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deathbecomesthem · 2 months

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Basement Apartment - Part 1 of 2

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader - 4.8K

+18 ONLY - Minors DNI

Summary - It's 2001, and you've just moved into this new basement apartment. It's not so bad, except for the neighbor directly above your bedroom.

Contains a mean reader (kinda). Both parts have their smutty stuff, but part 2 will go a lot harder. Reader is bisexual. This is kind of an enemies to lovers deal. Sorta. Alcohol. Use of derogatory language against Eddie.

A/N: Thank you @jo-harrington for loving this story, and thank you for editing this at a moment's notice. Love you forever.

---

No. No. No. Not again. It’s 2:07 on Wednesday morning, and it’s happening again. You know it’s going to be at least an hour, probably longer, before it’s quiet enough for you to sleep. You know the routine at this point. Different partners, but the play-by-play appears to be the same. You could set your clock by it at this point. You don’t begrudge your neighbor his fun, lord knows you like having a good time, but fucking hell - can he remember he’s in a building with thin walls and neighbors that have to wake up early for work in the morning?

The anger’s been building inside since that first night. Tonight, you’re pushed over the limit. His stamina is impressive. The knock, knock, knocking of the headboard against the outer wall of both of your bedrooms is a familiar sound that alone wouldn’t keep you up. It’s the moaning, the occasional *SLAP* that makes your eyes pop open. An unpleasant surprise scream of, “Daddy!” sets your teeth on edge. You can hear his rhythm falter at the word, and it makes you huff a laugh under your breath. She won’t be coming back tomorrow night. Must not be his thing - you try hard not to think about why you care, and still make the mental note. It’s not your thing either.

Your current thing is getting at least 6 consecutive hours of sleep when you have to wake up at 7:00 am and be able to function in the office. You’re absolutely done and ready to make a scene. It’s been almost a month in your new place, and it’s clear that Mr. Upstairs is not slowing down. Mary, your roomie, has been begging you to be cool, begging you to let it go, but her room isn’t directly beneath a fucking brothel. See, Mary has already met one of the guys in the apartment upstairs, and she’s smitten. “He’s tall, gorgeous green eyes, and his hair. Oh my god, his hair.” Oh, his hair, oh my god. Vomit. If you hear any more about this guy’s hair, you’re going to light it on fire. Plus, what if he’s the one that’s been fucking the entire city’s worth of girls right above your own bed? Mary refuses to believe it.

Your clock reads 3:30 when the noises stop, and you’re able to sleep. Your alarm is set for 6:30, giving you plenty of time to get ready for work and still have time to hike up the stairs and meet the dickhead of a neighbor. You have no idea what you expect him to do about his noise issue, but you’re sure as hell going to give him a piece of your mind. He can get his rocks off in his living room as long as you don’t have to listen to him saying, “oh, fuck. Your pussy is so good, I’m gonna cum,” one more time. It’s the same script with every person he brings home. As you drift off, your brain scrolls through ideas - things you could do to make this man lose enough brain function to be able to form speech.

*BEEP* *BEEP* *BEEP*

You shower. You brush your teeth. You fix your hair. You put on your (warpaint) makeup. You pour your coffee into a travel mug. You pack your briefcase. You feed the cat. You do all of your morning things while seething with anger. You make sure to keep it at the forefront of your mind. The fucking noises. You’re so tired, and your day hasn’t even started yet. You march your ass up the stairs in your heels and wool pencil skirt and knock. Loudly. You kept knocking. You aren’t leaving until you have some satisfaction. You check your watch. Shit. You start pounding.

You hear noises behind the door marked 2A, a grumbling. “Hold on!” An angry shout directed at the person pounding on the door. You. The door jerks open. Grey sweats, bare feet, bare chest, oh god the tattoos, long curly hair, and brown eyes. Not green. Not Mary’s guy. Mr. Brown Eyes is smiling at you, annoyance forgotten. “Good morning, Sweetheart. What can I help you with.”

Oh, no. It’s him. You scoff and frown. Your eyebrows are drawn together while you take in the sight of him in the new context. The grin spread across his full lips infuriates you, his charms are lost on you. Maybe it would work better if you weren’t currently surviving on less than 4 hours of sleep. You can feel heat creeping up your neck and down the line of your jaw.

“Hi, yeah. So, I live downstairs. You can absolutely do me a favor.” You smile at him with teeth, and he thinks his charms are working on you. He’s so wrong. That cocky bullshit never works with you. He returns your wide grin with one of his own. “I’m hoping that in the future you could take a moment to remember the fact that you have a neighbor downstairs that can hear you fucking the night away and keep it down.” His smile fathers - you go in for the kill, “Or at least maybe up your game. I’m getting really fucking tired of hearing the same shit with every girl you bring home.” You drop your voice to imitate his, “Oh, fuck. Your pussy’s so good, I’m gonna cum.”

You take a quick look at your watch while the half naked man in front of you flounders. His chest and neck are flushed red by the time you turn on your heel and stomp towards the back door of the building. You’re going to be late, you add it to the list of reasons to hate that fucking guy. Selfish dick.

You turn back to push open the door and call back, “Thanks so much, Daddy.”

–

The office is quiet when you let yourself in, but it doesn’t fool you. The stack of papers you left Friday afternoon are still waiting for you after you drop your lunch in the fridge and sit down. On cue, the phone rings, and you’re still pulling out a pen and legal pad when you answer it. Fucking Mondays. Everyone needs something from you, and you provide. It’s what you do. You think some day you’ll wake up empty, but it hasn’t happened yet.

You bite back a yawn and take a scalding gulp of the coffee from your Garfield mug. You hiss a little and wonder if there are scars on your esophagus from the acid and burning liquid. The taste of the weak Maxwell House brew is a reminder to get to work. No time to worry about the possible deterioration of your body, you put a rubber thimble on your thumb and get to the stack of mail sitting expectantly on the edge of your desk.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Mr. Misny comes through the door like a hurricane force wind, just like every morning. Even the smile he wears is meant to intimidate, but you know that and let it feed the anger inside. “What’s my morning look like?”

“Carrington and Hodges at 9:15,” you put your hand up to stop the protest you can see rising up your boss’s throat, “it was the only time they could both make it. You’ll have to eat your pastry while you talk about their case. I saved a couple of hours for brief writing before your early afternoon meetings.”

“Well, aren’t you a peach?” Mr. Misny’s comically expressive eyebrows shoot up and his lips curl with a smile that has an edge. “What would I do without you, hm?”

You’d hire someone else for less than they’re worth and condescendingly thank them while never actually respecting the hard work they perform.

“You’d probably be late for every meeting.” You answer coolly. You can’t help but add, “Checks speak louder than words, Tim.”

He laughs at your “joke” and heads into his office, shaking his head all the way. He won’t be laughing when you finally turn in your resignation letter, but that won’t be today. Today you need to do this job that pays measly wages so you can afford your shitty little apartment. Your shitty little apartment where you can only sleep a couple of nights a week because of the son of a bitch that lives upstairs.

But he’s gorgeous. You slam the stapler down on the stack of papers in front of you at the thought. He’s gorgeous, and it only makes you angrier to have that visual frame of reference when you hear his headboard knocking on your shared wall.

—

The day passes in front of you, and it’s not until your wristwatch chirps to remind you that it’s 4:30 that you realize you forgot to eat your lunch. Again. The alarm seems to have awoken your stomach, it growls angrily while you shove half finished work items into the drawers at your side and power down your word processing machine. When you leave your desk, it’s in perfect order, all the clutter is hidden away. Your inbox is empty, your outbox is half full, and your pens are all put away. You were able to spend several hours transcribing today, and your head was pounding from having to listen to your boss’s voice over the headset for so long. Your mood is, as it was this morning, on the very edge of quiet rage. Your car coughs to life, and you think it’s as annoyed as you are today. That seems appropriate.

The drive is easy and quiet, a small blessing, the icy patches on the road are covered with fresh salt that crunches under your tires. You can’t find it in yourself to be grateful for it, your mind too fogged over with hunger and exhaustion. You’re sleeping tonight, and it doesn’t matter if you have to knock your neighbor unconscious to achieve a quiet night.

Your luck runs out when you find the lock to the front of your apartment building frozen, and you lose your balance. You curse your impractical footwear and march angrily, and cautiously, to the back entrance and let yourself in. FInally. You scowl at apartment 1 and make your way down to the darker hallway where the laundry room, and your apartment, are located. There’s a brown paper bag taped to the door just under the number 2. There’s a note attached. You pull it down to read while you fiddle with your keys to unlock the last door between you and your refrigerator.

Pretty Neighbor Lady,

I’m so sorry we got off on the wrong foot. Maybe these will help with our little problem. Consider it a gift. Stop by any time, I’d love to see you again.

-Eddie in apartment 2

You don’t even wait until you get inside the apartment before you tear open the bag to see what could possibly be hiding inside. A small cardboard box that contains - are you fucking kidding me - foam earplugs. The same kind your father used to wear when he worked at the warehouse. You write the name “Eddie” at the top of your mental scorecard. “Eddie”, a real piece of work.

—

Merciful silence. That’s the only way to describe the way the rest of the week goes. You don’t hear a sound from the man that lives above you. You almost wonder if he’s unwell, but you’ve caught sight of him in the parking lot a couple of times and he seems perfectly fine. You hadn’t expected it to work, but you’re glad you confronted him when you did.

By the time Friday afternoon rolls around, you’re full of happy thoughts of napping with Henry, your orange tabby, before getting properly wasted and finding someone to pass the time with. It’s been too long, and you deserve this.

Your apartment is dark when you get home, no Mary to be found. Henry has already assumed his nap position in your bed. You scratch behind his ear, and he chirps in response. Sweet boy. The shirt you want to wear out tonight, a red deep v-neck sweater, is on the top of your dirty laundry pile. It’s a sign, so you grab the basket and make your way across the hall to the laundry room. You can sleep once you start a load, you’ll thank yourself later. Last minute, you decide to throw in the outfit you’re wearing, and slip into a tank top and shorts. Ridiculous choice for this time of year, but the basement stays nice and warm - actually uncomfortably warm most of the time - laundry room included.

You’re relieved to find the washer and dryer silent. You count it as a small win until you open the washer and find it full of wet clothes. You’re tempted to throw the clothes onto the counter beside you, but decide against it. No need to make enemies, or any more enemies, in the building. Fine, asshole. I’ll dry your clothes. You’re lucky you have 2 rolls of quarters on you. 50 cents is worth keeping the peace.

What you find in the washer are - 2 pairs of black jeans, several black button ups, a couple of band t-shirts, black boxers, and grey sweatpants. You should have known that this is the kind person he is - leaving his wet boxers in a communal washing machine with no thought about the person that would have to stick their hands in to fish them out. With delicate fingers, you pull out each article of clothing with the tips of your fingers, and you fling them into the open dryer. You’re not aware of the audible grumbling coming from your mouth while you do the unpleasant task.

“Well, howdy neighbor! You’re an absolute sweetheart for switching my laundry for me.” The voice from the entryway makes you jump. You immediately straighten your back and ignore him. You ignore the steps you hear moving, sauntering, towards you, and keep focused on the job at hand. “You should stop by tonight,” he’s much closer now, his low voice and heavy presence at your back, “your roommate’s upstairs with Stevie right now. We could all get to know each other, all friendly neighbors.”

You slam the top of the washing down and spin to face him. He’s directly behind you, close enough to smell him. Cologne - Brut maybe? - cigarette smoke, and faintly of weed. He stands over you like a tower, but you don’t step back. You hold his gaze and wait. You, in your too short shorts and paint speckled tank top wearing an armor of barely suppressed rage. He breaks eye contact to look at you. You watch his eyes widen at the sight of the tattoos. His lips twitch when he sees the barbells poking through the thin fabric of your shirt. All of these things are so well hidden under the blazers and dress pants Monday through Friday.

“I would really like to take you out for a drink,” Eddie’s eyes are locked on yours again, only this time he seems to have shrunk down a little. He seems smaller than he did just a moment ago. It stirs a strange feeling in your stomach that you ignore.

“Thanks so much for the offer, neighbor, but I have plans tonight. Please, get your shit out of the dryer when it’s done. I’d hate for you to find it all over the concrete if you forget.” You push past him, heading towards your apartment door and hear him groan behind you.

“Come on, Sweetheart. You need to loosen up, get that stick out of your ass. I bet I could help with that.”

You turn around and press your back against the metal door of your apartment and crook a finger at him. He’s so cocky, you’re thinking while the smile spreads across his lips and he makes his way closer to you, I’d love to bend him over my knee right here in this hallway.

“Come here.” You crook your finger at him. Eddie’s giving you a dopey smile as he sashays close, bringing his ear down closer to your mouth. He smells like shampoo and Irish Spring, clean with a hint of something - probably his skin - that makes you want to stick your tongue out and taste him. Instead, you rest your fingers at the base of his neck. You keep your tone soft, and put on the best sultry voice you can muster outside of a bedroom, “Don’t you worry about what’s up my ass, Sweetheart. I don’t let cocky little whores anywhere near it.”

Eddie is a statue. You’d think him made of stone if not for the quickening pulse you feel under your fingertips. You stand up on the balls of your feet to give yourself a couple extra inches, angling your mouth even closer to his ear, and whisper, “What about your ass, Baby?”

You give Eddie an exaggerated frown and push him away from you, moving the hand from his neck down to his chest. You leave him there, mouth open but no words coming from it, and slam your apartment door behind you. There’s a fire in your gut, and you need to remove yourself from the presence of that menace of a man before it begins to spread from under your skin and into the open.

You make a beeline straight for your bedroom. That fire continues to grow through your anger and irritation. How dare he? It’s not a thing you can control, the way your body reacts to the sight of him with those low slung grey sweatpants. The pretty curve of his lips. Those brown eyes. In your mind you can envision him here with you. His arms are stretched up high, wrists strung up to your headboard. He’s moaning at the sight of you with your little bullet vibrator placed firmly to ease your ache.

Except, the noises you’re hearing are not in your mind at this moment, they’re drifting down that open vent. You bite your lip and press the vibrator harder at the realization. The taste of coppery blood hits your tongue, you can’t let him hear you. He doesn’t deserve it. You listen to him cry out in pleasure, pretty noises that push you right to the edge of your own cliff. A soft whimper is what causes you to stumble. Your release is a flood, and you have to turn your face to let your own cries die in the safety of your pillow.

He’s loud, even when he’s fucking his own fist, and you’re done for. You’re biting your lip so hard, not wanting him to hear you. He doesn’t deserve it. He needs to earn it. Your teeth clamped so hard you taste blood by the time the pleasure is done rippling through your body. He’s still moaning like a bitch, and you fall asleep to the sound, only waking when your watch alerts you that it’s time to switch your laundry.

The washroom light is on, and your laundry is already tumbling in the dryer. Your sweaters, bras, and underwear are spread along the table in the corner to air dry. There’s a note sitting on the dryer 1A written on the outside.

I hope this makes your life easier,

Your cocky little whore,

Eddie

You close your eyes and imagine him holding your delicates in his hands, gently placing them flat to dry. This is bad, very bad.

—

Makeup first. Black eyeliner thick around your eyes, Mary always says it’s too much. She once introduced you as “her roommate that wears too much black eyeliner”, but it makes you feel so sexy. A red lip. You fish around your jewelry box to find your favorite choker and the cute bat earrings that were a gift from an ex-boyfriend. It’s been too long since you were able to dress this way - the way you like. Sheer black pantyhose, black boots, black mini skirt, and a red deep v sweater.

You’re going out, even if Mary stays in with Mr. Green Eyes and Mr. Grey Sweatpants - Eddie.

You’ll find someone tonight, maybe you’ll even bring them back here. It’s fun to imagine Eddie in his bed listening to the sounds of you and someone else. You imagine him reaching a hand under the waistband of his sweats. You think of him with his mouth hanging open while trying to hold back the sounds that you know like to escape while he’s touching himself. You clear your throat and shake the image out of your mind.

It was yesterday evening that you realized the heating vent in your room must lead directly up to his own room. It’s the only explanation for how clearly you can hear him. You could make him jealous if you really wanted. Jealous of you or your hypothetical partner. Man, woman…it doesn’t matter, and he wasn’t the only one that knew how to make a woman scream, although you prefer when they listen and keep quiet. It’s rude to be too loud when you live in an apartment building. You dick.

You make a detour to 2A to give Mary a chance to come with you before you head downtown. The guy that answers the door is a little taller than Eddie and very pretty. He’s wearing a polo shirt and tight jeans, his hair is so stupidly gorgeous. His eyes bug out a bit when he sees you at his door but recovers with a friendly smile. “Hey, I’m your neighbor in 1A, I was looking for- oh there she is.”

Mary is sitting on the couch with a beer in her hand, and she gives you a wave. “I’m so sorry, I lost track of time. Don’t be mad!” You shake your head and point your finger at your roommate. “You owe me. I take it I’m flying solo tonight?” Her eyes are squinting and she’s giving you a pained smile.

“I would say you could stay and hang out with us, but you look like you’re ready for more of a party than I can offer.” The guy, Stevie, you remember Eddie calling him that, is giving you a genuine smile. You’re returning it with ease, because he really does seem like a nice guy. “Yeah, next time? Have fun you two.” You’re wearing your best smile so they know there’s no hard feelings and head out into the night.

The walk is chilly, but your building is only a half a mile from the bars downtown. It was one of the reasons you were willing to move into the shitty basement apartment. That and the easy access to the laundry room. Your purse has the essentials. Wallet, mace, lipstick, condoms, collapsible baton, and camels. Your keys sit on your hip attached to your wallet chain. You know there would be at least a couple of bars that had bands playing tonight. Musicians are reliably horny, even though most of the time you end up regretting letting them into your bed.

The bright lights in the first bar, along with the house music, are an absolute no for you. You walk in, look around the room, and immediately head back out. The next bar has pool tables lined up in the back room. Lots of dudes turn to look at you when you enter, and you grip the handle of your purse. Leers sweeping from your hair to your boots. You smoothly turn and leave before anyone can talk to you. Bar number 3, however, is smokey and you can hear someone performing a mic check. A mix of leather clad men, women, and everything in between. The bartender has a flannel tied around her waist and an undercut. Winner.

“Hey sweetie, what can I get for you.” The bartender is very pretty up close, and openly scanning your chest. You’re giving her a wolfish grin and looking up to the ceiling with a finger on your lips, as if thinking hard.

“Oh, I think I’d like a double Jameson straight up.” You blink your eyes at her and she’s laughing at your antics while she gets your drink. “What can you tell me about the band tonight?”

“Metal. The guys play here pretty often. Corroded Coffin. The crowd is pretty fun, even if you’re not into the music.” Definitely not your typical scene, but you like this place, and you’re willing to let the music work magic on the crowd.

You’re reaching into your wallet for a card to hand over to start a tab. You’re thinking about suggesting the bartender keep you in mind at the end of the night, you’re sure she’d be up for passing some time with you, when you feel a familiar presence at your side.

“Jeannie, how are you tonight?” A hand is on your own, halting its movement. You know this voice. Are you kidding me? “Whatever this pretty lady wants is on our tab tonight, ok?” Jeannie’s eyebrows are high enough that they’re almost lost in her microbangs. She looks to you for confirmation, and you shake your head.

“She’s saying no, Ed.” Jeannie shrugs a little and accepts your card. “Shocking, I know.” She’s laughing at him a little, and you’re loving it. His eyes finally find your own, and he’s frowning. Sad puppy eyes. They sparkle. An effective weapon.

“Come on, you gotta give me something here. You’re killing me.” Eddie sounds genuinely pained. Butterflies beat their wings in your gut at the thought of disappointing him.

“Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m paying for myself tonight.” You place your hand on his neck and pull him close to your face while his eyes stay on your cherry red lips. “Think I might have a shot with Jeannie tonight?”

His mouth lets out a little noise that you’d swear was a whimper. It’s then that the music changes from the metal that’s been blaring over the speakers to Peaches. Fuck the Pain Away. Jeannie is laughing behind the counter, she must have put the song on while you and Eddie were sparring.

Eddie is glaring at you with eyes that are not shiny and sweet - they’re black pools. The grin creeping on his lips is sinister. He leans into your ear to make sure you can hear what he’s got to say over the thumping music. “Do me a favor, yeah? Bring Jeannie out on the dance floor when she’s on her break. I want to see you move.”

He’s gone now, and you knock back your drink. Of course, he’s heading to the stage just as Peaches is chanting for the crowd to fuck the pain away, and Jeannie is refilling your glass. “This one’s on me, Sugar. I like watching someone put Eddie in his place.” Yeah, well he just did a good job of keeping me sitting firmly on this stool, you don’t say. You can feel heat in your chest that’s creeping up your neck, a mix of embarrassment and lust hot on your skin.

