#magic for times of turmoil

[elminx]

Magic for Recentering During Times of Conflict

Note: I am writing this immediately following the November 2024 election cycle, but this is not meant to be specific to this time. Nor am I inferring that magic can solve all of our problems. Please seek out help from a professional if you need it.

One of the deep truths that I have uncovered in my life is that when I am unbalanced (emotionally, physically, spiritually), I am of no use to myself or to others. When something rocks me to the core of my being as this election has, I need to feel all of the feels first and foremost. Then, I need to find a way to move on from the immediate (VERY VALID) emotional turmoil so that I don't get stuck in a pattern of rumination or pathological catastrophizing.

These are some of the ways that I do so. This list is not meant to be exhaustive and, of course, I do not expect every one of these to work for everyone. That is okay and expected. I'm also not including medical, psychological, or court-based interventions because I am not a doctor or a lawyer. Some of these tips are purely magical in nature and some are what I would call magic adjacent - they are mundane actions that are cleansing in nature.

Feel your feelings. I know I said AFTER, but I feel that I need to reiterate this. These steps are unlikely to work until you have worked your way through the first stages of rage, revolt, grief, name your emotion here. How long this takes will be different for everyone. Don't rush this.

Breathe. When I am really In It, I find meditation nearly impossible. I need to be reminded how to take deep breaths. This is when I get help—I use the Tide App for this. I set it to "Breathe," a fifteen-minute timer, and balanced breath. If you're new to breath work, start with five minutes. This is very simple: The app makes a sound for inhalation and one for exhalation. For many people, deep breathing helps to bring your nervous system into balance.

Change. This isn't a tip for everyone, but you know who you are. (I'm definitely guilty of this) If you've been wearing the same clothes for a week, stewing in your emotional turmoil, it's time to change them. Every single item you've been wearing. This may go to blankets or bedding, too. Put them all in the wash and give yourself a fresh set and a fresh start.

Wash. Take an intentional bath or shower. Wash every part of your body, focusing on removing the bad emotions with soap and washing them down the drain. You can add oomph to this by using soaps with cleansing scents (think lavender, citrus, lemongrass, sage, etc.).

Cut or Dye your hair. This is a deep take that will only work for some people, but if you're like me, cutting your hair can be a big release. It doesn't have to be a big change (though I find the bigger the cut, the bigger the release). Sometimes, making a visible change to your appearance can change how you feel. IYKYK

Small Cleansing Rituals. These will vary greatly depending on your practice and culture. If cleansing yourself with smoke or crystals really gets you, do it.

Clean Your House - stale energy is stale. Part of getting over an emotional episode, for me, is getting the energy in my environment flowing again. Open some windows. Wash your floors. Pick up the mess you created when you were too In It to do anything more than feel. This could be your bedroom, house, or space in which you spent the most time while you were down for the count. You can add oomph to this with Cleansing Vinegar.

Big Cleansing Rituals—When something is really stuck, we need the big guns. This could be cord-cutting or cleansing spells, whatever works well for you. I have a spell that works for this here.

Flush it out of you. (TW: alcohol) If you're the potion type, you can make a cleansing potion to move the emotions through your body until you eventually pee them out. This doesn't have to be alcoholic, though I like alcohol for its mild diuretic effects in this scenario. Think cleansing with citrus here, especially. My long-form lemonade will definitely work here, as would many types of tea. I have a seasoned cocktail specifically designed to do this here.

Banish it. There are too many ways to do a banishing spell for me to list them all here. But, since we are talking about explicitly banishing something from your own body - I suggest using food. Onions and black pepper are good banishing ingredients that taste great, too. I have a French Onion Soup banishing recipe here.

I want to reiterate here that if you are still dealing with your emotions stage of things right now, that is completely okay. This isn't meant to rush anyone through this process. We are all different people with different needs. It's also okay (and probably expected) that all of these things listed above won't work for all people - after all, they are things that work for me, specifically.

You need to find out what works for you. If don't know where to start right now, I hope this gave you some ideas. And, as always, if there's a method of getting through the hard shit that you'd like to add to this, please do! We could all use some new ideas for the hard road ahead.

[kikigeh]

Want to know how I know Frozen 3 will most definitely not be great? The announcement of a Frozen 4.

The problem with Frozen 2 was that it had many, many ideas and they attempted, and utterly failed, to condense them into one singular linear story; the problem with Frozen 3 is that they "have so many ideas" that they realized they can't realistically condense them into one singular movie so their solution to "not repeat a frozen 2" is to instead push for ALL ideas to move forward which in turn has given them an overly lengthy cut.

Watching Frozen 1 in cinemas for the first time in a long while really reminded me how Frozen worked because it was very very simple and most of its heart was in the two "main" characters and how they navigated through life after a horrendous situation they were put through.

The heart of Frozen is not all the mystical and mythical elements that they can't get enough of attempting to push, hell, the most compelling part of Elsa as a character was just how raw and human she felt DESPITE having otherworldly powers.

I truly don't know which road they're taking the franchise through, but if the podcast and the books that have come out are anything to go by, it's straying way too far from what made the first movie compelling and enjoyable: its freaking simplicity.

[robotsafari]

ok so far i've played 2 hours of 0.2 and wow. im stunned. a modern kingdom hearts game is actually making me feel so much joy and wonder and fear and AUGH THE EMOTIONS AND THE GAMEEE ITS LIKE A VIDEO GAME YOU CAN PLAY AND HAVE A GRAND OL TIME ITS KINGDOM HEARTS BABYYY !!!!!! WOAAAHHH WOOOWW

[s-soulwriter]

Creative misfortunes for characters

Identity Crisis: Have your character lose their memory, forcing them to rediscover their true self and past.

Betrayal by a Loved One: A close friend or family member betrays the character's trust, leading to emotional turmoil and inner conflict.

Physical Transformation: Give your character a physical ailment or transformation that they must come to terms with, such as sudden blindness, a debilitating illness, or turning into a different species.

Unrequited Love: Make your character fall deeply in love with someone who doesn't reciprocate their feelings, causing heartache and a quest for self-discovery.

Financial Ruin: Strip your character of their wealth and privilege, forcing them to adapt to a life of poverty and face the harsh realities of the world.

False Accusation: Have your character falsely accused of a crime they didn't commit, leading to a desperate quest to clear their name.

Natural Disaster: Place your character in the path of a devastating natural disaster, such as a hurricane, earthquake, or tsunami, and force them to survive and rebuild.

Loss of a Sense: Take away one of your character's senses (e.g., sight, hearing, taste) and explore how they adapt and cope with this profound change.

Forced Isolation: Trap your character in a remote location, like a deserted island, and make them confront their inner demons while struggling to survive.

Haunted Past: Reveal a dark secret from your character's past that comes back to haunt them, threatening their relationships and well-being.

Time Travel Consequences: Send your character back in time, but make them inadvertently change a crucial event in history, leading to unintended consequences in the present.

Psychological Breakdown: Push your character to the brink of a mental breakdown, exploring the complexities of their psyche and their journey towards recovery.

Unwanted Prophecy: Have your character be the subject of a prophecy they want no part of, as it places them in grave danger or disrupts their life.

Loss of a Loved One: Kill off a beloved character or make your protagonist witness the death of someone close to them, igniting a quest for revenge or justice.

Incurable Curse or Disease: Curse your character with an incurable ailment or supernatural curse, and follow their journey to find a cure or accept their fate.

Sudden Disappearance: Make a character disappear mysteriously, leaving the others to search for them and uncover the truth.

Betrayal of Morals: Force your character into a situation where they must compromise their ethical values for a greater cause, leading to moral dilemmas and internal conflict.

Loss of a Precious Object: Have your character lose a cherished possession or artifact that holds sentimental or magical significance, setting them on a quest to recover it.

Political Intrigue: Place your character in a position of power or influence, then subject them to political intrigue, manipulation, and power struggles.

Existential Crisis: Make your character question the meaning of life, their purpose, and their place in the universe, leading to a philosophical journey of self-discovery.

Remember that misfortunes should serve a purpose in your story, driving character growth, plot development, and thematic exploration.

[bushswkq]

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW X WITCH!READER

Part 1 🕯️

cw: smut, 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back! I just want to say that I'm really happy for the likes of part 1 💜 I hope you like this one too

There you were again, smoking a cigarette outside the church. Your leather boot making noise with every stomp you made on the anxious sidewalk. It was Wednesday, as Father Charlie had said, the day of confession in which the faithful came to the house of God to confess their sins and their souls were absorbed from the fires of hell until the next week like a vicious cycle. You reached out your hand grabbing the coffee cup on the floor, making sure no one had witnessed the little display of magic. Waiting a few more minutes you entered the church as soon as the last person left. Unlike your first visit, the place was now dark with few candles lighting the space. His eyes wandered around the place before finding the confessional, this time the pentagram on his chest was completely exposed.

“I see you took my offer seriously,” Father Charlie Mayhew began in surprise as you sat in the confessional. When he made the proposal, he didn't believe you would actually accept it. You noticed him shift position on the other side by the creaking of wood. “I’m all ears, start whenever you want.” Again you felt his cologne, oh my god, how it gave you a good and restless feeling at the same time.

An exciting agony His eyes caught your movements through the small holes, imagining the contours of your body, the way your curves would press against him. His grip on the wooden cross in front of him tightened, the need to touch it overwhelming.

“You really believe in God. Father?” You asked suddenly, looking at the holes in the confessional that gave access to it. Charlie paused for a moment, composing himself before speaking “I have many reasons to believe in him, he saved me and he can save you if you let him.” he said in a low voice. You smiled awkwardly, without any effort a flame lit up on your index finger. It didn’t burn you, just a tingling on the tip that you were already used to. “There are things… things that many are not yet ready to understand, Father.” seconds later the flame disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Father Charlie's heart raced as he watched the flame dance on his fingertip, a flicker of light in the dark confines of the confessional. Mixture of fascination and fear coursing through his veins as the fabric of his robe strained against his arousal, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that both thrilled and disturbed him. As a man of God, he knows he should denounce her abilities, expel her from this sacred place. And yet... a part of him longs to understand, to unravel the mystery you present.

You can't react when he opens the confessional door abruptly grabbing your body with ease, his beautiful eyes darting to the pentagram like the first time. You don't react when he pulls you hard, breaking it, leaving only the cross on your chest.

"What...what are you?" he sighs, his voice rough with barely contained lust. “Some demon sent to disturb the peace, surely.” But even as he speaks, his hands are roaming your body, gliding over your curves with a hunger that belies his words.

The heat of his touch burns your skin, even through the fabric of your clothes. He leans in, his lips colliding against yours in a bruising kiss. It's a dance of passion and danger, the forbidden fruit he knows he should resist but can't. A witch and a priest, an impossible combination, and yet…

You can see the lust burning inside Charlie. It's intoxicating because you still feel his grip. His features are like a fallen angel, he was in the wrong vocation. His hands slid lower, pushing up the skirt of your black dress. The smell of your arousal mixes with his, an intoxicating scent that clouds his mind and weakens his resolve. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me,” he says harshly, “are you real, or am I losing my mind?”

He knows he should stop, he should push you away and run away from this temptation. But he can't. He is lost, drowning in a sea of forbidden desire, and he is powerless to resist. “I can be real for you tonight.” You say boldly, you had nothing to lose. It would be another night of fun.

You see the realization flash through Charlie's eyes. Slowly, he releases you, allowing you to take a step back. He looks at you, desire and fear tangled in his gaze. His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair, an attempt to regain some semblance of control. And then, as if he had made a decision, his resolve breaks. He walks towards you, closing the gap between you, and whispers huskily, “Show me… let me know the truth of your words.” The rational part of his mind screams at him to stop, to push you away and escape this temptation.

But his primal, carnal side longs to surrender, to lose himself in the forbidden pleasures you offer. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But all he sees is a mirror of his own desire, a reflection of the hunger that burns within him. Father Charlie's heart races as he unbuttons the buttons on her dress, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He pulls the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, supple skin of your collarbone. Leaning down, he presses a searing kiss to your flesh, claiming you as his. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with desperate hunger. He can’t get enough of you, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the taste of your flesh on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice rough with desire. "More than any mortal man could deserve." He reaches out, his hand gliding over the curve of your breast, tracing the delicate curve of your waist. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine and lighting a fire deep within your core. Father Charlie's own clothes appear tight, a reminder of the vows he made and the life he chose. With a growl of frustration, he hurriedly begins to remove the fabric, exposing his chest to your gaze.

With that, he pulls you close once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both desperate and possessive. He pours all his longing, all his desire, into that one moment, and you can feel the intensity of his passion coursing through your veins. A low growl resonates in his chest, and he grabs you roughly, his hands gripping your hips with blunt force.

He pushes you against the wall, pinning you in place with his body. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss is fierce and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. His hands roam your body, groping and squeezing, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

He tears at his underwear, tearing it off with wild desperation, not caring about the damage he causes. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, strong and insistent, a physical manifestation of his desire. He grinds against you, the friction delicious and maddening at the same time.

With a final growl, Father Charlie lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance. He stops for a moment, his eyes boring into yours, a silent question in their depths.

And then, with one thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that borders on the sublime.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that steals your breath. Each thrust is deeper, stronger than the last, bringing you both closer to the edge of oblivion. Father Charlie buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he loses himself in the rhythm of your copulation. He is a man possessed, driven by a hunger that cannot be satisfied, a need that consumes him completely.

Father Charlie's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts become more erratic as the line between pleasure and pain blurs. You can feel the desperation in every move, the need to claim and be claimed in return. The sound of their copulation fills the air, skin against skin, the wooden structure rhythmically echoing the charged atmosphere. Father Charlie's breathing is ragged, his body shaking as he approaches the edge of release.

He grinds against you, his cock pulsing inside you, the heat of his release building. With a final, guttural groan, he spills himself inside you, the profanity of his actions washing over him like a tidal wave.

As his orgasm subsides, he collapses against you, his body slick with sweat. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, a testament to the forbidden pleasure you've just shared.

For a moment, there is only the sound of their heavy, labored breaths as they cling to each other in the aftermath. Father Charlie's fingers run gently through his hair, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. Slowly, he pulls away from you, his gaze never leaving yours. In that moment, there is a newfound vulnerability in his eyes, an admission that this transgression has changed him forever.

@mlt2000

[thebigbiwolf]

Spittle - Part 2/2 (Astarion/F!Reader)

Summary: The chocolate seems innocent enough - if you look past the Infernal writing on the wrapper, and with so few pleasures in the wilderness, you all but jump at the chance to sneak yourself a small treat.

Unbeknownst to you, the bar is infused with succubus spittle. Just one square is rumored to contain enough potency to send a mortal into the throes of ecstasy.

This is what happens when you eat half the bar.

Fic Tags: Sex Pollen (kinda), aphrodisiacs, a bit of dom!Astarion, unprotected piv, overstimulation, he talks you through it (iykyk),

Fic Warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, No use of Y/N, magical influence

Read Part 1: Here

Read on AO3: Here

Word Count: 4k

A/N: Wow. I'll try to make this brief. First of all, I just want to say thank you all so much for your continued support. I know this took me forever to write, but I've been going through a lot of emotional turmoil with school and some health issues with my animals. Your patience means so much to me, and I can only hope this lives up to everyone's expectations! This is my first time writing smut, and ngl I feel a bit like Icarus, so let me know if y'all liked it. Last, but not least, thanks again to my bestie/beta @imaginarydromedary for holding my hand through the shame.

Astarion sits quietly beside the fire, absently picking the dirt from beneath his manicured nails. The night had unfolded like countless others before it: boring, mundane. Uneventful.

Perhaps he should retire early. The Realm According to Bumpo sits patiently atop the desk in his tent, and if he heads to bed now, he could potentially finish a chapter before his watch begins.

He stands, patting the dust off his trousers, just as Shadowheart emerges from your tent. He initially doesn’t pay her any mind - fails to notice the concern etched across her face. 

“Astarion.” 

He snaps to attention, recognizing the fear in her voice.

Astarion’s stomach sinks when their eyes meet. Shadowheart isn’t normally one to succumb to panic, but she looks as though she’s just stumbled out of a wolf’s den.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. She - I’ve never seen…” Shadowheart pauses, taking a steadying breath. “She’s feverish. She was fine only hours ago. I heard a cry from her tent and feared something was amiss. When I found her, she…” The cleric hesitates, eyes contemplative - as if weighing exactly how much she wants to reveal. 

“Out with it, damn it!”

“Is there any chance she’s been poisoned? You two stayed behind, back in the village. Did she come into contact with anything that might have pierced her skin?”

“Poisoned? No, she -” Astarion retraces the events, turning over your brief conversations in his head before landing on the only noteworthy detail he can think of.

He taps a finger on his chin, a thoughtful smile creasing his face. “Unless, of course, the Infernal chocolates didn’t agree with her.”

“I’m sorry, the what?” 

“The chocolate she found at the apothecary. I assumed she hid it away so she could enjoy her little treat, unbothered. There was Infernal text on the wrapper.”

She stares at him with wide eyes, jaw slack with disbelief. “And you didn’t think to mention this earlier?”

Astarion shrugs, unfazed.

“Where’s Wyll?”

He rolls his eyes. “How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

“Astarion!” 

“Oh, come on. That chocolate must have been at least a decade old. Are you certain this isn’t just some sort of stomach bug?”

The cleric shoves past him, groaning in exasperation. She shoots him a glare and mutters, “I’m certain,” before jogging in the direction of Wyll’s tent. 

“Infused with succubus spittle. Just one bite will have you and that special someone rolling around for hours. Consume responsibly." 

Astarion giggles boyishly. “An aphrodisiac? How fun.”

Wyll squints as he silently reads the next bit to himself, fingers tracing the text. He turns to Shadowheart, jaw tightening, "How much of this did you say she ingested?"

"I only found half the bar."

Wyll’s expression grows more serious. "This says the recommended serving size is one square… How many squares were left?"

“Oh, gods…” she breathes, "Six."

The three exchange silent, worried glances.

“Could she die from this?” Shadowheart asks, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Wyll’s lips press into a thin line. In truth, he doesn’t know the answer. He could ask Mizora for guidance, but the devil’s been awfully silent after his recent failures. He isn’t sure she'd be willing to answer him, let alone grant any favors. Still, it may be worth a call.

Just as Wyll’s about to suggest it, Astarion heaves a deep, dramatic sigh, throwing his hands up in defeat.

“Alright, I know what we’re all thinking. I’ll take care of this.”

The other two regard each other, thoroughly confused.

“Look," Astarion explains, I may not be well-versed in magic, or magical remedies, for that matter, but now that we know what’s causing this… I think it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“You’re joking.” Shadowheart laughs, incredulously.  

“No,” he continues, “We can’t just sit here and hope for the best. We need to act quickly, and let's just say, this fits into my... skill set.”

“So, you’re going to, what? Have sex with her? You think she’ll be capable of saying anything but yes, given the state she’s in?”

Astarion shoots her a glare. The mere thought that he’d ever so much as suggest doing something like that - bedding you when you’re too weak to reject him - the very idea of it makes him sick. 

He isn’t that evil. 

“Watch your tongue,” he spits at her, “before I do us all the favor of removing it.”

“Hang on, you two,” Wyll interjects, “Astarion, I think you might have a point. You would know better than anyone whether she’s in a right enough state of mind to… consent to this. You’re closest to her. She trusts you.” 

He turns to Shadowheart, “It’s worth a try.”

Astarion notices two things as he pulls back the flap of your tent.

The first is that it is unseasonably warm. Scorching hot, like summer. A stark contrast from the welcoming cool of the early spring night behind him. 

And second, that the air in the tent is heavy - heady with the scent of sweat and something else he can’t quite identify. It's clouding his senses, making his head swim. The taste of it settles on his tongue, like salt on the rim of an otherwise very sweet drink.

The moonlight at his back casts a dark shadow over your sleeping form. Astarion hesitates for a moment, taking in the sight of you, vulnerable and oblivious to his presence, feeling too much like a wolf looming over a snared rabbit.

You twitch, grimacing in pain. 

He frowns. This wasn’t the way he wanted to go about seducing you. His plan was much more sophisticated: a carafe of wine, a few honeyed words leading to a night of passion, your endless thanks, all culminating in some well-earned release and his assured protection.

A mutual exchange.

But, this?

He’s roused from his thoughts by another grunt, escaping from between your clenched teeth.

Whatever you’re going through, it looks like hell.

Ugh. You know what? Fine. Maybe this isn’t the way he envisioned it, but when has life ever blessed him with a perfect scenario? He’ll offer his… services, and respect whatever answer you give him. If you refuse him now, he can always try again later. Under less perilous circumstances, provided you survive the night.

And if not, well, he's never been one to play the hero, but at least he tried. 

He steps further inside, closing the entrance behind him. The moment he seals the tent shut, there is a palpable shift. The space feels infinitely heavier, laden with unnatural energy, reminiscent of anticipation, but just slightly… off.

