Vibing With The Dead

The Zenin estate is quieter than usual.

That alone should warn them.

You step through the heavy wooden gates and into the main courtyard, your footsteps slow and unhurried against the smooth stone tiles.

The evening sun hangs low above the rooftops, casting warm gold across the training grounds.

Long shadows stretch across the courtyard like silent observers, but the real attention isn’t coming from the sun.

It’s coming from the Zenin clan.

They’re everywhere.

Standing along the elevated wooden walkways.

Leaning against railings.

Watching from sliding doorways that open into the estate halls.

All of them staring.

Your cursed energy hasn’t fully settled yet after the mission.

It lingers around you in faint ripples, barely visible but undeniably present—like heat shimmering above fire.

You could suppress it, but you don’t bother.

Let them feel it.

The whispers begin the moment you step fully into the courtyard.

Quiet at first.

Then spreading.

Because you are a special grade sorcerer.

And worse—You’re Naoya Zenin’s wife.

Those two facts together make the entire clan deeply uncomfortable.

You walk toward the center of the courtyard, completely ignoring the murmurs.

Someone whispers: “That's her.”

Another voice follows: “The special grade, and Naoya Zenin's wife…”

You stop in the center of the courtyard and glance lazily upward toward the wooden balconies above.

Several people immediately look away.

A few don’t.

Those ones are the interesting ones.

The ones who stare back with thinly disguised resentment.

Your lips curve into a faint smile.

They act like you're a natural disaster wandering through their home.

And maybe—Just maybe—they’re not wrong.

The courtyard remains tense.

Quiet.

Waiting.

Then a familiar voice cuts cleanly through the air. "Oi."

You don’t even need to turn around, only one man in the entire estate sounds that arrogant in a single syllable.

Footsteps approach behind you, slow and deliberate.

"You keep showin' off like that," the voice continues lazily, "people might start thinkin' you're stronger than me."

Now you turn.

Naoya Zenin stands behind you, sunlight catching faintly in his pale hair as a breeze moves through the courtyard.

He looks exactly as he always does.

Perfect posture.

Sharp eyes.

That irritatingly confident smirk sitting comfortably on his face.

His hands rest casually inside the sleeves of his robes, but the faint hum of cursed energy beneath his skin tells you everything you need to know.

His technique is active.

Ready.

Projection Sorcery—One of the Zenin clan's most prized techniques.

His gaze sweeps over you slowly.

From your shoulders.

To the dust along your uniform.

To the faint tear along your sleeve.

Checking.

Assessing.

Looking for injuries.

And when his eyes return to yours, something shifts slightly.

The arrogance softens.

Just for a moment.

You raise an eyebrow. “Maybe they already do.”

The reaction around the courtyard is immediate.

Someone coughs violently.

A wooden cup slips from someone's hand and clatters loudly against the floor above.

Naoya stares at you, then scoffs. "Tch. Don't get cocky."

He walks closer, and with every step, the atmosphere changes—His cursed energy presses outward in subtle waves, brushing against yours like a familiar challenge.

Not hostile.

Just competitive.

You remain still as he stops in front of you.

Close enough that the tension between you hums quietly.

Naoya tilts his head slightly, studying you like a predator studying another predator.

"You were late coming back from your mission." he says.

His tone is casual.

Too casual.

You smile faintly. "You were worried?"

His eyebrow twitches.

"Like hell I was." he scoffs.

But his gaze flickers across your arms and shoulders again.

Checking.

Looking for blood.

Looking for damage.

You notice.

Of course you notice.

You always do.

You fold your arms. "You heard the reports then."

Naoya exhales through his nose.

"Special grade curse," he mutters. "Handled it alone."

You shrug. "It was annoying more than anything."

A sharp laugh escapes him. "You're unbelievable."

You grin. "You married me."

Above you, several clan members look like they’ve just witnessed something illegal.

A Zenin man near the railing mutters quietly to someone beside him. “Two monsters in one marriage…"

Naoya hears it instantly—Of course he does.

His head tilts toward the voice making the man go silent immediately.

Naoya turns back to you, unimpressed. "Tch. They're dramatic."

You lean a little closer. "You married me knowing exactly what I was."

Naoya’s eyes narrow slightly and for a brief moment the smugness fades as something real slips through. "I didn't marry you despite that."

His voice lowers. "I married you because of it."

Your heart skips.

Typical Naoya—Even his affection sounds like a challenge.

You glance toward the watching clan members again.

"They hate that you're proud of me."

Naoya scoffs loudly. "Let 'em."

Before you can say anything else—His hand suddenly grabs yours.

Firm.

Warm.

Without warning.

Several people above the courtyard gasp softly, but Naoya doesn’t even glance at them.

Instead he tugs your hand once—Hard enough to pull you a step closer.

Then he turns and starts walking, dragging you with him.

You blink. "Naoya?"

"You're done being their little spectacle for today." he says. His voice is flat, irritated, but the grip on your hand tightens slightly.

You allow him to pull you across the courtyard, the two of you moving past the watching clan members.

The whispers follow immediately.

"Where are they going—"

"Naoya—"

But Naoya ignores every single one of them.

He slides open one of the wooden doors leading into the estate halls and pulls you inside.

The hallway is quiet.

Dim.

Cooler than the courtyard.

Your footsteps echo softly against the polished wooden floors as Naoya continues leading you deeper into the estate.

You raise an eyebrow. "And where exactly are you taking me?"

Naoya doesn't look back at you as he replies. "Our room."

Your smile slowly widens. "Oh?"

He stops in front of a familiar sliding door.

Your shared room.

He slides it open quickly and pulls you inside before closing it behind you.

The sudden quiet is almost shocking after the noise of the courtyard.

Tatami mats line the floor.

Soft evening light filters through the paper windows.

For a moment neither of you move.

Then Naoya turns, and suddenly you’re being pushed lightly backward until the back of your knees touch the edge of the futon.

His hands land on either side of you against the bedding, effectively trapping you there.

His face is close.

Too close.

His sharp eyes study you carefully.

"You smell like curses," he mutters.

You laugh softly. "I just finished a mission."

"I noticed."

His gaze drifts again to the tear in your sleeve, and the faint bruise along your arm.

His jaw tightens. "You should've called for backup."

You tilt your head. "Why?"

His expression darkens slightly. "Because you're my wife."

Your smile softens. "And?"

His eyes narrow.

"And if something happened to you—"

He stops.

You wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t finish the sentence.

Instead he exhales sharply and leans closer. "Don't make me worry like that again."

You raise an eyebrow. "I thought you said you weren't worried."

Naoya glares down at you. "You talk too much."

But his hand lifts and gently brushes a stray strand of hair away from your face.

The touch is surprisingly soft for someone as prideful as him.

Your voice lowers slightly. "You dragged me all the way here just to complain?"

Naoya's smirk slowly returns. "...Not exactly."

He leans closer, close enough that your foreheads almost touch.

The smugness in his expression softens just a little. "You've been gone for three days."

Your heart flutters slightly. "And?"

His voice drops. "I was bored."

You laugh quietly.

Of course he would phrase it like that.

Your hand reaches up and grips the front of his robe again, pulling him closer. "Admit it."

He raises an eyebrow.

"You missed me."

Naoya scoffs immediately, but he doesn't pull away—Instead his arms slide loosely around your waist, pulling you closer against him. “...Maybe a little."

Before you can say anything else, he suddenly leans in.

One of his hands shifts slightly at your waist, tightening his hold as he pulls you closer against him.

His other hand lifts, fingers brushing briefly along your jaw as if guiding you.

Then his lips press against yours.

The kiss is firm.

Confident.

Very Naoya.

For a split second you’re surprised enough that you freeze, eyes widening slightly.

Naoya takes full advantage of that moment, his smirk practically visible even with his lips against yours.

It’s the kind of kiss that says of course he would do this.

His grip on your waist tightens just slightly, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepens for a brief moment before he finally pulls back.

When he does, his forehead almost touches yours and his smug expression has returned in full force. "Tch."

He looks entirely too pleased with himself.

"...You talk too much."

You blink at him once.

Then twice.

And then you grin.

