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constantinerkives · 1 year

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Unholy Matrimony, YJM // (M)

PAIRINGS: GP Demon! Yoo Jimin x fem violinist reader

WARNINGS: bl00d, demonic ritual, use of classical music as a means of summoning a demon, brief mention of religion, violinist reader, YJM is the daughter of the big man downstairs (if you get what I mean), reader's in her early thirties but she offered herself when she was twenty-three, Karina has poetic rizz, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, marking, mating, unprotected sex (stay safe ya'll), breeding, breeding kink, creampie, age-gap, Karina speaks IN LATIN, who are we kidding, KARINA IS THE MAIN WARNING

SYNOPSIS: It's amazing how desperation can lead from one thing to another. You crave to be recognized, to be valued. And it's selfish - but she approves. After all, it's humane - greed. And she'd be a terrible wife if she doesn't support your one-way trip to eternal damnation. But that's where she comes in, to stop it from happening and give you nothing but luxury and comfort. I guess you can say that being married to a devil isn't bad after all.

A/N: Hi guys! this is my first fic, hope you like it <3333 I've also made some modifications from the original story, hope you guys won't mind. Sorry to keep you guys waiting but I was fighting demons (lmao) for the plot of this one-shot, Happy reading <3!

WORDCOUNT: 9, 535 oops this was self-indulgent AHHAHAHA shi-

THIS IS ALL FICTITIOUS AND THEREFORE SHALL NOT BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.

TERMS AND DEFINITIONS: Melodiam meum - means 'my melody' in Latin Dilecto - beloved in Latin Hermaphrodite - an organism having both male and female sex organs or other sexual characteristics, either abnormally or as a natural condition Brava - well done or very good. It is used to praise a female performer

It's ridiculous

The creature watches with amusement as it eyes the young lady standing alone in her spacious living room. Her silhouette is wrapped in darkness with no source of light other than the soft glow of five white candles circling her. Her face remains in the dark, veiled with desperation with a whiff of mystery.

How desperation can lead you to commit the things you thought you wouldn't do.

"Please," She whispers, "Please work,"

It inclines its head, watching as the young lady pulls out a kitchen knife. The blade glints menacingly in the dark as she positions it atop her wrist.

Do you want to do this?

And cuts her flesh, crimson dense liquid oozes out of her flesh and she directs it to-

The creature sneers. A violin. Her blood coats the strings of the instrument, and traces of her drip down to the floor as she picks up the bloody violin and begins to play a familiar piece; popular with seasoned violinists.

The Devil's Trill Sonata

You are a desperate girl...

She plays with feverish determination all while her wrist continues to bleed. The demon crosses its legs, arms crossed against its chest, and leans comfortably against the velvet settee.

That's it. Keep playing. I am no stranger to greed. Play it with your heart's desires.

Her fingers smoothly transitioned from one note to another, clean and precise. The first movement leads you to a false sense of softness and beauty, and slowly...the devil grins as the young woman slightly loses her balance. She's running out of time, running out of blood. Ah, poor soul. She hasn't even reached the second movement yet. It seems like another soul will perish for nothing. It watches with practiced dismay as the girl's body visibly pales, and she's beginning to lose her energy. She's one push away from knocking a candle and collapsing - losing her life to a meaningless offer.

After all, what the devil played was far superior to what Giuseppe Tartini had played. The creature's lips curl to a sneer. No other violinist had come close to its execution.

Then, with a stroke of luck, the girl regained her composure for some unfathomable reason. The devil blinks, surprised by the sudden change as she grounds her feet against the tiled floors pooling with her blood and strokes the strings violently; the entity's face beams with unbridled pride. The girl plays over four octaves of the note G, with her hands stretched out over three octaves. A move that the daughter of Lucifer can only execute.

Interesting

The human plays with intensity now, and the entity finds itself leaning away from the backrest of the seat, watching with phantom hawk-like eyes as the girl pours every last bit of her living minutes into its piece. For centuries, no one has executed it the same way this mere human did. Anger and envy flash in its eyes as it flicks a hand. The candles' feeble light extinguishes, all except one, and the girl weakly gasps.

The entity hastily stands up from the velvet settee and gracefully stalks toward the confused and terrified girl as she mumbles: "What? What the hell happened - did it work?"

Oh, it did pretty human.

It grabbed the candle as it willed itself to manifest a physical form. The young woman gasps as the creature grabs her by the collar of her blouse, and with its' other hand, it holds the candle next to her features. The woman lets out a pathetic yelp as she looks up only to see two rich ichor irises looking down at her with scorn, envy, and dare she adds amusement.

The demon examines her delicate features, soft brown eyes, fair skin, and a whiff of innocence that crumbles down to greed and desperation.

And fear

It's beautiful

"Have I satisfied you?" The girl meekly starts. Her voice sounds distant. She's hanging on for dear life, and the demon wanted her to fall into the pits of eternal damnation. But it begrudgingly longed for her to play it again. For no human played it as well as she.

The entity narrows its' eyes as the girl begins to lose her balance. Her knees were about to give out if it wasn't for the being holding her by the collar.

The demon leans close, and the girl's eyes visibly shake. It slowly lets go of her collar and reaches out for her cut wrist, its talons almost cutting into her skin. She gasps as she felt a searing burn crawl over her cut wrist.

"Be seeing you," It said, vowed. Before the demon drops the candle and lets go of the girl, allowing her to collapse into her pool of blood before it disappears into thin air.

Years have passed, and you are a renowned violinist of your generation. Here you stand in front of your devoted fans, playing the piece that brought you money, power, and glory in the world of music.

A small smile graces your lips as the curtains close, and the theater erupts in cheers and applause. Another successful concert lands on your plate. You return to your first stance as your posture relaxes, and you make your way backstage. Your handler, Park Sooyoung, her fair complexion glows underneath the lights. Her exquisite red dress hugs her body flawlessly as she approaches you with a wide grin and drapes her arm around your shoulder. "Another successful concert - this calls for a celebration!" She wriggles her brows, and you merely chuckle in reply.

As much as you want to, your muscles crave rest. And a drink.

With an apologetic smile, you reject your handler's offer for a celebratory dinner, promising to eat with her tomorrow, but for now, you need a night's rest.

She understands with a soft smile and gently pats your shoulder. "Of course, you deserve it after playing The Devil's Trill Sonata for almost fifteen minutes." Sooyoung chuckles. "But I'll escort you to your private drinking booth before I, too, call it a night. How does that sound?"

"Perfect," You agree, and the latter takes you to your destination and leaves you to your drink of choice, red wine. Château Lafite Rothschild.

A pleased sigh leaves your lips as you unceremoniously collapse on your seat. Tired eyes examining your surroundings, your booth is a spacious room. Walls wrapped with high-quality velvet wallpaper, expensive paintings depicting pagan Gods, the lights were the same, albeit softer to look at, and plants to give the room a bit of life.

A relaxing sight. You pour your wine and lean comfortably against your seat, your head thrown back, allowing your neck to rest whilst your right hand holds the stem of your wine glass.

That's what life's about, luxury.

And you bathed in it. You crave the beauty of wealth and luxury that your way in life has brought to you.

Just as you're basking in peace, a figure emerges from the shadows in a black blur. You didn't notice it until the atmosphere grows heavy, your skin prickling at the sensation that someone is watching you.

"Indeed, that's what life's all about. Isn't it? Basking in luxury."

"You've done well tonight, Ji Y/N." Says a feminine voice, steely, low, and churning. You snap your head towards the owner of the voice; your face turns bloodless, even at the warm glow of the light, and there sits a resplendent woman wearing a black cropped blazer; underneath it is a matching black tube and matching back trousers and heels. At the base of her slim neck is a layered gold necklace. The outfit was simple, but her features made up for it. The woman sitting before you has a fair complexion that will put the moon to shame, a sharp jaw, plump lips, luscious black hair tied neatly to a high ponytail, and a small face. Not to mention her lean stature and posture. Judging by the way she gracefully sits, she's taller than you. And just like you, she too is holding a wine glass, slim fingers, and perfectly manicured nails secure the stem of her glass.

But something's amiss. Yes, she is human, a beautiful human, and you're no stranger to all things beautiful - but something about this woman's beauty throws you off.

A trip to the uncanny - something about her doesn't match humanity at all.

She lacked warmth, not only in her eyes but her overall presence.

"Who are you?" You demanded, "What are you doing here?"

The woman's lips curl to a grin, showing you her perfect set of teeth. "You don't remember?" She asks in return, unperturbed. Your face twists to a scowl, "I asked you a question." Posture bristling with guarded animosity before you peered over her shoulder. "Security!"

The air grows heavy as the woman holds an open palm up. She is no longer smiling. "That won't be necessary." Her voice was cold and cutting, booming with authority like no other. Then, her grin returns. "Perhaps this shall jog your memory, pretty girl."

She blinks, and her cold, brown eyes change to a rich hue of gold. Menacing and distant.

"Be seeing you,"

On cue, your right wrist burns, causing you to drop your wine glass against the carpeted floor. You back away from her, standing up too hastily, and in return your seat tumbles.

"You," A sharp gasp leaves your lips. No, it's too soon. A cold, hard laugh tumbles from the latter's lips. "My," She sips her drink before gently setting it against the tabletop.

"Are you here to collect my soul?" There it is again, that meek tone. The devil inclines her head to the side, brows furrowed. "Me? Collect you? Oh. No, no. Not yet melodiam meum." You don't know what it means, but the way it rolled off her tongue made your gut churn.

"Then why are you here?" You voiced out.

She eyes you up and down. "You know, my beloved. I am offended by the turn of events." She stands up, and you instinctively back away as she circles the table and stalks toward you. Her hips swayed in a sultry manner as she did. She keeps advancing until your back is pressed against the wall, hands pressed to your sides while the raven-haired enigma delicately brushes her knuckles against your cheek. The contact sends shivers down your spine. Her proximity allows you to inhale her seductive scent. The blend of florals with amber and musk is a perfect balance of femininity and masculinity.

"For years, I watched over you. I made sure no harm came to you and only commanded success to fall into your plate. I blessed you with concert after concert - and I know your love for all things beautiful." The devil purrs.

"So I made myself beautiful for you, dilecto."

Not a single lie in sight. "Who are you?"

"Karina," She replies, "My name is Karina Yoo." The latter pauses. Her gold eyes trailed down from your eyes to your lips.

"Do remember that, my bride. I will walk the earth with you until your time here is due. And the world will know me as your companion, your spouse."

And your vision turns black.

You woke with a groan, your head throbs with pain, and you shift in your bed. The white sheets cling onto your skin as you lay on your side, the sun peeking through your curtains, blessing your suite with its light. You stare up at the ceiling, rubbing the sleep of your eyes, and as you regain your awareness. Well, so are your memories of last night.

Your body quickly turns cold, and you sit up, muscles aching in protest, but you ignore it as you check yourself. You are wearing your sleepwear as opposed to the form-fitting dress you wore for the concert last night. Nothing else seems to be wrong except for the fact that you did not change your dress last night. Who brought you to your suite, then? It couldn't be Sooyoung. She went on her way first.

"You're awake," Says a familiar, cold voice.

The hairs at the back of your neck rise.

Slowly, you turn your head to the tall figure leaning against the doorway to your lounging area. Karina, as she calls herself, is no longer wearing her black suit. Instead, she's wearing a white button-up shirt, black trousers that reach three inches above her ankles, and black oxfords. Her rich, black hair cascaded freely like a black waterfall.

"Karina," You rasped, and the devil's lips curled to a smile. "You remembered."

You press your back against the headboard, posture brustling with animosity as your hands' fists the sheets. "What did you do to me?"

The latter frowns, "I did nothing, pretty girl. I merely allowed your body to rest for tonight before-"

"Before what?" You cut her off breathlessly as your forehead begins to sweat, and your body becomes warm with each passing second - soon, your body is veiled by a thin sheen of sweat, making you uncomfortable as you throw the duvet away from your feverish body.

Your stomach churns harshly, and your eyes sting as you fall onto your side, hands clutching your stomach as you look at the entity standing at the foot of your bed, eyes studying your writhing figure.

"What did you do to me?" You sob as the pain doubles, fiery, almost.

Karina's features break to a knowing smile as if she had seen this before and approaches the side of your bed, the mattress dips at her weight and reaches a pale, slender hand towards you, and you find yourself not moving, too feverish, so you let her touch you. And her touch was soothing.

"Shhh," The raven-haired enigma coaxes, "Your body is reacting to its new owner. Best to let me handle this, Y/N."

New owner?

You couldn't process anything, distracted by her touch soothes your hot skin as you slowly relax into the sheets. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as the pain ebbs away.

"Easy does it," She remarks, "Are you feeling better now, delicto?"

"Yes," You reply curtly as you eye her warily. "Wonderful," She gracefully stands from your bed, "Now rest. I'm sure you have questions for me once you recover."

"No," You protest, and her gaze turns sharp, making you shrink in your bed as she tilts her head. "No? What do you mean no?"

"I have a meeting with a sponsor," You stammer under her piercing gaze. The latter pauses, "You have plenty of time to prepare, rest. I'll take care of it."

"Take care of what?"

She flashed her bright golden eyes at you, and once again, your vision turns black. Three hours later, a scandal broke out.

Italy is known for its warm, Mediterranean climate. Summers are always hot, sunny, and dry.

But no amount of summer dresses can protect you from the cold, piercing gaze of your handler who sits across you in a cafe with her arms crossed and her expression blank.

After Karina took care of your meeting with a sponsor, word got out fast and a controversy broke out with your fans shocked at the fact that you are married. Hence the meeting with your handler, who also knew nothing of the situation.

"So," She begins, "You're married?"

You tried not to cringe as you looked at Karina; who was sitting beside you, drinking her espresso with gusto. She wore a black coat with red lapels, a black turtle neck, trousers, and heels.

"Yes," She replies as she sets down her mug. Sooyoung slowly turns to your 'wife' before looking at you. "And since when were you two married?"

"Seven years," Karina smoothly replies. You two shared a glance. Seven years ago, you offered your soul to her.

"And how come I only knew about this after Mrs. Yoo talked to your sponsor?"

"I wasn't feeling well," You wince, "I told my wife-" This coming off from your tongue is a foreign sensation. "That it can wait, but she insisted."

"Y/N was bone-tired last night." Karina adds, "I'd be a terrible wife if I insist that she gets out of the house to speak to the sponsor, so I took it upon myself to go." You softly cleared your throat, "How did the public react to this?"

"They've seen Karina's photos." Sooyoung leans against her seat, "They approve of her." A wry smile graced her lips, "That adds your wife to their list of 'celebrity crushes' I believe."

You repressed a sigh of relief, "That's good news."

"Don't be too relieved yet," She massages her temples, "You have yet to address this at your conference. I'll have your script ready, and of course, your wife has to follow it as well." She turns to look at the devil disguised as your wife. "Is that okay with you?"

Karina grins and suddenly interlocks her hand with yours. The sudden action surprises you, and she flashes you a look. Your lips form a practiced smile, and you duck your head as if you are flustered.

"Yes, I'm fine with it. So long as this keeps my wife happy."

"Good, the conference starts at 2 PM sharp. Let's get you both ready before then."

Addressing your marriage to the public was easy. The press loved ogling at your 'wife'. You can't blame them though she looked ethereal in her outfit; a form-fitting black, high-neck dress and a black blazer draped over her shoulders, and her hair was freely cascading down to her breasts with diamond earrings as her accessories while you wore white dress. Both of you looked exquisite during the conference, and you didn't forget the way the reporters begin talking all at once upon announcing your next concert and the piece you'll be laying next.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst.

Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst is not the biggest name in classical music, but his ‘The Last Rose Of Summer’ is notorious among violinists for being a complete nightmare to play. Ernst was an obsessive devotee of Paganini, the original violin rockstar, and he loved to include stupidly complex pizzicato in his music. Karina's soft lips curl to a smirk as she ends the event by taking your hand in hers. You eye her cautiously. This wasn't part of the script?

