#amuse inc.

[that-butch-archivist]

source: The Little Butch Book by Lesléa Newman

[demifiendrsa]

THE GARFIELD MOVIE - Official Trailer

Synopsis

Garfield (voiced by Chris Pratt), the world-famous, Monday-hating, lasagna-loving indoor cat, is about to have a wild outdoor adventure! After an unexpected reunion with his long-lost father – scruffy street cat Vic (voiced by Samuel L. Jackson) – Garfield and his canine friend Odie are forced from their perfectly pampered life into joining Vic in a hilarious, high-stakes heist.

[littlemetalbiter]

I kinda hope there's one episode next season where we get like a brief cutaway to Johnny in prison he's just like. in the prison cafeteria line or something just ( •᷅~•᷄ )

[borgialucrezia]

actually my roman empire is juan borgia's greatest fear being that his family would dislike and abandon him then they ironically ended up doing exactly what he had dreaded the most and it's his family not just hating him but also metaphorically dancing on his grave without even a hint of sentimentality

[zoomar]

Yes! I want to be the first in town to cash in on computer portraits. Please rush details

[fancyfade]

the scene where rex is trying to get his doctor friends (charles mcnider, beth chapel) to give rick (his clearly-uninterested-in-becoming-a-doctor son) med school recs but they're trying so hard to convince him it's a bad idea b/c rick is clearly not motivated to do it is hilarious

[blindedguilt]

⊙

Leonard thinks Caim is...

| Admirable | Attractive | Absentminded | Amusing(?) | Abrasive | Aloof | Arrogant | Brilliant | Bizarre | Bland | Caring | Charming | Clever | Confident | Courageous | Creative | Cute | Careless | Childish | Clumsy | Cowardly | Cruel | Dignified | Dramatic | Desperate | Devious | Disrespectful | Elegant | Energetic | Emotional | Excitable | Faithful | Forgiving | Friendly | Flamboyant | Foolish | Frightening | Generous | Gloomy | Greedy | Gullible | Helpful | Honest(? Very blunt, at least) | Hateful | Intelligent(? When he wanslts to be) | Ignorant | Impulsive | Insensitive | Irresponsible | Lovable | Lazy | Mature | Malicious | Misguided | Monstrous | Narrow-minded | Optimistic | Obnoxious | Peaceful | Persuasive | Protective | Power-hungry | Quirky | Reliable | Romantic | Ridiculous | Sexy | Sophisticated(? He can see his upbringing when he wants to show it) | Selfish | Trusting | Treacherous | Understanding | Unpredictable | Unstable | Vulnerable | Witty | Weak | 

[mishtershpock]

.

[catgirlwheels]

Only one of them has a kitty though, which makes all the difference

[wevelocityteampresents-blog]

A comic I made based on this Pokémon HOME screenshot:

I wanted to upload this to my website. But I felt nobody would understand it, given the lack of context.

[demifiendrsa]

THE GARFIELD MOVIE - New Trailer

Posters

Synopsis

Garfield (voiced by Chris Pratt), the world-famous, Monday-hating, lasagna-loving indoor cat, is about to have a wild outdoor adventure! After an unexpected reunion with his long-lost father – scruffy street cat Vic (voiced by Samuel L. Jackson) – Garfield and his canine friend Odie are forced from their perfectly pampered life into joining Vic in a hilarious, high-stakes heist.

[wileys-russo]

Could I possibly request a blurb for Fresa? Young fresa walking up to ale and just standing in front of her (monster inc. boo style if you catch my drift) and just saying 'hug'. Alexia just picks her up and she buries into Alexia's neck and falls asleep, and Alexia just keeps doing whatever she was doing

Totally okay if no but might be cute x

part of the void universe hugs II a.putellas

now a moody teenager you might not always want the suffocatingly tight bear hugs your sisters ambushed you with, but much younger you were the polar opposite, demanding affection from them whenever you wanted.

alexia in particular was a favorite of yours for obvious reasons, the main being she hardly ever said no.

"hug!" you chirped, holding your arms out expectantly as the sixteen year old looked down at you in amusement. your sister squatting down to your height you exhaled happily as she hugged you tightly, only as she tried to let go and stand up, she couldn't shake you off.

"fres, nena i am trying to help mami make dinner." your sister laughed, attempting to peel you off as you grunted unhappily and clung on even tighter.

"hug." you repeated firmly, the footballer giving in with a sigh and hauling you up, sitting you on her hip and holding you tightly with one arm as she stirred with the other.

"you are a very good hugger pequeña." the older girl smiled, kissing your cheek as your head rested tiredly on your shoulder, eli returning from taking a phone call a few minutes later to find you dead asleep on your sisters hip.

"ale. hug!" the girl glanced up hearing your little footsteps thunder into her room, sat at her desk trying to study she hardly had time to open her mouth before you were stood expectantly beside her with your arms held up.

"hermana i need to study. can you go give mami or alba a hug?" the girl tried to shoo you away gently, but a firm shake of your head and you were wiggling your way beneath her desk.

alexia scooted her chair back a little as you tried to climb up and onto it with her, tiny three year old limbs not quite long enough to let you achieve it. "fresa." alexia couldn't help but chuckle at your persistence.

"hug." you held your arms up and cracking at the adorable pout on your face your sister scooted her chair back more and hauled you up, sitting you on her knee as you clung onto her happily and she shook her head.

"like a little leech." the girl chuckled under her breath, pen poking at your forehead as you looked up at her happily before squeezing her tightly, arms remaining as wound around her taller body as you could as you wiggled to get comfortable.

and when eli came to check in if alexia needed anything a half an hour later, there you were curled up asleep on her knee.

"alexia!" the girl looked up, smile fading as alba burst through the kitchen doors followed by a four year old hot on her heels, scowl on alba's face as her older sister raised an eyebrow. "que?" the girl asked, her friends sat around the table playing a card game.

"fresa is driving me crazy! she will not listen to me." alba groaned dragging her hands down her face. "watch." alba demanded wagging a finger. "fresa, bed time." alba ordered as you shook your head.

"no!" you grinned happily, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, your pyjamas on backwards and red clutched tightly in your hand.

"she was supposed to be asleep an hour ago alba. you promised!" alexia warned with a glare, having made a deal with the younger girl to do her laundry for a week if she watched over you while alexia had friends over and eli was at work for the night.

"i tried! it is like she does the opposite of what i say. fresa, sit!" alba demanded pointing down at you as you just smiled innocently up at her. "fresa, do not sit down." alba ordered next, alexia's friends snickering as you sat down on the floor.

"she is not a dog estúpida!" alexia threw a dice at her younger sister with a glare who ducked. "you put her to bed then!" alba scowled, stomping angrily out of the kitchen, door swinging shut behind her.

"alba we had a deal!" "alexia i don't care!"

"oye, and what are you doing fresita?" alexia noticed you trying to drag a stool toward the fridge, her friends all cooing over how cute you were as alexia stood and towered over you.

"hungry." you shrugged, whining as your sister plucked the stool out of reach. "bed time." she warned, pushing your head playfully and holding out her hand for you to take, waving for her friends to skip her turn.

"hug!" you demanded, holding your arms up as alexia happily hauled you up into her own arms, hanging you off her hip as you hugged her tightly and she made her way toward your room.

"bed time diablillo." your sister chuckled, pulling your covers back and trying to drop you into bed, unable to break the iron clad you grip you had going around her neck, hanging off of her like a little monkey.

"fres, no. hermana you are going to sleep!" alexia warned a little stricter, grunting as she tried to pry you away but you whined unhappily and still clung onto her.

"aye dios mio. fresita i have friends over, you are too little to be up this late. mami will be upset!" she tried to remind as you shook your head, fists still balled into her top as she groaned.

"hug." you grunted, wrapping your legs around her for extra grip as your sister sighed, knowing what she should do but that the realities of you not just getting up and following after her once she yanked you off and put you to bed were slim anyway.

"bien. you win little monito!" your sister tugged playfully on your ears and turned around, heading back out of your room and toward the kitchen again.

she dismissed her friends questioning looks with a flick of her wrist, taking her seat again as you got comfortable on her lap, all of the other girls cooing and awwing as to be expected within a few minutes you were dead asleep in your sisters arms.

and when eli got home later that night thats exactly how she found you, clinging on tightly to your eldest sister whose long legs and arms hung awkwardly off the edges of your tiny kid sized mattress, with you curled up happily on top of her like a cat.

you and your hugs.

[moon1833]

Knots- Shouta Aizawa

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“Shouta’s eyes are usually rimmed with tiredness, reddened by excessive stress and lack of sleep. Now, they’re pleading with you, glossy and alert of every movement you make.”

Inc: Smut, bondage, inappropriate use of a capture weapon, sub-ish Aizawa, dom reader, begging, cowgirl

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Shouta had used his binding scarf on many people before. He’s used them on villains or criminals mostly, occasionally his unruly students. He’d even used them on you before, and as purely erotic as it was, nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

He’d never had them used on him before.

You hum contently above him, the curve of your breast slipping into his sight as his old t-shirt drops deeper down your shoulder when you peer down at him. His forearms flex behind his back and he swears he’s never been this hard in his life.

His back arches slightly off the headboard when you finally settle yourself in between his legs, your lower thigh just grazing his boner. His elbow presses into a tight knot, keeping him still as you climb over him.

Shouta’s eyes are usually rimmed with tiredness, reddened by excessive stress and lack of sleep. Now, they’re pleading with you, glossy and alert of every movement you make.

“You okay?” You stroke his chin, letting his stubble drag under your thumb.

Shouta knows that you know this is the closest he’s been to heaven by the cocky smirk on your face, but he finds himself humoring you, anyway.

“Mhm, yes.” He whispers, subconsciously fluttering his eyes closed. You coo, readjusting your legs so you’re sitting on his lap.

“How long have you been wanting to try this?” He grunts, attempting to regain some of his composure.

“Since our spar.” You reply instantly, bringing your lips to his neck. “You remember, the one where I managed to use your own capture weapon against you.”

“That was a dirty move.” He can hardly get the words out, his hips stutter as you shift over him. You can’t tell if he’s talking about last week’s training session or how you sunk your teeth into a particular spot on his neck.

“Yeah?” You pull back, tilting your head. “You seemed to have liked it then, too.”

Uncharacteristically, Shouta flushes at the memory, recalling how quickly his dick hardened at being restricted by you, and how quickly he came when he ran off to go shower afterwards.

“So what?” He grumbles. You run your fingers through the hair around his nape. His breath hitches.

“Don’t be a brat.” Your lips brush his jaw. “It’s more enjoyable when you let go of that attitude.”

You tug on the knot behind him while your other hand fists his hair, and against his better judgement a whine sneaks through his clenched teeth. His dick practically jumps, and he can feel the precum leaking from his tip and making the fabric of his boxers stick to it.

You kiss him, grinding your hips down onto him as he groans into your mouth. Reflexively, he tries to pull you closer, but his hands are stopped by the restraining ties of his own weapon. He groans a little, and you rut against him forcefully, pushing more noises out of him.

Shouta is worried he might finish in his pants, and his concern is echoed on his face. His lips quiver with small moans of “Ah, fuck” and gasps of pleasure as you mark down his chest. You lick around his skin, letting it roll over your tongue and nourishing the taste.

You know he’s close. You’ve memorized his tell signs. From his screwed shut eyes and twitching nose, Shouta is about to finish. You peal off of him, amused at how he throws back his head in protest and his eyes shooting open.

You shove your panties off, making a bit of a show as you maintain eye contact with him, watching his chest heave.

Shouta lifts his hips slightly, encouraging you to help him push his boxers off, and you do, throwing them off to some corner of the room.

You place your knees on either side of him, hovering over him and sighing when his tip smacks against your clit unintentionally.

You don’t move, though, keeping your position and peering down on him.

“What?” He breathes.

“Come on.” You cross your arms, and his eyes watch your tits press against the thin material of your shirt. “Beg for it.”