And it’s no surprise to you that he is sex on fire on the stage. You fully understand it now. You see the fuller picture of him while he’s at center stage, everything else fades to black. All of the girls that he brings into his bed. His leather jacket is tossed to the side and he’s wearing a crop top sleeveless shirt. His fingers move on his guitar, a fucking Warlock, and your eyes are glued to him. When he starts to sing, you feel like you can’t breathe. You’re warm all over, and it’s not because of the crowd. No, it’s because he’s watching you watch him. You can’t stop yourself. It’s like you two are the only ones in this crowded bar, and he’s hypnotizing you.

You have no idea how long it’s been when Jeannie is coming around the bar to tell you her break is starting. You grab her hand and drag her to the floor. It’s in between songs, and you see Eddie yell back to the rest of the band. The next song is a major departure from the rest of the band’s set, and you know it’s for you, so you make it count. The guitar riff starts, and you circle around Jeannie eyes on Eddie. The drums start and you’re moving your hips to the rhythm. The crowd is moving as one and the energy is palpable. Jeannie is laughing, you made sure to whisper to her about the show you’re putting on for Eddie. You both dance together, your hands never leaving the bartender once during Thunderstruck. When the song ends, you see Eddie adjust his (very tight) jeans, and you leave the floor, dragging Jeannie out the back door and into the alley.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you

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a-hazbin-reader · 7 months

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Hello! I just found your blog a couple days ago and I love your stuff!! I like that you mark everything as either being romantic or platonic (as an aromantic, I would like to say you are a saint for doing that) , and all the little pictures and memes bring me immense joy

I was wondering if you could do a platonic alastor x reader where reader makes/made a deal with Alastor. Like full on, sold-their-soul-to-him, no-takesies-backsies kind of a deal.

And like, maybe Alastor doesn't care about them that much at first, but they slowly grow on him? And reader doesn't like alastor that much either, but they have the same dark, chaotic energy and they just sorta click eventually. (and maybe some Rosie in there too??)

Omg you're so sweet for this 😭 Some of the platonic ones are my FAVE! Plus, I get that not everyone is looking for romance 🤧

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

Plus a little Rosie X Reader

❌️Romantic

✅️Platonic

TW: Cartoonish antics, little bit of violence, Alastor being Alastor, Reader lost their soul

Description: ☝️⬆️

You didn't think Alastor was serious when he said he wanted your soul, who tf does that??

Alastor, that's who, you dummy

To be fair, you totally thought you were going to win but imagine your shock when chains suddenly appeared on you like a leash

Bullshit bullshit bullshit

He has you working at the hotel with Husk and Niffty but you go out of your way to mess things up for him

If you're gonna be his pet then you're going to be a nightmare pet

Maybe he'll decide you're not worth the trouble and give your soul up?? That's a thing that happens right?

So you do little things to fuck with Alastor, big enough to annoy him but subtle enough to be an accident

He wants you to make him tea? Oops!! You've poured salt instead of sugar and now he's choking down salty tea because he's too proud to admit you pulled one over on him

Not him giving you a death glare from over his cup

"How is it~?"

"Delightful."

He wants you to wash the dishes? Fine but you're going to drop and break his favorite mug and every replacement he gets

You're so clumsy

You have to carry his bags?? Fine then-

No, you know what? Niffty can carry the bags she's much more strong and sturdy than she looks

You're no fun

The point is, if Alastor is going to make your life miserable because he owns your soul, you're going to give it right back

You don't even make the punishments fun for him

He doesn't stop seeing you as his worst deal until your both suddenly faced against the same foe

Some idiot Vox hired to pick a fight with Alastor and for some reason Alastor picked you to handle it

Watching you play with your prey reminded Alastor of himself, giving him a few good chuckles

By the time you were done, your opponent had practically pissed themselves to death, terrified by your maniacal nature

After the fight while you're being patched up, you and Alastor share a few laughs as you retell what happened

And then you two laugh about Vox

And then you two laugh about how your opponent died

Nobody else is laughing you sick fucks

There's a change in your dynamic after that day, the two of you becoming partners in crime

Those pranks and punishments you two used to use on each other? Now you're combining forces to use them on everyone else

Everyone thought things would be better once you two put aside your differences

But this is so much worse

They find excuses to just send you two out of the hotel so they can have some peace and quiet

You just feed off each other's worst energies and keep making each other worse

The only mitigating force for you two is Rosie, she's the only one who can get you two to slow it down

"Alright! Hold it!"

Not the two of you being scolded by her, looking like two little kicked puppies because Rosie won't let you two blow up a shop

But the owner is so sleazy!!!

No, you two can't pretend to be repairmen so you can break into people's homes and destroy their tvs

She won't even let you write fake fan mail to Vox, slowly gaining his trust as his number one fan only to shatter his heart in some devastating and public way

Wtf is wrong with you two

She just knows how best to handle the two of you and doesn't really mind how twisted the two of you get to be

She finds it adorable

You are besties by that point, an unstoppable force that wreaks havoc on anything in your path

Oh and sweet Rosie is there too

Holding the leashes for you two

You almost forget he owns your soul and so does he most days, the two of you seeing each other more and more as equals

Or at the very least, friends 🧡

Maybe you've earned your soul back

Nah, keep it

This was so fun! I really hope you liked it!

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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turtletaubwrites · 6 months

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Turtletaub Fic Recs ~ Part 2

I continue to get floored by the amazing and delectable One Piece fics I encounter here, so here's another batch! I hope you enjoy this list as much as I have, and that you go show these incredible writers some love! ~ NSFW Fics will be marked with a 🔥 | Other Fic Rec Lists ~ | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

Ace

Ready? 🔥 ~ by @maddddstuff ~ Here's some oh so fucking good smutty smut. Ace easing you through it 🍑 because he's the perfect, scrumptious guy. I should have waited for a better time to read it, but I couldn't help myself 😅

Barto

Dance Inside 🔥 ~ by @bartosbabymama ~ I love when you have a crush, and now you're sitting in their lap 🥰 He is way too fine, and this is smutty and cute. Barto and his fangs need more love! 💚

Buggy

Please don't say you're gone forever, 'cause I can't hurt no more ~ by @lostfirefly ~ Chapter 1 hit me right in the feels! Such a well written couple's argument that made me want to shake them both, and teach Buggy some communication skills 😭 Chapter 2 was the perfect, sweet conclusion 🥰🤡

I’m full of surprises ~ by @hey-august ~ This is so lovely, and cute, and magical 🥰✨ Feels like letting yourself be free, letting the adventure start. Buggy is so sweet, and I wish his ship had shown up when I needed it.

Crocodile

The Sand Dragon and I 🔥 ~ by @discordantwritings ~ I'm OBSESSED. If you ever read Dealing with Dragons as a kid, get ready for the tastiest adult version of that. 🐲🥵 I would gladly serve Sir Crocodile, I don't even care.

Kid

Calm Down ~ by @sheerxfiction ~ This is fucking adorable, and brought me back to growing up in a hippie stoner town. He's a grump, but all he needed was weed and smooches 🍃🥰 So stinkin' cute, go check it out!

Law

Law Helping You Study 🔥 ~ by @nina-ya ~ Just the sexiest lil study session ever. Law is such a nerd, and has no right being this hot 🥵 Well written smut that I'll definitely read again!

Down the Alley 🔥 ~ by @quinloki ~ VERY inappropriate use of devil fruit powers 🤭 This is so hot! Where is Law when I need him? I need to try this out asap 😭🥵

Mihawk

The Hat Stays ON 🔥 ~ by @sordidmusings ~ Desperate Mihawk desperate Mihawk DESPERATE MIHAWK! This is so flipping hot, go have a read. It is TOO GOOD! 🥵

Multi and/or Character x Character

The Crow's Nest | Zoro x Sanji | ~ by @shewrites02 ~ Such a beautiful, sweet, angsty Zosan fic that made my heart melt! 😭 It’s got Whole Cake Island spoilers, but if you’re caught up, then do yourself a favor and read this! I love them so much, and this wonderfully written fic gave me all the feels 💛💚

Nami

One For Me ~ by @maplekzh ~ This is lovely, and fluffy, and hot! Just the sweetest little moment with Nami x GN!Reader in an established relationship, and I adore how Nami is written here 🍊

Robin

drowning ~ by @oxittocin ~ I love Robin so much, and this is so goood 😭😭 Angsty and sweet, from Robin's POV. It makes me want to wrap her up in a blanket, and make sure she never has another bad day for the rest of her life!

Sanji

Just For One Dance ~ by @gingernut1314 ~ I adored this sweet yearning goodness! It captures one of those rare, magical moments between two people that might not have long together, but will never forget each other. I loved it 🥰

Shanks

Two More Times 🔥 ~ by @fanaticsnail ~ This is insanely good brat taming smut with Daddy Shanks. (Also sweet and lovely because that's our Shanks 🥰) Seriously 🥵🥵🥵 HIGHLY recommend!!!

Zoro

Mean-Mugging ~ by @indydonuts ~ I can't describe how fucking cute this fluffy fic is. I snorted at the Straw Hats antics, then had to immediately go tell my partner about it because it's just so CUTE!! 😭💚 Zoro is so sweet, even if he's scary looking 😅

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americas-ass-writing · 1 year

Text

Written in the stars

Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 2.7k

Summary: The internet was a wonderful, helpful thing until it wasn't. Until one misstep, one accident gets spread around and ruins your life. Or does it lead you where you're meant to be?

Warnings: none? Stan Lee cameo maybe, me sucking at writing dialogue

A/N: This was written for @lunarbuck Soulmate Au Writing Challenge! I had the prompt "You and your soulmate share matching tattoos." I hope you enjoy it!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Gif by me

The sound of rain against your window is the first thing you register as you wake up. The sounds of your street in New York slowly adding themselves in. You let out a yawn and stretch. These were the best days. Waking up to the rain serenading you on your day off. You have nowhere to be, no plans, just a day for yourself. So you lay in bed a bit longer, just listening to the sounds.

Once you get up, you start your day. A nice warm shower, comfy clothes and breakfast with your favourite tea. Your phone dings with the daily reminder of your best friend to leave your apartment today so you'd have a chance finding your soulmate. You roll your eyes. She found hers in high school - lucky bitch. The matching tattoo of a weird shaped heart, that to you looked more like a bean, on her ankle sealed her fait to the high school jock. You were scared for her at first but he turned out to be the best partner she could ever have wished for. You on the other hand weren't so lucky. The little star constellation on your shoulder blade hasn't met it's match yet and you weren't sure if it ever would. With a sigh you put down your mug and text her back, promising you'd leave the house if the rain stopped.

The internet was a wonderful, helpful thing until it wasn't. Until one misstep, one accident gets spread around and ruins your life.

Steve was always good at hiding his soulmate mark. Back in the 40s when he was sickly he partially did it because dressing warm enough prevented him from getting sick and to protect whatever dame had the matching mark on her shoulder from having him as soulmate. As soon as he became Captain America he solely did it so no one would lead him on by pretending to be his soulmate. He was glad his soulmark was on his shoulder blade, easy to hide under the shirts he wore. Even though he was hiding it he couldn't help the disappointment that in all his years on this planet he hasn't even had a slightest tickle of the feeling of his soulmate being close to him.

But then his years of hiding were ruined by a very public mission. He was doing his best to lead his team and make sure they were all safe. He was in his element until a Hydra agent attacked him with a knife. This happened way too often these days and every time Howard Stark's voice mocks him in his mind. "Hydra won't attack you with pocket knives." Yeah right.

Steve was quick to react and instead of stabbing him in his shoulder all the attacker did was rip open his suit. This shouldn't happen this easily, maybe it wasn't a common pocket knife and Howard was right after all. Steve knocked him to the floor and made sure the man was unconscious. He didn't even think twice about the rip in his suit before he went back to the mission. He should have... He should have took a damn second to check then he wouldn't be stuck in the Tower.

The rip exposed his soulmark. And of course some onlooker took a picture that spread like wildfire on the internet. Promptly the Tower was overrun by people claiming they're his soulmate. His morning runs through central park were turning into him being hunted down by them too.

When the first woman came he had hope. He really thought that maybe, just maybe the stupid mistake would bring him his soulmate but the feeling never came... Nothing ever snapped into place. He didn't have the feeling.

His soulmark soon graced the shoulder blades of thousands of people like some stupid fashion accessory which caused him to swear off his soulmate and accepted a life of being alone. He just hoped that this hype around his mark would soon die down.

His fists hit the punching bag in front of him hard. The bag swinging back and forth wildly as he tried to let his pent up anger out. His usual sparring partners tapped out a few days ago since he got too cruel during it, not pulling his punches anymore. He understood, he didn't want to hurt them but he couldn't help himself but be disappointed. Those social interactions flew out the window too which didn't help him with feeling so alone.

"We gotta get him out of the tower... He's been cooped up for two weeks now." Natasha mumured to the fellow assassin next to her as they both watched their friend. "Sam and me tried... Either we get overrun immediately or he refuses to leave the tower." Bucky answered, his arms crossed. He felt for his friend, he deserves to find his soulmate and live happily ever after with them. "Maybe we can fly him out to Clint's farm?" He added only to be met with a snort of the redhead next to him. "Yeah he'd love that. Clint would make him take care of the chickens. Imagine all the pictures of him and Cap Jr." She smirked at the image of Steve holding up his chicken counterpart in several pictures.

Just as Bucky was about to answer their little conversation got interrupted by the bag hitting the floor and Steve marching or rather stomping off to get a new one.

"I have a plan to buy you guys some time" the redhead said after a moment of silence and beckoned her friend to follow her.

Picking at his cap and the borrowed clothes, Steve sends Nat a sceptical look. "This isn't going to work..." He sighs and sits down. His face falls into the palms of his hands. Soon enough there are soft strokes on his back. "Yes it will work. You just gotta be positive for once, Rogers" she says with an encouraging smile. "Sam and Bucky are currently distracting the masses, making them fill out forms so you can find your soulmate. All you gotta do is take the back exit and vanish into the crowds. It's a simple mission." Nat ever the optimist. There was so many things that could go wrong with this plan. Steve lifts a sceptical eyebrow at her.

"Look it's either this or Bucky's plan that involves a horrible granny dress and a wig. So choose your poison, Cap" she smirks at his furrowed eyebrows and claps on his shoulder. "That's what I thought. Let's get you out of here." With a smile she beckons him to follow her. They walk through the hallways and take the stairs down to the lobby. Instead of taking the usual door Natasha leads him around the corner and through some storage rooms before they stop in front of a door.

"Alright, sunglasses on. I texted you the code to get back into this door but I expect you to not use it before lunchtime." Like a mother scolding her child she points a finger at him. "The door leads to the back alley. The security guard has been informed that you'd take this way so no need to worry. Just make a swift exit from the alley into the crowds. Keep your head down, cap and sunglasses on, ok?" Steve nods at that and hugs her. "Thank you" he whispers and before she can answer he slips out of the door.

He nods to Stan the security guard, a nice old man that he often talked about art with, and slips out of the alley into the masses. To his surprise everyone's minding their own business and soon he's a block away from the tower. His shoulders relax and he lets out a breath. The rain probably helped him stay unrecognised.

Much to your dismay the rain stops after a few hours and you have to keep your promise. You sigh and get dressed to leave your apartment. Maybe a coffee in the park wouldn't be so bad. The park near your apartment always was empty on rainy days, except for a few people walking their dogs. So you could still enjoy your day without too many people around you. Once you're all dressed you grab your bag and an umbrella, just to be safe, before you leave. Your feet carry you to the little cafe at the end of your street. You weren't surprised with how busy it was. People would come here to escape the cloudy skies, to study, to meet others or to simply just get coffee. You weren't bothered by the masses though since it was your plan all along to get your order to go and sit in the park.

With your drink and snack in hand you enter the park a little while later. It wasn't big but still beautiful. You make your way to your favorite spot, a little bridge over the lake that housed two benches. It was a quiet and beautiful spot and you're were sure no one would hog the benches today. Well you were wrong. As you approach you see one of the benches taken by a tall stranger with a sketchpad. He seemed relaxed as his hand moved the pencil over the paper. His cap and hunched over form hid his face from your view but you didn't mind. Something inside you told you he was safe and even pulled you a bit closer to him. It's a weird feeling but you chalk it off to the two of you just doing the same thing - trying to enjoy the silence in the park.

You sit down on the bench across from him and take in the nature. You don't even notice his surprised face when he looks up and sees someone across from him. Or when he absent mindly scratches his shoulder. Or when his lips pull into a small smile at the added person in his sketch. You sit in silence for a while, trying to ignore your itchy shoulder, occasionally stealing a glance of the handsome stranger until he stands up and approaches you. Your heart beats faster as you look up at him. Why was he approaching you? Was he not the nice strange...

"Here..." He holds out a piece of paper to you with a soft smile on his face. Fuck even his voice was handsome. You hesitate for a second before you softly take it from him, which just makes his smile grow wider. Your eyes land on his sketch of the park... the lake, the trees, the flowers and you... You on the bench with your drink in hand, smiling as you take in the nature. It's breathtakingly beautiful. Your surprised eyes find his and you're met by a bashful smile. "I uh... It's a thank you..." He scratches his neck, his face blushing as he tries to avoid your eyes. "A thank you?" You ask confused, the small itch in your shoulder growing. You look up at him. Why would he thank you for sitting across from him?

"Yeah... The last week's... Have been crazy and you're the first person who treats me... normal?" He fumbles with his hands as your confusion just grows, brows knitted together. "My soulmark was released to the public after a mission and so many people got it as a tattoo and they hunted me down on my jogs and they waited for me everywhere and I was stuck in the tower and my friends wouldn't even spar with me and I felt so alone and when I was finally able to sneak out and spend some time outside you didn't even lift an eyebrow at Captain America sitting across from you so thank you" he rambles and your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You didn't even recognize him. Not in casual clothes that seem a bit too big for him. He nervously fumbles with his hands again at your silence. "I..." "See I even signed it. If you don't want to keep it you can sell it" as he tries to point out his signature he grazes your hand with his fingers and both of you wince. The blinding pain in your shoulder was gone within a second but it was replaced with warmth. As your eyes meet his you realize it wasn't just you who feels it. His hand is still on his shoulder as he looks at you with wide eyes and his beautiful lips apart.

"Please tell me you felt that too..." He whispers, his voice almost breaking. You nod as answer and continue to stare at him. He lets his hand fall and gets on his knees in front of you, his eyes stare in yours so desperate you want to wrap him up in a hug and blanket and protect him from the world.

"I didn't even recognize you" is all you bring out and he laughs. A beautiful melodic laugh as his hands softly grab your free one. Thousands of little butterflies spread in your body, the tingly sensation wandering through you until it reaches your soulmark. "I'm pretty sure you have a little constellation of stars on your shoulder" the blonde still kneeling in front of you says with a smile that's brighter than the sun. You chuckle and bite your lower lip. "What makes you think so?" You tease. He licks his lips and squeezes your hand softly. "Because I have the same" he whispers as if it's a secret for just the two of you and maybe just maybe it would be if he would have used his brain a few weeks back.

You stare at each other for a while longer till the rain starts again. "Shoot! I have a cap you can wear uh..." The Adonis in front of you gets up and hurries over to his bench to get his things. You chuckle as he comes back and pull out your umbrella. "We can just share this and sit for a while longer" you suggest as you open it. He stops for a second but then smiles easily as he plops down next to you and offers to hold it.

You spend the afternoon talking, smiling and laughing. The conversation flowed easy and Steve even gave you a peek at his mark which was to no one's surprise the one you have too. Thus followed a lot of star related jokes from Steve. You laughed at every adorable pun and that seemed to spur him on even more. His eyes shining brighter with every laugh or giggle you gifted him, almost like the star littered night sky was trapped in them.

When the sun started to set Steve walked you home. He insisted that he did so because he wanted to make sure you're safe. You agreed, that was obviously the reason. Not the two of you wanting to spend more time together. And him holding your hand obviously was for keeping you safe too. And the kiss that you pressed on his lips when you arrived was definitely just a thank you. And the promise to see each other again after exchanging numbers was just part of your extensive security plan.

Steve slips into the tower through the door in the alleyway. He smiles at Stan before he takes the stairs, two steps at a time. He has never felt this happy and carefree before. He found his soulmate and you were the most beautiful and kind and amazing human being he knows. As he enters the common area he finds Bucky and Sam in front of a stack of paper and Natasha enjoying their aggregation.

"What's going on here?" Steve asks, his left eyebrow lifted. He grabs some water from the fridge and walks over to his friends. "It's all the soulmate applications that were filled out. We're going through them to see if maybe one of them is actually your soulmate." Sam explains and holds up one of the filled out forms. Steve smile widens. "But most of them are so obnoxious. Like this one" Bucky holds up another form. "I'm meant to be yours even if I had to get the soulmark tattooed." He reads, his frown deepening. Steve just laughs and takes the stack in front of his friends. He throws the stack in the recycling bin, much to the outrage of Bucky and Sam. He takes a sip from his water before the smile finds his lips again. "Well... Thank you for doing all this work but it was unnecessary. I found her and she's pretty amazing." His smile widens at the shocked faces of his friends.