Still, she raises your hand and brings it to her soft, warm lips, pecking the back of your palm. Your cheeks warmed as the cameras flashed. Your spouse looks at the press and flashes them a jaw-dropping smile. "We'll get going now. May you all have a nice afternoon." Without another word, she leads you down from the stage and to the exit, where a sleek black car awaits the both of you.

"Take us back to the hotel, please." You told the driver. The man nods and was about to close the partition before Karina speaks up. "Take us to Ratanà, Mr. Giovani. I'll treat my wife to a nice meal after the conference."

"Very well, Mrs. Yoo." The driver replies with a thick accent before finally closing the partition. You glare at the latter while she leans comfortably against the leather cushion and looks at you. Karina arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "Why the surly look, wife?"

"What are you going to do in a restaurant?" You snap at her. Karina guffaws in amusement.

"I'd like to see how the world changed after centuries." She simply answers. "I'd like to see more of the world with my two eyes."

A huff leaves your lips as you turn away from her and cross your arms against your chest. "You still have some explaining to do."

"Which is why a restaurant is a perfect place for it."

"People will hear you."

"I've booked us a private booth." You snapped your head towards her, "You did what?"

"I won't repeat myself, beloved." She chuckles, "As you've said, I owe you an explanation.

The people inside Ratanà gawked at the two of you as soon as you entered the restaurant. The clattering of plates and utensils stopped as well. You flush at the reaction while your wife places her hand on the small of your back. Even with your dress, you can't help but shudder at the contact as she flashes the crowd a charming smile before leading you to your private booth with a female waiter stationed outside your door.

"We'll order later," Karina's smooth velvet voice coaxed the woman into an agreement before finally entering the private booth.

She pulls out the chair for you to sit on, and you begrudgingly obey as she sits across you. Silence permeated the air. Gone is her alluring aura, replaced by enigma. As if all of it was an act - it is.

"Where to begin, where to begin." She mused wryly.

"Why are you here if not to claim my soul, then?" You snap, "Why waste your time tagging along?"

Karina tilts her head. Her intelligent eyes regarded you.

"Well," She begins with a distant smile. "I visited you every two years, watching from afar while you amassed your concerts just to see how your talent has bloomed."

You wait for her to explain further, "I'll be frank, darling." Your gut churns at the endearment. "Throwing you into the pits of hell after your time is done is nothing but an exercise of futility, a talent like yours deserves to have a place next to mine."

Your brows furrow, "Next to yours?"

Her lips curled, "Why do you think you offered your soul to me out of all the demons out there?"

You replied with silence, and Karina narrowed her eyes in disapproval. "Something tells me that you didn't gather the slightest bit of information about who I am, delicto." She leaned away from the backrest of her seat and interlaced her fingers together. "Tell me, do you know who I am?"

"A devil who named herself Karina Yoo."

A scoff befalls her lips, "Foolish girl, you're lucky to have offered your soul to me."

"Why?" You snarked, "If I'm so lucky, why?"

Her eyes flashed, "My father," She hisses through gritted teeth, "Is the angel of music. Lucifer was the angel of music. After his fall, he reigned in Hell and has simply lost interest in that title." Her expression darkens, "Which is why I took that spot while I helped humanity discover it with my profound ability that I inherited from him."

Your eyes subtly widen, "Yes," She growled.

"You're sitting with the daughter of Lucifer. His finest creation, second to music." Her eyes glowed to cruel gold. "And you tied yourself to me, Ji Y/N. You offered your body and soul to me. That makes you mine as I am yours."

Something's not right. Why is there an indirect statement of equality?

As if reading your mind, she addresses it with a softer tone.

"As I've said, my beloved: leaving you to burn in hell would be a waste. I have taste in talent just as much as you have taste for beautiful things. In my millennium of harvesting souls, I am nothing but a sponsor to those who offer themselves to me. I will keep you. I've decided to keep you after hearing you play all these years. And I confess that I envy your ability, albeit you're human. I am still superior to you on all levels, but when it comes to music, we are equals."

"So that makes me your actual wife, then?" You squeaked. Karina lets out a rumbling chuckle, "Oh, yes, darling." You hold her gaze, and this time, it's intense.

"That makes you mine as I am yours." She husked, her eyes tracing your features possessively. "So if you had any lovers or flavors of the day, forget about them."

"So possessive," You remark shakily, and the latter lets out a wolfish grin. "I am a demanding creature, Y/N." She then leans away from you. "We can order now. After this, we can return to the hotel, and you can start practicing the piece you'll perform at your concert next month. The earlier you master it, the better. And I will help you along the way."

She's right, of course, but you wouldn't admit it to her face.

"Alright, call in the waitress."

Your routine is divided from going out with your wife to practicing until your fingers go numb.

The Last Rose Of Summer by Heinrich Wilhelm Ernst was the last of his Six Polyphonic Studies for solo violin. It is a set of incredibly difficult variations for the violin. The first few weeks were nothing but agony as you practiced in a private setting, preferably away from the devil of music.

For days, it's either you couldn't transition smoothly to another note, or you struck a wrong chord. Either way, it's still a mistake.

This complex set—full of every imaginable and unimaginable technical difficulty—includes an introduction, theme, four variations, and a devilish finale. At first glance, an impossible task. This one requires both physical and mental fortitude. And each mistake drains it out of you.

"Jeez," Sooyoung hisses as soon as she sets foot into the room. "Y/N, get yourself off the floor and sit on the couch, will you?"

A tired groan leaves your lips as you force yourself to get up. Your muscles ached in protest as a result of standing for hours.

"You know what," Sooyoung sighs as soon as you unceremoniously plop on the couch. "How about we call your wife, hm?"

"No," You sigh as your tired mind thinks of a lie. "She's busy."

"Busy doing what?" Shit

"Managing her family's financial reports." Yeah, that should do it.

"Don't be ridiculous," The latter admonishes, "Your wife is never too busy for you. I'll call her."

"Sooyoung no-" Too late, she had dialed her number, and you tuned out their conversation. "She says she's on her way." Your handler informs you as soon as she drops the call, "See, I told you she isn't too busy when it comes to you."

"Whatever," You mumble as you close your eyes to get a few minutes rest.

By the time Karina made her presence known, it was already evening. You scowl at her as you groggily sit up. "What took you so long?"

"You looked peaceful," She snorts, "And besides, you're more tolerable when you're not scowling at me all the time."

"What time is it?"

The devil checks her watch. She bought it a few days ago from Bulgari. "6:37 PM, why?"

"Shit, that's late."

"You needed rest," She reminds you as she sits next to you. You lean away, taken aback by her proximity as she looks down at your fingers, "And your fingers were turning purple. You practiced for quite some time and ignored your body's protests for rest. Hence why you collapsed next to this couch."

How did she-

"Sooyoung told me," She answers. "Why force your body to such limits?"

You rolled your eyes, "You sound like my wife,"

"Because I am your wife," She grins, "So take care of yourself."

You blink at her. For weeks that you spent with her, the older woman did nothing but make sure you were comfortable and safe, sure there was bickering, and dare you say banter. But she performed her duties as a wife should. It's baffling, to receive this treatment from a devil of her caliber.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She questions, her eyes beaming at your attention before you tear your gaze from her. "Nothing, I'm hungry."

"Perfect," She grins, "I discovered a recipe that you might like."

Oh?

"Cooking, you?" You mused, and Karina lets out a carefree laugh. It sounded pleasant. Not that you would say that to her face. "Why yes, pretty girl." She grins, "Now come. I want you to be a witness of me cooking a dish created by humans."

She grabs you by the hand, and your pulse quickens at the contact as she leads you out of the building and to your car, a sleek, gray Bently Continental GT S. The raven-haired beauty opens the passenger door for you. You didn't say anything and entered the vehicle. She closes the door gently and enters the driver's seat, finally driving to your designated hotel.

The smell of roasted lamb chops floods the dining area of your suite. Karina said that it'll be done in a few minutes. Your stomach grumbles at the sight of the delicacy in Karina's bare palms as she places it in front of you. She dusts the lamb chops with garlic, rosemary, salt, and pepper. Your mouth waters at the meal she prepared for you while she sits across from you, eyeing your face with mirth before finally gesturing at your dinner.

"Well? Dig in."

You didn't need to be told twice and began wolfing down your food.

Karina watched you carefully as you ate with gusto before stopping midway. The older woman frowned, "What's wrong?"

You look up at her, "It's not poisoned, isn't it?"

She placed a hand over her chest in faux offense.

"Poison? You?" The raven-haired woman continues: "I would never. You must have faith in me, beloved. I would never poison a pretty girl like you."

Your cheeks change their color to a subtle hue of pink. "Faith is foreign for someone of your caliber, Karina."

"Trust me," She grins, "We're more direct than your trusted angels, beloved."

A hum leaves your lips as you continue to eat. Karina once again watches you before you pause for the second time. "Aren't you hungry?"

"We have a different diet from you humans. Souls, that's what we feed on, your intense emotions, energies."

"Are you feeding from me right now?"

The latter replies with an unbridled smirk, "I am, but at least we're both benefitting."

"Fair enough," You shrug before finishing your dinner.

"Are you having a difficult time practicing your piece?" She asks after you've finished your dinner. A pause, "Yes, but I'll get better."

"Not very reassuring, delicto." She replies as she interlocks her fingers, her expression serious. "Your concert is in three weeks, and your piece has four sections."

"Then what can we do about it?"

"I can help you." Karina offers - no, states. "It'll be quick, and you will save time."

You arched a brow, "By what, cutting my wrist and pouring it over my violin?"

The devil guffaws at your snarky reply, "No, no. You perform. I will proctor your performance and give you feedback accordingly."

You contemplated her offer. It's not that big of a deal. Perhaps guidance from a devil of music could save you time. "Alright," You rub your palms together. "Perfect," She purrs.

"When can we start?"

"Tomorrow," Karina checks her watch, "We'll start after lunch. Is that okay with you?"

You have nothing to do anyways, "Fine by me."

"You missed a note," She looks up from her book. "Again, from the top."

You bite your inner cheek and return to your second stance before slowly stroking the strings. Minutes later, she stops you again.

"Your timing is off."

"Don't I know," You grunt as you return to your first position and begin again.

Hours turn into days. While yes, having Karina monitor your performance saves time, you can't help but feel your patience waning whenever she stops your performance.

"Again,"

"I didn't even miss the note!" You asserted. Karina closes her book and looks at you. You stop yourself from saying more as your bones ache from standing for two hours.

She lets out a hum, a tone that holds no consequence of your assertion.

"I forget that you're human." She says to herself rather than you. "But you have to keep up with me, beloved. Let's take a break. How do thirty minutes sound to you?"

"Wonderful," You groan before you sit on the floor of your lounging area.

It went on for another week with the devil being surprisingly patient with you. Even with your patience cutting short, Karina allows your jabs to fall on her with every mistake you make improves under her watchful eye.

You are forced to stop when you couldn't reach the note. "Crap," You cursed as you messed with the transition to the ending of the piece. Karina took notice of this and tilts her head, "Try to position your hand once more." She instructs, and who are you to disobey? She is your wife, your mentor. And so far, you learn quickly with the techniques she's amassed through the years.

She examines your hand before standing from her settee and moving behind you. You stiffen at her proximity as her pale hand hovers atop yours while the other grasps your waist. A soft gasp leaves your lips as she presses her front against your back. The latter smirks but resumes correcting your finger placement.

"Position your hand like this," She husked. A shudder leaves your lips as her warm breath fans the outer shell of your ear. Your skin tingles at her touch.

"There," She purrs, "Very good,"

But she doesn't let go.

She retracts your hand from the fingerboard of your violin and places it on your hips, securing you against her. "You know," She rasped, "This is by far the closest we've been." She flushed herself against yours as if she couldn't get enough, "As your wife, I've never received an embrace from you, beloved."

"If you wanted a hug," You breathily reply as you lean into her touch. Karina's lips found themselves on the exposed expanse of your neck, ghosting over your skin. "Why didn't you just ask for it?"

She chuckles deeply, and it has your guts churning. "Oh, can I ask for one now?" You balk up a response, and Karina's patience wears thin as she spins you around. Her strength forces you to face her and drop your violin and violin bow. Your eyes blew back at the cruel glow of gold in her eyes. Her black veins surface on the sides of her gorgeous face. Her skin is paler than normal. She uses one hand and grabs your hair from behind, forcing you to look up at her with a hiss.

Your eyes traverse from her eyes down to her kissable lips. Karina notices this and licks her in return. You swallow harshly at the sight.

"I can sense it, Y/N."

"Sense what?" You breathe out, and your wife sharply inhales and leans close. "Your hunger, no, not from food, but for me, beloved. I don't see the point in holding back." Her other hand traverses upwards; to your neck and gently squeezes it, eliciting a gasp from you before she uses that same hand to pull you impossibly close to her.

"Be selfish, be lustful - lose your inhibitions to me, Y/N. I am your wife, your mistress, your servant. Use me as I will use you." She leans closer to the point that your lips are almost touching, her plump lips begging to be kissed by yours.

"Sin with me, darling." Her voice distorts, "For sin is your birthright. Your faith has taught you to deny your desires and it has imprisoned you. Break your restraint. As your wife I encourage it, my love." She sighs as your hand caresses her cheek.

"I am selfish, needy, and demanding. Y/N. And you shouldn't be less than I am. Let me have you, let me spoil you some more, even with the riches that are foreign to the world of the living, allow me to embrace you - you will be my queen. Fair as the sea and the sun."

And while she pours her declaration, Karina Yoo's lips fascinated you. It sickens you all at once, but that is what seduction does to you. Her lips; were plump and inviting. Though you find her frightening at times, you can't help but feel as if you've known her before, that you are perfect for her. If you wanted something beautiful, this woman would be would give it to you. If you have an ideal type, this woman would be your ideal.

You had not known before that you wanted all these things. That you preferred dark hair and a slightly cruel expression, that you wished for tallness, or that a woman embracing you and pouring her confession might thrill you. A whole young life’s worth of slowly collected predilections coalesced in a few moments within you, and Karina Yoo, her eyes glowing with desire, becomes beautiful and perfect.

You shivered, and without thinking, you leaned in to capture her lips with yours. Not on the cheek, not chastely or unchastely, but greedily with your whole mouth. She reciprocates this, she eats your breath in the kiss, and you feel like she would swallow you whole. Your hands shamelessly claw her silk shirt from behind, crumpling the expensive fabric as the daughter of Lucifer deepens the kiss by tilting her head. Her grip on your hair tightens, and her other hand's nails dig against your hips.

Together, your lips move languidly against each other, and the world feels like it's so far away.

You two kiss until your human lungs burn for oxygen, and you push your wife away begrudgingly.

Here you two are, panting and wanting more before she chased your lips with hers. Her mouth is hot against yours. You can taste the feverish desire from her. Suddenly, she bites you. You pull away from her, hurt and surprised as you raise your hand to your mouth. Your fingers are bloody, and Karina's lips were smeared with it. Her eyes gleamed.

You balked. Your lips pulsed where your wife's long, thin canines had cut you.

If you allow her to do this to you, what else will you let her do to you?

Anything,

Karina Yoo, your wife, your mistress, your slave, wiped your crimson blood from her lips. She eyes you with hooded, glazed eyes as she licks it clean.

"Beautiful," She closes her eyes and slowly opens them before her arms circle around you greedily, and your back is suddenly pressed against the mattress of your private quarters.

