.” You chuckle, a lightheartedness to your words. “I know you Neos will never pass up an opportunity to watch someone get their ass kicked. Need I remind you of how you all acted during Sungchan’s and Shotaro’s training.”
“How did they act during their training?” Jongho leans in, unable to hide the curiosity in his voice. If you’re implying what he thinks you are… Well, Jongho certainly knows he’s not the only one beginning to tremble in excitement.
“Don’t worry about it-“
“Oh, my boys all made bets.” You grin, cutting Renjun off easily. “They had a scoreboard and everything. Was quite amusing to hear Ten and Haechan whining about being bested by the young ones so quickly. They both thought they would last longer.”
“Last longer than who?” San walks over, Wooyoung, Jungwoo, and Sicheng all in tow.
A brief glance is spared at the male standing directly beside you.
“Everyone always underestimates our little Junnie,” Jungwoo playfully tugs the younger male into a headlock, ruffling his hair affectionately.
In one swift movement, Renjun pushes himself free of Jungwoo’s arms. A glare that would normally send your cubs running for one of the other Neos in defence paints his features, only causing Jungwoo to let out a boisterous laugh.
“No one expects him to be our third strongest fighter.” Sicheng hums, watching as clear surprise paints the three Hala dragon’s faces around you. He turns to glance at you. “You’ve trained him well.”
“It’s because you underestimate him that he’s so strong.” You reply, amusement dancing in your eyes as you see smoke beginning to rise consistently from Mingi’s nostrils. “Renjun learned a long time ago to use his opponent’s assumptions about him to his advantage. You could learn a thing or two about that.”
“Already starting your teachings, have we?” Jungwoo grins.
“No. I’ve been waiting for him to arrive.” With a nod of your chin, you motion towards the new male who had walked out of the woods, and is currently standing behind the four arguing dragons. Purposefully, you raise your voice the next time you speak. “Glad you finally decided to join us.”
All heads whip in this newcomer’s direction, and you notice quite a few sharp inhales in surprise. Even both Jungwoo and Sicheng seem shocked as the male freezes in his spot, eyes going wide due to suddenly being stared down by everyone present.
“Yeosang?” Jongho frowns. “When did you get here?”
“He’s been standing there for about two minutes already.” You answer for him, a slight upturn to the corners of your lips. “Been lingering around the area for much longer. I’m surprised none of you have noticed.”
You meet his gaze, nothing how he blinks once in shock. Then, a tight smile is pulling onto his lips, nodding once in acknowledgement.
“Where have you been, mister ‘don’t touch My Fated’?” Jungwoo sasses, hands placed purposefully onto his hips with an eyebrow quirked. “Finally decided to come out of hiding?”
“You know, you’re not the first one to get intimidated by an imprint.” Renjun hums, amusement dancing in his eyes as he stares down the dragon across the way. “Least of all an imprint to her.”
“Yeah, you should have seen Sungchan the day he realized he’d imprinted on her.” Sicheng snickers.
Jungwoo nods, a somewhat playfully solemn expression on his face, “Poor dragon buried himself beneath the ground in embarrassment for almost a month for imprinting on his caretaker.”
“And you didn’t?” You quirk a brow.
Instantly, Jungwoo shrinks in on himself, a vibrant red creeping up his neck and onto his ears. Sicheng only makes it worse, laughing loudly as he wraps his arm around Jungwoo’s shoulders, slapping a hand lightly over his brother’s chest in tandem.
A small wind picks up around the clearing, and you take a moment to observe the dragon standing just in front of the tree line. A neutral expression resides on his face, save for the subtle ticking of his jaw. Both of his hands rest at his sides, his stance lax as stares back at you. Nothing is said between you, the others remaining quiet save for the constant teasing of Jungwoo by Sicheng.
Understanding passes over your features, tilting your head back slightly in acknowledgement.
“No, he hasn’t been hiding,” There’s a clear tone of approval in your voice. One which each male easily picks up on, and that causes the one standing on the opposite end of your clearing to stand a little straighter in his spot. “He’s been honing.”
Very slightly, Yeosang tips his head in acknowledgement to your words. From the way both San and Wooyoung stiffen off to your right, you know that you’re not the only one who’s heard his soft sigh of relief. Even Jongho seems to shuffle lightly on his feet, eyeing his brother carefully from across the way.
“If those other four can finally figure out the solution to my problem, I would be more than interested to see what you’ve taught yourself.”
Again, Yeosang tilts his head, this time in agreement, to your words. There’s the slightest of upturns to his lips in the corners, blinking once. Without wasting another moment, he begins walking over to the four males huddled together.
“What problem are you attempting to solve?”
“Back off, Yeosang.” Mingi frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is our test.”
“Mingi, maybe we should-“
“No.” Mingi cuts Yunho off instantly. “He wasn’t here. He doesn’t just get to waltz in-“
“You’d deny yourself an ally because of your stubbornness?” Your voice, pointed and full of disbelief, kills the words building in Mingi’s throat. “An unexpected resource has become available to you. Use it. It never hurts to accept help. Collaboration efforts, and being able to adapt to new information, are aspects any good leader should have. If you still want to pursue that stupid crown, and be able to rule, you need to learn that. You need to live it.”
Mingi takes a moment to mull over your words, lips pursed the whole time. Then, with a firm nod, he turns his attention back to Yeosang. The taller male wastes no time in explaining the hypothetical situation, the elder dragon nodding along the whole time.
From the stunned looks on Hongjoong’s and Yunho’s faces, they clearly weren’t expecting Mingi to actually listen for once. After another few seconds, they’re able to compose themselves, adding in details to Mingi’s explanation the younger male might have missed or accidentally left out.
“You certainly know how to work miracles,” San breathes, nothing but awe on his features.
Out of the corner of your eyes, you notice Jongho puff out his chest. He even goes so far as to stand a little taller in his spot, a certain type of pride shining within his gaze as he watches Yeosang listening intently to everything his brothers have to say.
“I offered my advice,” You brush off his praise. “Whether he chose to follow it or not is completely up to him.”
“San’s right.” Wooyoung is the next to speak. "Mingi hardly listens to any of us.”
“You know I can hear you guys, right?”
At the irritated look the flaming headed male shoots towards both San and Wooyoung, you hear them both laugh.
“Really? We weren’t aware.” Wooyoung jokes, arms crossed lightly over his chest. “Since he’s listening in, I’ll add that he snores really loudly, too.”
“Hey!”
“Don’t forget the time he sneezed so hard, flames shot out of his nostrils.”
“Choi Jongho, you shut your mouth right now!”
You cannot help it. A soft chuckle escapes your lips, bringing a hand up to cover the lower half of your face in an instant. Getting to see how they all interact with one another reminds you of your Neos. There’s an air of ease that’s settled over you all, and getting glimpses of how they tease one another only further proves that you’re all not so different after all.
Soft looks end up getting sent in your direction, and the moment you sense them staring, you clear your throat. Blinking a few times, you compose yourself, shifting your sharp gaze back to the now five males standing huddled in a circle.
“Well?” You say, expectantly. “Have you solved it, yet?”
A frown mars Yeosang’s features, bringing a hand up to cradle the bottom of his chin in thought.
“Your problem is that one of us has been rendered unconscious through the use of both sweetgrass and cresta leaves. The combination of which releases a slow poison into the bloodstream as it’s absorbed through the stomach.” Yeosang begins speaking, but the more he says, it’s clear that he’s simply thinking out loud.
The way both Wooyoung and San begin practically vibrating in excitement catches the other’s attention.
Looks of realization cross Yunho’s and Hongjoong’s faces, soft sounds of understanding building within their throat. Even Seonghwa begins nodding his head, brow furrowed in thought as he soon mirrors the exact position Yeosang is in with a hand cradling the bottom of his chin.
“There’s a few remedies we could use,” Yeosang begins listing them off. “You’ve indicated we don’t have access to diluted frost berry leaves, so our next best option would be a combination of arrowroot, mugwort, lila flowers, and sage. Alternatively, if we had access to ginger root, brewing some of that in hot water with a mixture of mint, honey, and thistlewart should do the trick.”
A glance in your direction reveals you standing with an impressed look resting on your features. Softly, your head nods along to Yeosang’s words, humming lightly in agreement to his assessment.
“Good.” You flick your gaze between the five of them. “What else?”
This seems to catch Yeosang by surprise. Even both San and Wooyoung look stunned by your response, glancing between you and their brothers lightly. Not even Jongho has an answer for you, the three soon walking over to join the others to continue discussing what other solution they may have.
After a solid ten minutes of discussing, the eight of them are turning to you.
“We don’t-“ Seonghwa grimaces. “We don’t know.”
“And that’s okay. I wasn’t expecting any of you to.” You smile softly. “In fact, I would have been surprised if you did.”
“How are we supposed to answer a question if you know we don’t know the answer?” A slight scowl pulls at Mingi’s features, a rough edge to his voice.
“You knew three out of four solutions to the problem. I was simply curious to see if any of you could surmise the fourth on your own.” You begin walking over to that picnic table off to the side, a casual gait to your steps. “I also needed to know if you could come up with the other mixtures, without relying on the easiest solutions you could ever have at your disposal. Of course, there are multiple ways in which you can tackle any problem. There always have been, and there always will be. Even when there only seems like there is one way out, sometimes, you just have to make your own.”
Reaching the bench, you perch yourself comfortably on the edge. You sit with your hands resting lightly over your thighs, noticing how Jungwoo, Renjun, and Sicheng all join you without a word. The other eight dragons all step closer, standing across from you with mild furrows to their brows.
“Has your eldest told you what type of dragon he is, yet?”
Quite a few curious glances are sent Seonghwa’s way. The only few who don’t seem confused for the moment are Hongjoong and Jongho.
“But Seonghwa doesn’t have a personalized power.” Yeosang frowns.
“He does.”
“What?” Mingi’s disbelief is clear in his voice. “Since when?”
“Since the day he was born.”
“How is that possible?” Yunho turns to look at the eldest beside him. “What power have you always had?”
At the way Seonghwa fidgets from foot to foot, looking bashfully down at the ground at his feet, you quirk a brow.