"Excuse me, what?! You walk in here like nothing happened and then out of nowhere drop that bomb on us?!" Sam cries out. Steve chuckles which just seems to anger his friends even more. "Oh I'll hand your ass to you in tomorrow's sparring session!" Bucky promises as Steve skillfully avoids him. Finally Natasha just gets up and hugs him. "I'm happy for you. You deserve it, Cap." She says sincerely. "I hope you know that I'm doing a background check on her." Steve chuckles but hugs her back. "And that you're gonna break poor Clint's heart by not visiting him on his farm." Steve's laugh turns into a snort. "You mean I'm making him really happy because he now has an excuse to buy a new chicken? Can't have Cap Jr. without his soulmate. And I'm pretty sure she'll love the chicken once I take her for a visit." Natasha smiles fondly before she punches his shoulder slightly and leaves him to Sam and Bucky's complaining and investigations.

#captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #mcu #mcu x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #soulmate au

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sevenop · 2 months

Text

Billie Eilish x Fem!reader: Fever

A/n: You fall into a strange fever dream, burning from the temperature. You wake up next to her, burning again, but now a sense of shame.

Inspired by the song "hostage."

You open your eyes half-asleep time after time, and the first thing you see is the invigorating coolness of her eyes, where you want to dive in headfirst.

"I would love to drown in you," you babble in a fever delirium, and Billie smiles knowingly gently, laying you back down. You feel her firm hand on your back before plopping back down on the sheets. The bed seems to be getting endless.

"Don't strain yourself until I get you some tea," her hand touches your forehead and a silver snake of sadness runs in her eyes for a second. - "You're hot as hell again."

"Of course, I'm right next to you!" - God! You'll be so embarrassed when the mercury column slowly creeps downward, releasing you from the captivity of the fever, mark my word.

"Little fool," - a smile and a pleasant chuckle adorning the next precious verbal clarification. - "My little fool."

Billie goes off to get another mug of green tea, the amount of which makes you feel nauseous, as if you were standing on the deck of a seagoing ship with your hands resting miserably on the rail. A new wave of heat sweeps over you and makes you want to peel off your skin, to say nothing of your ill-fated home T-shirt. Covering your eyes is the worst idea imaginable. The ceiling or any other interior object you throw your tired gaze at, zooms in at an imaginary x4 zoom. This only makes your ship rock more, causing more misery. You hear the button of the electric kettle in the kitchen click and the spoon rattle against the walls of the full cup. God, not the green tea...

Eilish returns with the mug in hand, sets it on the wooden stand resting on the bedside table. You watch as the green surface of the herbal tea reaches almost the most ceramic edges and your appearance becomes deader than dead.

"I understand, my heart," Eilish's hand accurate strokes your face, and you only caress closer because her hand is so cool and just because it's her, Billie.

"I'm going to throw out all the green tea in our house."

Billie nods and assures you of her help as swornly as if you were two partners in crime dumping a corpse in the river.

"We'll have a Boston Tea Party together, you just get better."

She bends down to touch your lips with her own, but you immediately put your hand on her shoulder, resisting. The previously sluggish muscles are now as tense as possible. Eilish meets your categorical "no" again, which is the only stoic thought in your infernal delirium.

"I don't want you to get sick." - Eilish doesn't make any extra effort, but you're in no hurry to remove your hand from her shoulder either, just in case.

"Please." - An ingratiating, pitiful whisper crawls into your skull, mingling with the sickening heat. Reality slowly slips away from you again, and Billie leans a little closer to you, participating as your muscles loosen again. - "I've missed your lips so damn much these past three days, Y/n. I miss being in bed without you at night so much."

"No." - you catch her sad look overriding all prudence and something breaks inside. You hastily try to make things a little better. - "Not until the temperature breaks."

Eilish sighs, but tacitly agrees to your condition. It's not clear what prompted her to do this more - the string of interviews next week or just a deep moistening to your wishes. It seems to be all of the above together. The sadness from her eyes travels over her entire face, freezing her like a mask: the corners of her plump lips are lowered, and the inner corners of her straight eyebrows are raised upward and slightly drawn together. Your resolve cracks, and you soften your sentence a little.

"If..." - The line is suddenly torn by a fit of your dry cough as you reach for the pills on the nightstand. - "If you take some antivirals, I think you can lie next to me for a while."

Billie's face shines brighter than the many gold figurines on her living room shelf, which will soon run out of room. She immediately scrambles out of her seat on your bed and disappears into the gradual silence of the house, retreating to the bathroom. You wash down the bitter pills with green tea, drowning in the world's sorrow with each sip, and fall back tiredly. You cover your eyes and return from a state of half-awakeness, only when you feel something fall sharply to your left on the bed: Billie is back and the smile on her face simply cannot be erased by anything in the world, which greatly alleviates the bitterness of any colorful pills.

"Do you want me to put some vinyl record on in the background?"

You nod, a little suspended in your thoughts, while she's already going through a lot of records. The albums slap against each other amusingly as Billie flips them back, as if digging through a filing cabinet. Slap, slap.

"Any number from one to forty?" - her neat fingers freeze in anticipation of your answer.

"Seven." - You squint, and yellow and red flashes flash before your eyes, giving you some sort of foreboding feeling. Eilish hums and you look at her with interest, lifting yourself up and folding your legs into a lotus position on the bed. She raises her arm as proudly as if it were a flagpole, and her flag cloth is indeed yellow and red. The "Don't smile at me" vinyl. The hunch really worked.

"You love me so much that you only pick my songs?" - she purrs contentedly like a cat, deftly pulling out an iridescent, two-color CD. Yellow and red echo the gamut of the cover and the smell of lemon and strawberries suddenly hits your nose. Sometimes you feel like the more you live with Billie, the more you feel this artificial synesthesia clinging to you.

The glass lid swings back, reflecting the rays of the setting sun from the window, and the record lies flat in its proper place. Billie gently lowers the turntable claw, and with a click of the button the needle runs leisurely along the embossed tracks of the record, filling the room with the sounds of her own voice, but younger and not as strong as it is now. Eilish is slightly embarrassed, and it's so beautiful to you.

"I love you always." - you spread your arms out to the side, inviting her in. - "Come here."

Billie smiles, settles on the bed with you and practically agrees to your terms, but adjusts them slightly. While you are sick, she is your caring big spoon, no objections. You feel the warmth of her body against your back as she chops the rhythm of a playful "my boy" with her fingers, hear her soft soprano entwining your heart with a satin ribbon as she intimately sings "party favor" in your ear and endlessly kissing your entire face, except for your lips, of course, which you have vetoed. You're basically her little spoon most of the time, though she so pleasantly loses and relents when you masterfully take the reins of leadership into your own hands.

"Rest, my girl," she whispers affectionately, biting you on the lobe (revenge for the kissing ban), "I'll be right there."

And with the first chords of "ocean eyes", filled with her two-voice, you fall into slumber.

×××

"I wanna steal your soul," - the hems of Eilish's white robes sweep upward slightly as she dives predatorily toward you, kneeling down for eye contact. - "And hide you in my treasure chest."

The two of you are in some incomprehensible space, where dark emptiness and the cool ripples of water on the floor coexist peacefully. You are the water-chained prisoner kneeling on your knees, she is your personal devil. The loneliness shared by two and the coolness of the water. Nothing more.

Eilish's lips bend in a tempting smile, so devilishly seductive that you feel attraction mixed with fear of incomprehension as goosebumps run through your body. Strangely, you freeze under her gaze, filled with Edenic blueness, and she just stares at you silently, and you don't try to free your hands behind your back again. The water chains no longer rattle.

She bends down a little closer to you and touches your neck with her lips gently, almost weightlessly - she leaves her mark on you. It feels like your body is being hit by a high-voltage current, although you are physically fine.

"What do you want from me?" - you mutter softly, not taking your dumbfounded gaze away from her. It is still unclear where you are, whether this is reality or something else, but the coolness unobtrusively enveloping you is pleasantly soothing. As if you needed it.

"Let me crawl inside your veins, I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain," - she rises to her feet, towering over you. Her words have a musical tune to them that draws you in even more. And indeed: one click and you feel the weight of the water collar around your neck. Another click, and then she lifts you up, yanking you by the chain of the collar that appeared out of nowhere. It doesn't hurt at all. - "It's not like me to be so mean."

You reach up to her face to make sure it's just a dream. Your fingertips twitch with excitement, but Eilish walks calmly toward your thought and actions, her cheek resting against your palm. Devils dance in her blue eyes. It is completely tangible. You yank your hand away, like accidentally fell under a stream of boiling water, reflexively examine your palm and only further nurture the seed of confusion in the depths of your soul. O'Connell is still smiling the same way.

"What is it...?"

"Gold on your fingertips," - she approaches you with a soft step, like a misty haze over water, - "fingertips against my cheek."

"Say, I'm asleep now, aren't I?"

Billie shrugs her shoulders in a childishly funny way, and it seems to you that she really sincerely does not know what to say. Her hand gently touches your shoulder while the other finally weakness the tangle of water chains, opening up to you a great variability in the distance. In the end, you decide to relax, despite the curiosities of the environment: You trust Billie even in your sleep. She does not utter a single word, just looks at you with some mysterious note in her eyes, and the answer to her dumb question already comes into your head, which you are in a hurry to denounce in words.

"I don't know what feels true," - your lips almost touch hers, so close together, - "But this feels right so stay a sec."

"Gold leaf across your lips," - the chain rattles, the free end touching the water surface, which is why circles began to form on the surface under you, driven by the white foam of the splash. Both her hands gently touch your face, without pressure, but you feel that you personally want to obey her completely. Through her beautiful raven-colored hair, falling over her face, you catch a glint of precious yellowish luster: gold is spilling on her cheek, which you recently touched, resembling a thin twig. Her eyes hungrily catch the glare, as if turning greenish. So mesmerizing. - "Kiss me until I can't speak..."

You feel the heat on your lips and wake up.

×××

The record has stopped playing, the room is completely silent, and Eilish is kissing your lips more unabashedly than ever before. After such a strange dream, you juxtapose reality so difficult that you pull away in consternation at only the third kiss. Billie laughs loudly, bringing you back into her arms. You frankly remind her of a chicken just out of its shell. Slightly disheveled and completely lost.

"You were mumbling in your sleep and I couldn't find a better way to wake you up." - her voice sounds so playful that you don't even need to turn around to see her confident-skanky face. - "Foreshadowing your concern - your forehead is absolutely not hot. The fever's gone down."

"Such a crazy dream..." - you snuggle into her shoulder, and she's only glad, pulling you closer to her.

"I don't know what feels true?" - you see her eyebrow raise ironically. The gears in your head wind up, returning to their usual healthy mode and you bounce on the bed again, nearly falling off it from the weight of understanding the situation.

You experienced her song "hostage" in your fever dream and even spoke lines from it out loud! Oh my god...

Billie realizes just in time to keep your still sluggish but recovering body from an incredibly "pleasant" encounter with the floor: her hand deftly grips your waist and pulls you back. She smiles just as she did in your dream and you're instantly pierced by the ubiquitous lightning bolt of deja vu.

"Will you tell me more about it? Maybe we can even do it again?"

In her humble (no) opinion, your face in color now resembles the most beautiful pink rose while your state of mind is completely withdrawn under the aegis of feeling embarrassed. And before you can open your mouth, choosing words to describe the dream, she kisses you. With a groan of long-awaited pleasure and absolutely no modesty.

#billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish

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sailoryooons · 1 year

Note

i’m salivating over my first ever haliween ahhhhhhhggggjtjekwldlcjwkwnf. anyways, i trust you implicitly, so i’m gonna do the random thing:

milky way + princess peach + the craft 👁️👄👁️

(ily 🦐)

❀ Pairing: Witch!Yoongi x witch!f. reader

❀ Summary: When the red string of fate appears around your ankle, you have twelve days to find your fated partner or die. That’s how the spell works - that’s how fate has always run Her business. There is one, very inconvenient witch who keeps getting in your way, though, and you might just kill each other before your mark does.

❀ Word Count: 4,421

❀ Genre: Magical AU, Fate AU, a bit of angst, a bit of crack

❀ Rating: SWF

❀ Warnings: Talk of death!!! Reader thinks that she is going to die this entire fic, so she thinks about dying/makes jokes about dying a lot. At the end of the story, there are moments where she is sad and there are hints of depression because she is dying, but it’s not super intense and heavy. Language, Yoongi, and reader are both very stupid, the communication skills in this friend group are at ZERO.

❀ Published: Tuesday, October 3

❀ A/N: This is my first request filled for Haliween and I am so excited! This was so much fun to write and honestly, I was super inspired by Jade's ability to infuse humor in writing, so this is absolutely an ode to Jade. Inside my Halloween bag for you is… Yoongi, witches, and fate! This actually might be one of my favorite drabbles I’ve written all year if not all the time and I sort of wish this was a full one-shot with angst but I think it works sooo well this way. UNEDITED.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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It’s raining the day that the red string of fate scorches your ankle. The pain is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, sending you to your knees as you scream. At first, Jimin thinks you’re dying. He drops his mug of tea, rushing over to you as the porcelain shatters, dropping to the ground to pull you up by the shoulders.

You’re prone for a moment, eyes rolled back, voice straining as your entire body tenses, hellfire licking through you.

Then it’s gone. Like it never happened.

The mark leaves you panting in Jimin’s arms, whimpering lightly as you pull the leg of your jeans up with trembling hands to reveal a singular scarlet circle around your ankle. The mark tingles, leaving behind the memory of sudden pain, now cool to the touch.

“Holy shit,” Jimin whispers, staring at the mark. His eyes are wide when he looks down at you, lips trembling. “Twelve days.”

Twelve days. Twelve entire days to untangle you’re new fate and follow it to the witch meant for you, your other half. Twelve days to find them and meet your magical half. To be whole again.

Because in the world of witches, there are some of you born not complete. Some of you have another soul out there, burning with some of your magic. And when that magic is ready to become one, it tries to kill you.

Twelve days to reunite it.

Or, twelve days until you die.

DAY ONE

The day is a waste. Impeding doom does not inspire confidence in the probability of finding the witch who is supposed to be your other half. Hoseok offers a tarot spread, flipping cards and trying to untangle the path that will lead to your savior.

He frowns as he looks at his deck. The images and text on them are nearly faded entirely, a heirloom of his coven passed down through generations of family members. Hoseok knows them by touch, feel, and energy alone. Could read them in the dark, if he wanted to.

Hoseok glances up where you’re curled on the couch in a blanket, doing little spell work to figure out where your mystery half is. “Perhaps you should have Namjoon read tea leaves instead,” he offers. Hoseok shuffles the deck and puts it back in a wooden box. “The cards want you to figure it out yourself. Tea is less judgmental, perhaps.”

DAY TWO

Tea is not less judgmental. You stamp out of the tea shop, feeling stormy, energy crackling like lightning. Namjoon, unable to help, mentioned that perhaps you should seek help from Jungkook, who often sees the future in his drawings. It’s what led him to Jimin, after all.

Someone crashes into you, knocking you off balance. You yell as you go, too lost in thought to catch yourself with magic before you’re topping into the street and a puddle. Cursing, you look up at the stranger who has knocked you into a dirty hole filled with water.

“Are you serious?” you demand, gesturing to your legs as water seeps in. “Watch where you’re going!”

The man in front of you is covered in coffee. He looks up at you dripping in dark liquid, the front of his white shirt ruined and sticking to his chest. If you weren’t so impossibly angry, you might think he was cute. Long, black hair tucked behind his ears, keen feline eyes, a rosy mouth in a natural pout.

But you don’t think it’s cute. Especially when he says, “Me? You’re on the wrong side of the sidewalk!”

“There are no sides to the sidewalk!”

“Of course there is! If you’re walking north you should walk on the inside of the sidewalk, if you’re walking south, you should walk on the outside!”

“That makes no fucking sense!”

“Says the girl still sitting in a puddle instead of getting up and drying herself off!”

You make an angry sound, shoving yourself up from the puddle, sopping wet. “Have the day you deserve,” you snarl at him.

“Have fun with your wet pants.”

DAY THREE

Day three is spent at the library looking up ways to break the red string of fate around your ankle. There are tombs and tombs of ancient texts on the various iterations of the spell through different cultures and religions, but so far you have nothing to show for it.

Huffing and tossing another useless book onto your useless pile, you walk back to the dark stacks of the magical section of the library reserved for members of the covens in the city. It smells musty and dusty in the back, the air dank with the promise of rot. You make a mental note to tell Jisung at the front to please use an air freshening spell.

As you turn the corner of the shelves, someone makes you pull up short. The man from the day before is in front of you, flipping through a book. You blink in surprise. A witch. It shouldn’t surprise you - most of the townsfolk here are magic in one way or another. But it makes less sense that he was so angry about spilling his coffee when he could just whisk his fingers in the air and put it back in the cup.

You’re angry all over again, balling your fists in the aisle. You have half a mind to flick your fingers and through a book from the shelf at him, but the tome in his hands makes you pause. It’s the book you’re looking for.

The man snaps it shut and tucks it under his arm, continuing to look through the shelves.

“Um, where are you taking that?”

He turns with a soft expression, eyes wide. Then he sees you and immediately scowls, nose scrunching. “Oh. You. If you came here for new pants, the Target is across the street.”

“I’m looking for that book.”

“Well, this book is coming with me.”

“What do you need it for, huh?”

His face is impassive as he blinks twice. “For a bonfire, thank you.”

With that, he spins on his heel and walks down the aisle. You step after him, but he snaps and you feel a sharp tug in your stomach, like a pull in another direction. You blink and suddenly find yourself several aisles over, making you scream in anger.

“Did you just teleport me?!”

DAY FOUR

Spent listening to Hey Jude on repeat. And dumplings. So many dumplings that you may not make it to day twelve.

DAY FIVE

What a good day. You’ve made no progress, but you head home with a smile on your face nonetheless. Even though you will surely expire when the red string of fate eats you from the ankle up in seven days, you have at least one good memory before your untimely demise.

Autumn hangs cooly in the air. Your scarf is wrapped snuggly around your neck as you skip home, fresh on the memory of the Puddle Pusher’s face when you bought the last of the black flame candles at Shadow’s earlier that day.

Give me at least one, he’d said to you. You don’t need five.

Well, what if I mess up? You’d asked.

Then you’re a shitty witch.

Well, that had offended you, so you bought the white flame candles too, just in case. Bags full of candles for your little ritual, you skip home to try another trick in breaking the scarlet mark around your ankle. You’re not hopeful but you are happy to rub the salt in with the Puddle Pusher before your sweet farewell to the world.

Even if he did look very cute today.

DAY SIX

Morale is low. The ritual from the night before utterly failed and set off your sprinkler system in your apartment. As you spend the morning blasting hot gusts of wind from your hands and levitating several items throughout the home to air dry, you wonder what it will be like at the end.

The red string of fate is such a rare thing. When you were little, you may have thought it was romantic. Knowing there was someone out there for you that was your twin flame, your other half. A person connects to you by the cosmic power of the universe. Whose spellwork with your own could make you unstoppable.

Now you think it’s stupid. You don’t need anyone else to make you complete. You’ve learned that over several failed relationships and the lackluster dating life of this town. There’s no reason for you to need to follow this stupid mark to find the one person you can no longer live without.

Love is not worth dying for. If it is even love. You cannot imagine that the magic that flows through the world unseen but felt is so all-seeing and powerful that it knows who you should be with. That it can tell you what to do.

Day six sucks. And you spend it crying. Alone and forgotten, without your other half.

DAY SEVEN

Jungkook sifts through his drawings, chewing his lip. The hum of tattoo guns buzzes like a hive of angry bees behind you. You ignore the awful music blaring through the speakers and the man screaming behind the piercing curtain getting his nipples pierced.

“Don’t you have something for that?” you ask, jerking your thumb at the sniveling. “The man sounds like you’re castrating him.”

“Oh, that? Some people like the pain. However, it is Jin so he is actually hating every second of it.” You make a face but Jungkook doesn’t notice, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, dude. I don’t see or feel anything in any of these recent drawings of mine. I wish I could be of better assistance. There’s this guy who might be able to help, though. Taehyung?”

“Tae-who?”

“Here.” Jungkook scribbles an address in truly illegible handwriting. “Visit him on the full moon in..” He looks at his phone and makes a face with yikes written all over it. “Five days.”

“Jungkook, in five days I will be hours away from-” You make a choking sound and roll your eyes back into your head. When you look back at Jungkook, he’s not amused. “Death. Dead. Está muerto.”

“Yeah, I got that. Not funny.” He shoves the paper in your hand. “Look, he’s a really powerful seer. Just go.”

“Think he can tell me what to wear as I croak?”

Jungkook is still not amused by your jokes. He looks around you as the shop door chimes, lifting a hand. “Hey, Yoongi. Be with you in a second.” He looks back at you. “Have you considered asking around for anyone who has had one show up recently? It might help, you know?”

“No thanks. Don’t need any weirdos trying to get into my skivvies by lying about it. Thanks, though. I’ll look into this.” You lift the paper.

Turning around to leave, you stop dead in your tracks. Yoongi is standing near the front entrance of the door. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a flannel shirt, his hair tucked under a beanie. He looks soft, especially when his attention isn’t on you and glowering.

