#it’s inferno though I swear

[trashhole]

Redferno ‼️‼️‼️

They remind me a lot of me and my girlfriend tbh (i have anxiety and my gf is cool and awesome)

I would not have posted these without my gfs support ironically 😭

[spookyserenades]

Trouvaille - Chapter Eighteen (M)

Pairing(s); BTS OT7 x Reader

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

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

Word Count; 17.4.k

Trouvaille Masterlist

Trouvaille playlist

Updates on the 7th of each month

Hi everyone!!! Happy summer and OMG SEOKJIN IS COMING HOME SOON. I got another update for you all! Got your typical angst, the ghostbusting trio, some fluffyyyy toothrotting romance, and of course, the return of Sexy Yoongi ;) AH! Thank you for waiting patiently for this update, loves, and I can't wait to hear your thoughts on this update 💜

As an additional warning/reminder, for the smut: the scene is explicit, and is only intended to be read by those over the age of 18. Please practice safe sex, and readers please have discretion!

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

“I suppose I did this to myself,” Y/N miserably stuck her head under the inferno-hot water pelting from her showerhead, wondering if she tried hard enough, she could drown herself. “Stupid.”

Scrubbing at her eyes furiously, she attempted to focus on bathing, watching her body wash swirl down the drain. It was useless, however, to prevent her mind from replaying the events that had unfolded immediately after Taehyung’s arrival back home. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she leaned her forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall, picturing it all again. 

“Hey Tae! You’re home!” Y/N called, the Kodiak hybrid flinching an inch into the air, her voice surprising him. He spun around, looking alarmed and like he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Y/N waved him over, only able to see his head over the SUV, and Taehyung pushed a hand through his hair, squaring his shoulders. Lifting an eyebrow, about to ask what was wrong, she felt she was plunged into an icy lake when he stepped towards her. 

Taehyung, his camera bag in his hand and eyes laser-sharp, had his clothes in disarray, and purple, splotchy love bites all over his neck. Y/N couldn’t find a single word in her brain that made sense to describe how she was feeling as he stood before her, one of his hands tucked into the pocket of his jeans, which were wrinkled and pulled over his hips haphazardly. 

“What are you doing out here?” Taehyung cleared his throat nonchalantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary with him. Y/N simply stared, realizing her palm was still mid-air from when she waved at him, and with a jolt, she limply dropped her arm. “You should go in. It’ll be dark soon.”

“I’m… van. Materials for tomorrow, loading them up,” Y/N answered, all choppy and like a rusty robot. “Where… were you? Did you go to the park, or…?”

Taehyung lazily assessed her, his thick eyelashes brushing the tops of his cheekbones as he glanced down at her insecure form. Clicking his tongue, he lifted his camera bag in the air, as if the answer was obvious. 

“Yeah. Then I stopped at the rec center. Why?” 

Y/N was proud, at the very least, that she didn’t break down after his answer, flat and distant. Deciding, out of spite and feral jealousy, that two could play at that game, and Y/N composed herself into dismissal, shrugging. If he wanted to pretend his neck didn’t look like a rabid hyena attacked it, so would she. 

“No reason, just wondering. Can’t wait to see what you’ve been working so hard on these past few weeks,” Y/N chirped, and though it was cheap, she relished in the minute flinch Taehyung offered in response to her words. “I’m gonna head in now. I have a few more things to do before I go back to the Sanders’ tomorrow. Yoongi ordered Chinese food for dinner, it’s in the fridge.”

With that, Y/N flashed Taehyung a tiny smile, Taehyung’s bitten lips parting a couple of centimeters, but not saying another word as he watched her stroll towards the house, her bruised heart thundering painfully in her chest with every step. 

“Stupid!” Y/N repeated, banging her forehead against the tile. “Childish bullshit.”

Y/N had icky guilt swimming around in her gut along with the greasy egg rolls she had choked down on her way to the bathroom, ignoring Yoongi’s requests for her to sit down for dinner. Taehyung really didn’t deserve her treating him so coldly just because the Kodiak hybrid had gone out on some kind of date, even if he was lying about it to her face. But when it came to him, someone who was just as allergic to confrontation and sticky conversations as she was, Y/N found that slipping into a tug-of-war of passive aggression was all too easy with Taehyung.

The water in the shower was becoming cold, Y/N cursing, switching the tap off and wrapping herself in a towel. Gut too sour to stay up any longer, she simply slid into her pajamas, promptly collapsing into bed. Distantly, she could hear Hoseok’s loud voice in the parlor, the dim murmurs of the TV, and Jeongguk stomping around his bedroom above her. The sounds were familiar and comforting, but didn’t stop her thoughts from lingering on her Kodiak hybrid. Y/N thought it was high time for her to swallow the bitter pill and perhaps confess her true feelings to Taehyung, even if he was falling for someone else. That way, at the very least, she could begin to mend one of the shattered sections of her heart. 

“You look like shit. Did you get any sleep?” Jeongguk accused the next morning, Y/N bristling and not even bothering to flick him off. 

After all, she hadn’t, between tangled thoughts of Taehyung and the reminder that she would have to clear the evil spirits from the Sanders’ home the following morning, she was tossing and turning all night. 

“We can’t all look like rockstars 24/7,” Y/N replied sarcastically, gesturing to his typical black jeans/black graphic tee combination. That day, he was wearing a Megadeth concert tee, which Y/N found darkly fitting for the scenario they were about to find themselves in. “How are your scratches?”

“Already healed. Not even a scar. What, do you want me to take my shirt off again?”

“Don’t be a smartass today, it’ll push me right over the edge,” Y/N threatened, jabbing a finger into his solid chest, Jeongguk smirking around the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Hurry up and smoke that. Joon doesn’t like waiting.”

With that, Y/N hauled herself into the van, scowling once more at a highly amused Jeongguk, shutting the door so the smoke wouldn’t choke the life out of her and her wolf hybrid. Massaging her sore under eyes, she tripped her way to the passenger seat, smiling weakly at the fuzzy throw blanket that was already placed there for her. Namjoon, fiddling with the radio, assessed her out of the corner of his eye, his lips tugging downwards. 

“Heard you didn’t sleep well,” Namjoon commented, Y/N sighing, both buckling into her seat and bundling up with the blanket. “Are you sure you’ll have enough energy to do the ritual? We can always reschedule it for Wednesday.”

“No, no, I’ll be alright. I want to get it over and done with, the family has been in that hotel room for far too long,” Y/N straightened in the seat from her original slouch, so her words seemed more convincing to her perceptive hybrid. “I told Jeongguk not to be a smartass today. The last thing we need is provoking the spirits while we try to banish them.”

“I already spoke to him about that, too. He’s going to do his own ritual, apparently, while you and I focus more on the cleansing. Is that okay with you?”

Y/N had a feeling that the plan the two of them cooked up was an attempt to get Y/N as far away from anything too dangerous as possible. With Jeongguk doing whatever it was he was planning, likely some kind of exorcism tactic he was familiar with, he’d be the one in the line of fire. Additionally, with Namjoon teaming up with her, she’d have him beside her if things started to go sideways. 

“Yeah, that’s okay. I hope no one gets hurt this time,” Y/N shivered, sticking her hands close to the vents to heat the digits up. “You’re still gonna let me do some things of my own, right? To help close the portal?”

“Of course, we’re a team,” Namjoon furrowed his eyebrows, reading the vulnerability in her expression. 

The van teetered back and forth when Jeongguk yanked the side door open, taking up his usual spot in the back in the booth, scrolling on his phone distractedly. Y/N watched, over her shoulder, him prod along the base of his antlers, one of his eyes twitching as he caught on a tender spot, teeth biting down on his lip ring. She was going to ask if something was wrong, but decided against it when he recovered smoothly, digging through the gear back he packed. 

The first fifteen minutes of the drive were peaceful, Y/N humming along to the radio. However, a fleeting thought had her squeaking loudly, startling Namjoon beside her and making him sharply step on the brakes. 

“What?!” His eyes were wide, silver ears pressed to his skull, Y/N fumbling for her tote bag. 

“I forgot to give you guys your first paycheck! Judy says you two can be official employees at the shop, if you want, and you’ll get paid for all of our consultations, investigations, and cleansings,” Y/N stuck Namjoon’s check in the visor above his head, twisting her torso so she could send Jeongguk’s sailing his way, the elk hybrid catching it with a stunned look on his face. 

“Next time, wait until we’re parked, kiddo. The wolf almost drove off the road,” Jeongguk scolded, though he hastily tore open his envelope to check out how much he had been paid for his labor. 

“Sorry. I’m just excited! Do you two want to start coming to work with me regularly? I can try and move my hours around to accommodate your book club hours on Mondays, Joon,” Y/N felt more bright than she had in hours, a faint dimple appearing in Namjoon’s cheek as he tried to squash down his excitement. “I could do Tuesday through Thursday, and then whenever we’re needed for consults.”

“Are you sure you can change your work days? I could just come in with you on Wednesdays and Thursdays,” Namjoon appeared sheepish, eyes glued to the road and his tail swishing over the side of his seat. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Judy really likes you two, I’m sure if it meant you being there three times a week, she wouldn’t have a problem coming in on Mondays to cover my previous shift.”

Namjoon quieted down after that, his cheeks coloring all the way to the hoops threaded through his earlobes, Y/N grinning at him and noting Jeongguk’s silence as well. 

“Jeongguk, you can just do the consults if you want. You don’t have to stock shelves with us if you’d prefer not to.”

“No, I’ll come. Got nothing better to do,” Jeongguk quickly replied, caught off guard as he set his first paycheck– a pretty generous one, at that– aside. Humming in satisfaction, Y/N squirmed in her seat, getting comfortable so she could center herself for the remainder of the ride to the Sanders’. 

Y/N’s eyes snapped open as soon as she sensed Namjoon pulling into the driveway. Y/N wasn’t surprised that she knew, without a doubt, that they had arrived; her ability to feel and distinguish energies had been becoming stronger by the day. Mercifully, it was fairly sunny that day, so even if the house was surrounded by a subtle darkness, at least the sky wasn’t filled with oppressive clouds. 

“Ready?” Y/N fixed her gaze on the front door, determination flooding through her when she remembered Tommy’s terrified and exhausted expression, the shadows curling around Namjoon, and the three bleeding scratches tearing into Jeongguk’s back. 

“Remember. Don’t use names, don’t address any of the entities specifically,” Namjoon recapped seriously, catching the Zippo lighter Jeongguk tossed him mid-air, likely for the plethora of candles located in the bag the wolf hybrid was holding in his free hand. “Got the stuff from the church?”

“Church?” Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, looking from him to Jeongguk with great curiosity. 

“Yeah, the one in the town square, the Catholic church. We went there for some items the day we went out to replace the camera,” Jeongguk shook his gear bag in front of Y/N’s face, a playful look in his eyes. “Holy water, blessed salt, medallions and whatnot. We’re marrying the Christians to the Pagans today.”

“Ah, I see…”

“Think of it this way,” Jeongguk cut her off, surprising her by placing a tattooed hand on her shoulder heavily. “Whatever I can’t get rid of with the stuff from the church will probably respond to your practice. Right?”

“Right,” was all Y/N could say, trying to savor the elk hybrid soothing her, his fingers squeezing over her shoulder once before letting her go and pulling the van’s side door open. “Be safe, okay, sweets?”

“Mm-hmm. You too,” he smirked confidently, leaping out of the vehicle and heading straight for the front door of the house. 

“We’re gonna start outside,” Y/N blinked once Jeongguk disappeared into the house, turning her attention to Namjoon. “Then when we’re inside, we’ll start at the top floor, go to the basement, and end with the ground floor– it confuses the spirits, gets them out faster.”

“Lead the way,” Namjoon inelegantly stumbled out of the van, the clumsiness of the action making Y/N giggle, breaking up the tension that she was feeling. “Ouch.”

“Uh-oh, are you okay?” Y/N sobered up a tad, Namjoon’s ears drooped as he used his free hand to massage his elbow. “Break a bone?”

“I’m sturdier than you give me credit for,” Namjoon muttered, a cute pout tugging at his lower lip. “Want me to place these candles somewhere?”

“No, they’re for inside,” Y/N shook her head, feeling Namjoon follow her to the window where ‘The Watcher’ usually lingered, frowning at the cloudy glass. “All I wanna do out here is bury the spell jars I made in the four corners of the yard and make a boundary with the incense and herb bundles.”

“I can bury the jars,” Namjoon volunteered helpfully, stopping Y/N mid-stride by grabbing her wrist, diving his fingers into her tote bag for the glass bottles. “But stay close to me while you burn the herbs. Promise?”

“Okay, Bug,” Y/N held out her pinky finger, the wolf hybrid staring at the digit quizzically. Snorting, she reached for Namjoon’s hand, linking her pinky with his, loving that she was the first person to show him how to pinky promise. “I promise!”

True to her word, Y/N stuck closely to Namjoon�� not just because she wasn’t a promise-breaker, but because Namjoon’s intimidating height and mass made her feel safer the closer she was to him. Focusing, she used Jeongguk’s lighter to spark up the bundle of herbs, inhaling the scent of burning rosemary, sage, and cedar. The two of them worked silently and with purpose, making a slow counterclockwise circle around the property, Y/N shivering as she felt energy push past her and outside of the boundary her and Namjoon were creating. 

She knew Namjoon could feel what she did as well, with his ears twitching and an occasional sideways glance to her while she fanned smoke around the yard. In stark contrast to the last time she was at the Sanders’ home, Y/N felt confident and sure of herself. 

Though almost all of her focus was on the cleansing, she couldn’t help but think of how Jeongguk was faring inside. Her and Namjoon completed their circle around the yard, ending up back at the window, and Y/N felt a significant change in the energy– she could no longer sense the ickiness of something ancient watching her, but she spent a few more moments waving smoke around the glass pane anyways, Namjoon waiting patiently beside her.

 “Let’s go inside. We’re done out here,” Y/N murmured quietly, in the zone. The wolf hybrid, once again, held her hand while she climbed up the slick, wet concrete porch, though Y/N wondered if the reason he tended to do that was because he himself was quite clumsy and needed the reassurance of stability. Either way, it was endearing.

As she pushed open the door, the first thing Y/N noticed was the line of salt sprinkled along the threshold. Because it was still early morning, the house was full of blue light, and didn’t seem as scary as it had when they conducted the night time investigations. Namjoon knew exactly what to do already; so he started straight for the staircase, Y/N swallowing and shadowing him, ears picking up the sound of Jeongguk’s heavy combat boots stomping around up there. 

Y/N didn’t have to tell Namjoon how to set up the candles, as they had gone over that part of the ritual at length previously. She simply lit another bundle of herbs in Ms. Sanders’ room, making sure she got every square inch of the bedroom. It appeared that Jeongguk had already tackled that room; salt on the windowsills, medallions placed in various locations, and the odd wet patch on the floor that Y/N suspected was sprinkled holy water. 

“Feels good in here,” Y/N commented to Namjoon, though admittedly, she was already getting worried about the two children’s rooms. “Time to move on?”

Namjoon nodded, letting the candle he set on Ms. Sanders’ dresser melt down completely. Glued to him, they met Jeongguk in Tommy’s room, where he was chucking holy water into the open closet, his ruby rosary clutched in his other fist. Softly, he was mumbling something in Latin, Y/N relieved that he seemed to be just fine. As directed, Namjoon placed a candle within the closet, crouching on the floor and watching Y/N thoroughly fill the area with herbal smoke, the heaviness of the room easing up second by second. 

Between her silent prayers and Jeongguk’s audible ones, the trio was in Tommy’s room for about twenty minutes before Y/N could breathe easy for the first time in the space, the sun shining more brightly through the windows, and Jeongguk’s constant prayer paused, chewing on his lip ring contemplatively. 

“Is it…?”

“Closed,” Jeongguk answered Namjoon resolutely, wiping sweat from his brow. Y/N agreed with him, the closet felt perfectly normal after their combined efforts, so she shut the cracked window in the room to seal the boundaries in place. “The portal’s dormant. All that’s left is making sure we push the rest of the entities out and I think the family can come back safely.”

Without thinking about it, Y/N had a fistful of the back of Jeongguk’s tee-shirt when they finally entered Julie’s room, just in case the entity in there decided to harm him again. The elk hybrid didn’t seem to notice, simply resuming his Latin monologue and chucking holy water at the walls. Gently, Namjoon took the herb bundle from Y/N, taking up the task of filling the room with the cleansing smoke while she clung to Jeongguk. 

She had practiced over the past few days extending her protective shield to others, in a way that wouldn’t completely zap her of her energy and cause her nose to bleed, so Y/N took a deep breath, Jeongguk keeping her tethered to earth as she imagined the shield around the three of them. With her eyes closed, she could hear the tiny intake of breath Namjoon made from across the room– Y/N wondering if he could sense what she was doing– but Jeongguk didn’t even flinch, dutifully focusing on making a line of blessed salt along each windowsill while Y/N held onto him. 

To the great surprise of all three of them, there wasn’t an aggressive, angry demon that came flying through the room to try and stop their efforts, so as the minutes ticked by and all that could be heard was Jeongguk’s prayer, Y/N let go of his shirt carefully. Y/N didn’t want to entertain the thought that things seemed too easy, so she pushed the thought out of her mind, and instead, she helped Namjoon wrap things up with the smoke cleansing and candle lighting on the ground floor. 

“These candles can be lit while no one’s here, right?” Jeongguk leaned against the wall in the kitchen, where she and Namjoon were finishing their tasks. 

“They’ll be out before we leave. They’re just tealights,” Y/N stubbed out the herb bundle she was holding onto, taking in a lungful of sweet-perfumed air. The Sanders’ house felt like an entirely different home; airy, bright, and Y/N could hear early spring birds chirping under the window that a malevolent energy used to haunt. “I just want to make sure all the windows are shut before we leave, do one last walk-through… but your plan seemed to work really well. Who would have thought that Pagan and Christian practices mesh so well?” “You’ll soon realize I’m almost always right about these sorts of things, kiddo,” Jeongguk smacked a fresh pack of Marlboros against his wrist bone, pulling a cigarette out of the carton with a smirk. 

“Okay, don’t get cocky,” Y/N grouched, shouldering by him and rolling her eyes at his smoky chuckles, breezing through the house for her final walk-through. “Don’t smoke in here, please.”

“No shit,” Jeongguk called after her, watching her figure disappear up the stairs. “Nothing went wrong?”

The second half of his statement was directed at Namjoon, who was packing away spare materials into Y/N’s tote bag on the kitchen counter, the wolf hybrid’s bitten ear flickering with annoyance. 

“You’d know if something did,” Namjoon replied simply, slinging her bag over his shoulder, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. “Start the van while you’re outside.”

Jeongguk distractedly shook the keys to the vehicle in his free hand, already striding towards the front door, Namjoon shaking his head at the elk hybrid’s nonchalance. He himself, however, couldn’t believe how successful the three of them had been, and a strange emotion Namjoon couldn’t tag a name to welled up inside of him when he looked around the house. 

Namjoon might have not had the same kind of ability to sense energies in the way Y/N could, but there was a marked difference to how he was able to move around the house, breathe a little more freely, and the primal– still very new– instinct to protect Y/N from some kind of unseen threat eased up the on the chokehold it had on him. Even then, when he was more than confident that they had banished all of the negativity, he found himself hanging back in the living room, listening to Y/N’s light footsteps from above, waiting for her to come back down and join him outside. 

“Joonie?” Y/N’s voice floated down from the stairs as she hopped down them, surprised to see him waiting before her eyes widened. “Oh, shit. Do you think it’s okay I said your name?”

Namjoon blinked, watching her chew her lips and glance at Jeongguk outside, in the distance smoking his cigarette by the van. Namjoon didn’t know when he had gotten so used to the handful of nicknames that Y/N had for him, and was shocked that after only two hours of her not uttering one of them, he realized how much he liked that quirk of hers. 

“I think it’s alright, now,” Namjoon recovered, shaking away the bizarre emotions he was feeling. While he was interested in the unexplained, that didn’t necessarily mean he enjoyed unexplainable things happening to himself. Y/N’s mouth opened, but it was her growling stomach that interrupted her words, heat flooding her cheeks. “Want to stop for some lunch before we go home? There was a ‘hot pot’ place on the way here I saw you eyeing.”

“I’m either deeply unsubtle, or your perception is on another level. Weren’t you driving?” Y/N accused, making her way to him with a shy grin. 

“It’s a mixture of both,” Namjoon confessed, refusing to hand over her tote bag while she opened up the front door and locked it for the final time. “What is hot pot, though?”

“Oh! You get to pick out a broth, and then all of the noodles, vegetables, and meats you want, then you cook it right at your table! I think you’ll like it, you really wanna go?”

Namjoon nodded, waving smoke out of his face from Jeongguk’s still-burning cigarette. 

“Yeah, we need to eat,” Jeongguk pried into the conversation, his fingers dancing around the base of his antlers again. “That shit will suck the life out of you.”

Once in the van, Y/N felt loopy satisfaction, sending a text to Ms. Sanders while Namjoon drove to the hot pot restaurant. 

Y/N: We just finished the cleansing, with great success! You and the kids should be able to move back in now, and please contact me anytime you need, we’ll be there for you. 

Sighing, Y/N glanced at Namjoon, a faint dimple in his cheek that told her he was quite pleased with how things turned out, her heart squeezing in her chest as she poked his sweater-clad bicep– his bushy tail wagging in consequence. 

“I’m proud of you two. I’m happy we’re a team,” Y/N admitted seriously, Namjoon clearing his throat nervously at the praise. And when Y/N peeked at Jeongguk, he wasn’t rolling his eyes, he was actually smiling at her, teeth and all, even if there was a glint of teasing mischief across his features. 

“I hope you can handle spicy food. I’m getting the Sichuan broth,” Jeongguk announced, neither of the hybrids acknowledging her praise, but Y/N knew that they appreciated it based on their facial expressions. “And I’m not going to share my order of pork belly.”

“As long as you don’t hog the dipping sauces, we won’t have a problem,” Y/N snorted, relaxing back into her seat, looking forward to sharing a triumphant meal with the two of them.

“Ugh, I’m bored,” Y/N complained to the ceiling, slouching on the stool at work with absolutely nothing to do, and nobody to talk to. 

Namjoon and Jeongguk were unable to join her at work until the following week, when their paperwork allowing them to be legally employed went through, so she was alone in the dead metaphysical shop. Additionally, she pouted about going home after her shift– all of her hybrids were so busy lately, it was rare that she had quality time with all seven of them at once.

In the two days that followed the cleansing, a whirlwind of events happened all at once. Hoseok had indeed taken up employment at the rec center coaching the junior track team, and spent several hours there organizing things for the spring season and getting acclimated with his upcoming responsibilities. Besides him, Yoongi actually decided to take up coaching part-time as well, even after all of his insistence that he didn’t necessarily want to, so he was gone just as frequently as Hoseok. 

Jimin was often occupied outside preparing the garden beds for fast-approaching spring, exercising horses, or tending to the grounds, and while Y/N helped as often as she could, there were only so many hours she could take digging in the frigid dirt and dodging chickens nipping at her heels after a day at work. As for Namjoon and Jeongguk; the two of them were predictably busy with their own hobbies, the wolf hybrid catching up on the book club assignments he was behind on, and Jeongguk obsessively watching videos about paranormal equipment. That left her with Seokjin, who she spent most of her time with, and Taehyung, who was either hardly at home or avoiding her like a poisonous spider.

Sighing, Y/N twirled a pen between her finger tips. With the house cleansing out of the way, she had no more excuses to try and avoid patching things up with Taehyung, or at the very least, attempt to have some kind of productive conversation with him. It broke her heart that it seemed that the home Taehyung had grown to truly love wasn’t something he found comfort in at the moment, so it was her main priority to swallow her pride and restore things to normalcy.

She thought back to the early winter, prior to Christmas, when Taehyung was his happiest. Getting into his photography, sharing his work with her and the others at the expos, hanging out with her and Yoongi in the music room on Fridays while they had their piano lessons and he would listen to records on the floor. Frowning, she reached for the Kodiak Hybrids for Dummies she brought along with her for the post-lunch lull she was enduring, which she had been using the past few weeks to try and glean anything enlightening about his behavior. 

Y/N tried to read a chapter of each guidebook simultaneously, so she was finishing up the last few pages of the eighth chapter– one on dietary preferences– for Kodiak hybrids before she’d move onto the next for not just that one, but the six others, as well. The chapters on various diets were entertaining, for sure, but Y/N realized that her boys pretty much ate whatever was in front of them, regardless of the ‘preferences’ listed in the guide books. For instance, elk hybrids allegedly favored fresh, light, vegetable based foods; but Jeongguk was one of the biggest meat eaters in the house. She hadn’t noticed Taehyung having a particular, all-consuming craving for salmon, either, so if anything, the chapter was plainly  useless. 

Yawning while turning the page, she choked on her own spit when she read what the next chapter was so boldly titled: Mating, Heats, Ruts. Immediately beginning to sweat, much like how she did when she found out what scenting was, she scanned the front windows of the shop, making sure no one was strolling towards the entrance to browse for spell candles. 

“What on god’s green planet are heats and ruts?” Y/N panicked, though truthfully, thanks to her past as a vet, she knew exactly what they were in the animal kingdom. She had a nervous feeling that they weren’t so different in the hybrid world, either. “Oh Jesus…”

Hastily, she blew past the chapter title page, hesitantly beginning to read and forgetting all about ‘balanced diets for your hybrid’. For the thousandth time, and likely not the last, she was faced with new information about hybrids she probably should have already known by then. 

Mating: Some hybrids will find what they will consider to be their ‘mate’ within their lifetimes. Depending on species, these hybrids will mate ‘for life’ more often than not. The instinct to mate is triggered by the hybrid seeing another as their ideal counterpart. Like their fully animal counterparts, the purpose of ‘mateship’ is for reproduction, but because hybrids are human as well, love and romance is another consideration that the hybrid will factor in when selecting their mate. It is debated whether or not hybrids have control over choosing a mate, some experts claim that is entirely instinct-based, others believe that the hybrid will select a mate once they deem their selection worthy. 

For Kodiak hybrids, specifically: the species is known to be serially monogamous, meaning that unless they chose a mate that they intend to stay with for life, they will select a different partner to spend their heats/ruts with each cycle. For those who have mated, jealousy can be a very big issue when it comes to their mate. 

Heats/Ruts: Hybrids, when they reach sexual maturity around the age of eighteen, will develop seasonal heats/ruts; the season during the year at which the cycle will happen depends on the species. Typically, heats/ruts can be handled alone by ‘unmated’ hybrids by the hybrid themselves, and will often seclude themselves from their adoptive guardians. Other hybrids seek out a partner to help them through this cycle to ease discomfort, but it is species dependent, as well as dependent on the hybrid’s personality and temperament. 

There have often been many cases where a hybrid will not experience an intense heat/rut until they feel comfortable in their environment, but this behavior is seen in exotic hybrids or ones with skittish/distrustful personalities. 

As for hybrids that have selected a mate, their heats/ruts will be unbearably uncomfortable and cannot be handled by the hybrid alone. The mated hybrid will feel excruciating pain and discomfort if unable to complete their heat/rut without their mate, and can be threatening to the hybrid’s health and wellbeing. It is important for adoptive guardians who may have a mated pair of hybrids to give them the space to work through the cycle. 

Heats/ruts typically last 2-3 days at their height, but days leading up to and after the cycle can leave the hybrid sensitive as well. For more information on how to make your hybrid comfortable during their cycles, refer to page 809. 

Kodiak hybrids typically experience their heats/ruts during May-June.

Y/N’s mouth was dropped open and rather dry, reading the pages frantically three times over. Warmth flushed her from head to toe, not exactly surprised none of the boys brought up that aspect of their natures– and it wasn’t like she ever asked. Although she was surprised, and just a touch annoyed, Yoongi at the very least never said anything to her. Fanning herself, she pulled up multiple tabs on her phone, scribbling a messy note on an old receipt. 

Seokjin/Yoongi: Ruts any time of year. Lasts between 4-5 days

Hoseok: December-early spring. Usually monogamous. 3-4 days

Namjoon: Mid spring- early summer, but also for two weeks in the second half of winter. Monogamous, mate for life. 4-5 days (excluding the winter rut)

Jimin: Winter. Strictly monogamous. 3-4 days

Taehyung: May-June, serially monogamous. Rut can last anywhere from two days to two weeks

Jeongguk: August-early winter. “Courtship” is important. Rut can last days on and off, sometimes for up to several weeks depending on hybrid. 

Y/N was boiling hot all over once she finished jotting down her notes, overwhelmed and embarrassed. Before she could get ahead of herself, or even ashamed that she didn’t know about these specific things about the boys, she crumpled up the sticky note and shoved it deep into her tote bag. She had stressed early on to each of them to tell her if they were ever uncomfortable or needed something, so she concluded (shakily) that since none of them brought up their ruts, maybe they hadn’t experienced them full-force yet. Greedily chugging water from the bottle Yoongi packed her, she narrowed her eyes at the picture of him she stuck to her work computer monitor, swearing to back him into a corner and get him to spill. 

Trying to think about literally anything else than her hybrids and their ruts, she pushed the Kodiak Hybrids for Dummies aside and returned to what she was working on for Yoongi’s birthday. The hand-written symbols on the page, ones that were once unfamiliar to her, became a form of artistic expression thanks to her leopard hybrid, and had been erased and rewritten dozens of times by then. Y/N knew she was a perfectionist, but her dissatisfaction with herself had never been so frustrating. Both envying and admiring Yoongi’s raw natural talent, she scanned the page of sheet music, filled with notes she was trying to arrange into a pretty composition of her own.