His throat closes, his mouth parted in shock. When all he does is gape at you, you refuse to move.

“Shouta.” You warn. “I will finger fuck myself right here and leave you untouched.”

“Okay, fine.” He says quickly. “Shit, please.”

You give him a pointed look. “Keep going.”

“Fucking hell.” He seethes. “Please, just ride me already. I can’t take much more of this.”

You giggle, sliding down his dick until just the tip was in. An involuntary moan shivers out of you at the stretch, and Shouta’s face twitches in confidence.

In retort, you slam your hips down, forcing him all the way into you. He yelps in shock, and you dont give him much time before lifting up at repeating the action.

Your hole is burning, but it melts into pleasure the more your slick and his precum lubricates his dick. You continue to bounce up and down, little huffs of pleasure leaving you in between each stroke.

You lift your shirt over your head, fully displaying your chest as your body jiggles at the force of your thrusts. The smack of your bodies colliding is loud, but Shouta’s whimpers and string of curses are louder, and you use his shoulders to balance yourself.

Continuing your movements, you feel around the comforter for your underwear, grasping them in your palm. You tug on Shouta’s hair, and a sharp grunt leaves his mouth. You take the opportunity to shove your panties inside, watching his expression turn to a half-assed glare before switching into a burningly erotic submission.

“Aw, you gonna cum?” You jeer, even though you were fighting back your own orgasm.

Lost in a haze, Shouta nods vigorously. You keep your motions steady, fucking him through his climax as his hips jump to meet your pace. The harshness of it, along with the pretty sounds he was making forces your own orgasm, and your legs jerk as his cum leaks out of you.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you regain your breathing, combing out the small knots you formed by pulling his hair. You kiss his cheek as you reach behind him, pulling off of his dick completely to focus on untying the knot.

“Was that okay?” You ask, using your fingernails to loosen the garment.

All Shouta can mutter out is a small “Mhm”, instantly wrapping his arms around you when you finally pull the fabric through the headboard.

“So good.” He adds, his words soft as he lays down across the bed. “Love you so much.”

“Love you too.” You giggle, cuddle closer to him. He’s asleep before you can pull the covers over each other.

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[chelseaknoo]

hey love, could you please write a eminem x female reader where it takes place in 2001, just a few months after he and kim got divorced. the reader is a victoria secret model (she is like 24) and she and eminem start casually hooking up. it wasn't supposed to be anything serious since they both weren't looking for it. after a while, they start developing feelings but neither of them says anything about it. then the reader finds out she is pregnant with his baby, which obviously changes everything. when she first tells him she is pregnant, he doesn't believe it's his, saying she must have go around or something and it's leads to a fight.

2000s Eminem x Victoria secrets model!reader

caution:sexual content<3

The bar was alive with pulsing energy, music blaring and bodies moving. Marshall leaned against the counter, half-hidden beneath the brim of his cap, jaw tight. He wasn’t in the mood for small talk or smiles tonight, but being here was better than being stuck alone with his thoughts.

He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes scanning the room without interest—until they landed on her. You. You were perched at the far end of the bar, effortlessly magnetic. Your laughter carried through the noise, your smile lighting up the dim space. He tried to look away, but when your eyes met his, a challenge sparked between you.

You cocked your head slightly, amused by his attention. Deciding not to waste a moment, you sauntered over, weaving through the crowd like you owned the place. You stopped in front of him, the faintest smirk playing on your lips.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased.

He leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “You always fish for compliments, or just when it’s this easy?”

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. His tone was sharp, but there was a hint of a smile lurking beneath the surface. Intrigued, you crossed your arms. “Not my fault you’re staring.”

“Yeah?” He took another sip, eyes never leaving yours. “Must be my lucky night.”

You laughed, a low, genuine sound. “Is that your idea of flirting? No wonder you’re standing here alone.”

“Oh, I’m not alone.” He gestured vaguely at the crowd. “I’ve got all these people I don’t care about to keep me company.”

“Charming.” You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away. Something about his attitude was infuriating and intriguing all at once. “So, what’s your excuse tonight?”

“For what? Brooding in the corner?” He tilted his head, a flash of something darker crossing his eyes. “Maybe I like it here. Low expectations, fake smiles. Suits me.”

You studied him for a moment, catching the bitterness beneath the bravado. “You really do like pushing people away, don’t you?”

“Only when they get too close,” he shot back, but there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. He leaned in, voice dropping. “Why? Planning to get close?”

“Depends,” you said, matching his intensity. “You gonna keep being an ass, or are you capable of real conversation?”

He chuckled, a mix of surprise and amusement. “You got guts, I’ll give you that.” For a moment, the mask slipped, and something genuine shone through. “What’s a model doing in a place like this anyway?”

“Looking for a real night.” Your gaze didn’t waver. “Not that you care.”

“Maybe I do.” He set his drink down and stepped closer, the space between you shrinking. His voice softened, but there was a rough edge to it. “Or maybe you’re just another pretty face looking for a story.”

“Maybe.” You smiled, defiant. “And maybe you’re just another angry guy with a chip on his shoulder.”

He paused, then nodded, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Touché.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, tension crackling in the air. Then he broke it. “You wanna get outta here?”

“Is that your idea of an invitation?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Take it or leave it,” he replied, already turning toward the door.

You followed, heart pounding. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ordinary—and that’s exactly what you both needed. No promises, no strings—just two people escaping for a night.

Marshall led you through the back door into the cool night air, the music’s pulse fading into the distance. His house was a short walk away, nestled between the shadows of the city’s skyscrapers. The silence between you was charged, a dance of anticipation that neither of you had the will to break.

Inside, the space was surprisingly neat, a stark contrast to the chaos of the bar. The only light came from a flickering neon sign in the window, casting an eerie glow on his face. You kicked off your heels, the click-clack of them hitting the floor echoing in the quiet. He offered you a seat on the couch, the leather cool against your bare legs.

Marshall took his time getting you a drink, the clink of ice and the soft splash of whiskey punctuating the silence. He handed it to you without looking, his gaze lingering on the way your fingers wrapped around the glass. You took a sip, the fiery liquid doing little to soothe the storm brewing in your stomach.

You set the drink down and met his gaze, the air thick with something unspoken. In a single fluid motion, he closed the gap between you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you into him. Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his eyes searched yours for permission. You didn’t need to say a word—your body spoke for you.

Marshall’s lips found yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, his touch gentle yet demanding. The taste of whiskey lingered on his tongue as you explored the contours of his mouth, the roughness of his stubble against your skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the tension in his muscles, the rapid beat of his heart.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifted you off the couch and carried you to his bedroom, the world outside fading away as the door clicked shut behind you. The room was simple, the bed unmade—a stark reflection of his tumultuous mind. He set you down on the bed, and the softness of the mattress gave way beneath you, the smell of his cologne enveloping you as you fell back.

"Marshall—" You breathed his name, but he silenced you with another kiss, his hands roaming over your body, learning every curve and contour.

"Don't talk," he murmured against your skin. "You're too good at it."

You giggled despite the heat of the moment, pushing him away playfully. "You're an ass, you know that?"

"But you like it." He smirked, his eyes dark and gleaming.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was, you did. There was something about his brusque demeanor that was oddly refreshing. "Keep telling yourself that."

"I don't need to tell myself anything. Your body's doing all the talking for you." His hand traced the line of your jaw, then down your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

"Is that your usual pick-up line?" You teased, trying to keep your voice light despite the growing heaviness in your chest.

"Don't need lines." He leaned in, his breath hot on your ear. "Just the truth."

You felt a thrill at his words, a delicious blend of excitement and annoyance. "And what's that?"

He whispered, "That you want this as much as I do."

And it was true. The way he held you, the way his eyes searched yours—there was something raw and vulnerable in his touch that you hadn't expected. You reached up, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"Prove it," you whispered, your voice a challenge.

Marshall's expression grew more intense, his eyes searching yours. He kissed you again, deeper this time, his hand sliding up your thigh, his thumb tracing circles that made you gasp into his mouth. You could feel the tension in his body, the need, the hunger—and it mirrored your own.

"I'm not playing games," he growled, his teeth grazing your lower lip.

"Neither am I." You met his gaze, unflinching. "But if you want this, you can't just take. You've got to give, too."

He paused, his hand stilling. For a moment, you saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but then he leaned back, his fingers tracing your cheek. "Fine," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

The next kiss was softer, more tender. He broke it to peel away your dress, revealing the lacy lingerie beneath. "Beautiful," he murmured, his eyes dark with appreciation.

You didn’t bother with his shirt. Instead, you slid your hands under the fabric, feeling the heat of his body and the ripple of his muscles. He groaned, the sound sending a thrill through you, urging you on. You kissed him again, his tongue dancing with yours, as you both fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. When it finally fell open, you ran your hands over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.

Marshall’s hands moved to the back of your bra, deftly unhooking it. He broke the kiss to pull the straps down your arms, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He took one in his hand, his thumb brushing over the peak. You gasped, arching into his touch.

"You're perfect," he murmured, his eyes raking over you.

The words were simple, but the way he said them, like he truly meant them, made your stomach flip. You didn’t feel perfect, not after the day you’d had, but here, with him, you felt alive. You reached down to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing through the quiet room. He watched you, his eyes never leaving yours, as you unzipped his jeans and slid them down his hips.

He was already hard, the evidence of his desire for you straining against his boxers. You reached down to touch him, feeling the heat and the power of him in your hand. He groaned, his eyes closing for a moment before snapping open again, a silent demand in them.

"Take them off," he said, his voice low and rough.

You smirked, enjoying the power you had over him, and slid his boxers down. He stepped out of them, his erection springing free. You took him in your hand again, stroking gently. He hissed, his eyes going half-lidded with pleasure.

"You're sure you want this?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

"More than I've ever been," you assured him.

Marshall leaned in to kiss you again, his hand moving between your legs, finding you wet and ready. He stroked you through the fabric of your panties, the pressure building. You moaned into his mouth, your hips rocking against his hand.

You pulled away, panting. "Take these off," you demanded, hooking your thumbs into the waistband.

He smirked, enjoying your urgency. He slid your panties down, taking his time to kiss and nip at your thighs as he did. You kicked them off, eager to feel his bare skin against yours.

Marshall hovered over you, his eyes searching yours one last time. He positioned himself at your entrance, his hand still on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his.

He pushed into you, slow and steady, filling you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back. He paused, giving you a moment to adjust to his size, then began to move, his strokes long and deep.

You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your hips rising to meet each thrust. The pleasure was intense, a crescendo building inside you. He kissed your neck, his teeth scraping gently against your skin, his breath hot in your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good."

You moaned in response, the words lost in the symphony of sensations. Your hands roamed his back, your nails scoring his skin, urging him on.

Marshall’s pace quickened, his breathing ragged. You could feel him getting closer, his muscles tensing. "Come for me," he murmured.

And you did, the orgasm hitting you like a wave, crashing over you and pulling him under with you. He followed, his body tensing before he released with a guttural groan.

After, he collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweaty. The room was still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment, his voice gruff with satisfaction.

You nodded, still trying to catch your breath. "Yeah."

Marshall rolled onto his side, taking you with him so you were both lying face-to-face. His hand trailed down your spine, coming to rest on the curve of your ass. He squeezed gently, and you felt a new thrill run through you.

"Ready for round two?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that you felt in your core.

This pattern became our routine for weeks. We’d hook up, share nights of raw intensity and fleeting vulnerability, only to pull away and go silent afterward. Neither of us reached out; neither of us tried to bridge the gap. It was easier that way, or so we told ourselves. The walls we built kept things uncomplicated, even if the distance stung more than either of us would admit.

Then, one morning, as you prepared for a photoshoot for Victoria’s Secret’s new lingerie collection, a wave of nausea hit you out of nowhere. You tried to shake it off, blaming it on nerves or exhaustion, but your body had other plans. Within minutes, you found yourself rushing to the nearest bathroom, retching until there was nothing left. The sickness didn’t stop there. You steadied yourself against the sink, splashing cold water on your face, willing the dizziness to pass, but the nausea kept clawing at you.