For a moment, you’re not mad at him and you don’t hate him on principle. You just admire the way his nose is a little bit red from the cold outside, and his general sense of wonder is… innocent. Gentle. Kind.

When he turns to look at you, as though he feels your staring, his face morphs from cherubic to devilish, curling his lip up at you. Your momentary lapse of judgment vanishes. “Here to get a tattoo of Number One Puddle Pusher?”

“I didn’t push you.”

“Who's to say you didn’t? Do you have CCTV evidence?”

Yoongi scoffs. “I should be checking CCTV to see if you’re stalking me.”

“Me? Stalking you? I got here first.”

“Do you have CCTV evidence?” he mocks, making a face.

With a huff, you blow by him, turning to Jungkook who looks between the two of you with wide eyes and a dubious expression. “Make his tattoo ugly.”

DAY EIGHT

Yoongi as it turns out is new in town. Instead of spending day eight doing like Jungkook suggested and putting out an APB on Facebook Marketplaces and Craigs List, you spend it looking up your mysterious mortal enemy only to find that… he’s entirely normal.

Most of the covens in town have a long history of ancestry connected to the town’s creation. Yoongi seems to have no such thing, having only moved there a year ago. You’ve never come across him, though it seems you have plenty of friends in common.

From his social media, you can tell only two things about him: he likes cats and takes the worst dad pictures. By worst, you mean silly little photographs of things you can only see a father taking. Somehow the angle is always just wrong or the captions are so simple that you find yourself smiling.

And then you remember whose photos you’re looking at and you fix your face with a scowl.

Tossing your phone onto the couch, you curse Yoongi. The Puddle Pusher.

DAY NINE

Spent crying.

DAY TEN

Spent crying even harder. And spent looking at Yoongi’s cat on social media, only to accidentally double tap and scream as you unlike the photo, and throw your phone across the apartment in terror.

You cry more after. And add buy a new phone on your to-do list.

DAY ELEVEN

You’re going to die. It’s inevitable. You spend the evening watching the stars with Jimin. You let Jungkook tattoo a smiley face on your foot. You drink lots of hard cider, and you fall asleep in a bed that feels too empty and the knowledge that you’ll no longer have to worry about filling it.

DAY TWELVE

Taehyung lives in the middle of Fuck All Nowhere. While you might not find that exactly on the map, it is only somewhat easy to find his creepy, draconic estate outside of town. Getting out of your car, you look up at the spiring mansion, sure that you’re going to see bats flying out of the top like an episode of Scooby Doo.

Alas, there are no bats there to greet you in your final few hours. "Where are the bats, dude?" you ask, walking up the lawn.

The house is something out of a creepy cartoon. Old, wooden stairs creek under your feet as you climb them. The front porch has a severe lean, making you take a precarious step toward the massive front door.

A knocker in the shape of a snarling gargoyle greets you. Tentatively, you reach your hand toward it. Just before your fingers brush the knocker, the door swings inward, creaking and shuttering as it does. You snatch your hand back and take a step away from it, heart racing.

No one is in the entryway. You stick your head inside, looking at the maximalist disaster that is the interior. There are gauche tapestries all over the walls and exotic, loud wallpaper. Statues, busts, and other carvings cover every surface, and the faint smell of cardamom hangs in the air.

“Hello?” you call. Your voice seems to echo in the house.

You hear footsteps. Your heart rate picks up, hoping to see the infamous Taehyung you’ve come for. Except you don’t, feeling confusion first followed by irritation. Of course Yoongi is standing in this strange home that’s full of popping energy and static.

“What are you doing here?” you demand.

Yoongi frowns. “You’re not Taehyung, right?”

“No! Do I look like him?”

“I don’t know what he looks like.”

“Well. I’m not.”

Both of you have a silent standoff, staring at the other. Yoongi looks tired, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair a little greasy. You feel a momentary pang of sympathy for him, feeling the same sort of restlessness and weariness tugging at your edges.

“What are you here for, then?” you ask if only to fill the silence stretching between you. “And why are you inside?”

“It’s cold outside. And the house felt like it wanted me to wait inside.”

“Okay. Well.”

He crosses his arms. “I’m here because I’m… looking for something.”

“Something that requires black flame candles?”

“No.” He looks you up and down. “What are you here for.”

“Trying to break something.”

He hums.

Eventually, you both sit down in the sitting room. Neither of you say anything to the other, sitting in… almost comfortable silence. You sit and stare at the clock on the wall, watching your time slip away.

Your knee starts pouncing. You take out your phone, spamming Jungkook. Trying to get him to call Taehyung, perhaps. He doesn’t answer, your nerves unsettling your stomach. Eating away at you.

An hour slips by. Then another.

Sweat starts to collect on the back of your neck. Each moment the minute hand tick tick ticks, you lose another minute. Another five. Another ten.

You don’t feel sick or deteriorating, but you know that as it reaches ten at night, you only have two hours left. A collection of 120 minutes for the rest of your life. Barely enough to drive back into town and say goodbye to your friends. To anyone who cares.

Overwhelmed with the impending sense of doom, you suddenly stand up, wiping your hands on your jeans. Inside feels insufferable, so full of tension. You need to breathe, to maybe look at the moon for a little. To… feel the wind for the last moment, now that it’s here.

“Where are you going?”

“Outside. I - um. I don’t think he’s coming and I… want to be outside.”

Yoongi nods. “Mind if I join you?”

The question is gentle. Soft. Like that time you saw him in Jungkook’s shop, face so gentle and kind, round and soft with wonder and something like hope. It urges you to nod, reserved to not spend the next two hours hating this man who has made the last twelve days of your life annoying.

Instead, you’ll spend it with this man who doesn’t know you, but who has colored the pages of your life for the last two weeks.

It’s strange. Before that day outside of Namjoon’s shop, you didn’t know who this person was. Now, you know a little bit. Not a lot, but enough.

There’s a hill behind Taehyung’s house that you walk out to. You both sit on it quietly, looking out at the world. This far out in the country, the stars blanket the sky in a thrilling map of constellations and sparkling lights. It’s beautiful. Nice.

A general melancholy seems to hang around Yoongi. You don’t know what it is he is looking for, but you sort of hope he finds it in the way that you’ve been unable to. If you have to lose tonight, you think that someone ought to win.

“What was your favorite moment of your life?” Yoongi asks out of nowhere. You glance at him to see him staring out at the sky, eyes unseeing. His fingers pull at the grass by his shoe, uprooting them absently. “Or something that you just remember being a really good memory?”

You pull your knees to your chest and set your chin atop them, thinking. You’ve had so much time to think this week about your favorite moments or the best parts of your life before it’s gone, and yet, you hadn’t thought too much about it.

“Maybe…” you grin, eyes unfocusing. “The first time I ever listened to Hey Jude. I had never listened to the Beatles and Jimin had it on vinyl and it was one of the last days of summer when we were younger and he put it on… we danced to it and had the coldest lemonade and those red white and blue popsicles. It was right after a breakup and… it was the first time I felt unfettered, reckless joy.”

You can remember the sweetness of the lemonade, the sticky fingers from the popsicle. The sound of the record, the way it hissed into silence at the end of the track, just the crackling vinyl chasing you out of the end of summer.

Turning to look at Yoongi, you ask, “What about you?”

“The first time I heard a piano. I was on vacation with my parents but I got lost at the hotel and I found this piano in the lobby. This guy was playing it so I just sat down next to him and listened. It was… I wasn’t afraid anymore, and I just waited there until the front desk told my parents they found me.”

You grin, feeling a sweet curl of joy spreading through you. “Do you play now?”

“Mhmm. I wish I had played more in the last few weeks. I was … busy.”

“Hmm. I wish I had done a lot of things recently. Instead, I fixated on something unchangeable.”

Silence falls between you. You check your phone for the time. You realize that there are only fifteen minutes left, your heart clenching painfully. You place the phone face down in the grass, sucking in a deep, shaking breath.

“You should go,” you murmur gently. He looks up at you, brows raised. “I uh - need to do something that I think should be done alone.”

He nods. “Me too.” Gets up slowly, dusting off his pants. Yoongi starts to turn away and hesitates, looking down at you. You look up and think that Yoongi might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Soft face against the cosmos, dark eyes that are swirling and unreadable. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He lifts a shoulder. “For being a surprise in my life, I suppose. A change of pace.”

“You too.”

With a little wave of his hand, Yoongi walks down the hill back toward the house. You watch him go until he vanishes around the front and you are left alone, the sound of the crickets around you.

Turning back to the empty hills, you exhale. In a way, you’re okay. You think that maybe Yoongi is right - he was an unexpected and at times vexing surprise in your life, but it was fun. A least a little.

Gently, you lay back in the grass. You don’t know if it’s going to hurt when you go, but you want to be lying down just in case. Your hands tremble in the grass and you feel your throat constrict with the urge to cry. Not because you’re alone, not because you’re afraid, but because you think maybe… you should have just enjoyed life a little more than trying to defeat it the last two weeks.

A lifetime of forcing things into submission and for once, you couldn’t do it.

The minutes tick by. You try to calm your breathing. There’s no escaping the red string of fate now. Without your other half, you will cease to exist. There is no more road for you.

You think of the sweet taste of lemonade. The chorus of Hey Jude. The breeze coming in through the open door and the scent of the honeysuckle climbing the awning. You smile, feeling a tear slide down your face.

Shutting your eyes, you breathe in deep. You are ready.

DAY THIRTEEN

You frown. You keep breathing. You take in another deep breath, thinking that maybe you just… timed it wrong. Settling in, you keep yourself calm, fingers drumming on the floor. Any second now you’re going to die. The life force will flee your body. You will perish. Ashes and dust and all of that.

It doesn’t come. You crack an eye open, looking at the starry sky. The stars are still hanging and the moon is still shining. Suddenly you wonder if you’ve already died and this is the afterlife. Would you even know if you were dead?

Sitting up, you grab your phone and look at it. If there are phones in the afterlife, yours shows that it’s past midnight.

“Huh?” you whisper, tapping the screen. It looks real. Feels real. “Why am I not dead?”

Footsteps behind you make you look over your shoulder. Yoongi is storming up the hill, a look on his face like wonder and fury or something weirdly in between.

“What were you doing at Namjoon’s shop that day we ran into one another?”

“What?”

“The shop!” he yells, throwing his hands up, panting as he crests the hill. “What were you doing there?”

“Getting… a fortune read. Sort of.”

“And the library?”

“Researching how to break spells.”

“And Jungkook?” Yoongi’s voice trembles. You don’t follow, but you shrug a shoulder. “Same thing as when I went to Namjoon’s. Trying to use the future to help me find something.”

Yoongi crouches down and reaches for your ankle. You pull it back, yelling, “Hey, hands off, weirdo! I’m not into foot stuff!”

He grabs your jeans and pulls the hem up, despite your kicking. When he reveals the red mark around your ankle, he abruptly sits down and stares at you. You yank your foot from his grip, ripping your jeans back down and glaring. “What gives? Yeah, I have a red string of fate, whatever.”

Mutely, Yoongi sticks his foot toward you. He has on dirty Converse with gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe, and jeans on. “I’m more of a Hubba Bubba myself,” you note, eyeing his foot. “But thanks?”

“My ankle.”

You sit up straight, heart racing. Yoongi had been going to Namjoon that day. And then at the library. Even visiting Jungkook. And buying items for… breaking a spell at the magic shop. Now, he’s here, for a reason unbeknownst to you.

And you’re not dead.

You’re not dead.

Slowly, you reach over Yoongi’s foot. Your fingers are trembling as you grab the soft material of his jeans, fingers weak. Steeling yourself, you pull gently to reveal Yoongi’s ankle. You expect to see creamy, smooth skin, unmarked and well… ordinary.

Instead, you see a single red ring scarring his skin. A perfect red string of fate marking his skin forever, telling him that he belongs to someone. That someone equally belongs to him. That there is someone out there in the world just as stubborn to accept fate, just as cranky when inconvenienced, and who loves music just as much as you do.

You’re not dead, and Yoongi is looking at you with a smile that holds the world.

You’re not dead, and you share loud, joyful laughter with your red string of fate partner for the first time.

DAY 20

“Yeah,” Taehyung says, leaning back and self-satisfied. “I saw them finding each other at my house so I just left. Let fate do its thing, ya know?”

You roll your eyes. “Your house is fucking creepy but not in a cool way.”

Yoongi laces his fingers with yours. “Yeah man, where are the damn bats?”

#yoongi fic #yoongi fanfic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #haliween

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thrashkink-coven · 3 months

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I worship Inanna, Lucifer, and Aphrodite as the most powerful and greatest Gods, yes even beyond Ra and El and Ashirat and everything. I know that’s a bold fucking claim but I’ll explain why.

As glorious and incredibly divine and powerful as Gods like Ra and Ashirat and the primordial creators are, and as much as I respect, love and honour them immensely, my personal connections to the Gods come from my perspective as a human being. To us, the most powerful and influential force in the entire universe is Love. It is why Cupid’s arrows will always be more powerful than Apollon’s. Love is the primary motivation behind anything a human has ever done, created, or nurtured, beyond the basic instinct to survive. As soon as you transition from a state of being a human to a person, you become a slave to the Goddess of love.

Even if you’ve never experienced carnal love, romance, even if you never had a family to love familially, if you’ve never had a friend or a pet, you’ve still fallen in love in secret ways a million times. When I wake up in the morning and decide to wear something, it’s because I love myself. Or at least, I love some idea of what I am beyond what is essential to my survival. I add a little bit of icing sugar to my pancakes because I love the way it tastes when I do that. I draw a picture of a flower, because for some reason I loved it enough to study its petals. I wanted to remember it as it looked in that exact moment. I took a picture of a worm I saw on the sidewalk. I didn’t know it at the time, but I loved it too. I have music preferences, a favourite color, a favourite pair of pants, and they are all mine because I fell in love at one point or another.

I had a stuffed bear when I was a kid, and I loved her for some reason. I gave her a name, I even gave her a gender, and I called her my friend. But one day I had to take a bath and I decided to bring her into the bath with me because I didn’t want to stop playing with her. She got water logged and I think my mom threw her away, and I mourned her. Love is like a sin to the ones that feel it the most.

Every lasting grudge in human history was formed out of love. Because nobody believes that everyone loves everyone else as much as they do. I feel like I love my partner more than anyone has ever loved in the history of the universe. And yet I know that everyone loves something or someone as much as I love him. If someone hurt him, I would never stop hating them. If someone killed him, I would kill them, and the person who loved them would want to kill me. That is why the Goddess of Love is the Goddess of War. The height of my love is the depth of my hatred.

Because humans are social creatures and we love each other in order to love ourselves. Because love gifts us with the highest bliss and the deepest mourning. Because I would shrivel and waste away if my lover wasn’t with me. Just with me, beside me. That’s all I need.

Everything that has ever lasted maintained itself because someone loved it enough to create it. The pyramids, ancient temples of worship to Gods that were loved, adored. Markings on the bark of a tree that promise that two people were there, and loved each other. Every trinket at the thrift store, from the dog wearing a dress to the ceramic angel, that mug with that old man’s face on it, were made by a human that loved something enough to make art in its image. Whoever felt so strongly about a girl that their words turned into lyrics and their yearning turned into symphonies.

Humans are slaves to the power of love. When the end of the world comes and everything is done, we will embrace each-other dearly as if we were all that ever mattered, and we’d be content with that.

I champion the heralds of love because I am forever in dept to them. How incredibly lucky I am to have been born as a creature that can experience her bliss. How foolish and drunk I am on her infinite pleasures. How cruel it is of her to erect the most wonderful place in the universe between the arms of my lover, knowing that one day those arms will return to dirt, and hopefully, hopefully, I will still be in them.

Lucifer is the harbinger of Venus, and i love that so much. He ushers in her presence and does so with the fire of rebellion on his wings. What does it mean to love oneself more than any rule or doctrine? Or to love knowledge and self discovery? No wonder the angel of the rebellion is the harbringer of the Goddess of Love and War. The one who screams “Love is here! Love is here! She is more powerful than any system, any rule, any law, she is stronger than the mightiest warrior. She is loud! She is quiet! She always saves the day. I am proof of that.”

Lucifer tells us that even if we are not lucky enough to love and be loved by others, if we can love ourselves, we will always be free.

That is why I say that Venus is the greatest God. That is why I chose Lucifer to be my patron and why I express my loyalty to them above all others. Without her I could not have loved all those other Gods I adore. Without her they would be nothing to me, because I would be nothing to me.

You are the greatest God, Inanna. I will forever be your loyal devotee.

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svn-bangtan · 1 year

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Soulmates

»pairing: Yoongi x reader

»genre: BTS | 13+ | Fluff

»wc/date: 4.5k | June 2023

» warnings: Just some fluff

»Summary: Everyone had a soulmate and many find theirs much faster than others. Throughout her years being alive, Y/n is slowly beginning to lose hope in finding her soulmate. After becoming a successful artist and meeting a new client and a stranger at a cafe, things change very quickly.

» notes: THIS ONE-SHOT WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED ON MY OLD ACCOUNT @loomdiamonds

» m.list | Taglist | Thoughts? Comments? Concerns

Soulmates. The notion of being destined to be with someone, a connection meant to last a lifetime. It's a captivating concept that defies comprehension.

In this extraordinary world, every person bears a unique tattoo on their wrist. It consists of their soulmate's first and middle initials, followed by their last name. For instance, if Y/n's soulmate's name is Tong Sochun, her tattoo would read Tong S.

Discovering one's true soulmate occurs through physical contact, such as a high five. When this happens, the wrist tattoo vanishes, replaced by a new one encircling the ring finger, bearing the partner's full name. From that moment forward, they both embark on a blissful journey together.

Simple, right? Well, not quite.

Y/n's tattoo reads Min Y., a constant reminder since her earliest memories of yearning to meet him or her. However, as the years pass, hope gradually slips away.

Recently, she relocated to Seoul, seeking better prospects in this vibrant metropolis. Unfortunately, after spending considerable time here, it feels like an exercise in futility.

Today, she finds solace in a cozy cafe, engrossed in a new book, relishing her well-deserved day off. These are the moments she eagerly anticipates—a chance to escape reality, stepping out of her apartment and immersing herself in simple pleasures that help momentarily forget about soulmates and the complexities of daily life.

A deep sigh escapes Y/n as she briefly diverts her attention from the book, gazing outside at the enchanting view of Seoul. She offers a faint smile, hugging her coffee mug a little closer. For an instant, she glances down at her wrist, tracing the delicate script that has adorned it since infancy.

Despite her waning hope of finding her soulmate, Y/n yearns to experience the same happiness her parents share—a love so profound, nurtured from childhood, and fortified by a single hug in first grade.

It's every girl's dream—to witness her mom and dad, who never had to embark on wild adventures to find their destined partner.

Setting her cup down, Y/n sweeps her hair away from her face, observing as the first snowflakes begin their gentle descent from the sky. Her gaze drifts downward, lost in contemplation.

Out there, somewhere, Y/n's soulmate patiently awaits. Perhaps they ponder the same questions that haunt her. Uncertainty and countless inquiries swirl within them, chief among them being the fear of rejection.

Rejection is a cruel blow, one that cuts deeply. It ranks among the worst acts one can inflict on another, second only to criminal behavior. When you experience outright rejection, your tattoos vanish, and you become destined to never find love again. Even if you were to try, happiness would forever elude you. It's challenging to articulate fully but rest assured, it's a devastating fate to endure.

What if Y/n's soulmate has passed away, unbeknownst to her? The same fate awaits.

Love becomes an elusive concept, eternal happiness forever out of reach. If she never gets the chance to be with her soulmate, life becomes an unrelenting misery. It's an unfortunate reality, one that plagues the minds of all who ponder the enigma of soulmates.

This notion has even crossed Y/n's mind. At twenty-eight, while all her friends have found their soulmates, she has begun to wonder if her day will ever come. Perhaps her destined partner is no longer among the living. Yet, her wrist bears the undeniable mark—a reminder that they still exist, waiting to be discovered.

"What is a lovely lady like yourself doing all alone up here?" a male voice suddenly interrupts, causing Y/n to jump slightly.

She turns her head and finds a tall man with shaggy brown hair, his warm smile directed at her. Returning the smile, she shrugs her shoulders and raises her book. "Just reading, cherishing the simple things."

Nodding, he gestures toward the empty seat in front of her, silently seeking permission to join her. Y/n agrees, and as he settles across from her, her eyes are drawn to his hand. She notices a name etched around his ring finger, and a quiet sigh escapes her. 'Of course, someone as good-looking as him has already found his soulmate,' she muses inwardly.

"You'll find them one day," he remarks suddenly, causing Y/n's eyes to widen in surprise. 'Did I say it out loud?'

Chuckling, he holds up his hand, his gaze fixed on her bewildered expression. "You were staring, so I assumed you were questioning yourself." Y/n offers a faint smile as she turns her gaze back to the window, where the falling snow gradually blankets the ground.