"Oh?" Your hands slide up to rest against his chest, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his robe. "So your solution is kissing me to shut me up?"

Naoya raises an eyebrow. "If it works."

Your smile only widens.

Outside the room, the Zenin estate continues on as usual—quiet conversations, distant footsteps, the faint sounds of training somewhere across the grounds.

But inside this room—Away from the judging eyes.

Away from the politics.

Away from the clan—It's just the two of you.

The strongest sorcerer couple in the Zenin clan.

And for once… Naoya Zenin is perfectly content to keep you all to himself.

Naoya wants to get one thing straight before anything else: he is not following you.

The idea alone irritates him. He has better things to do than to pine after some woman who can’t brew a proper cup of tea, and he’d be caught dead before trailing an ex who couldn’t even bother to end things properly. He knows his schedules. He knows his habits. Nothing has changed since the two of you broke up, not really, and you were the one who used to ask him where he’d be, what time he’d leave, whether he’d eaten yet—so, if anyone’s overlapping with anyone, it’s obviously you.

You’ve always been a conniving little bitch anyway, so it would be just like you to go out of your way to engineer these little coincidences for the sole purpose of antagonizing him. Corner cafes, the same stairwell at the office, the elevator that takes just long enough to get up to his office for your perfume to cling to him for the entire rest of the day. It’s ridiculous, and Naoya is becoming entirely fed up with it.

(“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks through his teeth as he waits for his coffee. Usually, he would send that runt Ranta to go get it for him, but Ogi pissed him off at a meeting this morning, and he thinks if he has to look at another incompetent face before noon, he might actually kill someone. 

He doesn’t turn toward you as he speaks, angles his head just enough to acknowledge your existence. His fingers drum once against the counter, impatient. The barista hesitates, and Naoya clicks his tongue, looking down at the empty cup in front of her pointedly as he waits for her to get on with making his order. He glances at you again.

You’re not even looking at him.

Naoya’s eye twitches. 

“I’m talkin’ to ya,” he says, finally turning to face you more directly. 

You look… fine. Annoyingly so. Not falling apart, even though you definitely should be, because no man worth a damn is going to put up with the shit you made him go through. He doesn’t know where you get off standing there like you haven’t already hit the ceiling of your own appeal and didn’t just fumble the best thing that was ever going to happen to you. Naoya had polished all your rough edges by sheer proximity—anyone else would’ve dropped you the second you got difficult. He’d been generous. Patient, even. Far more than you deserved. 

You look at him from the corner of your eye, not even bothering to give him your full attention. “I’m getting matcha, Naoya. What’s your problem?”

“Zenin, to you,” he corrects spitefully, turning his head away to look ahead again once he’s sure you’re looking at him. “My problem is that ya keep fuckin’ following me. Quit it already. Ain’t you embarrassed pining over someone who don’t want ya? Have some shame.”

“Whatever, Zenin,” you reply blandly, and Naoya’s lips pinch, because he doesn’t like the sound of his surname on your lips. He much rather prefers his given one. Whatever. You don’t deserve to address him by it anyway. It’s your loss. “You’re as delusional as ever. What makes you think I’m following you?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he scoffs, sharp and humorless. “It makes ya ugly.” His gaze flicks over you again because he can’t help himself, tracing down the slope of your nose, your lips—you’re wearing his favorite shade of red, he notes scornfully, another attempt at getting his attention—and then lower, lingering there. You’re not wearing the necklace he bought you anymore. His teeth grind together. “You’re always where I’m gonna be. Same places, same times—we both know it’s not a coincidence. If ya want me back so bad, try apologizing, then maybe I’ll consider giving ya another chance.”

You lift your hand to your lips to smother a laugh at his words, and Naoya inhales sharply in irritation, ignoring the barista as she places his coffee down in front of him.

“You really think everything I do has something to do with you?” you ask, and you have the audacity to sound amused. “That’s kind of sad.”

Something tightens behind his ribs.

“Sad?” he echoes with a bark of laughter. “Don’t get it twisted. I’m just observant.” His fingers curl around his cup of coffee, knuckles whitening as the heat seeps into his skin. He welcomes it. Keeps him from saying something that might give you the satisfaction of knowing your blase attitude is actually getting under his skin. He leans in just enough to get in your space, enjoying the way you finally give him an annoyed look. “You really think you’re better off like this? Walkin’ around like ya didn’t lose the only guy willing to put up with your bullshit?”

“I didn’t lose anything, Naoya,” you say with a sweet smile. “I dumped you, or has your tiny brain forgotten that little detail?”

“You—” he starts to say through gritted teeth, but you turn your back on him before he can finish, picking up your matcha and thanking the barista before leaving the cafe without another word. 

He stares after you, furious. You don’t look back once.)

—————————

Naoya thinks he should make a second thing clear: you were not the one to dump him. 

Zenin Naoya does not get dumped. It doesn’t matter what words were used and who spoke them, and it certainly doesn’t matter that you were the one to turn on your heel and leave. Facts are facts. You couldn’t have walked away from him unless he let you, and he let you, so he let you go, and therefore, he was not dumped. 

He’d already been fed up that week—the constant attitude, the way you kept pushing, asking for things he didn’t feel like giving. You were needy. You were needy, and selfish, and you always wanted more. He gives you a card to go buy yourself things with, and you want him to come with you, too. He makes sure you can take days off work without any of his uncles piping in with snide comments, and you want him to take days off work, too. He gives and gives and gives, and somehow it’s never enough for you.

The argument plays in the back of his head whether he wants it to or not. Your voice echoing, that awful expression that crosses your face when he snaps at you to fuck off and leave if what he’s giving you isn’t enough because he’s not giving you more. He remembers the way you said okay, small and quiet and very unlike you. He didn’t say anything as you left, and he wonders now if maybe you wanted him to, because you looked back at him once, and you don’t do that anymore.

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t pine after anyone, much less a woman, much less you. 

Good riddance, he thinks. He was smart to let you go.

(“Whatever happened with that girl of yours, hm?” one of Naoya’s brothers asks as he sits in the boardroom with them, waiting for their father to arrive. Naoya doesn’t even know why they’re here. They’re all useless, and they never contribute anything worthwhile. It’s a waste of everyone’s time. “The… ah, shit, I don’t remember her name. The cute one who works in finance. You know who I’m talking about—the one you were gonna bring to the charity event.”

Naoya’s eye twitches. He doesn’t want to think about the charity event, and he doesn’t want to think about the dress he bought you that’s still hanging in his closet, and he doesn’t want to think about the matching necklace sitting on his dresser, and he doesn’t want to think about you.

“Dumped her,” he replies flatly.

“Really?” Naotaka, Naoya’s oldest brother, leans forward, interested. “No wonder you’ve been so unbearable lately. You were actually decent to be around when you were with her.”

Naoya finally lifts his gaze, one brow arching slightly, unimpressed. “You really gotta lot of opinions for someone barely hanging onto his inheritance, don’t ya?” Naoya notes boredly, enjoying the way Naotaka bristles.

Naotaka clearly doesn’t know how to take a hint, because he continues talking, “Relax. I’m just surprised. Thought you liked her.”

Naoya scoffs. “Liked that she knew when to keep quiet,” he says, which is a lie. You never knew when to keep quiet. You and your stupid mouth and your stupid attitude and your stupid, incredibly not funny, sense of humor. “Unfortunately, that didn’t last.” He shifts in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, scrolling through his phone. “If I wanted a woman who needed constant reassurance and quality time, I’d get a dog. At least those are honest about it.”

Naotaka exchanges a look with one of his other brothers. “Well, if she’s fair game, then I guess you won’t mind if someone else takes a shot,” he notes casually. Naoya pauses mid-scroll. “Naohiro had his eyes on her for a while. And she’s pretty enough—nice face, nicer tits. Maybe we can make a game out of it, ‘hiro, whadya think?”

“You can’t be serious,” Naoya cuts in with a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes when Naohiro starts to make a derogatory comment about how you’d look good spread on something Naoya refuses to allow him to finish saying out loud. Something hot and ugly curls in his stomach, chest tightening. Both Naotaka and Naohiro glance at each other, then at him, amused. “Ya really think you’re in my league enough to joke about my ex? She wouldn’t even look twice at either of you after having me.”