“Would you like to tell them, or should I?”
Seonghwa lifts his gaze, briefly glancing at his clan mates on either side of him.
“Poison.” His voice is small, but there’s no denying the soft smile that begins to tug onto his lips. “I’ve always been a dragon with the power of poison.”
“That’s great, Hwa!” San instantly begins beaming, clapping the elder man on his back.
“What a cool power!” Wooyoung nods, mirroring the large smile on San’s face instantly. “That’s incredible!”
Hongjoong and Jongho both seem to stand a little straighter, nothing but affection dripping from their gazes as they admire the male standing beside them. Even Yunho and Yeosang look impressed, smiles stretching onto their faces as they voice their congratulations to the dragon they have known for decades.
Still, that frown never once leaves Mingi’s features. “That’s great and all, but how does knowing Seonghwa’s power is that of poison help us in this situation?”
Amusement dances within your eyes, looking from one male to the next expectantly. Only, after a full minute of them all staring back at you, standing with seemingly bated breath, you chuckle.
“Because of the type of dragon he is, Seonghwa’s blood is a natural antidote to almost any type of toxin you can think of. Well, all except for my own.”
The shock is clear on all of their faces, Mingi, San, and even Yunho gaping at this new information. Yeosang’s eyebrows raise in consideration, both Hongjoong and Jongho soon humming lightly while nodding their heads. Seonghwa, on the other hand, still appears quite bashful. A look you honestly did not think the male was capable of.
“So, we could always use Seonghwa’s blood as a backup if all else fails!” Wooyoung gasps, nodding in understanding.
“Why not just use his blood all the time?” Mingi asks, as if the answer should be obvious. “If his blood is a natural antidote, then shouldn’t we just keep it in reserve for emergencies?”
“No.” The stern tone of your voice catches them all by surprise. “You should never do that.”
This time, it’s Seonghwa’s turn to frown. “Why not?”
“How many poison dragons have you ever met in your lifetime?”
They each take a moment to think.
“Not many.” Jongho is the one to answer for them all, sparing a brief look towards his brothers.
“There’s a reason for that.” Renjun sighs, both Sicheng and Jungwoo suddenly looking quite solemn.
“Tell me, Young Ones, have you ever heard of the Paladin Raids?”
They each shake their heads.
“I’ll admit, we’re unaware of such raids.” Hongjoong is the one to speak, a slight grimace pulling onto his features.
“I’m not surprised. There’s aren’t very many left who remember them. They took place before I was born, over five and a half centuries ago. The only reason I am aware of them is because of my Uncle Ken. As vigorous as my physical training and the like were, he also ensured that I was well versed in our history, and the history of our land. Amongst other subjects, of course.”
“Will we ever get to meet this uncle of yours?” Yunho quirks a brow, a lightheartedness to his tone.
“That has yet to be seen.” The corner of your lips quirk, but none of them fail to miss the way your gaze darts over to linger on Jongho’s figure.
Said male straightens in his spot, a small, bashful smile tugging at his features.
In the next moment, your expression is turning serious once more.
“There used to be many more poisonous dragons in the world than there are now. It used to be a well known fact amongst our kind that their blood could cure almost any toxin that there was. Of course, these specific antidotes were only meant to be used as a last resort. My Uncle can recount many instances where his friends used to be asked for their blood all of the time by desperate, unknown dragons. Many would accept to help their kin, even if they had never met. Not all of us are as adept at healing or fighting ailments as those born with such abilities. Not all of us take the opportunity to learn.”
You can tell you have their rapt attention, your three Neos remaining silent as they let you speak.
“It was only a matter of time before that information fell into the wrong hands.” A slight grimace pulls onto your features, lips tugging downwards significantly in the corners. “The S’ber hunters-“
A deep, guttural snarl tears from Jongho’s throat, his eyes flashing a deep gold. Lips curl over suddenly sharp fangs in a snarl, claws unsheathing as his fingers flex at his sides.
You shoot him a pointed look before continuing. A look which not just Yeosang picks up on.
“The S’ber hunters are some of the most ruthless and vile of them all. Long since have they hated our kind, searching for the ancients nests in hopes to destroy us all.” You take a deep breath in through your nose, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees. “Once they found out about the antidotal properties of those specific types of dragons’ blood, they realized how useful it could be.”
Sharp inhales are heard from all eight of them. Yet, none are as loud as Seonghwa’s, Yeosang’s, or Hongjoong’s. Yunho’s throat works, swallowing thickly as his entire body goes still. In fact, you can tell just from the way that he freezes that he’s momentarily forgotten how to breathe.
“Many poisonous dragons were captured and bled dry, the S’ber’s hoarding their blood in reserves. Normally, these hunters will not outright kill a dragon should they capture one. They will torture them until they are content with the outcome. Whether that be through the retrieval of information they have long since desired, or death, it does not matter. The only exception being dragons with a poisonous nature. It was far easier for them to bleed them dry than to keep them alive and wait for them to procure more blood.”
Gently, you clasp your hands in front of your face, lacing your fingers together as you peer up at each of them. The horror painted on their features perfectly mimics your own, back when you had first learned of the atrocity of the Paladin Raids.
“Luckily for us, but unfortunately for them, the S’ber hunters were not aware that our blood only has a certain shelf life. It cannot survive for longer than ten days outside of its host. They did not, and still do not, possess the magic needed to store such a delicacy. They can never.” Then, after a moment. “They will never.”
“Those raids started with the systematic hunting and bleeding of poison dragons across the land. Once the S’ber’s learnt of the short shelf life of our blood outside of our bodies, they took their rage out on us without remorse.” Your voice drops, deepening slightly with the weight of your emotions. “The only peace of mind we have from that time is knowing that the dragons that had been suffering in their captivity were finally set free in death. They slaughtered hundreds of us in retaliation, and once they had no more prisoners to torture, they set out to enslave new ones.”
A choked sob reaches your ears, and you turn your head to see Sicheng barely keeping himself together. Tears stream freely from his eyes, a hand slapped over his mouth as his entire body begins shaking.
Instantly, your arm is around him, pulling him into your side. Softly, you begin cooing while running your fingers through his hair, letting Sicheng openly sob into your chest as he hides his face against you.
“May I tell them?” Your voice is much softer than mere moments before as you whisper the question down at Sicheng.
His nod is all the confirmation you need.
Lifting your head, your lips tug downwards solemnly.
“Sicheng lost both of his grandparents, and his eldest aunt during the Paladin Raids. He almost lost his father, too."
Glancing back at the eight Halas before you, you notice that Sicheng is not the only one with tears in his eyes. Both San and Wooyoung cry openly, holding onto each other for support. Yunho, like Sicheng, holds a hand over the lower half of his face, eyes shining as he attempts to steady his breathing.
A silent path of tears cut down the sides of Seonghwa’s cheeks, the eldest pursing his lips tightly to keep his chin from wobbling. Hongjoong rests his hand over Seonghwa’s back, his expression completely stoic as he just manages to keep his composure. Even Mingi’s expression has hardened, his jaw twitching as he stares right past you at the forest behind your back.
The only two without tears in their eyes are Jongho and Yeosang.
Despite his calm exterior, you can see the storm raging inside of Yeosang’s eyes. His throat works as he swallows thickly, hands balling into fists at his sides. Jongho, instead, looks ready to tear something apart. His whole body shakes in rage, the familiar static of electricity buzzing lightly throughout the air. That scowl hasn’t once left his face, fangs still peeking out from behind curled lips.
“So, no,” You reiterate, lifting your gaze to meet Mingi’s own. “You should never keep Seonghwa’s blood in reserve in case of emergencies. Not only because of its short shelf life, but because of all of his kin that have been taken and drained due to what they are. If you want to ensure that his antidotal blood is always there when you absolutely need it, then you need to ensure his survival. He is apart of your clan, and you are his. You survive if he survives, and he survives if you all survive. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Yeosang, Jongho, Yunho, and Mingi all instantly answer at once.
“We understand.” Hongjoong nods once, firmly.
“Good.” You return his nod, noticing how Sicheng begins to slowly calm down. His sobs are quieting, breathing evening out the longer you go threading your fingers gently through his hair.
Taking a moment to look over the eight Hala dragons before you, you ensure to meet each of their gazes. As you do so, they stand a little straighter in their spots, nodding their both confirmation and understanding.
Finally, your gaze lands on the eldest standing before you.
“You need to promise to stop being so reckless. You’re more important than you realize.” You release your hold on Sicheng as he sits upright, refusing to tear your gaze away from Seonghwa’s own. “I say this to my cubs all the time, but it still holds true for you. You are always worth more than you will ever know.”
“I promise.” Seonghwa’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, clearing his throat in the next moment. “I promise you that I’ll never take my life granted again.”
“Don’t promise me,” You shake your head lightly, a soft smile tugging onto your lips. Briefly, your gaze flits around at the seven other men standing beside him. “Promise them.”
Immediately, Seonghwa turns to face the seven other members of his clan. Nothing but sincerity rests on his features as a deep magic begins swirling through the air, emanating from his very being.
“I promise,” Seonghwa begins, keeping his voice steady and strong, “To stop acting like a pompous ass all the time, and to become a person that you can all rely on whenever you may need me. I will not allow my fear of inadequacy control me any longer. I will, however, always strive to be worthy of this clan, and of those that have put their faith in me. My life is as important to me now, as yours have always been. I will never let you down again. This I swear on my very soul.”
A moment of silence passes over the entire clearing as Seonghwa’s promise rings true. All you can do is sit there, observing the scene before you with a semi-amused look on your face. Not only that, but pride.
Hongjoong turns to face the dragon beside him, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of Seonghwa’s neck. A position of which the eldest mirrors in the blink of an eye. Neither say anything as they tilt their heads forwards, foreheads resting against each other as a deep understanding passes through them all.
Still, that deep magic lingers within the air.