Her bright eyes are predatorial as she stares down at you. She wasted no time putting her hands on your waist. Her sensual scent invades your nostrils as she presses her lips against yours. You can taste your blood on her tongue as your hands cup her jaw. Karina's tongue glides against your lower lip before breaking into your mouth; only because you let her. She swallows your moan as she slides her tongue in your mouth, and she lets out a guttural growl in reply as your skin becomes hot under her touch.

The older woman leans away and unravels your button shirt, and harshly pulls it off your body, leaving you alone with your bra. Her ichor-hued eyes visibly darken to a hue of copper before her lips attach to the column of your neck. Her hands smoothly go to your back and unclasp your bra, and haphazardly throw it somewhere in the room.

You let out a mewl when she softly bit the center of your neck, followed by a gasp when her tongue smoothens it, she pulls you into an all-consuming kiss, her hands let go of your wrists, and your hands hastily gripped her biceps as her weight doubles making you press against the mattress, her lips muffling your groans and grunts as her teeth bite your lower lip, forcing a gasp out of you and allowing her to insert her tongue inside your mouth, your grip on her tightens as your lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

She pulls away for a split second, allowing you to breathe before connecting her lips with yours, her hips bucking and thrusting against your clothed core, making you moan into her mouth as lust ignites between your legs. You tilted your head to meet her kiss as your legs circled her waist.

Karina groans, and she thrusts her hips against yours. You feel something poking against your clothed core. It's hard, and it feels good.

As if sensing your curiosity, Karina chuckles deeply. "We're hermaphrodite beings, beloved. I can pleasure you as a man, or woman, or both." She breathes against your lips. "Which do you prefer?"

"You," You mewl as she kisses your neck. "I want what you are right now, even forever."

The latter grins and bites into your neck, eliciting a yelp from you as she traverses her kiss downwards until she reaches the waistband of your pajamas. Karina's lips curl to a smirk, her hands latching onto the fabric of your pants before she effortlessly rips it and throws the torn fabric away. Your eyes widen while hers light up in amusement as she licks her upper teeth.

"Relax," She purrs as her finger hooks the hem of your panties and yanks down. Your cunt flutters at the exposure, toes curling with anticipation as your wife dips down, her tongue takes a bold lick on the seam of your pussy and shuddering when she retracts and swallows.

"Divine," She darkly grins as her hands pry your thighs to spread and latch onto your folds, eliciting a yelp from you as her tongue breaches your walls. You throw your head back when the warm, wet muscle begins to messily move in circles. Your arousal drips down the seams as she alternates from sucking and circling, eyes closing shut as carnal desire begins to take over the both of you. "Karina," You softly moan, "Fuck, so good - more, give me-"

She cuts you off with a growl, sending vibrations against your cunt. The sensation has your eyes rolling back as her tongue thrusts in and out. You plant your feet against the mattress and buck your hips against her face. "Fuck!"

Karina grunts and bites your clit, this sends white-hot pleasure through your body with carnal rapture seeping inside you as the woman withdraws. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" Des[ote your flustered state, your cheeks reddens. Karina hums and licks her lips which are covered in your arousal and her spit. "Let's try that again, yeah?"

She didn't let you reply and connected her mouth to your folds. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as heat bubbles within your body. You bristle in lust as the woman kept lapping your juices, her tongue working hard on sucking and thrusting inside your core, the obscene sounds were enough to lubricate you, your hand takes a purchase of her hair, tugging on it as moans and mewls befall your lips, evidently pleasing the woman who in turn moaned at the taste, doubling the sensation as she bites your clit again.

Your back arched as does this again and again. Triggering a bundle of nerves. "Karina," You whimper, and you can feel her smirk as she finally decided to have mercy on you, her teeth retracting from your clit and deciding to continue back to eating your out, both your juices and her saliva drip down from your ass to the sheets as she continues to ravage you.

And when her tongue manages to find a spongey spot, she immediately flicks it. Her ministrations made you see stars, hips jolting and accidentally grazing your clit against her teeth, making her moan while eliciting a pleasured cry from you. Walls clenching against her tongue, the woman in between your legs is determined to finish you off as her teeth keep biting your clit; helping her stimulate your orgasm as your eyes roll to the back of your skull, back arching and sweat dripping off every pore as your undoing hits you, knocking your breath out of your lungs.

The woman groaned at your nectar, lapping it up until you were whimpering, thighs shaking, and hands trying to pry away her head.

Karina decided to have mercy on your state and pull away with cum-smeared lips that formed into a smug smirk.

Despite your blurred vision, you can see your wife resting her head on the side of your thigh, kissing the expanse of skin before trailing up to your lower abdomen, giving it a soft kiss and mumbling something incoherent before kissing her way up to your lips, her body looming above you her hands trapping your sides as her lips mold with yours, giving you a taste of yourself as your hands caress her upper body, fingers working on with the buttons and belt of her suit to touch her bare, dewy skin.

Karina made it easier for you by snapping her fingers; she is just as bare as you.

Your eyes shamelessly trail down her body. Karina's body is lithe, though her biceps are slightly defined, so are her collarbones, her toned stomach, and...

Your eyes trail lower, and your core throbs with excitement.

So this is what a hermaphrodite being looks like.

Or maybe, that's just Karina adjusting for you. Either way; you'll take her as she is.

The latter grabs your jaw, forcing you to lock eyes with her.

"Let's see," She rasped, "Just how much you can take from me, pretty mortal."

Her body is never far away from yours, always flushed as her lips wrap around the exposed skin she finds. Your hands grabbed her strong back helplessly as she lodged her cock deep within you, veins rubbing and drilling with vigor while you moaned beneath her. "Fuck," She breathed, pulling out before thrusting back in, eliciting a gasp from you as she fucks you with abandon.

Her talons clawed the sheets, eyes screwing shut with every pound.

"Fuck, beloved." Karina softly moans as she drills deeper into you. The force behind her thrust pushes you upward, and she had to lock her arms around you to keep you from leaving her.

Your lips bite her shoulder to muffle a scream when she hits a spongey area. You heard Karina groan softly when your wall clenched greedily, hips snapping back and forth, your stomach coils, your skin burning with carnal want as your legs lock around her waist, ankles pressed against each other as her essence leaks from your abused cunt to the sheets after going at it for hours. The older woman felt her balls tighten, and her cock swelled as she pressed her forehead against yours, mewling as your release made your walls feel tight. You smell the mix of perfume, sweat, and sex from your bodies as her thrusts get sloppier and shallow to the point that she isn't pulling out anymore, her hips pistoning the same vulnerable spot that she had to muffle your strained moans with an ardent kiss as Karina stills her hips, thick spurts of cum painting your walls; you can only whimper; cunt accepting what she has to offer as this also triggers your orgasm, unannounced.

Karina pressed a kiss against your clammy temple, your walls convulsing, clenching around her incessantly.

Your hair is tousled and unruly, and your neck and collarbones were covered in her marks. The woman above you growls and sets her speed, her warm, thick cock drilling in and out in carnal want, ichor-hued eyes veiled with devouring lust as she throws her head back when you willfully clench your walls around her. Your lips chased her neck, nipping her Adam's apple, and she slightly falters. You can see the veins prominently bulging from her neck, beads of sweat running down her beautiful skin, and her sharp jaw on display for you. You drink in the sight as you pull her back to you, her wet hair sliding back, her kissable lips twitching to a smirk, gasping and whining with every clench of your needy cunt.

The raven-haired beauty presses you harder against the bed, her weight doubling as she flushes her body against yours, her dick pistoning in and out of you, raw. Her pace bristles with an animalistic drive, her breath fans your lips, and grunts and hush moans break past her lips with every pound.

"Are you close?" She couldn't control the distortion of her voice while you shamelessly raked your nails against her back. "Fuck," You mewled, "Yes - close."

The daughter of Lucifer mouths your cheek, mapping your features with her mouth as her toned stomach flexes. Your thighs burn with every pound and tears trail down your cheeks, blurring your vision as you choke a sob. The latter groans and withdraws her cock until only the tip remains and slams back in. You dig your nails harder, leaving crescent shapes and red vertical lines along her back to the point that you're aware of how much that would be painful for her.

"Harder,"

You briefly pull away to lock eyes with her, the obscene sounds of skin slapping reverberate in your room, and she looks at you with a small smile. "Use me," She pecks your lips softly, "As I am using you."

And who are you to refuse?

You hide your face against the column of her neck as the appendage kisses your cervix, and she does this again, and again, and again. She fucks you harder on your mattress, deeper, and you are on the verge of letting go. "Don't hold back," She moans.

Her cock twitches inside you, her hands move to the sheets, crumpling it as if her life depended on it while she fucks you carelessly, and your body heats up.

You bite down on her neck, muffling a scream as you cum, and milk her cock dry, legs trembling like a leaf, and your vision blackens. Karina sighs in pleasure as her cock savors your nectar. She bites the juncture of your neck and keeps fucking you through your orgasm.

And finally, she lets out a high-pitched moan and cums. She stills her hips and hides her head in the crook of your neck that's littered with marks. Her cock spurted out thick warm spurts of her seed, her soft lips kissing the side of your neck, your hand circled on her hip while the other one held her nape, both of you panting for breath.

After a minute of silence, she looks up at you. "Can you do one more?"

You nod mindlessly. Of course, one more always meant more than what you thought Karina said.

Because even as a devil, a daughter of Lucifer; she took you to heaven's door multiple times.

You knew that once she had a taste of you she'd never stop.

Karina...that woman is insatiable.

And of course, you'd let her do anything to you.

A moan leaves your lips, only to be silenced by her hand clamping over your mouth.

You'd let her fuck you an hour before your concert.

The devil looms over your face, the light shielding the smirk on her lips while she fucks you against the sectional couch. The raven-haired beauty moves her hips languidly against yours. Her pace is desperate and strong and you claw her Brioni suit that you bought for her two days before your concert. Her pants pooled her ankles, while you're still wearing your bathrobe, or rather what's left of it. How did this start? You just finished taking a bath and walked past your 'wife' who's already done preparing. She said you smelled good. Bullshit.

"Do you want me to go faster?" She asks, mockery evident in her tone. "Fuck - yes!" You choked a gasp as she jogs her hips firmly, and you let your head fall against the couch chanting: Yes, and fuck, your pussy clenches in gratification eliciting a moan from Karina as she licks a line from your neck to your ear.

"Is that better?" She husked, and you moaned again in reply. The devil growls and sets her speed, her used, hard cock drilling in and out of you in carnal want, her blown, brown eyes flashing gold and veiled with lust. She throws her head back to move her hair that's sticking against her sweaty face. Sweat runs down her pale skin, her sharp jawline in display for you. You drink in the sight - like a lewd statue exclusive to you. Not to mention the suit that compliments her lean form, her hair wet and slid back, soft lips twitching to a gasp, chuckle, and groan with every clench of your needy cunt.

You lean up to capture her neck with your lips, tongue licking her Adam's apple before biting it. Karina moans loudly, and you peck her for it before she turns it into a tongue-dancing session. Karina's hands cup your face and press you harder against the couch. Her weight doubles as she flushes her body against yours, her veiny cock pistoning in and out of you, her pace bristling with an animalistic drive, breath fanning your lips.

Karina maps your features with her eyes before she brushes a familiar spot that have you rolling your eyes in return. Her stomach flexes, your thighs burn from her ramming, and tears trail down your cheeks. You're thankful you haven't put any makeup or skincare on for it. Karina gasps, the sight enticing her, and she momentarily stops thrusting. The devil pulls out eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you pull her close, head shaking sideways as your eyes begged her not to pull away. Karina slams back in. You screw your eyes shut as she abuses the spot again. A vicious grin graces her lips as she fucks you harder, deeper in your fitting room with her other hand clamping over your mouth.

You've reached your limit.

You bite her hand to muffle a scream as the strong wave of your orgasm hits you. Karina bites your shoulder, pointed teeth piercing your skin as you milk her dry, your legs shaking like a leaf, and your vision blackens - your energy drains and your skin is covered in a thick veil of sweat.

"That's it," She groans as she cums inside you. Warm, goopy, and generous. She lays on top of you, her arms snaking on your hips while you caress the back of her hair.

While you're fucked out, the latter seems to bask in the afterglow of fucking. Her golden eyes examine your state before grinning and pressing a kiss on your clammy forehead. "Rest," She gently commands with a soft voice, "I'll fix you up later, okay?"

You swallow harshly, throat dry. "Fix me later or fuck me later minutes before the concert starts?"

Karina's chest rumbles with a chuckle, "The former, though I wouldn't mind fucking all night after the concert."

You groan in reply, and she laughs, "I'm serious, beloved. Rest and I'll take good care of you."

To master 'The Last Rose of Summer' is an ambition for most violinists, and with the devil of music as your wife, success never tasted so good before as you have the audience at the palm of your hand.

The spotlight at your divine figure, at your hands that transitioned from one note to another with angelic grace.

Your eyes are locked with the devil in the front-row seat of Teatro Alla Scala, one of the most famous theatres in the world. It was built in the late 18th Century to plans made by the architect Giuseppe Piermarini, at the request of Empress Maria Theresa of Austria. A range of operas, classical concerts, and ballets are performed during the theatre season, which is one of the most important appointments in the Milanese social calendar.

Karina sat there crossed-legged with a smile, wearing her navy blue, double-breasted wool Plume suit, and trousers, inside, she wore a white turtle neck, and her hair is neatly combed and slid back. Her black hair cascades beautifully for you to see as she watches you with pride and acknowledgment.

You couldn't help but mirror her smile.

Something has changed within you, you can't help but glow at the fact that you've brought back a long-neglected virtuoso piece, creating a performance of pure musical delight.

Your body feels like it's on fire. You didn't care to fathom at all as you basked in the attention.

Yes, be selfish, be cruel, my beloved shouldn't be lesser than I

And as you brought the audience to an explosive end, while everyone else applauded, your eyes were only trained on your wife who stands up, amongst the cheers and howls of the crowd, it was only her voice that gave you clarity.

"Brava," She commends with distortion that no one else seems to hear. No one but you. She spoke again in another language, and this time, you understood it.

"Omnis, surge et accipe sponsam meam et aequalem meam. Aperi portas inferi novae reginae tuae; Ji Y/N."

Everyone, arise and welcome my bride and my equal. Open the gates of Hell for your new princess; Ji Y/N.

Fin.

Thoughts? Oh and if you have requests, feel free to flood my ask box skksks

#karina #karina x reader #karina aespa #aespa x reader #yu jimin #aespa smut #karina smut #wlw post #kpop girls #kpop smut #kpop oneshots #kpop idols #fem reader #gxg smut #gxg imagine

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yanderestarangel · 7 months

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❛❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐕𝐄 ❜❜ || MIGUEL O'HARA + BI HAN X READER || EXTREME SMUT ||

A/N: ok hear me out...

TW: threesome, double penetration, blowjob, degradation, rough sex, aggressive sex, size kink, daddykink, afab anatomy, dirty talk, dom!bi han, dom!miguel o'hara, porn plot, v!sex, bdsm, bite, spitting in the mouth, humiliation, no pronouns used other than "you", my chinese, my spanish, worship cock, not reviewed, mortal kombat x astv.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, you and your grand master Bi Han had to receive a guest from another timeline, the person responsible for the spider men's 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧, Miguel O'Hara. You were calm, but Bi Han was not. He complained and talked loudly - to himself - how Liu Kang devalued the work of the lin kuei, with the two of you just being "nannies" for a stranger, your superior's impatience was starting to weigh on you, but you remained calm, saying that it was your obligation as lin kuei ninjas to receive an important presence for the fire lord's plans, making Bi Han snort irritably and agree briefly, just a respite for the storm that would come later.

You went to the multidimensional portal that was marked on the map that Liu Kang had given you both, while you finally saw the illustrious presence of Miguel arrive, a strong, tall, muscular man with a stoic and cold look, just like Bi Han. You felt the brunette man's red gaze burning you, while the thick voice with a thick Latin accent, respectfully addressing you and Bi Han, however this did not last long as the mission progressed, for several reasons, but the main one was the equal point of anger and short temper that both men had.