He breathes, trying to focus on anything but that intoxicating scent. The haze of it is maddening.

The elf sits on his knees beside you, hands resting in his lap. 

He clears his throat, hoping the sound would be enough to wake you.

There’s no response. 

He whispers your name.

Nothing.

No choice, then.

He drums a finger against your bare arm.

The cleric was right. Your skin is so hot, it borders on scalding.

Finally, you begin to stir.

-

Again. It happened again. 

As soon as you closed your eyes to rest, you saw him - That thing that wore his skin. You felt his hands and mouth as he ravaged you until you fell apart beneath him, above him, wrapped around him, like he was everywhere all at once. 

He was demanding as he took pleasure from you. Ravenous. Mocking your cries, your begging.

The hours stretched into what felt like lifetimes, and you’d nearly given up hope, resigning yourself to the idea that this was your new, endless reality. 

Until suddenly, you hear a voice that pulls you from the dark recesses of your subconscious-- the very voice being used to torture you

Your name, uttered quietly by Astarion. Just Astarion. No second, more sinister layer beneath it.

Your eyelids flutter, then widen as a chilling realization washes over you. 

He’s touching you. The pads of his fingers are both a balm and an irritant, soothing and igniting the flames licking at the corners of your mind.

“You look like you’ve seen better days.” He teases. 

You recoil from his touch, sitting upwards and crawling back away from him. 

He can’t be here. He, of all people, can’t be here.

And yet, something within you is screeching in delight.

'That’s him, isn’t it? The object of your desires? How fun!’

You swallow. Hard. 

“Astarion, I -” 

He holds up a hand, silencing you. “I’m aware.”

“Shadowheart informed us of your… predicament,” he continues, “I can’t help but feel partly responsible, seeing as I was there when you found the chocolate -”

“The chocolate? Is that - wait, what?” 

Shit. Your head is pounding. 

You press your palms against your eyes and groan. 

“I’ll spare you the details, but that chocolate was laced with succubus spittle - a highly potent aphrodisiac - and you, my dear, have consumed enough to bring an entire brothel to its knees.”

Your eyes snap open, meeting his own. There isn’t an ounce of humor in his tone. No sign of his usual mischief.

Gods, he’s being fucking serious.

“Now, as amusing as this might be if it were anyone else, I’d prefer it if our party’s leader made it out of this alive, and that leaves us with a choice."

You gaze at him silently, waiting as the candlelight paints his sharp features in warm hues of amber and honey. 

'He’s quite handsome. I see why you like him.’

“You can ride this out alone,” Astarion explains, “Shadowheart will return with her best salves and more potions for the fever. We’ll hope this passes quickly, but Wyll’s translation suggests the amount you consumed could leave you in this state for up to a week.”

Your stomach churns. You’re going to be sick.

“And the alternative?” you manage to ask.

His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining with your own. Your skin prickles at the contact.

“The alternative is that you let me help you through this. Consider it a repayment, of sorts, for gifting me your blood. I’m somewhat of an expert on… well,” he lets out a humorless laugh, “let’s just say, I’m the best chance you’ve got.”

Maybe it's the blood roaring in your ears, or maybe you’re still dreaming, but it sounds like Astarion is offering to… fuck you?

“I’m sorry, what?”

He groans, visibly frustrated. “Sex, my dear. If the magic is compelling you to have it, I think we should listen.”

‘Handsome and smart.’ 

You hiss, “Would you please shut up?”

Astarion squints. “What was that?”

“Nothing, sorry.” You clear your throat. “Listen, I - I get what you’re trying to do. I appreciate it, really, but -” 

Pain lances through your abdomen, a sharp, icy shard that interrupts your words. You clutch at your side, releasing Astarion’s hand before falling helplessly on your back, twisting in agony.

He inches closer, voice tinged with urgency. “We’re running out of time. If you want my help, it's best to ask now, because as much as I love the idea of you begging for me to bed you, I won’t be comfortable doing this unless you agree to this while you’ve still got your wits about you.” 

Tears sting the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision at the edges. He’s right. You don’t think you can endure this alone, and as much as you fucking hate to admit it, the damned succubus magic - that thing - is right.  

You do desire him. You’ve wanted him since the moment you met beside the nautiloid. Now here he is, offering to alleviate your suffering.  

There’s just one part of his offer that you can’t quite come to terms with.

“I didn’t let you drink from me because I was hoping you’d repay me.” Your voice warbles, wet and stressed, “I can’t have sex with you if it’ll just be part of some ridiculous transaction. Not with anyone, and certainly not with you.” 

His expression softens as your words sink in. It’s a confession, of sorts. The kind he’s wholly unfamiliar with. It stuns him almost to the point of speechlessness.  

“My apologies. Believe me, it was more of an excuse than anything. I didn’t mean to suggest…” He lets his words trail off, shaking his head. You two can revisit this conversation later, when time isn’t of the essence. “It doesn’t matter. I want to do this. Let me help you.” 

The sincerity in his voice sends a shiver up your spine.

It’s clear he means this.

He means every word. 

You nod. “Okay.”

Astarion clears his throat, rolling the tension off his shoulders. 

“Good. Now that we’ve got that taken care of,” he says as he throws one of his legs over your waist, straddling you, “Why don’t you lie back and let me take care of this, hm?” 

His posture is relaxed. Confident. He regards you with hooded eyes and the faintest hint of a smirk. It’s quite the sight, one you’d enjoy significantly more if your body wasn’t busy screaming for his attention. 

His deft hands make quick work of the laces of your shirt, and with every string that loosens, your composure unravels further. You squirm, unable to resist the heat that teases your skin and the growing itch beneath it. 

As if Astarion can sense your rising panic, he places a cool palm against your burning cheek, his touch both gentle and practiced as he rubs smooth circles at the dip of your temple. 

“Relax, dear,” he whispers, both a request and a command. The gentle lilt in his voice masks the underlying authority, but your body obeys all the same, tension releasing from your muscles. “I’ve got you.”

Astarion quickly rids you of the offending fabric, chest and stomach now bared to him. His eyes scan over your form with focused intensity, lips pinched between his teeth, like an artist deciding what to make of their blank canvas.

“Normally, I’d take my time with this,” he admits, “but given the circumstances…” He swiftly undoes the buttons of your trousers before yanking them off along with your smallclothes. One single, fluid motion. 

He can’t hide the mild shock that follows when he sees the state of you - dripping wet, red and pulsing with need. 

He dips the tip of his finger between your folds. It glides over velvet skin, coating the digit in warm, wet slick. A strangled, pitiful noise escapes from your throat.

For a moment, Astarion’s calculated expression falters, surprised by the rate at which your body opens itself up to him. A glint of hunger lurks beneath the surface.

“This may be easier than I thought.” He says with a smirk, more to himself than to you. 

He presses two digits in, slow and intentional. There’s no resistance; A knife through warm butter. You’re dripping down his knuckles, gripping around him like a vice. He slides all the way in until the heel of his palm meets your clit. 

“Breathe.” 

Not even realizing you’d been holding your breath, you release it with a shutter.

“Very good.” He punctuates his words with the slow drag of his fingers. Long, languid movements. He’s taking his sweet time with you, pulling scandalous little cries from your lips. It’s like he’s toying with you - seeing how long you can hold out before breaking. 

It doesn’t take much time at all.

“Astarion -”

“Yes?”

“Please.”

“Please, what? What do you need, darling?” His eyes are fixed on your own, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. A cat playing with a cornered mouse.

“More. Anything.” 

He hums in approval, then wets the pad of his thumb on his tongue before drawing circles exactly where you need. Heat coils at the base of your spine, forming a ball of tension that threatens to snap. 

The sheer intensity of it is enough to scare you, caught between the urge to chase the sensation or flee from it. “Astarion, I -” 

He ignores your warning as if he hadn’t heard it, plunging his fingers into your heat and curling them - expertly caressing a spot that threatens to shatter you. Your hands fly out, gripping the fabric of his shirt, the sheets beneath you, anything in a desperate attempt to ground yourself.

“Go on, love. Let it out. I’ve got you.” 

Your body seizes as your orgasm tears through you, igniting every one of your oversensitive nerves. Back arching off the bedroll, several strangled sounds - almost pained - rip from your throat. The pleasure threatens to tear you apart, but the thick fog of lust occupying your mind begins to subside, offering the slightest bit of clarity as you twitch beneath him. 

Astarion grabs you by the jaw, tilting your head this way and that, admiring his handiwork. He's quite pleased with himself, with the mess he's made of you - jaw slack and brows pinched. He coaxes out the aftershocks, watching you squeeze around his fingers.

"There,” he gives you a playful pat on the cheek, "You're looking better already." 

"You're - agh - enjoying this too much."

"I never said I wasn't going to enjoy it." 

A beat of silence passes between the two of you as he allows you to catch your breath. For a moment, you think the coast is clear - that maybe, this was as far as things had to go. This was what the magic was compelling you to do, or at the very least - it was close enough. You fulfilled its wishes. Surely.

But then he pulls out of you, and the second you feel the vacuum of emptiness where his fingers once were, that voice in your head is screeching like some sort of petulant child. It pouts, waggling its non-existent finger in your direction. The demanding bitch. 

Part of you, instinctually, realizes that this is just the beginning - that you’re simply at the edge of the shore watching the tides recede while a devastating wave builds somewhere in the distance. 

“What is it? Does it still hurt?” Astarion asks, breaking the silence, and you realize that no, it doesn’t. Not like before, at least. 

You shake your head.

“Good. I’d wager that means this is working.” He smiles triumphantly, working the laces of his own clothes, and ridding himself of the final layers between you, revealing an intricate network of muscle beneath. For a man who’d supposedly been starved for the last two centuries, he certainly doesn’t look the part.

Astarion nudges your legs apart with his thigh, then settles between your knees, dragging the head of his cock between your folds. He hums in approval, admiring the sight as he coats himself in your slick. It practically drools out of you.

There’s no resistance when he dips himself into your entrance. 

His eyes scan over your face, searching for any discomfort, but all he finds is need. 

So, he presses in further. 

“Shit, you -” 

He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath as he bottoms out, then takes a moment, eyes pinched shut, collecting himself. 

He slides out, just an inch or so, before plunging back in, buried as deeply as he can reach. It’s so damn easy, the sinfully wet mess you’ve left all over his cock allowing him to glide in and out, tilting his hips with each thrust.

The stretch of him is perfect, like you were made for this - made to take him. His length rubbing and dragging against your walls acts like a balm, relaxing your body as you swallow and grip him in scorching heat. 

He grabs one of your thighs, pressing it into your chest - the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper into your core.

It isn’t long before you’re begging him for more, digging your heels into the curve of his back.

Astarion starts pounding into you - a new, brutal pace spurred on by your encouragement and the wet, filthy slap of his skin against yours. The sounds reverberate off the canvas of your tent, blending with your choked sobs. You just know your companions are going to have something to say about this in the morning, but you honestly can’t bring yourself to care. 

The only thing that matters now is the man above you - his nails digging into the flesh of your ass, whispering how good you feel. How well you’re taking him, “Like you were made for this - for me.” His grunts are like music to your ears, drowning out all other thoughts as his chest vibrates against your own.

It’s all too much. 

Your orgasm sneaks up on you before you have a chance to warn him, but he feels the way you flutter around his cock and acts on instinct - snaking his fingers between your bodies and rubbing your clit in quick circles. 

You throw your head back with a cry, shaking beneath him, and grip him like a vice as you come. The force of it slams into you, hot and devastating, tightening every muscle within its wake. You wind your limbs tightly around the hard planes of Astarion’s body as he rolls his hips into you, slow and deep. 

You can feel him twitching inside you, his rhythm suddenly stuttering with each thrust. Something tells you he’d come now, if you’d allow him.

But where?

'Where else?'

The very idea of him not spilling every drop he has inside of you disturbs you nearly to the point of panic, and with that, you finally understand what this damned succubus has been demanding of you this entire time.

“Astarion, please. I need you.” 

“Where?” he asks, voice muffled, panting hot and open-mouthed against the swell of your shoulder.

“Inside,” you beg, “Please. Please -  It’s alright.” 

He shudders, surging up into you one last time with a strangled grunt. Holding onto your hips, he pulses within you, the warmth of his release filling you to the brim, until a thick white ring of come forms at the base of his length. You can’t help but clench around him, moving to match his previous pace and trying desperately to wring as much out of him as you can, until it begins to seep out onto the sheets beneath you.

It isn’t until he stills inside of you that you release your hold on him. The two of you take a minute to collect yourselves, waiting for your heart to settle and listening to Astarion’s ragged breaths. 

He lifts his weight off of you with a grunt, settling back on his knees. 

“That was - agh,” he shivers as he pulls out of you. You don’t even want to look at the mess.

“I’m going to have to burn these sheets, aren’t I?” you ask, sitting up on your shoulders.

He throws his head back with a genuine, hearty laugh, and cards his fingers through his dampened hair. 

This is the most relaxed you think you’ve ever seen him - not a scowl line in sight. He rolls his shoulders, and sighs at the subsequent pop before turning his focus back on you.

“I’ll have you know,” Astarion muses, “I’ve done this more times than I can count— but this, my dear,” he chuckles, “This was one for the books.”

“So, was sleeping with me everything you could have possibly imagined?” It’s an obvious joke, given your tone. An offer to squash any chance of this happening again, should he wish to. An exit. 

He hums playfully. “Well, next time I think I’d prefer the subtle influence of wine over a mind-altering aphrodisiac, if it's all the same to you.”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Did he just offer to do this again? Well, not exactly, but -

“And how are you feeling?” Astarion asks. 

Better, is the honest answer. Slightly confused and deeply embarrassed, but better. 

The apologies you’ll have to make after the night’s over seem endless, both to him and to Shadowheart for all the trouble you caused. Not to mention the others, who’ve probably had the sound of your squealing burned into their memories forever. The idea of it is daunting.

“Because if you’re still reeling from any nasty, lingering effects,” he continues, “I’m sure I could be… persuaded to help again.”

Oh.

Hm.

“Well, now that you mention it…”

-

Tag List (sorry if I missed anyone! I only added you if you explicitly asked to be tagged): @daedriclys @captain039 @sushiumex @sugasweettea @marauders-moon @starlightelegy @ablxssm @the-lake-is-calling

[thegoldencontracts]

The Housewardens Vs. Grim

Riddle is going to have that cat's head someday. Why does the fool keep attempting to claim he's testing to see if Riddle is worthy of you? He's clearly just attempting to con Riddle into giving him tuna! Grim just copied a line from a movie, right after the two of you finished watching it. Not the best sign of protectiveness there...

Leona needs Grim to stop deflecting all the cat comparisons onto him. He isn't a cat, either. You jokingly scratched Grim's ears? He tells you to do that to your boyfriend, the "real cat". And worse, you actually do it. He didn't like it or anything, that's stupid, and he definitely didn't accidentally purr. Still, he isn't a cat, and Grim needs to get the memo.

Azul has just- had it up to here with Grim bringing up that mortifying photo of him as a child! How many times of hastily slapping his hand over that foolish kitten's mouth before the talk of how "he was so round and cute as a kid" ceases for good? And every time, without fail, you go on a spiel about how adorable he looked! Can't you see the utter turmoil you're throwing his mind into? He's much too unused to any conversation about his childhood self at all, let alone positivity!

Kalim thinks Grim is cute and awesome and all, but he can't stand the talk about Jamil being untrustworthy. He's entirely- wait no, Grim's right. He's right about Jamil, and that just makes it even harder to stand. Jamil's improving, right? He's- improving... Right? He's practically begging Grim to stop ruining his cuddle sessions with you by bringing that up!

Vil cannot stand those foolish critiques of his diet, especially when you agree. His food is not bland, and a lack of spices barring salt and pepper at most is entirely normal. Of course, your ensuing agreements are worse. Really, "How come your country colonized the world for spices but didn't use any?" Is no way to speak. Yes, The Shaftlands' has a history of colonialism. Yes, the food happens to not utilize an excess of spices. Is that so terrible?

Idia is jealous... of you. How come you get to pet the cute widdle kitty but he doesn't? It's not fair! And why are you rolling your eyes at you sending him the among us 'everyone is so mean 2 me' meme? Can't you feel his devastation through the cracks? Shame on you! He just wants to pet Grim, but Grim just thinks he's scary. Come on Grim, one chance.

Malleus did not start this battle. Unfortunately for him, however, Grim is incredibly jealous of his magic. The cat keeps requesting that you perform reconnaissance on his behalf. He seems to be under the entirely false impression that, with enough work, the Great Grim can best even Malleus Draconia himself. Malleus... Doesn't quite take him seriously, in all honesty. Grim is a rather amusing creature in his eyes.

[pickingupmymercedes]

As good as chocolate - Lewis Hamilton (NSFW)

requests: "I was on tik tok and I found that video of Lewis where they ask him if he prefers chocolate or sex, and he answers that he likes both together, could you please make magic with that, write something sexy pls." - anon 1

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

warnings: unprotected sexual activities (all sorts), food play.

Also, wrap it before you tap it guys

wordcount: +2K

a/n: Something sweet to cheer us up before the race because we need it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

EXPLICIT CONTENT UNDER, -18 DO NOT INTERACT

______________________________________________________________

The weight of the day hung heavily between them, the silence all the way from the track punctuated only by their quiet sighs. After a grueling qualifying session that was supposed to be great but went disastrously, they were both frustrated and worn out.

As soon as they stepped into the room, Y/N turned and pulled Lewis into a tight hug. At first, he didn't hug her back, his body rigid with tension, but eventually, she felt him start to relax, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let out a long breath.

“Go take a hot shower” she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. Lewis nodded, grateful for her understanding.

The sound of the water running was a soothing backdrop as Y/N settled onto the plush sofa, reaching for the familiar comfort of her chocolate. That had been her thing for years now, tiny drops of dark chocolate to get her mind away from the problems.

She unwrapped a small piece and held it delicately between her fingers, letting out a sigh as she tried to let the dark richness of the treat melt away the stress of the day.

When Lewis emerged from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, he found Y/N with the chocolate in hand. She saw the look in his eyes, his posture still hunched, and offered him a piece stretching her arms towards him, her eyes soft with concern and no courage to break the silence heavy in the bedroom.

“You must think I look awful if you’re offering me your chocolate,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood despite his lingering frustration.

Feigning annoyance, Y/N rolled her eyes. “Just take it, Hamilton.”

Lewis chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. He took the offered chocolate, savoring the taste as he slumped beside her on the sofa.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice a little lighter now.

“You needed it more than I did,” she replied, smiling gently.

They sat in the comfortable silence for a moment, the warmth between them growing as the chocolate worked its magic.

“Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Y/N asked gently, her fingers brushing against his arm as his hands held her thigh firmly.

Lewis sighed deeply, taking his time to answer. “I just... I thought... God, I don't know” he confessed, frustration and confusion evident in his voice.

Seeing the turmoil in his eyes, Y/N decided it was time to shift his focus from the day’s disappointments. She broke off another piece of chocolate and held it out to him with a playful glint in her eyes, her way to offer comfort without pushing too hard. He raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued.

“You’re trying to fatten me up?” he teased.

“Nope,” she said, leaning in closer. “Just thought we could both use a bit more sweetness tonight.”

Lewis took the piece, but instead of eating it, he swiftly stole another square from her fingers, popping it into his mouth with a mischievous grin. “You looked like you needed saving from that chocolate though.”

“Oh, really? And how do you propose to save me now?” she teased, her eyes now twinkling.

Lewis reached over to the coffee table, picking up the rest of the chocolate bar. He broke off another square and held it out to her, his eyes dancing with playful intent.  When she reached for the piece, he quickly pulled back, a daring threat to his eyes.

Y/N leaned forward, her lips brushing against his fingers as she took the chocolate into her mouth, her tongue flicking lightly against his skin. Lewis’s breath hitched at the sensation, the warmth of her mouth earning her a moan from him.

"That's a new way to claim your share" Lewis said, his voice husky.

The playful glint in Y/n's eyes intensified. "Maybe I just wanted something else besides the chocolate."

Taking the hint, Lewis broke off another piece, but this time, he didn’t offer it immediately. He leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a slow, tantalizing kiss. The taste of chocolate mingled with the sweetness of her mouth, making his head spin. He could feel her heartbeat quicken against his chest, her body responding to every touch and kiss.

Y/N moaned softly into the kiss, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers tangling in his muscles. He pulled back just enough to break the kiss, his eyes locking onto hers as he brought the chocolate to her lips again. She took it eagerly, her tongue tracing his fingers, savoring both the chocolate and the intimate touch.

Their kisses grew hungrier, more urgent, as the chocolate melted between them. Y/N pressed closer to Lewis, her body heating with every touch and caress. Lewis’s hands roamed over her back, sliding under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin, the soft moans she made driving him wild.