Your team knocked on the door, concerned, but you assured them it was just a bug—something you’d shake off in time for the shoot. Deep down, though, a knot of worry twisted in your stomach. This wasn’t like you. As you tried to gather yourself, your mind raced, unwilling to confront the possibility that lingered at the edges of your thoughts. The routine you and Marshall had built—the one that kept feelings at bay—suddenly felt fragile, as if everything was about to change.

Your team, noticing how pale and unsteady you were, decided to cut you some slack and let you leave the shoot early. They offered sympathetic smiles and reassurances as you gathered your things, insisting you take care of yourself. The drive home was a blur; you couldn’t shake the nausea or the gnawing feeling that something bigger was happening. Once you stepped inside your apartment, the quiet only amplified your racing thoughts.

After pacing the living room for what felt like an eternity, you finally made a decision. You slipped on a hoodie and sunglasses, heading to the nearest pharmacy. Every step felt heavier than the last. Back home, with the pregnancy test in your hand, you locked yourself in the bathroom. The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness as you waited for the results, your heart pounding in your chest.

When the test finally showed positive, you stared at it, unblinking. The truth hit you like a punch to the gut—you were pregnant. And it wasn’t just anyone’s baby; it was Marshall Mathers’. You sank onto the edge of the bathtub, the implications crashing down on you. This wasn’t what either of you had planned. The casual hookups, the silent stretches of avoidance, the unspoken boundaries—it all seemed to shatter under the weight of this reality. Whatever happened next, everything was about to change.

You decided you needed clarity, so you booked an appointment with your doctor to confirm what you already knew in your heart. Sitting in the sterile, quiet office, you felt a mixture of nerves and dread. When the doctor confirmed you were a few weeks pregnant, it made everything real in a way that no test could. You were carrying Marshall’s baby. You spent the rest of the day processing the news, your mind racing with questions and fears. What would this mean for you? For him? For the strange, fragile connection you both shared?

As days passed, you wrestled with when—or even how—you would tell him. But the longer you waited, the heavier the secret felt. Finally, you decided it was time. That evening, you found yourself standing outside Marshall’s house, nerves taut. The air was chilly, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. For a long moment, you just stood there, staring at the door, memories of all your past encounters flashing through your mind. Would this be the end of whatever unspoken bond you had? Or the beginning of something neither of you were ready for?

Steeling yourself, you knocked on the door. Each second that passed without an answer felt like an eternity. Just as you were about to reconsider, the door swung open. Marshall stood there, eyes shadowed with curiosity—and something else you couldn’t quite place. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his usual guarded expression in place.

“Hey,” he said, the word heavy with unspoken questions.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside. “We need to talk.”

Marshall stepped aside, his eyes narrowing as he took in your expression. Without a word, he led you inside, shutting the door firmly behind you. The air was thick with tension as he gestured toward the couch. You sat down, hands clasped tightly in your lap, feeling the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest.

He stayed standing for a moment, studying you with a mix of impatience and concern. Finally, he moved to sit across from you, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze unrelenting. “Alright,” he said, his voice low and stern. “What’s this about?”

His reaction was instant, almost volcanic. “What?! You can’t be serious! This isn’t happening!” His voice rose, the familiar ferocity of the rapper spilling over, amplifying the tension in the room.

“I am serious, Marshall! I didn’t plan this—” you exclaimed, your heart racing.

“So, what, you think I’m just gonna believe you? You've been with other guys, right?” He paced the room, running a hand through his messy blond hair. “I can’t—no. This isn’t mine. It can’t be mine!”

You think I’m a whore?” your heart pounded as the hurt reverberated through your chest. “You’re the one who can’t commit to anything or anyone since Kim,” you shot back, the defensiveness bitter on your tongue.

“That's not fair! I'm not the one who’s out there in front of all those guys, flaunting myself in lingerie! What do you expect me to think?” he yelled, pacing the small space as if it would somehow help.

“I’m a model, Marshall! It’s my job! But that doesn’t mean I’m sleeping with every guy who looks my way,” you retorted, your own anger boiling over. You rose from your seat, your body instinctively wanting to challenge his accusations, but deep down, you felt the crack forming between you two.

“Then why the hell am I supposed to believe that this baby is mine?” he spat, his eyes narrowing. It was as if the atmosphere thickened with every accusatory word. “You think I don’t know what these kinds of girls do? You think I don’t see what guys have to say about you? Them drooling all over you!”

“Don’t you dare reduce me to a stereotype, Marshall!” you shouted back. “This isn’t about some random guys! I’ve spent months with you, not them! I thought we had something real, but clearly, it was just me!” The vulnerability you felt clashed against the fierce independence you’d cultivated, and the contrast was almost suffocating.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before playing house with me when you had God knows who else around you!” His words sliced through the air, leaving you stunned into silence. The pain of betrayal washed over you, mingling with the looming fear of the unknown.

The tension in the room was suffocating. You could feel it in every taut muscle, every word spoken through clenched teeth. Marshall’s disbelief had shifted into anger, and your patience was wearing thin. Neither of you seemed willing to back down, both too raw and vulnerable to soften the blows.

“So, that’s it?” Marshall spat, rising from the couch abruptly. “You just come in here, drop this on me, and expect me to what—roll over and be okay with it?”

“Of course not!” you shot back, standing too. “But I expected you to at least listen to me without jumping to the worst conclusions.”

“Yeah?” He laughed bitterly, a harsh, hollow sound. “And what am I supposed to think? You show up after weeks, out of nowhere, and tell me you’re pregnant—and I’m just supposed to take your word for it?”

You felt a sharp sting at his words, but you refused to back down. “You know damn well you’re the only one I’ve been with.”

“Do I?” He sneered, stepping closer, eyes blazing. “Or do you think I’m just some idiot who believes every word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Why are you doing this?” you demanded, voice cracking. “Why are you trying to push me away?”

“Maybe because this all feels like a setup!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the walls. “Like some sick game you’re playing!”

“Wow,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “I knew you were scared, but I didn’t think you’d go this far.”

“Don’t put this on me!” His anger flared, and his words came out harsher than he intended. “What, you think I’m supposed to just trust you? You’re a model—you’re used to attention, right? Maybe this is just another way to get it.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Do you even hear yourself right now? That’s not who I am, and you know it.”

He glared at you, the hurt in his eyes masked by cold fury. “Get out.”

“What?”

“I said, get out!” His voice dropped to a dangerous calm, but his words hit like a slap. “I don’t need this. I don’t need you. Go find someone else to play your games with.”

You stood frozen for a moment, disbelief and pain coursing through you. When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, voice dripping with venom. “What part of ‘get out’ didn’t you understand?”

“Fine,” you managed, choking back tears. “If this is how you want it…”

“Yeah, it is,” he said, turning his back to you. “Good luck with whatever story you’re trying to sell.”

With shaking hands, you grabbed your bag and walked to the door, your footsteps heavy. You paused, looking back one last time, hoping to see any sign of the man you thought you knew beneath the rage. But he refused to turn around, his shoulders rigid, a wall between you. Without another word, you walked out, the door closing behind you with a finality that echoed through the empty house.

You arrived at your house late that night, the driveway long and quiet, the grand, empty space feeling cold and foreign. The house was large—too large for one person, too empty without the laughter and conversation you once imagined filling its walls. You barely noticed the soft glow of the lights as you passed through the foyer, your mind consumed with the events of the evening. Marshall’s angry words echoed relentlessly in your mind as you climbed the staircase, your legs heavy, each step feeling like a small betrayal to your own body.

Once in your bedroom, you sank onto the edge of the bed, tears spilling down your face before you even knew what was happening. You tried to steady your breath, but it felt impossible. The pain of it all—the heartbreak, the confusion, the loneliness—was suffocating. Your mind kept replaying his words: *“Get out.”* His cold dismissal. The way he'd accused you, as if you were nothing more than a liar trying to trap him. You hugged your knees to your chest, curling into the quiet darkness of your room, wishing you could make it all go away.

The house, once so full of potential, felt enormous and alien now. Every empty hallway seemed to stretch farther than it should, and the silence was almost deafening. You should’ve been used to it—this house was a reminder of everything you’d worked for, everything you’d built—but tonight, it felt like a cage.

You moved through the spaces, your footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The grand living room with its towering windows, the kitchen with its marble countertops, the sleek, sterile bedrooms you’d never truly filled with warmth—none of it mattered now. You weren’t supposed to be here alone. The thought of raising a child, of carrying this responsibility by yourself, felt like too much. The realization hit hard: You were pregnant. And, somehow, you were going to have to face this alone. The weight of it pressed against your chest, stealing the air from your lungs.

Sitting by the large windows in the living room, you stared out at the dark expanse of the yard. The lights from the city flickered in the distance, but all you could focus on was the reflection of yourself in the glass—small, fragile, and lost. How had everything gotten so complicated? How had something that should’ve been beautiful become a mess of hurt and confusion?

You placed a hand over your stomach, the warmth of your palm the only comfort you had. There was a life growing inside you—his life, your life, their life. But it was yours to protect, and in that moment, as you whispered softly to the quiet house, you realized something: You might be alone in this, but you weren’t giving up.

“I’ll take care of you,” you murmured, the words soft and shaky. “I’ll figure this out. Even if it means doing it on my own.”

The silence in the house lingered, but it wasn’t as suffocating now. You had made a promise—to yourself and to the little one growing inside. Whatever this journey held, you would walk it, even if you had to walk it alone.

Months passed, and as time went on, your pregnancy became impossible to hide. Your belly grew rounder, each day a visible reminder of the life—and turmoil—inside you. The once casual glances of curious strangers transformed into pointed stares, whispers trailing behind you wherever you went. Every time you appeared in public, whether for work commitments or just living your life, the attention was unavoidable.

Interviewers asked about the father with veiled curiosity and prying persistence, hoping to dig up a story that wasn’t theirs to tell. You always deflected, keeping your answers vague, your composure as unwavering as you could manage. But behind the facade, their insinuations cut deep. The tabloids spun stories, headlines screaming speculation about your child’s paternity, painting you as a scandal, a figure of intrigue—and worse. The judgment was relentless, the whispering voices growing louder. To them, your silence was confirmation of every cruel assumption they made: that you were reckless, unworthy.

There were nights when the weight of it all bore down on you like a suffocating blanket. Alone in your large, quiet house, you would sit with your hands on your swollen belly, feeling the movement of life within you and reminding yourself why you endured it all. This wasn’t about anyone else; it was about you and your children. It was about giving them a life worth living, even if you had to stand against the tide of judgment alone.

The months rolled on, and your strength became something of a shield. By the time you reached the end of your pregnancy, you had learned to drown out the noise, to focus solely on what mattered. One quiet evening, under the soft glow of dimmed lights in a hospital room, all the fear, pain, and loneliness gave way to something indescribable. The cries of two newborns pierced the air, and suddenly, the world faded away.

They were perfect—tiny, fragile, and already so loved. Twin boys with the faintest tufts of hair and curious eyes that stole your breath the moment you held them. Tears streamed down your face as you cradled them, their warmth against your chest grounding you in a way nothing else ever had. In that moment, the noise of the outside world disappeared. None of the cruel whispers or speculation mattered anymore. This was your reality now—your beautiful sons, your purpose.

You whispered their names softly, pressing gentle kisses to their foreheads, promising to be everything they would ever need. You knew the road ahead would be difficult; you knew the questions wouldn’t stop. But as you held your boys close, you realized you were ready. Whatever it took, you would protect them, love them fiercely, and give them the life they deserved.

The relentless attention never seemed to let up. Since the birth of your sons, the media frenzy had only intensified. Interviewers clamored for a glimpse of the twins, desperate to capture the first exclusive photo. Paparazzi camped outside your house, their questions growing more invasive by the day. And at the heart of it all was the burning question they wouldn’t stop asking: “Who is the father?” You deflected, you ignored, but each passing day it became more exhausting. Every attempt to protect your sons felt like an uphill battle.