“As I promise to do the same,” Hongjoong voices lowly, eyes beginning to glow with that familiar gold as he stares into Seonghwa’s own. “With all that I am, I swear to you that you will never have to suffer alone. I will lead you all to the best of my abilities, but I cannot do this alone. I will be right by your sides, as I hope with everything I am that you will all be right by mine. You are my clan, as I am yours. I will never let any of you traverse this path without me. We are in this together, guiding each other through it all, and I would not have it any other way.”
The other six immediately gather around the two eldest, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong pulling away from each other momentarily. You watch on as they release their holds over the backs of their necks, and instead opt to clasp their opposite hands together. The tips of their fingers curl around each other, locked in a sacred hold as one by one, the others add their touch to their joined hands.
As each male grabs onto either Seonghwa’s or Hongjoong’s hand in the centre of their little circle, they utter but two words.
“I promise.”
Once the last male has connected, that magic swirls around them, converging at the point of contact where their hands meet. It surrounds them on all sides, seemingly getting sucked into a vortex emanating from the centre of their small circle. Then, once it has all been collected, it explodes outwards, washing over all eight of them like stardust falling from the heavens above.
With nothing other than a smile on your face, you watch such a sacred bond form right before your very eyes.
For a moment, nothing is said. Instead, you allow the lingering traces of their newly formed Drygg Promise to dissipate. You can tell that you’re not the only one pleased by this turn of events, smiles being worn by all parties involved as they finally break from their small circle. Happy sniffles greet your ears, many a man clapping each other on the back lightly.
Almost subconsciously, you begin to nod.
“Good.” You hum, your voice drawing their attention back to you instantly. “Now that that’s settled, you should all head home and get some rest. The next couple of days will be intense, and you will need to reserve your strength. Ensure that you’re not late. Tomorrow, your physical training begins.”
“scientists don’t want you know” is a phrase that always cracks me up because if you actually meet a scientist they will be shaking and crying like an overstimulated chihuahua with the need to let you know
STRAY KIDS REACTION — to you waking up from anesthesia
.𖥔 ݁ ˖🛸── .✦ crack. requested!
Fresh out of anesthesia, you say the most weirdest things—and Stray Kids are there to hear it all.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪skz❫･━━━━━━ ❜
: ̗̀➛ bang chan
The second your eyes flutter open, he leans forward instantly, his chair creaking under the sudden shift, his voice a gentle hum that vibrates in the quiet air.
“Hey… hey, you’re awake. How do you feel?”
You stare at him for a long second, your vision swimming as you try to process the world.
“…why are there two of you.”
Chan freezes, his brow furrowing in a mix of confusion and sudden concern. “There’s—there’s only one of me, I promise.”
You squint harder, the anesthesia and exhaustion is making your vision blur.
You reach up, your movements clumsy and slow, and grab his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together.
“Stop duplicating. That’s illegal.”
He chokes out a laugh, his dimples deepening as he gently grabs your wrists to keep you from accidentally scratching him. “I’m not duplicating, I promise—”
“You are. I saw it. You blinked wrong. One eye went zip and the other went zap.”
Chan is already smiling now, relief bleeding into soft amusement as he realizes you’re just high on recovery. “Okay, okay. I’ll try to blink correctly next time. I'll sync them up just for you.”
You nod seriously, your hands dropping back to the blanket. “…good. Because I trust you. But not… your clones. They look suspicious.”
He has to look away for a second because he’s laughing too hard, his shoulders shaking. He takes a deep breath and looks back at you with that fond, soft expression that makes his eyes crinkle.
“Alright. No clones. Just me.”
You relax immediately, the tension leaving your body. “…okay. You can stay then.”
Chan’s heart? Absolutely gone.
He gently brushes your hair back from your forehead, his touch lingering. “I wasn’t planning on leaving. Not for a second.”
Five seconds later—
“Did you know… clouds are just sky marshmallows?”
“…yeah?” he humors, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches you with pure adoration. “Where did you learn that?”
“Basic knowledge, Christopher. Keep up. It’s in the manual.”
He BURSTS into laughter, his head dropping onto the edge of your bed as he tries to catch his breath. “Christopher,” he repeats under his breath like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.
When you finally get quiet, your eyes drooping again, he leans closer to whisper in your ear.
“You did really well, okay? I’m right here.”
You mumble, already drifting back into the haze—
“…don’t let the clones take my snacks.”
“I won’t,” he whispers, tucking the blanket around your shoulders and smiling. “I’ll protect the snacks with my life.”
: ̗̀➛ lee minho
The moment you wake up, your eyes snap open and you immediately point a shaky finger at him, as if accusing him of a crime he hasn't committed yet.
“You.”
Lee Know raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable but his eyes dancing with a hidden spark. “Me.”
“You look like a cat that pays taxes.”
The room goes silent for a beat. “…what?”
You sit up slightly, driven by the urgency of your realization, but he immediately reaches out and pushes you back down with one firm, steady hand on your shoulder.
“No sudden movements, genius. Your brain is clearly still buffering.”
“But listen,” you insist, leaning in as much as the bed allows. “You look like a responsible feline. You probably have a little briefcase for your receipts.”
He stares at you for a second, absorbing the sheer absurdity of the statement… then a slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face. “I do, actually. I’m very thorough with my deductions.”
“I KNEW IT.” You gasp, your eyes widening in shock.
He leans closer, resting his chin on his hand, mirroring your intensity. “What else do you know, oh wise one?”
You narrow your eyes at him, trying to read his aura through the post-sleep fog. “You have… three cats. But one of them is secretly the leader. You’re just the muscle.”
“That’s… not wrong,” he mutters, a genuine flicker of surprise crossing his face at how accurately you've described his home life.
You grab his sleeve, your grip surprisingly tight. “And you—” a dramatic, heavy pause falls between you “—would betray me for fried chicken. In a heartbeat.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “Correct.”
You look absolutely betrayed, your lip wobbling. “I trusted you. I thought we had something special.”
He snorts, shaking his head at your dramatics. “You just met me again five seconds ago. Your memory is a sieve right now.”
You squint, trying to piece the timeline together. “Have I? You look like you've been haunting my dreams.”
“Yeah. And you’ve already accused me of tax fraud and betrayal. It's been a very productive five minutes.”
You nod solemnly, settling back into the pillows. “You’re suspicious. I’m keeping an eye on you.”
He actually laughs—a soft, real, rare sound that warms the clinical air of the room. “Sure. I’ll accept that. Being suspicious is my brand.”
You suddenly reach out and grab his face, your palms warm against his skin. “Don’t die.”
He blinks, caught off guard by the sudden shift from nonsense to raw, unfiltered concern. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good. Because I just decided I like you. Tax-cat and all.”
He pauses, his gaze softening just a fraction, his hand reaching up to hover near yours. “Took you long enough.”
You beam, the clouds in your head clearing for just a second. “We’re best friends.”
“Don’t push it,” he remarks, though his voice is devoid of its usual bite. He doesn’t pull away when you keep holding his hand, his thumb tracing small, absentminded circles over your knuckles.
: ̗̀➛ seo changbin
The moment you wake up, you don't even say hello. You just squint at him, your gaze traveling from his face down to his shoulders and back again.
“You’re buff.”
Changbin freezes in the middle of reaching for a water bottle. “Thanks? I try.”
“No like—” you gesture weakly with a floppy hand “—suspiciously buff. Like you're hiding boulders under your shirt.”
He bursts out laughing, the sound booming in the small space. “What does that even mean? Suspiciously? Am I a gym-based conspiracy theory?”
“You look like you fight refrigerators.”
“I—WHAT?!”
You nod seriously, your expression deadpan. “Like if a fridge disrespected you, or hid the milk, you’d win.”
He’s laughing so hard he has to sit down, gripping the edge of the bed for support.
“I’ll keep that in mind next time the freezer acts up.”
You suddenly reach out and grab his arm, your fingers digging into his bicep. “Oh my god it’s REAL.”
“What is real?”
“THE MUSCLE. IT’S NOT CGI.”
He wheezes, his eyes disappearing into crescents. “Why would my muscles be CGI?! Do you think I walk around with a green screen behind me?”
You pat his arm approvingly, as if checking the ripeness of a fruit. “…you’re honest. I like that. You're a high-definition man.”
“Thank you???”
You lean closer, gesturing for him to come near, then whisper loudly— “Protect me from the fridge war. They’re cold. They’re calculating.”
“I will,” he says immediately, playing along with a wide, entertainted grin. “I’ll defeat all refrigerators. No one is getting chilled on my watch.”
You sigh in relief, closing your eyes. “Thank you… strong man. My hero.”
He grins, his gaze turning incredibly soft as he watches you settle back down. “Anytime. I'm your personal security guard.”
Then, out of nowhere, “Also… you’re cute.”
He chokes on his own breath. “…what?”
“You look like a dumpling that lifts weights. A very sturdy, very adorable dumpling.”
He SCREAMS laughing, burying his face in his hands. “I don’t know if that’s a compliment?”
“It is,” you insist, your voice getting sleepy again. “I would trust you with my soup. That's the highest level of friendship.”
He stops laughing just long enough to look at you, his heart swelling. “That’s the highest honor I’ve ever received. I'll guard your soup with my life.”
: ̗̀➛ hwang hyunjin
You open your eyes slowly, the light catching on the figure sitting beside you, and you just stare at him in a trance-like silence.
“Are you real...”
Hyunjin blinks, tilting his head with a confused, ethereal grace. “yes? Last I checked, I’m very much here.”
“You look like… a painting that escaped.”
He freezes, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “A what?”
“A painting,” you repeat, your voice thick with emotion. “Like someone cried over you in a museum.”
He presses his lips together, desperately trying not to smile at your drugged-up poetry. “That’s… very poetic.”
“I think you’re famous,” you continue, your eyes wandering over his features.
“You know me.”
You gasp softly, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “I knew it. You’re that prince from the history books.”
He laughs quietly, reaching out to brush a stray hair back from your forehead, his touch as light as a feather. “How do you feel? Does your head hurt?”
You ignore the question completely, too focused on your own agenda. “Your face is… illegal.”
“Illegal?”
“Too pretty. Someone should report you. You're distracting the public.”
He actually turns away, laughing into his shoulder, his ears turning a bright shade of red. “I’ll try to be less illegal. I'll work on being ugly for a few days.”