"Chocolate does taste better shared," Lewis murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Y/n's eyes danced with mischief. "Maybe we should share something else too."

With a wicked grin, he pulled the towel from his waist and laid her down on it in the bed, the plush fabric soft beneath her. He took the chocolate bar and began placing small pieces on her body—atop her nipples, her belly button, tracing a sweet path down her skin.

The coolness of the chocolate against her warm flesh giving her goosebumps.

“You look good enough to eat,” Lewis whispered, his breath hot against her skin. He began at her collarbone, his lips and tongue trailing down, capturing each piece of chocolate. The heat from her body started to melt the chocolate, making it run in delicious rivulets that he eagerly licked up.

Y/N’s breaths came faster, her body arching towards him with every kiss and lick. The sensations were almost too much to bear as his lips traveled lower, the melting chocolate mixing with the heat of his mouth. He reached her nipples, the chocolate now a sticky mess that he lapped up with relish, his tongue circling the hardened peaks.

“Lewis” she gasped, her hands clutching at the fabric beneath her.

His eyes flicked up to meet hers, a smirk playing on his lips as he continued his sweet torture. He moved lower, his mouth tracing a path to her belly button, where the chocolate had started to pool into a tempting little reservoir. He moaned as he licked it up, the sound vibrating against her skin.

“God, you taste amazing,” he groaned, his lips smeared with chocolate as he kissed his way back up her body.

Y/N pulled him up for another kiss, the taste of chocolate and Lewis mingling on her tongue. Lewis’s hands roamed over her body, spreading the melted chocolate across her skin, creating a deliciously messy art.

He moved back to her breasts, his mouth lavishing attention on her nipples, making her writhe beneath him. The chocolate spread with every kiss and lick, his tongue working magic as he trailed down her body once more.

“More” she whispered, her voice a plea and a command.

Lewis obliged, moving back up to capture her lips in a searing kiss, his chocolate-smeared lips mingling with hers in a sweet, sticky mess. Their hands roamed, touching, caressing, and spreading the chocolate across their heated skin.

Y/N gently pushed Lewis back, her eyes gleaming with mischief and desire as he studied her actions.

“Your turn,” she whispered, a playful grin spreading across her lips.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, curiosity and anticipation lighting up his eyes. “Yeah?”

Without answering, Y/N sat up on his lap, reaching for a piece of the chocolate and placing it delicately on his collarbone. Leaning in, she kissed and licked at the chocolate, trailing her lips along his shoulder, nibbling lightly, making him gasp.

“Mmm, Y/N” he breathed, his voice a husky whisper.

She continued her sweet torture, placing tiny pieces of chocolate along his collarbones and neck, his body responding and leaning back on his arms to give her full access.

The mixture of sweetness and the salty tang of his skin was intoxicating, and she could feel his body reacting beneath her touch, muscles tensing and relaxing in rhythm with her movements.

Lewis’s breath hitched as she moved lower, her fingers dancing over his chest, tracing his defined muscles. She reached his abdomen, placing a piece of chocolate right in the middle of his compass tattoo. The chocolate began to melt almost immediately, dripping enticingly down his skin.

Y/N’s fingers trailed through the melted chocolate, spreading it along the crevices of his six-pack. She moved slowly, savoring each moment, her tongue following the path her fingers had traced. Lewis groaned as she licked the chocolate from his abs, not even trying to contain his sounds.

“God, Y/N, that feels incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with need.

She smirked, taking her time with each piece of chocolate, savoring the way his body responded to her touch. When she finally reached the piece in the center of his compass tattoo, it had melted into a sticky mess. She dragged her tongue through the remnants, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she did.

“You taste so good,” she whispered, her voice full of promise.

Lewis’s eyes darkened with lust, his breaths coming in shallow pants. Y/N moved lower, guiding the chocolate down to his belly button, her lips and tongue never leaving his skin. She kissed and licked at the melted chocolate, her mouth following the delicious trail she had created.

Lewis moaned, his hands gripping at any of her skin he could reach, her mouth working its magic. The combination of her warm lips, the cool chocolate, and the gentle scrape of her teeth against his skin was driving him to the brink of madness. He could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words, as she continued her exploration.

Y/N’s fingers traced patterns in the chocolate, her touch feather-light yet electrifying. She dipped her tongue into his belly button, licking up the melted chocolate with a satisfied hum. The sensation made Lewis thrust upwards, a deep groan escaping his lips.

“Y/N, please” he begged, his voice a strained whisper.

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of affection and desire. “Please what?” she teased, her fingers dancing across his skin.

“Don’t stop,” he pleaded, his body trembling with need.

Smiling, Y/N moved back up, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss. The taste of chocolate and each other mingled, making the kiss even more intoxicating. She could feel his heart pounding beneath her hands, his body responding to every touch.

When Y/N finally broke from the kiss, she gazed deeply into Lewis's eyes. A wicked smile spread across her lips as she whispered, “I think I’ve had enough dessert. I want my main course.”

Her hands trailed down his body, reaching to wrap her fingers around his hard dick. Lewis groaned, his head falling back in pure pleasure.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice heavy with desire.

His hands didn't waste any time, reaching for her uncovered folds too. His fingers sliding through her wetness, and they both moaned into each other's mouths, the intensity of their touch driving the other wild.

“Not gonna last long like that, love” he admitted, his voice strained with need.

She smirked and withdrew her hand his dick springing free, slapping back against his smeared chocolate abs. Leaning down, she licked a strip where the chocolate was now sticking to the skin of his dick, the bittersweet taste mingling with his familiar one.

Lewis hissed. He reached for her, his strong hands maneuvering her body effortlessly until she lay on the bed beneath him. His eyes were dark with hunger and want, his fingers finding her pussy again. He collected her juices on his fingers and brought them to his mouth as he looked down at her, tasting her with a satisfied hum.

“Just as good as chocolate” he murmured; his voice thick with desire.

Y/N shivered at his words. Lewis’s touch was electrifying, his fingers exploring her with precision. She arched into him, her body aching for more, for everything he had to give.

“Lewis, please” she moaned, her voice a desperate plea.

He grinned, his eyes filled with a mix of adoration and lust. He kissed his way down her body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. When he reached her core, he didn’t hesitate. His tongue replaced his fingers, licking and tasting her with fervent intensity. Y/N’s hands flew to his head, her fingers tangling in his braids as she cried out in pleasure.

“Yeah, just like that” she gasped, her body trembling under his ministrations.

He moaned against her, the vibrations sending waves through her. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as he devoured her, his tongue working her into a frenzy. She could feel the pressure building, her release tantalizingly close.

“Gosh don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” she begged, her voice barely more than a breathless whisper.

And Lewis didn’t stop. He continued to taste and tease her until she finally shattered, her orgasm crashing over her. She cried out his name, her body convulsing with the force of her release. He didn’t let up, drawing out every last bit of her pleasure until she was a quivering, panting mess.

When he finally pulled away, his lips and beard glistened with her taste. He moved back up her body, capturing her lips in a deep, passionate kiss. She could taste herself on him, the mixture of their flavors intoxicating.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered against her lips, his voice full of love and admiration.

“So are you” she replied, her own voice filled with affection.

But they weren’t done yet. The need between them just as strong, the hunger far from sated. Y/N’s hands found his dick again, stroking him with vigor. Lewis groaned, his hips bucking into her hand.

“Need you, Y/N” he murmured, his voice ragged.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, guiding him to her entrance.

Lewis positioned himself over her, his eyes locked onto hers as he slowly pushed inside her. The sensation was overwhelming, both of them gasping at the intensity of it. He filled her completely, their bodies fitting perfectly, moving together as if that’s what they’re meant to be doing at all times.

Their moans and gasps filling the room.

The sweet scent of chocolate still lingered in the air, mixed with the heady aroma of sex. Their chests, covered in the remnants of melted chocolate, stuck to each other, adding to the delicious mess they had created. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust brought them closer to the edge.

“I’m close” Lewis groaned, his pace quickening.

“Cum babe” she panted, her nails digging into his back.

With a few more thrusts, he filled her, his orgasm crashing over them in a wave of pure ecstasy.

They clung to each other, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks. The sticky sweetness of the chocolate only heightened their senses, the scent engraving into their brains the moment.

Lewis collapsed upon her, his weight grounding her. They lay there creating the most delicious mess they had ever made. Their breathing slowly returning to normal.

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. His eyes, once clouded with worry and frustration, were now softer. He reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch tender.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice sincere and filled with gratitude.

Y/N smiled up at him, her fingers tracing light patterns on his chest. "For the chocolate?" she asked softly.

"For taking my mind off things" he replied, his eyes locking onto hers and chuckling. "For being here, for understanding... for the chocolate"

Her heart swelled at his words, and she reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his skin. "You don't have to thank me" she whispered. "I'm here for you, no matter what."

Lewis leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. "I love you," he whispered against her mouth.

"I love you, always" she replied, her voice full of emotion.

They lay there for a while longer. The day's disappointments seemed distant now, replaced by the warmth and comfort of their shared moment.

Y/N chuckled softly as she looked to the once white towel that lied underneath her "It’s going to be hard to explain this to the hotel staff."

Lewis laughed, the delicious sound resonating in her " We’re taking it as souvenir. Something to remind this weekend by." With a cheeky grin he sat up and scooped her into his arms. “Let’s go clean you up now, stinker,” he said with a lighter glint to his eyes.

Y/N smile, wrapping her arms around his neck as he carried her towards the bathroom. “Only if you join me” she teased.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing it any other way” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he stepped into the bathroom.

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[goldfades]

manager y/n when p tore her acl

𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐘𝐒, 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 & 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄𝐒 ─ PB⁵

─ word count | 1.6k

─ warnings | paige being emotional, mention of her injury:(, but of course some cute moments with team/paige!!!!! they're still in a secret-ish relationship sooooo yeah

"I KNOW, I'M sorry baby," you mumbled as you pulled Paige closer to your chest, your heart breaking at the sound of her sniffles.

It had been almost three weeks since Paige's ACL injury and it'd been pure torture for the both of you. Seeing her so broken and helpless made you feel just as worse, you'd never seen like this before. She was usually the epitome of strength and determination, especially on the court where she usually was the star of the game.

As the manager, you were used to being on the sidelines, supporting Paige and the rest of the team in any way you possibly could. But now, with Paige sidelined due to her injury, your role took on a different meaning. You became her primary source of support as her secret-ish girlfriend, helping her through the tiring physical therapy sessions, cheering her up when the frustration and pain became too much for her.

Tonight, as Paige laid against you, her tears dampening the fabric of your shirt, you couldn't help but feel a surge of helplessness. You wanted nothing more than to take away her pain, to magically heal her injury and see her back on the court doing what she loved most. But all you could do was hold her close, offering whatever comfort you could muster.

"I hate seeing you like this," you whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "But we'll get through this together, I promise."

Paige sniffled, lifting her head to meet your gaze, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with hurt. She was sure she'd cried more these last three weeks than she has her entire life. "I feel so damn helpless,"

You brushed away a stray tear from Paige's cheek, your heart aching at the sight of her pain. "I know, baby," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "But you're strong, P. Stronger than you think. And I'm right here with you, every step of the way."

Paige's lips quivered as she reached for your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours as if seeking comfort in your touch. "I don't know what I'd do without you," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "You've been my rock through all of this bullshit."

A bittersweet smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "And you've been mine," you confessed, feeling the weight of your love for her settling like a warm embrace around your heart.

"You'll get through this," you reassured her, your voice steady despite the turmoil in your heart. "And when you're back on that court, you'll be stronger than ever. I believe in you, baby."

Paige's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, but this time, they held a glimmer of hope. "Thank you," she whispered, leaning in to rest her forehead against yours. "I love you."

"I love you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you held her close, as she relaxed into your touch.

──

"And there she is, folks! Paige Bueckers, the heart and soul of the UConn team, back where she belongs! It's been nearly three months since her injury sidelined her, but tonight, she's back in action, ready to reclaim her place on the court! You can feel the energy pulsating through the arena as she prepares to take her first steps back into the game she loves."

You sat beside Geno, a proud smile on your face as you watched Paige dribble the ball down the court with a renewed sense of purpose. You wore her jersey proudly, her name and number plastered on the back as you felt a swell of pride in your chest. It wasn't just any jersey; it was Paige's jersey, a symbol of your unwavering support for her, both on and off the court. You wore it proudly, knowing that you were her biggest supporter.

"Look at her go," Geno remarked, his voice filled with admiration. "She's been working hard to get back and now she's finally here. It's like she never missed a beat."

"That's P for you," you laughed, unable to tear your eyes away from the electrifying spectacle unfolding before you.

Geno nodded, a proud smile playing on his lips. "That's our girl," he declared, his voice brimming with pride. "She's a fighter, through and through."

As the game progressed, Paige continued to dominate the court, her skill on full display for all to see. With each basket she scored, the crowd erupted into cheers, their adoration for Paige evident in their loud applause.

Beside you, Geno glanced over and offered you a knowing smile. "You wear that jersey well," he remarked, his tone filled with admiration. "Thank you."

"For what?" You couldn't help but blush at his words, feeling a sense of validation wash over you.

Geno smirked as he wiggled his eyebrows, causing you to snicker. "For helping our girl get back out there, for being her rock during all that, and for always having her back," Geno replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "You've been a crucial part of her journey, and I know she's grateful to have you by her side."

You felt a swell of pride at his words, knowing that your support for Paige hadn't gone unnoticed. "I'll always be here for her," you replied, your voice filled with conviction. "No matter what."

Geno nodded, his expression reflecting a mixture of respect and gratitude. "I know you will," he said, his tone firm. "And I couldn't be more grateful to have you on our team."

"Aw, Geno, don't get all sappy on me," you joked as he sighed, shaking his head before turning his head back to the game. "Thanks, Grandpa."

Geno chuckled at your playful jab, shaking his head in amusement. "I'll let that one slide, just this once," he replied, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "But one more and I'm exposing you and Paige,"

You sent him a glare as he side-eyed you, watching your reaction with a smile. "Shut up,"

"Mhm, that's what I thought," Geno replied, his grin widening as he turned his attention back to the game.

As the game continued, you cheered alongside the rest of the crowd, your heart swelling with pride every time Paige made a cool play. She was more than just a player to you; she was your girlfriend, your confidante, your everything.

And as the final buzzer sounded, signaling another victory for the UConn Huskies, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement wash over you. It wasn't just a win for the team; it was a win for Paige, for everything she had overcome to get to this moment.

As you made your way down to the court to congratulate Paige, her eyes lit up with joy at the sight of you wearing her jersey. She pulled you into a tight embrace, her arms pulling you closer to her chest ─ you could practically feel everyone's eyes on the two of you, but you didn't care.

"You're my lucky charm," she murmured, her voice filled with emotion. "I couldn't have done it without you."

You felt your eyes begin to water with emotion as you returned Paige's embrace, holding her tightly against you. "You don't need luck when you've got talent like yours," you whispered back, your voice choked.

The crowd's cheers faded into the background as you and Paige stood locked in each other's arms, the world around you seeming to disappear. In that moment, it was just the two of you, united in your love.

As you finally pulled away from the embrace, you cupped Paige's face in your hands, gazing into her eyes with overwhelming affection. "I'm so proud of you,"

But before you two could really relish in the moment, KK's words rang out loudly. "Guys, hurry up we need to take a picture!"

Paige laughed before she pulled you closer, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you made your way toward the team. The moment between you and Paige might have been interrupted, but the excitement that filled your heart remained untouched.

As you joined the rest of the team for the picture, you felt a sense of belonging wash over you. These were more than just teammates; they were your family, bonded by a shared passion for the game and a deep-seated camaraderie.

Before you could even process it, Paige lifted you up in her arms bridal style, eliciting surprised laughter from you and cheers from the rest of the team. You wrapped your arms around her neck, feeling a rush of exhilaration as you found yourself enveloped in her strong embrace, laughter bubbling up from deep within you.

You both turned to the camera, genuine grins on your faces as the camera snapped. As the camera clicked, you couldn't help but marvel at the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Here you were, lifted off your feet by the love of your life, surrounded by your family, and immortalized in a photograph that would forever hold a special place in your heart.

Paige gently lowered you back to the ground, her arms still wrapped securely around you before she pulled you into a strong embrace. And once again, you were interrupted by Ice's voice.

"Y/N, where are the cookies you made?"

You couldn't help but laugh as Ice's voice broke through the moment once again, her question catching you off guard. Paige joined in your laughter, her arms still wrapped around you in a tight embrace.

"Wait, Y/N made cookies?" Geno's voice perked up as he looked around. Soon enough, the entire team was gathered around you, their curiosity piqued by the mention of cookies.

"They're in my bag-"

"Found them!" KK shouted as the team rushed over to KK.

Paige sent you a look as you laughed. "These fatasses,"

You rolled your eyes as you both pulled away from the hug, walking toward the team.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[hoe4sports]

The patterns in the wallpaper

A/N: A short piece, once again based off my own experiences. You can find more stories here.

Warning: Mentions of abuse, sensitive subjects, read with caution .

If you have struggled or struggles with the same things, please know that I’m always available for a chat. I care about you.

If you find yourself in a psychological emergency; please seek medical attention.

-

As a child, you weren’t really a child. In the surge of your mother’s impulsive decisions and explosive temperament, you suffered your fair share of the consequences. The consequences was piled up in your invisible backpack glued to your shoulder, and over the years; your backpack would get heavier and heavier.

At one point, the backpack was so heavy that you couldn’t get out of bed anymore. Your backpack was above your capacity leaving your attempts at standing up looking like a baby trying to walk for the first time.

The consequences of the imaginary backpack was there when you met Alexia. You met at a coffeeshop. It was the perfect romcom meeting. Alexia ran into you, and dropped her coffee on you. You had subconsciously met a few months earlier in a group therapy session for people dealing with anxiety and depression.

5th of November

One of the assets of Alexia was her face. Her face stood out to you, she didn’t look like she belonged in the room. Sure, mental illness and unwellness dosent have a spesfic look, but if you are attentive and willing to dive; you can see it in their eyes.

The thing about eyes is that it’s the only part of your body that you cannot lie with. Your eyes are like the windows to your soul, to your headspace. When you would look across the room, you would see people’s eyes. Most had drained eyes, eyes that looked like the had seen the most unforgiving of actions.

It was not like your eyes were any different. They were the same. Dull, sad, lost. There are a million ways to describe them, but the most fitting word would be gone.

Your eyes would brighten as the therapy went on. After having a few experiences with Alexia, the light had been sparked again. Like you were finally free to breathe. But, then you got the call.

“Your mother is sick, I don’t know how longs she has left”.

The light in your eyes were simply gone. Just like your mother stole your childhood, your innocence and your magic; she stole the light in your eyes and your adulthood.

It wasn’t the grieving of potentially losing your mother that had hit you. It was the grief of the loss of hope. The hope that one day, she might realise all her wrongs and try to do them right by apologising. That day looked further away than ever. It was just the tiny girl inside of you who were holding on to the hope of an apology like a child holds onto a helium balloon.

You laid in bed, sideways, facing the wall. The wall has patterns in it, carefully chosen by you and Alexia when you built your house a few years ago prior. The wallpaper is unique, you have never seen anything like it.

Alexia didn’t know it back then, but you wanted patterns on your side of the room for a reason. If you ever would spiral down into the state of mentality you had when you met Alexia, you would have something to look at.

10th of November

When your life came crashing down, a regular November night; you stared at the pattern in the wallpaper for hours. As Alexia’s soft snores fills the room bearing evidence of her trust that you are asleep: your eyes were wander to the wallpaper. Eyes heavy with sadness; but somehow also anger.

The anger lasts. It builds up. It turmoils into something bigger. Something heavier.

Anger for how your mother chose to run away from this world instead of dealing with the consequences of robbing your life before it had even begun. Anger for how she made things easier for herself. Anger for how the hope of an apology disappeared into thin air in sync with her existence.

“When i was 7, i would write my mami notes to tell her how sorry i was and how I wouldn’t mind if she gave me away to have someone better than me.”

Alexia looked at you with sadness in her eyes before wrapping her arms around you. The pair of you laying together, close to each other in totally silence and as different. Not a bad kind of different, but a healing kind of different.

“You didn’t deserve that.” Alexia whispers into the top of your head, while your face stares into the wallpaper. “I know” you respond.

25th of November

You don’t really know how to respond, or how to talk about your childhood. Your childhood had been taken out of your backpack after going to therapy for years. The consequences of your mother had been placed into a suitcase before it was thrown up to the loft. You simply forgot about it, for years. But one morning, the suitcase was back in your room filling you with grief of the life and the potential you were supposed to have.

“When I was a kid, my mom would ask me when I would go home again.” You whisper, the memory lingering in your head for a moment before the pattern of the wallpaper takes over again. “You didn’t deserve it, amor” Alexia whispers into your hair.