“Thought you were done with her,” Naotaka notes, eyes too calculating.

“I am,” Naoya agrees easily, “that don’t mean you get to go around embarrassin’ me by tryna pick through my scraps.”

Before Naotaka can snap something back, the door opens, and their father steps into the room. Conversation dies, and everyone besides Naoya straightens. He lets out a soft puff of air through his nose, gaze lingering on the picture of the two of you he hasn’t bothered to change from his home screen—too much work, not enough time, he tells himself—and then he locks his phone, smoothing his expression out into something unreadable, and tells himself, firmly, that whatever tightness that lingers in his chest has nothing to do with you.)

—————————

Naoya would like to make a third thing known: he does not want you back.

If he did, he would’ve done something about it by now. That’s how it works. Wanting leads to action, and he isn’t the kind of man who hesitates once his mind is made up. He doesn’t circle old decisions, doesn’t second-guess himself, and certainly doesn’t reopen doors once they’re shut, especially not for someone who walked out the way you did.

Besides, wanting you back would mean admitting something was missing—that he miscalculated in some manner, because wanting you back would mean that you mattered to him in a way that wasn’t convenient or replaceable, and that would mean he shouldn’t have let you walk away the way he did. And that’s ridiculous. First of all, Naoya doesn’t make mistakes. Second of all, you were far too much trouble. You were demanding. Difficult. Always asking for more than you’d earned. He’s not about to chase that kind of headache again.

So, the fact that he still notices your absence—in stupid ways and stupid things, like how quiet his place feels at night, or how he always expects you to come barging into his office to complain about your supervisor at lunch—doesn’t mean anything. It’s natural, he convinces himself. It’s just habit, residual noise; people don’t just disappear without leaving something behind, especially someone as annoying as you were. 

Wanting you back would be weak, and Zenin Naoya is not weak, so he doesn’t want you back.

He just hasn’t figured out why everything feels wrong without you yet.

(“What is it?” he asks coldly, not looking up from the vicious email he’s sending his uncle for screwing up another deal with the Kamos. At this rate, the company will never secure the acquisition of their subsidiary—another day wasted cleaning up other people’s incompetence. When no one immediately responds, his gaze flicks up, a loaded insult on his tongue that immediately falters when he realizes that it’s you standing awkwardly in the middle of his office. He pauses and then asks again stiffly, “What?” 

This is your first time being back in his office since the breakup, he realizes dully after a moment. When you used to come up here, you would be grinning, usually with some snack to share with him, and you’d worm your way right into his lap despite his complaints about needing to do work. He’d pretend to bristle and be annoyed, but his arms slunk around your waist, and his chin settled on your shoulder as he continued to try to get some emails out while you sat with him during your lunch break.

Now, you stand tense and awkward, gaze flitting to the side, not meeting his. He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like the way you hardly look at him. The way you’re standing there, like just another employee instead of something that belongs. His fingers curl against the arm of his chair, and he forces his expression into something cool and distant before it can betray him. He doesn’t like anything about this.

“Well?” he repeats, harsher this time. “You plannin’ on explainin’ why you’re here, or did ya just come to stare at the floor?”

You clear your throat. “I… am having an issue with my supervisor,” you say after a moment. You’re never quiet. Never unsure. He does not like this side of you, he decides, which is ridiculous, because he was always bitching about how you were too loud and too demanding. 

It takes a second for your words to register. Naoya blinks once, then lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “And you came to me?” he asks coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Whadya want, exactly? Me to file a complaint for ya?” His gaze drifts over you—dismissive, he tries to be, but can’t help the way it lingers. You have a new bracelet, and a sour thought crosses his head as he wonders who bought it for you, because it’s definitely out of your pay range. “Do I look like HR? Go cry to them.” 

Your jaw tightens, gaze flicking up to the ceiling. “They won’t take me seriously,” you finally say, voice low. “And I don’t really… know who else to go to.”

He hesitates. He doesn’t like the way that something warm settles in his chest at the idea of you still coming to him, even now, even if it is as a last resort. He also doesn’t like the way he finds himself irritated at the idea of HR blowing you off when you come to them with a problem. He tells himself that it’s because now he has to deal with it, but the lie rings hollow. 

He’s about to make a snide comment about how you still come crawling back to him, just to try to feel better about the various emotions currently warring in his brain and heart, but he pauses, teeth grinding together.

‘Why can’t you just do anything nice without being an asshole about it?’ you demanded one night, voice raised, frustrated to tears when he made snide comments after indulging your wish to go out to dinner with him. Always so needy, always wanting more. Annoying. You were so annoying. Good riddance that he’s done with you. 

Still, he bites back the commentary.

His nostrils flare as he exhales. “Who the hell is your supervisor again?” he asks after a moment. 

“Your brother, Naohiro,” you say quietly.

Naoya suddenly understands why HR isn’t going to do anything about it. Rage flares hot in his chest, a visceral snap that momentarily leaves him red-eyed and breathless. Nice face, nicer tits—Naotaka’s lazy grin and Naohiro’s voice talking about you like you’re a prize to be passed around. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally says. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Are you su—” you start to ask, and Naoya takes in a sharp breath, looking away.

“I said I’ll take care of it. Go.”

You linger for a second, and Naoya hates the most that he wants you to say something, wants you to stay, but you only give him a quiet thank you—so unlike you, he thinks critically, furiously, why are you acting like this?—before turning on your heel to leave. His lips part when you open the door of his office, your name on his lips, but before he can call after you, he stops himself. The door shuts behind you, and Naoya’s shoulders slump, eyes sliding shut.

Whatever, he thinks, at least he’ll be able to enjoy putting Naohiro in his place.)

—————————

A final thing that Naoya considers worth stating outright: he does not need you.

He’s done fine without you. Better, even. Work is cleaner and quieter. Deals close. People listen.. There’s no one hovering in his office and trying to curl up in his lap like a cat when he’s busy, so he gets out more scathing emails much quicker. There’s no one tugging at his sleeve when they’re bored, even though he clearly has things to do, so he can focus on more important matters. There’s no one wanting more and more and more from him, taking time from his day that he doesn’t have to spare for silly things like errands and dinners and, worst of all, cuddling. His days run on a boring, monotonous schedule. Nothing essential falls apart in his life during your absence, and that alone should be proof that he does not need you.

He doesn’t need the noise. He doesn’t need the distraction. He certainly doesn’t need the way you used to look at him, like he’s worth something more than his last name, more than his money and inheritance. Doesn’t need the way you wanted him for him when everyone else in the world only cares about what he can do for them. Doesn’t need your smile. Doesn’t need your laugh. Doesn’t need your arms after a long day of work. 

He doesn’t need it.

He doesn’t need you. 

Good riddance.

(He had plans with you today.

Naoya stares at the date on his phone, lips curved down. He thrums his fingers against his desk steadily, foot tapping the floor a little too fast to pass as impatience. The reservation sits there in his calendar like it’s been waiting. 

He never canceled it.

He tries to tell himself that he just forgot to, but Naoya doesn’t forget things like that. He remembers numbers, names, dates, slights. He remembers you mentioning the place once, offhand, how you’d said you’d always wanted to try it. He remembers making the reservation three months ago, already annoyed at himself for giving in so easily to your whims, even though you hadn’t even asked for anything, and then never canceling it when everything fell apart.

He told himself that it didn’t matter. Canceling would be a hassle, and he’d just wait until it got closer to deal with it because he was too busy. It would’ve only taken a few seconds of his time, really, so it’s a bullshit excuse, and even if he didn’t want to deal with it, he could’ve had that runt Ranta handle it. 

The truth is simpler and far more annoying, because everything that has to do with you is always annoying: some part of him was certain that you would come back. You’d show up after a few days, cooled down, curling back up in his lap and being annoying in the way you always were, running your mouth and being annoying in the way you always were, pressing your lips to his and his cheek and his jaw and his neck and all over his face and being annoying in the way you always were. 

But you did not come back. 