There was, of course, the struggle of picking a suitable name for the piece as well. There was a list of titles she was playing with, but none fit the vision she had for the composition exactly. Humming, she erased a section of the very last measure, deciding to end the song more gently than she originally planned. Minutes ticked away at lightning-speed while she wrote and rewrote notes, and before she knew it, her shift was up and not a soul came into the shop to disrupt her process. 

By then, she supposed she had to be satisfied with the piece; Yoongi’s birthday was the next day. There would be time for her to practice during the day, as she had taken it off from work to celebrate, Yoongi would be spending half of his birthday at the rec center setting up things for the junior basketball team’s spring season. Hastily scooping up all of her books, she locked up the shop, wondering who would be waiting for her at home.

“Hello?” Y/N fumbled for her phone buzzing away in her pocket, simultaneously stumbling into her car. 

“Y/N! Christ, what are you, in a tunnel or something?” Ben responded immediately, making Y/N snort. 

“No, I’m getting in my car. Just locked up the shop. Can you hear me now?” Adjusting her grip on her phone, she realized she was covering the microphone with her scarf. “How are things?”

“Good, it’s getting warmer finally, huh?” 

“Not warm enough. Hoseok is killing me complaining about the cold all the time. Seokjin might hate it more, but he doesn’t complain nearly as much!”

“That fox is a character. Everyone’s doing well, though? How about the new jobs you told me some of them are getting?” 

“It’s only day two, but I think the three that picked up work at the rec center are enjoying it. I miss them though…” Y/N pouted, Ben chuckling through the receiver. “Namjoon and Jeongguk are going to start coming to Judy’s with me next week. And Yoongi’s birthday is tomorrow, so I’m excited for that!”

“Big plans?”

“Mmm… maybe not by your standards. Something that suits him, though. I’m taking him out on a date.”

“Romantic. He’ll love it, I’m sure,” Ben agreed with her. “Then again, you could get him a frying pan and he’d treat it like a diamond.”

“Stop,” Y/N groaned, embarrassed. “So, I read something interesting today about hybrids.”

“This ought to be good. What did you find out this time that was obvious to all but you?” Ben teased, Y/N sticking her tongue out at him even though he couldn’t see. 

“Okay, Mr. Wonderful. I learned about mating and ruts. I didn’t realize that was a thing for them,” Y/N snapped, Ben dissolving into thick laughter, which irked her further. “What?!”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. I can just picture the fucking look on your face reading that in one of those guidebooks you are hoarding,” Ben took a breath, Y/N similarly imagining how red in the face he was getting from laughing at her. “Any comments?”

“Well, yeah. Why the fuck haven’t any of them brought it up?”

“Do you discuss your menstruation or ovulation with them? Why would they, Y/N? It’s kind of a personal thing.”

Y/N flinched, once again struck by Ben’s ability to cut to the chase when she was being a little ridiculous. 

“Fair, I suppose,” Y/N squeaked. “I mean, I thought the scenting was a tricky subject to breach.”

“Well, if you’re curious about it, you could always just ask Yoongi or Seokjin, if you’re feeling especially bold,” Ben said, with a teasing lilt. Y/N was a touch mortified. “They love you, they’re not going to shy away from that conversation. I’d avoid bringing it up to that elk hybrid of yours, I think he’d make fun of you more than I am.”

“Another valid point,” Y/N muttered, not wanting to give Jeongguk another round of ammunition to amuse himself with at her expense. “Whatever. Whatever! Maybe I’ll ask Yoongi or Seokjin, or maybe I’ll just wait until they bring it up. I feel like I’ve got bigger fish to fry at the present.”

“I’m sure. You got hybrids, ghosts, and romantic feelings for all of your housemates. You’d make millions on reality TV.”

“Thanks, Ben. Remind me to drop your call next time.”

“See you at brunch on Sunday!” Ben signed off cheerfully, Y/N rolling her eyes and throwing her car in drive.

A slightly-cloudy sky peeked through the windows of the house the day of Yoongi’s birthday. Y/N had shown him, as well as Hoseok, off that morning, the two of them bound for the rec center. The fox hybrid was trying to get Yoongi to wear a pointy birthday hat that was leftover from his birthday, but Yoongi scrambled towards the car before Hoseok could slap it on his head. 

Y/N had only a few hours to practice her new composition before Yoongi would be back and they’d head out for the dinner reservation she made, so after downing some coffee while staring at Jimin cutting down some dead saplings in the backyard, she made her way to the music room. Feeling somewhat stealthy with the sheet music tucked under her arm, she passed by Seokjin’s room, the pipes in the wall clanging together telling her he was probably bathing. 

The feeling of sitting at the piano bench without Yoongi beside her had Y/N frowning. She had grown ever so attached to his warmth and presence, his gentle, reassuring guidance while she’d play. Huffing, she placed her sheet music on the stand, rolling her wrists like Yoongi would, and began to practice. 

For her first composition, it wasn’t half bad. It was nowhere on the level of what Yoongi could come up with, but he had years of composing on her, so Y/N tried not to compare herself to him too harshly. Once again, she changed the ending of the song with her lip tucked between her teeth, worried that she might not ever get it right– on top of that, she still hadn’t picked a name for the piece and she was running out of time. 

She was in the middle of playing through the song a sixth time when she was interrupted by the jiggling of the music room’s handle. Before sitting down at the piano, Y/N hadn’t locked the door just in case someone wanted to come and find her, so with minor embarrassment, she halted her playing, glancing at the door expectantly. When the door swung open, she held her breath, recognizing the curly head of black hair right away, a shard of ice piercing through her heart. 

Taehyung’s steps into the room faltered, headphones askew on top of his head, as soon as he caught scent of her and realized he wasn’t alone. Beautiful eyes going round, his rounded ears flattened while a feral rumble of shock rolled through his chest, going quite still. Gawking at each other, Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, eyes shifting from her to the collection of CD’s on the shelf. Fingers frozen over the ivory keys of the piano, she watched the Kodiak hybrid inch towards the shelf with urgency, probably trying to get the hell out of dodge. Y/N’s body moved before her mind did, launching her off the bench and across the room. 

“Tae, hi,” she blurted, knowing that he could hear her with his Kodiak set of ears, the rounded brown appendages fluttering with the sound of her voice, a Nirvana CD clumsily slipping out of his grasp and clattering to the floor. “Whatcha up to? I didn’t know you were home.”

Taehyung, moving like he was stuck in molasses, slid the headphones off of his ears to hang loosely around his neck, facing Y/N fully. Quickly, she ducked down, scooping the CD off the floor and offering it to him with a friendly expression. Her heart was pounding, ready to bite the bullet and have a real conversation with him no matter what it took. Taehyung’s shoulders relaxed downwards a few inches, his sweater slipping over his wrist as he took the CD, switching off the device he had clipped to his jeans. 

“They didn’t need me at the rec center today,” was his response, swallowing. “I just decided to stay here… I thought you had work on Thursdays.”

“I usually do, but I took today off!” Y/N watched Taehyung nod, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. With the direction of the conversation already, Y/N was feeling queasy; and with the way that he kept glancing at her chest, she could tell he could hear her heart threatening to burst into pieces. “Uh… come here, look! I wanted to show you some pictures I took this week around the shop. The town square looks so pretty right now, the grass is just starting to get green!”

Y/N thought on her feet, grasping for Taehyung’s wrist, which he let her take as well as tow him to the leather loveseat, apparently too stunned to protest. There was electricity zapping through the hand wrapped around his sweater-clad wrist, and considering she hadn’t touched Taehyung in so long, it had her emotions kicking into overdrive. 

“Y/N…”

“Sit here, please? I’ve wanted to show you for a little while. It won’t take long!” Y/N hoped her tone wasn’t dripping with utter desperation, but something flickered in Taehyung’s carmine eyes, softening them, so he heeded her request and sat beside her stiffly. 

Squirming in satisfaction– the small victory boosting her confidence somewhat– she flicked through her phone, still holding onto Taehyung all the while. Finding the folder of amateurish shots of around her workplace, she placed her phone in Taehyung’s limp, open palm, the Kodiak hybrid’s sharp canines biting down on his lower lip. 

“Do you want me to do a shoot here?” Taehyung asked with confusion, his deep voice making her shiver imperceptibly. 

Y/N peeked at him out of the corner of her eye, chest squeezing painfully at the sight of his gorgeous face, entirely focused on the pictures he was scrolling through. Dropping her gaze, she briefly glanced at his neck, the bruises she saw there days ago long since faded. However, the memory in her mind’s eye remained, drying up her mouth. 

“Would you want to? I can take you there soon, the cherry blossoms in the courtyard will bloom in the next few weeks,” Y/N prayed they were moving a step forward, Taehyung humming lowly, continuing to scroll through her camera roll. Y/N had nothing to hide, so she let him, hoping to continue chit-chatting. 

“Yeah, maybe when the flowers bloom, then. For the spring expo.”

“Sounds like a plan, Tae,” Y/N hesitantly leaned her shoulder into his, her hip colliding with the CD player strapped to his belt. “Ooh, any music recommendations for me lately?”

Taehyung’s chest rumbled again, the sound animalistic and raw, and Y/N wasn’t used to hearing it so often those days. Resisting the desire to tuck some of his curls behind his ear, Y/N waited for a reply, Taehyung avoiding eye-contact by examining the pictures on her screen. 

“I’ve just been listening to grunge, like always. Someone showed me an artist named Mac Demarco recently, which you might like.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of him. An indie artist, right?” Y/N wondered who exactly showed him new music, itchy jealousy crawling all over her skin.

Taehyung didn’t answer, his thumb stilling over the touchscreen of her phone, intensely staring at the picture he paused on. Curious, Y/N peered over his shoulder to see what captured his attention so thoroughly, a tiny squeak leaving her mouth at what she saw. Taehyung had scrolled so far through her camera roll that he reached the mirror selfies she had taken the night of Hoseok’s birthday, after she finished her makeup and shimmied into her dress. 

Originally, she sent the pictures to the Santos twins, but she never intended for other eyes to see her so scandalously posing in front of her bathroom mirror, so she was definitely mortified that Taehyung was gawking at them, Y/N clearing her throat sharply. Taehyung wasn’t broken out of his trance until she repeated his name several times, her phone clattering to his lap as his eyes focused on her again, his irises dark and predatory. 

“Taehyung, um. I wanted to talk to you. Last weekend, when you came home from the rec center… I was short with you. I’m sorry,” Y/N’s palms were sweating, Taehyung’s expression surprisingly not wiping blank like she expected it to. “I hope I didn’t imply that you need to tell me where you are at all times, or felt like I was coming down on you or upset with you.”

“I– um, I didn’t think that,��� Taehyung’s voice was rough, the corners of his mouth turning down as he angled his body towards her. 

“Oh, okay. Again, I just wanna stress, you don’t have to ask me for permission to go where you want, alright? I miss you, though, Tae.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open, his eyes darting around the room like he was trying to find a response written on the wallpaper, bouncing his thigh up and down. 

“Miss you too,” Taehyung admitted quietly, winding the hem of his sweater around his finger tips. “A lot.”

Y/N’s eyes began to sting, the raw vulnerability coming off of him in that moment tangible and heavy. His words were profound to her, and if anything, it gave her courage. Not knowing if she’d ever be brave enough again to hurtle off the edge of no return, she reached for Taehyung’s hand, tracing a thumb over the vintage silver ring on his index finger; this time, Taehyung was the one to shiver. 

“Uh, so Tae. Hm. You know…”

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.

Taehyung’s phone was ringing in his pocket, but he promptly ignored it, so Y/N scratched the back of her neck in embarrassment, attempting to continue when the buzzing stopped. 

“Right. So, you know I really care about you–”

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. 

Grimacing, Taehyung dove his free hand into his pocket when it began to go off again, sending the call to voicemail blindly, Y/N losing confidence by the second. 

“Y/N?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I just wanted to tell you I really care for you, and we haven’t spent a lot of time together lately, but I need you to know–” Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. “Why don’t you get that? It seems like it might be important.” Y/N swallowed down the last of her declaration: I need you to know I love you. 

Ticked, Taehyung dug his phone out of his pocket, Y/N catching the caller ID before he picked up. Someone named ‘Diana’ was eagerly trying to reach him, ice water being dumped over Y/N’s flame, her heart stopping dead in her chest when Taehyung let go of her hand and answered the phone. 

“Di, what’s up?” Taehyung held a finger up to Y/N, jaw tense, Y/N flinching at the sound of a raspy female voice coming through the phone pressed to the side of his face. 

It was like she had become a balloon rapidly deflating, like the string tying it together was pulled free. Palm tingling now that Taehyung’s hand wasn’t resting in hers, she sat there completely flabbergasted.

“No, I’m not coming by the rec center today, Di. I’m developing the photos we took in the darkroom at my house, they’ll be ready next week. I don’t know if I’ll see you this weekend…”

Y/N had heard enough. Knees knocking together, she stood from the couch, Taehyung’s eyebrows pulling together in confusion, ignoring Diana’s whines on the other line. Speedily collecting her sheet music from the piano, she gave Taehyung a wave and a half smile. 

“You finish your call, I gotta get ready for Yoongi’s birthday dinner tonight. Talk later?” Y/N was proud that her voice wasn’t shaky or full of pain, Taehyung blinking at her and his expression finally wiping blank again. He gave her a thumbs up, looking out the window as she left. 

“Yeah, I know Di. I saw you last weekend, though.” Taehyung’s tone was beyond agitated as she shut the soundproof door, not wanting to spend one more second listening in on the conversation. 

She was there, right there. About to tell Taehyung how she truly felt about him, to push past all of the angst between her and him, all for her hopes to crash around her with an interruptive phone call. Any confidence she had to confess her feelings to him was dashed and divided as soon as she heard the Kodiak hybrid call the woman on the phone Di. Taehyung had never given Y/N a nickname before, and that realization had her thinking that perhaps she had overestimated how he felt about her. Perhaps, to him, she was his guardian, someone off-limits romantically, someone that he would deem inconceivable to have those sort of feelings for. Y/N was the type to race, barrel, and fly into conclusions, so she had no trouble believing these spiraling thoughts as she locked herself in her bedroom.

Running her fingers through her hair, yanking the roots, she tried to take deep, centering breaths, like the ones Namjoon taught her how to do. Thankfully, after a few rounds of clutching her bedpost and breathing like a yoga instructor, it seemed to do the trick. Staring at herself in her vanity mirror, she came to one more, positive, at least, conclusion: at least Taehyung wasn’t upset with her, and perhaps he wouldn’t be so avoidant anymore. 

Sighing raggedly, she checked her watch, swearing colorfully. Yoongi would be home shortly, so she’d have to move her ass like it was on fire to get ready for the dinner reservation she planned. Putting Taehyung out of her mind, as difficult as it was, she changed gears when she glanced at the silvery dress she picked up for the occasion, which happened to be one of Yoongi’s favorite colors. While she was turning on the shower tap, her phone chimed in her pocket, Y/N forgetting that she managed to swipe it out of Taehyung’s lap when he answered Diana’s phone call. 

Yoongi 👼🏻: On my way home. 

Y/N: Okay, birthday boy ❤️

Yoongi 👼🏻: 🙄❤️

Surprisingly, there was about half an hour to spare by the time Y/N had finished getting ready. Throwing a light sweater over the satiny dress she pulled on– mostly to prevent Seokjin from having a stroke that she was scantily dressed in early spring weather again– she made sure her hair and makeup was how she wanted it and set out to find her leopard hybrid. 

In the hallway, the scent of greasy pizza hit her square in the face. Suspecting that Hoseok probably had Yoongi stop by Sal’s for some dinner before she and the leopard hybrid left for the night, the sounds of an action movie blaring in the parlor had her snickering. For beings with superior hearing, her boys loved to jack up the surround sound. Pausing by the staircase, she could hear Yoongi playing piano upstairs, probably waiting for her. Giddy, she skipped up the stairs, holding onto the old carved banister with reverence. Yoongi seemed to be playing the song he composed for Y/N, making her blush and nearly swoon into the music room. 

Yoongi was seated on the bench where she was perched just hours ago. Dressed sharply in black dress pants and a matching dress shirt, the monochrome outfit highlighted the glimmer of his accessories– rings, bracelets, earrings, and of course, the sparkly chain clasped around his throat. His triangular ears immediately twitched towards her direction even if his face didn’t, his tempo never faltering even when she started heading right for him, a tender smile on her face when she ended up behind him. Ducking, she pressed a soft kiss to the crown of his head, in between his spotted ears, giggling when his tail tickled the bare skin of her thighs. 

“You look nice,” Y/N purred into his hair, breathing in his shampoo. It was then when Yoongi stopped playing, craning his chin upwards to nuzzle his nose into her neck, making a similar purr to hers. “Happy birthday, Yoongi!”

“Ugh. I’m old,” Yoongi complained, his eyelashes tickling the skin of her throat. 

“No you’re not. You’re just 30, the same age as Seokjin,” Y/N poked his shoulder, sliding her palm along his back as she rounded the bench, sitting on his free side. 

“Silly girl, furthering my point. He’s old, too,” Yoongi grouched, ears turning back when Y/N swat at his forearm reproachfully. “Don’t whack me, it’s my birthday.”

“You’re sending some mixed signals about that, angel,” Y/N snorted, feeling his hand curl around her hip, fingers sliding along the satin material sensually. “Excited for dinner?”

“You keep hyping it up, are they going to bring out a cake and sing to me?” Yoongi asked, trepidation coloring his gravelly tone. 

“Oh shit, do you want me to call and ask if they can do that?” Y/N joked, pretending to pick up her phone and dial the restaurant. Promptly, Yoongi snatched her phone away, stuffing it into the pocket of his dress pants. “Kidding. I just hope you like the food.”

“I’ll eat anything,” Yoongi shrugged, pink blush dusting his cheeks as shy purrs filled the room. 

“Wanna play ‘Moonlight Lovers’ before we go? I practiced for you,” Y/N changed the subject, cozy tucked into his side. 

“Did you?”

“Mm-hmm. I promised, didn’t I?” Y/N teased, humming when Yoongi planted a kiss on her jaw bone. To his dismay, she got up from the bench, making haste to the opposite end of the room. “You’re gonna sing while I play?”

“Sure, but? What are you doing, silly?”

“Look forward, angel!” Y/N pointed straight ahead, encouraging her leopard hybrid to tear his scrutiny from her fumbling with a telescope-like device in the corner. Slowly, he did. 

The lights were low, so Y/N was pleased that the projection lamp displayed the image of the pearly white moon perfectly onto the wall beyond the grand piano. For a small fee on the internet, she was able to give Yoongi the full moon whenever he wanted, and he was a stunned, a still figure on the piano bench when she returned to his side, snuggling back into him. 

Y/N didn’t wait for a response to the surprise, instead launching straight into the jazzy first bars of the song with practiced ease, grinning when Yoongi’s sock-clad food pressed over hers on the sustain pedal. Clingy as ever and seemingly recovering, Yoongi rested his chin on Y/N’s shoulder while she worked her way through the first few measures, nuzzling closer to her when she shivered at the ticklish sensation of his ears against her skin. 

The world existed and it was just her and Yoongi, his voice quiet when he began singing the first verse, Y/N following along in her head since she had memorized the lyrics by then. Not knowing where his body began and hers ended, it was a miracle she was able to concentrate playing on tempo. The pace picked up at the refrain just before the chorus, and Y/N pushed past her nerves to join Yoongi in singing. 

And we met under the moonlit sky

It was you, of all, who caught my eye

When you’re gone, I’m incomplete

No one but you

Has been this sweet

And under the moonlit sky

Across seas, you and I 

Never again, will say goodbye

Y/N didn’t consider herself to be a world-class singer by any means, but with the way Yoongi’s arm tightened around her back, she could tell that he liked the sound of it, his own voice cutting off momentarily when she first began to harmonize with him. She played the rest of the song like that, Yoongi still tucked into the crook of her neck, his eyes closed.

Soaking in the moment, something in his chest unfurling and threatening to burst free, he clung to Y/N, spellbound as she perfectly played the last few measures of the song, gentle silence ringing out in the room when she finished. Unable to move, speak, or breathe, Yoongi went limp when Y/N kissed his forehead, letting him process. 

“Perfect,” Yoongi managed, squeezing Y/N around her middle, filled with both nostalgia and joy, the artificial moonlight projected in the room somehow feeling so real. “You really must have practiced hard.”

“What can I say? I had the best teacher ever,” Y/N replied, bashfully, happy to hold Yoongi as long as he wanted; even risking missing their dinner reservations. 

“I’m proud of my student. She’s come a long way,” Yoongi murmured, straightening up but still maintaining his possessive hold on her. Melting at the pure adoration on her face, Yoongi couldn’t help but cup the side of her face. “My mom would have loved you.”

Y/N’s face grew hot, Yoongi felt it under his palm, her lower lip wobbling. 

“Really?”

“Maybe not as much as I love you, but yeah, she would have. You two have the same heart,” Yoongi smiled, not feeling an ounce of sadness like he usually did on his birthday the previous three years. “Wanna know a little bit more about her before we go? We still have time.”

“Please?” Y/N’s expression grew eager, Yoongi finding it adorable, pinching her nose playfully. 

“Her and I lived in a tiny apartment above The Black Lodge, courtesy of the owner– Barry was his name– I suspect that Barry might have been in love with my mom. Barry was old-school, though, and never acted on anything considering a lot of guys his age thought human and hybrid relationships were taboo,” Y/N pouted, but Yoongi shook his head and rubbed circles on her waist with his thumb. 

“Anyways, yeah, we lived in a one-bedroom above the bar courtesy of Barry. My mom always insisted I take the bedroom, and she’d fall asleep on a loveseat in the living room watching old Marilyn Monroe movies. She wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer, ever, just like you. She smoked those long, skinny cigarettes and her favorite drink was a Manhattan. My mom could write a song in twenty minutes, I don’t know how she did it. She would sing like her voice came up from the Earth’s crust and flowed through her mouth. And her perfume… she’d always wear something floral to remind her of the spring, when I was born.”

“Your mom sounds glamorous, like a movie star. I bet she was beautiful, too,” Y/N’s voice was dreamy, thick with emotion. She pictured a woman just as striking as her Yoongi, with the same spotty ears and tail, the same lithe, graceful figure. 

“Mm, she was,” Yoongi agreed, distantly wishing he had a picture of her to show Y/N. “Alright, we should head out. You can ask me more questions on the way there, if you want.”

Y/N nodded enthusiastically, thrilled that Yoongi had opened up to her so much over time. There was something so wonderful about knowing someone on their deeper levels, especially a loved one, so Y/N cherished every tidbit of information Yoongi would offer her. Blissfully, knowing truly nothing could ruin her mood, she let Yoongi wait outside and order the taxi while she bid goodbye to the others in the parlor. 

“Y/N, pretty, one of these days you’re gonna catch a cold,” Seokjin accused from his spot on the floor, wrapped in a throw blanket himself, staring pointedly at her bare legs. Y/N simply shook her head, bending low, and kissed his cheek softly, a feline chirp of pleasure leaving his lips and his orange eyes glowing in the dim light of the living room. 

“We’ll be back in a little while. Please don’t eat the birthday cake until then,” Y/N drove that specific point home by looking directly at Namjoon, who was sheepishly gnawing on his fingernails on the couch, his book forgotten in his lap. 

“Pick me up some?” Jeongguk lifted an empty carton of Marlboro reds in the air, tapping it hollowly, Y/N scowling. 

“What’s the magic word, sweets?”

“For fu-” Jeongguk coughed when Namjoon sharply thwacked the back of his head with his book. “Please.”

“I have half a mind to buy you some nicotine patches,” Y/N muttered, accepting a jolty, goofy hug from Hoseok on the leather recliner. “Not to stir the pot, but once again, Jimin. You’re in charge.”

A series of exasperated groans filled the room as Jimin preened at the responsibility, nodding once at Y/N importantly. Taehyung, all the way at the back of the room by the window overlooking the backyard, was busy fussing over his camera, even if his ears were angled to the sound of her voice. 

“I’m the eldest, shouldn’t I be in charge?” Seokjin sulked, his dark ears downturned just like the full corners of his mouth. Y/N simply snorted, knowing he was just pouting on purpose, giving him one last hair ruffle before starting to the foyer. 

“I’ll be back soon, my sweet boys, alright?” Y/N blew the six hybrids a kiss, the various reactions of amusement and embarrassment making her feel warm and fuzzy as she made her way to the leopard hybrid waiting for her on the porch. 

“I used to walk by this place on my way to the barber,” Yoongi remarked when the cab dropped them off at the restaurant, Y/N lacing their fingers together and admiring the way the city lights reflected off of his hazel eyes.

“Oh yeah? The one who gave you crazy haircuts?” Y/N mussed Yoongi’s long locks, smiling at him widely. “Speaking of. Never cut your hair short, please.”

“Why not, you like it like this?” Yoongi smirked devilishly, letting Y/N tug him into the restaurant.

“Yeah, it suits you! Don’t touch it, I’ll be really mad,” Y/N threatened, approaching the hostess’ booth. “Hi, we have an 8:00 reservation under the name Y/L/N.”

The restaurant Y/N found for Yoongi’s birthday was a jazzy hole-in-the-wall, the dining room filled with dim candle light. The place almost looked like a 20’s speakeasy, decked out with cushy red velvet booths, black tables, and old lamps scattered about. Y/N knew where Yoongi’s sight immediately went: the glossy grand piano beside the bar, where a gentleman in a suit was playing something slow and seductive. Still holding his hand, Y/N pulled Yoongi after the hostess, delighted with the intimate booth they ended up in, with a perfect view of the piano. 

“This is a lot nicer than The Black Lodge,” Yoongi said dryly, still glancing around curiously, his nose twitching. “What kind of food do they have?”

“Italian, baby. We’re in the North End,” Y/N giggled, nudging his shin under the table and passing him a menu. Yoongi pouted at her teasing, immediately flipping the menu over to check the drink list. “After we eat, we can get some pastries to bring home!”

“You better hide them from the wolf, he’ll eat them all,” Yoongi warned, though Y/N had to admit, he was right. 

“I’ll just get extra,” Y/N shrugged, the waitress promptly coming by to take their drink orders. Yoongi picked out a red wine, so Y/N went ahead and ordered the bottle, which had him squirming in his seat uncomfortably. “You don’t like being spoiled, angel?”

“Just not used to it,” Yoongi shook his head, his ears flattening to his head in embarrassment. “But… this is nice. You’re pretty good at planning birthdays, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“I should turn the talent into a business,” Y/N smirked around the lip of her wine glass, the Pinot Noir coating her throat like velvet. “What are you thinking about getting to eat?”

“Hmm… I feel like you can’t go wrong with steak,” Yoongi fiddled with his earrings, scanning the menu thoughtfully. 

“I think I’m gonna get the ravioli,” Y/N announced, stomach already growling, Yoongi’s acute hearing picking it up and making him snort. “Stop laughing!”

When the waiter returned, he mercifully brought bread and oil, which Y/N happily snacked on with her wine, enjoying both the music and alone time with Yoongi. 

“How’s the coaching gig?”

“I don’t know yet. The season doesn’t start until next week, all I’ve been doing is trying to figure out how to make practice plans. I’m not even sure I’m coach material.”

“Of course you are. You’re the best player on your own team, and kids love you. Besides, you taught me how to play piano in just a few months, you’re a natural born teacher, Yoongi,” Y/N shot down his doubts immediately, Yoongi looking away from her, shy. “I mean it! You’re patient, encouraging, and you keep me motivated. You’ll do really well.”

“You trying to butter me up?” Yoongi scoffed, tracking his index finger around the rim of his wine glass, eyes narrowed playfully. 

“Is it working?” Y/N shot back, leaning slightly across the table, getting a few inches closer to his face. “Besides. It’s rewarding to make you proud.”

“Is that right?” Yoongi cocked his head, eyes dropping to Y/N’s hand, where she was tracing the bracelet around his wrist delicately. “Careful, Y/N.”

“I’m not doing anything!” Y/N exclaimed innocently, withdrawing her touch and sitting back with a wink, sipping her wine again. 

“So, everything went well during your thing with the wolf and elk?” Yoongi changed the subject, a wicked gleam still in his eyes. 

“Surprisingly, yes. I wish I could have filmed Jeongguk speaking in Latin for you. It was like watching an exorcism movie,” Y/N joked, Yoongi shaking his head in amusement. “The family moved back in yesterday. Next week we’re going to meet with them and make sure the cleansing and banishment did its job.”

“Well, I think a ‘congratulations’ is due,” Yoongi refilled both of their wine glasses, Y/N giggling when they clinked them together. 

The man who was playing the piano finished his song, the intimate restaurant breaking out in polite applause. Y/N specifically looked for a restaurant like that one, one where diners could get up and play if they desired. It seemed Yoongi was realizing what was going on, an elderly woman getting up from her booth and ambling towards the piano with her martini. Her and Yoongi snickered when the woman began to play ‘Singin’ in the Rain’, vocalizing into the microphone a tad off-key. 

Before Y/N could make a comment, their food arrived, which was a good thing since the wine was starting to make her feel flushed and ready to tackle her handsome date. The liquid courage was something she needed, though, as she began to anticipate the surprise she planned for Yoongi, sneaking a look at him while he was mid-bite of his steak. The meal passed by amicably, Yoongi letting her feed him a sliver of ravioli across the table, Y/N happy that she was able to treat Yoongi to a nice birthday dinner after three years of him likely not celebrating the day at all. 