Alexia never tells you, but each time you share something about your childhood; her heart breaks for the person you were supposed to be. She tends to imagine what you would be like without the struggles,without the consequences of your mother. A part of her hopes that one day, you’ll have a little girl who will grow up to be just like you; but with two loving parents and a safe home.

Christmas is closing in, but you are still staring at the wall. You follow the pattern with your eyes: that’s all you have capacity to do. You never read, watch tiktoks or use your phone. You just stare at the wall, waiting for this to pass. The only issue is that this time; it won’t just pass. You haven’t realised it yet. But Alexia has, already having a list of the best private physiatrist that money could by ready for whenever your mind can hold two thoughts at the same time.

Alexia dosent push. She never does. She’s pacient. She’s consistent. She’s the most reliable asset you have had in the entirely of your life. She waits, and waits and waits; because she knows that one day you’ll be ready to move your gaze away from the wallpaper.

1st of December

“How is it today, amor?” Alexia asks. It’s the same question everytime she gets home from training. She’s just waiting for the day when you have an answer. “I don’t know” is your response. It’s always your response. Like your brain dosent have the ability to answer anything else.

Days become weeks, weeks become a month and a month became multiple months. Months of you laying in bed, waiting for it to get better. Months of you never leaving your bed for more than 5 minutes. Months of having the living room and kitchen being used by only one person.

Alexia is functioning for you, almost on your behalf. She opens your mail, books occasional doctors appointments over the phone, she brushes your hair and she brings you water with ice and a cut up apple every single morning before she leaves for practice. She dosent push it. She just leaves it infront of you.

When she has away games, she haves Alba over. Alba stays in the guest room, and she occasionally checks in on you. Never pressuring you, never making you feel bad. She understands the situation, and she wants to support her sister.

5th of December

Closing up to Christmas, Alexia is at practice tying her cleats. Mapi sits next to her watching as person after person disappears onto the pitch. When it’s only the pair of them left, she looks at Alexia.

“How’s y/n? She hasn’t been at any games this season” she wonders, the memory of you sitting next to her during her injury fresh in her mind.

“She’s alive, that’s all that matters” Alexia responds, quietly cleaning up her spot before getting ready to warm up. She clenches her jaw, not wanting to break in-front of her teammate.

Mapi smiles sadly at her understanding the severity of the situation. Ingrid went through the same thing when her grandmother died.

“I’ll get Ingrid to call her” Mapi says, not a tone of judgement in her voice.

“Anything helps” Alexia responds knowing that you and Ingrid created a special bond when Ingrid was injured. You went home to her and Mapi’s place to take care of her while Mapi went on the US tour with barca. That’s to your nature. Always taking care of others. Always attentive to others feelings.

On the drive home later that day, she dosen’t listen to music like she normally does. It’s quiet. She’s thinking. Her head is filled with worry, hoping that you will find it within you to recover again. Not because she wants you to or because she’s sick of caring for you; but because you deserve to live a life free of worry.

When she pulls up into the driveway, she sees the curtains are pulled in-front of the windows. She does it before she leaves, wanting to shield you from any media or fans. She trusts the fans, but not with you. You are fragile. A small tap, and you’ll break.

She grabs her phone and gets out of the car, walking the few meters to the entryway before locking herself in. Dinner is on her mind, perhaps salmon with pasta? You don’t eat much, but you eat pasta. If she just makes extra pasta, then she can put some pesto on it and have you eat just the pasta.

Her thoughts are spinning trying to find ways to help you without helping you. It’s exhausting, she thinks. Not caring for you, but watching you fade away until an empty shield of what you once were.

She takes off her shoes, and greets your golden retriever. He licks her hands, and wags his tail. Always so happy to see her. Her mind dosent understand how he can be happy of small things like pebble, squirrels and birds.

But then, at the corner of her eye. She sees movement. Her mind instantly brushes it off as the cat, but her curiosity gets the best of her. She rounds the corner, and her breathing stops. She stops in her tracks. Her jaw is on the floor. Her mind is empty. She’s at a loss of words.

Why?

That’s because in the kitchen, she sees you. For the first time since mid October; you look alive again. Like the color has come back into your face. Like the spark in your eyes has returned.

Out of bed, freshly showered in her Barca joggers and a hoodie cooking.

She thinks it’s a dream.

It’s not. You smile at her before pointing to the pot in-front of you.

“I made soup" you say, stirring the caserole of sweetpotato soup.

Alexia’s face soften and her lips smiles

She dosent know what to say.

You embrace her, and look her into her eyes.

She doesn’t know why, how or when Ingrid called you. But, she knows that her patience paid off.

“I love soup” Alexia responds.

7th of December

But the thing about the wallpaper, is that it’s quite the trickster. One day out of bed costs a lot more than the stamina you’ve had since getting familiar with the wallpaper a few months ago.

The wallpaper draws you in again, and for the next few weeks you lay in bed facing the wallpaper. There isn’t a singular emotion in your face. Apathy.

Christmas is closing in. It has always been your favourite holiday. You didn’t love holidays as a child, fearing the consequences of having to be with your mother’s unreliable emotions for en extended period of time.

But Christmas is different. Christmas reminds you of your grandparents. It reminds you of coming to their house, and helping your grandpa with getting the boxes of Christmas decorations from the loft.

The loft has a special smell. It’s usually not a pleasant smell, but you love the smell. It reminds you of nostalgia. It feels safe.

Nobody expects you to feel safe at your mother’s. After all, you would spent all weekends and all holidays at your grandparents. Neglected from your mother’s love and attention.

Perhaps, a part of her passing is knowing that she will never apologise. There will never come a day where she realises her mistakes, and takes responsibility for her actions. Instead, the little girl inside you has to take responsibility of her actions. It drags you down. It feels heavy.

The memory of begging your mom to change her was is still fresh in your mind. A picture of you sitting in your bedroom, tears rolling down your face while brainstorming how to get your mother to change. Maybe if you were just a little nicer? A little more helpful? A little less annoying?

“I wish I could get my mom to change her ways, maybe she would finally care about me?” you whisper out. That’s all you do these days. Whisper. Alexia holds you from behind, her arms wrapped around you like you are some fragile kitten. “The truth is that that no child can save her mother” Alexia hums, gently kissing the top of your head.

11th of December

Alexia’s patience never runs out. She waits. She happily waits for you to find your way out of the maze you have been pulled into. It’s not like you walked into the maze yourself, you were put there against your will.

It’s trial and error. Walking tirelessly to find your way out of your brain. The only thing she can do is wait. You stare at the wallpaper, and she waits. That’s how the days are going by. You stare, and stare and stare. She’s talked to her mami about it, and she supports the wait. It hurts Alexia’s mami to know that you were treated badly by your own birtggiver. She could never imagine doing something neglectful to her own children.

Alexia knows it’s not your fault, any of it really. She knows that you were supposed to be cared for. Loved. Held. But you didn’t get that. You had to figure it out yourself. It’s confusing for a little girl.

The situation confusing for everyone. Patri dosent understand why you aren’t there.

“Why isn’t your girl around anymore? Did you piss her off again?” She jokes.

“No, my wife is sick” she responds, not wanting to shine more light on your situation. She has decided that this is a private matter.

"Sick of you? or of football?" she jokes back. The room is now quiet. Awfully quiet. It’s an unwritten truth that they don’t joke about you. Mapi and Ingrid knows. Caroline and Marta too. Even Fridolina knows about your struggles.

Alexa clenches her jaw, trying her best to cool her anger. Pina tries to get Patri to cut it out, but for some reason; she dosent understand that it’s a serious matter.

“For fucks sake Patri, my wife is sick. Her mother that abused her for years had passed. She’s struggling. Can you leave me and my wife alone?” Alexia snaps, banging her cubby shut before marching out of the room.

Everyone looks at Patri. “Why did you do that?” Ingrid snaps, Patri just shrugges. “I didn’t know she was sick, I was just asking a question!”

Mapi looks at Patri.

“Read the fucking room.”

17th of December

The last game of the year, Alexia forgets her cleats. She had bought new ones after throwing away her old ones. The new ones were bright pink. Nike mad brilliance. Alexia didn’t really want bright pink, but they had the exact same colour as the top you wore on your first date, and the thought of your smile when you would see the cleats with the explanation; that convinced her.

A member of staff offers to go home for her, and get them; but she dosent want to. Even though she needs to eat with the team and do the pre game meeting. No matter how tired, she’s never willing to expose you at your most vulnerable state.

She says her goodbyes before sprinting to the car. Her luck has ran out, and there is traffic making her later than anticipated. The rain is pouring down, making cars drive slower. Her knowledge on the neighbourhoods in Barcelona are to a T after living there for many years. She makes shortcuts before finally pulling up to your street.

The houses passes by. Neighbours like the Ramirez where you would have bbqs and miss Talia where you would be invited for cookies reminds her of better days. Not just how things were a few months ago, but it reminds her of what’s to come when you find yourself back again. When you find your way out of the patterns in the wallpaper. It’s what’s ahead that’s important.

The better days.

Christmas is conveniently here. It adds to the traffic. Normally your house would be all dolled up by now, Christmas gifts and bright lights everywhere. The good old improvised wrapping station you would make taking over Alexia’s office. Normally, she would pretend to be annoyed by it. But, the truth is that she misses it. She misses walking along side you when you try to find this year’s wrapping paper theme. She always pretend to be annoyed by it, but she promises herself that next year; when you feel better, she’ll never complain.

When she pulls up to the house, it’s dark inside. It’s comforting knowing that you haven’t left the house. She knows that you wouldnt do anything dumb, but in the back of her mind the worry of how your mind taking over your rationality lingers.

With quick steps, she moves inside. Your dog greets her in the hallway, like he always does. He’s happy. His butt wiggling from side to side. She’s smiles softly spending a minute petting him, giving him kisses and belly rubs.

“Alexia? Can I come with you to the game?”

Alexia’s eyes widen. It’s like she can’t comprehend what is happening in front of her. You are standing there. Hair done, makeup on. A pair of jeans with her jersey on your upper body.

“Uh” is all she can say.

You laugh softly at her.

Your laugh. She can’t remember when she last heard you laugh before. She’s not sure what to say. If this is a surge or if you are actually feeling better. She separates her lips to speak, it words dosent come out.

You look at her.

She looks at your eyes.

Then she sees it. The sparkle is back. It’s not huge, like a few years ago, yet it’s there. A small twinkle.

“Ale, I think I’m feeling better. I’m gonna talk to the psychiatrist tomorrow”

She smiles, then she nods.

Her frame crashes into yours. Her arms wraps around you, hiding your head in her neck. She can’t remember the last time she hugged you standing up. But she’s grateful.

“My love for you is endless, princesa”

.

[alyrasturnz]

can yu write a chris oneshot based on the song "pretty isnt pretty" by olivia rodrigo? btw i love yr writing its so shakespeare lol

PRETTY ISNT PRETTY {{ chris sturniolo }}

summary — y/n grapples with her insecurities, feeling overshadowed by her own self-doubt. her boyfriend, chris, steps in with unwavering support and tender reassurances, gently lifting her spirits and reminding her of her inherent beauty and worth. through his loving words and actions, he helps her see herself through his adoring eyes, bringing light to her darkest moments.

warnings :: mentions of blood , implied ed , mentions of face dysmorphia

— angst && fluff

a/n ,, best compliment ever! thank you 💗

in the dimly lit room, tears cascade down your cheeks, mingling with the makeup you desperately attempt to apply. each stroke of the brush is a futile effort, as the cosmetics blend with your sorrow, creating a poignant portrait of despair.

the mascara trails down your face, the inky black rivulets etching a sorrowful path upon your skin, lingering like a curse that refuses to be lifted, a silent testament to the depths of your despair.

no matter how many layers of makeup you apply or how fervently you attempt to conceal the burdens that threaten to bring you to your knees, nothing can truly assuage the ache within your soul.

if anything, it would only deepen your despair, amplifying the hollowness within and leaving you feeling even more desolate.

you find yourself ensnared in an unending cycle of misery, a relentless loop of despair that seems impervious to change.

you groan, wiping away the tears as you reach for the makeup wipes. the remnants of makeup, once delicately applied, now smear across your hands, staining the plastic of the makeup wipes with the evidence of your unraveling composure.

get your shit together, y/n.

you grasp a sheet of wipes, methodically erasing the vestiges of makeup from your face before discarding it onto the floor, a silent testament to your inner turmoil.

with a fervent grip, you seize your foundation, applying it with the urgency of one donning armor, hoping to conceal the fissures in your confidence and present an unblemished facade to the world.

shortly thereafter, you reach for your concealer, as though it were a magic elixir capable of erasing the shadows of your sleepless nights and the burdens etched upon your visage.

you dabbed on the concealer like an artist crafting a mask, attempting to obscure the shadows of your insecurities and paint a portrait of unattainable perfection.

then, you reached for your blush, as though summoning the rosy hues of dawn to breathe life back into your pallid cheeks.

you swept on the blush like a whisper of hope, endeavoring to infuse a touch of warmth and vitality into the pallor of your worries.

then, you reached for your highlighter, as if beckoning the ethereal glow of moonlight to grace the high points of your visage, casting away the shadows of doubt.

you dusted on the highlighter, like the first light of dawn, striving to illuminate the hidden recesses of your self-doubt with a soft, radiant glow.

then, you reached for your mascara, as though summoning the inky tendrils of night to frame your gaze, adding depth and mystery to the windows of your soul.

you brushed on the mascara like a veil of enigma, seeking to divert attention from the shadows of your flaws to the captivating allure of your gaze.

then, you reached for your lip gloss, as if capturing the essence of twilight's shimmer to grace your lips, infusing them with a touch of ethereal enchantment.

you applied the lip gloss like a seal of promise, hoping to infuse your words with a touch of sparkle and imbue your smile with a hint of beguiling allure.

finally, you reached for your setting powder, as if capturing the essence of a tranquil dawn to preserve the artistry of your visage, ensuring its ethereal beauty remained untouched by the passage of time.

you dusted on the setting powder like a veil of serenity, hoping to lock in your confidence and shield your visage from the encroaching tendrils of fear.

you grasped your setting spray and misted it on like an ethereal breath of resolve, seeking to enshroud your determination in an unyielding barrier and preserve your composure amidst the inevitable tempests that lie ahead.

at last, she set her makeup tools aside, her gaze fixed upon the mirror as her eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, reflecting the storm of thoughts brewing within her mind.

you felt an inexplicable void, a sense of something amiss, though in truth, nothing was absent.

you had meticulously attended to every detail, striving to enhance your allure, even if only by a modest measure.

yet, the universe remained indifferent, and nothing transpired.

you still felt an unbearable torment. you’re still consumed by an excruciating desire to peel away your own flesh, envisioning the crimson torrent cascading from your marred visage.

you could exert every conceivable effort, yet remain ensnared in the same unyielding despondency.

your thoughts ground to an abrupt cessation as the familiar chime of your phone shattered the silence.

your gaze drifted towards your phone, and an involuntary, gentle smile unfurled across your lips as you read Chris' message.

»--•--«

chris 🧡

where are u ma :((

y/n

i’m still at my house but i’ll be there soon!

chris 🧡

baby, u said the same thing in 57 bce be so fr

y/n

chris😭 i just finished doing my makeup, hang in there lil bro

chris 🧡

nah cause ill actually hang myself if ur not next to me by the time matt comes back with the cake

y/n

okay sassy men apocalypse im walking to my car rn

chris 🧡

yeah u better be

»--•--«

laughter reverberated throughout madi’s house, yet yours was but a hollow echo, a mere facade of genuine mirth.

you were compelled to preserve your facade of calm, for it would be a grave disservice to madi to succumb to your own turmoil within the sanctuary of her abode.

they chose this day, of all days, when your mind was a fragile tapestry, frayed and tattered by the weight of your inner turmoil.

“cake, anyone?” madi’s mother called from the kitchen, her voice a melodic invitation, as everyone rose from their seats.

chris rose to his feet, his eyes lingering on you with an unspoken question, "are you coming?"

you gently shook your head, a serene smile playing on your lips. "i'm not hungry," you whispered softly, as chris's eyebrows arched in subtle surprise.

you had abstained from joining them for dinner, and he was acutely aware that you had similarly missed the midday meal.

"okay," he murmured, retreating to the kitchen and leaving you ensconced in the solitude of your thoughts.

you watched in silence as they savored each bite of their cake, a palpable jealousy weaving its way through your veins, an insidious serpent of longing and deprivation.

your nails clawed fervently at your tender skin as your teeth sank into your lips, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself amidst the storm of emotions raging within.

you yearned to partake in the cake's sweet allure, yet you had to sternly remind yourself that your clothes remain unyielding to the whims of your appetite, indifferent to the gnawing hunger within.

»--•--«

"bye!" you said with a smile, waving a delicate hand as you gracefully exited their car, each step towards your house imbued with a quiet elegance.

you hastily make your way to your bedroom, collapsing onto your bed with a sense of urgency and relief.

you tilt your head to the side, gazing intently at your reflection in the mirror, as if seeking answers in the depths of your own eyes.

you furrow your brow, rising to a seated position, your hand gently massaging your upper arm as tears cascade down your cheeks like silent rivers of sorrow.

mascara cascades down your face like a malevolent spell, each tear-streaked line a testament to your sorrow, as you rise and walk toward the mirror with a heavy heart.

you gaze at your reflection, scrutinizing your form with a critical eye. though others often remark on your slenderness, the truth eludes you, as if their words are but fleeting wisps of smoke, intangible and insubstantial.

your eyes shift to your face, as if confronted by a phantom, a spectral presence staring back with a haunting intensity.

a wretched sob escapes your lips as your fist collides with the mirror, shattering it into a mosaic of jagged fragments. crimson rivulets stream from your knuckles, the blood weaving its way into the crevices between the broken shards, a macabre tapestry of anguish and pain.

you observe as the blood on the mirror trickles down, reminiscent of a shattered curse unraveling, each droplet a testament to the torment that binds you.

another soft sob escapes your lips as you wipe away your tears, your steps faltering as you make your way to the vanity, each movement weighed down by a melancholic grace.

you seize the makeup wipes with a trembling hand, violently scrubbing away the remnants of your carefully applied facade, each stroke a desperate attempt to erase the pain etched upon your features.

you wipe and scrub with a fervent intensity, as if believing that with enough force, you might witness your very visage disintegrate, revealing the raw truth beneath the layers of artifice.

more sobs escape your lips as tears cascade down, your hand assaulting your face with the makeup wipe, each swipe a brutal attempt to dismantle the mask that conceals your torment.

“babe, you left your bag in the car,” chris uttered, his voice punctuating the stillness as he opened your door and momentarily paused.

your movements come to an abrupt halt, your gaze locking onto chris as tears continue to cascade down your face, each droplet a silent testament to your inner turmoil.

chris’ gaze shifts to the fractured mirror, where blood trickles down the jagged shards, before returning to you, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and sorrow.

his gaze descends upon your hand, now stained a vivid crimson, as if the very essence of your anguish had seeped into your flesh.

"oh, baby," he murmurs softly, his steps deliberate as he approaches, enveloping you in a tender embrace while your sobs meld into the warmth of his chest.

his hand moves to cradle the back of your head, his fingers weaving gently through your hair, offering a silent solace amidst the storm of your emotions.

"what ails you, sweet girl?" he inquires softly, his voice laced with concern, as you pull away from his embrace, your head shaking in silent refusal.

"I am so hideous," you sob, your voice cracking with despair, as chris' gaze softens, his eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken empathy.

chris gently swivels your chair, positioning you to face yourself in the vanity mirror, the reflection confronting you with an unvarnished truth.

his hands descend to rest upon your shoulders, his touch a grounding presence as he gazes into the mirror alongside you, a soft smile gracing his features with quiet reassurance.

"you are the most beautiful girl I have ever known, and it wounds me deeply to see that you cannot perceive your own beauty," he murmurs tenderly, pressing a gentle kiss upon your head.

"you’re just saying that because I am your girlfriend," you mutter, your voice tinged with bitterness as you harshly wipe away your makeup. chris shakes his head, a silent plea for you to see the truth in his words.

your wrist succumbs to chris' gentle yet firm grasp as he deftly removes the makeup wipe from your hand, discarding it into the trash. he retrieves a fresh one, his actions deliberate and tender.

"I say it because I know it to be true. I say it because it is the undeniable truth," he murmurs softly, his touch tender as he gently wipes away your makeup.

your muscles gradually loosen as you close your eyes, the sobbing subsides though soft tears continue to trace delicate paths down your face.