One afternoon, you were at home, cradling your boys against your chest as you nursed them. The room was peaceful, a soft light filtering through the curtains. For a few precious moments, the world fell away, leaving only you and your sons—their small hands grasping, their contented sighs a balm to your weary soul. But that peace shattered with a sudden knock at the door.

Startled, you carefully adjusted, making sure your babies were settled before wrapping yourself in a loose robe. Your heart pounded as you approached the door. Another journalist, perhaps? Another intrusion? You steeled yourself, ready to dismiss whoever it was. But when you opened the door, the words caught in your throat.

“Marshall?”

There he stood, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his eyes shadowed and wary. Time seemed to freeze as you took in the sight of him. He looked older, wearier—like he had been fighting his own battles. You couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or seconds before he spoke, his voice low and uncertain.

You stepped back, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. The sight of him there, in the house you had built for yourself and your sons, sent a wave of conflicting emotions crashing through you. Anger, hurt, confusion—all of it boiled over.

“What are you even doing here, Marshall?” you demanded, your voice sharp and laced with bitterness. “Haven’t you done enough?”

He paused in the doorway, eyes flicking around as if trying to take it all in. “Nice to see you too,” he shot back, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I thought maybe you’d be a little more… I don’t know… civil?”

You laughed, a hollow, humorless sound. “Civil? Really? You think you can just show up here after months of nothing and expect civility?”

He shifted uncomfortably, jaw tightening. “I know I screwed up, alright? I’m not here to pretend I didn’t. But I needed to come. I needed to see you.”

“Oh, now you need to see me?” You scoffed, feeling the anger bubble up again. “Funny how that works. I was on my own through all of it, Marshall. Every sleepless night, every doctor’s appointment, every time the world wouldn’t stop asking me who the father was.”

His eyes darkened, and he took a step closer. “You think it was easy for me? You think I just walked away without—”

“Yes!” you snapped, cutting him off. “That’s exactly what you did. You left, Marshall. You called me a liar, a whore, and then you told me to get out. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

He flinched, his expression hardening before it softened with something like guilt. “I know I messed up,” he said, his voice low. “I was angry, confused—”

“Spare me the excuses,” you interrupted, voice trembling. “You don’t get to show up now and act like saying ‘sorry’ will fix it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “Damn it, I’m not here to play hero, okay? I’m here because I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About…” His gaze dropped to your stomach, then back up to your eyes. “About them.”

You swallowed hard, the walls you’d built around yourself trembling. “Them?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “The twins. My—our kids. I want… I need to see them.”

Silence hung between you, thick and heavy. Part of you wanted to shut the door in his face, to protect yourself and your boys from any more pain. But another part of you, the one that still remembered the good moments before everything fell apart, wondered if this was a chance you needed to take.

“They’re asleep,” you said, your voice quieter now, the anger giving way to exhaustion.

You led Marshall down the hallway, each step heavy with tension, until you reached the nursery. The room was warm and softly lit, with a serene quiet that only came when your boys were deeply asleep. You paused just inside the doorway, watching as Marshall took in the space—the cribs, the hand-stitched blankets, the tiny toys carefully arranged. His eyes softened, and for a moment, the hardened exterior you’d come to expect seemed to melt away.

You nodded toward the cribs, silently giving him permission. Marshall approached one of the sleeping babies cautiously, as if afraid to disturb the delicate peace. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down, gently cradling his son in his arms. The baby stirred slightly, but Marshall held him close, lifting him to rest on his shoulder with surprising tenderness. His large hands rubbed slow, soothing circles on the tiny back, and the baby settled again, nuzzling into the warmth of his father’s touch.He carefully kissed the baby’s head and layer it back down on the crib.

Marshall turned his gaze back to you, his eyes full of a mix of emotions—regret, hope, and something that felt dangerously close to longing. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid filling the silence. Then, slowly, he reached out and took your hands in his, his touch gentle but firm. He lifted them to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to each knuckle, his breath warm against your skin.

“I swear,” he murmured, his voice low but unwavering, “I’m not leaving again. I’m here for you. For them. No more running.”

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten. You wanted to believe him—desperately. But the fear of being hurt again was a barrier you couldn’t ignore. He must have seen the hesitation in your eyes, because his grip on your hands tightened just a little, as if silently urging you to trust him. The room was quiet except for the soft breaths of your sleeping children, the world beyond these walls momentarily forgotten.

Marshall stepped closer, his movements unhurried, giving you every chance to pull away. When you didn’t, he lifted a hand and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of old memories and new possibilities. He leaned in, pausing just a breath away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of resistance. When he found none, he closed the distance, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss.

It wasn’t like before—rushed, fueled by passion without direction. This kiss was different. It was a quiet promise, a tentative step toward something you both knew would be complicated but worth fighting for. You kissed him back, allowing yourself to feel the warmth, the sincerity, even as your mind reminded you to stay cautious. When you finally pulled apart, his forehead rested gently against yours, both of you catching your breath.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered, his voice raw. “But I want to try. For you. For them.”

You nodded slowly, your hands still entwined. “It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” he said, a hint of a sad smile touching his lips. “But I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

In that moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. It was only a beginning, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough. <3

[chernabogs]

A Rainy Wandering

Inc: Reader/Malleus (99% platonic but we had to sneak those subtle feelings in there at the end. Love me some two oblivious clowns) Second person POV Warnings: None WC: 1.8k Summary: Er so that new Malleus card, yeah? (Or: hey your bff scheduled in a 4 hour gargoyle tour, are you coming, orrrr...?) Also s.o to Alexandra with her literal Field Guide to Gargoyles and founding of the Gargoyle Appreciation Society. My hero rn for this hope they are thriving.

The campus is shrouded in grey as the rain falls at a steady rate around you. You grip your umbrella with both hands to combat against the gentle tug of the wind as you stand at the end of your dorms long walkway, shifting from side to side on occasion to look at both ends of the road. Behind you, the orange glow of Ramshackles cozy inside beckons to you, promising an escape from the rain in the form of wool blankets and terrible reality television. You’re half tempted to go back, but you staunchly remind yourself that you had made a promise, and you were not someone to fall back on your word.

That being said, your friend is about five minutes late, but you can forgive him. He’s never been good at keeping track of time. 

You shift on your heels again as you tilt the umbrella back to look at the grey sky. You last all of two seconds before too many raindrops fall on your face and you look back down, blinking the water out of your eye. The motion lets you take note of a pair of boots standing to your right. 

“Oh!” You splutter, moving your umbrella again to look at to whom those boots belong. Malleus stands in a very casual, unassuming manner, his own umbrella in hand and his brow quirked in amusement. “How long have you been standing here for?” 

You know the answer to that already—probably just seconds—but Malleus’ lips curl into a secretive smile as he shrugs a shoulder. “Long enough to observe you taking a makeshift wash.” 

A sour look is what he gets in turn, although yours always lack venom when it comes to him. A quick glance over his form shows you that he’s come prepared for the weather as well. In addition to his umbrella (which is decorated with gargoyles, to your amusement), he wears a black and purple raincoat, gloves, and has tied his hair back in a looped knot you think you've never seen him wear before. Compared to your yellow rubber boots and yellow raincoat, he looks like he stepped out of a high-fashion shoot. 

To serve and observe, apparently, is the agenda for today. You missed that memo. 

“I need to tie a bell to your wrist so I know when you’re coming.” You grumble as he steps back to the road, leaving you to fall in line with him. His warm laughter fills the air as you begin the first few legs of the tour he’s been talking about for ages.

“Now, I do think I recall you saying that once before,” he muses, tapping his fingers against the metal gargoyle at his umbrella's base. “You have yet to follow through.” 

 “I think your students would mob my dorm if I were to try and tie anything to you. Maybe I should just put an alarm on your phone instead—as long as you don’t break it again.” 

Often this would earn you a look of mock hurt, but Malleus seems far too jubilant at the moment to care about the subtle read you’re giving him. He’s smiling away, as happy as can be as he walks by your side. He even has a little bounce in his step. It almost makes you want to laugh at the sight; how can anyone call him intimidating when he’s looking like a child about to get a present? 

“Ah, yes, yes. I have been diligent in keeping my devices in check. Shroud has been of much help in that.” His gaze darts around the campus until he loops his arm with yours and pulls you swiftly to the right. You’re pliant to his guidance, only sighing in response as you let him pull you wherever he sees fit. This is something you’ve come to realize about the nature of your relationship with the prince. Malleus is a chronic wanderer, tending to just go off wherever he wishes, but he’s also mildly codependent. Since you two had firmly established that you are friends—hell, you gave the man a friendsgiving card—everywhere Malleus drifts off to, he takes you like a tether.

“Ah! Our first stop on our tour,” he begins, still brimming with energy. He tries to move his umbrella, only to have it collide with yours in the process. “Actually, before we begin, would you be so kind as to close your umbrella? We can use mine.”

You lean back to look up at your friend incredulously. At well over 6 feet, horns excluded, you doubt that you will remain dry for long should Malleus shield you both with his umbrella. He stares back both unwavering and with expectation in his look. You purse your lips. He raises an eyebrow. You lean back a bit, he replicates the action, his gaze looking you up and down. Daring you.

Oh, girl.

After a second of silent staring with a dash of attitude that the man rarely shows anyone else, you huff a sigh and close your umbrella, scooting closer to him once you do. His expression lights up as you roll your eyes, and he resumes his tangent. 

“Thank you, my dear friend. Now, as I was saying, our first stop on our tour! If you direct your attention upwards you will see what is aptly called a screamer gargoyle. The positioning of its body—with hands behind its head and its mouth agape—is meant to remind those who witness it that torment lay ahead if they fail to fulfill a particular purpose. You may see these on the cathedrals in numerous nations, as they were quite popular to evoke terror in worshippers.”

 You scoot forward to look past the edge of the umbrella at the gargoyle in particular. True to Malleus’ word, the carved figure looks as though it’s screaming in agony, its eyes directed upwards, and its body bent at an angle. You smirk a little. 

“Kind of looks like Ace and Deuce during exams.” 

Malleus hums thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is why they put one on a school ground. To remind students of the torment they will endure should they neglect studying and strike deals for grades instead.”

“So mean,” you chastise, even though you were the one to start this train of thought. The two of you continue your trail along the main road. Malleus keeps your arms firmly linked together as he chatters on, stopping on occasion to point out a particularly significant gargoyle, or a grotesque lined against the wall. You reckon this is the most your friend has talked in a while, considering his need to stop and clear his throat with an apology. 

You also consider that this is probably one of few times that he’s managed to rope someone into a walk with him like this. Out of the joy his joy seems to bring you, you prompt him with several questions as you tour about, doing your best to remember the info dumping you’re being subjected to. A slip up of calling a grotesque a gargoyle by mistake, which earned you a verbal berating in the gentlest of manners, was enough to make you pay closer attention.

As the rain begins to lighten and the sun valiantly fights to break free, the two of you come to a stop in one of the courtyard areas of the main building. You fish out a granola bar from your pocket as Malleus holds the umbrella, offering him half of it before you look around at the building. There aren’t as many gargoyles here as the other areas, save for one impressive dragon carving looming over the courtyard entrance. You gesture to it in silence, your mouth too full of chocolate and granola to speak. Fortunately, Malleus has become more then attuned to your gestures to know what you’re saying—another reward of your friendship. 

“That is one of the older gargoyles present on the campus. Considering that the courtyard we are standing in served as part of the original residence, I would wager that the initial owner of the lands commissioned this.” Malleus taps the base of the umbrella again as he tilts it back to look upwards. A few stray raindrops hit his cheek, making his brow furrow as he inspects the moss-covered structure. He’s looking at the gargoyle, while you’re looking at the expressions he’s pulling. “Most people surmise that the selection of a dragon was done to evoke fear in opponents who may try to take these lands, but I’m of the mindset that it was done to symbolize the wisdom and guardianship the owners held over their subjects. Dragons are, after all, quite wise.”