You did not show up. You did not return to him and take back that annoying place you made for yourself at his side, fill the annoying space you carved out for yourself in his life. He does not come home to find you lounging in his apartment like you own the place, demanding his attention like it was something he owed you, stealing his time as if it belonged to you. 

There is a you-sized hole in his life that he cannot fill up, no matter how hard he tries. There’s no denying it anymore—he’s stubborn and prideful, but he is not stupid. Zenin Naoya has never been stupid, and he cannot deny any longer that he misses you desperately. Misses the annoying music that you play far too loud when you’re showering and he’s trying to get work done. Misses the annoying way you would smile secretly at him when you had a surprise for him and wanted him to guess. Misses the feeling of you curled up in his arms, misses the feeling of being curled up in your arms, misses you—he misses you and every annoying thing that has to do with you.

He wonders, briefly, why he was so fucking resistant to every simple thing you ever asked of him. You didn’t want grand gestures, and it was never about his money. Not about jewelry or status or his name. Not with you, never with you. You wanted time. His time. Because you wanted him. Dinners he didn’t cut short. Evenings where he didn’t keep one eye on his phone. Mornings where he didn’t already feel halfway gone before he’d even kissed you goodbye.

He rubs his face hard and slumps in his chair. 

It would’ve been easy. Embarrassingly so. He could’ve gone with you, sat across from you, let you talk, let you exist next to him without acting like it was some kind of concession. Which it never was, anyway, so what the fuck was the matter with him? What did it really cost him to take a night off? What point was he trying to prove? That he was above it all, above you, above wanting you, above needing you—how the fuck did that work out for him? He’s here three months later, still thinking about you, still hung up on you, and you don’t even care. Hardly look at him, hardly speak to him, he doubts you even really think about him anymore. 

Naoya swallows, throat tight, irritation—no, this is something else—blooming hot and directionless. You were supposed to come back. That was just how things were between the two of you. Fights happened, doors slammed, there were dramatic pauses and words flung at one another, but you’d always come back to one another. Nothing ever fundamentally changed between the two of you. 

Except this time, something had.

He rises to his feet, gaze flicking to the clock. It’s only four. You’re still here for another hour, and the reservation he made for the two of you isn’t until seven. Naoya has never been indecisive—when he realizes he wants something, he immediately sets out to make sure he gets it. He can fix it all still. He’ll get you back—swallow his pride, if that’s what it takes, because he can’t stay hung up like this anymore.  

He will fix it.)

—————————

“What do you mean she left early?” Naoya asks, mouth a bit dry as he stares at your new supervisor, the one he hired himself. The man keeps his eyes lowered, back straight in Naoya’s presence, and Naoya only finds himself growing more irritated. “The fuck d’ya mean she left early? We don’t pay people to clock out whenever they feel like it.”

Your supervisor swallows. “She put in the time,” he says carefully. “Stayed late all last week. I approved it.”

Naoya scoffs. He has half a mind to fire the man on the spot. “You approved it,” he drawls, voice dripping with condescension. “That’s generous of you. Must be nice, lettin’ people drift in and out like this is a hobby instead of a job.”

He leans back, jaw tight, irritation flaring yet again. You’d asked him for afternoons like that before—just a few hours, nothing urgent, just time—and he let you go with a wave of his hand, said he’d handle it. You’d always lingered, disappointed in a way that would piss him off, because why was nothing ever enough for you? Except, it wasn’t time alone that you ever wanted; it was time with him. You wanted him to leave with you, you wanted him to come with you to run whatever boring errands you had to run, you wanted him to join you at your annoying appointments so you didn’t have to suffer through them alone. You only ever wanted him.

He wonders, briefly, if you found someone else who will give you the time that he wouldn’t.

Suddenly, he feels very nauseous.

“Where did she go?” he asks flatly. 

The man hesitates. “I—she said she had plans. A dinner. It’s Valentine’s Day, Zenin-sama, I assumed—”

Naoya might throw up.

“Get out of my sight,” he hisses, and Naoya turns on his heel to leave the building before anyone can speak another word to him. 

If he’s fast enough, he can get to your apartment before you even leave.

He can still fix this.

Right?

—————————

Naoya is drenched by the time he gets to your apartment. That useless brat Ranta didn’t bring his car to get serviced like Naoya asked him to the other day, and he didn’t have time to wait around for one of his family’s drivers to get to work to pick him up. 

Luckily, he’s not far from your apartment building when his car decides it’s time to turn against him.

Unluckily, it is torrentially raining. 

His fist raps sharply against your door, once, twice, impatient and uneven. His clothes cling uncomfortably, hair plastered to his forehead, water dripping down the back of his collar and onto the floor outside your apartment. This is humiliating, he realizes distantly—exactly the kind of spectacle he’s mocked others for in the past, desperate and undignified, soaked through to the bone for someone who might not even answer. Your neighbor cracks her door open at the commotion, and he shoots her a dirty look that has her instantly retreating. Then, he knocks again harder this time, like he can bully the door into opening for him.

Naoya’s pulse inexplicably roars in his ears, teeth grinding together as he tries to force himself to calm down, to get some control over himself. He already looks and feels like an idiot—he doesn’t need to act like one too.

He wonders, for a second, if he’s too late—if you’ve already left for whatever date you have planned for Valentine’s Day. The idea makes his chest tighten. Angry. It has to be anger. Because what the hell are you doing with a date already? It hasn’t even been that long. A few months, barely enough time for the dust to settle. You’re supposed to still be… recalibrating, sad. Not dressing up for someone else. 

Naoya scoffs under his breath, jaw tight. It’s not like he’s been out there either. He hasn’t needed to be. He could, easily—he’s just been busy, he has priorities. He didn’t jump into bed with the first warm body that smiled at him just because things ended. That would be pathetic. 

So what the hell are you doing?

He lifts his hand to knock again, irritation shifting into something more frantic—

—and then he hears movement on the other side of the door.

Naoya stills, heart hammering unpleasantly against his ribs.

The lock clicks, and he hears you saying, “Sorry, I know I’m late, I—” 

You cut yourself off, freezing when you realize that it’s not your date standing at your door, but Naoya. He straightens instinctively, mouth curling up into something sharp and defensive as if he isn’t standing outside your door like a wet animal with his heart in his throat and his nails biting into his palms.

“Naoya?” you breathe out, blinking once, stunned as your gaze shifts over him, taking in the sight of him, sloppy and unpresentable, hair plastered to his forehead, suit drenched and dripping onto your annoying welcome mat that you wanted to bring to his apartment a few months ago because you thought it was funny. “What are you doing here?”

You look—

Naoya exhales through his nose, and a heavy feeling settles in his stomach.

You look beautiful, Naoya thinks bitterly as he glances away. He hates it. Hates that you look put-together, that you’re already halfway out the door, that you don’t look like someone who’s been waiting. He hates that you’re wrapped up in his favorite fur coat, hates that you’re wearing his favorite red dress, hates that you’re all dolled up, and it has nothing to do with him. 

Hates especially that the sight of you like this still knocks the breath out of him.

Fuck.

“Who is he?” slips out before he can stop it. It’s ugly and possessive, technically entirely none of his business anymore. He knows that the second the words leave him, and judging by the way your brows knit together, so do you.

“That’s really not your business,” you say coolly, like he expects, fingers tightening around your keys. “Answer my question. Why are you here?”

He realized that in his frantic attempt to get to you, he never actually thought this far ahead, so he stands there dumbly, staring at you, like you can answer your own question. His mouth opens, and nothing comes out. That alone pisses him off. He clicks his tongue, jaw tightening as he drags a hand through his wet hair, eyes flicking anywhere but your face.

He finally says, far too lamely, “You left work early.”

You stare at him, rightfully taken aback as you blink at him, eyes widening slightly. “You came all this way because… I left work early?”

“That’s not—” he starts to snap, but he exhales sharply, folding his arms over his chest. Water splatters to the ground obnoxiously, and his eyes slide shut in irritation. “You had plans,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he intends. “With someone.”

He didn’t mean to say that either, but he rolls with it.

Your expression shifts, becoming more guarded. “And?” 