"and all I desire is for you to glimpse the vision I hold," chris whispers softly, his voice a gentle murmur, before setting the makeup wipe aside.

upon finishing, chris discards the makeup wipe into the trash with a measured grace, then proceeds to your bathroom, his movements purposeful and unhurried.

you gaze deeply into the mirror, your reflection a canvas of uncertainty. was he lying?

chris strides back, bearing a first aid kit, and gracefully lowers himself to his knees beside you. with a delicate precision, he extracts a piece of cloth and applies it gently to the lacerations on your knuckles, his touch imbued with a quiet tenderness.

after a brief interval, he retrieves a damp cloth and, with a gentle hand, begins to dab it against your wound, meticulously cleansing it with a touch that speaks of both care and precision.

subsequently, he reaches for the Betadine, immersing a cotton ball in the rich, amber-hued disinfectant ointment, preparing to cleanse the wound with meticulous care.

with deliberate precision, he dabs the cotton ball onto your wound, ensuring each touch is both gentle and thorough. Once satisfied with his meticulous work, he discards the used cotton ball into the trash.

"would you like me to bandage it, my love?" he inquires softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours with a tender, questioning gaze.

your breath catches in your throat as you notice the glistening trails of tears on his cheeks, a silent testament to his sorrow.

as you nod in silent affirmation, tears cascade down his face, each droplet tracing a path of unspoken anguish.

he returns your nod, his movements deliberate and calm as he retrieves a bandage.

with meticulous care, he unrolls the bandage, his fingers grazing your skin lightly as he begins to wrap it around your hand.

each motion is tender, infused with a quiet dedication, as if through this simple act, he seeks to convey all the unspoken emotions that words cannot encompass.

his focus never wavers, eyes intent on ensuring the bandage is secure, a silent promise of his unwavering support.

when he finally completed his task, he held your hand with a delicate reverence, his touch both tender and firm.

slowly, he raised your hand to his lips, pausing for a moment as if to savor the intimacy of the gesture. then, with a softness that spoke volumes, he pressed a gentle kiss to your hand, a silent vow of affection and care.

"please, don’t hurt yourself," he whispers, his voice trembling as he looks up at you with eyes reddened by unshed tears. "you are so beautiful, my love. I will do anything to help you see that," he continues, rising to his feet with a resolve that mirrors the depth of his devotion.

he gently tilts your face upward with the soft touch of his pointer finger and thumb, his movements slow and deliberate. as your eyes meet, he leans in, pressing his lips against yours in a kiss that speaks of longing and unspoken promises.

maybe you did not see yourself as beautiful, but in his eyes, you were a vision of unparalleled grace. and in the grand tapestry of your shared existence, his perception was the thread that truly mattered.

[yuri-is-online]

Without Saying (Floyd and Ruggie x Yuu)

"Oh can I help you? You seem to be lost." You attempt to cheerfully ask the vaguely familiar looking person in front of you. As if he is deliberately trying to rub salt in your wounds, Crowley ignored your request to leave campus for NRC parents day and is instead making you and Grim run errands. The person in front of you, blissfully ignorant to your inner turmoil perks up at your attention.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you the magicless prefect?" You and Grim exchange a confused glance. "You've got to be right?" They're practically glowing with how happy they are to see you. " Oh I'm sorry, I've just heard so much about you!" Wait, what?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, feral ariel (Floyd) vs light angst again (Ruggie). If you liked this please check out the previous parts on my masterlist.

Floyd

Under normal circumstances, a quiet Floyd was a suspicious Floyd but today- well today it was just odd. He doesn't look bored per se, just idle standing next to a very tall woman with similarly colored hair who is slowly, carefully, with extreme focus examining every inch of what you think is a novelty piggy bank shaped like the school's wishing well.

"Are you done yet Mamma?" Floyd sounds like he is being careful not to yawn.

"Hush now Floydie," she doesn't even blink, that's how tight her focus is, "Mamma is concentrating." Mrs. Leech's lips are tightly pursed while Floyd mutters something about going to get some candy and slinks off while you question if getting involved in this conversation is part of your job description or even smart. Unfortunately for you by the time you look back up from your clipboard Mrs. Leech has moved directly in front of your face in complete silence. "Human-" you go to scream but she silences you with a look you can't tell is from magic or practice raising the twins "Human can you help me with something?" She doesn't even wait for you to agree before holding up the piggy bank. "What exactly is the purpose of this object?"

"That?" You are surprised your voice doesn't give out entirely as she vigorously nods. "The piggy bank?"

"I see, I see." She nods sagely, immediately whipping around to where she evidently thought her son still was, shrugging undeterred as she decides to simply yell. "FLOYD! IT'S CALLED A PIGGY BANK."

"That's nice Mamma." Calls Floyd, oddly coming off as polite and rational from somewhere deep within the Mystery Shop. " But like what does it do?"

"EXCELLENT QUESTION! Say human what does it do?" You are deeply tempted to say that this woman cannot be serious but you don't really want to find out. You draw yourself up to your full height and nod.

"You put coins in it." Mrs. Leech blinks, a bit taken aback.

"Wait really?" Bravely, with a reasonable fear of being bitten, you reach over and gently lift up the top of the wishing well to show her the coin slot.

"I'm pretty sure this one plays a song when you put a coin in too." You explain.

"But it's so tiny?" She marvels, repeatedly opening and shutting the top of the bank. "How're you supposed to keep your money safe if it's so fragile? But then again I do keep most of mine with my husband..."

"Uhm it's supposed to be a fun gift for little kids." It occurs to you that she might find that offensive since it did look like she was buying it for herself. "To teach them about saving money, at least where I'm from anyway."

"Oh how cute. That settles it, I am definitely getting this." As if sensing that it is check out time Floyd shuffles over and immediately perks up.

"Little Shrimpy! Were you the one helping my mom?" He seems really happy, causing you to breathe a light sigh of relief. Mrs. Leech looks confused, zeroing in on you with the same concentration from earlier.

"Yeah. Trying to anyway." You nervously say; Mrs. Leech's attention turns to her son.

"Aww, how cute. You fishin' for a favor shrimpy?" Normally you would play along with his teasing, but your eyes dart awkwardly to Mrs. Leech whose attention is back on you, then the piggy bank, then you then her son, then you agai-

"Not really, I'm just trying to do my job." You awkwardly laugh and Floyd pouts.

"Spring or Summer?" Mrs. Leech asks cheerfully. To your surprise she has somehow managed to snatch up a second piggy bank within the .2 seconds since you took her attention off her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh just wondering that's all." She has a very serene smile on her face. Almost too serene. Like you just somehow signed away your soul because you didn't read some fine print. "I'm more partial to Spring myself." You try to look to Floyd for some context but for some reason, he's refusing to make eye contact. Weird.

Ruggie

"Thank you dear." The elderly beastwoman breathes a sigh of relief as you help her settle onto a bench next to the Coliseum. "Goodness, Ruggie warned me this place was big but I didn't realize just how serious he was." You nod, unscrewing the cap on one of the water bottles you brought with you for the old lady. She takes it thankfully and you breathe a gentle sigh of relief, not that Granny Bucchi had been anything more than a bit winded when you found her, but it was still worrying to see an old woman bent over like that. "I really should have just waited for him."

"Didn't he promise to meet you at the mirror chamber?" You ask, trying not to sound too judgmental. You find it hard to believe someone who spoke as fondly of his grandmother at Ruggie wouldn't want to escort her around, Granny Bucchi looks at you sheepishly sort of confirming that.

"He doesn't actually know that I'm here just yet, I wanted to surprise him." She tries to pass you back the water back but you shake your head. The two of you lapse into a comfortable silence, the sort you only ever get while relaxing with a cup of tea, or in this case a nice old lady who is genuinely enjoying the campus scenery. It's so nice Grim curls himself up into your lap for a little nap. Granny Bucchi scratches just the right place behind his ears to convince the "not a cat" to let out a very cat like purr.

"Did you send him a message to let him know your here?" You whisper, trying not to wake your baby. "If not I can send him one." She lets out a small laugh, similar in sound to her grandson's but still very much her somehow.

"Oh I am sure he'd be half way here already if he knew I had you to myself. Who knows what sort of ideas I could be putting in that head of yours." She winks and takes out her phone, squinting at the keys trying to piece together a message. "You should still send him one though, you'll probably be faster than me."

"Do you mind if I take a picture?" You ask sheepishly. "You know so Ruggie knows you're ok." Lies you just want a picture of you with Granny Bucchi. Sure, to Twisted Wonderland she is just some lady, but she is easily celebrity tier to you with how much glowing praise Ruggie heaps on her.

"Oh please do!" To your surprise she seems genuinely excited and strikes a little pose. What a natural, Vil has nothing on this woman. Not that you are going to say that out loud because you don't have a death wish. You happily text Ruggie as Granny Bucchi looks on fondly. "Do you like taking pictures?" Her voice is much softer than it has been in the admittedly little conversation you have had. "Ruggie sends me a lot of the ones you've given him from your ghost camera, I keep trying to ask him if you're planning on being a photographer in the future but he always dodges the question." She's clearly curious and you can't blame her, you just aren't sure how to answer.

"The future is a bit complicated for me." Is what you settle on, really hoping it doesn't loose you points.

"Oh you don't need to feel bad about that." Her eyes are filled with warmth and affection that you haven't felt in a long time, it's enough to make you want to cry. "Technically the future is complicated for everyone, some of us just muscle through it better than others. Case in point." Granny hauls her self up and nudges you to turn around. Ruggie is staring at both of you with a strange look in his eyes, but when he makes eye contact with you he shakes himself out of whatever mood that was and jogs up to meet you both.

It would be nice, you think, if you could do this again.

[forcebewitht]

Hey, since book 6 has been out in English for a while, could we possibly see an Overblot!Idia x reader? I really love the idea of him dramatically taking off the mask he has on to kiss the reader.

A Dance With Death (Overblot!Idia Shroud x MC!Reader)

(Artwork by: Trashochist on Deviantart, X (Twitter), and Instagram)

(Possible TW: Slight yandere implications, stalking, manipulation, branding)

…The time had finally come. All of the trials and tribulations that you had gone through. The pain and strife that had overtaken you in just a few short days. It had all led up to this. The kidnapping of your beloved companion, Grim. The destruction of the Ramshackle dorm. The kidnapping of those who had Overblotted that you had helped through their trauma and developed bonds with overtime. The kidnapping of even the Headmaster of Night Raven College himself. The entirety of these events had thrown Night Raven College into turmoil.

And that was just what excited Idia even more. He had been watching curiously since the very first moment you had arrived at the institution. I mean- a student that didn’t have any magic? Yet arrived within a coffin here to a school of magical students? It was unheard of- and just that alone excited him. This excitement only grew once the Overblots started. His family and organization, S.T.Y.X., had been all over the research of Overblotting for years. But now, after all of this time, someone so close to him (in the school, that is-) was at the forefront of a handful of Overblots? It was far too perfect of a chance to pass up with that new Ramshackle prefect. The plan was sprung, footage and data gathered. He knew that they were going to come for their beloved friends- they were just so cool like that. Literally a superhero in disguise, an underdog that soon had risen to be one of the top dogs within the school. There was a lot of promise with them- no. Not a promise. This was the work of the Fates themselves, he believed. The Fates themselves had led someone to him. Someone powerful. Someone strong. Someone capable of protection. Someone…that could get him back what he had lost all of those years ago.

There they were. Descending down to the depths of Hell that he himself had wrought. They looked horrible- worn for wear, really. To think, these oh so powerful figures from Pomefiore, Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Scarabia, and Octavinelle, alongside the hero of the school themselves, would be bashed and broken already from mere secondary bosses? They wouldn’t stand a chance against this final boss. Idia grinned beneath the mask that he wore, his arms folding over themselves as the Blot around his figure billowed with every breath he took. He could feel the immeasurable power coursing through his veins- and the normally pessimistic male found himself growing rather cocky the more they walked forward. His golden gaze soon landed upon his hero- his knight in shining…well, uniform. He soon was speaking, his arms outstretched as the flames protruding from his figure began to blaze brighter- hotter.

“Bum bum buuummmm~! Our heroes have finally arrived to the final boss battle! But uh ohhhhhh~ looks like they didn’t level enough, now did they~?”

You found yourself gritting your teeth at Idia above. Already, Vil, Rook, and Epel were readying themselves at your side. The rest soon followed, the weapons they had gained during their prior fights with the Overblot Beasts being raised and ready to overwhelm Idia’s Blot. Idia began to cackle, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Uh ooohh~! Eheheheheheheeeee~! They found the special gear~! But that’s really not gonna do much, you guys! Totally on top of my game, y’know~? These HP and attack stats are through. The. ROOF!”

With his words, Idia’s Overblot Beast, Ortho, began to unleash a flurry of attacks upon you and your party, forcing all of them to scatter across the area. The Beast seemed to know precisely what to do- orders most likely given before this entire fiasco began. You began to find yourself being slowly but surely separated from everyone else thanks to the Beast’s targeted attacks. This separation was key- this was what Idia wanted. He watched as you eventually were cornered entirely, exactly where he wanted you. Once more, a grin spread out under his mask. You looked so cool and tough despite all of this neverending pressure, still shouting out commands for the others to work together to defend themselves, each other, or deflect the attacks his Beast was allowing itself to barrage them all with. He soared downwards until he was finally just before you. You had jumped back slightly upon noticing him approaching, but there truly was nothing that you could use at this time to defend yourself with. He leaned forward, his clawed hands now pressing themselves to either side of the wall beside your head.

“There you are~! The hero themselves~! The shining star of the hour- no, the entirety of Night Raven College~! This is our final stage, (Y/N)! Isn’t it thrilling~?”

“Idia, this is absolutely crazy! You are going to wind up killing us all with thi-”

A clawed finger pressed itself against your lips as he shifted, shushing you gently as he rolled his glowing amber eyes.

“Okay, listen- babe. (Y/N). Baby. Babycakes. Sweetheart. Sweetie pie. Wonder Student. I’m gonna stop you riiigghhtt there, actually- because I know. I know about the whole thing. But you’re gonna be my hero, you know~? You are going to save a life- just like you’ve been doing! So, it’s all good, ‘kay~?”

You began to attempt to protest, but you soon found yourself being swept into Idia’s arms and pulled about. The crazed Overblotted Idia now began to waltz with you despite all of the destruction around the both of you. He sighed blissfully, his eyes burning ablaze with a fiery passion- it was unnerving. He leaned forward once more, now beginning to hush into your ear through that glowing mask he wore.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this moment, (Y/N). The countless hours I have spent watching and studying your damn near every move…I know your exact schedule bit by bit, y’know, ehehehehee~ I mean, with you and your coolness, you never know when you’re gonna stop another Overblot, honestly. But that coolness that you have doesn’t matter down here- and y’know why~?”

Your eyes soon widened considerably as you felt Idia grab onto your arm. One of his clawed fingers now was set ablaze with a small, blue flame. His grip was tight- commanding in every sense of the word. The flame began to trace itself upon your flesh as he continued to speak- ignoring your cries and attempts to struggle away from him.

“I know everything about you. I have seen your struggles. Your pain. I mean, separated from your home, whatever friends and family you had before…and thrust into a world of magic without any magic yourself. You have been left in the cold by the Fates themselves to fend for yourself. You struggle simply to survive from day to day without any money here…you struggle to maintain your cool and calm composure and keep people like those Heartslabyul first years and the little guy in line…and you then have to deal with the rantings and ravings of spoiled brats like those that Overblotted and, despite wanting for it all to just end, have to buck yourself up instead and keep them from ending it all? It is just an endless cycle of pain, regret, and a loveless life that you have fallen into.”

The more Idia spoke and you felt that flame burning upon your arm, the more you found yourself getting lost into the swirling golden pools upon his sleek, pale, oddly handsome face that were his eyes. For the first time since you had arrived here…you actually genuinely felt seen. You felt heard. Oddly enough, from someone that you had truly rarely seen outside of his own room within the confines of the school itself. Your own gaze finally shifted down to your arm as his finger retracted. He had burned the insignia of his family’s company, S.T.Y.X., onto your flesh. He blew out the fire on his finger, now grinning once more wickedly beneath his mask as his clawed hands now seized you by the waist once more, pulling you into his deadly embrace.

“I know, I know. I know it hurts. All of that going on and absolutely nothing to ever truly be gained from it all…well, my Wonder Student…that’s gonna end for you right now. With what I just gave you…you are mine. And when you’re mine, you have a purpose. You will be protected, provided for. No longer shall you be within the confines of a cage and hidden away in the shadows- you shall be the bright and shining star in our tale- and properly get those monetary stats and all of that raised~!”

Idia’s hand whisked over his face- where that mask was nestled. The mask faded away, revealing his pearly white, razor sharp teeth. They glistened at you as it felt Death was grinning at you- which it essentially was. His royal blue lips curled upwards into a wicked grin as he tugged you even closer to himself, now leaning all of the way forward towards you.

“C’mon~”

He began to pull you with him once more, twisting and turning your body with himself. His clawed hands trailed up and down your figure within your shared dance of destruction, his thoughts split between what he would do with you now that you belonged to him…and that of his brother’s life that you soon would pull up from the depths of the Underworld for him. You all would be a family together- and that only seemed to excite him further as his motions grew swifter, yet sly. He soon had you dramatically dipped, and his lips captured yours in a warm, passionate kiss…thus beginning your true dance with death.

~End~

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [6] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, mxm (this chapter); yeosang x reader, wooyoung x reader; 12.7k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore, worship references (?), smut

Chapter 6

You've grown to notice that it is never truly cold in the forest around their home. It feels as if it’s a warm bubble, unaffected by outside elements. None of the faeries ever mention it, probably accustomed to the odd temperature. You yourself are not, jacket wrapped around your waist as you walk through the small path Yeosang has taken you on. His clothing is loose, steps gliding along the slow breeze. All of them are quiet when they walk, barely the sound of a leaf crunching beneath their feet. He does not move as fast as San did when you arrived. In fact, there's little space between you, his skin close to brushing against your own.

Since you have known him, he has been indifferent to your presence. Oftentimes mulling in silence whenever you two spent time together, or glued to whatever object was around at the time. Being alone with him didn't happen often – most occasions he'd have San tied to his side, fingers wrapped around his waist, moving where he moved. Or Wooyoung lingering around you. So you're quite surprised he even wants you out here alone with him. You aren't close at all.

“The house could be quite a nuisance,” he says softly, hand sliding in yours as you climb around a protruding rock. Now that you know he can feel what you're thinking, the coincidences of him answering your thoughts aren't so shocking anymore. You expect him to let go once you’ve steadied yourself but he doesn’t, fingers entwined. “Everyone is watching your every move. San unwilling to leave your side for even a breath,” he smiles, slightly toothy grin. “Now you know how I feel.”

“It’s like he’s attached. Each time I leave the room he follows,” you say, and Yeosang snorts, nodding.

“Seonghwa warned him that he is to keep his eye on you. None of us know when you’ll–” he snaps his fingers on his free hand– “Better to be safe than sorry.”

“I’m not going to do anything.” There’s little ground to defend yourself on, but still. You can barely remember what happened then. It was a life or death situation. You doubt it'd happen now. “Just don’t try to kill me or anything.”

“Is that a threat?” he teases, brow raised. “Not to worry. I doubt any of us would do such a thing. We have morals, you know. Even as Unseelie.”

“San was explaining that to me. Between the chaos there is comfort. I can see it when you're around each other. You tease, but you do care. In different ways.”

“We do. Our inane element of chaos is fairly simple. We reign terror on human lives. It has lessened over the years now since humans aren't as inept as before. It takes time for us to ruin their lives,” he glances at you from the side. “You may witness it in person eventually.”

“Just like how you've caused it on mine?” You barely speak above a whisper, but Yeosang catches the irritated murmur, laughing softly as he helps you over a fallen tree. The sound is a bit eerie under these circumstances. You are trapped and he knows it so clearly. His laughter is evident enough of that.

“Precisely. We are almost there, human. Watch your step,” he pulls you closer to him, arm wrapped around your body, fingers light against your waist. Oddly it reminds you of Wooyoung – neither of the two's actions in consideration of the person they bother. In a way you believe that while Wooyoung touches you whenever he likes on purpose, Yeosang fails to realize there is an issue at all. He lets go when you enter the field, gracefully crossing his legs as he rests on the flower petals. You sit next to him with far less elegance, taking in your surroundings.

It is strange to see anything like this in the forest nearest your town. A small waterfall and a body of water sit in front of you, the sound of the liquid splashing filling the night. You pay no mind to how Yeosang watches you, your interest in the natural structures in front of you. A group of deer bend their necks, drinking the freshly cycled water from the pond.

“Hongjoong showed me this place when we first arrived,” Yeosang explains, head resting in his hands. “He told me that I can come whenever I like to clear my mind or hide away. He hasn't shown up here since, I'm sure out of respect for me. If you'd like I can come with you here whenever you need. I thought it would bring you some comfort amongst everything else.”

It does. Your emotions weigh heavy on you. Missing your family, mourning your lost relationship. Hurt sitting inside you with everything that's happened. You haven't gotten the chance to really let that feeling settle because you haven't had time to yourself. Though now you technically still don't, Yeosang doesn't speak. He doesn't interrupt the silence. No, all he does is stretch out his fingers, a book appearing on his palm. He flips through the pages, filling the air between the two of you.