“So the dragon says.” You reply teasingly as you look at the statue. He’s right to guess that it’s certainly the oldest one you’ve seen. The stone is aged and slightly cracked along the edges. You know that Malleus has a habit of carving statues himself, and you wonder if he’s ever considered trying to repair it. Given his love for all things crumbling and ancient, however, you also wager that the thought of rebuilding something that time has claimed is well against his personal morals. 

“My assessment is free of bias, Prefect.” He counters with a mockingly scolding tone to his voice. You know it to be in jest by the way his eyes remain alight with joy. He really is infectious when he’s in a good mood, dangerously so, and a part of you wishes he could stay this way consistently instead of sliding back to the quiet, brooding form he can be when he’s feeling temperamental. 

You scrunch up the granola wrapper before shoving it in your pocket with a shake of your head. “Oh yes, definitely no projecting going on here.”

“I will leave you out in this rain.” He warns, tilting the umbrella so that you’re out of its cover. You yelp in protest and duck back underneath, practically squishing yourself against him to keep from doing that again. 

“You like me too much to do that!” You argue back as you grip the umbrella handle yourself. He breaks his facade of sternness to laugh as his arm comes around you to rest on your back. The act feels far too natural for the first time he’s ever done it, yet you acquiesce regardless. “Besides, who else will finish this loop with you? Silver is training with Sebek and Lilia is off… well. Doing whatever he pleases.”

Another thoughtful hum vibrates in Malleus’ chest, which you can feel considering the proximity of your bodies in this moment. A sudden awareness strikes you that makes you feel a bit awkward about it all. Out of reflex you nudge his waist with your arm, prompting him to give you some more space.

“I suppose you have me there,” he notes, granting you a half smile as he looks down to your irate expression. He offers you the crook of his arm, and you silently oblige by linking it with yours. He tugs you a bit closer this time around as he beckons to the courtyard exit. “Let us continue, then. I would say we have another hour at least. Oh, I do hope you’re as excited as I am for what’s to come.”

[captain-joongz]

Penny for your ghosts; chapter 1

Pairing: OT7!BTS x f!reader

Genre: hybrid au, supernatural au, ghost hunting au (based on Lockwood&Co lore), found family, fluff and humour, some angst, eventual smut

Chapter summary: Hoping for a new beginning, you make a decision and end up at Bangtan Inc. looking for a chance. And somehow unbeknownst to you make a life-defining choice.

Chapter word count: 10k

Next part | Series masterlist

Warnings: not much really - a lot of exposition and some spooky stuff happening, sad ghost backstory, jimin is a little shit, yoongi being effortlessly waaaay too hot while also being adorable and sweet

A/N: here we go folks, the first chapter of our sweet autumnal spooky story! i had such a blast writing this, it's been so amazing to work with the Lockwood&Co universe (it made me reread the first book, again), and this story satisfies something in me that yearns for comfort and coziness, so enjoy! as always, i'd love any kind of feedback or response, so don't be shy and comment, reblog, send me an ask!

divider by the amazing @saradika-graphics

Standing face to face with the old-timey mansion, I didn’t really know how to feel.

It looked fairly inconspicuous in the daylight – just another old expensive house built on this street. It was half hidden behind a stone wall, the wrought iron gate giving me a little peek into the bleary autumnal garden slowly getting covered up with fallen leaves.

There was an iron sign nailed to the wall that read “BANGTAN INC., paranormal investigations” and I gave it a long look.

A new beginning, hopefully, was waiting for me beyond this gate, and I gulped, steeling myself into finally ringing the bell instead of just endlessly shuffling around on the street like a weirdo. I felt the pressure of the paper on which I’d written down the address burning through my pocket. It was just a job interview, and yet it felt like a pivotal moment in my life. It was this or back home, to the cold god-forgotten mountains and that prick Lee. He’d have a field day with me if I crawled back, and that’s why I had to ace this.

“I wouldn’t go in there,” a deep voice from somewhere behind me uttered, a touch of amusement to his words. I jerked around, too consumed by my own thoughts to take notice of my surroundings, even with my heightened senses.

A hybrid stood there, a mischievous expression painting his face. He was pretty tall and built, hair cut fairly short and swept off of his face with two black rounded ears standing in attention amidst those spiky waves. His face was rounded and soft. When my eyes slid down towards his hips, there was no tail. He was most probably a bear.

“I’m sorry?” I asked him, subtly trying to search the air for any noticeable scents, but the air was a little too crisp to carry anything. The man only giggled and stepped a little closer.

“I said,” he replied, “I wouldn’t go in there. Heard the house is haunted.” He brought up his hand to wiggle his fingers in a spooky gesture, trying his hardest to sell the scare, but losing to his own amused snickers.

“Hauntings only manifest after sun-down,” I cited monotonal, subconsciously turning my head to check the greyish blue sky. It was still early afternoon and even though autumn was coming, it wouldn’t start getting dark for another few hours.

The hybrid pouted, sad that he couldn’t scare me, and I wondered what exactly was he trying to do here.

“Taehyung, stop messing with everyone walking by,” a firm voice from my left suddenly appeared, softly chiding the still pouting hybrid, “I told you a thousand times.”

Another hybrid appeared suddenly from my periphery and I couldn’t believe I completely missed his presence on the empty street. He must have been walking over and I just didn’t hear him. Or maybe he came from the neighbouring house?

He was of similar height, broad-shouldered but slim. His attractive face was pulled into an amicable polite smile and the brown rounded ears flicked towards me in interest as he took me in. Another bear.

“Hello, dear,” he said towards me, tone much kinder in that ‘I’m talking to a stranger’ sort of way, “Are you a client? Do you need help with a haunting?” There was something undeniably eager in his voice and it gave me a little pause. They were Bangtan Inc.

Caught red-handed loitering in front of their house, I panicked and did something very stupid.

“Y-yeah,” I stuttered out maybe a little too fast, lying through my teeth – but the men didn’t notice, no. Their faces immediately brightened, postures straightening. 

“Amazing!” the newcomer exclaimed, hands clapping together. He almost threw himself towards the gate, fumbling with the lock for a few seconds before it creaked open and he invited me to step in with a wide gesture, a tinge of nervousness to him like he was afraid I’d turn around and run.

I didn’t. Instead I offered my own hopefully easy smile and nervously fiddled with my wool hat, hoping it still effectively covered my ears, as I accepted and slowly started on the walk over to the main entrance of the house. The giggley from before quickly slipped in as well, shuffling cutely by the broad-shouldered man’s side.

I had just stepped on the first stone stair of the veranda when the door flew open and I startled, foot slipping on the damp surface. Before I even had the time to yelp, there was a hand on my lower back supporting me.

“Oh my! Be careful!”

“Hyung!”

A few shouts rang out at the same time, but I barely even listened. My hand shot out, almost slapping myself in my own face, trying to keep the headwear in place. I felt my ears twitching underneath it, but it stayed firmly on.

“Thank you,” I muttered, righting myself again and looking towards the third hybrid, “sorry for the inconvenience.”

“No no no, none at all,” the handsome hybrid said, “it was Hoseokie’s fault, he should have been more careful with the door.”

The new hybrid standing in the door was looking at me sheepishly, an embarrassed blush painting his face pink.

“I’m sorry,” he said plainly, red fox ears twitching in his curly hair, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hoseokie, please bring our new client inside and into the sitting room,” there was an understanding that ran through them at the word client, and immediately the fox, Hoseok, turned all professional and beckoned me inside with a practiced friendly smile.

Giggley said nothing since the other bear’s arrival, only hung around in the back of the group, watching me with a strange kind of excitement.

“Please, please, through here,” I found myself pulled through the door and the main hall, under a pretty arch with wooden beams carved into branches with leaves and into what I presumed must have been the aforementioned sitting room.

I wasn’t even sure what that was, must have been a rich people house thing.

The happy fox was flitting around me, fussing with my light coat and assuring me I can step inside with my shoes on. After a barrage of questions about refreshments he danced out of the room, presumably into the kitchen to fetch the promised tea and biscuits.

There was no trace of the other two hybrids, but I heard movement through the house – someone calling a name I couldn’t fully decipher, heavy steady footsteps through a hall, a distant buzz of conversation. Signs of living.

The house smelt happy, lived in. I wanted to go find giggley and argue with him – this house wasn’t haunted; it was a home.

Shuffling a little on the armchair, I felt nervousness sink in. Now that I was here in this situation, I had no idea how to get out of it. The scent suppressant I sprayed on in the morning was going to protect me for a little while more, but if someone really tried I would no doubt be sniffed out without a problem. My ears started to hurt from how I pressed them down in order to not have a suspiciously twitchy hat and no matter how I tried to manoeuvre myself onto the chair, I couldn’t avoid sitting on my tail that was tucked and hidden into the long skirt I wore and protectively curled around my thigh.

I wasn’t even trying to fool them – I wanted the job they offered on the dingy website and for that I had to be a hybrid, but it was easier travelling through the city while pretending to be human – people stared less, whispered less about ghosts and death. It kind of just snowballed from when they assumed I was a client. No other reason for a human to be hanging about a paranormal investigations agency.

I shouldn’t have agreed, but then a strange fear choked me – I wasn’t ready to go in and ask for a chance. It seemed like a great idea to just scope them out, but now it was painfully obvious to me from their joy that not many clients walked through that gate and now I didn’t know how to tell them I wasn’t one.

Before I could spiral further, two hybrids walked into the room – Hoseok and one I haven’t met yet. He was tall, even taller than the two bears, and muscled. Strength radiated off of him, an aura of power that shocked me into silence as I eyed him with something suspiciously close to awe. Something about him was pressing onto my instincts, blanketing my brain with a layer of rightness, safeness. I fought myself not to submit then and there and embarrassment flooded through me.

But at least I wasn’t the only one – from where my eyes caught onto his greyish wolf ears I saw them twitch nervously and then I realised he was actually blushing under my stare, to which I burst into flames even further and politely shifted my eyes to the little table in front of me.

I heard Hosoek’s snickers, but from his relaxed stance I deduced I probably wasn’t the first to get caught into the lure of this hybrid’s aura. It would surprise me if I was.

He cleared his throat, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot and still a little pink, before he regained a little bit of his professionality back.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he recited smoothly, deep voice like honey, and I blushed a little more, pointedly avoiding Hoseok’s amused eyes, “thank you for choosing our agency to help with your little problem. O-or not little, I mean, it could be a big problem. We can definitely handle anything though, you don’t have to worry.” He stuttered through his little speech miserably, shooting a shy glance towards his companion who was watching with fond eyes.

“Oh Joon,” the little sigh came from behind me and I twirled around to once again come face to face with the brown bear, the man still smiling kindly, “Don’t worry dear, he always gets stuttered up like that.”

He stepped into the room and stuck out his hand in an offered handshake. I quickly fumbled to get on my feet, alleviating the pressure on my poor tail and stumbling in the process, but this time I righted myself before any of the men could. I grabbed his hand with cheeks still red, but with a shy smile back.

“I’m Kim Seokjin,” he introduced himself and then gestured towards the wolf, “and that is Kim Namjoon. He is the owner and the director of Bangtan Inc.” I moved along, offering my hand to the blushing man as well and he took it eagerly yet gently.

I was so distracted by the soft calming grip of his hand that I didn’t even notice the way the wolf sniffed the air and froze, smile melting off into a frown. Namjoon took a step back and his hand got torn out of my hold, and I looked up in alarm worried something happened.

And something did. The man was watching me with apprehension, no trace of the smiling shy man – in his place stood a powerful hybrid sensing a threat. And I immediately understood what happened.

“W-wait!” I exclaimed, “I can explain, I promise!”

The other two hybrids in the room also took a cautious step back, following the director’s lead and I realised – they must have been a pack and he must have been their alpha. That would explain the reaction of my body I was faced with upon seeing him for the first time.