“Don’t,” you mumble, grabbing his hand. “It’s important for society. For the morale of the people.”
He looks back at you, his gaze softening into something so tender it could melt. “Cute. You say the strangest things when you're tired.”
You shake your head firmly. “No. You’re the art. I’m the… museum bench.”
“What does that mean? Why a bench?”
“I sit and admire you. I'm just here for the view.”
He breaks. Fully laughing now, a melodic sound that echoes in the room. “You’re unbelievable. Truly one of a kind.”
You reach out, poking his cheek with a shaky finger. “Stay pretty. Don't let the museum catch you.”
“I’ll do my best,” he promises, catching your hand and kissing your knuckles. “I’m staying right here.”
: ̗̀➛ han jisung
You wake up and the moment your eyes lock onto his face, you react with the intensity of someone witnessing a miracle—or a crime.
“OH MY GOD IT’S YOU.”
Han jumps nearly a foot out of his chair, his eyes wide. “WHAT—yes—it’s me?! Why are we screaming?! Are you okay?!”
“You’re the guy.”
“What guy?!”
“The guy who looks like he owes me money. I remember those eyes.”
“I DO NOT OWE YOU MONEY—I literally paid for your coffee yesterday!”
You gasp, your hand flying to your chest. “DENIAL. The first sign of a chronic borrower.”
He’s already laughing, hiding his face in his hands as he rocks back and forth. “I just got accused of debt the moment you woke up?! This is how you greet me?”
You point dramatically at him, your finger wobbling. “You have the face of someone who says ‘I’ll pay you back’ and then disappears.”
“I WOULD NEVER—I am a responsible adult!”
You narrow your eyes, unconvinced. “you would. You’d buy with my rent money.”
He collapses into laughter, nearly falling off the chair. “This is slander. I’m calling my lawyer. I’m being bullied by my girlfriend.”
You suddenly grab his hand, pulling him closer. “but I like you anyway. Even if you're a flight risk.”
He pauses, his laughter dying down into a wide, breathless grin. “even though I’m a scammer?”
“Especially because you’re a scammer. It keeps life spicy.”
“I’m not—” he laughs again, softer now, his thumb rubbing over your palm. “What else do you like about me, since I’m apparently a criminal?”
You think hard, your brow furrowing with the effort of a deep philosophical thought. “you look like you’d panic over pigeons.”
He just watches you, his expression turning so soft and fond, shaking his head. “You’re weird. You know that? Totally weird.”
You nod proudly, closing your eyes. “Thank you. It’s my best quality.”
: ̗̀➛ lee felix
You open your eyes, the soft light of the room filtering through the curtains, and you immediately let out a breathless gasp of wonder.
“…angel.”
Felix blinks, his golden hair catching the light as he tilts his head. “Oh—hi—you’re finally awake.”
“You’re an angel. Where are your wings? Did you hide them in your jacket?”
He smiles shyly, a faint blush dusting his freckled cheeks. “I’m just Felix—no wings, I promise.”
“No. Don’t lie to me. I see the glow. You’re radiating light.”
He laughs softly, a deep, melodic sound that rumbles in the quiet room. “There’s no glow, it’s just the hospital lights—”
“There is. It’s aggressive. It’s very bright, Felix. My eyes are offended.”
“Aggressive glow?” he repeats, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Yes. Like you came here to emotionally support me and also bake cookies. That’s an angel move.”
He laughs, covering his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound. “I would bake cookies. I actually have some in my bag for when you’re allowed to eat.”
“I knew it,” you whisper, your voice full of awe. “Divine. You’re a baked-goods deity.”
He leans closer, his eyes searching yours for any signs of pain. “How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?”
You reach up and touch his cheek, marveling at how smooth his skin feels. “…soft.”
He freezes a little, his breath hitching, but he doesn't pull away. He just smiles, leaning into your touch. “You’re very soft too.”
“Thank you… I try.”
“Like bread.”
“Bread?” Felix asks, his eyebrows jumping in surprise.
“Good bread. Expensive bread. Like a brioche bun that’s been kissed by the sun.”
He laughs again, his whole face lighting up. “I’ll take that. Being compared to a brioche bun is a first for me.”
You suddenly look very serious, your grip on his hand tightening. “Don’t go back to heaven. They have enough angels.”
“I won’t. I’m staying right here.”
“Stay here. We need bread.”
He nods, playing along with a heart-melting grin. “I’ll stay. For the bread. And for you.”
: ̗̀➛ kim seungmin
You wake up, blinking slowly as you find him sitting perfectly upright in the chair next to you. You stare at him for a long, silent minute.
“You look like you’d remind me to drink water even if I was drowning.”
Seungmin blinks, completely unfazed. “I would. Hydration is key to survival, even in a flood.”
You nod, impressed. “Responsible.”
“Thank you? I try to maintain a certain standard of care.”
You squint, looking closer at the way he’s watching you. “…but also judgmental. You’re judging my heart rate, aren't you?”
He smiles, a sharp, clever glint in his eyes. “Also correct. It’s a bit fast. Are you nervous, or just naturally erratic?”
“I’m scared of you.”
“You should be.”
You gasp, pulling the blanket up to your chin. “I KNEW IT. You’re the secret boss.”
He laughs quietly, a dry, amused sound. “Do you want some water, since you’re so observant?”
“Yes. Please, Mr. Boss.”
He helps you carefully, his hand steady behind your head as he holds the cup to your lips. You sip, then point a finger at him the second the cup is moved.
“You’re like a golden retriever who goes to school and got a PhD in being a menace.”
“I did go to school, yes. Though my degree isn't in 'menace'—that was an elective.”
“No like… emotionally. You have the ears but also the attitude.”
He chuckles, setting the water down. “I’ll accept that description. It’s fairly accurate.”
You suddenly lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “If I commit crimes… will you still support me? Like, if I'm on the run?”
“Depends on the crime. I have a reputation to uphold.”
You think hard, your eyes rolling back as you consider your options. “Stealing snacks.”
“Unacceptable. I’d turn you in myself for a bag of crackers.”
You gasp, clutching your heart. “TRAITOR.”
“I stand by my morals. No snack is worth a criminal record.”
You stare at him in betrayal, your eyes narrowing… then you slowly nod, conceding.
“You’re a good man. A boring, snack-protecting man.”
“Thank you,” he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now go back to sleep before you confess to any more felonies.”
: ̗̀➛ yang jeongin
You wake up and the first thing you see is his bright, youthful face. You immediately break into a wide, slightly dazed smile.
“…baby.”
I.N freezes, his eyes going wide. “I’m not a baby—I’m a grown man! I’m sitting in a hospital chair!”
“You’re a baby. Look at those cheeks. They’re for pinching.”
“I’m literally not—I have a driver's license!”
“Tiny. So tiny.”
“I’m not tiny! I’m taller than you think!”
You squint, tilting your head to the side. “…emotionally tiny. Like a little fox in a big sweater.”
He bursts into laughter, his nose scrunching up in that way it always does. “What does that even mean?! How can someone be emotionally tiny?”
“You’re small… but brave. Like you’d fight a bee for me.”
“I—okay, I’ll take that. I would definitely fight a bee. Maybe even a wasp.”
You reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it with all your might. “You’re my baby now. I’ve decided.”
“I’m older than—” he stops, laughing too hard to finish the sentence. He looks at you with a mix of exasperation and pure fondness.
“No arguments. I’ve adopted you. You’re in the system now.”
He plays along, bowing his head in a mock show of respect. “Yes, mother. I shall obey your commands.”
You nod proudly, satisfied with your new acquisition. “Good. You’re a fast learner.”
Then, your voice softens, your grip on his hand becoming more grounding. “…protect me.”
“Of course. Why are you asking?”
“From… everything. The loud noises. The mean nurses. The concept of mornings.”
“I will,” he promises, his voice turning surprisingly steady and sweet. “I’ll guard the door.”
You smile sleepily, the world fading out again. “Good baby.”
He shakes his head, smiling so soft it actually looks like it hurts, his eyes never leaving yours. “Go back to sleep. I’m right here.”
“hmm…okay.”
And he stays there, still holding your hand, watching over you with a devotion that is anything but tiny.
pairing: Yoongi x Reader
genre/warnings: tattooartist!yoongi, florist!oc, tattoos, piercings, smut, fluff, angst
words: 10.5k
summary: when Yoongi turns to your shop for drawing practice inspiration, neither of you could have forseen the way things unfold and just how deep you both would fall.
a/n: Happy Yoongi Day! <3
Wincing at the burn of too-hot tea scalding the end of your tongue, you sigh and let your gaze return to the barren street outside, the light trickle of flowing water against the glass windows all that was left of the sudden autumn rain. The sky was still somewhat grey, not quite yet clear from the clouds, and you easily found yourself getting lost in the blue that was cracking through.
It’d been a quiet season in general in the shop, but even more so than normal this morning, and not even just in the flower shop but out on the street as well. But, what more could you really expect from a Monday morning?
You’re staring down at the leftover crumbs from your toasted croissant you’d nabbed from the café on the corner for lunch when the warmth of your shop is interrupted by a painfully cold rush of air. Your eyes shoot up at the chiming bells’ cue of a visitor, readying your face with a polite smile even before you connect gazes with the possible customer.
Their back is turned to you as they push the door closed against the wind, and it gives you time to brush the paper bag into the bin below the counter before they spin to face you, but you could already tell by the sheer width of their shoulders that it was man.
“Hi, can I help you with something?” Your voice crackles slightly from lack of use and you clear your throat quietly, a natural smile curving your lips as he meets your eyes, and you’re caught off guard at the depth of his. Long pale fingers interrupted with scrawls of black on his knuckles lift to pull the scarf that’s wrapped around his chin open and down his chest and it takes you a moment to realize its tattoos adorning his skin.
“I mean, I’m not really sure what I’m actually after so I can’t say for sure.” Now that his scarf is lining the lapels of his thick coat you can see a peek of more black designs breaking the neckline of his t-shirt and disappearing beneath. He gives you a warm smile as he crosses towards the arranged buckets of single flowers, and you pull yourself from your stool to meet him.