"It's astonishing to think that somewhere out there, my soulmate awaits me," she muses, looking down at her tattoo with a tender smile. "I admit, meeting them is a truly magical experience." She takes a deep breath and glances at the man, finding him already gazing at her with a smile.

"Hopefully, that day comes soon," she confesses, her fingers gently tracing the tattoo. "This waiting game has become unbearable."

The man chuckles in response to her words, understanding etched on his face as he takes a sip of his coffee. Once again, they sit in silence, finding comfort in each other's presence until Y/n breaks the quietude.

"I apologize for my rudeness. I'm Chun Y/n," she introduces herself.

"Chun?" he says, his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. Y/n nods, offering a sweet smile. "Yes, I'm not originally from Seoul. I moved here from Namyang-dong."

He nods, his grin widening. "Well, my name is Hoseok, and I might just know your soulmate," he declares, standing up and leaving Y/n perplexed.

"Wait, what?"

"Chun is a rare last name, right? I don't think I've ever come across anyone with that surname," he explains, prompting Y/n to slowly nod. "Yes, it's more common in Japan, if I'm not mistaken."

Gently taking hold of her hand, Hoseok gazes down at her tattoo, humming in contemplation. "Well, a good friend of mine, who recently returned to back to Seoul, bears your last name and initial on his wrist. He hasn't met his soulmate yet. It's possible that the two of you are destined for each other."

"But I'm confused," Y/n interjects, withdrawing her hand. "Is that why you approached me? Do you do this with many women?"

Hoseok bursts into hearty laughter, a sound that oddly resembles a windshield wiper, shaking his head. "No, I mistook you for my fiancée by accident. You two have a striking resemblance, and when I noticed your mark, I thought I'd explore the possibility."

"Oh, I see..." Y/n says, leaning back in her seat. "So, what now? If I choose to entertain this possibility, how will I meet your friend?"

Hoseok smirks, reclining in his chair and taking another sip of his coffee. "Leave that to me Chun Y/n."

Sometimes, Y/n finds herself plagued by a persistent thought that whispers she may never cross paths with her soulmate. It's as if the universe has singled her out, marking her as one of the unlucky ones destined to live without that profound connection. This notion lingers, casting a shadow of doubt and loneliness over her heart.

Yet, despite occasional glimmers of hope ignited by her encounter at the café, Y/n has learned to temper her expectations. She has grown accustomed to guarding her heart, shielding herself from the potential pain of disappointment.

In this particular moment, Y/n is immersed in her art studio at work, fully absorbed in a new piece taking shape on her canvas.

Suddenly, a gentle knock at the door interrupts her concentration, drawing her attention towards the entrance. Her face lights up with a smile as she sees her boss, Kim Namjoon, stepping into the room, accompanied by an incredibly striking man.

Rising gracefully from her seat, Y/n warmly greets them both, and Namjoon turns towards his companion, ready to make the introductions.

"Y/n, this is Yoongi, my best friend and a producer," Namjoon announces, his voice tinged with pride. "Yoongi, meet Y/n, one of my incredibly talented artists. She's the one who painted that remarkable piece you showed interest in a few months ago."

A delicate blush colors Y/n's cheeks as she gazes at the man introduced as Yoongi. His presence commands attention, and the timbre of his deep voice momentarily catches her off guard. "Thank you," she responds graciously, her voice gentle and composed. "I truly appreciate your kind words, sir."

Yoongi, his eyes seemingly locked on Y/n, offers her a warm smile. "Please, call me Yoongi. I'm intrigued by the story behind that captivating painting," he says, his curiosity evident as he takes a leisurely stroll around her studio, Namjoon following closely behind. Together, they admire the artwork adorning the walls, until their attention is drawn to a copy of the painting that had caught their eye.

With a steadying breath, Y/n prepares to share the tale behind her creation. As she points to the two figures portrayed in the painting, she feels Yoongi's unwavering gaze upon her. She strives to maintain her professional composure, even as her heart flutters with anticipation. Her words flow with passion and depth, painting a vivid picture with her storytelling.

"Beautiful," Yoongi remarks, causing Y/n to momentarily lose herself in his gaze. A deeper shade of pink graces her cheeks, and Namjoon interjects, unwittingly shattering the enchantment.

"Speaking of soulmates, Yoongi here wanted to commission a piece for his own," Namjoon shares, unknowingly pricking at Y/n's delicate hopes. Swiftly, she masks any trace of disappointment and offers a genuine smile. "It would be my pleasure to create a piece for you, Yoongi."

"Hey, Y/n," Namjoon says with a warm smile. "I need to take a quick call. I'll be right back." Without waiting for a response, he exits the room, leaving Y/n alone in the studio.

Just as their connection seems to deepen, a stack of papers held precariously in Yoongi's hands begins to waver, threatening to tumble to the floor. In an instant, a gust of wind rushes through the studio from Namjoon leaving briefly, scattering the papers in all directions.

Reacting with swift reflexes, both Y/n and Yoongi instinctively reach out to catch the fleeing sheets, their hand's mere inches away from touching. Their eyes meet briefly, a fleeting spark of electric anticipation passing between them, hinting at the profound connection that almost transpired.

Yet, their near-touch is abruptly interrupted as Namjoon bursts into the studio, his voice filled with urgency. "Yoongi, we have to go. It's already 3, and we'll be late for our meeting with Jin." Namjoon swiftly exits the studio, with Yoongi following in his wake. However, before he leaves, Yoongi turns back to offer Y/n one final smile. "I look forward to working with you, Y/n."

Returning the smile, Y/n bows respectfully. "Likewise," she replies softly as Yoongi walks away, leaving her once again in the solitude of her studio. A sigh escapes her lips as she settles back into her seat, her gaze fixed upon the canvas before her. "Every time, Y/n," she whispers to herself, a tinge of frustration evident in her voice.

Shaking off her thoughts, Y/n firmly grasps her paintbrush, determined to pour her emotions onto the canvas once more. Stroke by stroke, she channels her hopes and dreams, infusing her art with passion, knowing that one day, amidst the uncertainty that lingers, her soulmate might just find her.

"I'm curious, what prompted your call today?" Y/n asked, taking a sip of her coffee. She heard Hoseok chuckle on the other end of the line as she finished tidying up her workstation and made her way toward the bedroom in her studio.

"Your soulmate, of course," Hoseok replied, causing Y/n to roll her eyes. It had been about three days since they had met at the café, and ever since, Hoseok had been eager to introduce his friend to Y/n to determine if they were potential soulmates.

Unfortunately, due to their busy schedules and Y/n's dedication to her artwork, they hadn't been able to meet yet. Despite Hoseok having a soulmate, Y/n couldn't shake Mr. Yoongi from her thoughts. She knew it was wrong since they could never be together, but she couldn't help but think about him.

"I don't know, Hoseok," Y/n said as she sat on the bed in the bedroom. Mr. Kim, the building owner, had kindly agreed to remodel her studio into an apartment-like space, complete with a sleeping area. Y/n was grateful for this arrangement since she practically lived in her studio more than her actual home.

"Why not, Y/n? He's available tonight, and so are you. It's perfect," Hoseok persisted, causing Y/n to roll her eyes and glance out the window at the weather. "I'm still at work, and even if I go, I probably won't have time to go home and freshen up. Besides, have you seen the weather outside?"

"You're impossible, Chun Y/n, you know that?" Hoseok teased, eliciting a laugh from Y/n. After some time on the phone and a bit of convincing, she eventually agreed to finally meet Hoseok's friend that night. Once she hung up, she lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the upcoming meeting.

'Try not to get your hopes up, Y/n. There's a strong possibility it's just a coincidence,' she thought to herself. As she lay there, a knock on her studio door interrupted her thoughts. She got up and opened the door, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of the man in front of her.

"Mr. Yoongi?"

"Hello, I just came to talk to you briefly about the painting. May I come in?" he asked politely. Y/n nodded, opening the door wider for him to enter. She took note of his well-fitted suit and noticed that his hair was now styled in waves instead of being pushed back.

Closing the door behind him, Mr. Yoongi stood in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets. "So, have you thought of any ideas for your painting for them?"

He paused for a moment, turning to look at Y/n. "Well, I'd love to hear your ideas. I've made a list of possibilities, but I'm not entirely sure."

"I'd love to help you in any way I can. Let's start by discussing how you would describe your soulmate," Y/n said, walking over to her desk to grab her notepad. She heard him sigh as he took a seat on a random chair, capturing Y/n's attention.

"I haven't met them just yet," he said quietly, his words drawing Y/n's full attention. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It's alright, really," Mr. Yoongi replied, looking up at Y/n with a slight smile before leaning back in the chair. "After I saw your artwork—forgive me if this sounds creepy—but I couldn't help but look more and more at all of your pieces. Since starting my career as a producer, I feel like I've lost touch with people, and I stopped actively searching."

Y/n nodded, immediately understanding his sentiment as it resonated with her own feelings. As much as she wanted to meet her soulmate, with each passing day, her hope dwindled, fearing that perhaps they didn't want to be found.

"When I saw your artwork, it instantly made me feel alive again. It made me see the brighter side of things and gave me the courage to give the search another try after all these years," he continued, locking eyes with Y/n.

Unbeknownst to her, her heart began to beat faster. "Thanks to you, I found hope again. With this painting, I want to convey that even during my period of giving up, not a day went by that I didn't think about them. And who better to paint it than the person who restored my hope?"

Y/n smiled warmly, feeling honored by his words. She jotted down some notes in her notebook. "Well, just know that I am truly honored to undertake this for you. Your soulmate is already so fortunate to have you."

They engaged in a conversation, discussing various ideas for the painting until Mr. Yoongi's phone suddenly rang. He apologized and checked the caller ID. "I'm sorry, but I have to meet up with a friend right now."

"That's alright. Let's call it a night," Y/n said, setting her notebook aside as they both stood up. She walked him to the door, and as he was about to leave, his eyes caught sight of a flyer hanging nearby. "You're having a showcase?"

"Yes, it's the day after tomorrow. You're welcome to come if you'd like," Y/n replied, offering a polite smile. Nodding, Mr. Yoongi returned the smile before opening the door. "I'll definitely stop by. See you later. And thank you again for your assistance."

"Anytime, Mr. Yoongi," Y/n said, bidding him farewell.

"Wow, I had no idea you were such a talented artist!" Hoseok exclaimed, his eyes scanning the art gallery where Y/n's showcase was taking place. Y/n chuckled softly and nodded in response.

"Well, to be fair, we haven't known each other for that long," she replied graciously, expressing her gratitude to the attendees. Hoseok seized the opportunity to inquire about her recent date. Turning towards Y/n, he asked, "So, how did the date go? Are you guys soulmates?"

Y/n let out a deep sigh, shaking her head in disappointment. "They never showed up," she stated, her gaze focused on a piece of artwork in front of them.

Strangely, she wasn't as disheartened as one might expect. In fact, she had almost decided not to attend the date herself after her encounter with Mr. Yoongi. "I should probably strangle him," Hoseok muttered under his breath, expressing his frustration with his unreliable friend.

As Hoseok continued venting about his friend's unreliability, Y/n turned her head to the side and caught sight of someone entering the gallery. A light smile formed on her lips for a brief moment before she quickly shook her head and redirected her attention back to Hoseok.

It's not him, Y/n. Remember, don't get your hopes up. His soulmate is out there, and it's unlikely to be you, she reminded herself silently, glancing down at her wrist.

Although Y/n had met Mr. Yoongi twice, she had never caught a glimpse of his wrist to determine their compatibility. In truth, she preferred not to know. She had been making an effort to stop thinking about him, but for some inexplicable reason, she couldn't shake him from her thoughts.

"He's right there. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," Hoseok grumbled, his frown directed at someone behind Y/n. Shaking her head at his impulsive behavior, Y/n decided to stroll around her exhibit, relishing in the pride she felt for how far she had come in her career.

Painting had always been her refuge, her way of escaping reality, and each canvas held its own unique journey and story. While she never shared those stories with the public, she delighted in hearing people's theories and interpretations of her artwork.

Lost in her own thoughts, Y/n found herself standing in front of her piece titled "Loveless Love." Several people had gathered around it, captivated by its beauty and engaged in discussions. This sight brought a wider smile to her face.

"It's a truly beautiful piece, as I've told you before," a familiar voice spoke, causing Y/n to jump slightly in surprise. She turned her head and saw Yoongi standing there, his gummy smile radiating warmth. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright," Y/n replied, her gaze returning to the painting. She could feel Yoongi's eyes on her, causing a gentle blush to color her cheeks as she focused on the artwork before them. Despite the crowd surrounding them, it felt as though they were the only two people in the room.

"So beautiful," Yoongi whispered, capturing Y/n's attention once again. She met his gaze, and in his eyes, she saw a certain look.

Slowly, he reached up his hand, his fingers tenderly grazing her cheek before delicately tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

Y/n's heart fluttered as she gazed up at Yoongi, the man she had come to love deeply. They sat together under the shade of a grand tree, sharing an intimate picnic. Her eyes met his, captivated by the gentle glimmer in his deep brown orbs, and a radiant smile graced her lips.

"Yoongi," she said, her voice filled with affection. "I can't help but wonder... how much do you love me?" As she spoke, Y/n noticed the beautiful ring adorning her left ring finger, engraved with Yoongi's full name.

Yoongi's eyes locked onto hers, and he tenderly clasped her hands. "Trying to extract my wedding vows, huh?" he playfully remarked. "Well, I'm afraid that's top-secret information. But I can promise you, my love for you is immeasurable." His words were accompanied by a light chuckle as he lightly tapped her shoulder.

Unable to contain her joy, Y/n giggled and lightly tapped his good shoulder in return. Leaning down, Yoongi planted a soft kiss on her head, his gaze never leaving her eyes. "Seriously, I want to know," Y/n insisted, a glimmer of curiosity shining in her gaze.

Her expression turned tender as she spoke, her voice filled with heartfelt sincerity. "My love for you knows no bounds. It will endure through rain and sunshine, treating you like a precious diamond and never letting you wander far from my side. Even when distance separates us, you'll always remain in my heart, every second of every day. My love for you will bloom until my very last breath, for with you, I have found purpose and a love I want to show you." Y/n's eyes sparkled as she held Yoongi's gaze, her love pouring forth.

Yoongi's gaze softened, brimming with warmth and adoration. "I remember the first time I saw you," he reminisced.

"From that moment, I knew you were my soulmate. Your presence in your studio captured my attention completely. Your eyes, your smile... they stole my heart the instant you spoke. I never believed in love at first sight until I met you. And to this day, I can't believe how perfectly we were meant to be. You are everything I've ever dreamed of in a soulmate, and now, you are mine. Please never doubt how much I appreciate everything you do for us. You mean the world to me, and I love you with all my heart."

Y/n's cheeks flushed with warmth and delight. "Stop," she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of affection and amusement. "That was so cute, it might make me start crying." She covered her face with her hands, feeling overwhelmed by the depth of Yoongi's love.

Yoongi chuckled softly and gently removed her hands, his lips pressing against the back of them. "And if you do cry," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness, "I'll always be here to wipe away your tears."

Feeling her heart swell with love, Y/n sat up fully, being careful not to bump her head on a tree branch. Their eyes met once again, and the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own little universe.

"I can't wait to marry you," Yoongi confessed, his hand tenderly caressing Y/n's cheek. Her smile grew wider, and she felt an overwhelming sense of joy and anticipation.

Unable to contain herself any longer, Y/n leaned forward and kissed Yoongi with all the passion and love she held within her. The kiss started softly but soon deepened, as every inch of their bodies and souls melted into one another. Yoongi's hands cradled Y/n's face, ensuring the perfect connection, while she wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, savoring the warmth of his embrace.

Finally, they pulled apart, their lips still tingling, but their smiles radiant and content. Y/n rested her head on Yoongi's chest, listening to the comforting sound of his heartbeat.

Time seemed to stand still as Y/n gasped, returning to reality. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at Yoongi, astonishment etched on both their faces. Slowly, a slight pain emanated from her wrist and left ring finger, drawing their attention downward.

Unbeknownst to them, the entire room had turned their gaze towards the couple, their curiosity piqued. Y/n's wrist tattoo faded away, replaced by a name on her ring finger—Min Yoongi.

"Oh my god," Y/n whispered in awe, her eyes flickering up to meet Yoongi's matching expression.

He is my soulmate. He's who I've been waiting for, she thought, her heart overflowing with joy.

Countless questions swirled in her mind, but before she could voice them, Yoongi took action. In a moment of pure instinct, he pressed his lips against hers, leaving Y/n breathless and captivated once again. She gasped in surprise but quickly melted into the kiss, their connection growing stronger with every passing second.

The room erupted into applause and cheers, but Y/n blushed profusely, hiding her face in Yoongi's chest. His laughter reverberated through his chest as he relished in her adorable reaction. "See, Y/n? I told you I knew your soulmate," Hoseok declared triumphantly, catching the attention of both Y/n and Yoongi.

"He's the one I was supposed to meet?" Y/n asked, her voice filled with astonishment. Hoseok nodded, and Y/n turned to Yoongi, finding the same disbelief mirrored in his eyes.

"Yes, Yoongi, she's the one you stood up last night," Hoseok explained, prompting Y/n to laugh wholeheartedly.

"In my defense, I didn't go because I got caught up in work after visiting you," Yoongi confessed, causing Y/n to smile and playfully shake her head. "It's alright. At least now we know who this painting is for."

Yoongi's eyes softened as he whispered, "Yes, my beautiful soulmate, Chun Y/n." Y/n's heart raced, and her smile widened further. Embracing the moment, Yoongi leaned in for a quick peck on her lips. "Guys, please get a room," Hoseok groaned, earning giggles from everyone witnessing the affectionate exchange.

"Can't I cherish my beautiful soulmate?" Yoongi playfully retorted, his eyes shining with adoration.

"Stop it," Y/n protested, her cheeks flushed with a rosy hue. She looked down shyly, only to be gently guided by Yoongi to meet his gaze once more. "Don't be shy now, Y/n. This is how it will be forever. I promise you," he declared, his voice brimming with sincerity.

"Forever," Y/n whispered, her eyes sparkling with love and excitement. "I absolutely love the sound of that." Their love had found its place, and from that moment on, they embarked on an enchanting journey, hand in hand, destined for a future filled with eternal love and happiness.

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delespresso · 4 months

Text

ALWAYS ━━ Antonio Dawson x fem!reader

author's note; first songfic so i consider this an experiment lol. i'm also not so sure of a timeline especially for eva and diego's ages so let's just go with it

prompts; always — gavin james (song)

summary; antonio left without a word for years, leaving her clueless and heartbroken. but sometimes, all you need is a little time to heal without ever forgetting one another

━━ ☄. *. ⋆

“What am I supposed to do without you?

Is it too late to pick the pieces up?

Too soon to let them go?”

He was gone.

Antonio had left without a word. She knew he was struggling. With his messed up shoulder and the rabbit hole of oxycodone, she knew he was at his breaking point.

But she never realised they were at their breaking point too. It was like it had been so easy for him to just leave that way. Leave Chicago and never look back. He didn't even have the decency to say goodbye to her.

It was Voight who told her. Who looked her in the eyes to tell her her partner had sent in his papers and left. Who offered her a day off because everyone knew how close they were.

They weren't dating. But they were something. And they were so close to everything but he just disappeared.

She couldn't help but ponder; what if she'd taken that leap of faith and just held him close? Let him into her heart and soul and give him everything that she was. Maybe he would have stayed. Maybe he would've let her help him.

Or maybe it was never an option. Maybe she never stood a chance. She'll never know.

“And this feels like drowning

Trouble sleeping

Restless dreaming”

Antonio had been in Puerto Rico for months now. The different environment did him good. The new faces and new job with Gabby's crisis response team.

He was doing well. Or at least, he was trying.

But everytime he laid in his bed at night, he dreamt of her. Of what they could've been.

It would always end up with him sitting up in cold sweat, his hand gripping onto the chain around his neck — the dog tags hanging from it. He'd never forget the day he got it. A stupid little joke but now it was so much more than that.

She couldn't stop giggling. His eyes narrowed as he stared at her, holding the little box in his hands.

“Alright, what the hell is so funny?” Antonio questioned as he shook the box.

“Open it! You'll see,” she laughed.

He couldn't help but smile. This woman had only been in intelligence for a year by his side, and yet she'd managed to put so many marks in his life. She was like a walking sun. Always so positive and bubbly.

How could he not keep her?

He opened the box, wondering what sort of Christmas present she'd gotten for him. She had matching sweaters with the girls, cute mugs for the guys. But for him it seemed different.

A chain. Two tags dangling at the end of it. One with his name and badge number engraved, the other with hers — along with a small note at the bottom that said ‘the best partner ever’.

Thinking back to it now, he knew she was right. Because she was the best partner in every sense of the word. He'd gone through many different partners in his career, but none ever reached out to him the way she did.

And it still haunted him that he had the heart to just leave her without so much of an explanation.

“You're in my head

Always, always

I just got scared

Away, away”

It was a bad case. A terrible one that will forever plague them both.