“Thank you.”

The grass beneath you is comforting as you lie back, eyes closed. The sound of a page flipping continues.

“Thanking me is not needed.”

—

“Where did you take her?”

Yeosang barely looks up from his literature, a sigh escaping from his lips. Perhaps the two of you should have stayed out much longer. “Welcome home.”

“You can't just take her out of the house, Yeosang. We have to keep an eye on her at all times. You can't be alone without any of us near.” Seonghwa's voice is frustrated as he opens the fridge, digging through the drawers. “If she attempts to kill you we're too far away to stop it. You have to think these things through before committing to it.”

“The human isn't going to kill me, hyung,” Yeosang murmurs, frowning as he reads the next line. “Oh what a pity.”

“What?” Seonghwa turns, seeing his mate staring at the book.

Yeosang looks up, pointing to the page, “They died before meeting. They've been waiting years but they both died. It's horrific,” he shakes his head, continuing to flip through. It only gets Seonghwa more frustrated, frown on his lips soon to permanently embed itself in his face.

“You are not listening to me–”

“Oh, but I am listening perfectly, Seonghwa. I just wonder when you will finally let one of us know what's on your mind. And why you continue to lie about her to us,” Yeosang hums. “Maybe then I will give you my full, undivided attention. But for now, since you will likely respond with another lie, I will continue to read.” he looks up from his book, eyes resting on his. It makes the lump in Seonghwa's throat grow. Disappointment. Yeosang isn't like the others in that sense. He's hidden with his emotions, only letting his frustration or irritation through individual talks. Never letting another person around hear it. So now, even though they are both alone at the moment, it hurts Seonghwa to see that even with this privacy, Yeosang does not let his true feelings slip out. His hurt must be larger than he can comprehend.

It's not like Seonghwa doesn't want to say it. But solidifying his suspicions without being one hundred percent sure would only be useless. Turn them in a direction that they don't need to be in right now. They should be focused on the growing threat of Seelie entering their land, not you. You would just be a distraction between it all if you are human. And if Seonghwa is right about what you really are, then you're an asset to their team. If his spark all can fall under your charms without much effort, the Seelie are sure to fall for it. And they could finally subdue them once and for all. The only glaring problem with his plan, that is, is if you turn on them. It is the main reason why he dislikes whenever you’re left alone with just one.

“It is for a reason, Yeosang.” Seonghwa holds the tangerine in his hand, slowly peeling off the skin. “I hope you can understand.”

“We don't hide things from one another,” Yeosang says, writing into the pages of his novel. “So if you expect sympathy from me you've gone to the wrong mate. Perhaps Hongjoong, or Jongho will give you what you desire.” His brows furrow, frustration etching itself into his skin. “Now you can go. I'm getting distracted.”

Seonghwa places a tangerine in front of Yeosang's folded legs, leaving the room altogether. Once he is gone, Yeosang grabs the fruit. He stares at it, thumb running along the surface. It pierces the skin, juices sliding down his skin, spilling onto the book that rests in his lap. He sighs in frustration, tossing the fruit into the sink several meters away.

“Everything would be solved if she were dead,” he murmurs.

—

“Three.”

“Nope.”

“Less than that?”

“Much less.”

“It can't just be me, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung grins, palm holding up his head as he looks up at you. “It's surprising, no? But it's true. All I've ever wanted, no, desired, was other faeries or creatures beyond your comprehension. Humans are only playthings to me. Meals at the end of the day. Nothing more.”

The thought makes your stomach want to fold in on itself. “You're joking?”

“Unfortunately no,” he sighs, letting his head flop down to your sheets. “Your scent is all consuming, solaris. No other human has affected me in such a way. And it wouldn't make sense to have a human partner when all I'd do is just kill them in the end.” His eyes shift to you. “I wouldn't do that to you though, I like you too much.”

“How wonderful,” Sarcasm drips from your words as he laughs. Easily speaking of killing humans, as if he's talking about playing a game. Some things you'll never get used to when hanging out with Unseelie. Their lack of care for living still makes you feel queasy. Your one murder haunts you every night, but he, no, they, thrive in it. You just cannot imagine it.

“You've overstayed your welcome,” Yeosang stands on the outside of the door, arms crossed against his chest. He nods at you, expression surprisingly warm. Since that night, Yeosang often spent time with you. He hasn't said much, as usual, but he sought you out for quiet. Wooyoung being here right now is likely the opposite of what he wants.

Wooyoung's head rolls to the side, eyes narrowing at his mate. “You bother her too much. Give solaris some space.”

“You're in her room every night,” Yeosang deadpans.

“Yes, and? She enjoys me around her, I liven up the place! Don't you enjoy me?” His pout matches the whiny tone of his voice. In the beginning it was mildly irritating, but you do enjoy it now. Not that you'd admit it to him. He'd never leave your side at that rate.

“No.”

“Solaris!” He whines, tucking himself further into your sheets. It would be humorous if it weren’t for the look Yeosang gives him.

“Leave,” Yeosang says, his voice firmer now. “Mingi and San need you.”

“On a scale of not needed at all to they're currently dying, where does the need of my presence fall–”

“Go, now.”

Mingi. You haven't seen him in a while, assuming that he was on a mission. Knowing that he's around makes you wonder a bit. He hasn't greeted you since you've arrived again. Was he afraid of seeing you? No, that couldn't be. You were afraid of him, not the other way around.

Wooyoung painfully drags himself off your sheets, sending you a quick look before moving past Yeosang. His hand reaches out and grips Wooyoung’s bicep, their eyes meeting. They often communicate without speaking, gazes flicking over one another’s before Wooyoung leaves down the hall. Yeosang turns to look at you, exhaustion easily lining his gaze. Still you envy their connection, unlike anything you’d ever experience yourself. You wouldn’t want to become an Unseelie, but their devotion to each other is formidable. If only your kind were the same. Perhaps if humans were equally bonded to one another, there’d be less infighting and more respect spread across the Earth. But of course, just wishful thinking.

“Hongjoong asked for you,” Yeosang says.

“The man of the hour,” you murmur, sighing. “Why can’t he just come here himself?”

“Believe it or not,” Yeosang smiles. “He is a bit more busy than you think. He didn’t technically ask for me to come find you, but I doubt he would find the time to leave himself. And Yunho is too preoccupied to come here. I’m the only one free at the moment.”

You lift yourself up from your seat, stepping past the small gap between Yeosang and the doorway. He shifts slightly, arm brushing against yours as you make your way around. He does not follow you promptly. You turn to look at him, his sight glued on yours.

“Something the matter?”

His expression changes, and he merely shakes his head. “Nothing. I’ll lead the way.”

—

Yeosang leaves you with him, fingers brushing against the back of your hand as he disappears down the hall. He did not try to start a conversation as you two were walking alone, briefly glancing at you from time to time. Whatever you did moments ago must have bothered him enough to not even attempt to dissolve the awkwardness resting between both of you. But you didn’t either, so there’s that.

You slowly enter, your steps echoing as you move further inside. You’ve been inside Hongjoong’s office once before, but never in his room. It is nothing like you expected it to be - no torture devices hanging from the walls. Instead, vinyls resting on clear displays, cds in between each one. In fact, there were several instruments decorated all about, some you couldn’t even recognize yourself. Many likely hundreds of years old. This is his place, his mind. The thought of peering into his personal space, his mind, even if ever briefly, makes you anxious, goosebumps rising on your skin as you take yourself further in. It can’t be that bad.

He at least tolerates you enough to have you still around.

“Why are you here?”

You turn to the side, Hongjoong hunched over at his desk, pen dragging across stationary as he writes. He does not look up so you can only assume he heard your loud steps enter his room. The notebook he writes in is well-worn, corners curved in and cover peeling. His eyes briefly meet yours after you don’t speak, brow raised in expectation. “Well?”

“Yeosang told me you wanted to see me.”

He rolls his eyes, staring at his writing before ripping out a page, crumbling it up and snapping his fingers. The paper engulfed in flames before flickering into ashes, sliding off his table and into the bin beneath. “Yeosang tells everyone a lot of things, that does not mean it’s true. You’ll learn to not listen to his words after a while. He’s quite mischievous,” he murmurs.

“Then I am not needed?” You’re thankful, really. Being in his space, his scent, creates a strange feeling within you. There’s a reason you avoid him, more than just being afraid.

Hongjoong stands, throwing his notebook off his table. You take a step back just as he moves forward, too fast for you to leave his sight. His hands grip your body, pulling you close to him.

“Personal space is a thing, Hongjoong.”

“You want me to speak to you, truly?”

You try pulling away but his hold only tightens. So instead of fighting a losing battle, you speak through tight lips, “Say what you have to say.”

“What is it you want me to say? That I would follow you everywhere, until your steps become my own, until your breaths mingle with mine? There's no need for that. There is no where you will go that will be where I am not. It is all but that simple.” He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs rubbing against the skin. It takes everything in you not to flinch. “That is all I need, and it is all you’ve wanted. We will no longer be separated; you won’t be left alone. Is that what you want?”

What is he even saying? The more he trails on, the more fear begins to circulate your veins. He does not seem to notice it, so he continues when greeted with silence. “Soobin is no longer an issue since he’s gone. You’re free to desire whomever you want without him holding you back.”

His name pulls you out of your confusion almost instantaneously. “He was my partner, Hongjoong,” your brows furrow. “He’s the reason I’m even in this town in the first place. Why would he be holding me back? I love him.” And it’s true. There has been a bit of wavering in your love, and he broke your heart not too long ago. Mourning a love lost is one thing, but losing that love for him completely is entirely different.

You don’t see the way his mouth twitches at the word love. What you do see, though, is the way his eyes narrow. “He’s gone.”

“Love doesn’t just disappear when I no longer see him.”

“Then how will it? Must he come to you and say he hates you? Will he have to attempt to hurt you for it to go away? Why do humans continue to love someone who’s left them? Why can’t you let him go?” What else does he have to do? Should he have manipulated the human’s mind before they killed him? Made him break your heart? He thought Mingi’s appearance was enough to stop your mind from lingering on him. But it seems like it has done little.

You stare at Hongjoong as he loses himself in his thoughts. You’ve believed in inherent goodness, but there’s always been this underlying fear of them, just for the nature of them being Unseelies alone. Knowing that despite all of what they say, it’s something they can’t change. It’s something you’ve settled with. But hearing his words, the way his eyes shake as he looks at you… something tells you that he’s off. That despite their comfort and sympathy, they know what happened to Soobin.

An even smaller part of you believes that they’ve done something to him.

“Why do you care?”

He does not respond, waiting for you to continue. In the position you are right now, it’s hard not to.

“It’s hard to,” you explain, choosing your words carefully. “I’ve known him since we were children, and even if I didn’t love him in the romantic sense, I still would love him as a former friend. It hurts to just lose a friendship like that.”

"If I killed it would you forget him?"

You still. His touch is ever so delicate as he waits for your response. Eyes warm, blinking slowly. It's as if he didn't just say he'd do something so heinous, so unthinkable.

"What?" Is all you can respond with.

He leans closer to you, barely a breath away from your lips. His eyes flick over your face, before landing back on your eyes. "If I killed your weak, miserable, disgusting, incompetent, lackluster ex-partner, as you call it, will you forget then? Will you mourn its loss then come into my arms? Will you love me as you love it?"

It. Perhaps his mask slid down just a bit.

"You're out of your mind."

"I am very much sane, y/n. It's a simple question with an even simpler answer."

"No."

"No…?"

"I wouldn't forgive you if you killed him, Hongjoong."

He rolls his eyes, a huff echoing around the room. "How boring and mundane. I thought you were more amusing than that." He moves away from you now, grabbing his notebook he threw across the room. “Yeosang was right, I did want to speak to you. Not yet, but I suppose I have little reason to keep it to myself. Seonghwa suspects that you are not human.”

He moves on from the moment as if it never happened, as if he did not threaten your old partner. The subject change easily distracts you though, the idea so otherworldly that you scoff. Hongjoong snickers at the sound, standing up. “You make that incredulous sound but Seonghwa has rarely ever been wrong in his findings. You may not be as human as you think.”

“I’m only human, Hongjoong. There’s nothing else to it.”

“That you know of,” he adds, placing his book back on his table. “You’ve lived as a human your whole life you know nothing other than that. Of course you’d think the thought silly.”

“What do you want me to say? First you threaten my old partner and now you say that I’m not human? Do you want me to beg at your knees and tell you that it’s not true?”

“The thought of you on your knees in front of me isn’t unappealing,” he chirps.

“You’re,” you hold your tongue. It’s not the smartest thing to do - insulting an Unseelie in their territory. Hongjoong is unhinged already, no need to push him further into his madness. But you cannot help yourself. “You’re disgusting.”

He shrugs, “That’s not the worst insult I’ve ever heard. You've overstayed your welcome, you can go.” His hand waves you off, giving you his back completely. Though you expect nothing less from him, it still feels humiliating. But there's nothing you can do. Not now. You decide it's best to just leave completely, door slamming behind you as you exit the room. Yeosang lingers outside, book closing when you walk past him. He reaches out for your arm but you shove his touch off, making your way to your room.

You don't quite notice how hard you’ve pushed him, his body thumping against the wood. Yeosang looks down at his hand. How his fingers curl into themselves. You pushed him off. Strength formidable to his own with just a spike in your anger. He does not follow you but instead, enter the room you just left.

—

“He is an Unseelie. It is not unlike him to thrive off of your anger and frustration. It's tantalizing, the energy oozing from humans. It is fun for us,” Wooyoung's laying on your bed once again, arms folded beneath his head, eyes on the ceiling. “It tastes wonderful, though not as good as fear.”

“Doesn't really ease my nerves,” you say, flipping through the book he handed you. It's something he grabbed from Jongho, the scrawny writing etched into the pages. You snicker at the jabs he adds in, his notations growing more humorous as you turn pages. It's distracting enough for now. A hand covers the writing, Wooyoung's pout forcing you to stop. You shut the book, placing it on your side table. “He is annoying, Wooyoung. I don't think I'll last here long with him constantly saying shit and me not being able to say anything back.”

“You can argue with him, solaris. He won't kick you out.” He sees your expression, sighing. “We all do it, and none of us have left yet–”

“You are his mates, his spark. He wouldn't throw you out because of an argument. I have nothing left if I leave, Wooyoung. My family would be in danger, Soobin would be in danger, right when I step outside someone is waiting to kill me. It's exhausting to think about.”

“You have to learn to put yourself first instead of worrying about others,” he says. “And your family is as safe as they can be right now. They do not remember you, and you’ve been pulled from their lives. If a Seelie truly digs for it they will find them, but we will know before anything happens,” Wooyoung presses his finger against his temple. “I’ve got them on my radar.”

“You’re only confusing me more.”

“A spell, solaris. I’m keeping my eye on them every second. You’ll know if anything is amiss. Unfortunately though, I’d rather not update you on mundane things. It’ll make letting them go harder to bear.”

You do not agree with his method of lessening your worry, but you’d rather not argue with another Unseelie, too distraught from the last conversation to probe any further. You sink yourself deeper into the seat, closing your eyes. His silence is enough to make you open a lid, meeting the eyes of the Unseelie who continues to stare. You shake your head, closing them once more.

“Taking a picture would be better than you just staring.”

“Is that a joke or can I really take a photo?”

This time both of your eyes open, moving to him. He hasn’t moved from his spot, the devilish grin still on his face as he laughs. “I was kidding.”

“How unfortunate.”

You hum in agreement, eyes closing again. Since Wooyoung is often lingering around your room and having time to yourself is only reserved for late nights, San hasn’t really come around anymore. Sometimes he’d show here and there, but only for a quick once over and disappearing back to wherever he spends his time. It’s why you’ve grown used to Wooyoung threatening to tear your door down if you don’t let him in. Sure, it’s a bit concerning and mildly threatening, but he hasn’t done anything nefarious. Flirting here and there, maybe a bit of annoying banter, but you enjoy it. He’s one of your only companions that you have, even if you were essentially forced to live with him.

Your mother wouldn’t let you out of her sight if she knew.

“Do you like me around, solaris?” he asks after a moment.

“No.”

“If that is truly what you think, you don’t have to say yes and allow me to enter your room if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Nope. You don’t want this conversation to happen now. Not when you’re still figuring this out, trying to decipher what your feelings are for him. “I’m… fine with you being around, Wooyoung. You’re fun to hang around with.”

“As friends?” He asks. You hear the creak of your bed and immediately open your eyes. He sits on the edge of it, eyes looking through the open porch door. He does not look at you and yet, you feel like his attention is focused on the beats of your heart, the sound of your breaths. “Do you consider me a friend?”

“I don’t know.”

And it is true. You’re not sure how to classify your relationship with him. You’re friends, maybe. But it would be a lie if you were just that. He’s open with his own feelings, how much he wants you to want him. You just… don’t understand how he could want you so badly when he has seven other mates to focus on. And from what you know, despite Hongjoong’s slip of information, you’re a human. There’s nothing truly special about you aside from your little blip a while ago.

“Are you afraid of me?”

This is one you can answer with ease. “Yes.”

He turns around to look at you. It’s hard to see his face, the sun shining on the back of his head draping his face in darkness. You can barely see through the rays yourself. You watch as he stands, a slight step towards you. You follow his movements, though making no move to back up or go forward.

“That’s good, to be afraid of me,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you are not as clueless as we’ve previously thought. Being on guard around us, holding your feelings close. It is good.”

“What are you getting at, Wooyoung?”

“What I’m getting at is that you fear us, I can see it. I see how you interact with everyone, with me. But we both know how you feel about me. Even if you cannot say it yourself.” he moves even closer to you. But instead of standing in front of you, he slowly goes down on his knees. “If I am so terrifying to you, will this change things? My submission to you?”

He reaches up, his hands slowly holding yours in his grip as he places them on either side of his cheek. His eyelashes flutter once they touch his skin, a slow, clear groan escaping his parted lips. “It could be so easy for us. You could be mine, and I yours,” he whines.

“You have mates, Wooyoung. There’s no need for me.”

“They do not mind my yearn for you, if that is what you are worried about. None of them do. We all love each other differently, in different ways. My care for you is nothing like my care for them, but it does not have to be. You are different.”

Oh no.

You hold his face in your hands, fingers shakily stroking the tan of his skin, brushing against the mole beneath his eyes. They remain focused on you, lips trembling beneath each caress. You can hear your heart in your ears, pumping violently against your ribcage. It is familiar. A feeling you haven’t felt in a while.

You might just be in love with him.

And it is terrifying.

The revelation is alarming, swelling. It frightens you each passing second. You love him dearly. How has he worked himself into your heart? Is this coercion? Maybe he’s manipulated you to the point of no return. It is reasonable to think so. Before you were terribly frightened of his presence around you, aware that at any moment they may decide to drag their lengthened nails into your chest, killing you. And yet here you sit, Wooyoung crouched beneath you, his nails leaving indents in your thighs from how desperate his hold is, his warm, aroused eyes flicking between yours. The gasps leave your lips as his hands travel closer and closer to you. Right now you are not as afraid of him, not completely.

How could you love someone so easily when you lost the man you thought you were going to marry not too long ago? It should have been harder to fall for his charms. It shouldn’t have happened so quickly at all; and yet here you are.

Your thumb presses lightly into his lips, the flick of his tongue eagerly dragging on the pad of it. Never in your life have you seen such desperation from a partner, such eagerness to have you. It is a wonder you’ve held yourself strong for such a long time when he is so willing under your touch. Is it sinister to want this to continue? Knowing who he is, who they are.

“You are pretty,” the words leave your mouth without much thought. His body shudders at your words, leaning forward, head pressing into your stomach. His hands leave your thigh, wrapping around the curve of your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Am I?” His breaths hitch, yearning lining and enfolding itself around two simple words. You have yet to kiss him, to taste his mouth, and he is distressed for you. Touch on your skin, but it is not enough for him. His head tilts up, pupils covering his irises completely. “Am I pretty to you?”

He slowly rises, warm, trembling body moving closer and closer to you. His hands stay on your hips as he hovers over your body, chest rising and falling quickly. Your hands leave his face and cup his neck instead. You are not unaware of how his breath hitches as you hold him. He leans forward, lips lightly brushing against your chin.

“Am I?” There is a pause in his movements. His unwavering despair to have you is not unknown, but he pauses. As if waiting for your approval to move further. A bit humorous how now he is holding himself back when he is so close to having you. “I want you to say it to me, solaris. Tell me.”

“You’re pretty, Wooyoung.”

His lips waste little time in covering yours, tongue entering your mouth immediately. His lips tremble as he tastes you, hands moving to the back of the chair to hold himself steady. The freestanding furniture slides against the floor, hitting the wall behind it as he pushes himself closer and closer to you.