“And it’s Valentine’s Day,” he snaps, immediately hating how that sounds.

You stare at him for a long second, incredulous, and then you laugh sharply, shaking your head. “No. No, you don’t get to do this,” you say, looking away. “You don’t get to show up unannounced and interrogate me like this. We’re not together. I don’t owe you anything.”

The words hit much harder than he expects. Naoya’s mouth tightens, irritation crossing his face before he can stop it. “Don’t act like you—” he starts, voice snapping before he can stop it, but he shuts it down before he can finish what he was going to say, watching the tired expression cross your face as you roll your eyes. He lets out a puff of air, arms uncrossing and hands falling uselessly at his sides. “... I didn’t come to pick a fight.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean it,” he repeats, voice stripped of his edge. “I didn’t come to make a scene. I came because—”

He stops, because I missed you sits heavy on his tongue, useless and humiliating. Because I want you sounds even worse, and I need you to come back is something that might genuinely kill him to admit. Because the truth is a mess of pride and panic and want and need, and he doesn’t know how to shape it into something that doesn’t make him want to shoot himself on the spot.

“I thought you would come back,” he finally says, and it comes out just as lamely as the excuse did before, except this is the truth, and he can hardly meet your eyes as he speaks it. “I thought y’would fuckin’ come back. I didn’t think—”

I didn’t think I was actually losing you. I don’t want to lose you.

The words hang between you, thin and naked and nothing like the sharp little weapons he usually favors. Naoya hates how he sounds. Hates how small he feels once they’re out of him, how inadequate they are to explain the ache clawing at his ribs. He’s never felt like this before. A part of him wants to turn on his heel and leave, salvage what’s left of his shredded pride, but he knows that if he does, that’ll be the end.

You don’t respond, and Naoya’s teeth grind together, gaze flicking up to the ceiling as he pushes on to fill the silence.

“I didn’t think you were actually done,” he finishes, words scraping his throat on the way out. “I thought it’d be like it always was. You’d get mad, cool off, come back. Y’always come back. But ya didn’t, so I—” His jaw tightens again, “—I thought if I stayed where you could see me, you’d remember and come back, but that didn’t work either, and—”

“I knew you were following me, you asshole,” you accuse, cutting him off, shoving your finger in his chest. His face is hot, and he instinctively parts his lips to deny the accusation, but he bites it back with a grimace. “You never get coffee from the corner cafe. You said it tastes cheap.”

“Because it does,” he mutters, but something pleasant sinks into his chest at the way you still remember all the things he bitched about to you. “Don’t know why you like their matcha. Tastes like grass.”

You roll your eyes. “You say all matcha tastes like grass—”

“Because it does,” Naoya says again, falling back into easy banter. “Theirs just tastes exceptionally grassy.”

You snort. “You are such a fucking creep,” you tell him, and Naoya’s face flames red. “I can’t believe you were actually following me, and you had the nerve to tell me I was following you. As if you ever take time out of your day to go and get yourself coffee. You always send poor Ranta.”

“It wasn’t—” he starts to argue, but then exhales deeply through his nose. “Not in a creepy way. I wasn’t trailin’ ya or anything, I just—” He gestures vaguely, helplessly. “I knew where you’d be. And I didn’t stop myself from being there, too.”

“Creep,” you mutter again, folding your arms over your chest. He inhales sharply and looks away. “So what? I dump you, you realize I was the best thing that ever happened to you, and now you’re crawling back, begging me to give you another shot.”

Naoya’s eye twitches. “Yeah,” he says after a moment, finding a small victory in the way your eyes widen slightly when he doesn’t even deny it. “Pretty much.”

You blink. “Seriously?” you ask, voice a bit stunted. “You’re not even gonna puff out your chest and do the whole, ‘I’m Zenin Naoya, I was the one who dumped you and I don’t crawl or beg for anyone.’”

He rolls his eyes slightly at the way you lower your voice to mimic him. So fucking annoying, he thinks.

“What’s the point?” he mutters bitterly. “I already ran two miles in the fuckin’ rain to show up outside your door like an idiot. Kinda past denial.”

“Oh,” you say, too quiet.

“I miss ya,” he tells you, swallowing thickly. “All of it. Even the stuff that pissed me off. Especially that stuff.”

You look skeptical, chewing the inside of your cheek like you always do when you’re uncertain. 

“I mean it,” he insists, voice strained, nails drawing blood from his palms. “I miss the shitty music you played while I was trying to work, and I miss comin’ home and knowin’ you’d be there. Lunch is fuckin’ boring without you coming up to be with me, and I hate that I still catch myself lookin’ at the clock around noon like you’re still gonna show up. I know I fucked everything up. You just wanted me, and I want you too… Need you. I'll do it right this time.”

He finally stops talking, face hot and throat unbearably tight. The silence stretches far too long. Naoya hates it. It’s worse than being yelled at, worse than being told to fuck off. This—standing here with his chest cracked open, rainwater dripping from his suit, waiting for you to decide whether or not he’s worth giving a second chance—it’s humiliation in its purest form.

He shifts his weight, jaw tight, eyes flicking anywhere but your face. The urge to fill the silence claws at him, but he bites it back. He’s said enough—too much, even. If he keeps talking, he’ll only make everything worse. 

“Tell me to fuck off if you’re gonna,” he finally mutters, voice rough, “or yell at me. Just fuckin’—”

Say something. He can handle yelling or fighting or leaving—well, actually not that last one, and he didn’t think far enough ahead to figure out what he’d do if you actually told him to fuck off—but he can’t handle this awful in-between where everything depends on you and he has no leverage left to pull at.

“You’ll start coming with me to do groceries?” you ask after a moment, suspicious.

Naoya’s gaze finally lifts to meet yours, catching the uncertain expression on your face.

“I mean, I don’t know why ya won’t just let me order them for drop off—” Your expression starts to twist, so he rushes out, “—but yeah. I’ll come. If that’s what ya want.”

“No phones at dinner?” 

“No phones at dinner,” he agrees.

“You’ll drink my tea when I make it?”

“Don’t push it,” Naoya says automatically, then catches himself when your mouth twitches. He exhales, defeated, and grimaces as he says, “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll drink it. Even if it tastes like cat piss.”

You snort despite yourself, and the tension from Naoya’s shoulder starts to slip away. Your eyes search his face still, like you’re waiting for the catch. You finish with, “And you won’t make comments about how it’s a waste of time, or act like you’re doing me a favor just by being there.”

“If anyone’s doin’ the favor now, it’s you,” he mutters after a moment, tongue pressed against the inside of his teeth. “So—”

“No, Naoya,” you interrupt. “I mean it. It’s not doing anyone a favor. I spend time with you because I want to spend time with you. It should be the same for you, and if it’s not, then I don’t want it. Just leave, okay?”

Naoya exhales through his nose, and then he says, “It is. The same for me. It is.”

You look at him for a moment, studying him, trying to figure out if he’s being honest with you, and it almost makes him bristle, because he is being honest, even if it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin. After a few moments, you shrug. 

“Alright,” you say easily. “Let’s try again then.”

Naoya’s throat feels suspiciously tight. Is it really this easy? He’s half waiting for some kind of catch, but you’ve never been this type of person. How annoying, he thinks, swallowing the lump in his throat. Why do you always make shit so easy for him? Why does he always have to be so fucking difficult? 

“Ya sure?” 

“Wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” you say with that annoying half-smile that he’s missed the last three months terribly. You step aside to let him into your apartment. “C’mon, you look and smell like a wet dog.”

“What about your date?” Naoya asks curiously as he steps inside, feeling so smug that the bastard is going to get stood up that he lets the insult slide right off his shoulders. 

You snort, and he gives you a frown. “I never had a date.”

“What?”

“I was meeting Shoko and Utahime, dumbass,” you say, knocking your shoulder against his.

His lips part, gaze roving over you. “Dressed like that?” he demands.

“Mhm,” you agree. “They’re gonna be pissed. They thought I was free of you at last.”

Naoya rolls his eyes, but he slips one arm around your waist, pulling you toward him until your back hits his chest. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding once you’re back in his arms, throat bobbing as he swallows, fingers pressing a bit too tight into your waist.