“Why are you trying to sneak into my house?” the question came out a lot unfriendlier than I was used from these hybrids, but I couldn’t blame him – I had unknowingly tried to cheat the alpha of the house and that was a big offense between hybrids, especially since I was a stranger to his pack.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” I whispered, also slowly backing away from the man now that he was so high-strung about my proximity. His packmates watched us with confusion, but I saw the realisation slowly sink into their faces, so I decided to stop the farce and reached for the hat, yanking it off. It was impolite to keep headwear on inside anyway, and I know that wasn’t lost on Hoseok since he tried to take it off for me even though I insisted on keeping it.

Their gasps were less shocked by now, both of them anticipating something like that to be the revelation, but I was sure it was more a reaction to opening a whole new level of information about me. The ears were undeniably feline, even though I wouldn’t blame them for not recognising them, and now that I finally unfurled my tail, it started peeking out from the bottom of my long skirt – that was the one cons about it – it was very long, impractically so.

I saw their eyes trained on the fluffy tip of the appendage, their faces written with their attempts to guess what kind of feline I was.

Not Namjoon though, the wolf was staring me down, eyes shining bronze and posture tense, tail ram-rod straight in a show of dominance. I crumpled into myself a little, showing him I wasn’t a threat even though I entered his territory under false pretences.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, alpha,” the name slipped out of my mouth quite naturally, even though I’ve never lived with wolves before – this man just made it easy to submit. He did relax slightly then, but his senses were still alert, no doubt driving him insane because he couldn’t fully smell me.

“I saw the job offer and I came to ask about it, but when I got surprised at the gate by the bears, I panicked and agreed to come in as a client,” I quickly explained, hoping this wouldn’t end up with me kicked out and no prospects of a future employment, “It was stupid of me, I should have thought more carefully about entering a stranger’s territory while pretending to be human.”

That seemed to have diffused the situation completely and I finally sighed out in relief when Namjoon moved, shoulders relaxed a smidge more and only a trace of mistrust on his face. I was proper ashamed though, and watching the floor with burning face, ears pressed into my head so hard it hurt.

Then I sensed Seokjin moving closer before he gently laid a hand on my shoulder, leading me back into the armchair just as Hoseok shook out of his stupor and started serving the tea and biscuits he brought over. Namjoon still stood still on the opposite side, by the dark brown sofa, but he didn’t seem as hostile anymore.

“You little dummy,” Seokjin teased, and had it been said by anyone else with a different intonation, I would have been mad, but his words only made me blush more, shy and embarrassed. Then he looked over at his packmate and tsked gently.

“Come on Joon, cut her some slack,” he chided, “she was caught off guard because Taehyung started teasing her with the whole ‘the house is haunted’ thing he does.” That had the man relaxing completely and he finally sunk down into the sofa, Hoseok joining him shortly and making himself comfortable in the huge pillows.

There was a light disapproving tint to his expression, but mostly he just looked fondly exasperated, shaking his head slightly and chuckling under his breath.

“I told him a thousand times to stop doing that, it makes people nervous and then they don’t ring the doorbell,” he muttered much the same words as Seokjin had before on the street, and the fight drained out of my body when I realised I really wasn’t going to get kicked out.

“I’m still sorry,” I piped up carefully, gathering the hot mug into my hands and cuddling up to it on instinct before I stopped myself. I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one afternoon.

“So you’re interested in the job, then?” Namjoon changed the subject smoothly, fully settling into his director persona. I nodded eagerly and watched Seokjin walk over to the sofa and sit down elegantly, direct opposite of the lounging fox that now sat with a pillow squished into his arms.

“I got interested because it mentioned you are a hybrid run agency without human supervision,” I told him and the effect of my words was clear.

Human supervision was a concept as old as PI (paranormal investigations) agencies themselves, hybrids weren’t even allowed to own and run them up until like fifty years ago, and even after human supervision was a standard occurrence.

Even though humans had no affinity for the paranormal (some were a little more sensitive to it then others, especially when it came to children) it still ingrained itself as some sort of a staple of quality of agencies – those that didn’t have human supervisors were often ostracised and disadvantaged, there were quite strong smear campaigns against them and people still held mistrust towards them.

If investigators made mistakes that cost lives or destroyed property at an agency with human supervision, nobody thought anything of it, but if the same happened in agencies without, they were often dragged through the mud and sometimes even shut down after “thorough investigations”. It was more than unfair – it was discrimination. Most humans still saw us as animals and therefore incapable of having the same judgements and freedoms as humans did. They didn’t trust the hybrids that risked their lives to make their homes safe again, they rather turned to the humans that accompanied them in and did nothing.

Most human supervisors were older, still very much in the mindset that hybrids weren’t supposed to have their own opinions, and they were absolutely useless in the face of the paranormal – they were a bunch of pricks drunk on their own power, barking orders they didn’t fully understand, putting investigators into difficult spots and overriding their decisions according to a manual that was outdated and unflexible.

But even though you truly couldn’t find a single hybrid that was happy about this still being a thing, due to the industry pressure they still rather chose to work with them – because working against them was virtually impossible and most of those little stubborn groups usually ended up bankrupt pretty fast. The biggest names were still big corporations that built their traditions on the humans in charge of the operations, and if you wanted to have a successful career or even to be able to make a living, you still had to grovel at their feet and beg for an opportunity.

The dark shadows that overtook the three hybrids’ faces at the mention of human supervision perfectly reflected the grim reality of PI industry.

“No, no humans here,” the wolf stated firmly, “we are fully operated by hybrids. We don’t allow any kind of outside intervention, during the investigations everything is fully in the hands of the operatives.” I nodded, satisfied.

“That’s good to hear,” I said, but didn’t elaborate any further. Most hybrids had bad experiences with their supervisors, so I imagine they must have understood pretty clearly where I was coming from.

“Do you have a resume?” Seokjin asked, bringing the attention back onto the topic at hand. I fumbled with my bag, fighting to pull out the slightly crumpled piece of paper that was pitifully empty, and I flushed under his inquisitive eyes when he caught sight of the free spaces.

I had pretty standard qualifications – I did have all of them, I finished all of my education, but it was nothing special. Everyone that successfully graduated from high school and finished their courses had the same ones (and there was a lot of us). There was some experience from practical education, a part-time job as a graveyard guard and a brief stint at the local office of Black Guard Corp., one of the three giants in the PI industry.

It really didn’t take a long time for the three men to skim through it, it actually felt embarrassingly fast before their gazes shifted back to me, appraising me and searching for at least a sliver of talent.

“Oh, you’re from all the way up north,” Hoseok exclaimed, “Got tired of the mountains?” I chuckled somewhat humourlessly.

“Yeah, something like that,” I muttered. A lot of reclusive communities up in the north – a lot of stigma and not much to do, so it wasn’t that strange that young people moved towards bigger cities searching for modernity and understanding.

“One of our packmates is also from the area,” Hoseok said emphatically, smiling my way, “he moved down as soon as he hit eighteen.” A noise of understanding clawed out of my throat completely unbidden and I awkwardly coughed.

“Yeah, it’s fairly normal,” I replied, “I was one of the few young people left in our village.” Silence barely settled over us when Namjoon broke it again.

“You wrote Hearing and Touch as your strongest senses,” the wolf asked, tapping at the paper where presumably those words were written, “can you elaborate on that a little?”

Those hybrids that had talent (meaning a sense for the paranormal) all mostly had a little bit of everything when it came to the three main senses – sight, smell and hearing. Even if sight wasn’t your strongest sense, you still saw just not as clearly as others. If sight was your strongest sense, you still were able to smell or hear to a certain extent. But usually every investigator had a sense that was stronger than others.

Of course there were levels – someone’s strongest sense could still be weak compared to another person, but it was what he relied upon the most when it came to gathering information about the haunting. Those who had exceptionally strong senses could manifest rare gifts tied to their talents – like those with extremely strong sight could be able to see energy traces, or those with a superior sense of hearing could actually communicate with some of the ghosts.

Touch was a bit of a wild card. It was a considerably rare gift – not that it was super hard to find someone with the capability, but that usually it was very weak. A lot of people who manifested this already rare gift couldn’t actually do much with it and mostly just caught echoes. It was also a gift that only tacked onto a heightened sense of hearing or smell, as that made it stronger.

Touch allowed for the investigator to strike up a connection between themselves and an object closely related to the ghost, it showed them visions – of the ghost’s memories, of their life. Sometimes it shed light onto their motivations to stay behind, sometimes the visions more showed what kind of person they were. Most of the times it made you go through the worst moments of their life – and their death.

It was a dangerous ability that consumed you from within, left you vulnerable. Those with particularly strong Touch often went mad through the years of endless investigations and ended up shells of their former selves.

And mine was – it was on its way there too. It was my greatest pride and my biggest weakness, all at once.

“Do you have anyone else with Touch?” I asked instead of answering at first. The trio on the couch showed their interest was definitely piqued but they let me get away with the small distraction.

Hoseok nodded at the same time as Seokjin said “yes”, and they looked at each other before the fox gestured for the bear to continue.

“We do, we have two,” he replied with a gentle smile, “Jiminie has the same set as you, but his touch isn’t particularly strong. Taehyungie, you met him outside, has smell and touch. His are a little stronger, but he mostly just complains that all he gets are terrible scents.” I chuckled at that.

“I can imagine. I used to know this ferret with the same combination and she always whined that it just makes the smells worse,” the anecdote made me relax even more as I thought back to the few good people I met through my old agency and remembered the reasons for why I stayed there for such a long time. Well, if a few months could be considered a long time. Then I took a deep breath.

“Well, both of my senses are quite… pronounced,” I admitted. People with Touch had to be careful about their talents – either it made you vulnerable to exploitation or you were seen as an emotional wreck and a liability. It was hard to say what people’s reaction would be – that’s why I always asked about their own operatives first.

“Are you getting full visions?” Namjoon asked, and his voice was carefully neutral to make me more at ease. I nodded.

“Yeah. My hearing is pretty strong too, usually I was one of the most alert ones in my team,” I told him, wringing my hands in my lap as I recalled my earlier job, “my touch was what I excelled in though. Full visions, manifestations of emotions, the whole shebang.” The men seemed a little troubled but mostly I recognised worry for my health in those gazes, and while it was one of the pitfalls, I was at least glad they didn’t seem to be strangely excited about my talents. Sometimes we could be seen as an easy way to fame and money, and I’d rather starve than work for a company like that.

“Have you ever successfully carried out a conversation with an apparition?” this time it was Seokjin who asked, and I nodded quickly.

“Once, but she was really confused,” I replied eagerly, “I wasn’t able to get much out of her, it was like she drifted in and out of awareness.” Sometimes the hearing ability worked both ways – when ghosts were weak or low levels according to the manuals, they weren’t really capable of communicating. Maybe they said something here or there, but they weren’t fully conscious and aware. The stronger the apparition, the higher the level, the bigger the chance that they would hear you and answer – but just as there was a barrier that allowed only some to hear them, the barrier carried over certain voice better than others. Therefore if you were skilled at hearing, you also had a higher chance of being heard by the ghost.

The strongest apparitions could freely hold a conversation and hear everyone, even if others couldn’t hear them. From what I read, they were usually quite the pieces of work and annoying to talk to.

“That does happen quite often,” Seokjin sighed, folding himself back into the settee, “Most of the conversations with the dead are quite frustrating. Either because they don’t hear you or because they do and you wish they didn’t.” It sounded like he truly spoke from experience, and I did have to agree with him, even though I haven’t bumped into a fully aware ghost yet. I thought it quite safe to assume Seokjin’s affinity was also hearing, then.

“Well, let me quickly introduce you to the offered position,” Namjoon hijacked the conversation again, leaning forward to look a little more professional, “There’s seven of us in total and we usually work in teams of three or four, depending on the danger level. We try to take turns, but often we found ourselves in situations where we didn’t have time both for business and for basic upkeep of the house and such.” I nodded in understanding.