A child trafficking ring that was spread out wide all over the country. And even if they did manage to bring it down at the end — it was brutal. The image of the children that didn't make it, or the ones that did but will forever be traumatized, it hurt them deeply.

It was the first time she'd come to his apartment. The first time he held her in his arms. The first time she cried to him.

They shared a bottle of wine that night. The tv playing some soap opera neither of them bothered to pay attention to. Instead they were quiet. They sat together on his couch, a comfortable silence wrapping them both up.

They'd been partners for nearly two years then. And when he turned to look at her, the lights from the tv casting a soft glow over her features — her hair down, eyes a little bloodshot and yet the most relaxed he'd ever seen of her — he knew he was in trouble.

He knew he was in love where he shouldn't be.

“I'd rather choke on my bad decisions

Than just carry them to my grave

You're in my head

Always, always, always”

Three years of being his partner, meant three years of knowing the good and bad of each other.

She'd accepted it. She knew he had his pressure points. She knew he could get temperamental. She knew he preferred to colour within the lines — even if it was practically impossible when you're working under Hank Voight.

She also knew how he liked his coffee. She knew how he preferred phone calls over voice notes. She knew he'd rather have a night in with some microwaved pizza than to be out in town at some fancy restaurant.

She knew him like the back of her hand. And she knew he was going to jump in to save that kid from the line of fire, using his own body as a shield. Which was why she knew she had to take the kill shot to save her partner and the victim.

It didn't matter that they were in public. That civilians were around. She saw the suspect raise his gun after letting the kid go. She saw Antonio rush to grab the kid, his gun still in his holster. And she saw the way Antonio was directly in the line of fire.

One loud shot rang through the air, and the suspect was down with a bullet to the brain.

She'd never forget that. She was never the kind to easily pull the trigger on the job. In fact, out of all of them, she was the one least likely to even use her gun. But she didn't regret anything. She didn't even blink when she pulled the trigger and killed that man.

Because the alternative was so much worse. And she knew right then, she'd do anything for her partner.

Even now, years later, it was still something that haunted her. Not the fact she killed someone on the job. But the fact that she killed for him.

He'd been gone for two years now. Somewhere in the Bahamas, apparently. Gabby had come down to Chicago to visit — and the two women caught up for a quick chat.

“He's doing well,” Gabby had told her. “He joined a crisis response team in the Bahamas. But I know he misses Chicago.”

He misses you, was what Gabby wanted to say, but she refrained. Especially when she noticed the charm bracelet on the other woman's wrist.

The one Antonio had gifted her all those years ago. The one with an anchor charm on it because at the end of the day, they always kept each other grounded.

Gabby knew then that both her brother and her friend were nowhere near forgetting one another.

“I remember we were strangers

So tell me what's the difference

Between then and now”

Six years of being away finally brought him back to Chicago. It didn't seem like a lot had changed but he knew it had.

He remembered what it was like to live here. As he sat in the back of the cab, watching the city pass by, he remembered the times he used to drive them around the city when they were working.

“You're being overdramatic,” she chastised.

“I’m being realistic. You should never hold a steering wheel again!” Antonio exclaimed.

They'd have this quarrel at least once a month. But Antonio never budged. He'd never let her drive.

“It was one time, and it was warranted! We were chasing a suspect, how was I meant to follow rules?” she argued again as he laughed at her words.

“You used the car as a weapon against the suspect by ramming him and his car into a brick wall. You're lucky no one took action on you.”

“It was a good bust!”

Antonio found himself smiling softly as he recalled the memory. His hand absentmindedly went over his heart, before finding his chain and fiddling with it.

He wondered if she was well. She probably was. But did she find someone? Maybe she'd settled down. She always wanted a nice little house with a little family.

God, was she a mother now? With who? There were so many questions that he hadn't even noticed the cab had stopped at his destination. He left a tip, getting out and entering the coffee shop.

The one he always went to to get her complicated coffee order that no other coffee shop managed to get right except this one — even if it was a whole different way to work. He'd stop and get it for her everytime.

He got in line, focused on his phone as well as glancing up at the menu from time to time. Nothing about this little place had changed and that made him glad. It was still familiar.

It was when he reached the counter, about to say his order when he heard it. Her name. Called out by the barista who'd prepared her order.

He looked over, and he'd recognise her anywhere. Her hair was short now, stopping over her shoulders. Her smile was still the same, just as soft as before as she took the coffee from the barista.

She looked good. She always did but the years seemed to do her well.

She didn't notice him. Not yet. It was when she was heading for the sugar packs by the main counter that she glanced over. Then she did a double take.

Their eyes locked and it felt like a movie. Like a music video of some sort as she felt a rush. It was like a sudden jolt was sent through her every nerve and her whole body tingled.

He looked older. His jaw was covered with stubble and his hair had grown out a little. It wasn't immaculately styled as it usually was. But the leather jacket was still him. He never ditched that.

His eyes were still the same dark ones. The ones that always reminded her of the night sky.

It felt like she was staring at a stranger. But this stranger knew everything about her, didn't he?

“I know there's nothing left to cling to

But I'm still calling out your name

You're in my head

Always, always, always”

He should really leave her alone.

Yes. That was the best thing to do. The smart thing to do.

She walked out the door so quickly it was like she was running away from him. A few seconds passed before he went right after her.

He'd called out her name. Jogging up the sidewalk to reach her despite his better judgement.

She exhaled slowly, pausing as she glanced at him.

Six years of no contact and suddenly he was back in Chicago. Suddenly he was right here in front of her and she wasn't sure if she wanted to shoot him or hug him.

They stood on the sidewalk, finally facing each other. He'd practiced what he wanted to say. But every vocabulary he'd ever known seemed to escape him as he looked into her eyes.

He couldn't say a word. He didn't dare. And if she wanted to slap him he wouldn't have faulted her.

“Was it worth it?”

It was her who broke the silence. The six years they'd gone without saying a word to one another or even knowing about each other — broken by a simple question.

He blinked. He looked down, his hands slipping into his pockets. He was anxious. He wasn't sure what to do with himself.

“Yes,” he answered. “And no.”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“I got clean. It was good. But… it wasn't what I wanted,” he said softly.

She looked up at him, her eyes almost blank. But there was still that familiar softness in them that made him realise she didn't hate him.

Or at least, to a certain degree.

“Why are you in Chicago?” she then asked, glancing away briefly before looking at him again.

She felt like someone was picking the skin of a fresh wound that was starting to heal. Seeing him seemed to do that.

“Eva's graduating. I'm here for her,” he answered after a beat.

She nodded. He was here for his kid's graduation, of course. Not for her.

“Tell her I said congrats,” she then said with another nod.

For a moment they just stood there and stared at each other, drinking one another in like they'd been deprived of water for days and finally got a sip. It was frustrating because he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her. Hug her like he used to be able to without even thinking.

Now it was like they were strangers that just started to know each other. Like they were nothing before this when they were so close to being everything.

He took a step forward. She stayed put.

Then his arms curled around her and pulled her in. He breathed her in, his eyes closing as the familiar sweet floral scent invaded his senses.

She froze. Her head was buried in the crook of his neck. Her eyes were closed as she inhaled deeply. His warmth was familiar. His cologne was familiar. Everything about him felt like coming home after a long day at work.

“It's been too long,” he mumbled against her hair.

Her arms slowly circled his middle, finally holding onto him.

They both knew it couldn't go back to normal so easily. But they were willing to allow this moment of a reunion. This brief moment of peace as they held onto each other after years.

The long years of torment where they were constantly living in each other's minds and dreams. But he needed to get better. And to get better, he had to leave.

He's back now, better than he was when he left. And for now, that was enough. That was the silver lining of all the pain and torture.

“I'll make up for it. I promise,” he vowed.

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#antonio dawson imagine #antonio dawson x reader #chicago pd #antonio dawson #one chicago #oneshot #antonio dawson fanfiction #song #songfic #Spotify

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questionableratatouille00 · 7 months

Note

Hi! I wanted to ask if you would do some Bucky Barnes x Reader x Natasha Romanoff(basically WinterWidow x Reader), where Nat and Bucky come home to their lover, all bruised with wounds and fresh blood on them. And Reader just gets lil mad that they don't look for themself and acts like they are immortal? Just a really big missinderstanding and angst with hurt and comfort and happy ending? Thank you!

howdy! I would love to! Hope you enjoy!

𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘨 (𝘋𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦)

Pairing: WinterWidow x Reader

Summary: Natasha and Bucky keep coming home, each time more beaten up than the last. Tonight was your final straw.

Warnings: gore, cursing, death mentions, let me know if anything else needs to be tagged.

2:43 AM, the clock read. You sat on the recliner chair with a warm cup of tea as you scrolled through your phone.

You heard the opening of your apartment door, and you knew it could only be two people.

“You’re back,” you smiled eagerly, as you stood up quickly and tossed your phone back where you were previously sitting. You sat your mug down onto the coffee table.

You smiled as you walked towards the doorway, your partners not visible yet. The apartment was set up in a way where the doorway was covered by a wall, where you hung up things like keys and jackets.

When they finally walked past the wall, your heart dropped and your stomach twisted.

They were both supporting themselves on each other, and it was clear they were moments away from collapse.

“Oh my God!” You gasped. Bucky flinched at the sudden noise, and Natasha looked up with a hurt-slash-guilty-slash-scared look in her eyes.

“Are—what—how—“ You couldn’t even make a sentence. And then, somehow, the deep and familiar sense of calm filled you.

“Get in the bathroom. Who’s hurt worse?” You questioned as you marched them to the bathroom.

“Bucky,” Natasha croaked just as the man in question said her name at the same time.

“Okay,” you groaned tiredly. “I’ll start with Nat,” you decided. You pulled down the toilet lid for Bucky to sit on before you helped Nat sit herself up on the sink counter.

You quickly assessed both of their wounds. You’d seen countless injuries, the blood and the gore didn’t scare you.

You made the mental notes in your head. Though they were both caked in dirt, you could clearly see where blood oozed from and where they clutched at in pain.

Looking at Natasha, it was clear to see. Three knife slashes on her left thigh. Small cuts on her face. A bruise on her right cheekbone. A bullet wound on her right side. Bloody knuckles. And most likely plenty of bruises.

“Here,” you murmured as you helped her slip out of her suit. And you were absolutely correct, she was covered in bruises.

You opened the drawer under the counter, grabbing a small water bottle. The three of you keep those stocked for times like this. You opened two bottles, handing one to each of them.

“Thanks,” Natasha murmured.

“Thank you.” Bucky said as you handed him his water bottle.

You turned your attention back to Natasha as you began to treat her wounds. She was more bruised than bloody, so it didn’t take very long. You helped her get in the shower, knowing that she at least needed to rinse off before she got in bed.

“C’mon,” you murmured to Bucky, gesturing for him to hop up on the counter just like Natasha had.

Begrudgingly, he did.

“Pull off your shirt.” You instructed. He grumbled a little, before eventually slipping off his shirt.

That same voice rattled off his injuries. Burn marks on his lower left ribs. Many long cuts across his chest and upper body. Bruises across his chest and a cut way too close to his ear.

You began to treat those. When you came across a large gash on his right side, he tried to cover it with his hand.

When you looked up at his eyes, you frowned.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “It’s..not pretty.”

“I was a SHIELD nurse for seven years,” you chuckled. “I can handle it. Let me take a look at it.” He lowered his hand and you took care of injury.

“Get in the shower with Nat,” you directed. He obeyed, and you cleaned up the area while they showered.

When they were finished, you sighed as you sat down on the bed.

“You..you can’t keep coming home like this.” You forced the words out. “You can’t. It scares me too bad. You both act like you’re immortals—like you can’t be hurt. Because you’re not and you can. You come home after every mission bruised and battered and bloody—you can’t keep sacrificing yourselves. If Sam or whoever showed up at the door saying you’d died—I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t.” You ranted.

“Doll, we’re Avengers. It’s part of the job.” Bucky tried to brush you off. This made you mad.

“No, goddamn it! I’m serious. You both are too fucking reckless with yourselves. And if you won’t see it in a ‘my-life-has-value’ way, at least think about me! What happens when you don’t come home? What happens to me?” Your eyes watered.

Natasha frowned. “We need to go on missions. There’s people who need help.”

“And I’m not saying you have to choose between me and your careers. I’m just saying that you can’t nearly die every time.” You reasoned. This seemed to make them listen.

“I’m sorry, milaya.” Natasha said mournfully.

Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry too,” he added. “We both are. It’s—“

“There’s no excuse. We’re sorry, and we’ll be better about it.” Natasha said. You were satisfied with that.

“I love you both.” You kissed both of them on their foreheads. “Now go the fuck to sleep before you pass out.”

A/n: graphics by @saradika-graphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #winterwidow #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff #winterwidow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader

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flowerbetweenfangs · 3 months

Text

Cream Filling: Chapter 08

This is part of an ongoing series, you can read the previous entry here!

Heads up: This is a "bridge" chapter. While there's no sex, it's important to get from point a to point b.

CW: Stabbing, abusive ex partner, torture. This time, he DOES show up and is violent.

The bell’s chime had been nonstop all morning. It seemed the door to the cafe never completely closed, a new wave of customers coming through just as another group was leaving. Every booth and stool was full, along with most of the standing room. The chatter of conversation was a pleasant hum, along with the clink of mugs, plates, and coins.

Occasionally, it was punctuated with a laugh or a light whistle. Steam from fresh coffee and baked goods wafted through the air, encouraging customers to order more. At the rate they were going, there wouldn’t be time to restock before the truck came.

At least everyone was pleasant, and their tips reflected that. While most of the newcomers appeared to be from the Asmodeus district, judging by their attire, they were like any other patron, wanting to relax and unwind. Although there was the familiar flash of flirtation in their tone and expression as they ordered.

Although no concubi at least.

As Elle wove through the morning rush, nimbly balancing a tray and its contents. Her cheeks hurt from the constant smile she had to keep on, and her throat was starting to become raw with the constant small talk and greetings to the newcomers. And if she talked softer than a shout, the customers had a hard time hearing her.

She barely managed to set her burden down on the front counter when a wave of fatigue hit. Her hands shook with the effort, and she felt the room start to spin. The ache from her feet suddenly began to spread to joints and shoulders. Taking a deep breath, she resisted the urge to shiver as a chill went up her spine.

As the gooseflesh spread, Elle began to rub her eyes. Jaw clenched, she went to grab her coat from the back room. The few steps made the dizziness worse, and she instead put a hand on the counter, trying to make her lean look casual.

One of the demons at the back booth caught her eye, and gave a crooked smile. While he appeared human, the power thrumming through him sent a vibration through her. A few light touches when he was passing over payment had sent a heat through her. As he did so, markings betraying his true form began to swirl across his face and hands.

“Rookie,” Horac’s voice snapped her back to reality. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him through the kitchen window. He beckoned her over with two fingers.

Slowly, Elle shuffled over, the motion making the room tilt side to side. Her steps slowly, she made it to the sink, making a show of looking at the ground like she was trying to avoid slipping on the floor.

“What are-”

Elle flinched when he put his massive palm on her brow. It was still damp and smelled like soap, so at least he’d washed it.

Scowling, she grabbed his wrist and tried to pry it off, but he simply shifted his stance and locked his elbow. The motion nearly knocked her off balance, and she dropped her hands to grab onto the side of the sink.

In a battle of weight, Elle knew she would lose, so she stood still and let his hand rest against her forehead. After a few seconds, he sighed. Shaking his head, ears slapping noisily with the motion, the boarman pinched the bridge of his snout.

“You’re burning up,” He grumbled matter of factly, then adding further comment under his breath. “And you look clammy.”

“Am not!” Elle ducked out from under his hand. The motion made the immediate area go sideways and she reeled into a wall. After barely managing to put her hands on it to brace herself, she slowly headed toward the open back door.

The scent of Wrecks’ smoke break hung in the air. Putting a hand over her mouth, she resisted the urge to wretch. The drider turned to face her, quirking a brow.

“I just spent the last three days looking after the girls while they were sick,” Horac lectured as he stacked dishes, then began to arrange the plates on the other side of the sink. “You might have gotten it from me. I felt fine, but…”

He gestured to his form. It figured that he wouldn’t have to worry about the same Illnesses as humans, but then again, Asmodues likely hadn’t been so kind when inflicting his Ire on Horac.

“I’m not sick!” Elle protested, lingering in the doorway. The cold chill was back, although it had moved from her back to stomach. Sick meant missing work. And with the apartment so close, she wouldn’t entertain the idea. All she had to do was pull through until closing, then she could spend the night and next day recovering.

She took her menu and began to fan away the cloud of smoke rolling toward her as Wrecks’ sheepishly grinned and shuffled further away.

“Besides, the rush isn’t over yet.”

Grumbling, Horac sighed and slowly brought his hand across his snout. When he dropped it, his face was stern, tusks seeming to protrude more than normal.

“ Elle .”

The single syllable made her stand up straight. Worse than if he had used her full Name.

Rolling his ear between his thumb and forefinger, Horac paused and seemed to mentally prepare himself. After a moment, he sighed dramatically and shook his head.

“You will go home and rest, or I will call Ramses and tell him you’re working while you have a fever, and then he can come down here and tell you what to do.” His face softened, his ears drooping as his eyes became sympathetic. It would have been adorable if it wasn’t the punctuation of a scolding.

“If you're sick, you need to go home. Or at least not be around the food.” He pointedly looked at the collection of Purgatory Pasties on the plate in front of him, pulling them away when Elle reached for the tray.

The scowl of disappointment made her feel worse than any words he could have scolded her with. Despite the protests building up, ready to burst, she pushed them back down. Resting her hand on the corner of the table, she put her weight on it. A wave of dizziness hit and she resisted the urge to shiver or waver.

“I’m not your parent,” Horac’s voice sounded like it was so far away, despite him only being a few feet from her. “but I can’t have you getting customers sick. You know Ramses will take care of you if money is what you’re worried about.”

Elle hoped that the heat rising to her cheeks wasn’t too noticeable. At least she could blame it on the fever. If word got back to Ramses about the fever and her working while sick, he’d be blowing up her phone. Then he’d probably show up at her place, one thing would lead to another and…

The stubbornness to continue rose back up. Biting the inside of her cheek, Elle tried to swallow it back down. This wasn’t going to go her way, and she knew it. And the last thing she needed to do was face down Ramses. They had been getting along so well…

Then, the coppery tang of blood pooled in her mouth. The taste made her stomach flip and she rushed outside, barely making it out of the doorway when she began to vomit.

“Shepard!” Wrecks dropped his cigarette and rushed to her side. After a few seconds of gesturing wildly, he took her hair and held it back until she finished puking. His forelegs steadied her as she straightened.

The world around her was blurry, and she felt chills and aches start to spread through her entire body. A white square flashed in front of her face, and she realized that it was Wrecks offering her a handkerchief, which she used to wipe her mouth.

“So… I may be sick.” She groaned and pulled out her phone. Should she call Aki and crash at his place until she could at least walk straight? But if she got him sick, then he’d be missing work too. Not to mention his home likely wasn’t stocked with human friendly food. Even at her healthiest, the demonic food would make her ill.

Horac offered her a glass of water, which she used to wash out her mouth. When she took a sip, her whole body heaved and she found herself ready to puke again.

Putting her phone away, she stumbled to her car. The fatigue hit all at once, and Elle found herself falling against the vehicle. Thankfully, her windows didn’t break. But she caught a glimpse of her reflection.

Even in the translucent face staring back at her, she could see that she was shivering, her face pale, and it looked like she’d run a mile in the short distance it took to get back to the clunker.

“What’s the matter, Rare Human of the Mammon District?” A voice sneered. “Find yourself eating something you shouldn’t have?”

Elle looked over her shoulder to see Tanpopo, dressed in a thick robe, with fur on the hem. His tail swished behind him, his ears twitching as the breeze brought a new sound his way. Amber eyes glowed in the morning light, fangs flashing mischievously behind full lips.

“How brave, coming here when I’m all by myself.” Elle grumbled, feeling ready to collapse. “What, are you not getting a kick out of planting those little bomb boys in the cafe anymore?”

“Ramses stole from me, so it’s only fair I make him a little miserable and lose something in return,” The kitsune shrugged.

Elle stiffened, reaching for her phone.

“Relax, if you think I’m stupid enough to try and harm you in the street–”

“I do. And I’ll call Horac out here. Or Ramses. He’s been wanting to–”

Tanpopo put a hand to his chest like he’d been wounded. However, the smirk never left his face. His eyes closed and he tilted his head to the side, sniffing as he got closer to Elle.

Weakly, she held up a hand to keep the fox from getting too close.

“You’ve been a busy girl,” His ears twitched, close enough to send a light breeze into Elle’s face. “A demon Prince, huh? You’re certainly popular.”

“Fuck off.” Elle felt a wave of nausea and wondered if it would be worth fighting.

How Powerful was Ash’s magic that Tanpopo could smell it?

The ticket had been in her purse all this time, with Elle ready to use it and head back to the club. Or wherever the Demon sent her running. The thought of any physical activity made her feel woozy.