Married off to a feared king to secure peace, you expect cruelty. What they find instead is distance.
He does not touch you.
He does not claim you.
He barely even looks at you.
But in a palace full of watching eyes and quiet betrayal, you begin to realize something unsettling he has been protecting you all along.
Pairing: Choi Jongho x Reader
Genre: Royal AU, Political Drama, Slow Burn Romance, Emotional Angst
Tropes: Arranged Marriage, He falls first, Cold x Observant, Only soft for her (eventually), Misunderstood Male Lead, Court Intrigue / Hidden Enemies
Featuring: all of ATEEZ
Main Masterlist | Jonghos Masterlist
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
This is Part 1
They dressed her in silence.
No laughter. No hushed excitement. No lingering hands adjusting fabric for the sake of admiration. The women moved around her like shadows with purpose, their expressions neutral, their voices low and restrained when they spoke at all. It felt less like preparation and more like ritual.
Like something inevitable.
The gown was heavier than she had imagined.
Gold thread stitched into layers of pale fabric that caught the candlelight and reflected it in muted glimmers. The sleeves fell long over her wrists, the bodice fitted too tightly for comfort, pressing against her ribs in a way that made it harder to breathe deeply. Each added ornament seemed unnecessary, excessive, as though the weight of it all was meant to remind her of something she was not allowed to forget.
She did not belong to herself anymore.
One of the maidens adjusted the collar, careful fingers brushing against her throat. The touch lingered just a moment too long, as if checking for a pulse.
She resisted the urge to pull away.
“Lift your chin,” the woman said softly.
She obeyed.
The room smelled faintly of oil and dried flowers. The windows had been opened earlier in the morning, but the air that drifted in carried no familiarity. Even the breeze felt foreign here, colder somehow, sharper against her skin.
A week.
She had been here for a week and still everything felt wrong.
The castle was too vast, its corridors stretching endlessly, lined with guards who did not speak unless spoken to. The servants kept their eyes lowered. The nobles she had glimpsed from a distance watched her with quiet calculation, as though assessing something that had yet to prove its worth.
She had not seen him. Not once.
The king of this land. The man she was to marry.
She had been received by officials, guided through formalities, instructed on customs she was expected to follow. Every step had been carefully controlled, every interaction measured. Even the meals were delivered to her chambers rather than taken in the grand hall.
She was not a guest.
She was a transaction.
“Turn.”
She turned slowly as instructed, the skirts of her gown shifting with a soft, dragging sound across the stone floor.
One of the maidens stepped back, studying her work. “It will do.”
It will do.
The words settled somewhere deep in her chest, heavy and unyielding.
She caught her reflection in the polished surface of a tall mirror across the room. For a moment, she did not recognize the person staring back.
The girl in the mirror looked composed. Regal, even. The gown fit her perfectly, the delicate embroidery framing her figure with deliberate elegance. Her hair had been arranged carefully, pinned and woven with small gold accents that shimmered faintly.
There was no trace of the girl who had left her home.
No trace of the warmth of familiar halls, of laughter echoing through corridors she had known since childhood. No trace of the friends who had clung to her hands in the days before her departure, their voices filled with forced optimism.
“He might not be as bad as they say.”
“You’ll be safe. That’s what matters.”
“You’re saving all of us.”
She had smiled for them then. She had told them she understood. She had told them she would be fine.
Now, standing in a room that did not belong to her, dressed for a ceremony that felt more like surrender than union, she wondered if they had believed their own words.
Or if they had simply needed her to believe them.
“Princess.”
The voice came from behind her.
She turned.
A guard stood at the doorway, his posture rigid, his gaze fixed somewhere just past her shoulder. “It is time.”
Of course it was.
She nodded once.
The maidens stepped aside without another word, their task complete.
No one offered comfort. No one wished her well.
There was nothing to say.
The walk to the great hall felt longer than it should have.
Her footsteps echoed softly against the stone, swallowed by the vastness of the corridors. The guard led the way, his pace steady, unhurried. Two others followed behind her, their presence close enough to be felt without needing to turn and confirm it.
She was not walking toward something.
She was being delivered.
The thought settled coldly in her mind, uninvited but impossible to ignore.
Like a pig being led to slaughter.
The image was vivid, unwelcome. She could almost hear the distant sounds of it, the quiet murmurs, the final stillness before the inevitable.
Her fingers curled slightly against the fabric of her gown.
She forced herself to breathe evenly.
This was her choice. No one had forced her.
The agreement had been laid before her kingdom, the terms clear and unyielding. Peace in exchange for union. Stability in exchange for sacrifice.
She had stepped forward before anyone else could speak.
Before her father could hesitate. Before her advisors could argue.
She had known what it meant.
She had known what she was offering.
Her life for theirs.
Her future for their safety.
The memory of that moment flickered through her mind as they approached the towering doors of the great hall.
The way the room had fallen silent when she spoke.
The way her father had looked at her, something breaking behind his carefully maintained composure.
“You do not have to do this.”
“I do.”
There had been no doubt in her voice then.
There was no room for it now.
The doors opened.
The great hall was filled.
The first thing she noticed was the sound.
Low murmurs, shifting fabrics, the quiet rustle of movement as heads turned toward her. The weight of attention settled over her instantly, pressing down in a way that made it difficult to focus on anything else.
She stepped forward.
Each step felt deliberate, measured.
The aisle stretched before her, lined with nobles whose faces blurred together in a sea of unfamiliar expressions. Some watched with open curiosity, others with thinly veiled disdain. A few looked almost amused.
No one looked kind.
The air was colder here.
Or perhaps it only felt that way.
Her gaze remained forward, fixed on the figure standing at the far end of the hall.
The king.
For a moment, everything else faded.
The whispers. The watching eyes. The suffocating weight of the room.
All of it became distant as she focused on him.
He was not what she had expected.
That realization came quietly, but it struck deeper than anything else.
He was younger.
Not a boy, not by any means, but younger than the image she had built in her mind. The rumors had painted him as something almost untouchable, a figure carved from cruelty and authority, hardened by years of ruling with an iron hand.
The man standing before her did not fit that image.
He stood tall, his posture straight, his presence commanding in a way that did not rely on movement or expression. His features were sharp, defined, his face composed to the point of stillness.
Handsome.
The word surfaced before she could stop it.
It felt misplaced.
Irrelevant.
His expression did not change as she approached.
There was no flicker of curiosity. No hint of interest.
Nothing.
His gaze was steady, fixed on her with a calm that bordered on indifference.
It was not cruelty she saw there.
It was something colder.
Control.
Complete, unwavering control.
Her steps slowed slightly as she neared him.
Not enough for anyone else to notice.
Enough for her to feel it.
This was the man she had been given to.
This was the man who held her fate in his hands.
She stopped beside him.
Up close, the details became sharper.
The way his jaw was set, not tightly, but firmly. The stillness of his shoulders. The absence of any unnecessary movement.
He did not look at her the way men often did when presented with something meant to be admired.
He looked at her as though assessing.
As though measuring something unseen.
The officiant began to speak.
His voice carried through the hall, formal and practiced, reciting words that had been spoken countless times before in ceremonies just like this one.
She barely heard them.
Her awareness remained fixed on the man beside her.
Choi Jongho.
The name settled in her mind with a strange weight.
She had heard it before, of course.
In whispers.
In warnings.
“He does not hesitate.”
“They say he executed his own advisor for treason without a second thought.”
“He has no mercy.”
Her friends’ voices echoed faintly in her memory, their expressions caught somewhere between fear and fascination as they repeated the rumors they had heard.
She had listened. She had accepted it. She had prepared herself for cruelty.
For anger. For arrogance. For something she could understand, even if she could not accept it.
This… was different.
There was no anger in him.
No visible cruelty.
Only distance.
A distance so complete it felt impenetrable.
“Do you accept this union?”
The question pulled her back.
Her gaze shifted forward. “I do.”
Her voice did not waver.
She did not look at him as she spoke.
She did not need to.
The same question was directed at him.
There was a brief pause.
Not long enough to draw attention.
Long enough for her to notice.
“I do.”
His voice was low.
There was no emotion in it.
No hesitation.
The words were spoken with the same precision as everything else about him.
Like a statement of fact. Not a choice.
The ceremony continued.
Words were exchanged. Vows spoken. Rings placed.
Each action felt distant, like something happening around her rather than something she was part of.
Until it was done.
Until the final words were spoken.
Until the murmurs rose again, louder now, filling the space that had been held in tense silence.
She turned slightly, uncertain of what was expected next.
Jongho moved first.
Not toward her.
But toward one of the nobles who had stepped forward.
A man she did not recognize.
The noble began to speak, his tone polite but edged with something sharper beneath the surface. “Your Majesty, I trust this alliance will prove… beneficial to both parties.”
There was something in the way he said it.
A subtle implication.
A challenge, perhaps.
Jongho’s gaze shifted to him.
It was a small movement.
Barely noticeable.
And yet the effect was immediate.
The noble’s expression faltered.
Only for a second.
“It will,” Jongho said.
Nothing more.
No elaboration.
No reassurance.
The conversation ended there.
The noble stepped back.
Silenced.
She watched it happen.
Watched the way the room seemed to adjust around him, the subtle shift in tension, the quiet acknowledgment of authority that required no force.
It was not loud.
It was not overt.
But it was absolute.
Her attention returned to him.
He had not looked at her again.
Not since the vows.
Not since the moment she had stood beside him and tried to reconcile the man before her with the stories she had been told.
A flicker of something stirred in her chest.
Not fear.
Something sharper.
Something that felt dangerously close to curiosity.
And beneath it, quieter but persistent.
Surprise.
Because this was not what she had expected.
Not at all.
The celebration began before she could prepare for it.
Music filled the great hall, softer than she expected, but constant. A steady presence beneath the layered voices of nobles and courtiers who seemed far more at ease now that the formalities had passed. Servants moved between them with practiced precision, offering wine, arranging dishes, adjusting anything that needed tending without drawing attention to themselves.