Miguel was extremely impatient and so was Bi Han, Miguel was authoritarian and so was Bi Han, and all the flaws that your grand master had, the Mexican also had, even if the spider leader tried to be kind to you, he still failed miserably, adding a sarcastic venom with every word that slipped off his tongue, but he would only realize that you were curious, after all, it wasn't every day that a lin kuei ninja like you had contact with a hero from another reality. "-Sorry cielo, I'm just not used to talking to many people." -O'Hara spoke quickly, making you understand, but Bi Han didn't, and the grand master wanted to end it all quickly.

"-You should treat my ninja with more respect, little spider." -Bi Han growled pointing at you, making Miguel's muscles tense, looking at the Asian man.

"-I already apologized to (Y/N) right Mi Amigo." -The spider leader growled with the same intensity, between his teeth, as you entered between the two men, trying to calm the confusion, you placed your hand on Bi Han's chest, whispering sweet and soft words, making him groan and move away from the spider leader, by now - and it didn't last long - something in Miguel's gizmo configuration had gone wrong, making the three of you fall into Shang Tsung's trap. Bi Han tried to hold the two of you back, so you wouldn't fall into the trap, but he failed, now, the three of you were in a deep hole of stone and cold moss, Miguel's gizmo was broken, losing connection with the digital assistant and also the data from the mission.

"-It's your fucking fault!" -Bi Han barked at the brunette man while Miguel had his eyes red and his fangs showing. "-¿Por qué no te callas la puta boca cabrón?" -O'Hara spoke to the grand master, while they started another unnecessary discussion, echoing through the walls, with you just being a viewer. Some curses, with Bi Han trying to make a path with his cyromancer powers, and Miguel trying to use the webs, however, not being able to because the device on his wrist was also broken, only small red webs came out.

You noticed the tension between the two, deciding to try to start a conversation with Miguel and lighten the mood, which worked, the stoic façade was slowly broken, with some soft jokes from the two of you, making Bi Han let out a crooked - but happy - smile at the seeing you having a little fun, amidst the chaos, after all, you were his most beautiful and effective apprentice. Everything was fine, as far as possible, until the subject came to the topic of sex. With you making the unfortunate comment that you had never had sex with two men at the same time, and what's worse, that you managed to get O'Hara and Bi Han at the same time...

Bi Han's blows were strong, but Miguel's were worse, hitting your core, your feet trembled from the lack of contact with the ground. You saw Bi Han's hand through your hair, taking your mouth roughly down his length deeper and deeper, making you choke, he smiled satisfied, seeing Miguel trap your wrists with a blooming red laser web, the taller man was behind you - fucking your pussy, holding your hips and digging its sharp claws into your waist -

"-You like that, don't you? You like being fucked hard, being used like the good cockslave you are. Tell me, (Y/N). Tell me how much you love being our little slut." Bi Han teased you, as he continued to thrust his throbbing member into your oral cavity, you could only moan and cry, like a slut desperate for cock, especially with Miguel O'Hara's cock fucking you from behind with a superhuman pace. He began to move with a primal rhythm, his thrusts deep and powerful. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding your movements to match his own, ensuring each movement was synchronized in your pursuit of pleasure. The sound of their moans and cries filled the room, mixing with Miguel and Bi Han's own guttural moans. Their rhythms increased, each thrust becoming stronger, more desperate.

"-You're doing so good. Such a talented little mouth." -Your grand master praised him again, his hips moved involuntarily, his length pushing into your mouth, roughly hitting your throat, stealing your air, fueling your desire to please him deeper. Miguel watched the scene, as he took his cock out of your pussy, teasing his pulsing cock into your soft flesh, your little cunt was red from the intensity of the man's cock, which made him smile even more, lowering himself down to the side of your pussy. neck and activate the sharp fangs, giving you a strong bite - you let out a muffled scream, vibrating against Bi Han's cock, who was amused by the scene, seeing you so overstimulated, taking two cocks so well.

"-Fuck, you feel incredible, cariño, so tight and eager for me." Miguel moaned hoarsely, thrusting his dick back into your pussy, with all his strength, the floor was dirty with sweat and sweet juices, in addition to the saliva that came out of your mouth.

"-Damn, if I knew you were such a good and dirty slut, I would have fucked you a long time ago..." The grand master took his cock out of your mouth, passing it past your face, hitting his hard member on your cheek, while It made you turn around and see O'Hara fucking you, lifting you off the ground again.

"-Is that what you like (Y/N)? Being nothing but a pretty hole for two men to fuck you? You're the hungriest slut I've ever met." Bi Han spoke mockingly, making you look at him again, with your eyes meeting his, he forced you to suck two of his fingers.

"-You're so fucking wet, bebé. Your pussy craves our touch, doesn't it?" Miguel said smiling, accelerating his hips on your body, Bi Han's two fingers met your clit, the sinful combination of Bi Han's cold fingers and O'Hara's thick cock was enough to make you roll your eyes in pleasure, begging for more, a dumb mess desperate to cum - as both men wanted -

The rhythm between the three of you becomes a frenzied symphony of desire and need. Your moans fill the room as Miguel and Bi Han continue to ravage your body, the pleasure pushing you closer and closer. The intensity of their thrusts coupled with the sensual slaps of Miguel against your flesh ignite a fire within you that cannot be contained.

Bi Han's fingers left your clit, making contact with Miguel's gaze, a silent understanding, as they both switched places - the grand master was now fucking your sore pussy and the spider leader, your mouth, you whimpered, moaned and you screamed with pleasure, as you tried to please the two men.

"-Such a good little slut, taking us both like this. You're so fucking tight, it's driving me crazy." His voice now a throaty growl, as Bi Han fucked your wetness, a white ring formed on your cunt, from the amount of semen that accumulated inside you. He removed the red webs placed by Miguel, giving you free access to the spider man's muscular thighs in front of you, looking for support, the Mexican man's heavy balls hit your chin - while you just felt the world move away, you went cum again, squeezing Bi Han's dick tightly, even though it was already a quivering mess.

Bi Han realized that you were close to fainting, pulling your hair hard, increasing the rhythm of the thick shaft in your hole. "-Shhh... Not yet, just cum for both of us, like a good doll, squeeze that pussy willingly, good sluts don't think... They just cum." He slapped you hard on the face, while Miguel took his thick member out of your mouth, squeezing your cheeks tightly, opening your lips and spitting on your tongue, forcing you to swallow. "-You're just a cock-hungry putita, aren't you? Correte en mi verga mi puta, correte para papi."

You shook heavily as you come, feeling the weight and strength of both men, the compliments mixed with the heavy degradation of both, "little doll", "slut", "minx", "nymphet", "whore", the deep voices entered your ear, as you felt the thrill of being truly dominated.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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eff4freddie · 28 days

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Touch | Part Eight

You and Ellie grow closer in Joel's absence. Jackson holds its breath for the return of the second expedition.

Words: 6k

Warnings: descriptions of injuries, angst, no smut I'm sorry

A/N: So this is the last big chapter of Touch. I'm planning a smutty epilogue because these two need a proper send off, but the main storyline ends here. Just want to thank you all for your support of this story, which was my first foray into writing fics for a long time. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Part Seven | Series Masterlist | Epilogue

You and Ellie fell into a routine of sorts, occupying yourselves while waiting for news. In the morning Ellie would go down to the stables to ‘check the horses’, which you knew was code for her looking to see if Joel had slipped back into Jackson overnight, but he was her dad, and you didn’t begrudge it. You hated when she came back with her shoulders slumped.

Ellie had already decided she didn’t have to go to school given the circumstances, and you had no authority to fight her on it. Occasionally you would mention that Joel probably wouldn’t be pleased when he got back to discover she’d missed classes, and she had been so dismissive of the very idea that it took you right back to eighth grade, trying to hang out with the cool kids and being summarily ignored. You were basically her roommate. Roommates don’t nag each other to do their homework.

You were doing your own maths, anyway. If Marla had ridden through the night with Jacob strapped to her back it meant that the site of the ambush was a two-days ride away at a normal, non-life-threatening pace. It also meant it was a two-day ride back. If they encountered any nastiness on the way there or the way back that could waylay them for a few days, maybe more if there were injuries. And then, of course, there was the infinitely more complicated mathematics of how it would tally if they died. You weren’t sure what you would count, if that happened, if it wasn’t the days until they came back.

You wondered, if none of them made it back, where you would go. You would obviously have to leave Jackson, the destruction you, Ray and Marla wrought on the small community complete at that point. You just weren’t sure where, in which direction. Salt Lake sounded bad, and you were getting tired of the cold. You wondered if you would be able to make it down to the Gulf of Mexico, if you just headed south for as long as you could until you hit ocean. You knew it was unlikely you would be able to do it on your own, and you also knew that you would have to. That at the end of all this it was always going to be you, alone.

It didn’t hurt to think about. You were matter of fact about it. If they didn’t come back, you didn’t deserve to stay. You were pleased with the almost complete detachment you felt at the thought of it. At the freedom.

Maria and Robin dropped by while you were teaching Ellie the muscles of the back and neck, in the hope that she would have some kind of education upon Joel’s maybe-return. She was good at it, too, getting the hang of the Latin despite the language now being even more dead then when you leaned it. When they arrived, Ellie took Robin from Maria and cradled him in her arms, Maria showing her how to support the head while he dozed. For the first time since Ellie had arrived she was still, quiet, over-awed by the tiny, precious life in her arms. You took Maria into the kitchen and poured her some tea.

‘This takes me back,’ she said, and you grinned at her, offering to massage her feet. She demurred. ‘You don’t need to see what I’ve got going on under here,’ she said. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen it for months.’

You knew that Maria was checking on you, and you loved her for it and hated that she had to do it. Robin was only weeks old, barely a month, and yet she was nurturing you. You had barely seen her since the birth, since she had made you feel so necessary, so wanted, and your cheeks burned at the thought of it. The last two friends you had ended up dead or banished. You were just bad at it.

‘Hey,’ Maria said, like she could read your mind. She reached out and put her hand on yours, warm from the tea. ‘It must be weird…no, awful, to be the one left. I can’t imagine.’

You weren’t going to cry in your kitchen with Ellie in the other room holding Maria’s baby. That just wasn’t a thing that could happen. You swallowed hard, heard your jaw click under the strain.

‘I really like Ellie,’ you said, pain blooming from your temple into your eye socket. You consciously stretched your jaw, your hand over your mouth to try and cover it.

‘She’s a good kid, been through a lot,’ Maria agreed.

‘She’s a good distraction,’ you said, and Maria smiled at you.

‘I want you to know you have a place here,’ she said, and you wondered how she always knew the right thing to say, wondered if she could actually hear your thoughts. ‘Tommy…and me, well both of us, Tommy’s worried about you because…not just because of the expedition and the pharmacy and all of that going wrong, he’s worried that…’ Maria gathered herself for a second. ‘He’s worried that you only think of yourself in terms of what you can offer other people.’

You felt the sting of it, the little nerve Maria had unearthed, opened up to the chill of the air. You flinched away from it, but she was still holding your arm, and you realised you hadn’t noticed she hadn’t yet let you go. ‘Listen,’ she said, but kindly, and so you did. ‘When you came here, and we made you stand in front of the town council and basically said you could only stay if you contributed to the community…’

‘I understood that was how it works, of course it does,’ you said, and she raised her hand to shush you. You obeyed, again. She was growing into this mother thing.

‘I realised, we basically told you that all you’re worth to us is what you can do for us. Yes, its important everyone can contribute because that’s how we keep the place running. But I need you to know that’s not your value. I need you to know that.’

It was getting really hard not to cry. You could see her eyes misting over, her mouth in a grim line to bite back the tears. ‘I asked you to help me, to help with Robin, not because I wanted you to do something for me. It was just because…I just like you, is all.’

You didn’t even really think about it, you just grabbed her into your body and held her, and you felt her shaking a little, like she had been so terrified to tell you, and you didn’t want the Gulf of Mexico. You wanted her in your kitchen and Ellie in your loungeroom with Robin. You wanted Tommy chopping wood or storing coal or doing whatever the fuck manly shit needed doing around the place. You wanted Joel standing in his socks at the counter burning the toast and swearing under his breath about it. You wanted what you had always wanted, which was just to belong.

You pulled back from Maria, rubbing furiously at your eyes. She wiped the tears from hers.

‘I like you too,’ Ellie said, from the doorway, and you both startled, which made her jump a little, which jostled Robin, who delivered several pointed arguments about his thoughts on the experience.

‘Fuck, sorry,’ Ellie said, the panic written all over her face. ‘Oh fuck, I said fuck,’ she said, looking at you for help. You looked to Maria, who regarded you both with an amused expression on her face.

‘You two are as bad as each other,’ she said. She took Robin from her, and Ellie settled down at the table. For a second there was just the sound of Robin, grizzling in his mother’s arms.

‘Hey, Maria,’ Ellie said, lifting her hand to point to the muscle at the side of her neck under her ear. ‘Levator scap-yew-lay’ she said. You applauded her; genuinely, warmly, proudly.

You weren’t really ready to emerge from your cocoon, would have stayed hermitty and weird forever, except that Ellie wasn’t having it. For one she couldn’t sit still in the house for days on end, but she was still only fourteen and the idea that something might happen to her because you let her go out while you let yourself rot on the couch was even less palatable than having to be social.

The first time she took you to the mess hall you felt the anxiety at the bottom of your lungs, your sternum feeling like it had shrunk in your chest cavity. You were convinced people were staring, resentful of you and all that you brought with you. You didn’t want them to worry for Ellie, didn’t want them to wonder how you were going to corrupt her, end up with her dead or thrown out of the gates. You wanted to sit at one of the back tables, but Ellie was determined not to make any of it easy on you, and steered you over to the main table, the long one in the middle of the room, where a bunch of townsfolk were already chatting. You joined at the end of the row, feeling how you retracted into yourself, feeling your shoulders round over. Ellie sat opposite you and smiled at you, brightly. You realised she was treating you like some kind of project, a rehabilitate-the-crazy-lady experiment, maybe some kind of pet.

‘This is the soup they had the other week,’ Ellie said, gulping it down so fast you were worried she’d give herself indigestion. ‘The chicken one? Do you remember?’

You had no idea what she was talking about, and you stared at her.

‘I brought it round with half the loaf of bread. The kitchen ladies did not want me to have it. So, I swiped it while they were washing up.’

You felt something heavy roll in your stomach. ‘That was you? You brought the food?’ you asked, and you weren’t sure if – when you were finished being flawed – you were disappointed or relieved.

‘Yeah, didn’t you know?’ she asked, and you shook your head.

‘You didn’t leave a note or anything,’ you explained, feebly.

‘I guess not,’ she conceded.

‘I thought it might have been Tommy,’ you lied, unconvincingly, but Ellie wasn’t paying attention.

‘I mean, you were close. It was Joel’s idea,’ she said, and what you now realised was a full-sized boulder turned again in your gut.

‘It was?’ you squeaked, and she nodded into her nearly empty plate. You pushed your soup around, your mind trying too hard to digest this new information to turn itself to eating.

‘Did he say anything else?’ you asked, but you were interrupted by Tommy bursting into the mess hall, his eyes wide and scanning over the crowd.

‘They’re back!’ he called, and several people immediately rose, hustled for the door.

‘How many?’ someone yelled back, and Tommy nodded, but there was something wrong, something grim on his face that you didn’t want to acknowledge, didn’t want to even consider.

‘All of ‘em,’ he said, but then he faltered, and swallowed hard, and you knew, then, were already getting to your feet. ‘Some of them are in a bad way,’ he said, and he was looking at you and then looking at Ellie, and you were tucking her under your arm as you pulled her towards him at the door.