The kitsune’s hair suddenly stood on end, his tail puffing up. He shifted to a wide legged stance. Elle took a few stumbling steps backward, before slamming into something solid.

Wrecks was behind her. His freezing hand felt good against her burning brow. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, before he sighed deeply.

When she looked back to where Tanpopo had been there was only a puff of smoke.

“Did you see him?”

Nodding, Wrecks offered her his scarf. As he wound it around Elle’s neck, the back of his hand brushed her cheeks.

“You really are burning up.” Wrecks looked over his shoulder at the restaurant, his hand resting on her forehead again. It was a welcome sensation, so she wasn’t going to complain. “If I could drive, I’d take you home myself. And you really don’t want to be swinging around either…”

He whined to himself, then finally dropped his hand.

“You don’t want to be around me either,” Elle pushed him away. Or rather, tried to. She put her hands on his chest, but they shook as she tried to put any force behind them. “You’ll get sick too.”

“Drider, Shepard,” Wrecks put a hand to his chest, seeming to swell with pride. His ears wiggled as he gave the smallest hint of a smile as he tucked the handkerchief away. “We don’t get the flu. You can hack and cough on me all you want, and I’ll just be disgusted. Although if you’re going to vomit again, try to do it next to me rather than directly on me.” ”

Another wave of dizziness hit Elle, and her knees buckled. Wrecks yelped and managed to grab the back of her coat before she hit the ground. She grunted in protest, trying to steady herself again. Ears ringing, she felt a burning in her thigh.

When she tried to look down, she was scooped up and cradled by Wrecks.

“I don’t want you driving in this state,” Wrecks said firmly. “What happens if you’re on the road and you pass out? Or you have to puke? Or…”

“I get it,” Elle leaned against him as the world started to spin. “Just put me somewhere away from the customers until Horac closes up. I’ll hitch a ride home with him.”

Hopefully, he wouldn’t get sick either. If he had been around the sick girls for three days and not caught something, then surely he wouldn’t in a short truck ride with Elle. Although she didn’t like how her luck could turn sometimes.

Even if he could, the Boarman seemed to not care.

“Such a dad…” She found herself grumbling as Wrecks began to move. Even though she knew he was trying to keep her steady, Elle clung tightly to him and tried to not puke as he headed back to the restaurant.

***

Hushed voices woke her up. Despite being under what felt like layers of fabric, Elle shivered. Pulling the material closer, she started to curl into the fetal position. Even after a short nap, she still felt like crap. At least she’d had the foresight to wipe off her makeup before passing out, although Wrecks had to assist with such a simple action.

The bell rang, and she started to sit up. She opened her mouth to give the normal greeting, but it was like her lips had been glued together. Tasting blood again, she ran her tongue across them. It felt like sandpaper. She wasn’t sure if it was saliva or something else dribbling down her chin.

“We’re closed, Shepard, you don’t need to greet the customers.” Wreck’s voice was gentle as a hand pressed to her forehead. It was like a hot iron had touched her skin.

Elle was amazed there wasn’t a hiss or the stench of burning flesh. Wrenching away, she became even more tangled in the coats covering her and simply flopped to the other side of the couch.

Wincing apologetically, Wrecks held a cup of water to her mouth. It stung when it touched her chapped lips, and on the way down. She tried to not guzzle, but once the first drop touched her tongue, a wave of relief followed.

“How’s she looking?” Aki’s voice was faint, followed by footsteps. He came up the loft stairs, hopping on the coffee table and perching behind Wrecks so he could still see her. His ears twitched, tail thrashing as his eyes flicked over Elle, seeming to take in every detail that he could.

“Still pretty clammy,” Horac was right next to her. “I ran down to the store and got her some cold medicine. She managed to keep it down, but…” His voice trailed off as his nostrils flared, snorting noisily.

“Just take me home,” Elle groaned, trying to shrug off the pile of clothing on her. “I’ll be okay after I sleep this off.”

Horac sighed as he offered his hand to Elle. Taking it, she winced at how chilly it felt. The bristles over his skin felt like needles digging into her palm.

When she stood, the world went sideways. Horac managed to steady her, clamping tightly over her wrists.

Reeling, Elle stumbled as a tingling sensation went up her leg. Despite her best efforts, the floor connecting with the sole of her foot didn’t seem to register. Knees buckling, she knelt on the carpet, resting her cheek against the coffee table.

Aki’s tail thumped against her fingers as he shifted to kneel next to her.

“I don’t know if you’ll be able to make it back to your place,” Aki stroked her cheek as he spoke. Perhaps it was the feverish state, but there seemed to be a lot of concern on the Cat Boy’s face as he looked at her. He leaned forward, like he was about to kiss her.

“What’s on her leg?” Wrecks scrambled to adjust his stance.

The pins and needles started to spread up Elle’s body. Shifting, she looked down at her skirt. Even with the dark colored tights, she could see a mark curling up her thigh and making its way down her calf.

Lifting up the fabric, she saw it was starting to wind up her pelvis. It was hard to make out the specific symbols, as they kept swirling and blurring. Something about it seemed familiar… But she couldn’t place it as the flu fog began to creep back over her mind.

“Tanpopo?” Aki asked, ears pressing flat against his head. Eyes gleaming, his tail thumped noisily against the coffee table.

“This is a terrible prank, even for him.” Wrecks looked worried, forelegs rubbing together. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes, seemed to realize he’d have to leave if he smoked, and just clung to them. “But these look more like Infernal.”

“Spinner’s right,” Horac was intentionally keeping his gaze locked on the wall, hands shoved into his apron pocket. “That's Asmodeus’ symbol. It was all over Temptation, I can recognize it at a glance. Although Rookie, I would appreciate it if you put your skirt down.”

If it was Asmodues’ mark…

Dropping the skirt, Elle took in a deep breath, fumbling for her phone. Scrolling through her calls, she finally found Ash’s number. After a few missed presses, she felt her stomach flip as it began to dial. Each ring seemed to stretch out further and further, growing louder.

There was a loud buzzing as the Incubus picked up. For a moment, Elle thought she heard Infernal screaming. Elle flinched from the noise, hands clapping over her ears as she twisted the phone speaker away from them. The device heated up, and for a moment, Elle feared that it would melt or break.

“I was wondering when you’d finally take the initiative and call first.” Ash’s breathing was labored, like the Incubus had just run a marathon. There was no playfulness or banter in his tone, the smile completely absent from his voice.

“I think you’re aware of the recent changes to your body,” Ash continued, the strain of leather followed, then a loud crack.

Elle swallowed at the sound, feeling a chill go through her body. Despite the noise and the clear predatory tone to the demon’s voice, she found herself unable to pull away or give him anything less than her undivided attention.

Setting the phone down, Elle wordlessly pushed the speaker button.

There was a moment of silence, before another loud crack followed. The phone buzzed, shaking the entire table.

Wrecks and Aki flinched. Horac mumbled something and rubbed his face, bracing against the wall.

“Apologies for not reaching out sooner,” Ash had gotten his wind back, and his tone was more level. “but I had to make sure that a certain unruly individual was reminded of his place before being sent back to it.”

Elle’s breath caught in her throat. Emotions warred, and she clenched her jaw to keep from crying out (even weakly) or to let the questions spill from her lips like a sputtering faucet.

“Anyway, I know it’s a long trek, but I do have your boyfriend. As I said previously, you must be present for the ritual, even with the Favor given to you. The illness should fade in a day or two, but if you want to sever this tie sooner rather than later, you know where to find me.”

There was a beep. ‘ Call Ended ’ flashed across the screen. Elle’s phone sparked, a strange power humming from it before the tech finally gave up.

Dropping it on the coffee table, she stared at the device. The glass had cracked, and smoke was pouring out of the space between the case and phone.

“Is there any way I can get you to drive me to the Asmodeus district?”

She must have looked pathetic enough, because Horac’s ears drooped. He swayed side to side, looking almost ready to say yes.

“The cafe is closed tomorrow. The bar opens in a few hours.” The Boarman drummed his fingers on his massive forearm. “You’re going to want someone who’s ready for what’s down there.”

“I’ll drive her then,” Aki picked up Elle’s purse. “It’s not like I’m going to church.”

“No!” Wrecks and Elle yelled in unison.

“Horac is clearly the better choice,” Wrecks hissed. “He’s worked out there, been around Ash and Asmodeus, you–”

“It’s not like you’re going to go,” Aki rolled his eyes at Wrecks, tossing the purse back onto the couch behind Elle. “You’d probably combust once you got to the border.”

“I am more than capable of handling myself, thank you.” Wrecks crossed his arms and forelegs, all his eyes narrowing. “Frankly, my perceived moral compass is less important than getting Adrian away from Elle.”

Aki’s fur stood on end, but went flat when Elle put a hand on his arm. Ears drooping, he nodded, giving her fingers a quick squeeze. She could see his jaw clench and had a feeling the car ride was going to be awkward.

“You guys don’t have to come.” Elle insisted. “If I could drive, I’d do it by myself–”

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” Wrecks insisted, lacing his fingers together and setting them on top of his forelegs. “I saw what just a projection of him did to you. I can only imagine what it’s going to be like seeing him in person.”

He smiled. “Besides, Shepard, you’re my friend. This is the kind of thing we do for each other.”

Aki let go of her hand. “I don’t know who this Adrian guy is, but I know that look all too well. And I know a demon contract when I see it.” He ruffled Elle’s hair and gave a feline grin, “So don’t worry, I’ll do what I can.”

“First thing’s first.” Wrecks said firmly, managing to tear his eyes away from the display and holding up a finger. “We have to tell Ramses–”

“Better to ask forgiveness than ask permission,” Horac held up his phone and waved it, before heading down the stairs. “Everyone going, pile into the truck. We’ve got a three hour drive and only a bit of time before the moon rises.”

Pausing, he looked Wrecks up and down.

“On second thought Spinner, you’re going to want to be in the flatbed.”

***

The ride was mostly smooth, despite the speedometer’s needle climbing. Horac’s eyes were glued to the road, his grip on the steering wheel making his whole body go taut.

Pressing her brow to the cool glass, Elle tried to not look at the world whipping past, as too much movement was starting to make her nauseous.

But when she closed her eyes, the pain in her leg started to flare up. It was a throbbing and a burning that twisted back and forth. What was being done to Adrian that was making his magic act like this? And from so far away?

Aki was in the back seat, occasionally popping his head forward to look at Elle. After the third time, Horac released his death grip on the steering wheel to snatch the Cat Boy’s wrist.

“Unless she’s throwing up or I’m at a stop, sit down and wear your seat belt,” Horac gave a warning squeeze, Aki’s hand turning white.

“But I-”

“I will turn this truck around,” Horac tossed Aki’s hand back.

Making an annoyed sound, Aki sat and spready himself across the seats, shoes pressed against the window. Despite his scowl, his ears drooped and his eyes gleamed with worry. His tail thumped against the back window, drawing Wrecks’ attention.

“ Properly sit down. I don’t want you breaking your legs if I get into a wreck.”

Wind whipped through the truck as the middle back window squeaked open. Wrecks poked his head in, his spectacles fogging up from the temperature change.

“How long until we’re there?”

“We’re getting close to the border,” Horac fiddled with the radio, frowning as the music playing started to devolve into static. “And it looks like we’re going into a high magic place. Everyone hang tight.”

Glancing in the rear view mirror, Elle saw Wrecks frown. The steam started to dissipate from the lenses, and she could see his eyes glitter with worry.

He and Aki shared a concerned look, before Wrecks slowly pulled his head back out, leaving the window open just a crack. The whipping of the wind was soothing, and Elle felt herself starting to doze off.

She saw a flash of a circle. It glowed pink, showing a prostrate figure in the center. Magenta manacles wrapped around ankles and wrists, keeping them kowtowed. Symbols curled up bare skin, fading into crimson.

Slowly, its head shifted and a watery eye peered out at her.

Horac’s hand lightly brushed her arm.

She was back in the truck. Her leg throbbed. Even through her tights, she could see the mark was spreading down her calf and vanishing into her shoes. Everything was pulsing. Windows and the engine rattled, the conversation between Wrecks and Aki warbled, like a car radio with the bass turned up too loud.

“Rookie,” Horac’s voice cut through the cacophony, his tone gentle, but warning.

“I know this is a Favor with a capital F, but it’s still going to hurt. You’ll have to have a stand in or vessel for the Princes. It’s not going to be a picnic. I’m sure Spinner and Newbie would help you in a heartbeat… But with just us… -”

Elle nodded, barely able to keep her eyes open as a fog started to wrap around her mind. If being around Ash was anything to go by, then she was going to have to deal with probably the worst case of the Concubi Lust she’d ever had. Her stomach heaved at the thought. Even if she was completely healthy, it would have put a huge burden on her body and soul.

“When Asmodeus inflicted his Ire upon me, it put me in the hospital right after I got out. I felt my bones and body break apart as I took on the new form, even with all the Healers attending to me after it happened, it took me forever to feel ‘right’ again. This is severing a bond with a Demon, you’ll likely be out of work for a while. And that’s assuming Lover Boy lets go without a fight. There’s going to be a lot of Power flying around the room. You might see a side of everyone you’re not ready to. Being so close to so much…” He looked in the rearview mirror.

“Even with a level head, you’re going to be Tempted.”

Swallowing, Elle nodded. The words stuck in her throat. One stupid thing she’d done had followed her for this long. To have it about to finally be gone… She wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved, happy, sorrow, or maybe a mix of everything.

“I’ve done so much to get away from him,” Elle reached for the bottle of water Horac had grabbed for her in the cup holder. Her hands shook as she managed to unscrew it and press it to her lips. When it touched her tongue, her stomach threatened to rebel again. Steeling herself, she swallowed it down.

“One last bit of pain is worth living in peace.”

As if on cue, the radio crackled again, smooth jazz playing. A singer purred some sort of melody that Elle couldn’t place. She let the tune guide her into a more relaxed state, but she had a feeling that she wouldn’t be getting any rest until this was all over.

***

The streets were empty as the truck barreled down them. Power crackled through the air. The radio buzzed, the soft music devolving into static.

Elle couldn’t help but feel her cheeks burn at the sight of a billboard, advertising Miss Lamb. She was sitting on a throne made of concubi, wearing a few strips of fabric to cover her nipples and groin. Dark marks went up her thigh and abdomen. She leaned back into the throne, head slightly inclined, ready to meet the lips of the man behind her.

Come find me…

Behind that was a billboard reading Temptation in call caps.

“This broadcast is brought to you by Asmodeus, the Prince of Lust, the Oldest Sin, the-”

With clumsy fingers, Horac turned the volume all the way down. A few sputtering sounds warbled from the speaker, before finally dying out. It hummed softly, the tuning needle moving back and forth, as if trying to find it again.

“It’s a lot more tame than I thought,” Aki commented as he shifted in the back seat, neck swiveling to follow another advertisement for the club. He looked almost disappointed at the lack of... Whatever he was expecting. Pressing against the window, he squinted and tilted his head to the side.

“Where is everyone?”

“What, were you expecting an orgy at the border just continuing until the other end?” Horac asked, not taking his eyes off the road. There was an edge to his voice as he looked around, head on a swivel.

For a moment, Elle thought the steering wheel would warp under his grip.

Aki pointedly gestured to the passing billboards with a raised brow.

“I think you’re old enough to not believe everything you see on ads.”

“You’d think that there would be… Anyone in the streets.” Wrecks commented, poking his head in the back window. “Was it like this the last time you were here?”

Elle wordlessly shook her head as Horac’s shoulders started to raise. His whole body was rigid as they focused on the road ahead, the speedometer dipping lower as the vehicle slowed to a crawl.

As they pulled up to “Temptation”, Elle felt a hot flash go through her. Rather than feeling arousal, her stomach flipped. With shaking hands, she took another swig from the water bottle.

It was strange seeing the club without all the lights and people in front. The zeppelin still flew around in a slow circle. As it moved, there was a crackle of Power coming from the top of the stadium. Quite a few bouncers were at the entrance, their faces impossible to read. Occasionally, a person came up to talk, but they were ignored or shooed off.

There was a change in the air, and Elle’s purse suddenly felt a lot heavier.

Opening it, she saw the ticket that Ash had originally given her. Months of wear and tear had rendered it almost unrecognizable. It was thrumming with energy. The outline of the Incubus’ lips had gone from pink to red with black lines. As it smoldered, she took it out of the purse.

Pins and needles went up her arm. The windows began to fog up as heat started to circulate in the car.

Come find me, at Temptation…

“I think we just need to go in the front this time.”

Once she opened the car door, the air became heavy. Shuffling out, Elle leaned against the flatbed. She held the hood of her coat tightly closed with one hand, the battered ticket with the other. The paper crumpled in her grip, more spikes of power began to pulse out.

Taking a few shaky steps forward, Elle could feel the weight of the energy of the air start to increase as she began to get closer to the threshold. Something was different about it. Pink sparked through the air, and the scent of mint and lavender fluttered around her.

Taking a deep inhale, Elle closed her eyes and let it wash over her.

A large rippling orc came over without a word, his tight black shirt about ready to rip with inhale. He didn’t even take the ticket, just stepped aside for Elle, but held up a hand as the rest of the group started to follow.

“They’re my friends,” Elle said firmly, although the world continued to tilt and spin as she spoke. Her voice was no doubt all over the place, wavering and weak despite her attempted resolve. “They’re coming too.”

A cobalt skinned demon slunk forward, a tapered tail whipping back and forth with an audible crack.

“This ticket is only good for one,” The demon said, his voice slick like oil. “You were the only person needed to be present for the ritual.”

“She can barely stand on her own!” Aki protested, standing next to Elle. His warmth against her made her skin itch, like all the moisture had been sucked from it, if he pushed too hard, she’d crack open into a husk. “You think she’s going to be able to perform any sort of magic in this state?”

“The rules–”

“With all due respect,” Wrecks was towering over them. The windblown hair fell down in a shaggy mane, the lenses of his spectacles gleaming in the streetlights. If Elle had only known him at a glance, it would have been downright intimidating.

“It’s often a group that needs to perform a ritual, right? Especially if the other Princes aren’t present?”

The Orc sized Wrecks up, before something buzzed on his belt. Pulling a walkie talkie free, he held it up as Infernal crackled through the device. Judging by his reaction, whoever was speaking was scolding him.

With an irritated sigh, he rumbled something back, before nodding apologetically.

The velvet rope was lifted, and they walked inside.

Even though it was the same building as before, the cement halls seemed cold and empty. The outside air stirred the posters and flyers on the billboards, but their colors were dull and faded compared to what they had been the night she first visited. There was no music or murmur of conversation, just the sounds of footsteps echoing.

Elle’s breath came out in a fog. The hum of power grew louder as they were led to the party room. The demon and orc stopped at a pair of double doors. Pink flashed under them, followed by rattling as an infernal screech reverberated off the wood. The ticket ignited, cotton candy colored wisps covering the arches.

As runes and symbols lit up, a blush colored film covered the doors as they creaked open. The barrier stayed in place, the mark of Asmodeus forming.

What had gotten her into this mess in the first place. If only she’d studied harder…

Swallowing, Elle took another step forward. The Power reached for her, calling out. Begging her to take it. Make it hers. Become the warlock she was always meant to be.

No, she needed to stay in control.

Focus.

Reaching toward the rune, she lightly touched her finger to it. Smoke curled under the tip, her vision blurring as she blinked back tears. The symbol wound its way around her wrist and arm, linking with the other half on her leg. She watched the marks spread across her skin.

Bound with blood, not power.

Passing through the barrier was like wading through jello. Each step was slow, and sapping more strength from Elle. It felt like she’d walked up a mountain just to go through the doorway.

Inside, a pink circle had been drawn. Spotlights were focused on the figure in the middle, chained tight to the floor. The restraints had few links, offering no slack to the bound one.

Ash stood over him. His horns were longer, tapering to a point. The flaming crown that had nestled between them had grown in size. The markings covering his body were bright, power coursing through him. Eyes flashed with hunger as he looked at Elle, lips pulled back to show his fangs.

He was bare chested, but wore a floor length fur coat and leather pants.

“So good of you to join,” As he spoke, a ring of pink pulsed from his iris, rippling to the edge of his eye. “Here I thought he’d give out before then.”

“Elodie…” A pitiful voice whimpered. It wavered too much, no power in the word. Fingers weakly grasped the open air. Shaking arms tried to move, but the restraints dug in.

Adrian Ashborn laid sprawled out on the floor, bruises mottling his skin. Blood dripped from his brow, where one of his flesh colored horns had been broken off. Fresh cuts and wounds tore open further as he tried to break free, not even rattling the chains. Even in his bound state, with movements restrained to almost immobility, he jerked and pulled.

Despite everything, Elle almost ran to him.

His eyes locked with hers, and she stopped, a chill up her spine freezing her in place. Goosebumps covered her skin as memories warred. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Laughter and sighs turning into screams and arguing. Her stomach flipped as she clenched her fists.