She sat beside the king. Her husband.
The word felt unfamiliar. It settled uneasily in her thoughts, like something that did not quite belong.
Jongho had not spoken to her.
Not after the ceremony. Not when they had been led to the long table at the front of the hall. Not even when he had taken his seat beside her, his presence close enough to be felt without ever truly acknowledging hers.
He had not looked at her either.
At least, not that she had noticed.
His attention remained on the room, on the people moving within it, on conversations that did not include her. When others approached him, he answered. When they spoke, he listened. Every response he gave was measured, precise, leaving no room for interpretation or unnecessary familiarity.
He ruled even in silence.
And she sat beside him like an ornament.
Still. Composed. Silent.
Exactly what they expected.
Her hands rested in her lap, fingers lightly intertwined, the fabric of her gown pooling around her like something meant to anchor her in place. She kept her posture straight, her expression neutral, her gaze drifting just enough to avoid staring at any one person for too long.
No one spoke to her.
She felt their attention, though.
The subtle glances. The quiet assessments. The curiosity that lingered just beneath the surface of polite indifference.
She was new. Unknown.
A variable in a place that did not tolerate uncertainty.
A servant placed a glass before her.
She did not reach for it.
The music continued.
The conversations flowed.
And still, she sat.
Detached.
Like she was watching something unfold from a distance rather than being part of it.
It would have been easier if Jongho had been cruel.
If he had dismissed her openly, spoken harshly, given her something tangible to react to. Something she could understand, even if she did not accept it.
This quiet distance felt worse.
Because it left her with nothing.
Nothing to push against.
Nothing to define him beyond the rumors she had carried with her.
Until someone took the seat beside her.
“I was beginning to think they would not allow me the chance to meet you.”
The voice was warm.
Too warm.
It cut through the steady rhythm of the hall in a way that immediately drew her attention.
She turned slightly.
The man beside her did not look away.
He was smiling.
Not broadly, not in a way that could be called friendly without question. There was something sharper beneath it, something observant, calculating.
“Kim Hongjoong,” he said, inclining his head just enough to acknowledge her status without diminishing his own. “Advisor to the king.”
A pause. “And, on occasion, his friend.”
She studied him.
He did not lower his gaze. He did not soften under her attention.
If anything, his expression seemed to sharpen, as though her silence was something to be examined rather than respected.
“You have been here for a week,” he continued, his tone conversational, almost light. “And yet we have not crossed paths.”
“That was not my decision.”
The words left her before she could reconsider them.
His smile widened. “Of course not.”
There it was.
Interest.
Measured, deliberate interest.
She felt it then.
The purpose behind his presence.
He had not come to welcome her.
He had come to assess her.
To determine what she was.
What she might become.
What threat she could pose.
Her fingers tightened slightly against her gown.
“And what should we make of you?” he asked, tilting his head just slightly, his gaze never leaving her face. “A princess from a rival kingdom, now seated beside our king. A symbol of peace, perhaps.”
Perhaps.
The word lingered between them.
She met his gaze fully then.
If he wanted to see, she would let him.
“You can be relieved,” she said.
His brows lifted slightly.
A flicker of curiosity.
“The only thing I want is to be safe,” she continued, her voice steady, controlled in a way that mirrored the man seated on her other side. “And for my people to be safe.”
Hongjoong said nothing.
He listened.
She continued.
“I will be a good wife,” she said. “A quiet one.”
There was a shift in her tone then.
Subtle. Sharp.
“I will sit where I am told. Speak when I am spoken to. Smile when it is expected.” Her lips curved faintly, but there was no warmth in it. “I will look pretty and do nothing at all. Certainly nothing that would require using my head.”
The words settled between them like something fragile.
And then Hongjoong laughed.
Loudly.
It cut through the surrounding conversations, sharp enough to draw attention from those nearby.
She did not flinch.
His laughter did not feel mocking.
It felt… genuine.
“I like you,” he said, still smiling as he leaned back slightly in his seat.
Then he turned his head.
Toward Jongho.
“There is more here than we were led to believe,” Hongjoong added, his tone shifting into something unmistakably smug. “You will have quite the handful to deal with.”
For the first time since she had sat down Jongho reacted.
It was small.
Barely anything.
But it was there.
He turned his head.
His gaze landed on her.
There was no anger in it.
No clear emotion at all.
But there was something new.
Something she had not seen before.
Attention.
And, for a brief moment surprise.
“Haha.”
The word left him flatly.
Completely devoid of amusement.
It was not a laugh.
It was a dismissal.
Hongjoong only seemed more entertained by it.
Y/n sat very still.
Her gaze shifted between them.
Confusion settled slowly in her chest.
Because she did not understand what had just happened.
Not fully.
Not the way Hongjoong seemed to.
Not the way Jongho had reacted.
It felt like she had stepped into something she could not yet see.
A conversation beneath the one that had just taken place.
And she had been part of it without knowing the rules.
The music continued.
The hall remained filled with voices.
But something had shifted.
Even if she could not name it.
The celebration lasted longer than she had expected.
Long enough for the candles to burn lower, their light softer, more uneven. Long enough for the conversations to grow louder in some corners and quieter in others. Long enough for the weight of the day to settle fully into her bones.
By the time she was led away, the hall no longer felt suffocating.
Just distant.
Like something already fading.
The corridors were quieter now.
The sounds of the celebration did not reach this far.
Only the echo of her own footsteps remained.
She did not ask where they were taking her.
She already knew.
The maidens were waiting.
The same ones from earlier.
They moved around her with the same efficiency, the same silence, removing the heavy layers of her gown piece by piece until the weight of it was gone.
It should have felt like relief.
It did not.
They dressed her again.
This time in something lighter.
Something that did not hide as much.
The fabric was thin.
It fell loosely against her body, sheer enough that she could see the faint outline of her own skin beneath it. The sleeves slipped from her shoulders too easily, the neckline lower than anything she had worn before.
She did not comment.
There was no point.
This, too, was expected.
When they were done, they stepped back.
Just like before.
She did not look at herself this time.
The room was quiet.
Larger than the one she had been given during the past week. Warmer, though that might have been the candles placed carefully around the space, their light steady and soft.
The bed stood at the center.
She sat at ist edge.
The fabric beneath her hands was smooth, unfamiliar.
She folded her fingers together, resting them in her lap.
Her posture remained straight.
Her thoughts did not race.
They did not scatter or spiral.
She knew what would happen.
This, too, had been part of the agreement.
Part of the unspoken understanding that came with everything else.
Her gaze lowered slightly.
She focused on the faint patterns in the fabric beneath her hands.
The door opened.
She did not look up immediately.
She heard his steps.
The door closed behind him.
Silence followed.
She lifted her gaze then.
Jongho stood near the entrance.
For a moment, he did not move.
His eyes settled on her.
Took in her appearance.
The thin fabric. The way she sat. The stillness of her posture.
There was no visible reaction.
No shift in expression.
Nothing that betrayed what he thought of it.
Then he looked away.
He moved past her.
He reached for the fastening of his outer garments, removing them with practiced ease, his movements precise, efficient. Each layer was set aside without carelessness, without hesitation.
He did not look at her again.
Not once.
She watched him.
She could not help it.
The way he moved.
The way he carried himself even in something as simple as undressing.
When he was done, he crossed to the bed.
He lifted the blanket.
And lay down.
Turning his back to her.
The space beside him remained untouched.
Her breath caught.
Only slightly.
She had expected…she did not know what she had expected.
Not this.
“Sleep,” he said.
The word was simple. Firm.
“That is all that is required tonight.”
She did not move.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the fabric beneath her.
Silence stretched.
“I will not touch a woman,” he continued, his voice just as steady as before, “who did not choose this herself.”
The words settled over her slowly.
Carefully.
As if they needed time to be understood.
She stared at his back.
At the line of his shoulders beneath the fabric.
At the distance he had placed between them.
The mattress dipped slightly as she moved, lifting the blanket and slipping beneath it. The space was warm, though that might have been from the candles rather than him.
She lay down.
Facing him.
Or rather facing his back.
She studied it.
The shape of him.
The stillness.
The absence of any tension that might suggest expectation or impatience.
He was not waiting.
He was not pretending.
He meant it.
Her thoughts shifted again.
Not as heavy this time.
Not as certain.
Because this did not fit.
Not with the rumors.
Not with the man she had prepared herself to meet.
Her gaze lingered.
She did not realize how long she had been looking until the quiet stretched into something softer.
Something almost… calm.
He was…The thought came uninvited…surprisingly attractive.
It felt misplaced.
Unnecessary.
And yet she did not look away.
Not immediately.
Because for the first time since she had arrived, she did not feel like she was waiting for something inevitable to happen.
She simply existed.
In the quiet.
Beside a man she did not understand.
And that, more than anything else, unsettled her.
She woke to silence.
It was the first thing she noticed, even before she opened her eyes. The quiet sat differently in this room compared to the one she had been given during her first week. It was deeper, more settled, as though the walls themselves were accustomed to holding it.
For a moment, she did not move.
The events of the night before returned slowly, not in sharp fragments but in a steady, almost reluctant awareness. The ceremony. The hall. The way Jongho had turned his back to her without hesitation.
The way he had told her to sleep.
Her fingers shifted slightly against the sheets.
They were cool.
Her eyes opened.
The space beside her was empty.
The blankets had been disturbed, but only slightly. There was no lingering warmth, no sign of how long he had been gone. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours.
She pushed herself up slowly, the thin fabric of her nightgown settling against her skin as she moved. The room was still lit by the pale light of morning filtering through the tall windows, soft and almost indifferent.
Her gaze drifted to the small table beside the bed.
A folded piece of parchment rested there.
She stared at it for a moment before reaching for it.
The paper was smooth beneath her fingers, the edges clean, deliberate. When she unfolded it, the handwriting was precise, almost rigid in its neatness.
You may take your meals in your chambers or in the dining hall, as you prefer.
A maid has been assigned to you.
You are free to spend your time as you wish.
Nothing more.
No greeting.
No name.
And yet, she knew it was from him.
She read it again.