‘She shouldn’t see,’ he said to you, quietly, and you shook your head at him.

‘Try and fuckin’ stop me,’ she said, before you’d even had a chance to speak. He sighed, but you were past him then, your arm on the door pushing it open for her, shoving her through first.

The infirmary was only three rooms connected by a short corridor, and in times of serious outbreak or multiple injury it was woefully understaffed, under resourced.

There had already been some kind of make-shift triage for the returned residents, two of the men assigned to one room since they only needed looking over and could then be let go, but Dougie told you, pulled both you and Ellie aside to murmur in your ear, that Joel had his own room. The one next to the surgery.

‘Is he dead?’ Ellie asked, and if you didn’t know her as well as you now did you would have mistaken her bluntness for coldness, for desensitisation, but you knew instead that she was steeling herself, that if there was going to be pain she wanted it now, fast and hard, to rip into it with bared teeth.

Dougie shook his head, and you exhaled for maybe the first time, ever, in your life.

‘He’s not in a good way,’ Dougie said, but Ellie was already marching down the hall to see him, and you were already trailing behind her, your head over your shoulder to offer Dougie your whispered, harried thanks.

But you stopped when you got to his door, let Ellie slip through without you, suddenly considering that you could be intruding, that he had no interest in your being there, didn’t even know you’d been caring for his daughter while he was gone, or that she had been caring for you. You didn’t even really know him, weren’t sure how you felt about him, weren’t sure that you wanted to see him bleeding and broken, weren’t sure that you could handle not feeling his touch on yours again, his whispered encouragements as you came undone underneath him, the rise and fall of his chest under your ear as you both fought back sleep to stay awake together for just a little bit more increasingly precious time.

You’d marched down to the infirmary without even thinking about it, and now you were trapped in thinking too much about it, and what if he woke up and was angry at you again, found something else to throw in your face, and had you forgiven him for that or did that not even matter when he had nearly died, did arguments and anger and hurt just become nullified when the other person endangered themselves to protect you and the community you lived in, because that seemed like a dangerous precedent, and-

Ellie wrenched the door open and stared at you, paralysed, three steps away.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ she said, reaching forward and pulling you in. ‘Get the fuck in here.’

It wasn’t like the movies. There wasn’t a beeping machine, a screen counting out his heart rate, his breaths. He had a little tube up his nose feeding him oxygen but he wasn’t in a white gown, wrapped up neat and tidy under a woven blanket. He was lying, still in his boots, crooked on an old, rusted gurney. Your eyes travelled over him, taking stock; the left eye swollen shut, the abrasion to the cheek suggesting a fractured orbital bone, the red and purple swelling across his brow and up to his temple. The blood under his fingernails, the makeshift splint trying and failing to straighten his obviously broken wrist. You stepped forward and opened his shirt, scanning for more injuries across his skin, found a deep gash in his side and countless bruises, something mottled and purple underneath his ribs. Like he’d been kicked while he was on the ground, while he was already down.

You felt a flash of anger, tears spilling over your cheeks. He was out cold, pale and shivering, and you raised your hands to his midsection, felt the wound there, deep and angry and so close to his spleen.

‘We checked him already, he’s not bit,’ Dougie said from the doorway, and you wiped at your face, set your mouth in a line, intended to turn and address him but couldn’t move from Joel. You felt Ellie standing at your shoulder, observing you as you checked him over. ‘He’s going to need half the supplies they brought back with them,’ Dougie said, laughing a little as if this was funny.

‘They got them?’ Ellie asked, and Dougie nodded to her.

‘Some are dangerously expired, but others are just…expired,’ he said. ‘I gave him some of the morphine, even though he was already out.’

‘He has a head injury,’ you pointed to his collar where dried blood was staining the pillow brown. ‘Are you sure that’s safe?’

‘I stitched him up,’ Dougie said, defensive.

‘What if there’s internal…’ and you stopped yourself then, because Ellie was in the room, and her eyes kept swivelling back to Joel, back to his body, back to the blood. ‘The mottling,’ you said, without further explanation, in the hope that Dougie had managed to find that part of the textbook.

‘We don’t have many options, if there is,’ he said, and you felt yourself get woozy.

‘What have you done so far?’ you asked, and Dougie just stared at you for a second, and you were going to throttle him, actually kill him in this place of healing, if he didn’t answer at least one question properly in the next twenty seconds.

‘We can give him a transfusion, keep his blood pressure up.’

‘Tommy,’ Ellie piped up. ‘They’d have the same blood right? They’re brothers.’

You nodded at her, and she ran from the room. In her absence, you turned to Dougie.

‘Tell me,’ you said, simply, and he sighed.

‘It’s a wait and see game,’ he said. ‘If there’s serious internal bleeding we’d need to operate but…’ you looked around the room, observed the notable absence of a sterile field.

‘I can’t,’ you said, and you weren’t totally sure what exactly you were referring to, but that didn’t make it any less true.

Joel stirred in his sleep, just enough for you to swivel around to him, plant yourself down on a chair and grab at his hand.

‘Joel,’ you said, not sure if he could hear you, hoping he could, hoping he wasn’t in any pain and knowing it was impossible that he wouldn’t be. ‘Joel, I have Ellie, and she’s doing so well,’ you said, murmuring into his unresponsive face. ‘I have her, Joel, so you just rest, OK? You just get better.’

You reached up and gently, carefully, put your hand in his hair, rested it over his right temple, seemingly more intact than the left.

‘We just need you to get better, Joel,’ you said. ‘We all do.’

You thought for a second you heard a grunt under the gentle rhythm of his breath. ‘Be OK, baby,’ you said, one hand in his hair and the other gripping his. ‘Just rest, and be OK.’

Tommy’s transfusion raised Joel’s blood pressure, which was good but also indicated that he had lost a lot of blood. Dougie showed you how to check his blood pressure manually with a cuff and a watch, and you kept an eye on it every hour. If it kept dropping, there was likely internal bleeding.

It remained stable through the night.

What had happened out there became clearer as the morning progressed, as the other riders were patched up. The group from Jackson had managed to find the pharmacy, had cleared it out and secured the perimeter, before turning back the way they came.

The remaining raiders, those who had managed to escape their pet clickers, had been tracking Marla’s path back to Jackson. They had seen how well-equipped Marla was, how strong Jacob had been, how well he had been able to muster up a defence. They’d figured that meant they were well fed, well stocked, that there would be somewhere worth pillaging if they could get to it.

They were young but they were clever, probably only just born on outbreak day, and they’d managed to circle the group before Joel had noticed them. He’d shot one of them point blank, rearing his horse back to try and get to the others before they could clock what was happening, but the younger men had been quicker. He’d fallen from his horse, or maybe shoved off, it wasn’t clear in the chaos, and they’d tried to drag him, pulled him by the arms away from the group, stomped on his ribs a few times. He’d fought them the whole way, scoring a couple of gashes to his chest and abdomen in the process. It was only when the dust had settled, when the three raiders were dead and Joel was struggling to mount his horse, seemingly unable to coordinate his limbs, that they noticed the blow to his head. He’d been woozy, then, stumbling over his words, but they’d managed to get him upright on the horse enough to limp back to Jackson. They’d almost made it back when Joel blacked out completely, falling forward into his horse’s neck and not sideways, this small stroke of luck possibly saving him from an even worse fate.

You listened to all of it, this breathless retelling of actual and near death. You could hear, even through the exhaustion and the pain, the awe the second expedition party held for Joel. That he had seen the raiders, maybe heard them, maybe smelt them, that he was so fast on the draw, so accurate with his shot, so quietly deadly. That he had gone down swinging. That he had come back up.

These stories drifting down the hallway to you, to where Joel lay. Your eyes raked over his body, his wrist now properly splinted and bandaged, his wounds sewn up. He drifted in and out of consciousness, aided by the expired morphine, but he tended to come back to the world fighting. The first time he’d nearly knocked Ellie off the end of the bed, had ripped the breathing tube out of his nose so hard he’d permanently bent it, had been wild eyed and terrified and so lethal, so deadly, as you grabbed his face and turned it to yours, told him where he was, told him who he was, while Dougie injected more drugs under his skin. After he had slipped back under, you liked to imagine that before the drugs he had been relieved to see you, that you had eked out a measure of comfort for him, that he knew you were there, that he wanted you to be.

The second time you sent Ellie away. It was late and Joel was finding new and creative ways to swear the infirmary into the ground, and you could sense the worry in her. You reassured her you’d stay with him, that you didn’t need anything to eat, could sleep in the chair by the bed. That she shouldn’t have to see this, that she didn’t need to hurt herself just to keep him close. You would do that for her. You would reach into yourself and carve away a space for him. Keep yourself hollowed out and aching, should he decide to make a home between your ribs.

You had already decided that when he woke properly you would leave him there, go and get Ellie and Tommy. Not intrude on the family. Go and sit in your little kitchen and run your fingertips over the kitchen table, let the wood grain catch on your skin, scrape the cells from you where you had held his hand.

You didn’t expect to sleep, so you startled awake, confused and aching in places you didn’t know you had from the stupid fucking chair, when Joel stirred again. Judging by the darkness it could only have been 3 AM, maybe 4. You steeled yourself for whatever destruction Joel was about to bring down on his own sick bed, lifted his hand in yours to your cheek, rested your face in his palm, hoped the weight and the heat of it would settle him, would ground him. You heard him clear his throat. This time, however, he was just exhausted, just himself.

‘I can go,’ you offered, too quickly considering he was still orienting himself, and you cringed, started to backtrack. ‘You’re in the infirmary,’ you started again, collecting yourself, watching his face for any hint of fear, any hint of anger.

‘Ellie,’ he croaked, his voice dry.

‘She’s staying with me, she’s OK,’ you said, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and then pausing, doubting, dropping it instead to the pillow.

‘Thirsty,’ he grunted.

‘Oh,’ you said, immediately snapping upwards and nearly knocking yourself out on the lamp over the bed. ‘Right, of course.’ Dougie had brought you water and a packet of dry ramen noodles approximately seventeen years past their use-by-date. You poured him a glass, cradling his neck to help him angle himself to drink it. You felt the heat of his skin on your arms as you lifted him. You didn’t think about it. Not at all.

‘Do you hurt anywhere?’ you asked, and he grunted at you. You knew it was a stupid question, and you tried again. ‘Do you want me to get Dou…the doctor, to get you some more drugs?’

‘Not yet,’ he whispered. You leant in close to him so that you could hear, and he fixed you then with a gaze sharper than anyone who had been unconscious for as long as he had should have been able to. ‘Makes me fuzzy and I want to…’ he trailed off, his eyes scanning your face.

‘I didn’t come to you about Marla because I think you’re a killer,’ you said, realised you had been waiting to say it to him, hoping he would wake up so you could finally set him straight. ‘I came to you because I knew you wouldn’t be cruel. I knew you’d do it well. Respect her.’

He lifted an arm as if he was going to cradle your jaw in his hands, but his face shifted into pain the moment he moved. You realised his ribs would be screaming in protest, and you grabbed his arm and forced it back to the mattress. ‘Don’t,’ you said, ‘it’s OK, I’m here.’

Joel turned his eyes to the ceiling, and you could tell that he was hurting. ‘I’m going to get you the drugs, you can’t just lie here like this…’ you said, standing up again. He grabbed your arm to stop you turning away from him, his grip strong, as he kept his eyes on the ceiling.

‘Ask me why,’ he grunted, through gritted teeth.

‘Why what?’ you asked, and saw the way he was bracing against the pain, felt a shot of frustration with yourself for prolonging it with your stupid fucking questions. ‘Why?’ you asked him.

‘Wanted to be a good man for once,’ he said. You sucked in a breath. ‘For Ellie,’ he went on, closing his eyes. ‘For you.’

You could feel something coming loose in you, a snapping of a hinge, the whine of a rusted and long-abandoned cellar door.

‘Joel,’ you said, because there wasn’t much else you could say in that moment, trying so hard to hold down the stirring turmoil in your chest. He held up his hand to stop you, almost waving you away, and you knew it was because it was hurting him to stay awake, hurting him to say it out loud, hurting him to hear you upset and not being able to soothe it for you. So much hurting in this bruised, bloodied body.

‘Let me…the drugs,’ you said, pulling yourself away from him, feeling his fingers grasp for you. ‘I’ll be here when you wake up,’ you reassured him, his eyes closed and his jaw tight. ‘I’ll be here,’ you said again, saw him nod, took the permission to finally, finally relieve him.

You weren’t there.

Couldn’t bring yourself to be, unnerved by the way his gaze snapped to yours, the way he had grasped for you, the way you felt the fracture of something vital, something that had kept you alive all these years. You sent Ellie in first thing in the morning, told her that he was calmer overnight and that you needed a proper sleep, set yourself up on the couch and tried not to think about it, tried to close your eyes and let sleep take you, felt it abandon you like you’d just done Joel.

You figured he wouldn’t remember it, what you had promised him, what he had said. The morphine would wash it away, would cleanse it from him. You would need to carry it, feel it sloshing around against your legs as you walked, but you were OK with that so long as it was only yours.

You busied yourself, cleaned up a little around the house because living with an un-housebroken teenager was a challenge in itself, went to the mess hall and bartered for a loaf of bread and a parcel of butter no bigger than a quarter, wrapped up in grease paper. That butter was going to cost you two massages but you knew Ellie preferred it, that without it there was so little flavour you could offer her.

You thought about going to Maria’s, thought about lifting Robin’s forehead to your lips and feeling his gentle, simple warmth thaw you out. But you worried Tommy would be there, that he would ask you why you weren’t with Joel, that he would ask you why had been, why you’d spent nearly three days at his bedside only to abandon him the second he was vaguely aware you were there.

You didn’t know how to explain. You couldn’t even get it straight in your own head. You wanted to cower from it, the strength of it, the weight. You took the back way back to your house, hoped you would slip out of everyone’s mind if you stayed out of sight.

Tommy was on your doorstep when you got there. Of course he was.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ he said, simply. You felt your shoulders drop, the defeat ripping up your spine, and you shrugged at him, your bottom lip wobbling.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ you said, simply, the six words that could kill you in an apocalypse. Tommy didn’t pretend not to understand. He took the packages from your arms, left you standing on the porch while he went inside and set them down. Came back out carrying a warm jacket for you and a cushion from the couch.

‘That damn ‘firmary chair is awful,’ he said, and you gave him a watery smile. ‘He’s askin’ for ya, so that’s what we’ll do,’ he said. You nodded at him. He took your elbow, led you down into the town.

‘It’ll be Spring soon,’ he said, making conversation, as you sniffed into the midday cold. ‘Jackson’s so beautiful in Spring, the wildflowers, the new leaves on the trees. You’ll love it.’

You nodded again, barely listening, wondering if you would ever be able to form actual sentences again. ‘S’new life,’ Tommy went on, ‘everything feels new. Like comin’ out of somethin’. Like a crack under the door where the light gets in.’

‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ you said.

‘Which part?’

‘All of it,’ you answered, sweeping your arms in front of you.

‘Well, you gotta do somethin’, so it might as well be this,’ Tommy said. It occurred to you that Maria’s ability to drop truth bombs at exactly the right moment was rubbing off on Tommy. You’d need to have a word to her about it.

Tommy led you into the infirmary, as if you didn’t have the place mapped like the back of your hand at that point, and down towards Joel’s room. He stopped at the door, and you realised he’d come as far as he was going to go. You looked at him, hoping for some final wisdom that might push you over the line.

‘What if he’s mad at me?’ you asked, feeble and weak.

‘He’s askin’ for ya,’ Tommy said, one last time, and you finally understood. You felt prickling heat at the back of your eyes, but Tommy had the good grace not to mention it, not to try to comfort or soothe, knew that it would make it worse somehow, bring it too close. With a shaky hand, you pushed open the door.