You are overcome with the feeling of not knowing him, of not knowing his touch, his desperate breaths mixing with yours, his teeth sinking into your lips, begging for reprieve. He almost swallows you whole with his eagerness, hands wrapping around your body, pulling you into him. His strength lifts you from the seat entirely, your legs wrapping around him as he presses you against the wall. He lets his lips leave yours, tongue tracing down the slide of your neck, moans loud. It is not surprising he is a vocal lover, and for a moment embarrassment settles within you at the thought of one of the others entering the home, hearing his voice echoing down the halls.

“I do not care,” he murmurs against your skin, “Let them listen to me worshiping you.”

You're unable to speak.

“Would it bother you? For them to hear me kiss you from your neck to your feet, everything in between? Is it so wrong for me to want my palms to burn beneath your touch?”

You laugh at the suggestion, “I am no God that you’d be burned by my touch.”

He smiles against your skin, “How is that possible if I pray to you each night? Do they not say to worship in the low light?” his lips press against the tips of your fingers, teeth dragging across the skin. “You should have heard my prayers, solaris. I am an extremely devoted servant to you.”

“Wooyoung,” Somewhere in between sacrilegious and obscene, his chest rises with laughter.

“For you alone I am weak, solaris. For you, I will crawl, I will beg,” his lips leave your fingers, “San is not the only Unseelie who is violently devoted to the brink of utter obsession, solaris. Can you not feel mine?” His tongue drags against the skin of your collarbone, your body trembling beneath the wet touch. His hands have never left your hips, nails digging into the skin. You are too involved to feel how they slightly puncture, his longing words distracting. “Can you feel how devout I am to you? How gloriously blessed I am to be touching your skin?”

His hands release you for the briefest of moments, wrapping around your torso as he moves away from the wall. The walls around you shift, your mind lost for a moment. You blink, only a moment to glance around and see that you're in fact, no longer in your room. That he pulled you through the thin threads of reality into his. Wooyoung is ever so impatient, letting your body fall against his bedsheets.

“I think I prayed enough,” he continues, staring down at you. “You might have finally heard me beg to see you like this. How lucky I am to be the one to see you like this,” he leans over, brushing his thumb against your cheek. “But I need you to do something for me.”

“Okay,” you say. The words come out with certainty you didn't know you possessed for him, breathless and accepting of anything he may suggest. His lips lift, but you see that it does not entirely reach his eyes. You lean up, and he sits back down on the floor. Looking up at you. Just as you're about to sit yourself next to him, his hand stops you, shaking his head.

“I need you to tell me what to do to you.”

“Tell you what to do?”

“I can't do it myself. I can't do anything to you myself.” The tone of his voice is strange now. It is as desperate as before, but there is something else between the words. You do not know him well enough to even guess what it may be, why he truly needs you to guide him. But his despair is apparent, the way his hands tremble as they begin to hold your thighs, tears coating the brim of his lids. It is merely a guess, but it feels like he can only move further with your exact words. Your precise permission.

It should not frighten you how much control, even if facetious, you have over him.

“Please solaris.”

“I have to?” You whisper, and he nods.

“It is as I have said. I follow your word.” His hold is lighter now as he waits. “I cannot indulge in your sweetness without permission.”

You grow weary as he continues his explanation.

“The corruption is not merely just a surface level. None of the Unseelie can, not without word from the other partner. Though we reign in chaos, we cannot do activities like this without explicit permission. I need you, I do. But I need you to need me too.” His touch is claw-like, fingertips tracing the marks upon your skin, lips tantalizing as they drag over your knee, breathes tickling the small hairs. “Do you need me?”

You have only been the sun to him. It is no wonder he is so vehement on you aching for him a tenth of how he craves you. You can see it in his eyes, the darkened gaze settling on you, the cage preventing him from moving further. The thought is comforting perhaps, though you'd never suggest that he'd do such a thing, but knowing that Unseelie are unable to force themselves upon someone. Nature is still balanced.

You are the sun to him, his solaris. What he is to you…

You have yet to figure out.

He nods at your question long forgotten, hands unmoving as you lean down. He holds his breath as you place your hand at the bottom of his chin, tilting his head up to entirely look at you. Submitting to you.

“I want you all over me, Wooyoung.”

His hands drag your legs forward, thighs spread apart. His body could crack a hole in the floor with how much he trembles in anticipation. His fingers change, nails lengthening. You watch in awe as they turn into claws, easily sliding through the material of your shorts, tossing it to the side.

“I've thought endlessly of how I would have you beneath me,” the words are barely let out as he pulls you closer to him, arousal dripping from his words. “Your lips desperately pleading for me, wanting me. How you would let me do anything to you.” His words are coated in lust, lips hovering over where you desire him most. “Can I taste you, y/n?”

“Please.”

His lips cover your clit, smacking together from the wetness that clings to them. Your fingers glide into his soft locks, tugging lightly as his tongue enters you. His moans into you are loud, the tug in your stomach tightening, worsening when you feel his fingers gripping your thighs, tongue finding your most sensitive point with ease.

You attempt to lift your head to see him, your gaze falling on his helmet of hair between your thighs, nestled. Soft whines spilled from your lips as you place your head back down on the sheets, the silk forcing your touch to only grip him. Your thighs tighten as you beg him for something you’re not sure of, his movements continuing until you tug a bit harder on his hair to pull him away. His shadow slides up your form, “I’m not just done with you, solaris.”

He lifts your head, pressing a light kiss just beneath your ear. “I haven’t had enough of you yet. You are godly, and yet I cannot help but sin,” his breath was hot as he exhales onto your skin, goosebumps left in his wake as he moves back to where he once was. His fingers tremble slightly against your skin, his hooded eyes resting on yours as he leaned back down, lips wrapped around your clit once more.

Wooyoung’s hand grips and tugs at your thigh. You blink once more, a field of clovers beneath the two of you. The evening sun is low in the sky, peeking through the trees, the sunlight leaving a streak across his cheeks, brown eyes lighter. He practically glows, eyes shining with need, tongue between his lips to softly flick over your bud. The pull in your cunt grows once more, stronger and stronger as his eyes flutter close. Leaves rustle, a warm breeze brushing against your skin.

“My solaris, how do I shine for you?” he whispers. The simple sentence along the return of his lips to your lower ones make your muscles grow tight, a soft moan vibrating up your throat once relief and warmth began rushing beneath your skin. Wooyoung holds you close as you tremble, lips still wrapped around you as you climax once more, unable to let your grip on his hair go, pressing him harshly into you.

His eyes are warm as they look up at you, your body covered with your shirt, chest rising and falling slowly. His lips are slow, peppering kisses along the inside of your thigh, “how are you? still with me?”

You swallow slowly, struggling to find yourself after what happened. A few seconds pass before you can speak, “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

He laughs, continuing the seemingly never-ending drag of his soft lips up her stomach, his fingers pushed under your shirt to glide it up. They’re soft, warm as your lift your hands away from his hair and up, allowing him to see all of you. The last person that’s seen you this vulnerable was Soobin, and before that… not many. His eyes are glazed over as he takes in your exposed chest, his index finger tickling your skin as he lightly moves around the flesh of your breast. “Just for me?” He leans forward, cheek pressed against the soft flesh, trembling. “You’re more than what I’ve ever imagined.”

“Wooyoung…” Your mouth is dry as you let his name leave your lips, the word coming out rougher than you intended it to. He groans, shaking his head slightly.

“I would never tire of hearing you say my name like that,” he murmurs. “It is a shame the others cannot hear since we are so far.”

You look around as he slips his fingers into one of your free hands. The field is small, likely near where Yeosang brings you every once in a while. The thought makes you wonder – he did say that no one knew of the place aside from Hongjoong and himself. How could Wooyoung know to bring you here?

“Your thoughts move elsewhere, are you alright?” His eyes are coated with concern, hand lifting to brush a thumb against your cheek. “We can stop if it’s too much for you.”

“No, no everything is fine.” It may be that Yeosang let this private place slip his tongue while speaking with him. And perhaps Wooyoung found it as beautiful as you did and decided to bring you here. You let those thoughts settle within you as he leans down, his lips pressing against your jaw. A hum vibrates against his lips, your moment of confusion slipping away once he lines himself up and pushes forward, just enough to have your eyes widening almost immediately. You expect the impact to at least ache, but it feels warm and soft and full.

“So warm, my solaris. Made just for me, yes?” His entrance is slow, his hand that cradles your face sliding to your shoulder. “I need to ask, solaris.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your forehead as he pushes deeper. “We… I feed on life. On human life. And you are full of it, pretty. So so beautiful and holy and bright.”

His words make no sense, a question still not uttered. “What are you saying, Wooyoung?”

“Can I taste you?” His hands slide down to your waist as he finally fully enters. They glow a dark orange against your skin, his eyes on yours. “It would be just a small taste. It wouldn’t kill you. It will feel good, solaris. You will feel good.”

The question is still vague, but even with you clouded mind, you can pick through the mess of words. A low moan comes from you as he pulls out slightly, entering again. “You want to eat my soul?”

“A sliver, it will barely be missed.”

“…Okay.”

The fear disappears once his lips cover yours, tongue entering your mouth as his hips set a steady rhythm. “You’ll love it.” You begin to keen under him, feeling wave after wave of heat surrounding the two of you, the sound of birds above you chirping as he takes you. The ache entering through you from the pleasure his cock pressing in and out of you and the sensation of being beneath his torso. His fingers gripping your waist break skin, and then you see it. The orange light that you presumed was spilling through his fingers was not him, no. It is you, your aura surrounding the two of you. Wooyoung’s pace almost doubles at the sight, the smell woodsy and sweet. The mop of black hair seeps into a orange color as it swirls through the air, eyes matching. It is a sight to see between pleasure, you, yourself, seen in an unknown light. Just as he pulls away from your lips, your soul enters your skin again.

His brows furrow, but he does not comment on it, instead, lifting up onto his hands to find another angle, sighing in relief it once your knees were up at his sides, feet hooked around his waist. The question as to why he cannot feed on you lingers.

“Perhaps my sin is too much for a soul like yours,” he whispers, dropping his weight down onto his elbows, then further, arms wrapping around you. “I will enjoy you nonetheless.”

“What are you–”

His hips press harshly into yours just as you begin to speak, watching as your eyes roll back, lids fluttering. You’re not quick to notice a hot tear falling down your cheek, rolling down your temple, lost in the darkness as his cum seeping out of his tip slowly but surely began melting your senses into nothing. The sound of skin begins echoing in the air and trees, his knees sliding up to push his thighs against you, pressing him deeper. You slowly lose your sense of the world you, focused on his cock pressing into you, his arms around you as you writhe with each thrust.

“So pretty,” he murmurs. “You always shine brightly, solaris, and yet you shine even moreso. How am I to keep my hands off you now that I’ve finally had you?” The sound of his voice is lost in between the sounds of skin slapping, the way he rocked into her body.

“Then don’t,” you say.

His eyes widen briefly, the orange fading as they meet yours. You somehow find the strength to keep focused on him despite how intensely your climax is coming. It’s the first time you’re unable to read his expression, perhaps a tint of wonder if you could focus. After a few seconds your thighs tighten, gasps leaving your lips. “Wooyoung–”

“Just like that pretty, just for me.”

Your head falls back, straining to let out the moan that clawed its way up, vise forming around his cock until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Hell,” he grits, hips stilling as he cums, stuttering with each succeeding one. Your breaths escape your lips, lids heavy as you feel his own lips press lightly against yours.

—

“It has been hours since they were together, and he has still not let her leave his room. Should she not eat?” Yunho murmurs. They can see how his annoyance has gathered around him, hand gripping the apple between his fingers tightly, brows furrowed enough to become one. He is right – neither you nor Wooyoung has left his room. Seonghwa and maybe San could break the barrier that he has placed around his resting place, but neither wants to. Only making Yunho grow more irritated.

“They were together, Yunho. Let them simmer in it before they're told the news,” San rubs his arm, presses a soft kiss against his temple. “It is soon to be ruined once they enter a shared space.”

“He’s not going to move on from this,” Hongjoong sighs, eyes closed as he tucks himself further into the couch cushions. “I’m not ready to hear him boasting everyday about something I don’t care about in the slightest. San you might have to whip up a spell to shut him up.”

“I doubt he’d say anything outlandish-”

“Good afternoon~” His warm voice echoes through the room as he enters, almost floating as he glides along the tiles to the fridge. He presses his lips against Yunho and San’s cheeks while he passes by, the ghost of his magic roaming over Hongjoong’s arm and squeezing it. “Lovely day.”

Hongjoong’s lip twitches, but he makes no move to respond to Wooyoung’s words, annoyance already riddling his features. Yunho glances at Wooyoung, watching as he sings a song, pulling ingredients from open drawers and cabinets. No one says a word in response aside from San, easily wrapping his arm around his waist and pressing a kiss to his mate’s temple.

“We haven’t seen you in almost a day.”

“Busy. And solaris is hungry, and I assume the rest of you are,” he places his utensils on the counter. “Ready for some human food?”

All of their faces wrinkle in disgust at his words, a chuckle draping his lips as he rolls his eyes. “It wouldn't hurt you to feed on things other than humans.”

“It tastes of chalk and sadness,” Yunho mumbles, watching as he coats the pan with butter. “And smells rancid.”

“Whatever, you're missing out on the joys in life. Sweets aren't the only thing that tingles the taste buds.”

“You would know,” San is barely heard as he bites on the apple slice, but it is audible enough for their joint laughter. “I'm surprised you haven't spilled your secrets yet. Not often do you keep your escapades to yourself.”

“I’m not going to brag, I would never kiss and tell.”

Yunho’s eyes narrow. “You do, in fact, kiss and tell. That’s all you do actually, I’m surprised you were even able to let that lie slip.”

Wooyoung sticks out his tongue, tapping the pepper into the pan. “Well not now. Solaris is too special for me to discuss things like that around you all. A star that glows like her demands privacy.”

“Did she threaten you?” Hongjoong snickers, peeking out a lid when he doesn’t hear an immediate response. “Oh? She did?”

He frowns. “Not necessarily. I would just like to keep it quiet. It's not just between us eight now, she’s different. Humans are more private. I don't want her uncomfortable.”

“Honorable,” Yunho notes. “Perhaps you have grown.”

“There’s barely a hundred years between us,” Wooyoung deadpans, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not as young as you think I am.”

—

“They were together.”

“Correct.”

“And you have no qualms with that?”

“They are not young and we are not responsible for their actions, Seonghwa. I don’t care what they do in their free time. You’re just upset that she wasn’t with you first as all. She likely would have if it weren’t for that disgusted look you give her every time you’re in a room together.”

“She’s not a commodity to be passed around, Hongjoong. I don’t care if she is with me first or not at all. All that I’m saying is, it’s irresponsible to ignore it.”

If Hongjoong’s eyes could roll further back they would. He closes his notebook slowly, looking up at Seonghwa. “What do you suppose we do, then? Place a chastity belt on Wooyoung, perhaps cuff him to his bed so that he cannot move near her? Ship him off to Yeonjun himself to deal with?”

  “That is not what I’m saying at all. You treat this like it’s a joke,” Seonghwa frowns.

“What you’re suggesting is a joke. I’m not stopping either of them from indulging in one another. I didn’t expect Wooyoung to win her over so soon, but it was inevitable. You hid your suspicions from them, but even with it, it would only make it more enticing for him. He does not back down from a challenge. Especially one he is so obsessed with.”

“You told me to keep it to myself,” Seonghwa rubs his temple, breathing deeply. “I was going to tell them-”

“You still could have. You still can. What I said was a suggestion, nothing more.”

There is no use in arguing with him, Seonghwa thinks. Hongjoong knows what his suggestions are - oftentimes there are threats hidden beneath them. And though he loves him more than life itself, he cannot stand how nonchalant Hongjoong can be. Even if the human, you, does not know your true nature yourself.

“Fine.”

Hongjoong smirks, “That was much easier to deal with.”

“I will tell them tonight. All of them.”

Hongjoong’s smirk twitches. Seonghwa is not looking at him directly, so he does not see the slight dip in his expression, “You will?”

“As you said, it was merely a suggestion. Perhaps their minds will change once they all know of her true nature. And we can finally kill her.”

“You want her dead?”

Never. The thought forms bile in his mouth. “I’d rather not touch her at all. But what other choice do we have? She will kill us all if we let her stay. It is the best decision right now.” He found you, he tracked you down. If he killed you in the beginning despite the resistance to their powers, perhaps it would have saved him from the guilt that begins to riddle his body. He should not care for a creature like you, knowing it is what you do. And still, with knowing, he cannot stop it from happening. Which is why he needs to tell the rest of them.

“They won’t let you kill her. Most have already succumbed to her charm.”

“... I will do what I must to keep us safe.”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Then so be it. You have no objection from me. I’ve grown wary of her being around anyway. Humans are too… irritating.”

“Not a human.”

“Right. I won’t let the others know of my opinion and side with the majority.”

“Sometimes, they would like to hear what their leader thinks, Hongjoong.”

He pauses for a moment. “It will influence their decisions too much for me to say what I want.”

“And you think your thoughts do not influence mine?” Seonghwa asks, genuinely curious. Hongjoong laughs at the question, shaking his head.

“Seonghwa, I've known you for hundreds of years. You’d rather throw yourself in front of a deadly attack than take my opinion over your own. It is settled.”

—

You sit near the back of the room, Wooyoung’s presence wrapped around the headrest of the chair you occupy. No one else has approached you, though you sensed the lingering eyes of Yunho to the side of you. He gave you a smile when you entered, the slight downturn of his lips as he met Wooyoung’s gaze obvious. It did make you nervous that it was somehow your fault he looked furious. But the expression was gone with a blink.

“Mingi won’t be joining us, but he already informed me of his opinion prior to our meeting,” Hongjoong says, sliding past the rest and sitting in the loveseat farthest away from the entrance. His eyes bore into yours, oddly twinkling. “It will be kept in mind as we’re voting.”

“And what is it that we’re voting on?” Yunho asks.

“It has taken me a while to consider what has been going on the past few months, and how it affects all of us, including y/n,” Seonghwa does not meet your eyes as he speaks, staring at an unoccupied couch. “Our voting today is to decide if she lives or dies.”

Silence falls over the room. Your own chest tightens, palms growing moist as the seconds tick by. Kill you? Has what you’ve done destroyed their relationship with other faeries to the point of no return? Seonghwa’s reluctance to even be near you was not only for disgust like you thought before, but something deeper. Hongjoong wasn’t lying when he told you that they believed you to be not human. But you’re not hiding anything yourself. Being anything but human just feels impossible.

“You’re joking?” Wooyoung stands up from where he is behind you, slightly stepping forward. “She’s done nothing wrong.”

“She killed Beomgyu, Wooyoung.”

“So? I kill faeries and humans all the time! Why should that matter?”

“You know why,” San speaks this time, shaking his head. “It has caused us many problems. But Seonghwa, killing her? What use is that to us?”

Seonghwa sighs. “She is not entirely human, that’s why.”

Their gazes all meet yours from across the room. Even Wooyoung, his valiant effort to coax them into saving your life, expression drops slightly, confusion coating his gaze. As if questioning the validity of everything you’ve told him. Somehow that look makes you feel utterly guilty, despite not believing in his claim.

“I am a human,” you retort. “That, whatever happened at that time, it wasn’t… it was me, but it was a fluke. An adrenaline rush.”

“How can we assume she’s not human just because she killed a Seelie?” Yeosang asks. His expression remains neutral, potion book placed face-down on the counter. “Strength like that is not uncommon in humans.”

“Correct, but we all know that a human cannot tear apart a Seelie, especially the way Beomgyu was. His body was unrecognizable, torn to shreds. Someone with her size and strength, even with a burst of adrenaline could not take a Seelie down like that. She would have to know weaknesses, have weaponry-”

“It is unlike you to say allegations without undeniable truth,” Jongho interrupts him. “So I believe what you’re saying, hyung. What is she, if not a human?”

It’s interesting how despite being in the same room with them, they all ignore your presence entirely, speaking amongst themselves. Likely because you can lie with ease and without restraint. They won’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, anyway, except maybe Yunho or Wooyoung.

“Now this may bother you all. But there is no other explanation. She is a kumiho.”

“That’s impossible-”

“It isn’t,” Seonghwa interrupts Wooyoung before he begins, holding up a hand. “We are real, so it is not too far gone to believe in something that was once unreal to us. There are still beings out there that we do not know of. Her strength, the claw marks on the dead Seelie. She has not turned on the full moon and her blood does not contain any sort of wolf characteristics. Kumiho can blend amongst humans the easiest after they have lived over a thousand years. It is not unrealistic to assume that she has moved past that point and become a human woman.”

“She hasn’t even attempted to lure any of us.” Wooyoung narrows his eyes. “Nor has she eaten human flesh.”

“That we know of.”

You can only scoff, shaking your head. “This is unreal.”