The words were simple, almost detached, but there was something beneath them that she could not quite place. Not kindness. Not exactly.
Consideration, perhaps.
Or obligation.
She set the note back down.
Her gaze lingered on it a moment longer than necessary before she turned away.
A knock came at the door.
Soft. Measured.
“Enter.”
The door opened carefully, just enough for a young woman to step inside. She carried a tray balanced steadily in her hands, her posture straight but not stiff, her gaze lowered in quiet respect.
“Good morning, my lady,” she said, her voice gentle.
She set the tray down on a small table near the window, arranging it with practiced ease before stepping back.
“I am Hana. I have been assigned as your personal maid.”
Y/n studied her.
She looked young. Not much older than herself. There was something calm about her presence, something that did not feel as distant as the others she had encountered since arriving.
“Hana,” she repeated.
The name felt grounding in a way she had not expected.
“Yes, my lady.”
There was a pause.
It stretched slightly longer than necessary, filled with something unfamiliar.
Opportunity.
Y/n rose from the bed, moving slowly, still adjusting to the quiet weight of the morning.
“You may speak freely,” she said.
Hana hesitated.
Only briefly.
Then she nodded.
“Thank you, my lady.”
Y/n moved to the table, her gaze drifting over the food laid out before her. It was simple but carefully prepared. Bread, fruit, something warm that still carried the faint scent of herbs.
She sat.
For the first time since arriving here, she was not alone.
The realization settled quietly, but it shifted something inside her.
She reached for a piece of fruit, turning it slightly in her fingers before speaking.
“How is the king?”
The question felt strange on her tongue.
Hana blinked.
Surprised.
Not by the question itself, but by the fact that it had been asked so directly.
“The king…” she began carefully, choosing her words with thought rather than fear. “He is kind.”
Y/n’s fingers stilled.
Kind.
It was not the word she had expected.
“He is not… easily understood,” Hana continued. “Many believe him to be cold. Distant. But he is not unfeeling.”
Y/n listened.
“He keeps himself apart,” Hana added. “But there are those he trusts.”
“How many?”
“Seven.”
The number came without hesitation.
“Seven advisors,” Hana said. “They are closest to him. The only ones he truly allows near.”
Y/n considered that.
Seven people in an entire kingdom.
Seven people who had managed to reach him.
“And his friends?” she asked.
Hana’s lips curved faintly.
“They are the same.”
That made sense.
Her gaze lowered briefly to the table before lifting again.
“Kim Hongjoong.”
Hana’s reaction was immediate.
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her expression before she could hide it.
“You know his name?”
Y/n shrugged lightly.
“He introduced himself yesterday.”
Hana exhaled softly, something close to relief slipping into her posture.
“That is… not unusual for him,” she admitted. “He is curious. Always watching.”
That, at least, matched what she had seen.
“He is one of the seven?”
“Yes.”
Y/n nodded slowly.
It fit.
Everything about him had suggested it.
The confidence. The way he had spoken to Jongho without hesitation. The ease with which he had occupied the space beside her.
The days that followed blurred together. Not entirely.
But enough that time lost its sharp edges.
She explored.
At first cautiously, guided by corridors that still felt too vast, too unfamiliar. The castle revealed itself slowly, not all at once, as though it required patience to understand its shape.
Gardens hidden behind stone archways.
Quiet courtyards where the air felt lighter.
Libraries filled with shelves that stretched higher than she could reach.
No one stopped her.
No one questioned her presence.
The freedom Jongho had given her in that note remained unchallenged.
She could go where she wished.
Do what she wished.
And yet she always returned to the same place.
His chambers.
Their chambers.
Night after night.
The pattern formed without discussion.
Without agreement.
He would come late.
Always after her.
She would already be there, seated or lying quietly, her thoughts settled into the familiar rhythm of waiting.
He would enter.
A glance.
Brief. Acknowledging.
Nothing more.
He would undress with the same controlled precision, set his garments aside, and take his place in the bed.
Turning away.
“Sleep.”
The word became routine.
Expected.
She did not argue.
Not at first.
She slipped beneath the covers beside him, leaving the same careful distance between them. Close enough to share the space. Far enough to respect the boundary he had drawn.
Days turned into weeks.
Nothing changed.
He did not touch her.
He did not speak beyond what was necessary.
He did not treat her with cruelty.
But he did not treat her as a wife either.
She existed beside him.
That was all.
At first, she accepted it.
It was easier that way.
There was no fear. No uncertainty about what would happen when night came.
No obligation forced upon her without her consent.
She told herself that was enough.
More than enough.
But acceptance did not last.
It shifted.
Slowly.
Subtly.
Until it became something else.
Frustration.
It began as a quiet thought.
A question she did not voice.
Then it grew.
Each night adding to it.
Each morning reinforcing it.
Because she did not understand.
Not him.
Not his reasons.
Not the distance he maintained with such unwavering consistency.
If he had been cruel, she could have resisted.
If he had been indifferent, she could have ignored him.
This careful restraint it unsettled her in a way she could not ignore.
A month passed.
And she had enough.
She did not plan it.
She should have waited.
That thought crossed her mind the moment she stepped into the room. But it was already too late to retreat without drawing attention.
Jongho stood at the table, one hand resting against the edge, the other holding a document he had clearly stopped reading the moment she entered. Around him, the room was occupied. Men she had only heard about until now.
The seven.
Their presence filled the space in a way that made it feel smaller, sharper. Every gaze turned toward her, measuring, curious.
Hongjoong leaned casually against the side of the table, his expression already shifting into something dangerously entertained.
Y/n felt it all.
And ignored it.
Her focus stayed on Jongho.
“You’re busy,” she said.
It was not a question.
His gaze held hers, steady, unreadable.
“I am.”
The answer was simple. Dismissive in ist calm.
It should have ended there.
It didn’t.
“Then I won’t take long.”
Something in the room shifted at that.
Subtle. Not enough to interrupt. Enough to be noticed.
Jongho set the document down.
His attention remained fixed on her, as though waiting to see how far she intended to go.
“And what is it that cannot wait?” he asked.
His tone was even.
It irritated her more than if he had sounded annoyed.
She took a step closer.
Not enough to close the distance completely, but enough to make it clear she was not backing down.
“You,” she said.
A pause.
His expression did not change.
“Be more specific.”
The words were quiet.
There was something beneath them now. Not emotion, something sharper than before.
She felt it.
And pushed anyway.
“It has been over a month.”
Her voice was steady, but there was tension beneath it now, threading through every word.
“I spend my days alone, wandering halls that do not belong to me, surrounded by people who watch but never speak.” She took another step forward. “And every night, I return to a husband who does not even acknowledge me beyond telling me to sleep.”
The room had gone completely still.
No one interrupted.
No one moved.
Jongho’s gaze did not waver.
“You are given freedom,” he said.
“I was given space,” she corrected immediately. “There is a difference.”
Silence stretched.
He tilted his head slightly.
A small movement.
Barely anything.
“You prefer otherwise?”
The question landed heavier than it should have.
Because there was something in the way he said it.
Something that suggested he already knew the answer.
Her frustration sharpened.
“I prefer understanding what this is,” she said. “Because it is certainly not a marriage.”
That did it.
Something in his expression shifted.
Not much.
But enough.
“You knew what this arrangement was before you agreed to it.”
“And I accepted it,” she replied. “I did not expect affection. I did not expect warmth.” Her voice tightened, just slightly. “But I did expect you to treat me as something more than a stranger who happens to share your bed.”
A quiet breath moved through the room.
Someone shifted.
Hongjoong, perhaps.
She didn’t look.
Jongho’s gaze hardened…not in anger, but in something more contained.
“You are treated with respect,” he said.
The calm in his voice made something in her snap.
“Respect?” she repeated, a short, sharp sound leaving her that almost resembled a laugh. “You do not speak to me. You do not look at me. You do not touch me.”
There it was.
The word settled between them.
“And yet,” she continued, stepping closer still, closing the distance enough that the tension between them became something tangible, “you expect me to sit quietly and accept it.”
His jaw tightened.
Just slightly.
“You are not being forced into anything.”
“That is not the point.”
“Then what is?”
The question came faster this time.
Sharper.
It was the first time he had stepped toward her, closing the space she had already begun to erase.
They stood closer now.
Too close for the room they were in.
Too close for the audience they had.
She could feel it.
The shift.
The way the air changed.
Her pulse quickened.
Not from fear.
From something else entirely.
“I am your wife,” she said.
The words were quieter now.
But they carried more weight.
“And yet you treat me like I am not even worth the dirt under your shoes.”
His gaze dropped.
Just for a moment.
To her lips.
Then back to her eyes.
It was brief.
So brief she almost thought she imagined it.
Almost.
“You are not owed effort,” he said.
The words landed harder than anything else he had said so far.
Something inside her flared.
Hot and immediate.
“Then what am I owed?” she demanded.
He did not answer.
That was it.
That was what broke whatever restraint she had left.
“Fine,” she said, her voice rising despite herself. “Then I will say it clearly since you seem determined to avoid it.”
She did not care about the room anymore.
About the men watching.
About the consequences.
“I will not sit around all day married to a king who cannot even take my virginity properly.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
It crashed down over the room, heavy and suffocating.
She realized it then.
Fully.
What she had just said.
Heat rushed to her face, sharp and immediate.
Too late.
Far too late.
For a fraction of a second, no one moved.
“Leave.”
Jongho’s voice cut through the silence.
Low.
Commanding.
Not loud.
It did not need to be.
The men moved immediately.
No hesitation.
No lingering comments.
Even Hongjoong, though slower than the others, pushed himself off the table with clear reluctance, his gaze flickering between them with poorly concealed interest before he finally turned and followed the rest out.
The door closed.
The room felt different now.
Smaller.
More dangerous.
Y/n stood frozen.
Jongho moved toward her.
Each step was measured.
But there was something else beneath it now.
Something that had not been there before.
He stopped in front of her.
Close.
Closer than he had ever allowed himself to be.
Her breath caught.
She did not step back.
Could not.
“You think that is what you want?” he asked.
His voice was lower now.
Quieter.
It did not need volume to hold weight.