You yelp. “Naoya, you’re drenched, you asshole.”

He smiles easily for the first time since you walked away from him that day. It feels strange on his face, a little unpracticed. He presses his mouth to your temple anyway, eyes sliding shut as you lean back into him. He presses his nose briefly into your hair and sighs. 

“Go shower,” you tell him, elbowing him lightly. “You reek. You really did run here, didn’t you?”

“In a minute,” he hums. “Ya been depriving me of this for months, need some time to appreciate it, y’know?” 

“You’re so annoying,” you say, and Naoya thinks it’s the most hypocritical thing you’ve ever said to him, but you sink back into him, so he decides against pointing that out. “I’ll make us some tea while you shower.”

 Wrong.

 Quite the opposite, the mixed hybrids or not as high status kind got to live like the other race, go to jobs, have families.

 The expensive ones were raised in special care centers, don't get me wrong, it was so luxurious you could barely complain about anything. But growing up in an environment where you're treated as a pet, a treasure, and not a person did irrefutable damage.

 One of the top tier pure breeds.

A perfect, fluffy tail and groomed hair, skin. Perky ears and doe eyes nobody could deny.

Not to mention your friendly temperament and need to be clingy, perfect to be loved and coddled.

 The kind of hybrid you could flaunt to anyone and they'd understand what kind of wealth you have.

Nobody had even offered to take you in, too high maintenance, too time consuming, not enough money.

 Until one day.

 You were out playing with some other of your hybrid friends, tossing around some designer frisbee and running around the perfectly trimmed lawn in the spacious backyard of the estate that housed you.

 You heard your name being called, ears flitting to where the sound same, the disk forgotten in your hands.

 Shoko Leiri, the woman that's practically been a mother figure to you for these past nineteen or so years, was calling you with excitement in her tone.

 You quickly said bye to the other dog hybrids and bounced over, tail wagging, already excited for whatever she was calling you for.

 "I'd like you to meet someone, let's go get you dressed up, yeah?"

 You gladly took her hand and let the staff give you a quick bath and dying session.

Some sort of flowy dress was pulled over your head, hair brushed and put in a cute style. The staff wanted to give you some makeup but you started whining, being too impatient to sit through some beauty salon.

Obviously, all of this was so the person who was willing to pay top dollar would be impressed.

 Shoko walked with you to the waiting and payment room, giving you a loving hug and wishing you the best before other staff ladies ushered you further in.

 And impressed... he...was?

 You couldn't tell what expression this blonde man had... your big eyes scanning over where his hair faded into black tips, his sharp eyes with the most perfect looking glare as he watched some shaky, intimidated woman behind the counter scan his heavy metal debit card.

 You heard her speak his name- Naoya Zen'in.

 He had piercings in his ears... and when he spoke you could swear he was grinning, just a bit. The man spoke in some dialect that sounded rather cute but in that odd cocky way.

As if all of this was just like buying groceries and inconveniencing him.

 Your tail started to wag behind you, slowly shifting your weight to one foot and then to the other, and then back and forth.

You watched him just accept the other products the lady was trying to sell him, some sort of premium metal muzzle with embedded jewels, a leash intertwined with carbon and a new, fresh leather collar.

Naoya just waved his hand around and accepted it all. Not caring about the price.

 He finally turned to you, giving you a look after realising you were standing and staring.

 "Come on then, you're mine now. Don't be slow."

  You obediently ran after him, staying close while heading out of the estates halls.

You would be lying if you said that somewhere in your peanut brain the feeling of sadness didn't creep in. You would miss the place you grew up- but your sudden nostalgia trip was interrupted by Naoya shoving the doors open and a gust of wind fluttering through your hair.

  The drive was on the most part silent, save for the soft tune of a song playing from the console.

 You were sitting in the backseat… where he put you, eyes following the buildings and people the car passed, ears perking up each time you saw someone who was also part animal.

 "What do you even eat, human food right? Or do i have to buy you kibble or something…" Naoya spoke up, glancing back at you through the rear view mirror, stopped at a red light.

 "I like cake." You perked up, turning your face to smile at him.

 He grimaced a bit before turning back, the green light now showing.

  In all honesty, Naoya knew nothing about having a hybrid. He'd seen them around but paid no mind. He was a traditional man.

Ah, the other members at the Zen'in clan estate would take care of you.

 He only wanted you as a trophy to flaunt anyways. Many of the clansmen had them by now, he needed to one up everyone.

  The Zen'in clan.

  You bounced out of the vehicle, taking in the fresh air and the vast nature scene around the front gates.

Your tail was wagging around, ears stood up-

  A BUTTERFLY.

  Obviously you had to chase it!

  Unable to take a few steps or stretch your arms up for it, a firm hand clutched your upper arm and began to guide you toward the stone path that extended deeper in.

 "Pathetic… hurry up, don't make me drag you by the ears." He scoffed, not amused by your whimsy.

You just pouted and let him guide you, eyes flicking back to the fluttering bug looking for flowers.

 The vast, traditional Japanese open air estate came into view. A handful of women were doing the laundry in a sunny corner.

A few clansmen looked like they were taking a break from training by a koi pond. The red fish swimming in slow circles, matching the peaceful atmosphere.

 Naoya didn't even glance at the people, focused on getting you inside, grip a bit too rough on your flesh.

 You smiled and waved with your free hand at the women when they noticed your arrival- getting the same response before a sliding shoji door sealed you inside of a main hallway with the blonde.

He let go of your arm and made a show of wiping his palm in his hakama pants side.

 You blinked and he had disappeared somewhere, stood alone in the… rather suffocating hall.

 "Ah! You must be the… girl Naoya said he would bring! Please, follow me. You must be hungry. I'm Minami. " A sweet looking woman appeared after a moment, already showing you her guiding hand.

Minami was just another servant in the household, by her soft tone and kind eyes you could tell it was safe to relax again.

 You padded along, tail slightly twitching and ears turned every which way and listening to the rooms you passed being used by other clansmen or staff.

 This was so different from what you were used to living in the hybrid care estate.

 You didn't see your new "owner" for the rest of the day, this Minami woman showed you your new room and gave you a little tour.

 Sitting alone in a room wasn't something you weren't used to, but for some reason it felt different.

You've heard such nice things about finally having a home, having a human love you so dearly they never wanted to leave your side. Or how wonderful it was to have someone special to you.

 The soft nightgown and silk pillow you laid your head on felt awfully cold, ears laid flat against your skull.

  The next time you even saw Naoya was at a breakfast table, dressed in a more traditional but casual kimono Minami and some other kind lady had helped you in.

 You quietly ate, feeling uneasy.

Even your tail refused to move.

 Naoya sat at the head of the table, sipping on tea with one hand, the other picking apart the food on the plate in front of him.. "What's the matter, you were so full of life yesterday." He commented, not even glancing your way as he used a chopstick to slice the omelette over his rice in half.

 You perked up at his voice, eyes trying to find his. "Oh! Just getting used to this place! Were you busy yesterday? You just poofed! " The tone in your voice was light and curious, meal forgotten, tail starting to swish around behind the chair and ears standing up straight.

 The blonde finally spared you a glance before leaning back. "Don't ask stupid questions. You don't need to know where i am all the time. And lower your tone, it's annoying." He lightly scoffed.

 Well… that made your mood drop again- ears going back to being droopy and the fluffy thing behind you halting its movements.

  The past few days were like this. Seeing him at meal times, maybe you got to spend some time with him while walking outside or some meeting he thought to show you off at, but it seemed like he wasn't keen on you at all.

You liked attention and having some company, so you tried your best to stick by Naoya's side everywhere you went.

But that lead to him scolding you for everything you did.

 While working out or training, you tried to play and keep yourself occupied, just wanting to be near.

But you could hear that same accented voice yell at you from afar mid stretching.

"Stop running around like that, you look stupid!"

 Or, god forbid you got spooked by an animal that had found its way into the estate grounds.

You would run to Naoya, all shaky and arfing, ears flat against your skull and tail trembling between your thighs.

"Stop barking, it's just a cat. God... shut up."