“Espresso?” The waiter returned to collect the plates once they were done, Y/N nodding, hoping to draw out the dinner just a little longer. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the old woman at the piano begin to get up from the bench, Y/N digging through her purse and standing, causing Yoongi to lift an eyebrow at her. 

“Be right back,” Y/N breathed, setting off in the direction of the piano before her nerves could get the better of her, sheet music in one of her hands. 

She could feel eyes on her as she approached the bench, clearing her throat and setting the music on the stand, thankful that the piano was similar to the one she had back at home. Clearing her throat, she scanned the restaurant once, finding Yoongi across the room, staring at her with utter confusion and anticipation. Smiling at him, she leaned towards the microphone. 

“I hope you’re all having a nice evening,” Y/N began, trying not to cringe at the sound of her own voice. “I wanted to play a song I wrote tonight for someone special to me, on his birthday. This song is called ‘Soul Recognition’.”

With that, Y/N took a deep breath, easing into the first few measures. While at first, she expected to feel nervous and shaky, the mere reminder that Yoongi was watching her play had her relaxing and getting into the flow. Even though she was focused on the sheet music in front of her, she could feel Yoongi’s eyes on her from the other side of the room– that unspoken connection she had with him the very inspiration for the song’s title she had finally decided on. 

Yoongi didn’t even register the waiter returning with two small cups of espresso, completely spellbound watching Y/N play a song she composed for him. Completely taken off guard, unaware that his mouth was wide open, all other noise in the restaurant dimmed completely while he drowned in her melody. The song was sweet, yearning, gentle, Y/N’s hands gliding over the keys smoothly, and the lights of the restaurant reflecting off of her shimmery dress and making her look like a star. Overcome with an intense feeling in his chest, not unlike the one he experienced earlier in the music room, Yoongi stopped breathing and the Earth stilled on its axis. Something clicked into place as he watched her, something both primal and cosmic, and all he could think about was making her his completely. 

Yoongi didn’t even hear the applause all around him when Y/N finished her piece, the ending joyful and full, all he could do was stumble out of the booth, smacking cash onto the table and urgently crossing the restaurant. Y/N’s eyes went wide, bashful for some reason, meeting Yoongi in the middle. Before she could say anything, her face was in Yoongi’s hands, his lips crashing down on hers desperately, making her whimper in surprise. Y/N could taste something in his kiss, something different, important, and she was floating from it. Not caring about the people watching or the increase in applause at their spectacle, Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut, kissing him back just as passionately. 

Yoongi pulled away all too soon, his eyes glassy, and pulled Y/N into his side, happy purrs vibrating through his chest. 

“Did you like it?” Y/N asked meekly, a little dazed from the kiss, letting him guide her out of the restaurant with haste. Stopping outside, next to a bakery with the smell of chocolate flooding out into the street, Y/N offered Yoongi the hand-written sheet music shyly. 

“It was beautiful,” Yoongi’s voice was thick, overwhelmed. “I loved it. You’re perfect, baby.”

Yoongi cupped her face again, kissing her cheeks with reverence. Her insides igniting, she hummed with satisfaction, his approval and proud tone of voice making the weeks of striking out composition wise worth it. 

“Let’s get those pastries before we go home. You’re not leaving my sight tonight, though,” Yoongi warned her, grabbing a hold of her hand, dragging her to the entrance of the bakery. The way he warned her was full of dark promise, almost feral, Y/N deciding she couldn’t care less about the pastries. 

Y/N hardly had time to place the ginormous box of pastries on the kitchen island before Yoongi was hauling her away, making her squeal as he slung her over his shoulder. The house was mostly dark, but it sounded like a few of the hybrids were still watching movies, so the way the leopard hybrid was so brazenly carrying her up the stairs had her cheeks on fire. 

“Yoongi!” Y/N whisper-shouted, the hybrid grunting and pushing the door to his bedroom open, setting her down as soon as they were inside. “W-what are you– the others!” 

Y/N watched Yoongi close and lock his door, distractedly pushing a towel under the threshold, as if that would do anything. A low, bone-chilling growl ripped through his throat at her mention of ‘the others’ Y/N’s gut tightening at the sound. 

“It’s still my birthday, you’re still going to spend the rest of it with me, right?” Yoongi’s voice dropped an octave, stalking towards her slowly, Y/N backing up until her knees hit the foot of his bed, staring up at him nervously. “Won’t you?”

“Yes, Yoongi,” Y/N whispered, entranced. With the sound of his name coming from her lips, Yoongi had that feeling again, one that was taking over him completely. 

Cocking his head, his gaze dropped to the cardigan slipping over her shoulders, reaching up to push the material off of her, the garment falling to the floor. Shivering at the temperature of the room on her bare shoulders, Y/N swallowed thickly, waiting for him to make the first move. There hadn’t been an instance where she had been intimate with Seokjin or Yoongi while the others were in earshot, and the idea of being listened to had adrenaline pulsing through her veins, shamefully. 

“Yoongi,” Y/N squirmed under his scrutiny, taking in every inch of her in the cocktail dress that left little to the imagination. 

“You’re gonna have to be quiet,” Yoongi sighed, as if the thought somewhat disappointed him, a fingertip sliding slowly up the side of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath her skin. “Think you can do that?”

“Anything for you,” Y/N admitted without hesitation, watching his expression soften. Deciding to act on her own, Y/N leaned forward up on her tiptoes, wrapping her arms around Yoongi’s neck, giving a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Love you.”

Yoongi shuddered, cupping her hips, letting her kiss him gently, Y/N pouring all the love she had for him into the gesture. He returned it in kind, pulling her impossibly close, swiping his tongue along her lower lip heavily. Y/N was already failing at his request for her to be quiet, tiny mewls falling into Yoongi’s mouth, making him smirk against her. Winding her fingers in his hair, Y/N pressed her body even closer to him, feeling his chest rumble beneath her. 

“Lay down, baby,” Yoongi mumbled against her lips, lightly pushing on her hips, causing her knees to buckle and her to collapse backwards on his bed. 

She watched, heat flashing over her skin, as Yoongi stared down at her, methodically unbuttoning his black dress shirt, the sight of his chest being revealed bit by bit drying up her mouth. Planting her feet on the bed, she brought her knees together, attempting to rub her thighs together for friction, Yoongi’s pupils dilated at the sight. 

“Eager?” Yoongi teased, pushing his dress shirt off his shoulders, licking his lips. He couldn’t deny that he, himself, was nearly bursting at the seams. 

“Always,” Y/N looked up at him through her eyelashes, ready for him to pounce on her. “Come here.”

Grunting, unable to hold himself back, Yoongi was on top of her in a heartbeat, his lips crushing hers, Y/N arching upwards into his chest, tracing her hands all over his silky, feverish skin. Flicking her tongue against the roof of his mouth, Yoongi made a choked noise of pleasure, pressing his hips into hers. 

“I love you, baby,” Yoongi murmured, tucking his face into her neck and sponging the sensitive flesh with kisses, Y/N writing beneath him. “Let’s get you out of this pretty dress, hmm?”

Yoongi sat back on his heels, Y/N sitting up slightly and putting her arms in the air, waiting for Yoongi to strip the fabric from her body. Mouth watering at the sight of the swollen petals of her lips and the glazed look in her eyes, her pounding heartbeat was music to Yoongi’s ears. Sliding his hands up her thighs, Yoongi got a hold of the hem of her dress, pulling it up and over her head, Y/N’s face on fire when she remembered she didn’t wear a bra with her outfit. Yoongi, however, groaned thickly, pushing on her hips again, making her fall back against the pillows with a squeak. 

Immediately, his mouth was on her chest, Y/N biting down on her fist when his lips wrapped around a nipple, whimpering as his sharpened canines scraped over the sensitive bud. Yoongi was usually a talker in the bedroom, but the mood was different that night, like he was trying to taste every inch of her. Gliding her free hand through his hair, Y/N made pathetic, small noises as he had his way with her chest. 

“Y-yoongi,” Y/N felt her lace underwear sticking to her center already, though truthfully, they had grown damp the moment he kissed her in the restaurant. Tongue passing over one of the ridges of her ribs, Yoongi hummed in response, enjoying being completely tangled up in her. 

Gasping sharply, she felt Yoongi cup her through her panties, lips returning to her mouth, his tongue rolling against hers sensually. Swallowing the noises she was making, Yoongi growled at the wetness seeping through her panties, tracing a circle around her clothed clit. Y/N cried out, her embarrassment clear as day on her face when she realized the sound was anything but quiet, Yoongi lowly chuckling against her throat.

“Quiet, baby,” Yoongi reminded her, though he did absolutely nothing to encourage her to actually be quiet when he pushed the gusset of her panties to the side and dipped his fingers between her soaked folds. Hips bucking into his hand, Y/N looked at her leopard hybrid imploringly, eyebrows pulled together as he touched her. 

“Fuck,” Yoongi groaned, easily sliding a finger into her sopping cunt, Y/N clawing at his chest and leaving red scratches in her wake. “Missed this pussy…”

Y/N couldn’t hold back the mewls she was making, especially when he added a second digit to join the first, thumb pressing down sharply on her clit. Tears pricking the corners of her eyes, frustrated she couldn’t be as vocal as she wanted to be, she bit down on Yoongi’s shoulder when he curled his fingers into her G-spot. 

He worked her up slowly, the lewd sounds of her wetness slipping into his palm driving him absolutely crazy. Biting down on Yoongi’s shoulder didn’t work for long as the coil in her abdomen began to tighten, a shuddering moan filling the bedroom, Yoongi hissing and withdrawing his fingers from her cunt, a dismayed whine falling from Y/N’s lips. Before she could complain, Yoongi was pulling her panties off of her body, balling them up, and while her mouth was still open, Yoongi pushed the fabric into her mouth. Eyes bugging out of her head, Y/N was trembling beneath the leopard hybrid, who appeared quite smug that he managed to gag her. 

“There we go, huh?” Yoongi cooed, stroking through her folds again, Y/N yanking at the belt loops of his dress pants and unintelligibly groaning something. “What’s that? Wanna cum?”

Y/N nodded eagerly, Yoongi’s dark, condescending chuckle making her ears burn. Contrary to his question, he didn’t slip his fingers back into her weeping cunt, instead he teasingly traced her entrance, Y/N throwing her head back in frustration. Yoongi was close to losing his own patience, hastily ridding himself of his pants, tossing them somewhere behind him. 

Saliva soaking the fabric of her ruined panties, Y/N ached to take the gag out of her mouth, but Yoongi shot her a warning look, so she simply squirmed on the bed and nearly choked on the panties when he settled his hips against hers, rolling them. Yoongi nearly collapsed at the friction, and Y/N keened at the sensation of his bulge colliding against her tacky core, desperate for him to be inside her already. 

“That’s a good girl, behaving,” Yoongi mumbled into her ear, kissing just below it while a free hand squeezed at her breast. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the gag out soon. Wanna hear you when you cum for me, baby.”

Feeling wetness gushing out of her in response to his filthy words, she tried to implore him to get on with it with her eyes. Rolling his hips against her again, the two of them writing together like desperate teenagers, Y/N ran her hands down Yoongi’s toned back, the leopard hybrid sharply biting down on her clavicle when her fingertips brushed the base of his tail, his hips stuttering. 

“F-fuck, Y/N,” Yoongi whined, Y/N never hearing him sound so needy. Using her fingernails, she lightly scraped through the silky fur, Yoongi finally snapping. 

Shucking his boxers off, Y/N’s mouth filled with saliva as she watched his erection spring up from the material. Distractedly, Yoongi peeled her panties out of her mouth, Y/N gasping for air when he hooked one of her legs around his waist. Again, Yoongi kissed her, a flurry of tongue and teeth, needing to taste her, to consume her. Y/N could hardly keep up, holding him tightly around the neck, the coolness of his silver chain hitting her in the face as he lined himself up. Breath catching, she moaned into Yoongi’s plush lips as he pushed in, his teeth gritting at the tight fit. 

“Fuck, baby,” Yoongi panted, planting one of his palms beside her face for leverage, the walls of her cunt spasming around him as she got used to his size. “So good–”

“Please, please,” Y/N whimpered, trying to keep her tone in check so he wouldn’t gag her again. Yoongi’s ears fluttered at her sweet, ruined voice, the grip he had on her thigh hooked around his waist bruising. “Baby…”

Biting on the inside of his cheek, Yoongi knew what she wanted without her having to vocalize it. Slowly, he rolled his hips, the drag of her walls around his cock intoxicating, both of them breathing heavily into each other’s mouths. It was the look on her face that had Yoongi control dissolving into nothing, the look of complete and utter love, and with a snarl, he tucked his nose into her neck, snapping his hips more harshly into hers. 

“Baby, my baby,” Yoongi moaned into her throat, tasting sweat on her skin. Wild, being driven crazy by the muffled cries she was trying to keep in check with a hand pressed over her lips, Yoongi found himself babbling and unleashing the emotions he was feeling the entire night. “I love you so much. My mate.”

Y/N gasped, and it had nothing to do with how his cock was hitting every sweet spot inside of her, it was his words. Grabbing a fistful of his hair, Y/N kissed him, relishing in the feline purrs of elation he was making. 

“M-mate?” Y/N managed breathlessly, arching into him when his pelvis brushed against her clit with each stroke, his lips in her hair. 

“Mm-hmm. Mate, you’re mine,” Yoongi mumbled deliriously, the pitch of her moans telling him she wasn’t going to last much longer. “Forever, baby.”

With a hand around her throat, Yoongi pinned her to the mattress, the speed of his thrusts picking up, a feral sort of possession beginning to take over him darkly. By then, he didn’t care if the whole neighborhood heard what they were doing, focused solely on pleasuring his mate. With the weight of his palm on her throat and the way he angled the tip of his cock directly into her G-spot, Y/N was clenching around him unexpectedly, the strength of her orgasm taking the wind out of her. 

“That’s it, baby, cum for me, my sweet mate,” Yoongi lightly squeezed the sides of her throat, not far behind her, truthfully. “Shit. I’m–”

“Yoongi,” Y/N’s voice was broken, her skin covered in a thin coat of sweat, and when she leaned up to kiss him again, Yoongi was gone. Hips stilling, he came with a ruined moan, Y/N shivering at the sensation of his hot cum filling her, pressing shaky kisses to the side of his face as pleasure tore through him violently. 

Collapsed on top of her and not entirely sure he could move, Yoongi tried to catch his breath as Y/N tenderly ran her fingers through his hair, her own chest heaving beneath him. The feeling he had earlier in the day, the unfurling of something from inside, he realized what it was the second she finished playing the song she wrote from her. Y/N was his mate, and he admittedly should have figured that out sooner, but the realization had all the stars in his sky lining up. There had never been a time where Yoongi felt closer to his animalistic side rather than human, which he used to be afraid of showing to Y/N. But there she was, accepting of him with wide open arms and unconditional acceptance. His mate could be no one but her. 

“Am I really… your mate?” Y/N asked hesitantly, after several minutes of enjoying post-coital bliss. She didn’t really care that Yoongi’s heavy body was crushing her, simply letting him hide away from the world in the crook of her neck, here he was still mouthing away at the skin. Pausing, Yoongi pulled away slightly, worry creasing his brow. 

“Does that bother you?” Yoongi asked carefully, Y/N blanching and immediately shaking her head. 

“Absolutely not, why would it? I adore you, Yoongi,” Y/N insisted, brushing sweaty hair out of his face. Relaxing again, Yoongi purred, nudging the tip of her nose with his. 

“‘M tired,” Yoongi mumbled, Y/N wincing when he pulled out of her, blindly reaching for a towel on the floor to mop up the mess between her legs. “You’re gonna stay with me, right?”

“Is that another birthday wish, angel?” Y/N teased, Yoongi grumbling and rolling off of her, gathered the crumpled quilt at the foot of his bed and pulled it up over the two of them, effectively keeping Y/N there. “Too tired to quip back?”

“Smart mouth,” Yoongi offered, opening up his arms and looking at her through lidded eyes. “Lemme hold you.”

Snickering, Y/N wiggled closer to her leopard hybrid, resting her cheek on his chest, pouting at the red lines she left on his skin. Tracing them softly, she pressed a kiss to one of the marks, Yoongi’s arms snaking around her middle. 

“Thank you for writing me a song,” Yoongi broke the silence, holding her tight. 

“Thank you for writing me one. It’s about time you had one too,” Y/N replied, Yoongi’s chest shaking with quiet laughter at the response. Yawning, she felt sated, lax in his arms, and while she was in for an interesting morning encountering the others, it was one of the furthest things from her mind. “Love you.”

Yoongi didn’t respond with words, instead, he kissed the top of her head, drawing patterns over her waist until her breathing evened out, making sure she was asleep before he allowed himself to drift off into a dreamless sleep. 

Sunday was the day of the week Y/N had laundry duty, and she was knee-deep in dirty socks. Thankfully, she had a helper with her, even if the rest of her housemates accused him of somehow helping Y/N ‘cheat’ at laundry duty. Grimacing at a particularly dirty pair of socks, she tossed them into the wash, Seokjin helpfully tossing scented laundry beads into the machine with a smile. 

“Did you finish your book for tomorrow’s meeting, honey?” Y/N asked him, Seokjin wrinkling his nose at one of Jimin’s muddy socks. 

“Yeah, it was a pretty quick read this week,” Seokjin replied, a cute grin on his face when Y/N shut the washer’s lid, leaning against it leisurely. “This week isn’t going to be as busy for you, is it?”

“No, thankfully. Last week was nuts,” Y/N sighed, placing the detergent back on the shelf. “I told you I switched around my work days, right? I’m going to do Tuesdays-Thursdays, not including the odd consultation here and there.”

“I remember you telling me, yes,” Seokjin tickled her sides, wanting to see her smile. “Four day weekends, that’ll be nice!”

Squeaking, she felt Seokjin unexpectedly pick her up by her hips, spinning her around and setting her on top of the dryer. Now eye-level with him, Y/N blushed, straightening out the collar of his loose tee-shirt. 

“It will be. More time to spend with you,” Y/N agreed. More time for her to spend with all of them. Seokjin handed her a pair of jeans to fold– Yoongi’s, by the look of them, making Y/N pause and think about her leopard hybrid again. 

Ever since Yoongi called her his mate, there was little else she thought about. Not only that, but it had her thinking about ruts again; when Yoongi would have his, she would be the one he would spend it with. Going stiff, she halted her folding, Seokjin raising an eyebrow at her while he placed a folded graphic tee of Jeongguk’s on the shelf. 

“Something on your mind, pretty girl?” Seokjin’s tail wound around his leg curiously, Y/N jolted out of her thoughts. Seokjin, out of all of her hybrids, was one of the easiest to confide in. Recalling her phone conversation with Ben, she decided to ask her burning questions after all. 

“Yeah, actually. Can I ask you a couple of things? About hybrids,” Y/N twitched on top of the dryer, all of Seokjin’s attention on her at once. He nodded straight away, predictably. 

“Um, how do I put this…” Y/N started, embarrassed. “You know what? Screw it. I wanted to ask about ruts. Is there a specific, um, I don’t know. Procedure to go through? Like if one of you wants a partner to help you through it, who do I contact?”

Seokjin’s neck colored bright red, apparently not expecting questions like that. An array of reactions played across his handsome face: bashfulness, disbelief, and pure shock. 

“I– I don’t know about the others, pretty, but when mine happens, I,” he swallowed, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “Well, I’d hope that you would be the one to help me through it. I wouldn’t want anybody else.”

Taking a second to process that, Y/N grew hot, Seokjin uttering the last part of his response as if the idea of spending his rut with anyone else was completely repulsive. 

“You wouldn’t?” Y/N clarified stupidly, Seokjin making a feline noise of annoyance. 

“Of course not. You’re the only one for me, pretty,” Seokjin drove home, squeezing her knee. “As for the others… Well, when their times come, I’m sure if they need something, they’ll tell you. Mmm?”

“So… how do you know when it will happen?” 

“Honestly, the instinct, or ruts in general I should say, usually don’t  kick in full-force for us until we meet someone we feel strongly about romantically. Prior to that, it’s usually just a week or so of secluded ‘downtime’, if you will. Mine has never been strong enough to need a partner, but I suspect that will change now that I’m with you…” Seokjin explained, Y/N hanging off every word.

“Because of me?”

“Well, yes,” Seokjin pinched her cheek. “Of course.”

“Okay. That answers my questions at the moment,” Y/N mumbled, skin still on fire. 

Seokjin snorted, recovering smoothly from the bombshell she dropped on him, stepping forward to kiss the tip of her nose. Eyes fluttering shut, she soaked in his clean scent, appreciating the way he never teased her about matters surrounding her lack of knowledge on hybrids.

“Alright, let’s finish up in here. I’m gonna teach you how to make sourdough today, remember, pretty girl?” Seokjin pushed another pair of jeans into her lap, winking. 

The woman standing in front of her, Namjoon, and Jeongguk seemed like an entirely different one from the one in their memories. Ms. Sanders– Erika– no longer had purplish circles under her eyes, her posture wasn’t shrunken, and she flung the front door to her house open with confidence. Stunned, her and her two hybrids lingered on the concrete porch, the woman eagerly gesturing them inside. 

“Oh my goodness. I don’t know what to say. The house is like a completely different home,” Erika rushed out, Y/N breathing in the crisp, fresh air in the living room with deep satisfaction. “I cannot thank you three enough. Whatever you did worked completely.”

“So, everything has been going well since last Wednesday when you moved back in?” Y/N sought to confirm, sitting beside Jeongguk on the couch and accepting a mug of tea from the young mother gratefully. 

“Tommy’s nightmares stopped. Julie’s coming out of her shell again. I haven’t seen a single shadow, or heard any knocking on the walls. I can’t believe it,” Erika gushed, glancing at the three of them like they were her saviors. Jeongguk, beside her, fidgeted in his seat in reaction to the attention, while Namjoon stood off to the side, sipping his mug of tea with pink ears. 

“I’m so happy to hear that. I brought you a few things, just to give you an added layer of protection. I made these amulets for you and the children to wear when leaving the house, and Jeongguk has added some incense from the church to this bag for you to burn as well,” Y/N handed the mother a gift bag, which she accepted gratefully. 

Jeongguk explained how and when to use the incense, and Namjoon answered a few questions about the investigation, but after the tea was finished, Y/N and her hybrids took that as their cue to leave. Erika was in the middle of giving Y/N a very tight hug when the sound of footsteps came bounding down the stairs, making the three of them pause by the door. Tommy appeared in front of them, looking well-rested and healthy, holding onto his toy robot and staring up at Namjoon with complete awe. Y/N watched, stunned, as Tommy threw his arms around Namjoon, pressing his cheek into the wolf hybrid’s stomach, Jeongguk’s smoky chuckle filling the room as Namjoon went statue-still, hesitantly patting the young boy’s back. 

“Oh, I mentioned he loves wolves, didn’t I?” Erika clasped a hand over her mouth, her eyes misty but expression joyful. 

Y/N’s eye caught the top of the stairs, where Julie was leaning against the banister. The teenager nodded, just once, at her and Jeongguk, her subtle thank-you to them. Once Tommy managed to peel himself from Namjoon, the three of them were leaving the Sanders’ home for the final time, the small family waving at them from the living room window as they pulled away in the van. 

“Ow. Shit,” Jeongguk hissed from the backseat, Y/N flinching at the sound of his strained voice and promptly flying from her seat beside Namjoon to see what was wrong with the elk hybrid. 

To her horror, there was blood leaking from his hairline into his face, and he was poking around the base of his antlers again. Or antler, she realized, as one of them had fallen from his head and clattered to the floor, blood staining the van’s carpet.

“Oh my god! What happened?!” Y/N rushed over to him, cupping his face frantically. “Did you bump into something? What am I gonna do?”

Jeongguk grabbed her wrist, grimacing. 

“I’m fine, kiddo. Remember when I shed my velvet? I shed the antlers in the spring. They’ll grow back. It just hurts like a bitch when they fall out,” Patting her wrist, Jeongguk winced when the second antler fell to the floor, more blood spilling onto his forehead. “You can let go, I’m not dying.”

Reeling, the spots where his antlers once were gory and painful looking. As per his request, she released his face, staring at the antlers on the ground. Bending, she picked them up, Jeongguk clicking his tongue at her while he dabbed his face with a tissue. 

“Just chuck those out the window,” he muttered indifferently, Y/N scowling at him. 

“Absolutely not. What if I wanna keep them? They’re pretty!” Jeongguk stared at her like she grew a second head. 

“What, are you gonna make a lamp out of them or something?”

“No, you jerk. I don’t know, maybe I’ll put them on my altar,” Y/N held the antlers away from him, worried he’d try to take them out of her grasp. “You don’t look nearly as threatening without them, by the way.”

Indeed, now the only thing on the top of Jeongguk’s head were his tapered chestnut-colored ears, which were twitching cutely at the sound of her voice. She wondered when his antlers grew back, if he’d look like Bambi, his doe eyes and all. 

“Fine. Do whatever you want with them,” Jeongguk held his hands up, but there was faint color on his high cheekbones. 

“I will,” Y/N stuck her tongue out at him, marching back to the passenger seat. Namjoon glanced at the antlers in her lap with minor interest, amusement clear as day on his face. “Wanna get hot pot again before we go home?” Namjoon ended up really liking the restaurant, and she felt like having a celebratory lunch. 

“With me looking like this? Are you serious?” Jeongguk was incredulous, gesturing to the blood caked in his hair through the rearview mirror.

“Why not? Fits your goth agenda,” Y/N teased, Namjoon absolutely losing it beside her, eyes scrunching up into crescent moons. 

“Goth agenda? Are you trying to push your luck today?”

“Yes,” Y/N sang, noting that Namjoon was already driving in the direction of the restaurant. “And I’ll continue to.”

Yoongi wiped the sleep from his eyes, blindly stumbling towards the music room before he went downstairs for his coffee. He was in the middle of composing something new to teach Y/N, and wanted to retrieve his book of blank sheet music to work on over breakfast. Truly still waking up, he didn’t notice that Taehyung was in the room until he caught a whiff of the Kodiak hybrid’s scent. Pausing at the threshold of the door, Yoongi was surprised Taehyung didn’t flee the room as soon as Yoongi walked in. The Kodiak hybrid appeared deep in thought, the record he was playing on the turntable scratching uselessly on the label, like he had already listened through that side already. 

“Uh… hey,” Yoongi greeted him, noticing the tired look on the other hybrid’s face. Not expecting a response, since Taehyung pretty much avoided him since finding out about him and Y/N, Yoongi shrugged, heading to the piano to scoop up what he needed. 

“How’s Y/N lately?” Taehyung startled Yoongi by speaking gruffly, the leopard hybrid not understanding where he was going with that question. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? You live under the same roof,” Yoongi raised his eyebrows, Taehyung snorting sardonically. 

“I don’t think she wants to talk to me,” Taehyung pushed a hand through his dark curls, Yoongi rolling his eyes. Yoongi was fed up with the Kodiak hybrid’s behavior, how it was affecting Y/N, and how oblivious the kid was in general.

“And why do you think that is? You avoid her like the plague. She’s just giving you the space you’re practically begging for,” Yoongi crossed his arms across his chest, tail curling around him agitatedly. 

“I just– I don’t know. I’ve been trying to keep myself busy, I met someone, but she’s…” Yoongi let the wheels begin to turn in Taehyung’s head, trying not to be impatient. “She’s–”

“She’s not Y/N,” Yoongi finished bluntly, not sufficiently caffeinated enough for that conversation. Taehyung flinched like he was electrocuted, looking at Yoongi with alarm. 

“What do you mean?” Taehyung accused, heart racing. 

“What do you mean, Taehyung?” Yoongi threw his hands up, exasperated. “Avoiding her, trying to distract yourself with someone else. You need to just admit it to yourself, or you’re gonna develop an ulcer.”

“Admit what?” Taehyung spat, aggravated, standing and sizing up the leopard hybrid. 

“That you’re in love with her, dumbass.”

Taglist; @blancflms @grazysf @sbromp @jaxavance @sunderlight @ot7nem @mageprincess7 @wittyreader @drenix004 @mayla548 @skyys-universe @ddaeng-angmoh @trtlthts @exfolitae @kalala22 @xiusmarshmallow @bangtans-momma @zae007live @paigetj @singukieee @serendididy @lilacdreams-00 @dreamerwasfound @ninjacups @osakis-gf @itwillbealways-d @xthefuckerysquaredx @momowantscats @molshole @goooooomz @uarmyhore @lopprhe @oopscoop @xicanacorpse @i-like-anime13 @hemziii @demarie04 @im-sinking-in-mud @talkyoongitome @bangtxnbxunch @primrose2507 @kihyunniesmonbebe @7evensin @lilmxchis @00ihatesnaku @neverthefirstchoice @missyoueverysingleday @cathy-1997 @prybts @doublebunv @milopenne @steadycreationangel @rinkud @breadcheeksseokjin @nikkiordonez12

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[voxisdaddy]

İ have a request, how would hazbin hotel and angels (or archangels) reacts to a coqquette girl demon?