“People in the summer usually feel emboldened by the long days,” the wolf continued, “so we had a slow period, but with the start of autumn and winter the fear will set in again and they’ll be desperate enough to go even to a small hybrid run agency, so we usually get busier, especially here in the local area. We need a helper. I think the offer said an assistant and a junior operative. Basically someone who will fill in the blank spaces – keep the house tidy when everyone is either busy with investigations, resting or researching. Tag along when we could use a helping hand out in the field. Make sure we’re fully stocked up, double check we have all the supplies in our bags and belts. Help out Hoseok with taking calls, caring for customers when they come here. A little bit of everything to make it easier for us, so we can fully focus on our other tasks.” I hummed again and gestured for him to continue.

“In return we offer lodging here in the house, help with training and gaining more experience with both field and off-field work, like researching, orienting yourself in libraries, archives, what you have the authorisation to do and to ask for, such things. We offer full gear – a new rapier, salt bombs, magnesium bombs, shoes, coats, protective glasses – anything you might need or ask for. We’d take you with us to investigations, show you the ropes, train you to be a full operative.” There Namjoon stopped and wavered a little, hesitation creeping into his face.

I assumed that this was where it usually all fell apart for him, so I straightened in the armchair and waited with bated breath what would follow.

“I know it seems a lot, but it could be a good opportunity,” the wolf smiled at me, the shyness and kindness he displayed earlier before I was found out shining through once more, “Of course… it won’t pay as much as if you worked for Black Guard or the Iron Sword, but it’s still a good pay, more than enough to live comfortably. And as I said, you can live here so that will lower living costs as well…” I released a big huff in relief. I see, so he was worried about money.

The trio of hybrids didn’t seem to know how to interpret my reaction, so I gave them a huge toothy grin, a real one, that channelled just how interested I was in the position. It was perfect for me and I could use the community, the variety and the opportunity to learn.

“No, that sounds perfect,” I told him, and I meant every word of it. That put blinding smiles on their faces as well, and suddenly Hoseok was jumping to his feet and clapping his hands, once again scaring the living shit out of me.

This time he looked a lot less sheepish and a lot more amused as he said sorry, and then he was beckoning me to follow him out of the sitting room. The other two men chuckled fondly, but followed after him, nodding at me to come with them.

“We’re going to test you a little,” Namjoon explained, eyes searching the sky outside through a window in the hall, “I hope it’s not too early for a little ghostly activity.”

The sitting room was the first room you’d see when you stepped inside the house, but there was actually a similar room to the other side of the entrance hall, only stylised into a darker green instead of the browns and beiges of the one we were sitting at.

The entrance hall then opened into a huge room dominated by an old staircase leading to a little corridor that disappeared on both ends deeper into the house. The backdrop of the corridor though was an absolutely massive window made of stained glass that painted together a flowering meadow with a forest on the horizon. It was a little faded, the colours a little dull, but obviously well-loved and cared for, and it stole my breath away.

On the ground floor the room opened to corridors on the sides that similarly disappeared deeper, but on the left side there had to be a kitchen, because the corridor carried to me absolutely delicious smells, and sounds of a knife hitting a cutting board in a steady rhythm. I almost salivated upon smelling that, and wished I could weasel myself into staying for dinner, but instead I followed the men to the right, away from the tantalising scents.

We passed two sets of double doors made from dark polished wood. One was cracked open and I clearly heard giggles and a hushed conversation coming from there, recognising one of those voices as the deep baritone of the black bear that was trying to scare me outside. He was the one of the two with touch, and if I managed to get this job, I couldn’t wait to talk to them about their gift. Up in the north there was only one other girl with touch – the ferret hybrid that had smell as her other sense, but since her touch wasn’t as strong, our experiences with it were completely different.

But that’s not where we were going – the three hybrids continued to the end of the hall where another set of dark-wood doors sat firmly closed. Namjoon fished out a bundle of keys from his pants, and I couldn’t believe the chunky ball of iron fit into his trousers without bulging out uncomfortably.

There were two locks on the door and I promptly realised where he was taking me.

Every agency had a storage room – a place where all the dangerous things sat properly handled and out of reach to anyone that didn’t know how to work with them and could get hurt. That meant everything from spare rapiers and magnesium bombs to active artefacts – ghost sources with their apparitions still attached to them.

A source could be anything that bound a ghost to the place of haunting and allowed them to come back – objects that were loved during their life, objects that were tied to their death or quite straightforwardly, their remains. Sometimes the ghosts were tied to a certain space, and those cases were the most annoying, because there wasn’t much you could do about it – especially if it was a random spot in the middle of a forest or an actively lived-in house.

Operative’s job was to investigate the haunting, find the source and handle it – with salt, iron or silver, depending on the strength of the ghost. Those materials acted as a buffer and eliminated all chances of the ghost slipping through into our world again – it locked the door, one could say. Some ghosts could be chased away with a little bit of salt or a sprinkle of iron filings, but some had to have their sources wrapped in silver and destroyed in fire – those were the most dangerous ones.

Certain artefacts were allowed to be kept as trophies, even though no one really kept an eye on that. The black market was very profitable and unfortunately a lot of people that were supposed to be regulators themselves dabbled in it and collected strong active sources. So the rule of thumb was that regular sources were disposed of in the furnaces while the ones tied to famous cases were kept – people didn’t really care for grandpa Smith’s old walking stick, but they sure were interested in the remains of blood-thirsty ghosts that terrorised and killed until they were swiftly handled by an agency – getting rid of an artefact like that could be a huge PR hit for companies, and they were usually safely showed off in their headquarters to forever burn into people’s memories that they were the ones closing that case.

I assumed Namjoon was taking me to a similar trophy case to gauge the strength and depth of my senses.

Unlike the showy glass buildings of big corporations, Bangtan’s headquarters were situated in the basement under their house – it was mostly one big spacious room with walls made of red bricks and a floor of stone tiles. There were three tables there, covered in paperwork, and one wall was lined with filing cabinets, which must have been filled with old, closed cases.

A little light shined in through small oblong windows near the ceiling, so I was grateful when someone flicked a switch and artificial lights came on with a low hum.

And then I saw it – deeper into the space where two smaller rooms, cutting the space unevenly in half – and the wall facing us currently still standing by the door was covered with luminescent shelves.

It wasn’t the shelves themselves that shined – it was their contents.

There weren’t many artefacts, in fact most of the shelves were completely empty, but they made up for it with their brightness. Usually the brighter the source was, the stronger the ghost tied to it – and these were some potent sources.

I made a little panicked noise at the back of my throat, ears flattening to my head and tail flicking with agitation. I pointed towards the wall and then looked to the men with wide scared eyes.

“You can’t open those, look how bright they are even in the middle of the day!” I exclaimed and the men laughed lightly.

Namjoon leisurely made his way over towards the wall, and in my panic I followed him, heart beating out of my throat. But once there, he didn’t reach towards any of the sources encased in glass tubes infused with silver and iron for safe-keeping, he actually turned toward one of the shelves I previously thought was empty.

Only, when I came closer I realised it was lined with passive sources – ones that used to be tied to a ghost who was either destroyed and left their source behind or chose to move on, or just simply were charged with energy of a haunting and not the apparition itself. They were no longer dangerous and mostly deserted of any activity.

The wolf whispered around with the fox for a little while, hands lingering on certain objects as they deliberated on which they wanted to give me as a test. Seokjin stood to the other side of me, eyes glued to the active sources as if he looked for something specific.

I waited with bated breath to see when his eyes lit up with recognition, eager to know what it was, but I was interrupted by Namjoon’s deep voice as he beckoned me closer.

I looked to them and saw that both he and Hoseok had an object in their hands, having chosen their favourite. Namjoon carefully cradled an intricately carved wooden comb – it was absolutely beautiful and it looked very old and frail, with some of its teeth broken or missing.

He nudged his hands to me, motioning for me to pick it up.

“Tell me this comb’s story, Y/N,” he said, and the sudden appearance of my name shocked me enough to flinch in surprise. I realised I never actually introduced myself to them, the whole clusterfuck of a situation derailing the usual pleasantries – he had to have read it on my resume.

With blushing cheeks I rushed to grab it, careful to give it the same gentle consideration as the wolf did. The last thing I wanted was to break it.

At first I felt nothing. I heard the men’s breathing, the wild beating of all our hearts as the anticipation gripped us. I heard the faint clanks coming from the kitchen on the floor above. I felt my ears twitch as they tried to focus on the echoes of things long gone instead of the very present and very alive hybrids.

Anxiety spilled through me and I squirmed. Slowly I felt myself sink into panic, brain running its mouth telling me that I was useless and couldn’t even feel the object, that they’d laugh at me, they’d hate me. They’d kick me out and I’d have to go back home, embarrassed and defeated. I wouldn’t be able to impress them, I was a sham, a phony. I had nothing to offer anyone. I was worthless. Maybe I should just-

The thought startled me into a more present grounded mindset, and I ashamedly realised that due to me being nervous about the test I hadn’t noticed when I slipped into my ability. Those weren’t my thoughts, but whoever once owned this comb had a really bad time.

Shakily I dropped the comb back into Namjoon’s waiting hands, noting the concern on his face at my queasy expression. Hoseok was standing next to him still holding his own item, but his eyes were wide and a little scared.

“Are you okay dear?” Seokjin suddenly asked me, hands settling on my shoulders as he spun me around, “You suddenly got really pale.” I nodded hurriedly, using the sleeve of my sweater to dry off some of the accumulated sweat on my face.

“No, yeah, I’m fine, sorry,” I stuttered out, turning back to Namjoon and looking straight into his worried eyes, “The woman who wore this comb killed herself, didn’t she? She felt worthless – someone had left her. Maybe the very person who gave her the comb.” The devastation hit the wolf’s face as soon as I was finished speaking.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I’ve never met anyone with touch as strong as yours, I didn’t realise you’d feel it so intensely,” he said, comb long forgotten discarded haphazardly on the shelf.

To say I was surprised would be an understatement – the genuine remorse at putting me through an experience like that, even unknowingly – it was enough to make me blush under his brown gentle eyes.

“It’s okay, it’s my ability and I’ve learnt to deal with it,” I told him softly, “I just got a little surprised, I wasn’t paying enough attention and let it suck me in a little.” He looked like he saved my words into memory for later use, like he wanted to make sure to help me along the way to not slip into the memories as easily again, and I flushed again, warmth spreading through my chest.

I’d never met anyone so invested in the well-being of their operatives. Which was quite sad, thinking about it.

“Was I right, though?” I enquired, and he shook out of his stupor, looking at me, then at the comb, then back at me and then as if everything caught up with him he nodded quickly.

“Yeah, her actual source were her remains – they got stuck deep in the mud in the river she drowned herself in, but the comb was in her hands and carried over the aura of her haunting,” the wolf explained eagerly, “she was mostly just sitting around on the bank, scaring off some of the local children who felt unsafe there due to her aura. She wasn’t dangerous at all, just really sad.” I felt a pained pang in my heart, some of the unsettled feelings and thoughts from her last moments still lingering in the corners of my soul.

“That’s incredibly heart-breaking,” I whispered, eyes glued to the beautiful accessory.

Before I could spiral any deeper into those thoughts, Hoseok awkwardly cleared his throat, hands hanging in the air between us unsure of whether he should offer the artefact or not. Everybody’s attention was drawn to him and Namjoon was just about to open his mouth to protest, when I beat him to it by grabbing the little thingy.

It was a really fancy pen, felt and looked new, like it would still write if I tried it on a piece of paper, and its ghostly traces were incredibly weak. This time I was more cautious as I examined it, rolling it around in my hands, eyes closed and fingers trying to feel every ridge, every scratch.

There wasn’t much. Almost nothing actually. I caught some waves, but they fizzled out as quickly as they appeared, leaving me with little fragments here and there. I tried again to make sure, but came to the conclusion that this item couldn’t have been tied to a haunting. It felt more like they just took it from the deceased’s house than anything else.

“Umm, are you sure this is what you wanted me to touch?” I asked hesitantly, “It’s just that there’s not much here. I feel mostly just stress from it, but it’s very fragmented.” At my words everyone in the room chuckled, Hoseok’s face heating up until he was as red as a tomato.