 The times he was most annoyed when you tried to offer Naoya "gifts" or subtly get him to pay some attention to you. Even tossing a stick would make your day. But he didn't.

"How many times do i have to tell you not to bring those damn branches to me! I'm not playing with you, stupid mutt."

 At clan member gatherings he would take you as arm candy, a strong arm loosely around your middle and large palm resting over your hip to keep you close. One of the few times you felt liked by him… maybe because you didn't yap as much then.

At first, you thought this meant things were getting better, that maybe the way he held you close in front of others meant he was finally growing fond of you. You smiled, bowed when introduced, and stayed quiet when he needed you to.

But when the guests left and the laughter faded from the halls, Naoya would simply let go of you as if nothing had happened. The warmth you felt under his arm cooled as soon as it appeared.

   The room you stayed in grew colder the longer you lived here, that suffocation you felt the moment he brought you in here had only gotten worse.

 One day you broke down in the middle of the night, hugging a pillow to your chest while large teardrops rolled down your soft cheeks and dropping into the shiny fabric.

You didn't like it here one bit. Shoko would have let you sleep in her bed and pet you, tell you sweet nothings to help you calm down from your emotions.

 Your bare feet made you get up, tear-stained pillow forgotten on your futon.

You really shouldn't be doing this, maybe the nights sleeping alone without even a goodnight from your supposed human were making you desperate.

 The quiet padding of you making your way through the dim hallway filled the quiet space.

You didn't know where his room was, as he had never even let you follow him to it, but you did know what Naoya smelt like. The expensive, woody, and a bit sterile cologne he used brought you right to heavier shoji doors at the end of the long hall.

 You sniffled, taking a short breath and just pushing the doors open without knocking, not even bothering to wipe away the wet streaks off of your skin, not hiding the redness around your waterline and glossy eyes.

 Naoya, bare chested and looking focused, was sat in the middle of his lush bed, a few lights on besides it to illuminate the pages of the book he was reading.

The sound of the door opening and someone shuffling inside made him lift his brow, lips down-turning into a frown, eyes immediately snapping upwards to the intruder. You.

 "The hell are you doing here? Who said you could barge in, you mu-" He was already sitting up straighter, not wanting to deal with whatever you had to bother him with now.

 A small cry left you from his sharp tone which made him pause, hesitating to finish that sentence.

You padded over to the bedside, blocking the light.

Your sad little face almost made his heart soften, almost.

You sniffled again, fingers clinging on to the fabric of the nightgown, bottom lip quivering, looking like some kicked puppy, tail tucked between your legs.

He hadn't seen you cry yet, not this upset. Even after he'd scold or nag at you, you wouldn't look so distraught.

 Naoya sighed, shutting the book and lifting the covers.

 A silent invitation.

  That's how you found yourself climbing into the bed with him, arms finding his middle, wet face burying in his warm chest, legs tangled.

 You thought he would just let you cling to him a bit before sending you back to bed or kicking you out of his space.

But a pair of strong arms gathered you closer, the duvet neatly tugged over your shoulders and the lights flicked off.

 Was he actually holding you?

You didn't dare move, sniffling against the welcoming skin.

 "Calm down. Don't use me as some tissue, dumb girl." He mumbled against the top of your head, a thumb gently rubbing your back.

 "I don't like being alone…" You admitted, trying to burrow deeper into him.

"Is that what this is about?"

"Mhm…"

"…How bothersome. But i guess i don't want a snotty puppy clinging to me."

 He wasn't saying it outright, but it felt like he was telling you to stay in his room for tonight.

   Things changed.

  Now you sat closer to him at breakfast, he let you ramble for a bit more than usual before shutting you up.

 Naoya? Going on a walk with you?

Yeah, that was happening too.

 Just around the gardens and training grounds, but he let you tag along.

  He brought you to a Hei meeting, trusting you to be silent enough.

You had to sit on a pillow on your knees beside him, but that was fine.

 While the conversations of the elders dragged on, your head got heavier and heavier…

Until it landed right against Naoya's thigh, a small yawn leaving your lips as you shifted closer to his seat.

 The other men paid no mind, some chuckling about the sleepy hybrid looking like a tired puppy.

Naoya placed a hand on your head, nails lightly scratching behind your ear, as if this was normal behaviour, and continued the topic at hand.

  He did still flaunt you at times, when someone asked about your breed, he got to mention how expensive you were. But without being prompted he didn't do so.

The original plan of why he even had you seemed to be forgotten.

  Naoya was still Naoya and would be mean if you bothered him too much.

 Like on a hot day, just trying to relax on the engawa with a fan and looser summer clothes.

You came bouncing up behind him, giggling while trying to wrap yourself around his shoulders, clearly acting a bit too clingy for his liking right now.

 "You dumb mutt- it's too hot for this shit, get someone else to stick to!"

  "But Naoyaaa look! This flower is for you!" You whined right against his hair, trying to show a pretty bloom you'd seen.

 "Did you rip something out from the gardens again? Bad girl." He scolded, shoving you off.

You stumbled back, letting out a pathetic whine and slumped away.

But the flower was left on the engawa behind Naoya.

He definitely didn't pick it up and keep it safe. Not at all.

  Remember how Naoya knows little to nothing about hybrids?

  He hadn't even bothered to ask if you still had heats or not.

And obviously you did.

You were a PURE BREED. Who would neuter you??

Anyone who spays or castrates expensive hybrids are idiots…

i digress.

Because this was now a problem.

A problem Naoya wasn't exactly ready for.

  It was the end of summertime, and your cycle had started.

 -

You had had a few heats, but the hybrid care center usually just gave you suppressants, having you skip the whole breeding thing as they didn't want you to suffer trough it without a mate.

 -

 Not that you knew, you just felt fuzzier and cuddlier than usual right now. Nothing seemed amiss. For the start of the week.

Later on you grew more sensitive, any time Naoya gave you a pat on the head or even looked at you for too long this hot feeling deep in your tummy started to bloom.

 It had only gotten worse, feeling uncomfortably warm and needy the moment you woke up.

 Naoya was in his study, piano lid still open and a few score sheets scattered about.

You had padded in, in that nightgown you liked wearing as pajamas, kicking the door shut with the back of your heel, face a nervous, flushed shade, tail a bit shaky. Your panties were soaked by now, it was a surprise slick hadn't started dripping down your legs.

 The pheromones were rolling off of you like waves- obviously Naoya didn't sense anything as he was a human.

But if he did…

 The blonde was lazily sprawled in some armchair by a large desk, busy with looking over some new agreements and trades between the three big clans.

 He was used to you wandering in and wanting to get some attention by now, just spreading his thighs open, the white hakama pants parting for an inviting little spot he knew you'd want to sit in.

 You let out a small whimper from the sight, Naoya paid no mind and kept flipping through a folder.

 You walked up beside him, leaning down to nuzzle your face into his hair, taking a long breath, tail behind you wagging at a suspiciously fast speed, and your ears were a bit twitchy...panting against his head.

 You were this close to grinding against the side of the armchair but decided against it because he shot you a look.

 "What's up with you? Getting all weird on me again. I'm busy. Behave or leave, stupid girl." Naoya glared through his eyelashes up at you, but didn't close the spot between his legs.

 You didn't reply, lowering yourself on your hands and knees and crawling in your new favorite spot.

 Your head laid on his inner thigh, arms hugging one of his calves, looking pitiful while trying to engulf his whole leg.

 Naoya went back to skimming trough the agreement.

  Not even five minutes passed when you felt a sudden flash of heat run trough you, the short pain making you unable to sit still- now squirming around and nuzzling your face deeper in his lap, ending up riiiight between his thighs…. it smelt so good, you had to nose against it, something big and soft hiding underneath the layers of fabric.

 "Hey- what the hell are you doing? Get out of there!" He groaned, a hand reaching down to pull your head up by the hair, not being gentle at all.

 Your flushed face came into view, lash line rimmed red with tears threatening to spill out, tongue poking out from your pouty lips.

 "What are you cryin' about now?"