Her pulse pounded.
She held his gaze.
“I—”
The word faltered.
Because she did not know how to answer.
Not like this.
Not with him standing this close.
Not with the way he was looking at her now.
Something in his expression had changed.
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
Not a question.
A statement.
His gaze flickered over her face, searching, assessing in a way that felt different from before.
More personal.
More dangerous.
“You are not attracted to me.”
The words were calm.
Too calm.
Her breath hitched.
Because that was not entirely true.
And she hated that he had said it like it was.
He stepped back.
Just slightly.
The distance returning, but not completely.
Not the same as before.
“I will not touch someone who does not want me,” he continued. “Not because it is expected. Not because it is required.”
There was something firm in that.
Her frustration returned, but it tangled now with something else.
Something she did not want to examine too closely.
“Then what am I supposed to do?” she asked, quieter now.
“Leave.”
The word came without hesitation.
Not harsh.
Not raised.
But absolute.
She stared at him.
For a moment, she thought about arguing again.
Pushing further.
But something in his expression stopped her.
Not anger.
Not dismissal.
Something heavier.
Something that made it clear, this was not a conversation she would win tonight.
Her jaw tightened.
She turned.
This time more controlled.
More deliberate.
And walked out.
She did not remember the walk back.
Only fragments remained. The echo of her own footsteps. The way the corridors seemed longer than before. The faint sting still burning in her chest, refusing to settle into anything she could name.
By the time she reached their chambers, the silence had returned.
Heavy.
Unforgiving.
She closed the door behind her more carefully than necessary, as though even the smallest sound might shatter whatever thin control she had managed to regain.
It didn’t.
Nothing did.
Her gaze drifted across the room, landing on the bed for only a moment before she looked away again.
She could not lie there tonight.
The thought came without hesitation.
The space felt different now. Not unfamiliar, but… unbearable. As if the distance he had always kept between them had finally taken shape, something real enough that she could no longer ignore it.
Her steps carried her instead toward the sofa near the window.
It was smaller. Less comfortable. Not meant for sleep.
It did not matter.
She sat first, her hands resting loosely in her lap, her thoughts still moving too quickly, too sharply. The remnants of their argument replayed without mercy, each word sharper in memory than it had been in the moment.
You are not owed effort.
Her fingers curled slightly.
A slow breath left her.
She leaned back.
Then, eventually, she lay down.
The fabric of her nightgown clung lightly to her skin, too thin to offer warmth, too sheer to offer comfort. She had not thought to bring anything with her. Had not thought at all, beyond the need to put distance between herself and that bed.
Between herself and him.
The sofa was narrow. The cushion beneath her unforgiving.
Her back faced the room.
She curled slightly, more from instinct than intention, her arms drawing closer to herself as though that might make the space feel less vast.
It didn’t.
The quiet stretched.
And then the tears came.
They slipped free slowly, steadily, tracing warm lines across her skin before disappearing into the fabric beneath her. She did not try to stop them.
There was no one here to see.
No one to hear.
Her breathing remained even, though it felt tighter now, each inhale catching just slightly before settling again.
She did not sob.
She did not make a sound.
The frustration sat deeper than that.
Heavier.
Because she did not understand him.
Because he refused to let her.
Because every time she thought she had found something to hold onto, something solid, it slipped away again.
She pressed her lips together, her eyes closing.
The tears did not stop.
Time passed.
She did not know how long.
Long enough for the room to grow colder. Long enough for the quiet to settle back into something almost still again.
Then the door opened.
She froze.
Instinct.
Her breathing steadied immediately, controlled, measured. She did not move, did not shift, did not give any indication that she was awake.
She listened.
Jongho’s steps were familiar now.
Even. Unhurried.
He entered the room, the door closing quietly behind him.
Silence followed.
She could feel it.
His presence.
It settled into the space differently than anyone else’s ever had. Not loud. Not overwhelming.
But undeniable.
He stopped.
She could tell without looking.
There was a pause.
Long enough that it felt deliberate.
As though he had noticed.
Her position.
The sofa.
The absence of her presence in the bed.
Her pulse picked up.
Just slightly.
She kept her eyes closed.
Kept her breathing steady.
Waiting.
Then movement.
Each step measured.
He stopped near her.
The distance between them narrowed to almost nothing.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The silence stretched again.
But this time it felt different.
Not empty.
Heavy.
She felt it before she understood it.
The hesitation.
It lingered in the air, quiet but unmistakable.
The faint sound of fabric.
And suddenly warmth.
A blanket settled over her.
It covered her shoulders first, then the rest of her, the weight of it grounding in a way she had not expected. The cold that had settled into her skin eased almost immediately.
Her breath nearly faltered.
She forced it steady.
As though she truly slept.
A quiet exhale followed.
Not quite a sigh.
But close enough.
He stepped back.
She heard him move across the room, the familiar rhythm of him undressing returning, each movement precise even now. There was no hesitation in it anymore, no pause like the one he had allowed himself at her side.
The bed shifted as he lay down.
The mattress dipped slightly under his weight.
Then stillness.
The room returned to quiet once more.
Y/n kept her eyes closed.
The blanket remained wrapped around her, warm, grounding, impossible to ignore.
Her thoughts did not settle easily.
They moved, slower now, heavier, circling something she did not want to name.
Because it would be easier.
So much easier, if he were cruel.
If he had been what she had expected from the beginning.
Cold in a way that hurt.
Distant in a way that made sense.
Someone she could hate.
Her fingers curled slightly beneath the blanket.
Her breath softened.
Because this quiet consideration.
This restraint.
This distance that still somehow made room for something else. It left her with nothing to hold onto.
Nothing to fight.
And nothing to hate.
And that, more than anything else, made him impossible to understand.
one of those AU's where Tim doesn't want to be adopted into the Wayne family so he decides to be a little shit and convinces the Red Hood of Crime Alley to sign as his legal guardian to piss off Bruce, not knowing that by doing so he is technically being adopted into the Wayne family anyway because he doesn't initially know that the Red Hood is Jason Todd,
anyway one of those AU's except after convincing Hood to sign the papers the highs of teenage rebellion calm down and he's left watching Hood clean up the body of a guy he just dispatched and he's like.... 'shit Bruce might actually fire me as Robin for this.' and then panics about keeping it a secret from the bats to save his job.
To be clear, Hood is a good father figure, and he sure as hell isn't a deadbeat; he shows up. it's obvious that Tim now is under the care of a man who cares and puts in effort; Tim now has to skip training so he can make it back in time for 'family dinners', his teachers are praising that he doesn't seem so tired anymore (Hood does not play about getting a good nights rest) and clearly is getting help in the subjects he sometimes struggles with (english lit), not to mention Tim very quickly learns that it does not matter what dark crime shit Hood is knee deep in when Tim realises he needs something, Hood will pick up his call. it's honestly weird how good at being a dad this guy is. but again, Tim is genuinely in fear for his wellbeing when Bruce finds out he -out of nothing but spite- got himself adopted by the one man in the city that Batman is genuinely struggling to take down. Bruce will Not Be Chill about Tim's new guardian being a murderer, he knows that. so he just keeps skipping around Bruce's suggestion that they meet and refuses to tell him the guy's name (he doesn't fucking know it himself to be fair, which is weird considering he has the spare key to the guys apartment), under the premise of 'he doesn't want his new dad to have to deal with bat levels of paranoia and investigation, B, seriously, mind your own business, he's fine.'
and then of course Tim eventually figures out his new dad is the presumed dead Jason Todd and the whole 'we can't let Bruce know' thing becomes even more important because Tim very much does not want to be in the middle of that and also doesn't that make Bruce his grandfather because holy fuck please no-
the only person who knows is Damian, who visits Jason during family dinner, takes one look at the situation, turns to Tim, and says 'so does this make you my nephew then?'. Tim wants to kill him.
thing is that Bruce is starting to get more and more jealous about how much Tim seems to like his new 'dad', and how well he's doing under the guy's guardianship. this of course leads him to get suspicious and he starts trying to show up more in Tim's public civilian life just so he can get a glimpse of this new secretive 'guardian'.
the issue is that the entirety of Gotham loves Bruce Wayne and are aware that he's always been a 'family friend' of the Drakes for years. so of course they let the man do whatever he wants when he shows up saying he's there for Tim, especially when Tim claims that his new guardian 'doesn't like the idea of being in the limelight and therefor doesn't show up to public events'
the other issue is that Jason has gotten hardcore attached to Tim and is getting more and more bitter about the very obvious attempts from Bruce at stealing his new son, to the point where maybe people knowing Tim is being looked after by the Red Hood of Crime Alley doesn't sound like such a bad idea anymore...
anyway all of this is a very long-winded excuse for how we get to the point where Bruce gets himself admitted as one of the chaperones for Tim's school field trip, only to watch in horror as five minutes before they all leave the Red Hood shows up and proudly declares that as Tim's legal guardian he will also be attending, with the paperwork to prove it. he's been donating a shitton of money to the school for a while specifically for this reason, so the staff literally let him do whatever he wants. essentially Bruce ends up stuck on a school trip with the Red Hood, except he's in civilian form and can't do fuck all about it. worst part is Red Hood very clearly knows Bruce's identity, and is very clearly positively gleeful about the situation he has concocted.
the field trip is camping. Tim sits on the floor and buries his face in his hands for 2 hours straight while Hood and Brucie Wayne trade passive aggressive comments back and forth above him. because they're both chaperones, Bruce and Hood are asked to share a tent. in the evening they make smores and Bruce makes a snippy comment about how Hood won't be able to eat his through the helmet. Hood calmly smushes melted marshmallow into Bruce's hair. as a civilian, there is literally nothing he can do but stare across the fire at Tim in complete betrayal.
that evening Damian receives a text.
Tim: yeah you win you can be robin. cause theres no fucking way i'll be keeping my job after this.
Tim: ur dad might have to shave his head btw.
Damian: genuinely what the fuck is going on over there
Tim: my dad could beat ur dad up any day.
Damian: ??? not arguing but i thought you were camping.
Tim: he brought an axe.
Damian: fucks sake jason