Joel was propped up, awake and gazing out the window at the street. He turned to you as you walked in, and your breath left you. The swelling around his eye had gone down, he was already looking less purple and bloodied than the night before, was more alert, was more him. You paused in the doorway, took him in as he waited for you.

‘Hi’, you said, barely above a whisper. You were gripping your hands in front of you, shivering in the doorway. You waited for him to yell, to thrash, to chew you out for leaving him to wake up alone and in pain.

You didn’t expect his eyes to mist over, for his bottom lip to tremble. For him to be soft, for him to need you.

‘C’mere,’ he said, lifting his good arm up to beckon you, and you fell into the four steps to him, launched yourself at his bed, gripped him by the waist and lay your head on his good shoulder, ignored his sharp intake of breath as you jostled him. You felt the tears spill over, your face tucked into his elbow while he ran his hands through your hair, and he held you as you sobbed into him.

This time, you knew it was for all of them. For the entire balance sheet, for the grand tally. For your parents, for Marla and for Ray, for Maria who so very much reminded you of your sister, for nearly losing Joel, for Ellie tucked up in your bed pretending she wasn’t counting the seconds until his return. For the love you held for all of them, your collection of losses and grief, for the realisation that all this time you hadn’t been feeling the absence of love but the presence of it, its full force, that it hadn’t gone anywhere, that so long as the love stayed so did they, in just enough of a way to sustain you.

‘M’sorry,’ you muttered after a while, trying to pull back. He held you firm to him, his chin on the top of your head.

‘Scared ya, I guess,’ he said, and you could only nod.

‘There’s so much that scares me,’ you whimpered, and he grunted his agreement.

‘M’scared too,’ he said. You raised your head to look at him, to understand, and he gazed down at you. ‘This is somethin’. Right?’ he asked, his voice giving out on the question.

‘Think so,’ you said. He smiled, warmly, down at you, lifted a hand to rub at his face.

‘We did it arse-backwards,’ he said, and you waited for him to explain. ‘Haven’t even dated ya, and here we are clingin’ to each other like…’ He trailed off, and you weren’t sure how you wanted him to finish that sentence, were sure you just wanted to continue to rest your head on his chest while he spoke, wanted to hear the timbre of it, feel the resonance.

‘Like it’s the end of the world?’ you finished for him, eventually. He chuckled.

The two of you fell into a silence, a warm one, a silence filled with all the words you were going to get to say to each other, when the time was right.

‘Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?’ you asked, after a long while.

‘Don’t need you to do anythin’ more than you already have. Just be patient with me, baby. S’been a long time since I felt this’ he said.

You reached over and took his hand from where it rested on his belly, turned his fingers over in the grey light from the window, examined the cracks, the swelling, the cuts. You lifted a knuckle to your lips, tasted the copper across your tongue, the tang of it, the life under his skin.

Gently, so gently, you held him there, felt his pulse against your skin, felt his body give, the tension in his muscles unspool. Heard his breathing slow, his other arm gripping tight around you. You let your eyes drift close, not having to see him to know that he was right there, in this moment with you. That he was with you, that this was the two of you.

That you had his touch. That he had yours.

Taglist:

@orcasoul

@archofimagine

@hiroikegawa

@ilovejoel-andjavi

@giggly-otter

@harrysrosetatto

@Hjzghi-blog

@daddy-dins-girl

@kathaaaaaaa

@anoverwhelmingdin

@pedropascalsbbg

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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nicosraf · 2 months

Note

i’m sorry that because of one person’s horrible actions you (and others in the space) feel they have to justify themselves and who they are. it’s grossly unfair and i can’t imagine how it must feel for you. i hope it’s a reassurance that we trust you and believe in you and support you. sendings hugs your way, i know this must be such a difficult day 🫂

Thank you.You know, when this came out, I didn't even think that someone would accuse me of lying, and it was actually a friend who warned it might happen. I said I wasn't worried; the idea sounded nonsensical to me.

I don't use Mexicanness as a marketing tactic in either myself or my books particularly. I'm actually pretty critical of "Mexico" in my fiction; my short story Midnight Invitation is about a mestizo guy sleeping with a white settler, and The River Boy is a pre-Colombian story. I have a lot of love for my culture, but I also critique it. I was actually interviewed last year on "latin fantasy" but I refused to shared the completed article because they cut out what I insisted they keep in: I think most of the popular "Latine fantasy" books have an huge indigenous appropriation problem.

I have a small suspicion that the main person who attacked me was Taylor trying to "take me down with them" because they know I don't want to show my face, but I've shown my face to other author colleagues and more importantly I think I have ways to "prove" I'm Mexican that aren't my actual body or skin-deep (ha) references to Dia de Muertos or Chocolate abuelita, how Taylor/Freydis attempted to do on their old race-faking account:

I have a tie to a specific place in Mexico with a specific culture within a specific time, with a specific language even. And culture isn't that vague aesthetic anglo-white people believe you partake in sometimes, it tends to come with real, constant material conditions.

And I can talk about those conditions just fine; I can talk about what Felipe Calderon's failure of militarization in Mexico, and I can talk about the issue of Mexican-American ICE recruitment in Mex-Am enclaves along the southern border. I can talk about very specific experiences of being told "Ta-ta-ta-tamaulipas!" by the border patrol. So on and so on.

I'm sorry for this essay, but I keep seeing "how does this keep happening that the industry boosts a race-faker more than the actual racially-ethnically marginalized people?" It's because the industry (I'm including the wider white book community here) only want the aesthetic of diversity. They want a white experience and white understanding in a racialized trenchcoat and that's exactly what a racefaker is.

It's been difficult to learn that a friend turned out to be a complete monster and liar, but I'll survive this and laugh about it in time as long as Taylor doesn't bother me again. And if Taylor is reading this, I don't hate you. I just feel very sorry that you're spending your life doing this. Please don't bother me or anyone else again

#im sorry for all the essays yall #last one i promise #mine #ask #freydis moon #but thank you so so much #really thank you

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sgiandubh · 1 month

Text

JAMMF, 303

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser is today 303. Born to both strife and greatness, on Beltane Day.

Fictional characters never die for good, their energy keeps on lingering somewhere, in a corner of our heart. So, here's a heartfelt Happy Birthday to a formidable character that one day chose to possess Herself's imagination and brought us all together, in this strange digital limbo of sorts.

Despite his rock-solid appearance, JAMMF is a real chameleon. My favorite JAMMF is perhaps the least talked about one. The Diplomat. Of course.

This guy, playing chess at Versailles (in reality, it's Prague, and a sizably different kind of Baroque, but let's not nitpick, here). A wonderful metaphor for what diplomacy was, is and always will be: a sophisticated game of chess.

While in Paris, JAMMF is acting, in plain sight, as a diplomatic agent of sorts on behalf of Bonnie Prince Charlie's embryo of a government in exile. Desperately hoping and fruitlessly waiting for more. And making a very bad, emotional job of it all, when emotions are least needed, despite all those best laid plans. Still, he does exactly what a diplomat posted abroad would do. He meets all the important honchos, he brilliantly entertains all those people at his open table, he mingles with princes and beggars alike and of course, he dutifully reports in writing about all this, back to Scotland.

It is, therefore, a pity and a shame that Herself did not utter a single word, in Dragonfly in Amber, about the real Jacobite meeting place in Paris: Sorbonne's Collegium Scoticum/Scots College, or Collège des Écossais, founded in 1333, by an edict of the Parliament of Paris (what we would call today the local council) and as a belated, yet important consequence of the Auld Alliance treaty between France, Scotland and Norway:

This is a place with a rich and minutely documented history, so much so that the adjoining street soon came to be known as the rue des Ecossais (Scots' Street), instead of rue des Amandiers (Almond Tree Street).

The building is still there, albeit with a different destination, a private Catholic elementary school. And a plaque inside the main building tells part of the story, in Latin:

Meaning:

In 1325, under the reigns of Charles the Fair, in France and Robert the Bruce, in Scotland, David de Moravia, bishop of Murray founded this college. In 1604, Jacques de Bethun, archbishop of Glasgow made a seminary out of it, given to the perpetual administration of the Carthusian Order's Superior of Paris [later edit, forgot to translate that properly and the French version I eventually took out is incomplete, sorry!]. In 1639, the whole was placed under the authority of the King of France and the Archbishop of Paris, their supreme authority being solemnly ratified by the Parliament of Paris. In memory of the founders, the priests and the alumni, may they rest in peace!

[Later edit]: the eight year difference in records reflects the time it took for the Parliament of Paris to acknowledge the College's existence and offer its due legal protection. So: founded by the bishop of Murray in 1325 and legally authorized by the Parliament of Paris in 1333. Both dates are legit founding landmarks and can be quoted accordingly.

#fandom #OL #Scotland #Paris #Jacobites

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bratzforchris · 8 months

Text

Latin and Pentagrams

Summary ⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆: A night of studying turns into something much darker when you stumble upon an old Latin book and end up summoning something less than human

Pairing: Demon!Calum x feminine!reader

Warnings: 18+ content (this is much darker than my other works, minors dni!!!!!), horror/scary themes, religious-ish imagery, teratophilia (attraction to monsterfucking/non human characters), fingering/handjobs (f and m receiving), p in v, orgasm denial, size kink, overstimulation, pet names, thigh riding, temporary body modification, fluffy ending (i think that's all but let me know if i missed something!)

Word Count: 7.4k

Note: This is much different than what I normally write, so I hope you all enjoy! This was somewhat inspired by my conversation with a friend a few days ago about taking AP Latin in high school so! Inspiration! I plan on trying to get a few more Halloween fics up 😈

☾

“I actually can’t believe you’re studying tonight, Y/N.” Your best friend, Gaia, said, rolling her eyes and giving you a light, playful shove.

“I have a big Latin exam tomorrow,” You sighed. “You know that.”

“You can have one night of fun, Y/N.” she said, giving you the “pleaseeeeee” eyes.

“Latin is my hardest subject. Besides, I hate parties. I’d rather enjoy Halloween with a candy bar and some movies.” You mumbled, running your finger across the stick-and-poke pentagram tattoo you’d given yourself in eleventh grade.

All your life, you had adored travel and studying the history and culture of other places. The day you’d gotten the offer to exchange at University of St. Andrews in Scotland was probably the best day you’d ever had. But there were days, like right now, where you wondered if it was worth the sacrifice. You didn’t get “breaks” as an exchange student, especially if you went to a university as prestigious as this one. Being a History major, with a minor in Classics, wasn’t quite the field for going easy on the studying. You would’ve loved to go to a smaller Halloween party with Gaia and a few other friends, but in your head, duty called.

“All Hallows Eve, you mean? Be a proper Scot.” she chuckled in her Scottish accent.

“Yeah, sorry. See you tomorrow?” You offered, shoving your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

It was beginning to grow dark and the chilly, crisp breeze was blowing the orange and red leaves across the damp sidewalk, creating the perfect autumnal and slightly bewitching aura for the night. You two had been sitting on the steps of the main campus library, discussing your classes, the upcoming holidays and everything in between, but now, you could see the urge to go party etching itself onto your friend’s face.

“Duh,” Gaia giggled, standing up and giving you a hug. “You going in there to study?” she questioned, craning her head towards the giant, regal-looking, cobblestone building.

“Yeah…” You gnawed on your lip, antsy to get to your studying. “It’s the only place that has the books I need.”

“Well, don’t get to summoning any demons or spirits tonight,” she booped your nose. “When you do the ‘o, s, t, -mus, -tis, -nt’ thing for present tense endings it sounds like a fuckin’ pagan chant.”

“I won’t, I promise,” You hoisted your backpack up onto your shoulder. “Now, go have fun.” You turned Gaia’s shoulders so that she could march down the stone steps.

She waved goodbye to you, hurrying down the steps and across the quad. As you watched her leave, a feeling itched its way into your skin, burying deep inside your bones. It wasn’t quite melancholy, but you felt yourself wishing that you could tag along to the parties, even if you didn’t enjoy them all that much.

You shook your head, getting rid of all those angsty thoughts. Giving your tattoo a quick rub with the top of your pointer finger, you marched up the stairs and unlocked the door, walking into the library, breathing in the smell of carpet and old, musty books. Being a student employee had its benefits some days, and access to the library after hours and on holidays was definitely one of them. You flicked on the light by the front desk and sat down, taking it all in for a few moments before pulling out your supplies.

The library was old and had the aire of a medieval castle or church, what with its stained glass windows, large chandeliers over every table, and beautiful, soaring woodwork carvings. You kicked your old, crusty Converse up onto the desk and chuckled as you replayed Gaia’s warnings in your head. Maybe it was the difference in growing up in Scotland versus your American upbringing, but she was always much more superstitious and believed in the supernatural more than you did.

For some reason, you remembered that old legend she had told you when you were a new student last year, something about how devil worshippers used to use this very library for their secret meetings back when the university first opened in the 1400s. You could almost believe now as you lit the candle on the desk with a lighter from your back pocket. The flame cast the desk in an eerie, orange glow, which added to the ambience of the flickering chandelier over table three and the blacked-out back of the library where you hadn’t turned the lights on yet.

You shook the thoughts from your head and pulled your laptop and books from your bag. The last thing you needed right now was to get off track because you were thinking about some silly legends. You began to run through your conjugations and tenses, reciting the lines to yourself. The Latin rolled off your tongue making you sound rather scholarly and a bit haunting if you said so yourself.

“Ugh.” You grumbled when you reached the portion of the study guide on the history of Latin and paganism.

You threw the book down on the desk rather angrily, but couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face when you read the bit about Latin in pagan chants and then looked down at the pentagram tattoo. It had been stupid at first, you poking the design into your skin just for the aesthetic. But now, the more you studied, the more you felt connected to the art. You decided to take a break from the studying, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening up Tumblr. The first thing you saw when you opened the app was a rather scandalous fanart as the header for someone’s fanfic. It showed a feminine reader fucking with a rather monstrous, demonic-looking creature. You smirked and bit your lip, crossing your thighs. You’d never tell anyone else, but monsterfucking was your guilty pleasure when it came to kink. There was just something about someone who wasn’t from this world using you for their own pleasure that turned you on.

You sometimes wondered what that would actually be like. Would it be the same as fucking with a human? You shook your head and clicked your phone off, placing it face down on the desk. Standing up and stretching, you looked around the library. It was almost the perfect setting for Halloween night. You looked down at your abandoned textbook, remembering what you’d told Gaia about the books in here. Maybe you did need a different book to help you study.

You pushed around the desk and trailed down the aisles of the library, using your phone as a flashlight, until you came to the 600s section where the university kept their history books. You stooped, running your pointer finger along the spines of the books. There were so many here that you could easily spend all night studying, but you knew you had found a perfect book when your finger landed on a thick, leather-bound book, spine inlaid with gold plating.

You pulled it out, staring at the soft, leather cover. It didn’t have a title, simply a pentagram on it in gold that matched the spine. You sunk down, leaning your back against the bookshelf as you flipped the cover open. The pages were browned, stained, and written on parchment. You gnawed on your lip as you realized that this was a true, historical book. You flipped past the cover page and shined your flashlight on the back side. There, in swirly, beautiful cursive it read “authored 1416” by someone whose name you couldn’t make out.

Why did your school’s library have this historical gem among the other, modern books? You shrugged, brushing it off and flipping through the book. The first few pages didn’t particularly catch your eye, just lines upon lines of Latin, as well as crude sketches of the gods. All stuff you had looked at and read before. You sighed, randomly flipping to the middle of the book. You felt a calling to that section for some reason. Maybe it was your boredom, or maybe it was the Halloween spirit bewitching you to do something different. You could see as you looked out the window while flipping the pages that it was completely dark now. The moon was high and full in the sky. You were definitely one for the aesthetics, and this was the perfect Halloween setting.