 "H..hurts…"

 "Hurts? What?" Naoya let go of your hair, opting to forget the documents entirely and just to cup your face, using a thumb to catch the few tears trying to roll down.

 You let out a small moan from the touch, trying to nuzzle deeper into his palms.

 "Feel hot…." you whine again, shifting to sit over his foot, thighs squeezing around his leg.

 And then he felt you try to roll your aching cunt down on his damn foot, your fingers practically clawing into his thigh. The slick definitely was being rubbed all over his sock.

  He let go of your face, confusion written all over his handsome features.

 You just kept making sad noises, leaning back down to smush your face against his crotch.

 "Please help… make it stop… mmnh.. smell so good.."

 "The fuck are you humping me for? Stop that." He hissed, hips shifting once you tried to lick at the fabric of his pants.

"You look like some dog in heat."

 Oh.

Ohhhhh…

 "Shit."

 Naoya's hands came back down to pull your face away from his (very obviously hardening cock) lap, using one hand to grab your face, cheeks squished together to make you into an even sadder look.

"Poor girl… are you all horny because of some stupid cycle?"

You nod your head, trying to lick his fingers.

 "I'm not helping you. I don't touch anything besides actual women." He scoffed, trying to act like he didn't care one bit about your predicament, but his eyes kept looking down on the way the nightgown shifted, how his damn ankle and top of his foot was wet with your juices by now.

 You parted your lips to whine about his words, a thumb getting shoved in place instead, pressing down on your drooly tongue, your hands moving up to hold on to his forearm.

 "B..but..mnhn..nheed…it.. pluhease… another.. h..hybrid thenuh.."

  That made him think for a bit.

 Naoya didn't want some other man's hands on you… even of your own race.

A look of jealousy flashed in his narrowed eyes, fingers digging harsher into your cheek and thumb reaching for the back of your throat- for you to fully not be able to speak.

 "Don't even suggest that. You're mine. I told you so the first day i got you."

 Your ears drooped down flat to your head, tail all puffed up behind you- drool started to spill past his finger, dribbling down your chin.

 Your hips hadn't changed their movement, trying to bump your pulsing clit against something.

  "…Does it really hurt?" He softened up a bit finally.

 You just nodded your head, babbling nonsense around his digit.

  "Fine. I guess i can do something about it… this time."

 You couldn't even express your thanks before he was meanly pulling you up by the shoulders, the thumb leaving your lips with a small POP.

 You gasped and were now nicely straddled on his thigh, large hands sliding underneath the fabric of the nightgown and fingers grabbing into your waist, pushing you down-

 and then…mm and then he flexed the muscle in his thigh and pushed it up to your pathetically wet pussy.

The cotton of your panties not stopping any of this.

 The sounds you made had Naoya grinning, watching you throw your head back and try to grind down, fabric shifting against fabric.

 "Awww… look at you, riding my thigh. Feels better now, yeah?"

 You nodded and said something incoherent back, a hand finding his shoulder to hold on to, the other was pulling at his dark blue kimono.

 A light smack was delivered to your cheek- for you to focus.

 "Big girl words, use them. I don't own some incompetent mutt now, do i?"

 "Yeshss…yes… feel better… feel soso..g..gh..good.." You tried to nod your head, ears flopping back and forth.

 "Good girl." He praised.

 Those two words had you moaning louder than before, poor cunt clenching around nothing and your hands trying to get under his clothes to feel Naoya's skin.

 "How cute. You like being praise? Such a good slut, hm?"

You just nodded your head again.

 While you were busy getting blissed by dryhumping his thigh, you hadn't noticed a hand had let go of your hip, reaching up and tugging the front of your nightgown down, spilling your tits out for the blonde to watch.

Not that you really cared in this moment.

  "You were trying to get your face on my dick moments ago, did you already forget about that?"

"Wha-"

 The sensation was soon gone and he had shoved you off, back to the floor.

 You let out a cry, already trying to hug his leg again.

 Naoya stood up, looking down at you with that cocky look, the corner of his mouth grinning.

 You glanced up and right above you there was a shadow.

A shadow of what?

Of a huge bulge straining trough the loose hakama.

 Your breath hitched- already trying to grab at his pants, tugging at the laces that held it up on the sides.

 "So impatient." He chuckled, but let you have at it.

 Soon enough a heaaavvyy, hot and delicious cock was falling on your face.

It was almost as long as it too-

 Your hands held on to the backs of his thighs, nuzzling and whimpering against the girthy thing.

 "Adorable. Are you trying to scent it or somethin'? You want it all to yourself? Right, stupid puppy?"

 You nodded your head, already parting your lips to try and taste it, to run your tongue across the veins and pinkish tip.

  God, it filled your whole throat.

 He had let you have your fun for maybe half a minute before his hands found your hair, making you unhinge your jaw so he could sliiiide right in.

 The sight of your tearful eyes rolling back each time he thrusted forward- and a gob of drool escaping around the thick shaft had him grace you with a few low grunts.

 Naoya's hands found your ears, tugging on them to bring you forwards to match his pace.

 All you could sense was the lovely taste of his precum spilling down your throat and how the skin of his pelvis met your nose, how your throat felt so perfectly filled-

 But then he abruptly pulled out and dragged you up by the shoulders again, stumbling up to your feet.

 Your eyes tried to focus up at him but a small yelp left you after a hand reached between your slick covered thighs and smacked your cunt, the wet fabric making a filthy sound against his fingers.

 "Off."

 He didn't have to say it twice, quickly sliding the cotton fabric clinging to your folds down.

 oomph-

 He lifted you up, sitting you up on the desk and making space between your thighs, helping you lay back against the expensive wood.

 All you could see was a lightly flushed Naoya above you, a hand cupping one of your tits while another slid between your legs, fingers gathering the slick that was pouring out and prodding it back inside.

 "So messy… would you even feel if i…"

 Your lips made a small O shape, hands gripping onto the edge of the desk because two fingers slid inside of you so easily, finding all the nooks and crannies..

"O..oh…oo.."

"ooohhhh… " He mocked back the sounds you made, laughing a bit before scissoring the two digits back and forth, watching them spread you open.

 The other hand thumbed at your nipple, making the bud get all perky.

  He didn't do much besides finger you, rub your pulsing nerve bundle at times.

 All while his weepy cock was in sight, teasing you- tempting you.

 He was edging you, a glint in his eyes whenever your chest started to heave heavier, your tummy clenching underneath the nightgown.

 "Naoo..naooya….nn..nao…" You finally cried out after it was too much, ears flat against your skull and tail tapping against his thigh.

 "Yes? Is something wrong?"

"Cum… wanna cum… ple..please…" You cry, mumbling all the words together, nose scrunching up.

 "Ohhh… you need to finish, is that it? Well why didn't you just say so. Silly girl." Another light slap to your face.

  It felt like heaven when he finally pulled his fingers out and something muuuch bigger replaced them, your buttery walls trying to suck it in from excitement.

  The whole desk shook and the shoji doors definitely weren't muffling any of the pornographic moans that left you OR him.

Naoya had started to sound whiny himself when his orgasm neared, laying his forehead against yours, your thighs tightly wrapped around his waist while he fucked into you as if he hadn't gotten any in ages.

Not because you felt so good he thought he might start crying too- not that.

 But you still felt satiated, cooling down after cumming around his dick, walls fluttering and breathing calming down, tail lazily wagging.

 Obviously Naoya couldn't knot you, and he wasn't stupid enough to give you a creampie. So you got painted like a pretty picture instead.

  He did get softer after seeing your blissed out state, helping you off the desk and just gathering you up in his arms, taking you for a hot bath and bundling you up for a nap.

You swore you could feel a gentle kiss being placed on your forehead right before you let the exhaustion seep in.

  The late morning and afternoon slowly passed, the heat finally settling after the well needed rest and you woke up right before the sun was setting.

 In Naoya's room.

 He wasn't there, but a little cake was on the nightstand without a note.

 He remembered.

Yoon's notes: ughhhhmgmjgmmgnnjjnmmg do we like? Also idk whats going on with the formatting im too lazy to fix that shit

art: @/708nyam on X, @ /_urara0408 or @ /x.sooo___. (?)

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