İf you dont know what iş coquette is, here some ideas

Coquette Sins

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairings: Alastor | Lucifer | Husk | Angel Dust | Sir Pentious | Charlie | Vaggie | Cherri Bomb | Rosie | Carmilla | Vox | Valentino | Velvette | Adam | Lute | Emily | Saint Peter | Striker

C/TW: Sexual themes, swearing, some way longer than others, a lot of these are based off appearance sorry, made reader a sinner rather than demon since demon is very vague in the hellaverse lol, not proofread

In which how various Hazbin Hotel characters + Striker react to a demon who brings a fresh aesthetic to hell-aka, a coquette sinner!

Alastor

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I can't say you'd be very intriguing to Alastor based off this aesthetic if I'm completely honest. He frequents Cannibal Town a lot-which while not coquette at all-the colour palette are closely similar and blends in together. Your look being more romantic and innocent looking in comparison however at a longer glance. So you wouldn't per say stand out at first glance, but even when he notices he isn't exactly intrigues. Hell is filled with many people who can look however they want, whatever way they want after all. So at first you're just another one of these poor sinners in this forever inferno. Somehow once you do get to know one another though, he picks up on certain mannerisms and certain things you like. One of the first being when he saw a little plushie you had purchased one day, now decorated with a neat little bow that matches with pretty much everything of you. From then on, he's sure that when he gifts you things, to keep an eye out for more specific things. It clashes with his aesthetic, but it's okay. Slowly he'll start to change your wardrobe to match his.

Lucifer

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lucifer doesn't think very highly of sinners, typical for the sin of Pride, but you're something new to him. He's well aware that human souls come in many different forms and that anyone can present themselves anyway they want, but coquette was a rare one. Anyone who resembled innocence, sweet romantics, and softness was often the target of bullying and harassment in hell-which serves him all the more reason to roll his eyes and dismiss a lot of sinners. Meeting you was a blessing in his eyes. Regardless of whatever judgements you may face you seemed to never stray away from who you are. He's become protective of you because of this. I mean he's protective of you regardless, you're very special to him after all, but you're basically a walking target for unnecessary bullying. Whenever he gifts you rubber duckies and carving of ducklings, he makes sure they are painted and decorated to fit in with your room. Because of your aesthetic by the way, you can match for date nights-which he loves very much!

Husk

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Husk wouldn't find you that intriguing either. He's been in hell for a very long time, seen lots of folk looking very different from one another. Nothing new. I think the longer he knows you though, the more he starts to question things. Nothing bad per say. It's more so because he starts to grow a crush on you and just now finds you more interesting. He'd definitely gift you things that match with your whole look. Especially plushies because come on, who doesn't like a good plushie.

Angel Dust

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Loves your look and aesthetic. It's like you're a different version of him-visually at least. You almost go hand in hand together in a sense. I can imagine two different first impressions of you based on appearance and just getting to know your personality on a very base level. One; he thinks you're one of Charlie's goody two shoes who don't know how to have fun but know how to ruin the fun of others. And two; if you're a dude here, someone he can have fun flirting with because don't you look like an inexperienced doll faced angel~

Sir Pentious

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ I think your contracting aesthetics is lowkey a recipe for a cute af looking couple not gonna lie. Sir Pentious would probably be very adoring of you. Don't you look so darling! I feel like out of the main cast, he's been in hell the longest and has definitley seen your type of look before-especially when he was alive. You kind of remind him of those porcelain dolls that would be on the front of store windows. It's probably the leading factor as to why he adores you and treats you as if you're made of porcelain. Even if you're a baddie, yoiu're his baddie-who's also his sweetheart darling.

Charlie

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Charlie loves your aesthetic and how you carry yourself. It feels like such a breath of fresh air in this hellscape she calls home. She's definitely the type to ask what your hobbies are and if she can tag along to whatever it is. Now she'd never change herself to please anyone ever but she would likely, just for fun, dress up and match with you sometimes. Oh but please return the favour every once and awhile! It would make her so happy!

Vaggie

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Vaggie as we know is from Heaven, so your type of look isn't new to her per say but it in a sense it does surprise her. This is hell, most people are usually clad in reds, pinks, and black. So your more, dare I say angelic, appearance is a mild surprise to her. She quickly gets over it though ass even in heaven the angels all didn't look like angels sometimes. Sure theirs halos and the feathery wings, but some peoples appearance mirrored some of the folk in hell. Vaggies own appearance and aesthetic clashing with heaven back in her angel days too. So she gets over her initial surprise. You're almost...nostalgic to her in a sense. She's definitely soft with you.

Cherri Bomb

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You're both like polar opposites honestly. She at first has her reservations on you. Based on appearance and personality actually. She understands that this is hell and that everyone can look however they want and some just fall looking a certain way. However this hoe likes to fight, thrives in the night life, high party girl energy, and being that bitch. So you'd naturally clash but after some time, especially in a relationship with you, she wouldn't wish for you to change yourself at all. As even Cherri Bomb needs some relaxing down time every now and then. So going to you and your relaxing and romantic sweet nature is almost spa like to her.

Rosie

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Like Alastor, you wouldn't stick out much to her at first glance because she sees people like you in Cannibal Towne at like every turn. She's wise though, she knows theirs a lot more to you and that you even find a way to stick our visually-intentionally or not. Your romantic look is just darling to her! She has to meet you! And once you do, to say this woman is smitten is an understatement. During a gossip session with Alastor, she definitely mentions you. You're the pearl of her eye. Even as your bond deepens, her smitten ways with you don't fade one bit. Probably has a few garments specifically catered to you with her own Rosie taste. She loves to match, so she'll hope you'll agree to meet her in the middle somewhere.

Carmilla

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ She likes to think you're a romanticized version of her. You're...not exactly that but it's close enough. You're a breath of fresh air for her honestly. Being an overlord and especially of her status, she tends to get migraines a lot. So seeing you and your more romantic soft look is already easing her a bit. She'd love to dance with you sometimes honestly. A nice slow dance with fun twirls, perhaps a music box or old record player even, as you unwind together sweetly. If it's alright with you, she'd love to fashion you with some angelic ballerina inspired shoes. Matching is cliche to her, but I headcanon she's lowkey a sucker for that stuff. Plus, it would be great for you to protect yourself with if worse comes to worse.

Vox

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You're an interesting one to him-especially since no one looks like you on his side of the Pentagram City. It excites him in a certain way-now get your head out of the gutter. It's a power thing. You look quite easy to manipulate, frail, weak, obedient-you could be a mindless doll. Getting you under contract would be easy, he tells himself. Of course, falling for you is the last thing he thought would come from this. But when that happens, you're no longer some doll he thinks he can control into being another one of his little workers. He can easily find out what type of music you listen to, what you like to do, furniture you may like, little shop items you always keep an eye out for, ect., He loves coming back home to you, or even when you visit him in his office. He's a stressed out guy with a lot on his plate. You're more soothing to him than you think.

Valentino

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Valentino being Valentino thought you were quite the delectable thing. It's as if you're begging to be ruined, honestly. He's of course quick to try to coerce you into at the very least having sex with him. He's charming, he knows how to use that and be sweet into getting people to trust him. Say you guys are in a romantic relationship though. You somehow managed to take this monsters heart, he's surprisingly not as rough with you vs if you were some one and done bitch he had instead. You look like too much of an angel for him to wanna break so soon. He's still rough and loves it when its rough, but I mean, what do you expect? It's Valentino. He definitely gets you lingerie that match your look. Loves either seeing you wringle in it beneath him or degrading him while you're on top. Believe it or not it's not all about sex with this guy though when it comes to you. When he's in one of his tantrum moods, you're like his own personal angel to give him a hug til he calms down enough to go do something else more level headed.

Velvette

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ She admires your dedication to your aesthetic, but I can't say she likes it very much. It's cute and with the correct look it can look quite fashionable, but she of course has her own standards and strong preferences. I can imagine that when you move in together, she has a love hate relationship with your guys shared massive walk in closet. One half screams Velvette, and the other half screams you. It's satisfying to see the difference in aesthetics, but also annoying because of the obvious clash. She puts up with it though. It's not all bad, seeing as sometimes you two trade outfits. Not often cuz again this woman is very of her own preferences and makes the effort to maintain her aesthetic as often as possible. It does happen though, as sometimes something from your closet catches her eye and she'll either borrow it or design something inspired based off it.

Adam

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Adam first saw you when you went to visit Heaven with Charlie and Vaggie. He at first didn't even know you were with them. You looked like you belonged in Heaven, he had thought you were an angel tagging along with their running around with Emily. He didn't immediately catch onto the lack of halo and feathered wings but that's besides the point. He actually probably went to bother you several hours before the trial. He didn't like any of the sinner souls or demons, but damn it-why do hell get a lot of the hot bitches? I mean yeah everyone in heaven is hot, but maybe he just has a thing for demon bitches, he doesn't know. Plus, it would probably be a good time to grill you and maybe tease you. What? Are you a wannabe angel? Is that why you look like that and came to argue for that hotel?

Lute

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Lute does not give a fuck because hello~you're a sinner. She first noticed you during an extermination. She had thought you were an angel actually, because of how you looked. She was initially startled and angry because why the hell would of the extermination angels just be out of uniform in a time like this? But she was very quick to catch onto the fact that you are not one of them so she moved to kill you. Ah but little miss angel wannabe, her words, is more vigilant than she thought. You don't get killed this extermination so when the angels are called back to return to Heaven, she glances back at the last place she saw you run into for shelter. She smirks to herself; you got lucky this year, angel wannabe. She almost wishes you see you again next year.

Emily

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ Emily would notice you with this Angel Dust character when they viewed Angel's night out during the trial in Heaven. You seemed to be friends with this group. Even though the focus wasn't on you, she found herself hoping to see you appear through the heavenly lens more frequently. You looked so adorable! Internally she nicknamed you Hell's Angel. She must remain professional and focus on the trial at hand though, which she very much does. She still wishes to get one more glimpse of you once the move on from viewing Angel Dust's night out though. Even when the trial ends, after she deals with the harsh reality she didn't now about, she hopes that Charlie's dreams come true for a chance to properly meet you in Heaven.

Saint Peter

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ This angel met you when you came up to the gates with Lucifer's daughter and her friend. When he realized who Charlie is and where this trio just came from, a part of himself silently wondered about you. You looked so...heavenly. You're really only visiting from Hell? Ha ha m-maybe theirs been some sort of mistake. You look like you belong up in heaven. Oh well. Eventually he get's to actually talk with you of course. It's not long but it's something. He almost feels foolish for thinking Hell wouldn't have sinners and demons who have certain aesthetics and preferences. Heaven has those things, why wouldn't hell have it? Maybe hell isn't the shitty eternal hellfire he and many other winners believed it out to be. I like to think that Peter when he's not wearing his robes, has a pastel filled wardrobe. Real soft boy energy. So if you ever get redeemed or can somehow be together, bc this man was whipped almost immediately, you'd match pretty well together.

BONUS!!

Striker

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ You intrigued Striker a little bit at first glance. With a raised brow he watched as you smiled sweetly at him and waved before continuing on your way. He doesn't like interacting with the sinners much but he knows enough about them that you being you makes you a target for bullying and harassment. He naturally keeps his distance regardless and doesn't think of you again until he actually sees you again. By the time you end up dating, many compromises need to be made. First of all, sinners can't leave the Pride ring so he can't bring you home to the wrath ring. So he often makes trips to the pride ring to visit you, at some point your home becomes his home before either of you realize it. It kinda makes him feel off-he stands out like a sore thumb in your place. But he tries to not get you place dirty and tries to make sure he's not totally bloody when he shows up.

IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK OVER A WHOLE MONTH LOVLEY STAR! I had no idea how to write about various characters reacting to a coquette!sinner!Reader without having so much overlap and I just evbsfvhsbk-

Here it is, finally TvT sorry for taking forever. Thank you for your patience!

[sp4ceboo]

Warriors: Choi San x Reader

A/N: ohh boyyy after the kpop fanfic drought im back and it's with warriors au choi san

Summary: San and Reader are mages, which means they are made to serve. They are lowborn, destined to obey humans - the nobles and the highborn - with their every breaths. What if they don't want that?

tw: 18+, smut (p in v, fingering, cockwarming sort of), swearing, violence, death, blood, minimally gory at one point, war, child soldiers (14 yo), society is a shit place to be if you're a mage, tons of worldbuilding, assassins, freaking bath sex, hint at sa at one point from some dude we hate, san is kind of a brat tamer, seonghwa cameo but sad, idk if you can tell but i suck at summaries, mention of a harem, mention of slavery

wc: 4.8k

As a child, you watched from afar, waiting for things you could not grasp.

They told you that you were made to serve. They recounted age-old tales, about gods that crafted humans in their divine hands, moulding the mages afterwards to be commanded by their beloved creations. They filled your mind with legends of faithful individuals of your kind who proved their worth with obedience until you wished to be like your forebears.

Back when you were but an infant, you believed it. You knew the two powers that were bestowed upon you by the gods, varying in every mage, were gifts made solely to assist the highborns. In your naivety, you thought the rosy flame cupped in your small, childish palms would be used to warm the nobles in the icy winter, and that you would fulfil your purpose through that, through being of use to them. They had no shame as they informed you you were just a tool forged for following their orders, and you were convinced it was all true - until you met San.

Although you were the one with the ability to summon an inferno, he was always the one with a burning fire in his eyes. Like all mages, he’d been taken from his parents the moment he didn’t need his mother’s milk - he was given as a peace offering from the Hwangso warlord for his control of water: helpful for the upkeep of the crops.

This occurred in the small period of time in which Hwangso, the neighbouring province, was attempting to forge alliances with your province, Neugdae. Soon after, your warlord breached their territory, claiming it as his - you often wondered if the news filtering back from the front lines of a new settlement captured ever affected San.

You met him when he was an eight year old filled with bottled fury too old for his years, and you were a quiet, invisible seven year old. At those tender ages, neither of you had developed your second ability yet, nor had you gotten a taste of the power at your fingertips, but San still held his head high; you remember marvelling at the way he’d make a point of meeting every single noble’s gaze and holding it. He was just a scrawny, sun browned kid back then - nothing like the elegant lethality of the man that he is now.

Every day until you turned fourteen, you toiled beside him. The work was cruel, your supervisors crueller; the sun would beat down on your back as you laboured in the fields, side by side with San as barely a quarter of the way across the settlement, the nobles sheltered beneath their silky parasols, boasting their pale, porcelain skin. Back then, San never spoke of the injustice of it all out loud, but something about the look in his eyes when he saw them swanning past stirred something inside you. He made you realise that you were not the soulless, mindless puppet that you’d been told you were, but a person.

It wasn’t simply the rage inside him that drew you to him, though. It was the way he remained sweet, kind, despite it all, making sure to send licks of cool mist down your neck when your supervisors weren’t looking, nicking extra crumbs of food for you and remaining beside you, a beacon of light that anchored you to sanity even in the dark.

Even when, you at fourteen, him fifteen, were sent out into battle.

There were always skirmishes between neighbouring warlords: a constant push and pull for more land, more resources, more power. They would attack on a whim - mages were expendable, nothing more than canon fodder; behind each squadron was a noble who would hang back behind the lines, commanding, unbothered by the bloodshed because it was the blood of mere tools.

By then, both you and San had developed your second abilities. San’s was the ability to manipulate shadows, turning them into almost solid shapes that could physically hinder attacks by forming daggers or clutching hands, or could temporarily block the world out in a shroud of rolling black fog. Yours was the art of shapeshifting; you let the outline of your body flicker between forms, changing into powerful, deadly creatures whose substance was inhabited by the soul of a wavering teenager.

You’d known that you’d be forced to fight since you were young, but you never could have imagined the brutality of war.

It was there, in the midst of the battlefield, that any lingering innocence was burned from your soul. You learned that San’s water did not just bring life, but could also fill up someone’s lungs until they drowned upon dry ground, that your fire was not just a source of warmth or light, but could also combust a man’s heart within his chest, that the animals you were teaching yourself to shapeshift into could maul and break bones.

Many nights, you would fall asleep, curled against San, your face buried in his side with his arm wrapped around you, the taste of blood still in your mouth from where you’d torn your enemies’ throat out with the vicious canines of a tiger or the needle sharp fangs of a lynx. You would leave the front lines soaked with crimson, the essence of other people in your hair, smeared on your face, caked and drying under your nails.

It terrified you, how easily you could slice their flesh open with your claws. Armour was not wasted on mages, only generals, so just like you, all they wore were roughly woven tunics tied at the waist and trousers - you met no resistance when you killed your own kind, silent apologies on your lips.

Within the squadrons were also humans that had fallen from grace - criminals who still felt entitled enough by their birthright to think they could have a fourteen year old mage’s body; San protected you until you could protect yourself. In the first few weeks, when the punches he threw were too weak to deter them, he would let them beat him, giving you time to escape before returning to you, limping, lip split and nose bloody but the fire in his eyes never faltering.

On those nights, tears of frustration would leak from the corners of your eyes as you cleaned him up. He could so easily stop them if he used his abilities, but by then doing that without being instructed to do so by a highborn would lead to a flogging or a beating - fairytales no longer worked on you at that age, so your commanders and generals utilised fear mongering instead. You remember the hate and helplessness burning inside you when you looked at them: if all the mages rebelled at once, the nobles would have no chance, but everyone was too scared. Using your abilities on humans only led to execution.

You remember Seonghwa: he was a mage a few years older who cared for you and San as if you were his blood. He got too strong - you can’t recall his second ability but his first meant he could push a man over the brink of insanity, until he frothed at the mouth and his brain boiled within his skull. When you first witnessed the depth of his power, you were originally struck by the pain in Seonghwa’s eyes, and then by the fear in your commander’s.

The next day, Seonghwa was gone.

Often, you wonder if he fought back, or if he just let them kill him.

After, you made San promise that he wouldn’t show them if his powers developed further. He made you promise the same, and when you fought beside him, he was a constant reminder to reign yourself in, to survive. You were more careful with your powers from then on.

Some nights, though, when the frost ridden night air cut right through the ragged material of your blanket, you huddled next to San and lit a small fire in your hands. He’d tell you to stop, and you’d point out that he was shivering; he’d reply that he’d rather that than get you caught, and you would ignore him, not missing the way he tucked himself closer to the flame.

You didn’t tell him, but sometimes you would shift into a small animal, like a raccoon, and steal food for him in the dead of night. You didn’t answer when he asked you where you got it from, just shrugging and thrusting the rolls of bread and strips of dried meat into his hands, telling him he should eat.

When you were sixteen, San discovered he could animate his shadows. He could mould them like clay in his hands, breathing purpose into them - they would disintegrate within about a week or so, their outlines fading until they dissolved into nothing. San shaped a little dragon for you, the length of your forearm and the width of one of your thumbs; he came to you with it cupped in his hands, awe limning his face as the two of you watched it wriggle through the air between you and coil itself around your wrist.

You have many memories of those times, but one remains crystal clear, even to this day. A year onwards from San’s dragon, you found yourself hemmed in by enemy forces, your body tired from the fight - victory was so close for your side, and because of it, the Hwangso fought even harder, like cornered animals. If you broke through them, you would have been able to easily end their commander, but they had you, six to one. Hands closed around your throat, choking, and as the consciousness bled from you, you heard San’s cry, smelt the fear in the air as he tore through them to get to you: that in itself would have been insignificant - you had saved each other countless times through the years - but he had disobeyed a direct command.

He’d been told to kill the commander. He’d had a clear shot, and even still, he’d ignored orders, choosing to save you instead.

Both of you were beaten for it, and even as you heard the sound of San’s ribs cracking, he held your eyes, silently telling you that he’d do it over and over again, if only to keep you with him.

You think that was the moment when the two of you truly got a taste for rebellion. It was the point in the long, winding thread of your life that made you realise that whatever they told you, you would disregard it if it were for San. Their words no longer had as much power over you, because you knew your bond with him was infinitely stronger than any fear they attempted to instil within you.

Soon after that incident, your commander retired, and he was replaced by a man who was more of a fool than him. You began to lose land to Hwangso’s troops, far enough that the settlement where you grew up in was ravaged, razed to the ground. Your commander informed you that you’d evacuate the highborns, leaving the child mages and the servants behind because they would only slow you down - that was the moment you decided to stop listening to him.

The last mage rebellion had been decades ago - they were not ready. It was pathetic how easy it was to overthrow them; together with the rest of the troops and the mages from the settlement, you rebuilt the town and fortified it. San treated his soldiers with respect, with loyalty, and they loved him for it, for the way he would march into battle with them instead of cowering at the rear, for the way he could often be seen in the newly restored fields, watering the crops, for the way he recognised them for who they were.

To this day, you’re in awe of it. Never in your whole life have you come close to anything but fear for a leader, and yet you see it clear in their eyes that they love San, and that he loves them. He is everything that the highborns fear - a powerful, confident mage, wreathed in righteous shadows, fiercely intelligent, a master of strategy.

One of his first moves was to ally himself with the Hwangso warlord, the very man who had given him as a gift to your province. Deep in the highborn’s eyes was the presumption that he could break San and make him yield, followed a month later by pure terror when you held a knife to his neck, hissing to never speak of San like that again. The two of you brought his head in a sack to Hwangso and claimed your rule over the province.

That didn’t mean it was easy, though. There were the nights when San would tremble in your arms, baring his fears to you, his doubts - that it was getting too much too fast: that maybe he really was just made to follow orders. You scoffed at that - you’d seen him grow up, watched his shoulders broaden and his figure fill out with muscle, you’d seen the fire in his eyes blazing with passion; you knew he’d always be more than enough.

You’re not sure when the love blossomed between the two of you. Maybe it was always there, first shown as fierce protectiveness, later as searing kisses where no one could see, of fingers laced with yours in the dark of night. He married you shortly after he began to be recognised as an actual warlord, not a rogue mage; it was a quiet ceremony, but the celebrations of your people were far from that - rumours of the Neugdae province’s mage warlord and his wife rippled like wildfire through the regions, stirring fear and hope alike.

Some wonder why San does not take more wives - he has control over the Baem province as well Neugdae and Hwangso now, and any warlord with that much power would take on a harem without blinking. Not San, though - he’s different from them, he is a mage, a lowborn, his bronzed skin a sign to them of his childhood in the fields, and they find he is an enigma, as is his mystery shrouded right hand man.

But not to you - you understand him as if you share a soul.

On the surface, you are his only wife, aloof and coldly beautiful. In the shadows, you are his sword, his hand. There are myths of you, of the fire wielding ghost that robes itself in a black cowl and changes its skin into a man’s worst nightmare; stories of how you will twist your victim’s thoughts around until he finds the tip of a blade poking out of his chest, speared right through his back. It’s how you prefer to operate - they fear the unknown, and you are the unknown.

The fabric of the bag held in your fingers is soaked with blood. Within it is the head of the Yong province’s advisor. He was an awful man who deserved what you gave him - in a locked room at the back of his house, you found several young mages, half starved and chained by wrist and ankle to each other and a hook set in the wall. Bile bites at the back of your throat at the thought: you’re lucky you never experienced the uglier side of mage slavery.

Night is falling, the sun casting long shadows down the road. You always find the darkness comforting - it feels as if San is near. Today he is; you raise your fist and knock thrice on the solid wood of the gates, lifting your hand in recognition of the guards who peek over the turrets.

Slowly, they ease open the doors, and you stride into the courtyard, your boots clicking against the roughly hewn pavings. A squadron of your soldiers are sparring, but they halt their training when you enter, snapping to attention as you stop at the centre of the space, the dying rays of the sun streaming down the steps towards you, the air still as you wait.

He appears, his gilded silhouette glorious at the top of the stairs. His shadow guards spill down the steps towards you as he descends; their bodies contort and bend, the swirling mass of them parting around you, liquid night, jaws snapping, circling you until you’re surrounded.

A smirk pulls at your lips, and you throw the bag at his feet. You do not bow low, simply dipping your chin as he extracts the head from the sack, inspecting it and nodding before returning it to its roughly woven grave and handing it to one of his shadows to take away. Meeting your eyes, his own filled with amusement, the hint of a smile flashes over his face.

‘Welcome home, my love.’

San’s words are soft, voice quiet enough for only you to hear. You suppress the urge to pull down your mask and kiss him, instead letting your fingers brush against his as you walk with him up the steps and into the hanok; his shadows close the door behind you and the moment they do, he hooks an arm around your waist and hugs you tight, his embrace warm and sweet as always.

You laugh. ‘I was only gone four days, Sannie.’

‘Four days too long for me to be separated from my wife,’ he replies, pushing your cowl back so he can kiss your forehead.

Gripping his shoulders, you tug him down so you can peck his lips before sending him out to the courtyard again - you’re the last person expected through the gates tonight, so he should go out and dismiss the mages training in the courtyard so they can go home to their families and lock up. A happy sigh leaves you as you toe off your shoes, walking through your home and stripping off your bloody clothes before submerging yourself in the pool sunken in the floor. San has already filled it with fresh water, and it takes you mere seconds to heat it up with your fire.

Leaning with your head against the wooden ledge of the pool, you let your muscles loosen, half closing your eyes. The silence doesn’t last long, though - there’s a soft, steady noise coming from the screen behind you, almost like… breathing.

‘Show yourself,’ you command into the still air.

A man steps into view - a human, eyes crazed, knife clutched in his fingers. You realise he does not know who you really are; he just assumes you are the mage warlord San’s wife, delicate and helpless, and you let that role engulf you, backing away to the other edge of the pool with your eyes wide, luring him closer.

‘Your man took everything from me,’ he spits, blade pointed at you as he stalks forward. ‘He took my power, my wealth, my squadron of soldiers. And now I will take his wife.’

Surging out of the pool, you dodge the swipe he aims at you, sending fire surging down the knife’s handle so he drops it with a cry and twisting his arm behind his back in the most painful way possible, wrenching him down to his knees with his face an inch above the water.

‘How did you get in?’ You ask coolly.

‘I’ll never tell y - ’

You send tongues of flame licking down his ribs. ‘Answer the question or suffer.’

The door eases open, revealing San. His eyes land on you, water dripping down your body as you pin the man to the floor, then the distorted reflection from the blade of the knife that’s fallen into the pool, and something dangerous flashes inside his gaze. You let him grab your attacker by the front of his shirt, lifting him off his feet as he brings him face to face with him; you see San’s jaw clench, his hands balling into fists.

‘How fucking dare you try to come anywhere near my wife,’ he growls, shadows coalescing behind him.

You can tell he’s about to say something else, but he stops as the man, trembling and fruitlessly clawing at San’s fingers, wets himself. Your husband’s lip curls in disgust, and he drops him at your feet, pressing him down onto his knees and yanking his head up so he is forced to look up at you. Bending down, you breathe in the sheer fear permeating the air, a soft smile on your face.

‘Now, answer the question.’

‘You’re not his wife,’ he whispers, pale.

‘Oh, but I am,’ you sneer. ‘But that’s not the only role I occupy.’

Slowly, his face drains of colour, horror rippling across it as it slowly dawns on him. He recoils in San’s grasp, scrabbling at the floor in a sorry attempt to put distance between you; he has finally realised who you are and he acts like fucking coward, his mouth gaping wide in a silent plea. Unhurried, you fish the knife out from the pool, twirling it around your thumb before gliding it gently over the skin of his throat.

‘I’m getting impatient.’

‘I - I - the guards, they were distracted upon your arrival, I snuck in at the southern perimeter, please don’t - ’

His words dissolve into a weak gurgle when you slice open his throat. Blood gushes from the seams of the wound, dribbling from his lips, and you step back as he tips forward, landing with a wet thump face first on the wooden floor. Glancing up at San, you sigh before getting back in the pool. One of his shadows carries the body away and your husband tugs his clothes off and slides into the water beside you, pulling you into his chest.

‘He did not hurt you, I presume?’

You snort. ‘He tried.’

San’s fingers run thoughtfully up and down your arm. ‘I’ll talk to the guards. I probably shouldn’t have put Jisung on dusk duty while he was recovering from that fever.’

You nod but don’t answer, instead pressing a kiss to his collarbone. He hums, tipping his head back to give you more access as you mouth at his skin, letting your palms wander over his shapely chest, grip his broad shoulders, skim his waist; you trace the many scars all over his body, and he allows you to, his strong hands gripping your hips when you settle in his lap.

He curses low at the feel of your teeth sinking into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, his hips jerking upwards, and you both groan at the sensation of the underside of his cock grazing your clit. Smirking, you let your tongue lave over the spot where you bit, pressing a kiss to his jaw and pulling back as his hands tighten their grip on your ass.

‘Missed you too, Sannie. Good to know how much you missed me.’

‘So fucking bratty,’ he hisses.

A thrill shoots through you as he stands, the water sluicing in rivulets down the planes of his chest, lifting you and laying you on the edge of the pool, pinning your knees to the wood and spreading you open. The crude way he looks at you is all consuming, his eyes surveying you from where he stands with the water to his mid thigh, watching as your pussy clenches at the sight of him towering over you.

San remains there, just looking at you, and you curve your spine, almost whining in attempt to make him touch you without you asking for it. His lips quirk to the side as you squirm, trying to inch your hips down so you can grind against him, but his fingers tighten on you, refusing you.

‘What is it you require of me, love?’

Finding your attempts unsuccessful, you huff, glaring at him. He loves to do this, make you articulate exactly what you want from him - he likes the flush that heats your cheeks, your body still shy even after all your years with him, he likes the breathy noises you make when he forces you to tell him just what you desire when all you can think of is his dick, he likes it when you can’t  help but beg him.

‘Y - your fingers,’ you mumble. ‘And your cock.’

‘Say that louder for me, sweetheart, I didn’t catch the last bit.’