Finally, you reached the middle of the book. It had taken you a while to turn the pages because they were such delicate parchment, but now, the image before you was worth it. It was different from the other drawings in the book. The sketch pictured a hulking man, about eight feet tall, with bulging muscles. He had soft curls and a devilish smirk about him in the picture. He would’ve looked almost normal, despite the height, if it weren’t for the pointed horns curving from his head and tail protruding from his rear. He had sharp, knifelike claws on his hands, but there was something about him. He was sinfully beautiful.

The sketch was much more fine and detailed than the rest of the book. The Latin paragraph by his drawing was also much more detailed and beautiful than the sentences written previously. You noticed at the top of the page there was the name of your university, and you quickly read the paragraph, the Latin rolling off your tongue like you had been practicing for so many years. It was a set of directions, pointing you to the back of the library.

You pushed off your haunches, walking back to where the book was pointing you. You almost wondered if a Wiccan practitioner before you had walked this very path through the library. It wasn’t hard to believe; the library was centuries old. As you walked, you cradled the open book in your arms. Gaia’s tale about the devil worshippers in the 1400s rang through your mind as you realized when this book had been authored while walking. You didn’t exactly believe in anything supernatural or even devil worshippers, but you couldn’t help feeling a slight chill in your bones once you had reached the back of the library.

It was dark back here, much darker than the rest of the library. The only light shone from your dying phone’s battery as you hit a stone wall. You’d never been at the back of the library, and it was very clear hardly anyone else had either. The stones were damp and cool and cobwebs littered the corners. You read the passage again, running your hand along the rocks. You didn’t know why you were doing this. It was clear you had literally hit a wall. Maybe it was procrastinating that you had an exam tomorrow, or maybe it was the urge to do something for Halloween.

You looked down at your tattoo once more before reading the instructions on the book. All it said was to look for the sixth stone, in the sixth row, of the sixth column. Your eyes searched the wall before finding the stone and pressing it. Nothing happened. You sighed, going to turn away from the wall and walk back to the desk. You couldn’t wait to rub it in Gaia’s face tomorrow that the “devil worshippers” of the library were nothing but an urban legend.

Suddenly, the wall rumbled, two sides splitting to reveal a large wooden door with the same designs as the book carved into it. You stood in front of it, absolutely gaping. There was no way a stone wall had just split in half. There was no way there was another door inside the wall, leading to who knew what. You knew you should turn around, go back to the desk and continue your studies and then go home to your dorm. The last thing you needed was to get stuck in some old passage.

But you didn’t. Your subconscious pulled you towards the door, and you pulled the rusty, metal lock open. You coughed as the dust blew towards your face, beaming your phone across the room you had stepped into. It was small and earthen, almost like a prison cell, but it had an almost magical vibe to it. At the far end lay what looked like a stone hearth, and your feet pulled you towards it. You looked down at the book as you walked. This was where it had led you to, and now there were further directions for you to follow.

At the foot of the altar was another pentagram, and on the ledge were a few wax candles in bronze holders, a box of matches at their base. It was as if the matches had been placed there recently, but it seemed like no one had been in this room for decades. It lay dead silent and still, like a tomb. You picked up the box of matches, but nearly jumped out of your skin when the door that had led you here slammed shut. Looking down at your tattoo once more, you began to read off the passage from the book. The Latin spilled from your mouth like an incantation as you lit the candles and slid your phone into your back pocket.

As you did so, a warm, sweet heat curled through your core, blossoming in your tummy before traveling down to your thighs. You didn’t know what you were expecting to happen. Were you actually trying to summon a fucking demon? The feeling was wonderful and exhilarating, and you felt called to continue the chant as it ran down the page. Surely if you actually summoned the being there would be a way to banish him…right? You ignored the warnings on the page, written in red ink that looked suspiciously like blood. Demons probably weren’t even real; if anything, you’d get a good laugh at this later.

As you finished the words on the page, your skin began to prickle with goosebumps, the hairs standing tall. That had to be a coincidence. There was no way anything was actually happening. You were making it up, your mind bewitched with Gaia’s folklore and the spirit of All Hallows’ Eve. If warning bells were supposed to be going off in your head, they weren’t. The only sensation you had was your heart fluttering with excitement.

Just as you spoke the last word, an unnatural, purple fog flitted through the room, swirling about the chamber and ruffling the pages of the old book. It curled faster and harder until all you could see was purple smog, and the sconces on the wall firing to life on one-by-one, without you lighting them. Here you were, alone in a sealed chamber that no one alive knew about, summoning god knows what. Gaia’s playful joke about bringing a demon to life floated through your mind. Despite not being one to be superstitious, something supernatural was happening in this room. You should’ve felt scared, terrified, horrified, any antonym for excitement, but you didn’t.

As if you had been studying the passage for weeks, the Latin chant flowed from your mouth like you had memorized it, even though you’d only read it once. You repeated the lines five more times for a total of six with your eyes closed. When you opened them, the smoke had cleared somewhat. The only wisp of purple that you saw was slowly seeping out of the walls, being edged by an invisible wind. It curled towards the middle of the room, twisting in a tornado like shape, further and further towards the ceiling. You didn’t know why, but you covered your face with your hands. Maybe it was fear of nothing actually happening. You had fallen asleep at the desk while studying and would wake up in a few moments to nothing but an empty page on your computer.

After a few moments, you uncovered your eyes, seeing that the smoke was beginning to fade away. All of what had just happened was blocked out when you noticed the absolutely enormous figure standing in the middle of the etched pentagram, the sconces casting him in a warm, orange glow. You fisted your eyes once more to just make sure you were really seeing what you thought you were. The half-human, half-mythological creature came into view, standing before you regally. He was even more intimidating in person as he stared down at you with dark eyes, but the only way your body responded was through a heated moan.

The beast was absolutely huge. His shoulders were nearly as broad as you were tall, with bulging muscles and unholy pecs. His skin was tanned and littered with inked tattoos, depicting battles he’d won and scenes from his tales. His black curls fell to his pointed ears, serving as a bed for his red horns. Your eyes caught on them for a moment, taking in how they were wider at the base but curled upwards, ending in knifelike daggers that scraped the ceiling. He was probably nearly eight feet tall, covered in muscle all over, but the thing that really made you heat up was his face.

His chocolate-brown eyes looked you up and down curiously as his plump, pink lips curved into a smirk that started at his cupid’s bow. Whoever this demon was, his face was littered with a bit of stubble and despite his uncanny appearance, you longed to kiss his face all over, feeling the hair and telling him just how beautiful he was. He was like something one could only dream of.

His chest was heaving with heavy, agitated breaths. His fists were clenched in front of him, but you could see the deep, black claws that jutted from his fingertips. Although his skin was a completely normal shade for a human, it was clear he was closer to a beast than any person. His legs were thick and muscular, but appeared human under the crude, burgundy, fabric shorts he wore. His bare feet were like that of an animal, more clawlike, the same type as his hands. The thing that stole your gaze the most, though, was the red tail, tipped with a pointed heart that protruded from his rear, flicking with arousal as the tent in his shorts grew.

“I…” You started, whimpering slightly.

You weren’t scared per say, but the demon was rather intimidating, both in stature and how capable he looked of pleasure. He cocked his head, his brown eyes growing lustful at the noises falling from your lips. The adrenaline of the situation had worn off and now you were gasping for air as you realized you had just summoned a magical, sinful creature. The demon stepped closer to you, tail curling behind him, eyes trained on you. Your body responded to his gaze by heating up, the warmth curling through your belly as you surveyed him. You didn’t question your body’s arousal towards him; you were so syrupy-sweet with desire that you paid no mind.

“It was you who summoned me, angel?” the demon asked once he was about three feet away from you.

His voice rattled through the stone chamber, a deliciously deep bass that snuck its way into your bones, settling there. You clenched your thighs together in your sweatpants as your clit began to throb with horniness. You craned your neck slowly, eyes traveling up his spectacular body until you met his face. Even with your neck leaned back so far, you just barely could meet the creature’s eyes.

“It was me,” You admitted, gnawing on your lip to keep any unwanted noises from escaping. “I…wanted to.” You said, picking your words carefully, fearful of how such a beast would react to what you said.

The chamber fell dead for a moment, the only sound being the demon’s breathing as he looked you up and down. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, or simply just curious. You wondered if he knew how someone summoned him, or if he simply just popped up wherever the spell called. Your question was answered when he spoke, that beautiful voice flowing from him once more.

“The book told you to summon me?” he asked, raising a brow.

You could tell now that he was more curious than anything, surprise making its way onto his features as you studied his face. You glanced around the room, mulling over your answer before speaking. You thought of the way you had skipped the Halloween parties, opting to sit in the library alone, the way you’d unusually ignored your studies to find another book, the way you’d skipped the rest of the book to look at the picture of the demon before you, and then follow the directions on it.

“Yes,” You said, your voice shaking. “I felt called to summon you.”

“Do you believe in the supernatural, baby witch?” he asked you.

“I…I don’t know,” You didn’t even recognize the voice that was coming from you, the words high and tinged with a mixture of fear and arousal. “I'm just letting the Halloween spirit get to me!” You said, backing against the altar.

The devil smirked, pushing his body against your own, pinning you to the altar. “Sweetheart,” he started. “I think a little more than the Halloween spirit calls you to summon a sex demon.” he growled.

The noise rumbled up from his chest and you tentatively lifted your head to meet his eyes. They had darkened to an almost black color, full of lust. His lips had a hungry look plastered across them, smirking when he met your eyes. His hulking body blocked out the light from the candles as he stood in front of you, casting his body in a warm glow. The light glinted off his white, razor-sharp fangs as he smirked, licking his lips with his forked, black tongue.

“I wanted to know what fucking a demon is like…” You mumbled.

“What was that, angel?” he asked, grabbing your chin in his hand and lifting it to meet his eyes. “You will not mumble when you talk to me.”

“I wanted to know what fucking a demon is like!” You yelped, backing impossibly further, your body jolting with fear, but a wetness growing in your underwear nonetheless.

Your emotions were an absolute jumble inside your chest. You felt fearful and nauseous with horror, but your desire to know the sinful creature was epically stronger. The dampness in your panties was only becoming more prominent, clinging to your skin and agitating your clit. The creature had caged you in with his humongous body, looking down at you.

“Well then, I’m happy to fulfill your desires.” the demon cooed.

He was practically salivating as he looked at you, moving his large claws to hold your body in place. He gave off such an air of power that despite the physical filling of the room, his personality was filling the chamber so tightly, blocking out everything that wasn’t him.

“I won’t hurt you, baby witch.” he said with an unexpected softness, stroking your cheek.

His gentleness shocked you, removing the fear from your body. As his body pressed ever closer to yours, you could smell his delicious scent, and you longed to bury your face in his glorious chest and never let go. The scent was like that of cigarettes and cherries, intoxicatingly sweet and a bit smoky.

“I’m not a witch,” You whispered, voice shaky. “You…you have me confused with someone else.”

“You summoned me by reading the Latin, I’m quite literally a demon, and you have this,” he reeled off, stroking the claw of his thumb over your pentagram tattoo. “All of that qualifies you to be a witch.”

The creature wasn’t really lying. All of those things qualified you to be a witch, or at least a beginner in practicing magic. You longed to go back in time and heed Gaia’s warnings about the supernatural and its creatures, but for now, you were enjoying the way this half-man, half-beast far too much. You nodded your head in a sort of acceptance, looking into his deep, chocolate eyes.

You weren’t sure if he smelled the fear melt from your body, or if the acceptance was written on your face, but the creature pinned you to the altar with his claws, his hips pressing against your upper body. He wrapped his tail around your upper thigh, almost like a garter, but to your surprise, it wasn’t cold and slimy like you had anticipated. It was warm and the heat made your body seize with arousal. You slowly relaxed into the touch, humming softly. His body was hotter than any human should be, both sexually and temperature-wise.

“Do you have a name?” You asked him softly, melting in his grasp.

The book had just called him “The Powerful One”, but if he was going to call you names like “angel” and “baby witch”, you thought it only fair to have one to use for him. He looked at you curiously, cocking his head as he searched your expression.

“I can’t share my name with you, pet,” he hummed. The noise sounded almost like that of an enormous lion, akin to a purr. He used his right hand to cup your face with intention, his claws scraping softly against the nape of your neck. “It allows those who know the demon too much power.”

“Oh…” You said shyly and a bit sadly.

After a moment though, the thought fleeted from your mind. The demon’s name was flowing further and further from you as you rested comfortably into his soft, burning hand. You blushed as you wondered if the rest of his body was like his chest and hands. Would he leave your own heat burning with affection?

“Angel,” he crooned, stroking your cheek to bring you back to reality. “I have been alive a millennia. That allows one many, many names. Rex, Dominus Potens, Magnūs. They are of your choosing." His voice was gentle as he spoke to you, almost like he was a human man speaking to his girlfriend, rather than a creature that spent his life in the depths of hell.

“King, Powerful Master, and The Great One?” You looked to the beast as the Latin translations sloppily rolled off your tongue.

He nodded, a soft smirk painting his lips. You would’ve expected a sex demon to be much rougher and less kind with you, but his softness was like that of a giant teddy bear. The soft personality that was stored inside that monstrous body just made you even more hungry for him. You wished to grind yourself against his body with erotic moans, but you chose to gently stroke his abdomen that was at eye level with you. A happy noise grumbled its way up from the devil’s throat, encouraging you to continue your motion.

“Dominus…” You said softly.

The demon gave you a nod of approval, making you utter the word again. This time it fell more smoothly from your lips, and you pushed yourself up on your tiptoes against the altar, wanting to know this magical beast. You were much too short to reach his lips, so you settled for puckering your own and leaving a kiss against his soft breast. His body heat ignited your own and you pushed yourself into him, knowing he would catch you.

You longed to kiss him, and the creature could sense the feeling from radiating from your body. He was much too tall to stoop and kiss you though, his horns scraping against the ceiling, so he opted to pick you up by the waist, settling you on his hip, almost like a small child. Once he was sure you were set comfortably, he didn’t give you a moment’s more to think before his lips were on yours.

The beast’s kisses were just like his personality; smooth and subtle, but with an underlying tone of something much more…promiscuous. Even though he was less than human, his empathy was like a wonderful, respectful man. He seemed to understand how small and fragile you were compared to him and he took that into consideration as he kissed you, his muscles bulging as he held you. He kissed you in such a frenzy that you felt high off his love, desperate for your next fix.

You whined, grinding yourself into his hip as a whine escaped your mouth. To this, the demon deepened the kiss, turning it into a full makeout. You felt his mouth curve into a smirk as you kissed him more fervently. His forked tongue was providing you with overwhelming pleasure as whimpers and gasps fell from your lips.

Whoever this demon was, his mouth tasted absolutely sinful. You had the urge to just let him rail you until you were beyond fucked-out. Your arms were wrapped around his thick neck as you cried out, practically riding his thigh. The feeling of the fabric rubbing against your clit, as well as the wetness in your panties made the movement pleasurable and you could tell the creature felt the same way. He was nearly growling, loud, erotic rumbles that burst from his chest in monstrous cries.

“Please,” You panted out. “Please, fuck me, magnūs.”

“Are you ready for dick already, baby witch? Am I that pleasurable?” he asked with a smirk.

You blushed, knowing your horniness was so visible, but you couldn’t be bothered as the demon’s own seductive noises just made your folds even more wet. “Yes! I am!” You cried out, riding his thigh frantically, trying to get yourself off.

The demon placed your back against the altar once more, one of his hands holding you in place and the other gripping you under the ass. “So, you want to know what it’s like to fuck a sex demon, angel?” he asked with a smirk, running his tongue over his pearly fangs. “Need to get off on my unholy cock? Do you think you’ll be able to take it all?”