“Good job,” Namjoon said, snickering in amusement and looking towards the embarrassed fox, “this isn’t an actual haunted item or an artefact. It’s one of those fancy pens they advertise to ghost hunters because it has an outer layer of silver on it. Well, Hoseokie-hyung here bought it as a joke and it ended up saving his life. But turns out that the energy of coming into contact with ghost plasm holds onto it well and it’s kind of cursed now.” That definitely caught my attention and I looked at the hybrid who was shooting daggers into the wolf.

“He was being a big old dummy and while handling the sources marked for destruction he dropped one and the case broke,” Seokjin jumped in to continue the story, “he had nothing but the pen in hand and he had to fend off a very angry and a very confused apparition. We heard him screaming and all ran here as fast as we could to see him running around the basement waving around a silver pen and hysterically yelling at a ghost.” At this point I was giggling along with the men, the fox laughing along too as if he saw the visual his mate was painting as well.

“It was the best day of my life,” Namjoon sighed through snickers, “I almost didn’t want to help him because it was too funny.”

“I love to hear that you’d let me die for your entertainment, Joonie,” the man in question grumbled, but it was all in good nature, that much was obvious through their fond looks they threw each other.

As the laughter died down, a more serious expression settled onto Seokjin’s face and he gazed back onto the shelves with active sources, this time eyes immediately locking onto a specific case that glowed strongly with cold, steely blue light.

The other two men quietened the second they recognised what the bear was looking at, ears flinching and flattening to their heads.

“I was curious about what you’d tell us about an item we have here,” Seokjin started explaining, a far-away look in his eyes, “but seeing how strong of a reaction you had to the comb, I think we better not.” I looked towards the case, head tilted in consideration.

It was obvious there was something different, something strange, about that specific artefact – and judging by their nervous stances it wasn’t anything good.

“I can try,” I said easily, moving towards the shelf. Seokjin made an aborted panicked sounds, hands shooting up to stop me, but ultimately he let me walk past him and do what I wanted. I turned back, looking at the men watching me with scared but curious expressions, I steeled myself and looked at it properly.

It was fairly small – a single skeleton finger with a bejewelled ring stuck onto it. I wasn’t sure what they exactly expected from that. I clearly couldn’t take it out as the apparition would no doubt immediately manifest, and you really couldn’t feel through the glass.

But oh how quickly I realised I was wrong about that. I raised my hand, hearing the gasps of the three hybrids, reached for it and promptly stopped. I felt almost paralysed with the wave of dark resentful energy rolling off of it in thick waves, so thick that I was almost choking on them.

Whoever that ghost was, he was strong, angry and dangerous enough for his energy to manifest even through protective silver casing. Panic gripped me, just blind fear that this shouldn’t be here – this shouldn’t be anywhere. Suddenly I was stumbling back, tripping over my own feet to put distance between me and whatever that thing was.

My wild terrified eyes found Namjoon’s own worried ones and I couldn’t hold back a whimper clawing its way out of my throat.

“What the fuck,” I gritted through my teeth, “is that? Why the fuck is that here?” The alpha seemed to be fighting off his instincts, my palpable fear and the whimper must have put him in for a spin to try and calm me down, but we didn’t know each other at all for any attempts to be appropriate.

I realised I was shaking, the hand with which I almost grabbed the artefact cold and frozen to the bone.

“It was one of our biggest cases,” Seokjin whispered, voice gentle and monotone as he slowly started moving towards me trying not to scare me more, “a nasty piece of shit, a killer in life and a killer in death. Jimin refuses to get any closer to it, says it gives him the creeps even through the glass. He’s been telling us it has an aura even through the protection case and here or there tries to persuade us to get rid of it. None of us can feel much, just that it has bad energy, so I got curious… I’m glad you didn’t touch it. Those are some memories you don’t want to see.”

The bear hybrid managed to get all the way to me, his soft grip to my shoulder grounding me into the present and finally breathing some warmth back into my frozen scared body. I relaxed enough to let him start dragging me back towards the stairs, the two other hybrids guiltily tagging along.

“Jimin has a fucking point,” I replied, “That thing should be destroyed.” There was still a slight tremble to my hands, and I realised for the first time that day I was feeling extremely cold. I mechanically forced my feet to carry me a stair after a stair, yearning for the cosy vibe of the sitting room and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

“Told you,” a new voice joined us from up the stairs and I jerked to look up, coming face to face with a pretty boy with big eyes and plump lips. White ears stuck out excitedly from a mop of black silky hair, but I couldn’t gauge what kind of hybrid he was.

“Jimin,” Seokjin sighed, pulling me closer to his side, “please go start up a fire in the green room.” The boy said nothing more, only winked at me good-naturedly and then disappeared back into the house.

When we made it into the green room – which was the sitting room across the one we were in before – there indeed was a fireplace and an excited hybrid loading it with wood. I looked at his snow-white fluffy tail, the shape of it flaring out a little towards the end, and realised he was another fox, an arctic one. He must have been the hybrid Hoseok was talking about before, the one that moved down here from up north.

“After that I’m afraid I must insist you stay for dinner,” Seokjin spoke again, voice firm and leaving no space for objections. And it was the polite thing to do, to object and pretend like I wasn’t dying to sit down by the fire and eat, but just that afternoon I wouldn’t – I was too tired and too shaken. I wanted that damn food and I’d take it.

“Thank you so much,” I whispered only, letting the man fuss over me with a blanket. Shortly after he ushered Namjoon and Hoseok away with him, muttering something about guests and Yoongi, which I didn’t fully comprehend.

Jimin still sat down by the fireplace, kindling the little fire and feeding it paper, but then he turned to me and watched me with interested curious eyes for a moment.

“You got the touch?” he asked finally, and I simply nodded. Another moment of silence.

“Did you touch the finger?” this question came a little quieter. I saw the warring emotions in his eyes – excitement over meeting someone with the same gift, apprehension of the cursed object and a worry over my well-being. I was grateful to him, to his easy friendliness that put me at ease.

“No… I couldn’t,” I whispered the reply, but he understood, he did all too well. He gave me an empathetic smile, which quickly melted into a smirk.

“Maybe now Joonie-hyung will finally listen to me and do something about that awful thing,” he teased, giggling and pulling me along with him.

I was just about to open my mouth with my own smart remark when a new face stormed into the room, immediately stopping in his tracks upon seeing me bundled up in the blankets in an armchair by the fire.

He was small, noticeably so once Seokjin arrived as well and stood next to him, but his form was obviously strong and lean, a quite typical build for a classically trained operative. He must have been a terror with rapiers, it was written all over him.

“Aish, I leave you three alone for an hour and this is what you do?” he scolded the guiltily looking trio, “Look at that poor kid, you totally traumatised her!” Jimin on the ground was giggling, watching their pulled back ears with delight, but I just sheepishly sunk further into the chair, cheeks pink over how strongly the unknown hybrid defended me.

Movement by his legs caught my eye and I finally noticed the kind of hybrid he was – that was definitely a white tiger tail swishing wildly behind him! I physically felt my ears perk up as my back straightened and my own tail raised in interest, which brought even more colour to my cheeks and stuttered up the black-haired man in the middle of his spiel.

Soon he was blushing too, and I realised he was reading my body language and I’ve just given myself away, quite spectacularly.

I felt the intense need to explain myself but there wasn’t really much to say – I was excited to meet another feline hybrid, one that wasn’t of my own community – because I’ve never met another cat outside the ones I grew up with, and those weren’t exactly great. But I just looked like I totally had the hots for him (which I totally didn’t).

“N-no- I mean- I just- I’ve never met a tiger hybrid,” I finally pushed out, ignoring Jimin’s teasing shit-eating grin where he sat by my feet next to the fireplace. Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin were watching me with open fascination, which was definitely better than the anger I was imagining they would feel over me obviously being into their mate (which I wasn’t!!! It was a misunderstanding, nothing more!!!).

The tiger in question shifted on his feet, hand going to scratch behind the striped ear, his own characteristics now betraying a curiosity and interest on his part. His gaze swept over my features, passive but warm.

“You’re a snow leopard, aren't you?” he asked and where Namjoon’s voice was deep and smooth, Taehyung’s voice was deep and sweet, this hybrid’s voice was deep and raspy, sending me into a whole new spiral at hearing it.

I barely even managed to nod, embarrassedly pulling my tail and pushing it into my lap before it divulged even more of my secrets. Jimin was smirking at me as if he knew exactly what I was going through, and I kind of wanted to kick him a little.

“I suppose you came down here fairly recently then? Your folk only mostly only lives up in the mountains and they’re pretty reclusive…” he asked some more, angling more towards me and I felt my treacherous tail twitch in my hands.

“Yeah, it was a pretty tight community,” I told him easily, “They’re not exactly… forward and… open-minded.” It felt weird to be sharing such a private information with people I’d just met a few hours ago, but apart from the fact that this was something mostly all hybrids kind of knew, in those hours they managed to make me trust their judgement and believe that even if I wouldn’t end up getting employed by them, they still cared for my comfort.

But subverting all my expectations, the hybrid who up until now stayed fairly neutral even with a soft blush to his cheeks suddenly smirked at me, taking in my wide-eyes and flushed face before saying: “Well, it’s an honour for me to be your first tiger.” and walking out nonchalantly.

The trio that he originally came in here while scolding them stood there wordlessly, eyes flitting between my embarrassed form, a little too amused Jimin and the empty space where the tiger used to stand. Then Hoseok made a non-descript delighted noise in the back of the throat, launching into a sprint while screaming at the top of his lungs: “Jungkookie, you have competition!”

I was very much confused, but judging from Namjoon’s embarrassed blush and Jimin’s outright evil snickers, I probably didn’t want to know.

Seokjin smiled blindingly and then walked away again, while Namjoon slowly slinked into the room and made himself comfortable at the other armchair, still watching me glare at the laughing Jimin with wide eyes.

“Well, I certainly didn’t expect this outcome when you sneaked in today,” the wolf muttered, but there was a grin gently pulling at his lips. I was too embarrassed to banter and the attempt at a smile came out more as a grimace, so I just sunk deeper into the armchair and stubbornly looked on into the fire, ignoring the two giggling men.

“I’m sorry though,” Namjoon said quietly suddenly. I looked at him confused and I was surprised by the guilty expression on his face. “I’m sure this wasn’t the most pleasant of first meetings,” the hybrid muttered sheepishly, a bit of shame settled into his features.

“Namjoon-ssi, I made the decision to touch the source,” I told him firmly, hoping to alleviate some of his worry, “Seokjin-ssi was clear that I probably shouldn’t, but I wanted to try. You did nothing wrong.” The wolf didn’t seem much appeased, but he at least eased up a little, a little bit of determination creeping into his eyes.

“I’m going to get a bigger case and put it as a second barrier,” he proudly stated, more to himself than to us, and me and Jimin shared a glance before promptly bursting out into a fit of giggles. A sort of warmth settled into me, especially as distinctly recognisable voice of the brown bear shouted from somewhere that dinner will be ready shortly.

“Would be foolish to hope you’d like to accept the offer?” the question came out of nowhere, even Namjoon himself looking a little shy though he was the one who said it. I froze. Jimin stopped laughing. The happy chatter flowing in from the kitchen died down and everything settled into a buzz of anticipation.

The house was suddenly plunged into silence that I hadn’t heard since I stepped in, and the longer I was shocked at his words, the more I could see the alpha spiral that I’d inevitably reject him.

“I wasn’t aware you were waiting for my answer,” I uttered, teasing cheekiness creeping into my voice, and Jimin’s face once more morphed into a beautiful smile, “But I’d love to accept.” Namjoon smiled in relief, but both of our attentions were snatched by giggles coming from the artic fox.

“Of course she accepts hyung,” Jimin reiterated, “she wants to keep her first tiger.”

I’d never wished for the ground to swallow me so hard as I did in that moment.

Thank you for reading <3

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