‘Your fingers and your fucking cock,’ you snap - a sorry endeavour at trying to hide how much you love when he inflicts this upon you.

San raises an eyebrow, not moving to touch you. Waiting.

‘Please,’ you add.

He smiles. ‘There we go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Your mouth opens to retort, but he slips his fingers inside you, and your back bows, a soft moan leaving your lips as he sweeps his thumb over your clit, his other hand palming your breasts, his tongue dragging over your skin. Burying your hands in his hair, you tug, making him groan low and deep as you pull him closer.

Delectably, his fingers curl, and you ache for him. San has ruined you for anyone else, he is branded onto your soul and also your body, fading marks from your last time together still slightly visible on your throat - a necklace of love bites, laying claim to you. He catches your chin as he brings you closer to the edge, tasting your moans on his tongue, grinding his palm against your clit.

You keen, coming hard around him, chest heaving, and he smirks, holding your waist as shudders wrack your legs from the aftershocks. The fire in his eyes burns ever brighter, so hot you feel your stomach go molten - your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails raking over his back, your tongue unable to form anything other than his name.

‘You’re always so willing to behave once your pussy’s full, hm?’

‘No, I,’ you start, but cry out when he pinches your clit in warning, the muscles of your thighs jumping as it lances through you, white hot. ‘Y - yes, yes, I am, please - ’

In one fluid movement, San buries himself inside you, sheathing himself until his hips kiss yours. Catching you wrists in his hand, he pins them above your head, and your back arches as he pulls out, agonisingly slowly, every ridge and vein of his cock dragging on your walls before slamming back in, tearing a cry of his name from your chest. Tugging your legs up from where they were wrapped around his waist, he hooks your knees over his shoulders - the new angle makes you sob, writhing beneath him as his cock head drives into perfection, drives you to euphoria.

Sometimes, San makes love to you, but not tonight: tonight he fucks into you mercilessly, traces of possessiveness lacing his actions as he litters your skin with bites, his hands leaving exquisite bruises on your hips. Pleasure tears through you like an arrow through your heart, white hot and maddening, ravenous.

‘You fit around my cock so well,’ he pants. ‘Like you were made for me, sweetheart.’

Something snaps inside you at his words, and as if he senses it, San presses his thumb down hard on your clit, speeding up his thrusts until the air is punched from your lungs. Stars flash before your eyes, and your mouth falls open, toes curling as you come on his cock, your cunt convulsing around him, thighs twitching; he doesn’t stop, just continues ploughing into you, and you tremble, tears slipping down your cheeks at the relentless pound of his hips into yours.

With a gasp, he pulls out and comes over your stomach, his wide shoulders rising and falling with heaving breaths, and you groan as he eases you back into the warm water, a hand cupping the back of your neck as he tucks your head under his chin, sliding his softening cock into you again. Wrapping your arms around him, you press a kiss to his jaw and rest your hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

‘How do you feel, my love?’

You nuzzle your face into his shoulder. ‘Good. Really fucking good.’

He laughs, and you bask in the sound of his happiness and the comfort of his warm skin against yours. San’s hands run up and down your spine, soothing, and you smile sleepily; you are home, reunited with your other half, the missing part of your soul.

With San, you are complete.

[undead-supernova]

Brutal! / Masterlist / 18+

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 - tbc

Playlist

pairing: Eddie Munson x fem!reader

plot: it's all fun and games, all soft kisses and gentle words until the past is revealed and new perspectives are learned

contains: talks about past sexual trauma, eddie reliving trauma, confident!reader

note: this chapter is different than the others and it is on purpose. when we erase the stories and feelings of victims, we erase the possibility of recovery and healing. especially those of us who are forgotten amongst recognition.

please do not read this part if the subject of sexual assault is triggering for you

song inspo: Seven by Phinehas

wc: 4.1k

special thanks to @jo-harrington for helping to edit and @littlexdeaths for your lovely divider. i appreciate you both for being so encouraging and lovely friends

You didn’t want to admit that what happened at the party had upset you.

Well, not the part where Eddie made you cum. That had been heavenly—euphoric. It couldn’t even be considered a state of bliss. It was more like an inferno, the lascivious flames pulling you further and further into the blaze.

But there were his words in your head again, the ones hurled at you before he realized his mistake.

Are you using me?

If we even fuck, is that it?

Will the chase be over for you?  

The water rushed down your neck, the steam billowing throughout the tiny bathroom as you turned up the heat again. You had to let it scorch your skin, had to let the sting pull you back down to a state of normalcy.

There was a memory that you dared not touch from freshman year. One that still crept up every now and then, in half-asleep states and furious daylight. A growling beast, one with a four-letter name and a specified interest in IPAs as if he was the Christopher Goddamn Columbus of beer. 

You shut your eyes, convinced that his hands were pressing in on the grimy tile behind you, stretching the wall to tear the veil and grab you. Like that one scene in A Nightmare on Elm Street, he was always trying to split you in two.

Further and further he pushed, so close to gripping your throat. So close to suffocating you once more and pulling you back down to the shadows. 

Knock, knock.

You gasped, jumping back and almost slipping before steadying yourself.        

“Hey, Eddie’s here!” Aron called from behind the door.

  “Okay!” you shouted back.

You placed a hand on your chest to still your thrumming heart before you really processed her words. Letting out a scoff at your own absentmindedness, you shouted, “Be out in a minute!”

Maybe you always felt like you were being split in two, now more than ever. Having these emotions that you’d pushed down for the sake of survival. Changing yourself to fit the way you wanted others to see you. That mask, all gnarly and scary just to prove to yourself more than anyone that you were no longer the fool.

It made you wonder if you’d been putting this mask on for Eddie. But things would be better with him. 

They always were.

It started with midterm study time, you swear. You really tried, pulling up a three hour long video of Cozy Fall Oldies Muffled In Another Room Next to a Fireplace While it Rains to help keep both you and Eddie focused. Going back and forth, you took turns helping the other with flashcards. While you were honing in on 20th Century Lit, he was groaning through his Algebra I equations. 

Within twenty minutes, Eddie decided it would be more motivating if you gave him a kiss every time he got the equation right. 

Though you rolled your eyes, you indulged him. Whatever got him to study.

“What happens if I get an answer right?” you asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s up to you,” he replied with a shrug, looking back down at his TI-84 calculator. But you noticed the hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as he quickly glanced back up at you. “We could always play Strip Study.”

“‘Strip Study’, huh?” you teased.

“Yeah, it’s a good game. Very helpful in trying times.”

“And what are the rules to this so-called Strip Study?”

“Well…” he trailed, setting the calculator down before shifting closer to you on your twin-sized bed. Counterintuitive to the point of your study date, Eddie pushed aside your textbook and came to hover over you. You refused to move, challenging him with your faux expression of disappointment. It was impressive, seeing him this forward. Above all else, however, you were quite amused.

“If you answer correctly,” he started, slowly pushing you down into the mattress. “then you’ll just have to take off a piece of clothing.”

You snorted, shaking your head at him. He mocked you, shaking his head right back, tickling you with his curls. “And that’s supposed to be for my enjoyment?” you pondered.

Eddie leaned down, taking the opportunity to leave a kiss on your neck. You could’ve sworn you heard him take a deep breath, like he was desperately inhaling your scent. There was a part of you that wished to do the same.

“Fine,” he conceded. “I’ll take off a piece of clothing. How does that sound?”

“Hm,” you hummed as your fingers traced his collarbone before you pushed him back. He shivered as you crawled on top of him, his dominance cracking in an instant. Without thought, you grabbed his wrist before bringing it up to your mouth. You closed your eyes momentarily to breathe in his cologne, his being. You made sure to meet his eyes as you lightly bit down on his skin.

He was opening his mouth to fill the silence, but you quickly leaned down, gently ghosting your lips against his before whispering, “Not a chance.”

Immediately you sat up and scooted away, grabbing your textbook before he could retaliate. 

He laid there for a moment, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before sitting back up and giving you a look. Was it annoyance? Disappointment? Who could say. 

“You really hate me, don’t you?”

Shrugging, you felt around for your TV remote before turning up the music. “I hate the thought of you failing your Algebra midterm because I gave you a free peep show.”

When you looked back at him, he finally wore a grin. “It would be a metal way to go.”

“Well, maybe if you pass your midterm I’ll let you have a look,” you challenged.

You were amazed when that is what got him to shut up and get back to work.

After a few hours of real studying, Eddie dramatically collapsed on top of you, burying his face into your sweatshirt. He planted a swift kiss over your belly before sighing.

“Okay. Nap time.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle. “I think you earned it.”

“I think that’s the longest I’ve ever studied.”

You peered down, watching his mahogany eyes soften, drooping ever so slightly. Without thought, you ran your middle finger across the stray hairs of his now too-long bangs to keep away from his eyes. You pocketed the thought to trim them for him.

“I’m proud of you,” you said quietly. And you meant it. 

Though his words had stung, he’d done nothing but apologize for them. You’d had several conversations with him owning up to his mistakes and asking you those questions he hadn’t thought to before. You told him about Sam, about Blake and John and Meghan and Maggie—all of which got a little too close for comfort. Those were the ones who’d actually given you their names, had made it a point to introduce themselves before their hands wandered. Before they called you a slut and walked away.

He’d listened the entire time, nodding while trying to hide his frustration. You knew he’d do anything to avenge you—he said as much before you’d shushed him with kisses. Kisses that promised that he was forgiven. That you were thankful for his efforts. That you were starting to fall desperately in love with him.

There was just one other instance you hadn’t divulged yet. 

“Yeah?” he asked.

But that could come later. Much later.

You nodded. “Yeah.” Eddie let out a soft hum. “Get some sleep.”

For now, you focused on the way Eddie’s eyelids shut and the gentle smile on his lips loosen. For now, you focused on someone who you couldn’t quite admit was the most important person in your life.

As Eddie fell into his half-asleep daze, he could vaguely picture a certain kind of monster. One who slips into dreams, coating the edges of the scene with a fuzzy filter. Not Freddy Krueger, per se. One with a better grip on how to lure men to their deaths. Maybe like a siren, with jagged teeth and turquoise eyes that brought sailors to their knees along rocky shorelines and brutal seas. 

But what happens to a man when he is less than interested in their attempt at temptation?

Eddie, as steady as his breathing was, began to descend into some dream that felt like a memory inside an alternate reality—could the two coexist? Because there his van was, parked on a beach. The air was thick with salt, digging into his forearms like thousands of tiny push pins scraping along the first few layers of skin. He had enough sense to wait in the back of the vehicle. Waiting for what, he could hardly remember. Waiting for who, well…

The moment the recollection stirred, there was a pounding on the back doors. 

“Munson, come on!”

When he looked out the window, he saw Charlotte Stevens. She was a regular, scoring weed here and there when she ended up fighting with her aunt and uncle. He only knew because her parents died in a car wreck only a month after her senior year—Eddie’s second—began. He let her yap off to him about her problems whenever she came by. Some of his “clients” were chatty, growing quiet over time when Eddie told them to go see a different therapist and slammed the door on them. 

But it was Charlotte.

She was lonely. Heartbroken. Sure, she was part of the popular crowd, but he knew better after his few interactions with Chrissy Cunningham. A lot of those girls did what they had to in order to survive. It didn’t make them a villain. He really thought Charlotte was the same way. He cut her some slack, watching the light in her eyes wither and die. Saw how the school year thinned out her dirty blonde hair, living off of half-eaten salads in the cafeteria. 

After all, he was heading off to college soon without his close friends. Who didn’t need a near-stranger to lean on?

“You’re late,” he said as soon as the door swung open. 

He wasn’t prepared for the sunlight pouring in, eyes catching on the sight of pavement and grass. Were they no longer at the beach? Where were they?

And why did it feel so…familiar? Like that day behind The Hideout. It was where she usually met him, feeling too paranoid to do it literally anywhere else. He could vaguely see the rutty door to the bar behind her. His refuge. His escape.

Charlotte huffed, her white tank top clinging to her body while sweat dripped down to her cut-off jean shorts. “As if you have anything else going on.”

“Do you want your weed or not?” he snapped. 

“Geez, what’s gotten into you?” she asked as she sat opposite him. Eddie made sure their knees didn’t touch. 

He wasn’t one to make connections with these people. The less he knew, the better. Even with someone he took pity on. Because, believe it or not, tragedy never truly made someone nicer. He’d seen enough damage done to the redhead that lived across from him. After her brother died, she changed everything. And she was definitely no longer interested in casual conversations without an insult or two thrown in.

Needless to say, he knew when to leave well enough alone.

“Do you care?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really.”

Exactly.

“Okay, well, it’s fifty even,” he said absentmindedly, trying to locate his metal box. 

“Maybe I could pay a different way.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back up at her. Of course she’d try to cheat the system now. “Trust me, Stevens,” he said. “There’s nothing I need more than money right now.”

And when she put her hand over his, he realized just what she was proposing. 

“Are you sure about that?”

Eddie pulled his hand away. “Uh, yeah.”

“Come on, Eddie.”

Something evil twisted in his gut at the sound of her saying his name for the first time. 

“Hate to sound like a douche, but I’m not interested in you. So, yeah, nice try. I’ll take that fifty bucks. Now.”

She moved suddenly, quick to pounce as she threw her hands on either side of his head, caging him in. Like he hadn’t said a word. Like he was prey.

Charlotte was a siren; he was sure of it. Waiting for him to slip, to give in to some desire that was nothing but an unlikely daydream. Her breath fanned over his cheek, invading his nostrils with the scent of her spearmint. Those teeth, smacking gum as she promised that it would be worth his while. Pinning his hands to his sides as he suggested again that she just pay him and leave. But Charlotte couldn’t take no for an answer, straddling him instead.

“I’ve always wanted to see what the freak felt like.”

That’s when Eddie wondered: what if these sirens didn’t even have tails, had nothing to do with what lied undiscovered and unencumbered by the rules of mythology? What if that was what made them lethal?

“That’s fucking weird,” he replied through his teeth.

“You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to fuck one of the popular girls. I saw you looking at Chrissy with googly eyes all year.”

He had. He didn’t feel ashamed of that. Back then, he didn’t feel ashamed of much at all. Especially when he was finally escaping this town. Who cared who he did and didn’t fawn over now that he was searching for new faces?

“And you think you’re Chrissy? That’s fucking hilarious, Stevens. Funniest goddamn thing I’ve ever heard,” he growled, fighting against her grasp again. Instead, she moved her hips against him, trying to get him hard. 

But it wasn’t working. Eddie was far from aroused. If anything, he felt like he was going to puke. Maybe if he conjured enough willpower, he’d be able to spew all over Charlotte and get her to leave him the fuck alone forever.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m better.” 

Just as her hands reached for his belt, there was a pounding against the van. It was so violent, so powerful that the car began to shake. Eddie could’ve sworn they were going to flip before the rumbling stopped and the back doors ripped off their hinges. 

Standing there, in a thin black dress littered with glitter and stars, was you. The ends of your nails were sharpened into charcoal claws, one hand wrapped around a bejeweled whip. A shiny crown sat atop your head, gleaming in the scorching sun.

He caught your stare, piercing him with the fierce fury that clouded your eyes. But you immediately looked at Charlotte, frozen on top of him.

“It’s not what it looks—” he choked, trying to catch his breath. But it was failing him. He was failing. 

But there you were, cracking the whip before shooting it forward, snaking around Charlotte’s throat and dragging her down to the bed of the van. Her forehead smacked against the metal box Eddie had been searching for. 

You let her cough, let her head bleed before curling your fingers into claws. 

“You better wake up, Eddie,” you said as you stalked forward. 

He watched in horror as you jumped on top of Charlotte, shoving your nails into her wrists to keep her right where you wanted her.

“Wake up,” you repeated.

Eddie jumped out of the van, barely catching a glimpse of you ripping into her throat before the light consumed him.

“Wake up!”

Eddie gasped for air, his eyes flying open to see your face above him, eyes alight with concern. 

“Woah, hey,” you whispered, hands coming to pull him back down into your grasp. He immediately relaxed, falling into your arms once more as you began stroking his hair. “Eddie, hey.”

“Fuck,” he said, trying to fight the tears welling in his eyes. “Fuck.”

His vision clouded, the blurry images of his dream flashing each time he blinked. He couldn’t shake what was really there, what really happened.

Because that wasn’t how it ended. 

There was no one to save him back then. No Gareth or Grant or Jeff. 

No you.

Dragging his hands down his face, Eddie wondered when the distorted voices would dissipate. They came in all crackled, like Charlotte’s voice over the intercom during homeroom. It echoed in his head every other night, locking him in his cage of beige cinder block. 

“Hey, you’re okay. It’s just me.”

But here you both were, in your prison cell. And instead of beige cinder blocks, it was decorated. Prints of famous paintings littered your walls, covering up most of the beige with genuine color and vibrancy. It was a museum of your own curation.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

And if it was decorated, then it wasn’t really a cell, was it? No, it was a home.

“Bad dream?”

And he liked the thought of home.

“The worst.”

With you.

“Wanna go on a walk? Sometimes it helps me to just, like, walk around campus.”

He’d give anything to have that forever.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Campus always felt different after negative experiences. College seemed to darken with something untoward. You started to notice the way your unhappiness contrasted those who walked along the same path with their friends. A pearl of laughter from a stranger on the phone with their mother. The brushing hands of a honeymooned couple. The sight of cackling men throwing a football on a grassy patch.

It could hide that girl hiding her head in the brick to suppress her sobs. The guy running across your path, breathlessly saying Sorry, excuse me as he races to his next class. A certain boy next to you who hadn’t spoken once since you left.

The sun had poked through the clouds, illuminating campus with vibrancy. But when you looked over at Eddie, he kept his head low, fiddling with his fingertips. 

He was more solemn than usual, seemingly deflated after the dream he’d had. All you wanted was to grab his hand, keep him from picking his nails or his skin. Remind him that it was just a dream. 

Instead, you kept walking. Kept whatever distance he was setting, letting him take the lead. You caught him sneaking a glance at you every once in a while, always returning his somber gaze with a smile.

He never smiled back.

You wound in and out of pavement and grass, looping around the library and the food hall before turning around and heading back. And as you rounded the last corner back to your dorm, Eddie finally spoke.

“How did you…get to be so confident?” Eddie asked.

His question caught you off guard, causing you to stop. 

Not only that, but his question caught on a spiral of barbed wire like cloth. The wire that you’d used to cage your insides from anyone and any thing unwanted. It tugged at something you’d been dreading to bring up with him. Especially after the other night. 

And just like that, you had to shred what was left of his poking.

“You know men,” you started with a fake smile, letting the mask consume you. “Can’t keep their hands to themselves. No means yes and all that. Nothing for you to worry about.”

You waved your hand around, turning away to keep walking but Eddie caught it, pulling you back to face him. 

“Hey, you don’t have to brush that off, you know. You didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes poured compassion into yours, breeding a kind of fear that you’d never experienced before. This exposure to your innermost hurt without even a scalpel. It caused you to wonder if it was even fear. The wire now scraped along your ribs, each stroke against the bone growing gnarlier than the last. 

And it was in that torture that you snapped. 

“Oh, I know,” you said with a strained chuckle. “You don’t have to act like you know anything about it, though.”

You could tell your harsh tone surprised him, his eyes widening with each word you threw out. But it didn’t stop him from his expression changing, eyebrows narrowing. Something fell over his features, a darkness you hadn’t encountered before. There was decay behind his stare, his gentle nature starting to crack.

“You don’t have to act like you’re the only one who’s gone through something like that.”

A huff left your nose as you jerked your hand away. “Yeah, one in six. I’m well acquainted with my gender’s statistics.”

“At least you have a number,” Eddie fired back before looking at his feet. “At least…at least you don’t drive yourself crazy going back and forth from one in six to one in thirty-three.”

And then it clicked.

Are you using me?

Like, if we even fuck, is that it?

Will the chase be over for you?

“Eddie?” you asked, like the question you wanted to ask had already been spoken. “You’ve…you’ve…”

“Um. Yeah. Some girls aren’t as willing to ask permission as you are.”

And it was in that moment that you both realized how trauma had different effects on different people. Still mirrors, only with different colors reflecting off of your shattered edges. Yours came out all fiery red, all flames and guns blazing. His was something more somber, a devastating blue that desperately hid in the background.

“When…”

“Last summer.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

His furrowed eyebrows softened, eyes turned glassy as he asked, “Did you?”

You were at a loss of words. How could you even begin to think of what to say when all you could picture was the worst. Eddie, suffocating at the hands of a girl. Unable to escape, unable to run. Just like you had.

But Eddie never donned a mask. He’d never truly hidden himself away, not really when you were the one begging him to come out of his shell. And he was always out there, still taking chances on himself. Even when he slipped up, he still found ways to try again.

Could you say the same for yourself?

 “Eddie,” you started, closing your eyes to make it easier. “you are so much more than what happened to you. And because no one gives a shit to say this to men, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you went through something like that. Especially when all of your friends were gone. When I got r—” You stopped yourself, unable to even utter the word. “When that happened to me, I ran into Aron for the first time and she helped clean me up and… Well, I guess what I’m trying to say is you should’ve had someone be there for you. And I wish that person had been me.”

Eddie whispered your name, shaking his head as the tears spilled over. It was a broken kind of sound, like he was pleading for help. Pleading for reassurance, pleading to forget.

“Come here,” you whispered, feeling choked up yourself.

That’s when he fell into you, tightly winding his arms around your waist and burying his head into your neck. You felt the sudden release of tears and snot, the release of something buried down inside him coming to the surface.

 You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. But you went back to that September night, feeling Aron’s arms cage you in as if she could hide you from the monsters that walked amongst you. So you gave that to Eddie. Your hand came up to press his head further in, obstructing any light from either side of you. An obsidian of solitude for him, your fingers weaving into his hair. Scratching down his scalp until you felt him shiver, felt his locked up posture fall into something resembling ease.

“You’re okay,” you cooed. “I’m here now. I promise.”

Another strained cry erupted from him, louder this time. You tried to suppress your own tears, but there was no use. You could still be strong for him and share his sorrow.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” you asked.

He leaned back a fraction, puffy eyes meeting yours. You watched him hiccup, trying desperately to take a deep breath. Moving with him, you exaggerated your breath to help him move with you. His stare continued to pierce through you, indecision falling over his features before something seemed to click. 

And with his first successful steady breath, he finally spoke.             

“Please.”

If you are a victim of sexual assault, I hope you know that you can love again and that it will get better with time. I'm rooting for you. You don't have to be afraid. And you do not have to shut yourself off from letting love in.

I know I keep popping in and out to post things so thank you for continuing to read if you're still here. I've spent months wanting to post this chapter, but there was a lot of shit going on in my personal life — but I had to return to give y’all this.

[slytherin-princess-x]

Slytherinmas story day

Toxic games

Summary: this is a toxic enemies with benefits story but when you end up kissing mattheo’s rival something in him..snaps

A/n: kissing, swearing

Chapter 3: Poison & Pleasure

The emerald sheets beneath me were cool against my heated skin, a stark contrast to the inferno that was Mattheo Riddle hovering above me. Shadows from the floating candles played across his features, turning him into something almost otherworldly – a demon dressed in Slytherin robes, come to collect his due.

"Look at you," he breathed, trailing a finger down my throat. "So fucking perfect, spread out on my bed like you belong here."

I arched an eyebrow, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his touch affected me. "Careful, Riddle. That almost sounded like a compliment."

His hand wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just resting there – a reminder of the power he thought he held. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending I don't notice you."

"Pretending?" I laughed, the sound hollow in the space between us. "Is that what we're calling your obsession now?"

His grip tightened fractionally. "You're one to talk about obsession. I saw how you watched me all night, even while you were kissing Pucey." His free hand slid up my thigh, pushing my dress higher. "Did you imagine it was me?"

"You wish." But my voice betrayed me, coming out breathier than intended.

A knowing smirk curved his lips. "I don't have to wish, y/n. Your body gives you away every fucking time."

To prove his point, he pressed his lips to the spot just below my ear that he knew drove me crazy. I bit back a moan, but couldn't stop my hands from clutching his shoulders.

"I hate that you know me this well," I whispered, the words falling like poison between us.

He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes, and for a moment, the masks we both wore slipped. "I hate that I want to know you better."

The admission hung in the air, too honest, too real for whatever this was between us. We didn't do vulnerability. We didn't do truth. We did anger and lust and power plays.

So I did what I did best – I destroyed the moment.

"Shut up and kiss me properly, you pretentious prick."

His eyes darkened, masks sliding back into place. "As my lady commands."

But this kiss was different from our others. Still rough, still demanding, but there was something else there now. Something that felt dangerously close to need.

My fingers worked at his shirt buttons as his mouth traced patterns of ownership across my collarbone. Each touch was a claim, each kiss a brand. We were marking our territory, though neither of us would admit that's what this was.

"Tell me you want me," he demanded against my skin.

I dragged my nails down his now-bare chest, relishing in his sharp intake of breath. "Make me."

Challenge accepted, his hands gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, and suddenly he was everywhere – his touch, his taste, his scent overwhelming my senses until I couldn't remember why I was supposed to be fighting this.

"Say it," he growled, his control visibly slipping.

And maybe it was the way moonlight filtered through the lake water outside his window, casting us both in an ethereal green glow. Maybe it was the lingering firewhisky in my veins. Or maybe I was just tired of pretending.

"I want you," I breathed, the words feeling like surrender and victory all at once. "I fucking want you, Mattheo."

His eyes met mine, and for the first time since this toxic dance began, I saw something that looked almost like reverence in them.

"Good," he whispered against my lips. "Because you're mine now. Whether you like it or not."

As his mouth claimed mine again, more possessive than ever, a terrifying thought crossed my mind: maybe I'd been his all along.

And maybe, just maybe, he'd been mine too.

[To be continued...]

Tag list: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred

[tumbleweed-run]

PLEASE, I beg of you, I crave a story that plays after Gale had the conversation in Act 2 with Tav of him beeing wooed seing her in battle. It was the moment the Wizardman owned me...

“But standing by your side through such darkness and disrepair, it only makes me want you more.”

You blink slowly, your brain still catching up with everything that has just happened. As Gale’s words sink in he’s already turned to other matters and you groan inwardly at your delay. The others, at least, have the decency to pretend they hadn’t heard anything you two had said. And if they make themselves a little more scarce after speaking to Jaheira once again, you’re all the more grateful for it. 

You make up your mind and grab Gale’s arm, all but dragging him into an occupied room. He’s opened his mouth, no doubt to question your manhandling of him, but you silence him quickly by smashing your mouth against his. He immediately melts against you. 

This kiss is more than anything you’ve shared this far. You both have been so wary of setting off the damned orb that you’ve done little more than small pecks and holding hands at camp. This is tongues dancing, hands grasping for any place to hold. You can still smell the aftermath of the previous fight, feel it as Gale unknowingly bumps against bruises. For the most part, he thankfully seems unharmed - the benefits of being a wizard. 

The heat that had pooled between your thighs is now a raging inferno, and you can feel Gale is very much in the same state. But even as you reach for his robes he stops you, hand grasping your wrist gently. 

“Not here,” he pants, lips having barely moved from yours to speak. 

A frustrated noise escapes your lips, “you can’t just say those things,” you grouse at him, trying to wiggle your hand free. 

He chuckles, the sound rumbling across your cheek. 

“The first time we make love,” Gale says confidently as if he can’t imagine a world where this isn’t love, “we will do it properly. You deserve it done right.”

“Gale,” you plead, but it's halfhearted. You can tell he won't relent from this. 

“I will not leave you in such a state, though,” Gale promises, a mischievous look on his face, “It would not go well for us if you’re unfocused.”

He guides you backward until you bump against a table. You grab at it to keep it from toppling over, and as you do, Gale takes advantage of your distraction and quickly undoes your pants. He’s got them down to your knees by the time your brain catches up to what he’s doing. He follows them down, sinking to his own knees before you. 

“Gale,” you gasp at the sight. You’re armor is still on, still covered in blood and dirt from the battle, but Gale kneels before you, looking untouched and nearly perfect. It only adds fuel to the flames of your desires for him. 

His only response is to lean forward and press a kiss against the mound of your cunt, just for a moment, before slipping his tongue between your folds. You quickly rip your glove from your hand, tossing it off to the side, and then thread your hand into his hair. The first few passes of his tongue between your legs feel like an experiment, slow and calculating. You swear you can feel him smirk against your skin when a pass over your clit makes you jump and swear. 

He’s significantly less restrained after that, all but burying his face between your folds. The sounds he’s making cause your knees to buckle. Suddenly, you’re relying on the table to keep you up. He’s so loud and eager you swear the rest of the inn should be able to hear the two of you. The thought heats your face even as your head falls back and you spread your thighs as far as your pants will allow.

A finger slides inside of you, joining quickly into the rhythm his tongue has found, and then another. You’re moaning freely, fingers gripping the table so tightly you’ll be surprised if there aren’t grooves worn into the wood later. Your hips begin moving of their own accord, rolling forward, seeking more. Gale is quick to respond, his tongue now moving expertly against your clit as his fingers fuck deeper inside of you, finding a spot that makes you gasp and stand on tiptoe. 

It doesn’t take long and you come, cry only muffled as you nearly bite through your lip. Your hips don’t stop moving as wave after wave of pleasure courses through you. Gale moans between your legs, tongue and fingers drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible. Only once your knees start to buckle does he stop, withdrawing his fingers from you only to grasp at your bare hips to keep you upright. 

When he stands, you lean forward against him, panting, your body finally coming down from a multitude of sensations. As your head clears you reach forward to attempt to rub his cock with your palm but Gale easily sidesteps you. 