“There is no other explanation. Your strength is formidable to our own. Likely, the feline creature hiding inside this human appearance in front of us has prevented itself from remembering what it was. For protection or otherwise - we have yet to find out.”

Wooyoung’s gaze wavers the longer he listens to Seonghwa’s explanation. In fact, it seems that each of them believes everything that comes from his mouth. But it is impossible. What would be the reason for hiding your true being from yourself?

“Now we vote, then,” Hongjoong starts. “Mingi has voted yes to kill her. Seonghwa?”

“It is what needs to be done, yes,” Seonghwa agrees.

“Yunho?” Hongjoong asks, turning to him.

His gaze is on the floor, thinking. After a few seconds passed, “No. I don’t think she’s a threat to us. We keep her alive.”

Hongjoong looks at Yeosang.

Yeosang ponders the thought as everyone discusses loudly amongst one another. His eyes meet yours across the room, just being Wooyoung as he seemingly protects you with his body. You look afraid. Your eyes move to each person as they speak, your nerves palpable enough to be tasted in the thickened air. If he himself agrees to your death, it is likely that San would agree. Neither of them truly differ in opinion on things like this. Jongho would soon follow out of mere respect. And you would be killed promptly. It is what he has wanted since you’ve arrived here, turning everything sideways. So why, as he looks at your pathetic cowering behind Wooyoung, why does he feel such pity for you?

He looks at Wooyoung again. Though his fascination with you is beyond his capability of understanding, he can see it. How his eyes look at his spark desperately, pleading with them to save you. How Yunho’s jaw clenches, quietly observing. He wanted you here, wanted you protected by them. Though you aren’t exactly the pitiful human he once thought you to be, he still cares for you, strangely.

“Well, what do you want to do?” San whispers into his neck. Useless, since they all can hear what he’s saying aside from you. “Kill her?”

His next words will change everything. Yeosang meets your eyes across the room. His own widen slightly at your expression, flicking down to read your lips. The words mouthed to him are enough for him to decide.

Please help me.

“There’s no reason to kill her if she does not hold any threats to us right now.”

Seonghwa whips his head to Yeosang. Anger expressed along the vein on his neck, the set of his brows. He will not say it outright, but Yeosang has just betrayed his trust. Perhaps Seonghwa thought he would allow the woman to be killed just because … well, because he wanted it. But he cannot now, not when things are turning out so interesting.

“You are sure of this?” Hongjoong asks. His eyes sparkle. “Truly?” Despite only being the fourth oldest, his words hold weight for the rest.

“I am,” Yeosang says simply. The tense gaze of your expression has not dropped. Probably because you don’t realize that San would follow his lead, then Jongho. Your hand wraps around Wooyoung’s arm that traps you behind him. “If need be in the future with reason, sure. But now, no.”

“This is a mistake-” Seonghwa begins, stopping once Hongjoong flicks his finger. His mouth is shut in an instant, the feeling of magic swirling through the air.

“Hasn’t he spoken enough tonight? There are three remaining votes. As always, I will side with the majority. San, you’re next.”

“No need to kill her,” San agrees. Hongjoong’s smile grows louder, eyes flicking to Wooyoung.

“Your answer is obvious, but please Wooyoung, give your vote.”

Wooyoung covers your body almost completely as he speaks. “Of course, I will not kill her.”

“What does our youngest think?”

“I enjoy her being around, I can’t imagine her not being here,” Jongho smiles at you from across the room. “She can stay.”

“Well, as with the majority, y/n’s life is spared. Apologies to Seonghwa and Mingi, but as you know, it has now been decided. Take all the time you need to process this.” He flicks his finger again toward Seonghwa. The room expects him to roar his complaints, but he only looks around, tiredness seemingly flowing off of him.

“I trust you all and always have. And I assumed that you trust my words as well. But as Hongjoong has said, majority rules. I hope that you all keep an eye on her, and make sure that with the slightest change in behavior, monitor it. It can come at any time since she cannot control it herself,” Seonghwa looks at you, eyes meeting. “And I hope, y/n, you listen to my words yourself. Leave if you feel the change happening.”

He leaves the room, Hongjoong disappearing from his spot, likely following Seonghwa close behind along with Yunho. Leaving the rest of you alone.

Wooyoung’s body seeps into your figure the way he embraces you so tightly, lips pressing against your temple lightly. “I’ll be back, pretty.” His touch disappears as well. Jongho glances at you sympathetically, eyes glazing over yours for a moment before he too, blinks away. The instantaneous disappearing bodies is not something you’d ever get used to.

It does not distract you enough from what Seonghwa said, though. You are not human, despite how you’ve lived, how much you have insisted. A kumiho? As he further explained it, it still made entirely no sense to you. You’ve lived your life plainly, rarely if ever dated once in a while. Soobin was your second official relationship, the first lasting no more than a couple of years. The way he looked with such disgust as he explained it, how your age superseded everyone’s in the room. How your true nature was hidden from even yourself - it is impossible to think of.

“It is interesting to look at you, knowing what you are,” San says, looking around Yeosang to peer at you. “Do you have the urge to bite me?”

“I don’t feel anything, San,” exasperation coats your words. “I don’t even believe it myself.”

“Seonghwa is rarely wrong,” Yeosang murmurs. “That is why we take his word as the truth. Since you are kumiho, your training with Mingi will be much different now. Likely more intense.”

Your arms ache at the thought. You have yet to see Mingi yourself, but the training from before was strenuous. You look at Yeosang, remembering he expression on his face as he peered over at you, the tired eyes filled with curiosity as he voted to keep you alive. You are grateful, nonetheless. But the question lingers the longer you look at him.

“Do you want me dead?”

Yeosang pauses at the inquiry, straw resting between his lips. Eyes flicking to yours. There is little to decipher when it comes to him since he rarely tells what he may be thinking, and you're not with him often. But something in the way he looks at you. He does not respond right away – an indication that he may twist his words to satisfy your question.

“In the beginning I thought it'd be best to get rid of you before it escalated. Even more recently, I thought the same. But now I am not so sure,” he places his drink on the counter. “Most of us do enjoy having you around, human or not. Though I am not as enthused as Yunho or Wooyoung with your presence, I no longer hate it. So I have grown to tolerate it. Until I cannot.”

“You will kill me?”

His smile is strange, hollow. “If I must. Your life isn't that important. Or I'll wait until it has run out itself. You may only have a few more decades left, anyway. They will get over it – their fixation will move to something more interesting eventually.”

How casually he talks about your life. Like it is nothing. He does consider it as nothing, as he has said. None of the Unseelie is this house told you do directly as he has done. You should feel a bit wary around him now, knowing he could change his mind in seconds and kill you. Even now, as he reads the spellbook resting on his thighs, he could kill you. And San, sitting nearby, would only help.

So feeling comforted at the thought is unusual.

“Thank you for being honest,” you say, and he snickers. “Not much of that going around here.”

“Sure.”

San leaves a bit after that. The silence echoes around the small room, eyes moving to the doorway at the sound of the door clicking open. The sight nearly startles you, seeing him for the first time in months. Mingi is followed closely by Yunho, bodies brushing against one another as they enter. Yeosang takes that as a sign to leave you, closing his spellbook and gracefully hopping off the chair. His fingers drag across Mingi's arm as he leaves.

“Oddly quiet around here,” he notes, opening the fridge. Yunho sits where Yeosang just was, smiling at you. “Have you been getting along well despite today?” He asks, thanking Mingi as he passes him an apple. “Wooyoung said you've been making progress adjusting, but I rarely take his word for it.”

“It's been better now,” you say. “It's not one hundred percent yet, but I am getting used to being around here. I hope it just ends soon.”

“I heard your life was spared. It should make you happy. Ah,” he snaps his fingers. “They haven't told you yet,” Mingi sits on the opposite side of you. “We will have to leave soon.”

“We?”

“Half of us. Yunho, Wooyoung, Hongjoong, and myself. Seelie requested our presence. We would have all went, but with these circumstances, it may be best to leave half of us here.”

Circumstances meaning you. Mingi does not further explain and you do not insist on him doing so, instead sinking further into the chair you rest on. “So I am left with the rest of you.”

“Left is a strong word,” Yunho mumbles into his cup. “More like babysat.”

Your frown deepens, and he laughs. “It is but a joke. You can take care of yourself. They won’t do anything to you while we’re gone. Yeosang and San will likely stay to themselves now that Seonghwa has relieved him of his duty to watch you. Jongho will be entertaining enough, no?”

“She is older than us all, no need to treat her as a faerling,” Mingi murmurs.

“She thinks she’s almost three decades old, Mingi.”

“Time to see reality.”

They banter back and forth about you, clueless as to how you’ve already left, steps quiet as you make it to your own bedroom. Seonghwa’s words, no matter how convincing, is not something you believe to be true. He says you conjured up this false reality of your life to blend into the human world, but it makes no sense to you. Nothing, none of it does. You remember your parents, you remember your family life. How you so easily deluded yourself into thinking that it was real when it’s not is beyond your comprehension. Likely because you don’t believe it at all. Why would you hide it from yourself? There is no reason to block your own mind from it - even if you are as he says you are. Jumping to such a conclusion is ridiculous.

No. You’re not a kumiho.

You enter your room, shutting the door behind and locking it. Surely Seonghwa can easily create a spell to allow the others into your room, but he won’t. Not if he so vehemently believes that you’re a creature that he didn’t even think was real. You settle yourself into your sheets, ignoring the lingering feeling in your mind that he might be right.

[rainydayathogwarts]

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone - Sirius Black

"Hey I ought to leave the young thing alone, but ain't no sunshine when she's gone."

warnings: smut, age gap 1.2k wc

Sirius hadn't been the one to make the first move. That was his excuse for all the disapproving glances Remus shot his way. Young, and high enough of authority to encourage Fred and George's antics in a way that was discouraged by the other adults in the house, everyone saw you as a trouble maker seductress who would only cause turmoil in Sirius's life. But despite this, Sirius was a goner the instant you sent him a flirtatious smile, cornering him in the kitchen of his own house.

Being one of the youngest high ranking aurors at the ministry of magic, your name had quickly been brought up in a meeting at the order of the phoenix, the team desperately needing an inside link. Chasing you down wasn't difficult, and nor was recruiting you. You'd shared all the beliefs order members had, and were attending meetings from the very start, providing the others with information that was impressive for an agent in her early 20's.

The first time you'd spoken to Sirius alone, you were inevitably nervous, accidentally hitting your hip against the corner of the table as you went to put your mug in the sink. He had amusedly asked if you were okay, a hand coming up to rest on the small of your back. That made you panic even more, eyes scanning the close proximity between you, and you nodded, scratching the nape of your neck shyly. "I'm Sirius, by the way." You'd shaken the hand he offered, introducing yourself to the man. And apparently, after that interaction you hadn't found him nearly as scary, waiting for meetings to be over so you could speak to the older man, catching up with him about life.

You realised after a while that you always had so much more to say about your day, having come straight to the manor from work, still wearing your heels and uncomfortably tight blouse that always had the top button open, but made you look absolutely incredible. Meanwhile, Sirius will have been at the manor all day, only interacting with people who came in and out of the house, otherwise spending his days alone. He knew he should have turned down your offer. The chance of him getting caught was just too high, but you insisted. "It's not a far walk from here, and your animagus form can disguise you perfectly."

It was the first breath of fresh air Sirius had gotten since he escaped, and he felt himself look at you in admiration the whole way to your apartment. He wondered how you walked in those heels. Marvelled at how you weren't cold in those thin tights and skirt that was just a tad bit too short to wear to work but long enough for you to get away with. When you finally turned the key into the entrance door of your building, letting Sirius into the apartment complex, he was able to see the mischievous smile on your face. He didn't what what overtook him, but he was aimlessly following you up to your apartment, and accepting the glass of wine you offered him.

"To your first adventure as a free man, Sirius Black." His gaze stuck to you, staring as you took a sip from your glass. Time slowed as a drop of wine slipped between your lips and the glass, landing on your crisp white blouse. His jaw went slack when you gasped, fingers immediately flying to unbutton your blouse, revealing your chest to him for a quick second before you were rushing to your kitchen sink and ridding your top from its red stain. Sirius downed his glass of wine before putting it down, taking three long strides to stand by you at the sink. You sighed, spinning around to face him, a wild glint in your eyes when you saw him struggle to keep his eyes levelled with yours. You pulled him closer to you by his sweater, letting him stumble closer to you. Leaning forward, your lips found his in a kiss, which was quickly sped up by Sirius, hands finding your hips to press your body against his. His beard scratched your chin lightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue battling with yours over dominance which he effortlessly won over.

Almost fourteen years without kissing someone does something to a man, you thought, when he had you pressed tightly against your mattress, thrusting into you from the back so harshly that you were sure the bed would break. Your moans serenaded him, encouraging him to quicken his pace until he physically couldn't hold himself back anymore. His orgasm hitting him faster than he would have liked, Sirius laid back on the bed next to you, apologising profusely. "It's been so long." He cried, accepting the kisses you pressed onto his jaw, an arm wrapped around your waist, as though to keep you from leaving him. But with the way you threw a leg over his thighs, pulling your body on top of his, it was clear you weren't done with him yet.

Sirius groped your tits, nipples grazing his chest while you continued to suck hickeys onto his neck, one hand stroking his cock for him to get hard again. When you felt him hardening, you were quick to sink down onto him, bouncing on top of him whilst he cursed, eyes glued to your figure. You put your hands on his chest to support you, caressing his tatted skin while he began regaining his senses, a hand coming up to touch your pussy, rubbing circles on your clit. You moaned, thighs beginning to burn as you resorted to grinding down onto Sirius's cock instead of bouncing. "I got you, sweetheart." He mumbled, bucking his hips up to help roll you over, making your cry out at the sudden pain from his harsh thrust.

Sirius began thrusting into you again with a steady pace, one hand playing with your clit as he leaned over you, catching your lips in another kiss. His chains dangled over your chest, jingling with each thrust Sirius pushed into you, panting into the kiss. He switched to press kisses to your neck instead, his pace slowing when you wrapped your legs around his torso, pushing his cock deeper into you. You whined, pushing your chest up into his as you threw your head back, nails dragging down his back in pleasure. "Please" You muttered, making Sirius press harder against your clit as his thrusts slowed down, not wanting to disappoint you again. He felt your cunt clamp down around his cock as you came, moaning loudly.

Sirius's thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of you, not wanting to overstimulate you. "Shit!" He cried when your hand chased his cock, wrapping around it to jerk him off, making him cum for the second time that night. He slumped against the bed, inhaling your scent mixed with the smell of sex, and shut his eyes for the night. Next time, you're not even going to have to invite him over before he'll be pouncing on you, fingers crossing to not get caught bending you over in the living room at Grimmauld pace.

[edges-of-night]

Hii! <3

I wanted to request imagines for reader taking care of the lotr characters (preferably all, but if that’s too much then at least the women and maybe Aragorn and Faramir too) when they’re sick/injured for whatever reason

(I love your imagines so much, the way you characterize them all is so perfectly amazing💜)

Thank you for your kind words! I did all of my usual characters because I love hurt/comfort and sick!fic scenarios that much haha! I hope you will enjoy your post ♡

Have a great weekend everybody!

CW: injuries and illnesses, mention of blood

･ﾟ✧ Aragorn.

While Aragorn’s heroic sacrifice didn’t cost him his life, it took a heavy toll on him. Lucky for him, you’ve spoken often enough about medicinal herbs and healing practices – you are able to take great care of him, bedded on his white linens. Even when he is still too weak to speak, Aragorn will hold your gentle hand.

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･ﾟ✧ Arwen.

You return so often to Arwen’s bedside that you wonder if it would be easier to just stay – but you know that privacy and rest are just as important as her wish to hold your hand. Whenever you’re with her, you tend to her wounds or read her passages from her favourite book to make her smile, which Arwen appreciates immensely. As she rests, she plans on properly kissing you as soon as she’s healthy.

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･ﾟ✧ Boromir.

Boromir hates that a common cold has him chained to the bed for over a week now. But he’d lie if he said he didn’t enjoy you taking care of him – even though you do tease him and his constantly red nose from time to time. It’s all in good fun though, and he cannot wait to hold and kiss you again!

.

･ﾟ✧ Elrond.

When Lord Elrond returned to Rivendell injured, your heart skipped a beat – he is the most skilled Elvish healer around – who else could treat the gaping, magical wound in his side? The honour is bestowed on you, and you master it despite your nervous mind. Nothing is greater encouragement than finally seeing Elrond’s summer eyes greet you again ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Éomer.

The Rohirrim have all kinds of names for the strange fever that has befallen their dear Éomer – but no methods of healing. They consider it an impossible challenge for you to tame his feverish, sweaty body and nonsense mumblings. But, somehow, the horse lord calms whenever you reach his bedside, sighing when you change the wet cloths on his forehead and rest your hand on his chest.

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･ﾟ✧ Éowyn.

Initially, Éowyn thinks nothing of the cut she got during sword lessons. But days of ignoring the wound on her hand could put her in grave danger, you know that – and thus offer to take a look and do what you can. At first, Éowyn protests, but she falls silent as soon as you turn her hand in yours, unaware of how soft her expression grows… She admires your medical knowledge, too! “Is there at all something you cannot do, you marvellous creature?”

.

･ﾟ✧ Faramir.

It takes days for Faramir to wake up. Many others believe him doomed and have given up on sitting by his side, trying new herbs and waters, only to see his crystal blue eyes open once more. But you have the matter-of-factly patience of a boat pushing its way through a deadly ocean. And indeed, on a moonlit night, Faramir’s gentle gaze awaits when you return to his side, whispering, “Thank you for believing in me, my love.”

.

･ﾟ✧ Frodo.

Sometimes you wonder if you are the only person to have consideration for both the physical and the mental wounds Frodo has endured. You always make sure he’s fine and support him when thoughts of the big scar on his chest sends him to dark places inside his mind. You both know that those wounds take much more time to heal than the cut itself, and Frodo is more than glad to have you by his side. To soothe him, you caress the scar.

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･ﾟ✧ Galadriel.

Ever since a mysterious malady has befallen Lady Galadriel, Lothlórien is in turmoil. No one would even let you near her – until she ordered her guards away, to allow you to treat her with your medical and arcane knowledge. In fact, you become the only one she wishes to see in her elegant rooms at all. Despite her current weakness, her ethereal beauty and soft smiles make it hard for you to concentrate…

.

･ﾟ✧ Gandalf.

Out of breath, you hurry to Gandalf’s beside with that one legendary flower needed to cure him. He insists you be the one to prepare the potion, too. Day and night, you try to perfect his medicine, always worried his state might get worse. When Gandalf finally drinks your potion, the wound on his chest closes magically. But it’s nothing to Gandalf, who has trusted you entirely: “I never doubted you for a moment, my dear.”

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･ﾟ✧ Gimli.

After Gimli’s accident in the mine, you were right by his side to ensure his head injury wouldn’t get much worse. His headache is hurting badly though, and your proud Dwarf is but a shadow of himself. He knows rest would be best for him, but it’s hard for him to stay away from work and banquets alike. Still, he appreciates that you pamper him with his favourite baked goods and healing kisses on his head ♡

.

･ﾟ✧ Haldir.

Haldir is not an easy patient, but that doesn’t stop you from treating his catastrophic shoulder, which he has ignored for days on his way through the woods of Lórien. Spread onto linen sheets beneath you, he grunts and cringes – as much as his half-dead stone face can, that is – under both your touch and your harsh words. But deep down, he knows you were simply worried – and honestly, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with that!

.

･ﾟ✧ Legolas.

It seemed inevitable that Legolas would someday break a leg because of his acrobatic archery skills, and yet you are surprised. Elves heal quickly, but Legolas suffers greatly under his involuntary immobility. You help him by recounting his favourite quest stories and eventually by supporting his first tentative steps outside, which he thanks you for with the stormiest embraces ♡

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･ﾟ✧ Merry.

Merry thinks he can walk of anything – even an injured knee. He doesn’t want you to think of him as weak or unable to take care of himself. But even Merry can only play down a limp for so long. Truth be told, he is actually relieved that he no longer has to hide the pain, and that you spreading balm on his knee is no ordeal but in fact a very sweet gesture.

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･ﾟ✧ Pippin.

Pippin has been sneezing and stumbling for days, eventually falling into bed with the biggest groan you have ever heard come out of him. He is a “suffering” patient and you know it. But while Pippin greatly enjoys you pampering him with food, tea and blankets, he secretly cannot wait to take care of you in return – no matter if you’re sick or not! “It’s you’re not actually sick, or else I couldn’ave kissed you!”

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･ﾟ✧ Sam.

Gardening involves many dangers, and although Sam has been practising it since childhood, he eventually hurts himself on his gardening knife. The cut is deep and won’t stop bleeding, but you are quick to bandage it and remind him to change the fabric once a day. But Sam has trouble keeping his thoughts straight, when all he can think about is you holding his hand in yours, all close…