“Good thing you stopped where you did,” Ash stood in front of her, his body blocking the mangled sight. He was holding a knife, not unlike the one she’d used to channel so long ago.

The pink marks on his skin were red at the edges, the heat starting to burn the Incubus. If he felt pain, Ash was good at hiding it.

“I think you of all people know what happens when a circle breaks.”

He looked back at Adrian. There was no laughter or warmth in his eyes. Just pure… Loathing. Elle took a step back as Adrian’s thumb went up the knife’s handle.

“Come on Ash, enough with the theatrics.” Horac came between Elle and the incubus. Even thought he was trying to look relaxed, his shoulders were still raised, his hand turned to Elle, ready to push her back at a moment’s notice.

“At this rate you’ll kill her before you can do anything.”

Ash’s eyes flicked to Adrian, before he sighed and shrugged. An exhausted laugh escaped him, and he ran his free hand down his face.

“You’re lucky to have escaped my Ire once, don’t test me further.”

Aki’s ears were flat against his head as he clutched Elle’s hand tight. Fur standing on end, he did his best to avoid making eye contact as Ash began to move around the circle, drawing out symbols with his boot and the tip of the knife.

“I will admit, I was worried that you were gone for good,” Ash admitted. “Or that you were going to leave me with the biggest set of blue balls regarding this whole thing. But I’m glad I was able to tempt you back.”

As he crossed the circle, Ash knelt next to Adrian, seizing him by the hair and forcing him to look up at Elle. The handsome face twisted with pain, showing broken teeth. Tears streamed out of one eye, the other too swollen shut to do much.

“You might think me cruel,” He said, although Elle wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or Adrian. “But this is what was asked of me. The weaker he is, the easier it is to break the bond.”

Wrecks flinched away from the sight, rubbing his arms. His foreleg rested on Elle’s shoulder as he stayed between her and Ash as the incubus crossed to the other side, drawing another rune.

“What if you had killed me?” Elle asked, feeling her blood run cold.

“You think I’m that sloppy?” Ash shook his head. “Have some faith in me, Miss Shepard.” He drew the last symbol, before beckoning.

Cadence floated down from the rafters, grey feathers littering the ground around him. He gave Elle a sad smile, before snapping to attention when Ash came close.

“A circle to contain,” Ash held up one finger, the rest awkwardly wrapped around the knife. After a few one handed grip changes, he managed to lift another.

“And a circle to do the ritual in. You think that will be enough, Miss Shepard?” He gestured to the full moon above. “The amount of energy needed will be more than provided.”

Reluctantly, Elle nodded. Adrian moaned in pain again, trying to pull himself free. A discordant scream escaped him when Ash put a boot between his shoulders and pressed down. It didn’t take much effort, and he didn’t seem to be pushing hard, but the scream was one of pure agony.

“Adrian Ashborn, you escaped me once. Bound by blood, your master has decided to end your bond. A Favor she has earned, and it will be repaid.”

The knife clattered at Elle’s feet. She reached down and picked it up. The symbols twisting around her hand glowed with power.

Cadence began to move across the ground with chalk to draw the outer circle. Once it closed, all the magic wouldn’t be able to escape until it was broken again.

“We need seven for each Demon Prince,” Elle said softly, the memories of her school days coming back. She pointed to the area furthest from her, behind Ash.

“Belphegor goes back there.”

“Figures Prince of Sloth is furthest away,” Aki grumbled as he walked over without being told. The symbol glowed under him.

“Why Belphegor?” Elle asked.

“Lazy demon, lazy cat.” Aki’s ears twitched. “He speaks to me.” He gave a toothy grin and a thumbs up, tail swishing with excitement. “Told ya we would make a good pair as a witch and her black cat.”

Elle couldn’t look at him, her cheeks burning.

“Leviathan should be right next to you.” Elle pointed to the right, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Getting a good view of the caster but not close enough to do anything.”

There were light steps.

Wrecks stood on the symbol, looking down as power thrummed. He seemed intrigued, but stayed quiet, offering Elle a thumbs up with a raised brow, which she nodded at.

“Satan is to the left.”

“Strongest will probably need someone who can take a beating.” Horac went to the rune, not even flinching as the power whipped at his feet.

“I suppose yours truly will have to stand on Asmodeus?” Ash preened as he spoke, not taking his foot off Adrian’s back.

Elle shot him a look. “No, I’d rather you not. You being his right hand…” Her voice trailed off as she looked to Cadence, who was scribbling another line on the floor.

But Asmodeus had been the one who she’d struck a deal with to do this favor…

Ash pouted, his old self coming through in the expression. His lips pursing looked perfectly kissable, the tip of his tongue peeking out, offering other activities it could be useful–

He was getting to her.

Elle looked down at her feet, staring at the glowing mark. When she stepped next to it, the power vibrated through the air as the two energies warred.

“You’ll be Beelzebub. If Temptation is anything, it’s excess…” She looked at Cadence, who looked like he was almost finished. The Siren paused in his drawing, giving Elle a reassuring smile.

The tension in the air was starting to get worse.

“Cadence can be Asmodeus, since he performs here. I’ll be Mammon since I was so–”

“Greedy?”

The voice made her whirl around.

Ramses was at the doorway, not even phased by the threshold. The glowing from his chest was even brighter in the dark night. The orc and demon at the door didn’t even try to stop him.

The ichor dripping off him formed puddles on the floor. His cheeks were flushed, breathing labored as he locked eyes with Elle.

“How’d you get here so fast?” She nearly dropped the knife in disbelief. Sure, she’d expected he’d come after getting the message, but to be so hot on their heels?

He walked up to her, holding up a hand. For a moment, it looked like he was going to cup her cheek, but he stared at the mess forming around him and dropped it.

“I got the message and decided to… Get here.” His eyes darted around the room as he took everything in, before he scowled at Ash. “Do you think I’d stay away from something like this?”

It did look like he’d just rolled out of bed. His hair was a mess, his glasses askew, and his clothes still wrinkled despite the no doubt expensive fabric they were likely made of. Maybe if Elle got a good whiff of his breath, she’d get the halitosis smell.

“Well, had I known you were going to show up, I would have called everyone else.” Ash crossed his arms. “What brings you here?”

“A Favor,” Ramses replied nonchalantly, before stepping past Cadence, who paused at the last part of the circle.

“Once he closes it…” Ash warned, his voice trailing off as he glowered at Adrian squirming. Sweat beaded down his forehead as he shook with repressed rage, muscles going taut as he prepared to kick Adrian Adrian again.

“I know,” Ramses offered no room for argument. “You still need a Lucifer. And I… Take Pride in taking care of my employees.”

He smiled at his own words, and Ash groaned and scoffed. The incubus rolled his eyes, before looking at Elle expectantly.

“You sure?”

Nodding, Elle tried to keep from grinning ear to ear. She wasn’t sure about Ramses’ skill with magic, but there was no doubt Power coming off him and thrumming in the air.

There was a snap as Cadence closed the circle. Pink light danced above them as energy began to run along the edges of the circle, attempting to escape. Ash stood on Elle’s right, and Ramses on her left.

Everyone stepped on their respective symbols. The channeling knife grew hot in Elle’s hands, the runes lighting up as the magic in the air was drawn to it.

“Adrian Ashborn,” Ash said, his voice barely audible over the Power roaring in Elle’s ears. Wind whipped through the air, stirring his hair and causing it to cling to his lips. “Through blood you are bound, and through blood you are released. A being of Asmodeus, you are to be thrown into his circle until your soul is cleansed.”

The air grew unbearably hot. Sweat trickled down Elle’s brow and upper lip, and her clothes felt tight. The material was like a scouring pad against her skin, and she could see chafing between the gaps in the fabric. Standing with her legs apart, she extended her arms outward toward the inner circle.

Once the tip of the knife touched the edge, energy began to spiral around the blade. It corkscrewed into Adrian’s binding, which began to glow red with heat. He screamed, the marks spreading across his body, going from flesh to even teeth and the whites of his eyes.

“Through Lust you gain strength, through release you gain power. Now through Lust you grow weak, and through release you gain impotence.” Ash continued, his eyes darkening. “Reverse your nature, and break this contract.”

He whipped his head toward Elle.

“Be ready.”

An instant later, pain became the world. The burn on her thigh became an insatiable white hot inferno. Energy sliced at her, the fragments shattering and becoming shrapnel. Gripping the knife tight, she thrust it forward into the blinding light, sparks and flashes filling her vision.

Then, the screaming started.

Not from Adrian, but from Aki.

The Cat Boy was on all fours, pink embers clinging to his fur as the symbols began to twist up his body. He slapped an open hand against the ground, burying his face into the crook of his elbow as it began to spread further. A few tears sizzled as they hit the ground.

Tail tucked between his legs, he clawed at the ground and tore up chunks of wood, but managed to not break the circle.

Wrecks tried to hold out, but the black symbol of Arachne glowed as the runes of Asmodeus began to overtake it. Smoke curled up past his face and he finally let out a cry of agony, venom dribbling down his chin as he body prepared to fight off a foe that wasn’t visible.

Wait… Why were they being harmed? This was only supposed to affect Adrian…

Wrecks’ eyes bulged and his legs gave out. He hit the ground hard, but managed to keep from breaking the inner circle. Hands shaking, he looked at Elle with an apologetic expression, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Cadence clutched his chest and throat, his mouth opening in a silent scream as choked gasps escaped. Feathers rapidly molted off his body, catching on fire as the energy came into contact with them. As more skin became exposed, she could see raised skin, pink with scarring against his olive and grey complexion. This likely wasn’t his first time being used as a Caster for such a ritual.

He looked at Elle with watery eyes, then offered a shaky smile.

“I’m fine, I promise.”

The air around them shimmered and grew blurry.

And for a split second, Cadence was standing upright, looking like he hadn’t just had a horrific amount of body twisting pain inflicted upon him.

But the image became fuzzy, his hunched over form coming back into focus.

Ramses’ arms sizzled with heat, the ichor bubbling and hitting the ground with a wet splat. Energy wrapped around him, but didn’t sink into his skin like it had everyone else. Closing one eye, he raised his hands. Cracks formed in his skin, the glow from his chest spreading.

The black scales grew thick, starting to spread over his face. Gritting his teeth, the demon closed his fists, seizing the energy from the air.

“That’s enough!” He snapped, clutching the magic tighter. Black continued to creep up his arms, flaking away when the heat from his chest flared up. “You’re going to kill everyone.”

“The bond is deep,” Ash said, his tone flat. Although there was a hint of a smile as he watched Ramses struggle. “Through Lust indeed...”

He stared at the marks as they twisted around his arm, constantly curling and uncurling. “It takes a lot to break it. The pain you’re feeling is nothing compared to what he is.” He nodded toward Adrian, who had finally quieted. “Once this is over, it will subside.”

Gritting his teeth, Ramses reluctantly released the energy. It whipped through the air and struck Adrian. He slowly lifted his head, eyes flashing.

“Can you keep it from hurting them?” Elle asked, feeling the pain start to ebb. Clutching the knife, she blinked back tears and took in a shaky breath. “They’re just trying to help. I know you can stop this.”

“They came into this with a warning.” Ash shrugged, reaching toward Elle. His nails lengthened as he got closer, the tips barely brushing against her arm. Goosebumps followed where they traced.

The world began to slip away until only the circle and energy remained.

“And you insisted. You’re connected to them through Lust…” Ash’s eyes were so deep, drawing her into their never ending abyss. She felt so light, like she was about to start flying. The energy started to flow through her, and she could feel more just past his lips. He could unlock so much Power…

“But if you want to be the vessel of their pain, and the weakness–”

“Elle,” Ramses warned, his hand on her shoulder. Black smeared on her shirt, dripping onto her bicep and elbow. “You don’t want to do that. Favors and Ire take a lot of us. Once this is over, he’s going to be weak and vulnerable. Remember he’s still a Demon, even if he’s doing you a ‘kindness’.”

There was a feral roar. It pierced through the air and found its way into Elle’s ears. A metallic snap followed.

Whirling around back toward the circle, Elle saw Adrian was standing, his arms shaking. The chains hung loosely off his wrist, his whole body glowing pink.

“Get away from her!” The voice sliced through the air. Adrian took an uncertain step forward, his knee giving out. Dropping to one knee, he glared at Elle and bore his teeth. Grabbing onto the links, he tore them off, breaking the cuff in the process.

“I thought you said it was supposed to weaken him !” Elle took a step back, before feeling the energy of the outside circle vibrate behind her. The sensation brought her back completely, and the world became tinged with pink, Adrian growing brighter than ever, strands braiding them together.

Shit . She couldn’t break the circle.

“Elodie!” His voice was still shaky. “Please. I know I messed up. But don’t do this!” He slapped the barrier sprung up from the inner circle. Pink rippled from the impact. Tears streamed down his face, sparkling as they fell and hit the floor.

“I’ll change. We can leave this all behind. Start over somewhere.” As he spoke, the energy wrapped around them both, twisting into a thick rope that wrapped around Elle’s thigh and Adrian’s waist.

“You don’t have to work again. I’ll make sure of it. I know you’re on your feet all day and come home exhausted. I know you live in that crappy apartment and still drive that shitty car. I’ll get a job and do what I can to be a good patron this time.” He continued to beat on the barrier as he spoke, his voice distorting at each impact.

“That’s what we were doing before! I’ll get you better clothes and we’ll have a nice place. I’ll treat you right. It’s not just Lust tying us together, it’s love!”

Tears streamed down his face. For a heartbeat, Elle believed him.

“I’m sorry, Adrian.” Elle shook her head. “But we’re not right for each other.”

The glow turned into fire. It became so bright and hot that the incubus’ features melted away to make way for the light, leaving only his silhouette as proof he was still there. Adrian seized the magic, and air rushed out of Elle’s lungs. Light and dark warred as her vision started to go black.

“Break the bond!” Ash yelled, his voice sounding like it was coming from the opposite end of the room.

Clutching the knife tight, Elle stabbed downward at the rope connecting them. Sparks flew, each stab punctuated by a scream. Adrian’s begging and crying became screams of pain and anger, his beating on the barrier becoming more desperate.

“He’s just trying to break us up to have you for himself!” Adrian cried out. “You can’t trust him, Elodie!” His voice warbled as he attempted to use her Name.

Sawing at the energy, she saw white with each connection, pain searing up her hand and arm. Clenching her teeth, she put her weight into it, dropping to the ground. There was a loud buzz, and the knife shot from her hands, striking the barrier and slicing her fingers.

Everything went silent, the light slowly fading. The knife clattered to the floor, sparks flying. It slowly skittered to a stop, glowing with heat.

Rubbing her eyes, Elle waited for the throbbing to fade. Slowly, her eyes began to adjust as colors returned to normal.

Adrian laid on the ground in a crumpled heap. After what felt like an eternity, his chest rose and fell, the wheeze that followed barely counting as a breath.

The circles were burned into the cement floor, soot obscuring the symbols.

Aki coughed, trying to rise to a crouch, before falling over. Horac helped him sit up, and the Cat Boy leaned against him. Taking deep breaths, he rubbed his arms and legs, as if trying to peel the markings off. They faded, and he sighed in relief.

Wrecks’ legs were curled inward, and took a moment (and some light tugging) from Horac to straighten out. He sighed in relief, massaging each limb with practiced movements. His spectacles had fallen off during the ritual, and the lenses were cracked. Frowning, he slowly put them back on with shaking hands.

Cadence sat up, arms wrapped around himself. His talons scraped at exposed skin, drawing out drops of crimson, but he seemed to not notice. He looked toward Ash, then back at Elle.

Ramses put a hand to his chest, as if checking his heart rate.

“The Bond is broken,” Ash casually stepped over the circle. It fizzled as the last remnants of energy ran their course. Not a hair was out of place or a single wrinkle in his clothing, but his footing seemed uncertain, his normal gait suddenly reeling. As he spoke, the markings covering his body began to retract and fade away.

The glow that seemed to cover his skin was faded, his complexion and features looking… Less ethereal.

Ash turned to the door. There was still a bit of Power and Energy clinging to it, creating a weak barrier.

“The Favor has been repaid,” Ash called out, his voice reaching who he wanted to be heard by, no matter the distance. “I know my guests have a long drive back, so be sure to set up accommodation–”

Adrian lurched forward, snatching the still glowing knife off the ground. Ash barely had lifted his foot up before the blade was buried up to the handle in his abdomen. He stared down at it in shock, fingers wrapping around the hilt.

“Ash!” Elle shouted, heart jumping into her throat.

“Well, call me Lucifer,” Ash croaked, staggering back, eyes wide.

Cadence jumped up, but his legs gave out again.

Adrian turned to Elle, the Hunger in his eyes sending a wave over her. His whole body went rigid, ready to pounce and start chasing. The predatory glint was back. A black tongue flitted across his lips, and his teeth seemed to lengthen as saliva dripped down his lips.

Stepping back, Elle tried to keep from falling over in her haste.

Horac barreled over, slamming his shoulder into Adrian and sending him flying. The incubus landed on the floor, sliding back. After a few feet, he stopped. Glaring at Horac, he snarled and started to get back up.

Standing between them, Horac squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, hands clenched into fists.

“What’s more important to you, the life of a Demon Prince or the safety of some warlock who got in over her head?” Adrian spat, taking a few wide strides toward Horac. He tried to look at Elle, but couldn’t change his path without Horac shifting to block it.

“The bond is broken, you’re not her patron anymore.” Horac’s voice was eerily calm, but his head turned ever so slightly to Ash, who was using his coat to attempt to stop the bleeding. One hand went to the scar on his abdomen.

“Leave now and you might be able to hide for a bit before the Guardians get here. This is over . Don’t push your luck and get his Ire inflicted on you too. Just cooperate with the guard–”

“I’m not leaving without Elodie!” Adrian snarled. “We’re bound by blood, and I will be here until every last drop is drained from her!”

Running forward, the Incubus rammed right into Horac’s stomach, striking the palm of his heel into the scar from the Succubus. Horac’s face twisted in pain, and he dropped to one knee. With labored breaths, he attempted to grab and restrain Adrian, but his hands closed on the empty air.

Adrian closed the distance between him and Elle so quickly. She tried to move, but her legs wouldn’t obey.

“Adri-” Her voice shook. She sucked in a breath, trying to keep her heart from battering against her ribs and throat. “Adrian Ashborn!”

The Name rang hollow. The Incubus hesitated and flinched, preparing for the binding. But when it didn’t come, he continued to make his way toward her.

A twisted and rough hand reached for Elle, shimmering like quartz in the moonlight. Beautiful and magical, but would only do harm when it touched her.

Then it was covered by an inky black substance as it collided with something solid. A wet smack echoed in the open air. Adrian’s eyes widened as the fluid began to spread up his arm.

Ramses’ hand wrapped around Adrian’s fist. Baring his teeth, he shifted his stance so he could have more solid footing.

“If you touch my employee, I will make what Asmodeus did to you seem like Hellspawn’s first day in the ring.” Ramses’ eyes narrowed, his glasses sliding down his nose and falling to the ground. The scaling continued to spread across his skin, along with the strange glowing cracks. “This is done .”

The last word was tinged with an Infernal accent.

Adrian yanked his hand back, before swinging at Ramses’ head. The fist met horn and more cracks spread across Ramses’ face.

Glass broke as Adrian shoved Ramses back. Ramses only took a step before righting himself. The two shoved one another back, before Adrian slipped on the sludge coming from Ramses. It crusted and flaked away like dried mud.

“ Mammon ,” Ash gurgled, eyes flashing pink as he used the Name. “ Prince of Greed. Stop him.”

Sighing, Ramses shook his head. His hair fell around him in a curtain, the ribbon fluttering to the ground.

“Elle.” His voice was soft, despite him grunting with effort as he tried to hold Adrian in place. He forced a smile, despite everything going on around them.

“I’m sorry.”

Adrian’s fingers twisted in Ramses’ shirt, and for a moment, it looked like he was going to Feed.

Ramses’ remaining skin flaked away, the heat returning to the area. Condensation and steam filled the air. A few slipped and stumbled at the sudden climate change, a thick fog filling the stadium.

Seizing Adrian’s arms, Ramses threw his head back and roared. His mouth turned into a maw, his body contorting and expanding. His nails grew and tapered to a point, becoming talons. The scales became thick and covered his entire body.

His neck lengthened, and the cracks in his skin sparked and glowed with heat. A pair of wings unfurled from his shoulders, long and with a translucent black membrane between bones like a bat. With a loud tear, his clothing was shredded as a tail grew from his spine, long and thick, not unlike a snake.

Adrian’s eyes widened as he stared in disbelief.

“Adrian Ashborn,” the voice of the Mammon rumbled. “From Ash you were born, and to ash you shall return.” Black flames erupted from his mouth. Black and pink mingled, before smoke and fog clouded Elle’s vision and the area.

Mammon’s tail thrashed, and he let out another roar that shook the stadium, stomping on the ground as his wings flapped, buffeting them all with the wind.

Red eyes focused on Elle.

Before she could say anything, the tail wrapped around her waist.

And they were both rising.

(You can read the next part here!)

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