“What about you?” You ask, surprised to hear your voice as level as it is. 

“I am perfectly fine waiting, my love,” Gale says as he presses a soft kiss to your head. 

You flush at the implication that you were unable to control your own lust. A chuckle from above you and another kiss in your hair lets you know Gale might just be able to tell what you’re thinking. 

[mayaflowerxs]

hellooo can i request a smut abt jaemin and fem reader in a secluded/private pool just like the one's in inferno😩 thanksss!!

AFTER HOUR PRIVACY

Synopsis: On a tv show to find love, your journey with the beloved Na Jaemin all began in the pool.

Warning: Smut / Fluff /, swear word usage, alcohol consumption, pool sex. Little to no plot! So sorry it took AGES, I’ve been super busy but I’ll try my hardest to upload more!! Please enjoy and sorry it isn’t the best!

Pairing; Jaemin x f!reader

Splashing can be heard following a series of giggles. Besides that, only the the crickets are what keeps the night from utter silence in the villa. Way past midnight, with all other contenders fast asleep with the exception of two.

It was currently day 3 and although it was still all fairly new, you had already embarked the start of what can be of something nice with the charismatic Na Jaemin, 23 year old citizen from Jeonju-si ,South Korea. Contrast to your first impression of the man, you had quickly gotten close with him. Hitting it off way easier than you’d ever thought. Before you knew it, you would be taking a late night swim with him.

Even though, the two of you are already partnered up, with someone else.

Cornered, Jaemin’s arms are at your sides. On a mission to tickle you, a mischievous grin on his face to get you to laugh. Squirming and pushing at his chest, he’s too strong to stop him. “NaNa stop! They’re going to hear us.” You whisper shout at him through a fit of giggles. Shrugging his shoulders, he stops tickling you only to pull you in by your waist. You instinctively wrap your arms around his shoulders, nuzzling your face in his neck to stop the snickering.

It was wrong to be doing this. To be out this late when the rest of the villa was asleep, and especially to be doing this when the two of you are clearly not partners. It’s not fair to neither person who’s currently sleeping alone in your shared beds.

“We don’t owe them anything.” Jaemin tries to reason with you. Raising a brow, you pull back to look at him clearly.

“I know what you’re thinking. It’s only been 3 days, its still early days. We owe no loyalty.”

“But shouldn’t we at least tell them that you know…we’re…” “Hooking up?” Smacking his arm, he only snorts and leans in to press a sudden kiss to your cheek. “You’re cute when you worry.” Smacking him once more, he fakes a wince. “What’s that for?” “For being an asskisser.” Smirking his voice lowers an octave. “baby for you, I’ll gladly do all the ass kissing-“ An attempt to kiss you, you press your hand on his lips. “Not happening, you already ruined my hair.” You sigh and pull back, not noticing the slight look of disapproval on the boy’s face when you do that. In a small span of time, he’s noticed he’s grown needy for your touch. His arm was quick to rest on your side immediately afterwards. He stares as you take your hair out of the messy bun, hair still kept dry.

“Oh I’m sorry, how about I fix that real quick.” Jaemin shrugs before he picks you up, arms tucked under your legs. Wrapping them around his waist, “Jaemin, what are you doing?” Eyes widening when you notice he’s beginning to back up, going further to the deeper side of the pool. “Don’t you dare wet my hair.” You try to push him off but to no avail, his hold on you is kept strong. Last thing you did before the both of you are plunged into the water is wrapping your arms around his toned shoulders.

Coming up for water, splashing him when he breaks the surface only to grin in your face. “What an ass!” You try to move the sticky strands of hair out of your face, he only laughs and when he tries to swim closer to you, he’s only met with your knee attempting to aim at his lower region. “Ok! Ok! I’m sorry.” Ignoring him, you swim over to the other end of the pool. Picking up the glass of wine you left on the edge and just as you take a sip you felt his presence behind you. Arms on either side on you, caging you in, his chest on your back as he rests his chin on your shoulder. Mouth close to your ear as he lays small air kisses, “M’sorry y/n, please forgive me.” Attempting to give him the silent treatment, Jaemin picks on it immediately and results in pressing soft sensual kisses to your neck.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, hugging you closer to him. Hands massaging your soft wet skin. “Y/n, baby I’m sorry. Please forgive me?” Eyes closed as the feeling of his mouth and hands on you make you seem to be in some kind of hypnosis, you can only hum before you force yourself to focus. Shaking your head, you’re just about to move away from him when he pushes you up against the edge of the pool. “No?” He asks, pitch slightly risen, the question in it sounds taunting. “Would you like me to prove to you just how sorry I am?”

“Jaemin, I think it’s time to go inside-“

Squealing when he suddenly turns you around and lifts you up, propping you to sit on the concrete. Feeling much rougher than the smoothness of the water. “Let me show you just how sorry I am.” Pulling you to the very edge by your legs, bringing you closer to his face, your eyes widen. “Jaemin the cameras. What if the others see?” Not responding, he merely uses his forearm to push your back onto the concrete, spreading your legs to get full access to your bikini bottom. “Just relax baby. They turn the cameras off after 1 am.”

“But Jae- “ Throwing your head back with a moan, mouth slightly gaping the moment you felt his tongue on you.

Pushing your bikini to the side where he has no struggle in attaching his mouth on your sopping cunt. Tongue flicking everywhere, a finger on your clit as he proceeds to rub figure eights. Strands of his wet hair sticks to his forehead, his back muscle tenses the longer he’s hovering over you. Sounds of slurping can be heard the faster he eats you out. Fighting the urge to close your legs, your nails failing to dig into the hard ground results in them running through the wet locks of the man that has left you breathless since day one.

Your chest rises with every hard intake of breath you make. It felt good, amazing. He certainly wasn’t a man with little to no experience, he knew what he was doing. He knows how to get you going especially when he makes sure to look up at you, keeping his eyes on you. Even when his mouth was occupied, you could still notice when he smirked with every moan that left your pink lips. “Jaemin-“ You try to push his head away from you, you were close. He knew that and so he grabs your hands and pins them at your sides.

Sucking harder, focusing on your sensitive bud until he had you shaking for him. Not stopping even when you had already came on his mouth, not when half his face was drenched. His own grunts can be heard the faster he laps up your pussy, seeing the drunken look on his face is enough to know he’s gotten addicted to your taste.

“Jaemin, babe.” You whimper, legs shaking with every passing second that it stays held up. His grip on your wrists on tightens when you try to pry yourself of him. The man going down on you pulls back only to spit on your red throbbing pussy and reattach himself to you. Soon you begin to feel another orgasm beginning to start back up. Fully making out with your pussy, you watch as the pussy drunken man before you loses himself to your essence. A look of bliss on his face almost as if he’s been starved for who knows how long.

He can’t get enough of you. Since the moment he met eyes with you, he knew you would be wrecking him every which way. You would be on his mind from when he wakes up in the morning to when he falls asleep, but unfortunately wouldn’t be who he gets to partner up as it seems someone else also happened to have his eyes set on you. But he can’t blame them, you’re gorgeous, you have great banter with anyone even though he prefers if it was only with him. You have no problem turning him on and even though he’s currently partnered up with someone else, he can’t help but think of the many obscene scenarios he wishes to fulfill with you and only you.

So now, that he’s here. Alone in the middle of the night in Spain. On a beautiful villa with you spread out for him, how can he not appreciate every second he gets with you. Even if he may become greedy?

High pitched moans are ripped out of you, breath hitched as your orgasm is much stronger than the first. managing to turn your hands, your fingers begin to rub soft circles on Jaemin’s veiny ones. Something that helps him get out of his daze. With one last kiss to your clit, he pulls away and lowers your legs. Pulling you over to him until he plants his wet lips on yours. Moaning into his mouth when you get a taste of yourself. “You tasted like cherries, my favorite.” Jaemin says to you huskily.

A hand of yours reached the back of his neck. Fingers curling the ends of his hair, you notice the adorable look on his face. Lips swollen, tired face but his eyes still held a hint of lust in them. The idea that he may be harder underneath the water only wants you to continue this reckless behavior. Pulling him closer to you, you lean into his ear. In a whisper,

“Fuck me.”

A small groan can be heard, shrieking when he suddenly pulls you in the pool only to have you pressed on the wall of the pool and bent over on the edge. Hand tugging your top off to reveal your perky tits. Grinning when you feel him kneading your ass before you feel it.

His tip rubbing up against your pussy lips. Gasping at the sudden friction. Jaemin keeps you bent over, his arm pressing your back to keep your tits on the cold ground. “Be good.” He says sternly before he thrusts in. Gasping at the intrusion, you couldn’t believe the size of him. He wasn’t huge but definitely bigger than what you had imagined.

Yet again, the man takes you by surprise when he doesn’t seem to pick up pace. Instead he keeps his thrust slow and sensual. Making sure to hit every inch of you warm tight walls. His angry red tip kissing your cervix beautifully, the bulge on your lower abdomen becoming prominent of his tip. You felt slightly embarrassed that it had only taken 3 days for you to sleep with a stranger that you just met, but when he begins to fuck you harder you can’t seem to care.

“NaNa..” You whine, this only riles the man and soon he picks up the pace. The water moves with harsh waves with every movement he makes. Some of it spilling out of the tub, your face on the ground, hand gripping your hair as you try to focus on your labor breathing. Starting to feel yourself lose any sense due to his throbbing cock, Moaning when you suddenly feel him pull you up. His left hand wrapping around your neck as the other wraps around your waist securely. “Look at you going dumb on my cock.” He snickers in your ear.

“Feels so fucking good.” You manage to get out.

“Yeah? Better than what you’ve had lately?” He asks while giving a particular forceful thrust. Having to set your arm on the rail in order to gain balance. “So much better!” You agree.

Turned to face him, you feel his arms come underneath your legs. Scooping you up until your clinging onto him, he re-enters you. This time he’s no longer soft, sensual but instead he rams into you. Knocking the breath out of you, he pounds into you as you rest your arm back on the rim of the pool. Your tits bounce in his face, enticing him to lean in and soon he does,

Mouth attaching itself on your harden nipples. Sensitive to his tongue as he proceeds to nibble on them slightly. Sucking until he leaves them red and with hickies on them. Rotating between each tit, his face nuzzled in them even when he’s bouncing you hard on his cock. “Fuck Jaemin, keep doing that.” You plead, throwing your head back. His lips quickly to find your neck. Sucking until they too are covered in his love bites. No longer caring if either one of your partner’s find suspicion. They’ll have to find out one way or another,

That you’re his from here on out. And he does not plan on sharing you. Not when you’re wrapped around his dick so nice and tightly. Not when your tits are practically begging to be fondled with. Not when you moan his name so prettily, like his name was always mean’t to be moaned out by you. You got him perfectly wrapped around your finger and he does not care.

So, if he must go back to his shared room with the other contenders. To have to go back to sharing a bed with his partner. To have to see you get in bed with another man, he might as well make this night memorable for the both of you. A silent promise for more in the future.

Grabbing a leg of yours, he pushes you back on the ground and lifts your leg to gain a better angle. Better access to hitting deep within your bruised cunt, and when your walls tighten around him immediately he knows he found your g spot.

Feeling glorious, he doesn’t stop hitting the exact spot. Hair sticking to his forehead, its unknown if whether its water or his sweat. He ignores the fact that it’s getting in the way of his vision. He eyes dead set at the connection between the two of you. Watching how your pussy begs to be filled with his cock. How it tightens every time he thrusts back.

“Jaemin I’m so close!” You hiccup, he coos.

“You going dumb on my cock baby? Am I taking your breath away? I see how much you’re struggling to breath baby.” He taunts with a shit eating grin.

Rolling your eyes, head tosses back its quickly pulled forward when you feel his hand coming to wrap around your throat. “Open those pretty eyes princess, want you to look at me while you come on my cock.” Despite the struggle, you try your hardest to keep your eyes open. You rest your arm on top of Jaemin’s whose hold doesn’t relent on your throat.

You hear the way he’s beginning to groan excessively. He too about ready to reach his peak. How uneven his thrusts are, he’s faster, messier and relentless. His breathing is uneven and his brows are furrowed with determination.

“Shit!”

You feel your orgasm hit you like a powerful wave. Jaemin is quick to pull out, shooting his load on your stomach. Painting your body with white hot cum. Some of it going on his abs. Catching your breaths, Jaemin leans in to press a soft kiss on your temple. “You okay?” Sending him a soft smile, you nod and cup his face to press a real kiss on his lips. One you know he wanted for a while now. Seeing the look of content on his face, you chuckle and allow him as he begins to wipe his cum off your body. Helping the two of you out of the pool and helping you put your bikini back on. Pulling up his trousers.

Entering the building, the two of you head over to the bathroom. Realizing it’s a bad idea to shower if you don’t wanna wake anyone up. The best course of action would to simply change. And just as the two of you are about to head into the bedroom, you stop when you notice something on Jaemin’s abdomen. “What?’

His eyes widen when you suddenly get on your knees. “What are you-“ a low gasp falls out of his mouth as he stares amazed, tongue out as you begin to lick at his abdomen. Licking him clean of the excess semen that spurted on him. It was hot to say the last, but the tip of the icebreak may have been when you looked up at him with a cheeky smile. Feeling the familiar rush flowing down to his dick, he groans in frustration when you stop once you licked him clean and walked off not before sending him a wink.

“Goodnight.”

Now horny and with a hard on, Jaemin will have to fall asleep the you on his mind yet again.

Only now, he’d have to plan the next open opportunity where he can get you to himself. Away from the others, away from your partners and somewhere where he can fuck you to his hearts content.

To show you, he isn’t the only one that can be left wanting more.

[melodic-haze]

that signora ask and the making out after was such a mood

but i mean why would you only make out with one pair of lips when you have another pair—

SEE I wondered whether to write it out the first time but then I cba bc I was feeling extra lazy then

NOW I'M NOT THOUGH HAHAHAHAHAH1 oh mygodddddd just the thought of keeping your animosity in bed bc really the constant back-and-forth and conflict between you two? SUFFOCATING sexual tension. You may or may not admit it but SIGNORA fucking would bc she's loud and mouthy as hell but there's just a point when your shared snarkiness started to shift into something....different before you both decided to go "fuck it" and kiss each other

Fighting her IN THE BED for dominance, to be on top of the other, to have one of you cum first as the winning condition as you both scissor each other while making out MESSILY (on both ends HAHAHAHA). You eventually go from battling against each other to having such a vice grip on each other, with her nails digging into your thighs and your hand pressed into her neck as you both tell each other to cum together or you swear to your god you will--

And when you come down from your shared highs, you both go a lot slower, lazily eating each other out (and you better feel grateful and privileged to be anywhere close to her pussy) and it just turns into something much more.. weirdly tender. Not soft—Signora doesn't do soft, she abandoned that the same time she found Rostam dead—but.. something close to it, something intimate. And you feel her warmth, a previously both a raging inferno and a freezing tundra all at once, dial down into something more......comfortable for once when you both cum again

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 3

The Case Studies: Karlach and Gale

Welcome to the third and final part of this wild deep dive rabbit hole monstrosity that is the three-part series about illithid souls and whether mind flayers, or specifically you as a mind flayer, have a soul.

If you read Part 1 and Part 2, then you know that yes, illithids have souls, they're just different souls that the gods don't recognize as souls because they're non-apostolic, or incapable of divine worship (as opposed to being apostolic like most humanoid souls). You now also know that you turning into a mind flayer is a bit of a special case because of the Netherese magic in the tadpoles, and this might be why you retain more of your soul than normal mind flayers would.

Also, a quick reminder of the two theories we're working with here: Theory 1 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer they essentially just die and their (apostolic) soul moves on to the Fugue Plane and the mind flayer body just gets a new illithid soul from somewhere. Theory 2 is that when someone becomes a mind flayer their soul is transformed and altered into an illithid soul, which remains tethered to the mind flayer body. BG3 seems to operate more on the Theory 2 side of things, but as we'll see with Karlach and Gale, it's more complicated than you think.

So let's deep dive, shall we?

The Case of Karlach

I'm going to be candid here and say that the mind flayer ending for Karlach makes me really sad, even knowing that there's a very high chance that her soul is mostly intact and she is mostly still Karlach. But there's no denying she's at least a little different, though the game tries to comfort us otherwise after she transforms.

Narrator: *She is transformed. Her body is no longer hers, but her eyes, her heart - she is still Karlach, for now. Only - there's a hunger in her eyes that wasn't there before.*

That "for now" is rather ominous, isn't it? But we have enough evidence from Tav/Durge/other Origins and Orpheus to suggest that the likelihood of her retaining her memories and her personality is very high. In fact, when you talk to her during the epilogue, she does seem mostly the same, though her language has mellowed out to a more formal tone and she speaks less colloquially (and swears less and less).

If you talk to her immediately after she transforms, she marvels that she's still "herself" but also "more," which again reinforces that we all get to be special mind flayers who don't completely lose our souls. But I think there are some interesting lines in this dialogue:

Karlach: This is wild. I'm myself but... but more. Player: I don't like the sound of that. Karlach: Don't worry, soldier. It's still your old pal under all this purple. But suddenly 'I' am different than I ever knew. And my engine, it's... it's... silent. No heat. No gears. Still there, but no longer threatening to explode. Soldier... Player: I guess turning into an illithid has its perks. Karlach: Here I thought I was making a sacrifice. Thank the gods I'm a noble fuck! Shit. I'm gonna be all right. I get to be alive. I get to stay. As a hideous monster, sure. But one that can feel. Think. Live. But I'm still myself. And I know what our mission is. I'm glad I get to the do the honours.

Karlach reiterates over and over that she's still herself, but you can literally hear the change in her voice. Where normally her tone and volume would be boisterous, loud, and energetic, she's now calm and mellow, even when she's swearing. Her tone here is more one of wonder. It isn't just the internal and external fires that have calmed down, her overall demeanor seems "cooler" too.

Also, in her romance ending just before the epilogue, where you're both in the Elfsong Tavern room, you can mention that she does seem a little altered.

Player: I still love you, Karlach. I still want to be with you. Karlach: I love you too. Before, that love was an irrepressible inferno. Now it is a calm, cool object of beauty. Player: I can see you're still yourself, but there's something else in there too. An illithid calm. Karlach: Maybe you're right. I feel less... changeable. Less afraid. I feel ready for whatever is to come.

It doesn't tell us much, but it does reinforce that when we or any of our companions turn into a mind flayer, we likely retain a lot of our former personality, but in a much more calm, even-keeled kind of way. Again going back to the idea that our soul is still there, still mostly the same, but has been made a bit more illithid.

What is more interesting for Karlach, specifically, is her discussion of her diet as a mind flayer. Remember what souls are allegedly made up of? Intelligence, personality, and what else?

Memories.

Karlach: For example, my favourite food used to be mutton chops. Do you know what it is now? Brains, soldier. Brains. Player: Comes with the illithid territory, I suppose. Karlach: True. But I've found ways to maintain my values while respecting that which I am - that which made it possible for me to live. I've made arrangements with a healer in the city. When a patient is beyond saving, but still able to speak for themselves, they're offered a choice. They can go as nature intends to take them. Or, when they're ready - when their goodbyes have been said, their affairs settled, and all that awaits them is pain - I relieve them. When I consume their brains, I am nourished by much more than the physical nutrition. Their memories - from birth to death - become part of me. I've lived hundreds of childhoods, first loves, marriages, feuds and friendships. I remember them all. And in this way, we all live on. Together.

There's so much to unpack here. One, she still remembers her values, even six months later, but is trying to negotiate her former humanoid values (and personality, I imagine) with her needs as a mind flayer. That seems very Karlach, through and through.

But then, when she consumes these dying patients' brains, she absorbs and retains their memories. I imagine their souls still go on to the Fugue Plane, because I highly doubt that mind flayers also consume souls when they eat brains, but it still leaves me with questions. Karlach isn't part of a hivemind, which normally circulates memories between each other, but she's becoming a similar kind of receptacle for memories, and only she is the one that contains them, rather than an entire hivemind.

I have to wonder how much something like constantly consuming and remembering memories that are not your own affects you as a person/creature. Does that eventually lead to a loss of self, as you begin to "live" multiple different lives? Or does it all count as mere knowledge?

In some ways this would put her in competition with any elder brains still out there, but she's also not collecting knowledge for the sake of knowledge. She's collecting memories and living them out in her mind, which is a certain kind of tragedy. She's literally living vicariously through these people because her mind flayer body is too scary to go out and about in, and she's making up for a decade of life she didn't get to live. She's alive, but she's not...living if that makes sense. And again...how long before all these memories start to change who she is?

(An aside. I really don’t think her eating brains and collecting memories keeps someone’s soul from moving on. If you use the spell Speak with Dead, you don’t call back an entire soul, but the corpse still has access to its memories. I think in this case, even though memories make up part of a soul, Karlach consuming brains and collecting memories is more like her downloading a copy of the memories for herself. The dead person likely still takes their own memories with them to the Fugue Plane, where they will be judged by Kelemvor or collected by their favorite deity. She’s just copy/pasting data, not transferring everything from one hard drive to another, if that analogy makes sense.)

This arrangement where Karlach consumes the brains of dying patients is expanded or clarified a bit if you're romancing her during the epilogue, and also includes a reference to souls as well.

Karlach: I can’t wait to say hello, but to be honest, I’m keen to visit the doctor before it gets too late. He said there’s a potential in his infirmary. A very old woman recently diagnosed with a wasting sickness. She seemed interested in what I have to offer. I’ll want to have a good long talk with her before we make an arrangement. Though if I’m being very selfish, I hope she’ll say yes. I’m absolutely famished - and think of all those memories. Player: Glad to hear. I was worried you were getting hungry. Karlach: I don’t hide it well, do I? Some things don’t change, even when everything else does. It’s funny. I’m hungry in my body, but in my soul too. That woman has lived a long life - births, deaths, love, misfortune. And if she agrees, I’ll be able to give her a dignified end, and remember it all in her honour.

Or if you go with a different option:

Player: I'm still not sure how I feel about this arrangement. Are you sure it's ethical to feed on the dying? Karlach: I'm sure of very little these days. But at least this way, I can live. And those who offer themselves to me can live on too. Births, first loves, marriages, losses - I remember them all and always will. Each memory I've consumed is of value.

It's just so interesting to me. One, her remark that she's eager to say hello but slightly more interested in chatting to a doctor about her next meal suggests that some elements of becoming a mind flayer are much harder to ignore. I imagine if she's hungry, she feels less like Karlach. (And I have thoughts, for another post, about whether she becomes "too fixated" on living when she's a mind flayer, given the cost of what it means to stay alive as a mind flayer.)

But she also says she's hungry in her soul. Her soul seems deeply interested in these memories, and I wonder if that's because memories are (or could be) part of souls themselves. Maybe the remark isn't really that deep, but she specifically connects the hunger of her soul to all the memories a long-lived woman will have. It's almost as if these memories nurture her soul, but it's unclear whether that is because it's somehow healing to see and "experience" life in ways she can't now that she's a mind flayer, or if it's because the memories have some kind of tangible effect on her soul/souls in general.

I suppose we won't know for sure. What we do know from Karlach's case, however, is that a great deal of the original soul (personality, memories, etc) seems to stick around even six months later, though there are noticeable changes in personality, such as an overall calm demeanor. There are also hints that consuming brains could lead to further changes down the road, but there's nothing really concrete. Just hints.

In the end, Karlach is still Karlach, and her soul still has plenty of elements of the original Karlach, even six months later. This is a good sign, but we can't completely ignore that her new body/mind as a mind flayer will necessarily mean some things have permanently changed. Whether you judge those changes as good or bad is up to you.

With that said, let's move on to the final and most mind-boggling case.

The Case of Gale

If you play a companion as an Origin run, the mind flayer decision typically works out the same way as Tav...unless you're playing as Gale. Gale gets some extra options at the end of the game.

This is mostly because Gale has perhaps the most apostolic soul that hangs in the balance, second only to Shadowheart, and her soul pendulum swings between Selûne and Shar. Gale, however, seems to be walking on a knife's edge trying to retain or earn back entry into Elysium, Mystra's domain in the Outer Planes. He's allegedly already been there, though not as a dead soul, so he knows what's at stake if his soul suddenly becomes non-apostolic or disappears.

In other words, Gale has a formerly Faithful apostolic soul, but he spends much of the game probably worried his soul will be judged as False when he dies (since he lost Mystra's favor) until Mystra offers her brand of forgiveness, which is essentially "if you sacrifice your own life, I'll let you into Elyisum again." It's a guarantee that he ends up in the afterlife he wants to be in. That's what Mystra's forgiveness really boils down to.

Now, this is a man who does not want to sacrifice his soul, and also (Netherese orb aside) does not want to die if his soul is going to be judged as False by Kelemvor rather than welcomed into Elysium as a Faithful soul. We know that Gale finds the Fugue Plane exceedingly depressing, so I can't imagine he has any desire to wander around it for any stretch of time, even if Mystra does eventually deign to invite him into Elysium. I'm sure the thought of becoming part of the Wall of the Faithless might as well be hell to him.

Gale: It’s a relief to be back in beautiful Faerûn. The dreariness of the Fugue Plane oppresses one’s soul so very quickly.

[mumm's note: yes my man died in service of a Tactician battle against Grym, but he got better]

It's a little surprising to see how adamantly Gale would prefer to choose the Netherese orb over letting himself or anyone he cares for become illithid. Look at some of what he says when he tries to offer the orb as an option for the final battle:

Gale: An easy proposition for the Emperor to make - 'become a mind flayer' - it has no soul to sacrifice. If it did - perhaps it would understand the weight of what it's asking of us. And why we might seek an alternative.

I couldn't get this next dialogue to trigger in my game, but in the same conversation as above you might potentially get the option to remind him about Mystra's offer to cure his orb condition, and even then he reminds you of the stakes that come with becoming a mind flayer.

Player: Mystra will cure you if we bring her the Crown of Karsus. You don't need to do this. Gale: To cure me of the orb, yes. But what of the guilt of allowing one of my friends to sacrifice their very soul and become illithid?

Now keep in mind, up to this point no one has shown any evidence that turning into a mind flayer won't actually mean the total destruction of one's soul. Up until now, the only evidence anyone has of an original soul remaining intact inside a mind flayer body is the Emperor (we have no frame of reference for who Omeluum was before he was a mind flayer), and most of the companions do not trust the Emperor one bit. So Gale genuinely thinks that becoming a mind flayer means your soul is either destroyed or changed so much that it's no longer you.

I mean, think about it. He's half expecting you to take the tadpole the Emperor offers and literally cease to exist. He's expecting to fight alongside a mind flayer who has, at best, your name and a few scraps of your memory, and at worst, no shred of you at all. Because again, up until this point in the game, none of them realize that they could become a special mind flayer who does actually retain most (if not all) of their soul, including their personality and memories.

Gale literally thinks that blowing up and going to the Fugue Plane is better than you or any companion becoming a mind flayer.

But that's in a companion run. Obviously, if you play him as an Origin, you can have him turn into a mind flayer as a different kind of ultimate sacrifice. The decision plays out the same as a Tav/Durge run or any other Origin run. But after the game ends, Gale gets unique dialogue if he (1) sacrifices himself or (2) does not sacrifice himself and goes to meet Mystra with the Crown in hand.

Any run of his sacrifice (aka, using the orb, regardless of whether or not he is illithid) results in Withers finding him in the Fugue Plane for a brief conversation. This conversation isn't much different if Gale is a mind flayer when he uses the orb, since all it does is add an extra option to their conversation that references being illithid ("One illithid for the whole of Faerûn seems like a fair trade to me," which replaces the option "One wizard for the whole of Faerûn...etc").

(An aside, I don't have an Origin Gale run so I can't test this, but I think if he ends his life on the docks as a mind flayer, the way Tav/Durge can with a knife got the stomach, then he just gets the usual Tav/Durge conversation with Withers about how his form has "something of the spirit" about him. See Part 2 if you're curious about that conversation.)

What this conversation with Withers reveals is how much control Mystra seems to have over his soul, especially if/when he's a mind flayer. If Gale decides to sacrifice himself using the Netherese Orb, Withers remarks about how surprising it is that Mystra hasn’t picked him up yet.

Withers: Who flickers there ‘twixt the shadows? Gale, who didst surrender his very self for the salvation of Faerûn. I feared I might not find thee here - that Mystra would have already plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate. But she may wait a while yet.

It’s a little unclear if Withers uses “plucked thy thread from the tapestry of fate” to mean Gale gets to go to Elysium or something else, and it’s equally unclear whether Mystra waiting is a sign of displeasure or a sign that she is interested in sending Gale back to the Material Plane. She is capable of doing that, after all, and has frequently resurrected her Chosens, like Elminster, if it suits her.

But I highlight this conversation to show that you can get it as a mind flayer, and (if you are a mind flayer during this scene) that Mystra waiting isn't because he's a mind flayer and she can't find his soul. She waits for a minute regardless of whether he's illithid or not. But Withers is certain Mystra will be able to find Gale's soul, because he was able to find Gale's soul and recognize it as Gale.

So, not to harp on this again and again, but it's proof that turning into a mind flayer didn't destroy Gale's soul. It's still Gale's soul, even in the Fugue Plane, even if he's mind-flayer-shaped, and that soul is still capable of journeying to Elysium, should Mystra bother to find it wandering the Fugue Plane (or wherever he is).

But things are a little different if Gale decides to become a mind flayer and then goes to visit Mystra with the Crown of Karsus in hand. Keep in mind, Origin!Gale always has the option to face off against Mystra after the defeat of the Netherbrain, and this face-off is where he decides to hand over the Crown, become the god of ambition, or straight up try to fight Mystra.

However! If Gale is a mind flayer, he gets a secret fourth option.

If Gale goes to meet Mystra as an illithid with the Crown of Karsus and then gives up the Crown to her, Mystra offers to take Gale to Elysium with her. More than that, she offers to literally restore his humanity and cure him of illithidness.

Sort of.

Mystra: So, Gale of Waterdeep, you have become the inheritor of Karsus’ powers at last. What do you intend to do with them? Gale: I came to surrender them. The Crown, the Karsite Weave - take it all. Mystra: This offering cost you greatly. There is no hope in life as an illithid, devoid of soul and conscience. It is within my power to restore your soul, and your humanity, if you are willing to leave the mortal realms behind. Return with me, to Elysium.

No one else is offering this kind of deal to an Origin-turned-mind-flayer. Selûne and Shar don’t care if Shadowheart turns illithid, and Withers isn’t exactly offering to restore souls and humanity (or…mortalness?) to everyone else. This is a signifier of the sheer amount of power Mystra has, yes, but this also hints at some other things.

One, despite evidence of the contrary, Mystra is adamant that Gale-as-illithid is or would be “devoid of soul and conscience,” even though we know that that likely isn’t true (just see Karlach, Tav/Durge, etc). Perhaps Mystra is unaware that Gale is a Special Mind Flayer (seems unlikely), or perhaps she’s simply trying to convince Gale to come with her. After all, what she’s offering is still a kind of reward.

Then again, maybe Gale and/or Mystra fear the long-term effects of illithidness. Maybe over time he would become less and less like Gale, perhaps due to consuming memories, or other factors that come with being a mind flayer. Still, though, saying that his life would be "devoid of soul and conscience" seems like a massive stretch on Mystra's part.

But anyway, the reward for him turning into a mind flayer and giving her the Crown is a restoration of his humanity...but only in death.

Mystra: Return with me, to Elysium. Devnote: respectful - Gale sacrificed his humanity to achieve what she asked. If he’s willing to die on the mortal planes, she will restore his soul and body but in the heavens.

Now before I get to what happens if Gale agrees to this reward, I want to point out that Mystra herself sort of acknowledges that Gale isn't exactly devoid of soul and conscience if he refuses her offer. Here are some of the ways Gale can turn her down, with her answer to each option being the same:

Gale: [Option 1] Thank you, but no. I have someone waiting for me. Gale: [Option 2] Perhaps one day, but for now there is more I need to accomplish. Gale: [Option 3] Being an illithid has its advantages. I'm content as I am. Mystra: Then you are free to go with both my thanks and my promise - henceforth, your prayers will always be answered.

The whole idea of an apostolic soul is that it means the person is capable of worshipping a divine being, and this worship ncludes prayers. She might have said that him being illithid would mean he would be devoid of soul and conscience, but in nearly the same breath she promises to answer all his prayers. So she recognizes something of a soul within him. So why say he would be devoid of soul?

Of course, things get weird if Gale accepts her offer to be restored and go to Elyisum. If Gale agrees, then she fulfills her promise and even restores his place as one of her Chosen.

Gale: I crave nothing more. Take me to Elysium. Mystra: So be it. Gale of Waterdeep, Chosen of Mystra. Cinematic Tag: Mystra transforms Mindflayer Gale back to his human form (hollow) and grabs Gale’s hand. They return to Elysium.

This is wild to me. You see, originally when I started this project I thought I was going to be writing posts about how interesting it is that when you become a mind flayer, your soul is probably hanging out in the Fugue Plane or something, and eventually I’d suggest that Mystra is able to restore Gale’s soul to him because it’s already gone to her domain or she knows how to find it because he used to be so faithful to her. But none of that works now.

Because now I’m convinced that the Netherese tadpole changes everyone into a Special Mind Flayer whose soul is still present in their mind flayer bodies, just altered or transformed. So what’s up with this stuff from Mystra? She recognizes Gale as Gale even when he's a mind flayer and promises to answer his prayers, so clearly there's some kind of apostolic soul thing going on here. So why does she offer to "restore his soul," and also, why only in death?

She does say that she will restore Gale’s humanity, so now I assume that somehow her powers allow her to un-alter Gale’s soul so that it isn’t so illithid anymore. My idea is that she’s essentially restoring his soul to its former state and not, as we might otherwise infer, literally giving him his soul back, as if it were separate from his body. Gale’s soul is still in his mind flayer body, if all the rest of the evidence holds any water, so Mystra must have merely changed it back to the way it was.

quick picture break, this is from Northalix's video, linked below

Which makes me wonder, can a completely original, apostolic-type soul exist in an illithid body? Or does the body dictate that the soul must be somewhat illithid in order to be compatible?

Because the thing is, this deal comes with an ultimatum. She’s not going to let him go back to the mortal realms after she’s restored his soul. She probably could—she’s probably capable of doing that, if only by giving him a completely new body (she's done that before with Elminster). But she doesn’t. The cure comes with a cost. He only gets to be human again if he agrees to die completely and join her in Elysium. There is no undoing the illithid sacrifice, which seems more like a game limitation than a Mystra limitation (although we can certainly brainstorm reasons why Mystra would be so petty as to basically say "I can make you human again but only if you die completely.")

I want to point out that Mystra doesn't offer to let Gale come back to Elysium as a dead guy if he's not a mind flayer. Like, we don't get the sparkly ascension scene if he blows up with the Netherese orb, we get the Withers visit in the Fugue Plane. This Elysium offer is an illithid-only option. If he's not a mind flayer and he returns the Crown, she cures him of the Netherese Orb and sends him back. There's no option to join her in Elysium. Why is this an illithid-only option?

Also, just...I need you to watch the scene.

There's a lot that bothers me about this. One, the gestures she makes are the exact gestures God!Gale makes when he ascends Tav/Durge if they romanced him and agreed to become a god with him. Do with that what you will. But two...it just gives me the ick. This is a different kind of ascension for Gale. It's a restoration of his place in Elysium, but it ultimately means his premature death. If this is the route you take as him...it's hardly better than him sacrificing himself using the Netherese Orb without becoming a mind flayer. Only this time, we get to see the scene where he goes to Elysium, I guess.

It also massively complicates the whole idea that everyone gets to be a special mind flayer with a mostly-intact, mostly-apostolic soul. If the soul didn't change, why does Mystra need to "restore" it? And if it did change, why is Mystra the only one capable of un-changing it back to its original form (is it because he’s her Chosen and is/was so faithful)?And if such a thing is possible, why offer it and then say "but you're dead now"?

It seems as though her "fixing" Gale's soul was really just her...I don't know, separating it from his physical mind flayer body so the illithid anatomy wouldn't mess with it as much, and then dusting off his soul, which is now bodyless, and taking it with her to Elysium. I'm not saying that's what she did, but that's the weird vibes I get from this interaction. Like, there seems to be some kind of implication that you can't have a fully humanoid, apostolic soul housed within an illithid body. The soul has to be altered somehow to work with the illithid body.

So why not just give him a new body, Mystra??? Fix is soul and give him a new body! You’re absolutely capable of that!

I have so many questions.

Of course, keep in mind that Gale can reject her, obviously, and return to the mortal realms as a mind flayer. She does acknowledge that he has at least something of a soul that can pray to her so...I mean, there's that.

Anyways, what have we learned?

The Summary

With Karlach, we see that being a mind flayer does necessarily change parts of a person's personality (which, again, is part of their soul). Usually this results in a person seeming calmer, more mellow, less emotional than they normally would have been, but it does seem that for Tav/Durge, the companions, and Orpheus that turning into a mind flayer doesn't completely destroy their soul. It just seems to alter it a bit. In my opinion, the soul just becomes a tiny bit more illithid. Karlach’s case does leave us with questions about how “good” consuming and retaining so many memories might be in the long run, but as of six months post-ceremorphosis, she seems fine.

From Gale, we learn that apparently it's possible to restore or un-alter a partly-illithid soul so that it goes back to normal, but this power is extremely rare and likely relegated to the gods alone (or a particularly powerful Wish spell). We're also reminded that keeping recognizable parts of one's soul, like the personality and memories, is a huge surprise, because that's not how normal mind flayers work. We know this from Orpheus, but Gale just kinda reinforced it.

I guess we also learned that Mystra is a massive—but I should keep this civil. We all know what Mystra is.

It shouldn't come as a surprise that she's unwilling to accept Gale into her domain while he is still a mind flayer, even though his soul obviously would fit the bill based on what a soul is/does for the gods. He has a viable apostolic soul, it’s just mind-flayer-shaped!I'm sure Mystra thinks she's being magnanimous by offering him eternity as a human in Elysium, but I think it ultimately just shows how shallow she can be. Gale only gets to come back if he’s not mind flayer shaped.

And I think, deep down, Gale has always suspected that would be the case.

And on that familiar note, my friends, thank you for joining me on this excessively long deep dive into mind flayer souls and things we can learn from the game and the lore.

~*~*~

If you made it to the end, congrats! More gold stars for you!

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

If you read through all three parts and also made it to the end of this one, you are the real MVP and I wish I had stickers or achievements to give you so you can be like "I survived another three-part deep dive from mumm." But I don't even have a lousy T-Shirt to offer you.

You can have this random picture instead though :> it's my Tav Dani looking very unimpressed by the Emperor's offer of sexy times (sorry not sorry Empy, she's got a man and his name is Gale and she prefers him and all her friends to be tentacle-free)

Enjoy the lore and remember that it's all up to you to decide what you want to keep or reject! I'm just showing you what's out there!

Tags for those who wanted an update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[nelo0wesker]

Keep Going +18

Galan x reader

@omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @yassbishimvintage @lovexjoe @violetmuses @jacobscipioswoman

—————-

Galan was listening to Barney and Christmas go on about the mission. “We leave in 2 hours so get ready,” Barney tells them and all of them nod. Galan, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket, goes and grabs it. He turns it on seeing he has a message from you. Especially a picture.

He goes and opens it and eyes widens and pauses seeing the picture. He closes his phone and gets up leaving the others alone going straight towards the bathroom. Once he got in he locked it so no one could come in on him. Galan opens his phone and looks at the picture of you nude. He groans loving how the picture showed every part of you he loves. He quickly FaceTimes you waiting for you to answer. He smirks seeing the call go through revealing you completely exposed to him. “Feeling needy mami?” He questions seeing you blush and nods.

“I can help you out real quick just widen your legs for me” he says smirking watching you do as he says. “Bien, put your fingers on your pussy and pleasure yourself mami” he tells her watching you moan to his commands. Galan quickly unbuckles his bed and pulls down his boxers revealing his hard cock. He pumps himself watching you moan from your own self pleasure.

“Keep going,” he tells her. He watches as your breathing picks up letting him know you're close. He picks up the speed on himself and groans, feeling close as well. You yell out cumming over the phone. You pant as you relax on the bed. Y/N grabs her phone bringing it closer to her hearing Galan low moans. She could see the pleasure on his face as he turned it, looked at the camera and smirked. He switches the camera so it shows his cock and you gulp seeing what he’s doing.

“Just wait” he groans and cums. She watched him and rubs her legs together really wanting him. Y/N pouts feeling aroused even though she just came seconds ago. “Galan baby I miss you!” You whine out. “I know” he tells her, wiping himself clean and pulling up his pants and boxers. He switches the camera back to him. “Just wait till I get home baby. You’ll get what you're aching for” he tells her.

He was about to say something else but the door was banged on. “Galan I swear whatever the fuck your doing in there better not be what I’m thinking!” Christmas shouts and Galan chuckles looking at the phone and blows a kiss towards you. “Bye baby I’ll see you later” he tells her and hangs up the phone. He puts his phone in his pocket and washes his hand stepping out of the bathroom. “It’s all yours,” he tells him with a smirk. Christmas shakes his head “Nasty” he says going in as Galan chuckles leaving him.

——————

“Barney Ross only you can walk away from a blazing infernal inferno with not a scratch on you. You are like a mythical bird raising up from the ash, don't know how to-“ Galan says but was interrupted. “Just a moment. “I am relaxed. I’m trying to talk to my hero over here would you give me some space please. Easy Day” he says turns to Eazy and was about to say something else until Christmas took Barney away to talk to him alone.

He turned to the other ready to speak until he was tapped on the shoulder. He turns his head seeing you and smirks. “Mami!” He says kissing your cheek then your neck not giving a fuck the others saw. “Get a room” Easy Day says watching the two. He looks at you and smiles seeing how beautiful you are in the outfit he may have bought for you that was revealing. He did hate other men's eyes on you but he knew he was the only one that could see you without them. “Why are you here baby?” He questions her

Before she could answer Barney and Christmas came back. “Galan called your girl here. Felt bad by putting you through it thinking I was dead. So I called her to cheer you up” Barney says as Galan kisses your forehead. “Her being here more than cheers me up” he says and Christmas scuffs. “Alright alright get a room. Don’t wanna hear you two.”

Galan laughs picking up and leaving the bar with you in his arms. “Baby I missed you so much. These past couple of days have been hell” he tells her and she looks up and him nodding. “I’m aware, baby. Barney told me what happened” she tells him. He smiles hearing that and kisses her neck. “I promise you something, remember?” He whispers in your ear and you blush and giggles. “Galan you sure? You've been through a lot these past couple of days” she tells him as he carries her to the car. “My hero is alive mami. This calls for a celebration”

Galan places you in the passenger seat and gets on his side and drives home. Once they get home he immediates gets out of the car and runs to your side. He opens your door and picks you up, kissing your neck as you moan. Y/N tries to cover her moans. “Let them out mami” he tells her as she gasps feeling him in such a vein. “W-we are still outside” she tells him, a little embarrassed. He pulls back looking at her with a smirk. “When has that ever stopped us before mami? We fucked when the windows was opened, in the car, backyard, etc.” he tells her listing the places they fucked in the open.

You blush completely hearing that knowing it’s true. Galan laughs seeing you blush going to the front door and unlocks it with his keys. He kisses your neck more. He kept sucking making you moan out but not too loud even though Galan wants you screaming in pleasure.

Galan had some difficulty getting the door open but he finally got it open and walked in as he kept kissing your neck. He kicks the door closed as he goes to remove your outfit not caring if he ripped it. He did buy it for you. He can easily replace it. Galan moves his kissing down to your chest. Galan pins you to the wall not even bothering to make it to the bedroom.

Galan pulls back looking at your naked form and smirks. You were pinned against him on the wall. “I’m gonna enjoy this” he tells her and kisses her as his hands slide down touching your body. He goes to your ear. “I could do a lot to you baby. Could eat you out, could fuck in you in front of the mirror where everything could see you, could fuck you to until we both can’t go anymore, cuff you to the bed, you can cuff me to the bed, ride me. We have many options mami” he tells her seeing the blush she has on her face.

He moves his hands between her legs and touches her folds making her moan out. “You're so wet for me baby. Did I make you even more aroused?” He questions and she bashfully nods her head and he smirks. He rubs your folds, especially your clit making you gasp. He kept moving his fingers. He slides down close to your pussy and licks it making you grab his hair as he laps you up, not stopping until you come.

“G-Galan” you moan out feeling his experience tongue on you. Galan looks up at her as he kept eating her out seeing how she was lost in her own pleasure. Drool coming out of her mouth. Galan kept going till she finally came. He felt her thighs squeezing his head as she released his tongue and face. Galan pulled back; he still had her legs on his shoulders. He could feel them shaking.

Galan moves her to the bedroom and lays her down on the soft mattress. Y/N looks at him panting still winded from him eating her out. She widens her legs for him. “N-need you” you tell him and he smiles, taking off his pants and boxers revealing his cock to her. He goes between her legs and slowly goes in groaning on how tight you were.

Once he was finally in. He waited a couple minutes and then thrusted into you. Going slow first and then goes after some time. Your eyes roll back, feeling him hit your prostate over and over again.

You dig your nails in his back. He grabs one of your legs and throws it over his shoulder and thrusts faster into you. You felt him going deeper than before. He kept going until both of you came. Yall both pant and look at each other. “Round 2?” He questions. “Round 2” you confirmed as the second round begins.

—————-

Both of you pant, finally exhausted by how much fucking ya’ll did. You and him went for 5 rounds, not stopping once. You snuggled into him as he kept you close. “Did I hurt you mami?” He questions looking over your body to see if he hurt you. All he was seeing was the hickies he caused. “No” you tell him, tired. He smiles hearing that. Glad he didn’t hurt you in any way.

“Love you baby” he tells her, spooning her. Keeping her close as possible. She gives him a tired smile. “Love you too”

[dizzy-after-dark]

Cauterized | Steve Rogers

BOOM MIC DROP: SMUT FOR THE END OF THE YEAR! Y'all didn't think I would not post once this year, did you. Well, here it is. I TRIED! Mwah; see you in 2024!

Tags: Angst (not really but yeah), SMUT, fluff

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x F!Reader (Third Person)

Notes: UHHHHH 18+ BUCKOS; this is a continuation of Ignorant, which is the first part and angsty as FUCK but a personal fave of mine if I do say so myself; been really thinking about finishing my requests from over a year ago for Dinner At Dizzy's on my other account, @dizzydancingdreamer (masterlist linked if you're feeling peckish)

Warnings (what to expect, ig): oral (f recieving), fingering, sex (???), uhhhm lack of descriptive writing from a rusty author, sappiness, swearing, bad metaphors, shower sex, alcohol consumption (BARELY), size kink, over-use of the word "Stevie"

Word Count: 4.6k

She pushes the door closed, turning the shower on lazily. Her muscles ache as she twists the knob all the way to the left. Somewhere, sometime she was told about cauterization. You can seal wounds closed with fire— forcibly fuse the skin back together. She has no cuts. Nothing to fuse. And only hot water. However, maybe stepping into the scalding stream might fix the part of her brain that keeps replaying it all, over and over. 

Baby I— 

If anything, it might numb her. She would take that too right now. Hence the bottle on the counter, partially drunk and already open. She takes the first swig, the liquid like fuel to the inferno raging in her stomach, burning the rest of her in the process. The taste is acrid— she’s never been much of a drinker. She just wants to forget it all. Setting it down with a clunk, she strips out of grimey shirt, letting it puddle at her feet. 

Looking at the material, which at one point was a stark white but will now forever be a dingy gray, she laughs. Not really but, yeah, kind of— one of those half amused huffs, anyway. A pity laugh, for the state of her life. That shirt is practically trash. Even if she had the time, energy, or resources to wash it, there’s no way it’ll ever be the same. 

She should just throw it out. 

Is she even talking about the shirt anymore?

She kicks it into the corner, hands falling to the button of her jeans, swollen knuckles screaming as she fails a few times to push the little metal circle through the loop.

“Goddamnit,” she mutters to herself, and to the ghosts, and the spider she saw in the corner when she came in but didn’t have the heart to make the latter as well. 

She’s already made too many ghosts. 

“I, uh, I can help?”

None of those ghosts have ever answered before, though. 

Whirling around, fists balling in front of her face, she readies herself in less than a breaths time to send said ghost straight back to the grave—

“Woah, easy there, baby—”

Only to find Steve, his baby blues wide and a tad panicked but his hand nevertheless peeking through the crack of the door, reaching for her. Mind glazing over with confusion and, well, a fair bit of something russian and label-less, she blinks up at him and the damn door. She closed that— she remembers closing it… right? 

Her eyes flick down and the fire in her belly kindles a little more. 

“Are you kidding me?” She groans, the exhaustion an unwelcome guest in the cavern of her chest.  

His boot, right there in the doorway, holding the measly wooden traitor open. She never heard the damn click. Didn’t even bother to listen for it. Rookie mistake, honestly. She can’t even be mad, really. 

“Please just let me help.” Steve pushes past the door, both arms now extended towards her, but he doesn’t touch her yet. 

He’s waiting. She stays silent. Partly because she has no idea what to say— or what she wants— and partly because he hates it. He absolutely, agonizingly hates when she gives him the silent treatment. She watches his jaw tick, lips pressing together until they go white, and there’s a sick part of her that relishes in the cool satisfaction rushing down her spine. 

You made me like this.

But there’s also a part of her that mourns with him when he clears his throat, crystal eyes flooding over, liquid and glassy, and lowers his arms slightly. Not all the way. He’s hopeful, maybe. America’s sweetheart is always hopeful, that’s one of the things she fell in love with him for. 

That’s still Steve— her Steve. 

“I know—” Steve swallows, “I messed up. I just— you’re hurt, baby. Lemme’ help.”  

She huffs— why is it so fucking complicated? Why can’t they just be normal?

She is hurt. Nothing needs cauterizing but there’s no denying her mottled skin, blue-ish under the crappy motel bathroom lights. Her hands throb, joints screaming at her— when she turns to the mirror, she almost gags at the slight bald patch behind her right ear— fuck, that one had really stung. Absolutely ridiculous the way some people fight these days. 

Her silence is deafening. 

She wants to sob. It’s right there, in the hollow of her throat— she wants to scream. Maybe not at him but in general. She used to live in a penthouse, with all her friends, and the love of her life. Now what? She used to get hurt like this back then too but now it feels purposeless— what are they even doing this for if they have nothing. Have no one. It made sense when she still had him. 

Meeting his gaze in the mirror— disappearing a bit into fogged up glass but there regardless— she still has him. Kind of. But she still doesn’t say anything when she turns back to face him. The frown carved into her face feels vile— deep and disgusting and entirely real— but she can’t make it go away. She can’t stop the sniffle, either. Why can’t she just tell him she misses him?

“Fuck.” 

It’s mumbled under his breath. The Captain America, standing in some rundown wreck of a place off some lonely highway, is swearing. Because of her. Is this hell? It feels like hell. 

But, no, it can’t be, because his hands are so, so gentle as they cup her cheeks, thumbs softly dancing over the bruises, half assessing, half trying. Trying to do what, she doesn’t know. Wipe them away? Commit them to memory? She leans into his touch regardless, conceding ever so slightly. She won’t say it, but he can help. There isn’t a universe in which she would truly deny him. 

The first tear that falls isn’t hers, but his, landing on her forehead right before he buries his face in her hair, wrapping those supersoldier arms around her, trying and, well, failing not to crush her in the process. The tenderness in her broken body is worth it, though, because he smells like home, even if tinged with gunpowder and war. 

“I am so sorry—” he whispers, heartbeat erratic under her ear, chest heaving for breath— “I am so sorry I brought this on you. You’re hurt and it’s my fault.”  

Complicated. She fists his t-shirt as hard as she can— fists in until her hands go numb. It’s not fair how complicated it has to be for them. 

Steve didn’t throw her into the fight, didn’t slam his fist into her eye, or rip her hair out by the handful. Steve didn’t even make her come with him when he left; that was entirely her choice. But he did lose his mind a little bit. Power tripped a little too hard. Focused so much on keeping them all safe that he missed the part where he was just supposed to hug her— and that’s what sucked most— but he is now, right?

That has to count for something? 

He pulls back and her fingers tighten, steeling, tensing. He can’t go, even if she isn’t sure what they are anymore. 

The agony in his eyes when he draws the line from her balled fists holding on for dear fucking life to her own, misty gaze is indescribable. “Baby I don’t know how to fix this. I want to, I—” he clears his throat again and her frown carves even further into her skin, eyebrows drawing together— “I want to so fucking bad.”

He plants his forehead against hers and it aches, the warmth of his skin. “I don’t want to make it worse. I need you to tell me how to help.” 

There’s a stinging in her throat where the words simply don’t manifest. What the fuck is she supposed to say? Nothing, at all, really, because she doesn’t even know how to fix her and she’s not mad so there’s nothing to fix… but isn’t there? Isn’t there something between them that desperately needs mending? Isn’t she mad? 

Is it anger? 

Or is it something much more primal. 

No, there are no words she can tell him. She could show him, though. Maybe that will work.

Letting his shirt go, she watches the breath catch in his chest, stuck and frantic. She knows that feeling well— that icy desperation to keep holding on no matter what. But she’s only grabbing his hands, not leaving him, and he’ll see that soon so she continues to drag him towards the stupid, little button that her useless fingers couldn’t seem to undo. In hindsight, maybe they were just waiting for him. 

Realizing, his forehead is off hers quickly, eyes seeking hers. “What? I don’t—” She flattens his palms against her stomach, engulfing the button, and he breathes the last word out— “understand.” 

Her brows raise, cheeks still on fire but now also burning— yes you do. 

“Are you sure?” He asks but there’s a little click— the same one she hadn’t heard earlier— as his boot clad foot kicks the door properly shut, and she’s pretty sure he knows just how sure she is.

All it takes is her thumbs on his, prodding them towards her arch nemesis— damn you, Levi jeans— and the soldier is moving, not rough in his quick actions, but determined. The button is no match for Steve Rogers on a regular day, but today? Now that he has a goal? A starting place? The button may as well have disintegrated under his fingers. 

Her own hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him as he tugs the blasted jeans off her legs, trying the best she can not to topple over with the sheer force of him. Material pooling at her feet, his palms smooth so slowly back up her now bare legs, rising goosebumps in their wake. She hasn’t been touched in ages— she feels kind of like an animal waking up from hibernation, disorientated and hungry. 

Grabbing at her hips suddenly, her ass is on the cool countertop before she even has the chance to get dizzy. Spreading her thighs with his own, he works on her bra next— this faded, hole ridden thing that if she wasn’t so engulfed in searing, licking desire, she’d probably be embarrassed about. But it’s gone so soon that she doesn’t have a chance and replaced instead with two, bulky hands that entirely engulf her breasts. 

They squeeze her skillfully— with purpose. Thumbs swiping delicious circles around her nipples, flicking this way and that, exactly how he knows she likes it— exactly the way that should have her as a mewling heap in his hold. But she’s not— she’s contained, even as her very skin thrums alive with anticipation. Is this revenge or is it just fucking complicated?

She can’t decide so instead she bites the moan clawing at her throat into small enough pieces to swallow, all the while tuning into something dark that sparks in his ever watchful gaze. 

She’s caught— he gets it now. 

“Really, baby?” He muses, palming her, squeezing just hard enough to give the touch a slight bite. His tone has her feeling like a deer in his headlights— like a freight train is barrelling directly at her and there’s nowhere to go— and she squeezes her thighs around him, welcoming the collision. “You think I won’t work for it?” 

She only blinks at him. Once… twice… 

Her panties are dropped somewhere into the abyss, long forgotten with the rest of her clothes, and his knees thud heavily against the tiled floor. Replacing his body, his head now hovers right in front of a different button, golden hair tickling her sensitive skin as he pulls her legs over his thick shoulders. His skin is warm but not as much as his balmy breath which hits her clit, teasing her into a mess, hands curling around the edge of the counter. 

Come on, Steve. 

But, no, he doesn’t give in to her just yet. First, he turns to her inner thigh, sucking her skin into his mouth with bruising pressure before letting it go with a pop. He peers up— nothing. Moving to the other one, he whispers quick kisses over her sex but never lingers, only biting into her flesh once more once across her mound, teeth almost teasing a whimper from her this time but no, she’s not budging. 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t driving her crazy. Inside, she screams— she craves. C’mon baby just give it to me. Outwardly, her hands drunkenly find his hair, tugging at his soft locks. Now, now, now she chants furiously.

He unseals his lips from her thigh, peering up, less dangerous and back to being her ever hopeful boyfriend— is her her boyf— He kisses her folds, spongy lips lingering a moment, rendering her blank and feverish. Angelic— he’s angelic. From under his long lashes he all but begs her, his dark eyes starving and wanting, but his hands are so soft on her hips, massaging deep into her. It’s this mixture of puppy dog pleading and a knowing of sorts— he knows she’s going to cave eventually.

How does he do that? 

“Words? Please?”

She only pouts and, again, the switch flips. “Fine.”

The word is punctuated with the warm, wet stripe he licks up her center, flicking his tongue languidly over her clit. For as rushed as he’d started this mission, he’s truly never been one to speed through his meals, preferring instead to devour her slowly— expertly— tasting her thoroughly like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile her body pulses, teetering dangerously already on the knife-sharp edge of too much and too little as he masterfully carves her out. 

Her hands, which had moments ago tried to pull him closer, now use his hair as handles to keep herself from toppling off the counter when he slides her closer to him, burying his face fully into her heat. Heels digging into his back, she watches the spot where his shirt rides up intently, consumed not only by the harsh sucking on her clit but also the tanned, muscled skin peeking out and then disappearing below his own jeans, taunting her. Why hadn’t she taken it off him first? 

She doesn’t have time to think much more about it though because he’s ravenous and she may as well be ice cream, sweet and sticky, melting all over him, dripping down the sides of his face and fingers as they begin prodding against her. They tease, pushing into her but not quite far enough— hard enough.  

His gaze on her is overpowering— it’s deliberate. 

“Y’know,” he speaks against her, the vibrations making her tense, “you can just tell me what you want ‘and I'll do it.”

Her mouth is like sandpaper— her brain, uncooperative. This push and pull is becoming lethal, the next few pokes of his tongue honey slow and spine jolting. Please— she wants to beg. She’s so empty. So, so, achingly empty. Would his fingers even be enough? At this point, it’s as though he would need to crawl into her very chest to fill her up the way she needs to be. How could her words even convey something so needy? 

“Anything, baby. Whatever you want.” 

They can’t, so they don’t, but for the sounds she refuses to make, he doubles in his own, moaning his frustrations right against her. If he can’t make her say anything, he damn sure is going to make her do something. That’s probably why he finally caves, pushing his fingers in to the hilt, and she was stupid to think they couldn’t fill her, the slight burn of them not at all foreign but definitely intense. 

As they bury themselves in her over and over and over again, she bucks against his hand, chasing the start of a little ball of electricity growing in the pit of her stomach, getting higher and higher with every twist of his fingers. Combined with the incessant flick of his tongue— she’s a goner. Stifling the moan, her teeth find home in her lip, biting so hard her mouth gains a slight tang that excites her even more. What’s she even doing? 

Wouldn’t it be more fun if she just let loose? Isn’t that what’s been missing the whole time? The fun? 

When she sees the glint in his piercing stare— impish despite everything they’ve been through— she gets it. It’s hopeless— she is and they are but they’re together and the fun isn’t gone— she’s done. He earned it.

“Stevie—”  she finally cries, animalistic; it doesn’t sound like his name but he must know it is because, even with the intense throbbing consuming her entire body, she can feel his shoulders soften under her thighs— “please don’t stop, I’m so close!”

“That’s it baby,” he coos against her clit, voice raw, compliant as he continues to pump his fingers in time to her squirming, “that’s my girl. I missed that pretty voice of yours.” 

At what point the first orgasm turns into a second, she isn’t sure. It’s all one big blur of her whiny moans, wanton and liquid body, and his hushed prayers against her flushed skin, tongue lapping relentlessly against her. More baby; I know you can give me more. She doesn’t so much hear them as she does become them, absorbing them into her skin. That’s it angel— so good, so good for me.

She can feel him drinking in her mumbled, jagged noises, some words but others mere syllables, coaxed out of her by tongue and fingers all the same. Steve— honey— mmph, fuck, right there— oh my— the words pour out now, dam broken beyond repair, and for some reason, or maybe a lack thereof, it spurs her on even more, a freed woman if ever there was one— 

“Oh my god, Stevie!”

It’s maddening— he’s maddening. 

He’s relentless. 

It isn’t until she yanks his still-eager mouth away from her, stomach iron-tense from way too much overstimulation, does he slowly draw his hand reluctantly back from her shuddering body. His other arm unwinds from where it’s been snaked around her knee, anchoring her to him throughout the duration of his worship. Now pushing him upright, holding him just near enough to where she can hear his labored breaths but not feel them, she shivers, cold as ice without his heat. 

He stares down at her, unmoving, and her heart jumps in her chest. She doesn’t understand— he’s just standing there while she shudders, breathless. His shirt is stretched, no doubt from her pulling at it, and in noticing the damage she remembers how she’s completely naked and he’s completely not. Exposed doesn’t even begin to touch how she feels. 

She wraps her arms around her chest, knees drawing up to tuck under her chin. “Steve?” 

She’d forgotten what it felt like to constantly have him next to her— to have his furnace like warmth melting into her skin almost every minute. Now that she’s had her first real taste of him again, she’s de-acclimated to being alone. She needs him.

“C’mere,” she begs, shaking and a bit confused, why isn’t he touching her still, “please, Stevie, come back.” 

When her fingers finally swipe against his shirt, barely snagging it, he flinches, coming back to her. “Sorry baby, I didn’t mean—” 

She flings herself at him, heart off kilter and erratic in her chest as her lips press against his, swallowing his apologies and hoping beyond anything else that he just catches her, like he always does. He does, kissing her back fervently— reverently. His tongue, tinted with her essence, scoops into her mouth the same way he had been between her thighs. She welcomes the way he takes charge, knowing he holds her against him with every ounce of strength he has.

“—’m sorry,” he pants into her mouth, clearly not satisfied with the success of her attack, “so, so sorry baby.” 

He repeats the words deliriously. Presses them into her hair and against her temple, on her chin and both her cheeks. He especially feeds them to her, word for word, against her lips, soft at first and then rough, frenzied. He’s not talking about right now. He’s still back in that apartment; the fallen angel amongst the rubble, wings too broken to just leave it. 

It’s not complicated. And it’s not revenge, because she could never make him feel worse than he already does, nor would she want to. So, in between kisses and apologies, she answers.

“I know, Stevie.”   

“It’s ok— we’re ok, Stevie.” 

“Steve, stop— I love you!”

He stops. He sets her down, bare feet planting unsteady against the ground. He steps back. What?

“Stevie?” She questions, already moving forward, but his arms, sweeping over his head, towing his shirt up and off, halt her in her tracks. 

Oh.  

 Oh. 

This time, when she says his name it's only a breathy moan, fingers searching for his belt loops and hooking him towards her. In the time it takes for her hands to find the button— this one, thankfully, popping open immediately— there must be a god somewhere who didn’t abandon them in the rubble— he’s back on her, one hand carefully threading through her hair, dragging her mouth back to his, while the other pushes the rest of his clothes to the ground.

“I love you, I love— ah, fuck,” he hisses as her hand wraps around him, thumb brushing over his velvety tip.

For the first time, she smiles against his mouth, calm. “Language, Rogers.”

He pulls back, one neat eyebrow flicked up, but there’s humor in his eyes— no more tension. No more worry. Just fun. He leans down, nuzzling his chin down the side of her face, breath fanning her ear. Her hand stutters as it tugs on him, dragging up and down. He’s so hard— it’s been so damn long. 

“Thought I was Stevie, baby?” It’s an absent minded tease, blush lips parted even after the fact, glued to the way she touches him. 

In turn she watches his face, crowned in a mussed up halo of gold, some of which sticks to his forehead but most falling at every which angle, a product of her thighs sealing themselves around him. She can’t say that she’s never seen him this disheveled but she’ll never get used to it. He’s perfect— she makes him so messy. 

Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one enjoying herself, though, if the heaviness of him between her fingers, rutting into her palm is anything to go by. She squeezes harder, testing something, and he groans something almost inhuman against her neck. Guttural. He’s so close already. It fuels her like nothing else, tickling the part of her that just wants to please. She’s making reparations, too. Speeding up, she works him faster. Come on, honey.  

“Stevie—” she echoes and the next thing she knows, he’s pulling her off him, pushing her towards the steam which billows out from behind the curtain. 

From the moment her feet touch the warm, wet surface of the shower floor, everything is a blur. The water sprays over her harshly, but only for a moment, before he overpowers it with his own, massive body, just as searing against her skin. She registers the slick splat of her back against the wall, a grunt— missed this, baby, and her own feral howl as he slams into her. There’s no waiting, no tiptoeing, only his cock sealing them together furiously once more. 

One of her legs is hiked up impossibly far, hinging near his hip where his hand crushes her to him. The other leg holds her up— barely— heel raised, toes splaying for grip as she reaches higher. He’s just so big— so tall and so thick. So impossible to adequately open herself to without him fully lifting her but she wants to try so she does her best to meet his brutal pace, clinging around his neck desperately. 

If his fingers had filled her entirely, his cock is almost unbearable. She relishes it, though, the way she can almost feel him in her damn throat with each and every drag. It’s mesmerizing, the way there’s no need for adjustment— for remembering. He knows her body like it’s his own and it makes her drool with pleasure.   

The slapping of their skin together proves to be louder than the rush of the water, but not more so than Steve whose mouth is working over time, ladeling praises directly into her ear, soaked, stubbly chin grating deliciously against her temple.

“You look so pretty baby,” he hums, staring mesmerized at their bodies to where he slips in and out of her, “ look at you taking me so well.”  

And she does. 

It’s a lewd notion, the way she can see exactly where he is inside her by the way her belly ripples with his plunges, but one that makes her gasp nonetheless, spasming around him which is also visible to both of them. Loosening one of her hands from its vice grip on his shoulder, he places it on the exact spot, urging her to feel just how big he is. With every sloppy push and pull, she does feel it, and it sends her reeling.

“See that?” He rasps, and she can only nod, mouth agape enough for some of the water falling off his hair to drip into it. 

She swallows it, tongue somehow so, so dry despite everything. Her nerves are on fire, everything so much slower than it should be. 

The agonizing pull of his hand on hers, dragging her own fingers under his to toy with her clit. 

The little circles that take hours to complete but nurture the current running through her veins regardless. 

The fucking torturous in and out of his cock— taunting her, languidly pounding her for what feels like an eternity— she can’t think. She’s in the water but she feels under it, too, foggy and pent up. She just wants to cum—

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna—” 

“—Stevie!” 

She breaks through the sluggish pleasure into electric and all consuming waves, head falling against the wall as his hips stutter against hers, pumping once, then twice, before falling still. Each time, she clenches harder, babbling something gritty and foul and incomprehensible. Something along the lines of holy fucking shit baby but its blurred with searing, pulsing pleasure.

There’s stars behind her eyes and steam in her nose as he falls against her chest, sopping hair tickling her hypersensitive skin. Him pulling feels like what two exposed wires touching must— all sparky and hot. It’s too much. 

“Mmm, careful baby,” she mumbles and he chuckles. 

“Of course.” 

The rest is truly a lull. Steve doesn’t bother gathering their clothes, only her, carrying her limp body to the bed and carefully setting her under the covers, dripping and all, before joining her. If she weren’t so sleepy, she would have scolded him. But she is and her eyes are refusing to stay open, let alone give him that look. It’s all she can do = to seek his warm skin once more, slithering against his body and rooting herself there. 

Cauterized, or something like it. 

[plentiful-pushes]

(Requested by: European3)

[A young bank employee is in labor while striking up a long conversation with her boss, she does not believe she is until the situation is far too late for her]

Shadows Arisen

Tw: 18+ Minors DNI, may contain sexual content

Scorching in the brazen heat, the beads of sweat running off her chin as she feels the ache within her bloated womb, her unborn ever eager to have a meeting with their mother face to face, awaiting to be greeted but denied from ignorance.

A mild grunt sounded from her lips, she slants to the side of the chair in ignorance believing herself to not be having any contractions, thinking it was mild pain after she had eaten a considerable amount of very intense spicy noodles.

Her boss enters the bank, she walks towards the very sweaty Charloette behind the screen of her desk being quite politely greeted for her being on shift though she didn't have to do it.

"Mornin' love, you look disheveled today. Apologies for havin' ya enter today's shift and I appreciate it, doll-face~"

"Anything- mggh.. for you, boss. You've been a lovely girl, of course ye have me- euugh- mmffh... Ow!, masterpiece."

She walked away flustered as she sighed in relief, chuckling at herself with a regard to her flirting "That was shit! You two are really gonna be motherless for the time being... euuhh-".

Distressing herself over the reuniting pain, she stood up to sway her hips an attempt to ease the pressure and aching overflowing into her hips and around her bump and sides, underbelly and with the intense cramping on her back.

Then she heard her boss' heels and she rested her chin into her palm trying to impress her while she swayed her hips in circles, easing the head into it's position as it slid inside her cervix trying to squeeze and seizing her in inferno-like pains.

"Hi.... you good? It seems the heats gotten to ya, not good for ye..... I'll assure you. You deserve the double pay in this heat. As you know my baby comin' anyday too so I pity."

She nods & they share an awkward laughter as she is seized in thundrous pains and sores all over her abdomen to thighs.

A rush of fluid had ran down her thigh, dampening her skirt down to her socks and boots as she grabbed her side and a rush of adrenaline made her panic a bit, as she excuses her way out of the situation for just a small moment.

"Oh, soorry but- *Sharp gasp* I need to go for the bathroom I'll be back for this... mmmhh. I swear! Wait for me. Please"

Her boss nods, as she darted off to the bathroom where she enters and shuts the door leaning up against it and held on to her bump tightly with her pains beginning to peak, as she huffed loudly and bore down with her knees trembling.

The fluids oozed as she pushed with the head slowly leading down her canal, once it slides out of her cervix, she huffs in large breaths while she clenches her fist knuckle white as it begins to progress lower and closer without delay.

Her back moved into a deep slant as she groaned into her next contraction, she latched her arm around her belly's underside while bearing down into an akward squat-like position as she feels her lips open with great burn.

Her right hand was gripping into her thigh as she felt the softness of the crown spread her open, she heaves a loud storm as another contraction conquers her and she then took a heavy push, grunting more animalistically.

"mggeeuu- rgghhrrrhhh! No, please! *huffing* PLEASE! Aanngghhh! heuuurrgghhh... uuh uuu.. *sobbing*" Then sharply inhaling she reluctantly darts out of the bathroom.

Scuttling to her desk, she walks in front of her chair and seated down slowly pressing the head backwards leading with a massive burn, sweat runs down her face and more profusely then ever, it was obvious but then bubbled into being overheated and sweating from the heatwave.

Her boss then looked visibly troubled, she felt then the intense pains of a full crown forming after being pulled backwards, the pain makes her sob and softly whimper.

"Hey, uuughh... ooww, call the hospital I can feel the crown forming and- uUuuurrr... it really hUURttsss... euughh"

As her leans into her table, rocking in a see-saw motion as she stands then collapses from the pure exshuastion of holding in the crown for more than normal, her crown then goes from the head to neck in one whole movement.

"Ha- aagghh! I can't hold it! *sobs* but not hEERE! OWH!"

Her boss panics, shuffling as Charloette begins to fully bear down and her thighs wide open and her white blouse begins to show skin, she heaves and bears down as the neck slowly budges further to reveal a small peaking shoulder.

Laid on her fours, her legs splayed out and her palms digging deep into tile as she pressed her chin down and give out a loud scream "Euuaaa- AAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" as the left arm pops out cleanly and she went completely mindless.

Sobbing and beginning to tear, she pushed with as much might she could and the baby plops out of her and slides down, Charloette trembled and scuttled over and lifted a daughter into her arms as she gently kissed the baby.

It's wails grow silent, she crawls and grabs the telephone while her boss grunts heavily and in great sweat while an emergency picks up for them "Hello this is 112?" She says "Me and my boss and in labor and the heat is melding me"

The caller immeadiately asks for adress and sent one down as urgently they could, once they hung up Charloette leans over her desk as another head dangles between her thighs.

The pain was the worst it could get, she heaved heavily too tired to scream and just barely managing to pushing the arm and shoulders, once the abdomen gets out the baby falls out and she catches the twin as she heaves unevenly.

Her boss tries to resist, her crown was too large and painful as she leans farther over the desk and splays open as fluids spill heavily and she takes a huge push and the baby pops out into her pencil skirt, she collapses onto her knees and begins to lose conciousness as emergency barely come in.

They are both carried into the ambulance, the three babies catered as both begin to make a full recovery and become "close friends" being very active in the bedroom, they raise three great children all humble and somehow not pompous.

( Thanks so much for your patience this took a very long while, hope it's how you like it! )

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 24

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 1.9K

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

When the world blurred back together again, your head throbbed to the point of unbearable pain. As soon as you landed in the house, you immediately fell to your knees, your eyes clenched shut as you pressed your head to your chest and legs. Azriel tried to steady you as you went down but seemed not to realize how intensely you were hurting. As you fell, you heard him whisper, “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” While he couldn’t right your fall, he helped you avoid slamming into the floor.

You sat there, crumpled into a ball, trying to block out the shooting pain. Azriel thudded into the bathroom, seemingly frantically searching for something. You heard him bang around, opening cabinets and swearing softly. Then you heard him hurry back across the room to you. You felt a cold compress fall onto the back of your neck, and suddenly all the light in the room dimmed. When you opened your eyes, though, you realized that it wasn’t darkness; a dark gray mist hovered in front of your eyes. You tried to wave it away, momentarily fearing it, but Azriel pulled your hands back down as he settled onto the floor next to you, holding the wet, cooling rag to your neck. “Let it be,” he whispered.

You tried to respond, but the idea of forming words seemed to cause an even larger headache, so you lay on the floor, curled into a ball instead. Azriel sat in complete silence, just watching you as you winced against the pain that was slowly lessening. He removed the compress from your neck and moved his hand down to rub steadying circles on your back. “You need to sleep,” Azriel whispered, his hand still running up and down the length of your spine. You whimpered slightly, trying to muster words that got caught behind the roaring inferno in your head. “I can give you something to help,” he offered. All you could do was whimper and nod in agreement. “Okay, I’ll be right back, I promise.” The heavy weight of his hand left your back and immediately the pain rose again. You hissed through your teeth as you heard him almost run from the room, returning only seconds later.

He leaned down to you, pressing his hand under your head to softly push it upwards, then pressed a cup to your lips and instructed you to drink. The concoction tasted awful, sour and rancid, and you almost gagged as he continued to tip back the mug. “Good girl,” he whispered. “You have to finish it.” He praised you again before he set down the cup, and you nearly spit onto the floor. “Here, open,” he said, and you dropped your jaw. Azriel placed a single raspberry melt candy on your tongue. “That will help with the taste,” he said. You rested your head against the floor again, sucking greedily on the candy. “Let’s get you into bed before you pass out,” Azriel said, more to himself than to you. You already felt the sweet haze of sleep hovering over your eyes. 

Azriel knelt next to you, sliding his hands under your knees and shoulders, and hoisted you up, your face resting on his hard chest. You could hear his heartbeat, and as though you were drunk, you leaned into it, pressing one hand to his chest. Azriel took a few steps to the bed and laid you down on the turned-down sheets. You rested your head on the soft silk and let out a slight murmur. Azriel pulled the blankets up to your chin, and you swore you felt his fingers trail down the side of your cheek, brushing your hair back, but you were too exhausted to know for sure. The darkness swooped in, and for a while, you felt nothing at all.

—-

When you opened your eyes again, it was clear that time had shifted. The sun hung lower in the sky, casting elongated shadows across the floor. The odd mist that had blurred your vision was gone, leaving only a dull ache at the back of your scalp, but it was much less intense than before. You lifted your neck slightly, propping yourself up on your elbows, and peered around the room. The shifting light caused you to wince as you tried to adjust.

You murmured in pain, taking in the familiar surroundings. Your old room in the House of Wind, with its deep blue accents and rich dark wood, welcomed you back. The scent of the room—clean linen with a hint of lavender—brought a sense of comfort. You flexed your fingers against the soft blankets, trying to breathe in a sense of clarity.

Your gaze drifted over to Azriel, who was lounging in the corner of the room, nestled in an oversized armchair, his head resting against the cushioned back, deep in sleep. His features, normally intense and alert, had softened. His eyes, usually sharp and steely, were closed, framed by long, dark lashes that brushed his tanned cheeks. His high cheekbones and strong jawline seemed more delicate in the muted light, a sharp contrast to the fierce warrior you had seen earlier.

For the first time since you met him in the inn, he appeared to wear simpler clothes—a pair of loose, black trousers and a snug, long-sleeved black shirt that clung to his frame. His black curls, typically tousled, now lay in soft waves, falling slightly over his forehead. 

His wings, magnificent and powerful, were folded neatly behind him, blending into the room's shadows. Even at rest, they seemed to hum with latent power. His hands, scarred and marred, now lay relaxed on the armrests of the chair. His breathing was slow and steady.

Despite his peaceful appearance, there was a certain tension in his form, a readiness to spring into action if needed. Even in his sleep, his protective instincts seemed to be on high alert. 

As you watched him, a wave of deep admiration washed over you. Azriel, always poised, always ready, even in this rare moment of rest. The way his body, honed for battle, could settle into such a tranquil state was almost a paradox. He was a figure of contrast—fierce and gentle, dark and light, warrior and protector. 

The room seemed to hold its breath, the quiet interrupted only by the soft rustle of curtains and the occasional creak of the old wooden floor. You continued to observe Azriel, taking in the serene strength he exuded. His presence filled the space, making it feel safe and warm, a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the world outside.

You lay your head back on the pillow, a sigh escaping as your ribs ached. As your memories flooded back, the image of Kai’s bloodied body, the sound of the knife being ripped from his back, jolted through your mind like a lightning strike. You bolted upright, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain that shot through your body. I have to get to him, you thought. The urgency surged within you. 

You were back in Velaris. Kai would be in a healer’s hospital.

Flinging the blankets aside, you stumbled to your feet. The cold of the floor shot through your bare feet, and your knees buckled under the weight of panic and pain. Your breath came in ragged pants, each inhalation a desperate attempt to stay upright. 

Azriel stirred in the chair, his voice a soft murmur, “Y/N?”

But you couldn’t stop. You wouldn’t stop. Your body moved on instinct, a frenzy of desperation driving you as you ran from the room. The door slammed against the wall, and you burst into the dim, silent corridor. The air felt thick, almost suffocating as you sprinted through the hall, your heart pounding against your ribs like a war drum.

“Y/N, wait!” Azriel’s voice chased you, but you barely registered it. Kai’s face, bloodied and pale, flashed before your eyes.

Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled around a corner, your hand catching on the wall for support. He can’t be dead. He can’t be. The thought was a mantra in your mind, a desperate plea against the crushing reality you were running towards.

You reached the stairway that led down to the city, the cold wind from the open door cutting through you like a knife. The long descent loomed before you, and the weight of impending loss crushed down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The stairs seemed endless, a tunnel into the depths of your dread.

Azriel’s wings scraped the narrow space behind you as he caught up, his breath visible in the freezing air. He reached out, his hand closing around your arm, his touch gentle yet firm. 

“Y/N, stop,” he said, his voice a mix of anguish and urgency. “You need to listen to me.”

You tore your arm from his grasp, eyes wide with terror. “No! You need to take me to him. I need to know he’s okay.” Your voice cracked, desperation spilling out with each word.

Azriel’s face twisted in sorrow, a look of profound regret etched into his features. “Y/N, please. He’s... he’s gone.”

The words slammed into you like a physical blow. You stumbled back, collapsing against the wall. “No,” you whispered, your head shaking violently as if you could reject the truth through sheer force of will. “No, he can’t be gone. He can’t be.”

Tears streamed down your face, blinding you. You tried to push past Azriel, your movements frantic and uncoordinated, but he stepped in front of you, his wings partially unfurled, creating a barrier between you and the world outside. His hands settled on your shoulders, steadying you as you lashed out, your fists weakly pounding against his chest.

“Let me go!” you sobbed, your voice breaking. “I have to see him. I have to—”

Azriel’s grip tightened, his eyes brimming with deep, aching sorrow. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. He’s gone. There’s nothing you can do.”

You collapsed against him, all strength drained from your body, your head pounding with a pain that seemed to echo the agony in your heart. Your fists continued their weak assault on his chest, your cries muffled against his shirt. “It’s all my fault,” you choked out. “It’s all my fucking fault!”

Azriel held your wrists, stopping the futile blows. His gaze was downcast, his expression one of shared grief. Your knees gave way, and you sank to the floor, body trembling with silent sobs. “It’s all my fault,” you whispered, voice raw with anguish. “I shouldn’t have—I…”

Azriel knelt beside you, his wings folding around you in a protective cocoon. His jaw clenched, his face contorted with pain as he reached out to hold you. “You couldn’t have known what would happen,” he murmured softly. “He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself.”

You looked up at him, your face streaked with tears and eyes flashing with anger. “You don’t know what he would have wanted!” you cried, the words laced with bitterness. Then you broke down again, collapsing into a heap of sobs. “I brought him into this. He got hurt because of me.”

Azriel’s arms enveloped you, lifting you to your knees as he pulled you close. His embrace was firm, offering a faint solace in the midst of your torment as you went limp against him.

For a long moment, you stayed like that, the world outside fading into nothingness. The only reality was the shattered remnants of your heart.

To my readers, when one door closes, a tall shadowy man appears in your window: @thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba @julesofvolterra @skylarkalchemist @darling006 @rhysandorian @loglady00

[firestorm09890]

Hey what if the flow Vergillius talks about following is the flow of one of the rivers underneath the City or smth

thatd be pretty awesome. also I was a greek mythology kid, I know the other rivers.

Dante (author) has Charon ferry souls across Acheron in Inferno, and Virgil (also author) associates him with both the Acheron and the Styx. Acheron is also a real river, so it would make sense that people would say that it leads to the Underworld's entrance. Eventually, that changed to Styx, for some reason. Various poets say some of the other rivers came from/flow into this one.

Cocytus is the river of wailing- I wonder if that's the one that goes by Wuthering Heights, since Josephine could hear her dead mistress's voice because of the river and Every Catherine is the wailer of all time. Maybe it's not one of the big five at all, who knows. In Inferno, Cocytus is the 9th Circle of hell, treachery, and it's a big frozen lake instead of a river. Lament.

Phlegethon... surprisingly relevant. It is a river of fire, but in Inferno, it's a river of boiling blood in the 7th Circle (HMMM) for violence committed against neighbors, the self, and god/art/nature. Does Vergilius's EGO have anything to do with this one? Idk

Lethe is interesting. It's the river dead souls have to drink from before they can be reincarnated, so they would forget their past lives. You could call it the kindest river of the five, I guess. It's actually not in Inferno, but Purgatorio, and in that, it's within Earthly Paradise, which is a place on top of Mount Purgatory that represents the sort of innocence held by Adam and Eve before their fall. do with that information what you will

We've all heard of Styx, it's the river that people would swear their most grave and unbreakable oaths upon and is commonly known as the river that Charon ferries souls across to the Underworld. In Inferno, it's the 5th Circle, Wrath, where everyone is fighting each other on the water, and it's described as a swamp.

I have less info on which rivers appear in Virgil's Aeneid, though. Pretty sure Aeneas visited all of them, but I don't know if Virgil wrote about that or if it was someone else. He definitely mentions Lethe and Acheron, though.

I wonder which river spawned the abnormalities like the birds...

also fun thing you might want to know! there's a part of The Odyssey that involves Odysseus talking to a bunch of spirits from the Underworld! Scholars disagree on whether he actually went into the Underworld or if he was just on the very edge but :)

[pixeldolly]

The Sacrifice - Part 10

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"

"The idol's gone, Eliza. I displaced it into Yg's core; if that doesn't melt it, nothing will. Either way, nobody's ever getting their hands on it again."

Yg...the name flashed through Eliza's reeling mind. It was an incalculably old star, a bloated red giant orbited by the lifeless husks of three nameless planets on a plane of existence so remote, fact gave way to rumor and conjecture.

None of that mattered.

Not even her disfigurement mattered, weighed against this new calamity.

Eliza could have struck Fiona dead right then and there, if she hadn't been frozen in utter terror.

The Chkrxgmbvegh, the Nameless One, also felt the shift in the planes.

It felt the inexorable pull of the abyss, as its hold on the material plane began slipping away. Already, it could smell the familiar stench of sulphur and rot and hear the cries of the damned, but the demon was furious.

It had been cheated.

"Witch! Thisss iss your fault! Your sssuffering shall be legendary, even in Hell!"

It did not specify which of the two witches it was speaking to, but Eliza Clare could sense the demon's red-hot ire even as it was pulled into a vortex of lurid un-light. That burning, vengeful anger was aimed at her.

"No, please! It wasn't my fault! SHE's the one, SHE did it!"

"I'll fix it, I swear! I'm begging you, give me another chance!"

Eliza's pleas fell on deaf ears. If the demon was listening, it didn't care; all it cared about was revenge.

She screamed as the fire ignited under her feet, engulfing her with a speed that was unnatural, unstoppable. Eliza thought she knew pain, but she was soon to be disabused of that notion.

She also knew with a certainty that did not originate within herself that this, too, would pale before future torments. Demons did not forgive.

And there was nothing she could do to change it. In a flash of insight dying minds are sometimes granted, Eliza realized that she had been hurtling towards the inferno all along, unable to feel the heat.

Maybe, once, a different outcome had been possible, but the point of no return had come and gone long ago. For the first time in decades, Eliza tasted regret, bitter as a mouthful of poison.

And then, she saw.

A stern father, a Jacoban preacher, trying to "beat the magic out of her."

A resentful mother berating her, knowing she could never, ever be good enough.

Herself as a young woman, vowing she would never be made to feel powerless again, no matter the cost. Sentiment was a weakness to be exploited, which she would cut out of herself as one would an infection.

Her son in her arms, her resolve weakening. It did not break.

Her son...

Then, Eliza saw no more.

"Wh- What happened? Where'd that thing go? Uuughh, I feel like I was hit by a goddamn truck!"

"Banished back to its home dimension. It sounded none too pleased about it, which means a certain blonde witch is being shown the hospitality of the Hellplanes as we speak."

"The fire...shit, are those ashes...?"

"Yep. Didn't leave much behind, did she?"

"Fucking hell - Roman!"

"He's fine. Luckily, the demon only took Eliza."

"Luckily? Sounds like you weren't sure what would happen."

"Well, I wasn't, exactly. I made an educated guess that it would see Eliza as the bigger prize. She'd sold her soul to that thing years ago - Roman was an advance payment on that debt, but it was never going to be enough. The Nameless One was toying with her; it would've demanded more and more, until she could no longer pay."

"Uhuh. And what if it had decided to take both of them?"

"That was a possibility, but I figured it only had enough power left to take one or the other."

"You gamble an awful lot with people's lives, Fiona."

"Considering the alternative was that we all died, I like to think it wasn't unreasonable."

"Fair, I guess. I'm okay too, by the way. Fuck, this bite burns like a motherfucker though! Is demon spit toxic?"

"Jacob...?"

"I'm here. Everything's going to be okay!"

"Where is -"

"It's gone. Fiona banished it; I think. You're safe now."

"And my...mother?"

Jacob pursed his lips; giving that woman the title of "mother" felt like a travesty.

"She's gone too."

"You...How did you know...?"

"It's a long story. I'll tell you all the details later, but right now we need to get you to a hospital. How...how are you feeling?"

"Hurts. But - Jacob..."

"Shhhhh."

"Thank you..."