You whined against him, eyes traveling to the tent in his pants you had seen earlier. It was only growing larger, flicking underneath his crude shorts in unison with his maroon tail. The demon snapped his fingers, and suddenly, he was completely naked. You could now completely see his cock, and a moan immediately left you. He was already leaking pre-cum, the deep red organ pulsing with arousal. You had the urge to immediately drop to your knees and suck him off, offering up worship as his cum poured down your throat.

“Do you think you can take it, baby witch? Or should I go back to where I came from? Forget this little rendezvous ever happened.” he chuckled deeply.

You knew you would have a hard time fitting more than the head of his cock in your mouth. He was as thick around as your bicep, and nearly as long as your lower leg. Even the monsterfucking porn you looked at and read sometimes hadn’t prepared you for him. The sight should’ve made you nervous about trying to fit him into your cunt, but it didn’t. You simply longed for him to insert himself into your heat, fucking you until you couldn’t take it anymore as you worshipped him.

“You came looking for me because you’re a slut, pet,” the devil teased you. “You love the idea of being stuffed full of demon cock, don’t you?”

It was like he was reading your mind, but then again, you were staring so blatantly at his dick, practically salivating. You began to grind your pussy against his chest as he held you, begging him to touch you in any way he possibly could.

“I can smell that you’re wet for me, baby witch,” he teased, but a tone of love laced his voice. “Are you ready to be split open on my dick?”

You nodded so quickly your head almost fell off. “Do more than that. Ruin my cunt. I’ve waited years to be fucked on a monstrous cock like yours.” You said, fluttering your lashes.

“Angels aren’t supposed to be filthy,” he hummed. “But if you desire, I’m happy to obey your wish.”

The demon unwrapped his tail from your leg and used it to slowly tickle and tease your wetness through your pants, before he suddenly snapped his fingers once more, leaving you completely naked as well. He continued to tease your pussy as he craned his neck, beginning to softly suckle on your nipples until they were standing tall. He looked into your eyes solemnly when he lifted his head, brown eyes filled with lust.

“Do you understand what it means to be taken by me, pet?” he cocked his head. “You will never be rid of me after this night. I will be embedded in you forever.”

“Don’t care,” You whined, shoving yourself into him. “Just need you to fuck me now, Dominius!” You cried, beginning to give his cock that was only growing larger with arousal a handjob, stroking the veiny dick up and down.

“Oh angel, you’re such a slut,” he chuckled, sliding one hand to insert into your heat. “Dom’t even care about the effects fucking a demon will have on you.”

You whined, practically riding his fingers already, to which he offered teases of how wet you were for him. Your hands had fallen away from his dick at this point, so pleased by his fingers that you tangled your fingers in his soft, black curls.

“Need you, Rex. Need your cock.” You whimpered, tears pricking your eyes at how sexually frustrated you were.

“Such a needy baby witch, aren’t you?” he hummed.

You nodded quickly, tugging on his curls slightly. You were so full of lust and arousal that you would’ve said yes or agreed to anything he asked. The demon added another finger to your hole, slowly sliding them in and out. He used his tail to alternate caressing your face and belly, humming softly.

“You need preparation for my cock.” he told you softly, explaining in a sort of way why he hadn’t pushed you to the wall and fucked you senseless.

You slid your hand back down to his shaft and ran your thumb over his head. His pre-cum was warm and wet, practically drenching your entire hand. You tentatively brought your hand to your face and licked it slowly and sensually, savoring the delicious, sinful taste of him. At this, your demon made a pleased noise, pumping your pussy faster.

“You need more than that, pet,” the beast told you. “Should I fuck your mouth so you can drink it like a sinner drinking holy water?”

You nodded so quickly, eager for him to go through with his words. “Oh please, magnūs.” You whined.

By this point, you were riding the demon’s fingers, enjoying the way his claws felt inside your sensitive, wet cunt. He wasn’t letting you get off that easy, though. Suddenly the creature pulled out and gazed at you with a playful grin.

“You didn’t think I was letting you get away with cumming on my fingers and not on my dick, did you, baby witch?” he raised a brow, taunting and challenging you. “I’m going to fill you with so much demon cock that you won’t know how to think and you will cum more times that you can fucking count.”

Your devil lifted you so that your pening was placed directly over his enormous length. You could feel your wetness dripping onto him, making the organ twitch with pleasure. He was so tall and big that you had to wrap your arms around his torso as he held you under the ass, claws digging into your plump flesh.

“Are you ready for my monstrous cock, angel?” he asked you, spreading your legs wider and placing his tip against your tiny, tight hole.

“Yes! Please, Dominus.” You cried out, rocking yourself against it.

Any of the fear or hesitation you had felt earlier melted away as the demon began to insert only the head of his dick into you. Even with his fingering, it took quite a few moments for him to fit all the way inside. You gasped out in a mixture of pain and pleasure once he was fully inside. It was unlike anything you had felt before. The creature’s dick was stretching your pussy beyond its limits, making you dig your nails into his skin.

“Shhh, take it like the filthy angel you are,” the demon cooed, thrusting deeper into you. “You wanted this, I know you can do it, baby witch.” he coached you.

You rocked your hips around him, trying to accommodate his massiveness. The only things falling from your lips were senseless sounds and whimpers as your body got adjusted to the feeling. “Feels amazing.” You slurred out, intoxicated with the ecstasy of him.

“Your poor little pussy is going to be absolutely wrecked, pet.” he chuckled, beginning to suck on your neck as he rode you.

The devil kept inserting himself into you, moving just wonderfully so that you could feel his dick nearly rearranging your insides. You didn’t know how much of him was left for you to take. Your walls were aching with the effort of taking him, but your demon was making you feel so good. He had taken such great care of your body and made it his own. You stared into his lustful eyes as he came suddenly, the same tingling sensation as when you had tasted his pre-cum filling your insides.

“Oh god,” You panted out. “Magnūs, please.” Your nails were wrecking his back as he held you, his tail tickling in between your thighs for even more pleasure in your sensitive area.

“Your turn, baby witch,” he cooed. “Cum all over my demon cock.”

You immediately did as he said, releasing so fucking quickly. The walls of your cunt tightened around his length, making you cry out. Your climax made your demon moan out, fucking you harder. With one last thrust, he shoved the rest of his cock into you, making you scream out in pleasure. You were fuller than you’d ever been in your life, and it felt amazing. The devil made a few erotic groans himself, shoving your hips down onto his dick to get the right angle for fucking you mindless.

You could feel his balls, bigger than any you’d ever seen, slapping against your ass, leaving the most wonderful stinging sensation. His tail slowly snuck to your slit, tickling your electric spot while pounded into you.

“It has been so long since someone summoned me,” he whispered huskily into your ear. “Thank you, angel.”

Just as he said that, he unloaded into you, your pussy being flooded with his cum. This time was more than the last and you screamed with pleasure, digging your nails into your back. The whole scene was hot enough that you immediately came around him, your walls clenching. The triple orgasm was better than any other man or toy could provide you. As soon as you finished, you slumped against his abdomen, panting heavily.

The demon chuckled, slowly sliding his cock out of you and sinking to the ground with his back against the wall, still holding you. His dick had softened and you were laying over it now, enjoying the warmth. He was much warmer than any human man was, and it was an enjoyable sensation. He stroked your back with his claws, giving you a wonderful massage, while his tail rubbed up and down your legs.

“You did wonderfully, pet.” he praised you, a purr coming from his mouth.

You blushed, going to snuggle into him but pushing when you felt yourself stopped against his chest. You slowly reached a hand up and touched your head with wonder. “I…I have horns!” You exclaimed.

“Did you read the terms and conditions at all, baby witch?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“No,” You admitted shyly. “You were just too sexy for me to care.”

Your demon laughed, kissing your forehead. “Don’t inflate my ego anymore than it already is, angel. But yes, there are certain terms and conditions. Your small, human body isn’t made to take a cock like mine, so my cum changes you to accommodate it. Look behind you.” he offered, giving your ass a smack.

“I have a tail!” You said excitedly, stroking the new, pink addition to your body.

The demon chuckled at how childlike with happiness you were. But he appeared a bit sad as he stroked your body up and down. “This isn’t permanent, angel. The summoning isn’t, so neither are the side effects.” he said, voice laced with sadness.

“Wait…you mean I’m never going to see you again?” tears pricked at your eyes.

You loved this demon with your whole heart and soul and you knew you were meant to be with him. That was the only explanation for everything that had happened this evening; the studying, the call to the book, the urge to summon this wonderful creature.

“You can summon me whenever you like, pet. But the summoning only lasts an hour,” he smiled softly. “After that, I go back to the underworld and your body goes back to normal.”

“But what if I don’t want that?” You were beginning to cry. “I want to be with you. Please don’t leave.”

The demon petted your hair, kissing your face softly. “You’ll see me again, angel. Summon me whenever you like.”

You craned your neck and began to kiss him fervently, not wanting him to leave you. “Please, I need you.” You moaned.

“Haven’t had your fill of me?” he chuckled, beginning to makeout with you.

You continued to kiss, enjoying your new features, until the hour was up. You said goodbye to your demon, kissing his lips softly and promising to summon him again as soon as possible. But just as he was dissolving into the same purple smoke, he looked at you solemnly before speaking.

“Calum. That’s my name, baby witch. Call me Calum.”

“Goodbye, Calum.” You whispered as he disappeared.

Your tail and horns disappeared with your lover, leaving you fully clothed in the empty, stone room, just like before. You clutched your hands to heart, promising yourself that you would summon Calum again as soon as possible.

✯ One Year Later ✯

You excitedly stood in your apartment, the same book from last year clutched tightly in your arms. This was the final time you would ever summon Calum for an hour. You both loved the wild, sexual nights, but you missed your demon during the day. You two had spent the last year practicing magic, with Calum’s getting just strong enough for him to pass as human for just under a year. He would be able to be his true form at home with you, but he had gotten so skilled that he would now be able to pass as your human boyfriend to your friends and family.

You chanted the spell just like that Halloween last year, but this time, you used your demon’s real name when you called upon him–Calum Hood. The same purple smoke appeared just like all those times before, but when the fog dissipated, a “human” man stood in front of you. Calum was about 6’2”, with those kind brown eyes that you loved so dearly. He still had his luscious curls and beautiful tattoos, but the horns, claws, and tail were gone for now.

He immediately swept you off your feet, spinning you around. “I missed you, baby witch.” he hummed, running a finger over your same pentagram tattoo.

“I missed you more, Cal.” You sniffled, on the verge of tears as you realized you would get to see Calum every day now.

You knew in your heart that Calum was still of the underworld, and that was what you loved about him, but you were ready for a new start. To be able to show off the soul you loved oh-so-dearly to the world. He would still have to go back to the underworld every now and then, but you were so happy you didn’t care.

“Don’t forget that I’ll always be your demon.” he smirked as you buried your face in his neck, breathing in that same, sinful scent of cigarettes and cherries.

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dicenete · 1 month

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Hey, I'm rambling about IkePri again

Okay, I just need to get these thoughts I have about Gilbert von Obsidian out because I enjoy predicting stuff and overthinking design and narrative choices even tho they might not be right. :P But there really isn't that much predicting other than me overthinking about narrative and design choices. This time there will be most likely spoilers of Gilbert's route so far, and route of Clavis and some thoughts I have just gathered while playing the game in general. I try to put these thoughts in cohesive order, but well... I don't know if I can really, because I just need to get these out of my head. These are my thoughts, ramblings and opinions. Feel free to form your own and certainly disagree with me! I apologize about the lack of art in this post. I'm busy with work currently so no fanart for a while. I'm also not native English speaker, so there might be grammatical errors and such. Sorry about that. Everything under the cut.

To start with Ikemen Prince is a romance visual novel first and foremost. That doesn't mean it can't be deep (and it certainly has been deeper than I initially expect, which left me positively surprised). I suppose there is somesort of thematic vibe that there is no prince whose ideals are the main thesis of the game itself. But that also kinda leaves that fact there is no huge catharsis regarding the world and it's state. Everything so far has been left quite open. And the more I have learned about lore of the world, I really feel like anti-monarchist here xd Clavis really sold me the idea for real. Or atleast throw away the absolute monarchy. That's where I think things should go, but that's my own belief. (really, the last king of Rhodolite... He umm... I have some opinions.) Chevalier and Gilbert First things first: I don't hate or dislike Chevalier as a character. There are just some things that give me Deus Ex Machina feels. But I know it is what they are going for with him. This genius that so far ahead of everyone that it is so alien concept to rest of the people. And well that is a very hard concept to pull off without being a genius yourself as a writer. Or that is what I feel like. But what I do love is what the writers are doing with him and Gilbert in thematic sense! (Hence why Chev x Gilbert sounds so juicy to me)

I really took steps to the deep end as I started to think about why I have enjoyed Gilbert's route or was interested in his story to begin with, but have little interest in trying Chev's one. Because they are so similar but they really aren't.

How I would describe it is that where as Clavis is the complementary to Chev, the purple to his yellow, the emotionality vs rationality, the heart vs the brain, Gilbert is more like right brain to Chev's left brain. If it makes sense like that xd Their color schemes are harmonious. Not opposite. Almost like how Nokto and Licht's color schemes are harmonious with each others.

(Nokto (Blue + white + gold) vs Licht (Blue + black + gold)) Not to mention that their names clearly are meant to mean light and dark. (Licht: variant for light, Nokto: comes form latin nox or noctis, meaning night = dark) But that is a rambling for another time.) Both their crests are tigers. White and black tiger. Chev's color scheme is White + gold and black. Whereas Gilbert's is Black + gold and white. But then the overall color that game devs use to signal about the characters baffles me a bit. Gold/Yellow vs Black/dark red. They don't seem to have too much connection or that of which comes to my mind quickly and without digging deeper. (because I believe that if you dig deep enough, you have digged yourself into a trap of overthinking about things. (Justifying things because you want to justify them, which I'm not big fan of. And sometimes things don't need meaning and we have to live with that. As much as it pains my overthinker brain.)) But here is my impressions about Gilbert so far. I'm at the point where MC has left the Clavis's party (I loved it btw). Gilbert really does give me toxic INFJ villain feels, but let's not get too hang up on terms such as that. But he is someone who is driven forth by his own ideals and desire to change the world better. He, like Clavis, seems to cloak himself in this idea that he is the villain and is okay, even happy, to take that role. He is the one who, like Chevalier, has thrown away emotional attachment out of the window (or so they say) unlike Clavis who makes his choices based more on emotion rather than rational thinking. Maybe that's why I like Clavis and Gilbert, they push MC out of their black and white thinking. That things are not so easy peezy as "choose a right king and everyone will be happy". There will always be someone who is mad about it. That's why I really loved the scene with Gilbert with the orphaned kids and the Clavis's party. He seems to enjoy the company of children (who are not morally corrupted or tainted) and he really empathically listens to those who are angry. He believes in the idea that "no one remembers what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel". (A quote with debatable origin, people say that it was coined by Maya Angelou. But I really love this quote, because I think it is the truth.) Gilbert isn't trying to rationalize against someone's choices with pure intellect. He uses empathy to guide him to the most rational outcome in that emotional scope. But he also uses this to manipulate people with fear. He uses fear extensively and he does it actively. Where as I feel like Chev just has that aura about him automatically. Hence my next thought: Action vs Stasis!

Gilbert and Clavis are action oriented. They shake the gameboard, they make the first moves. Gilbert probably more than Clavis. They both want change. Is it change for the better, we will see, I still haven't finished Gilbert's route but he really gives me this "I'm willing to become the greatest threat so that people unite to defeat me." or "I will conquer all so there will no longer be wars.". Chev, on the other hand, symbolizes stasis. His goal is to keep the kingdom of Rhodolite going. That's his duty and he is willing to take it. (even tho we can debate if that is something he really really believes in or even thinks about that much. I feel like it is out of obligation rather than of personal ideal. But alas, I have not played Chev's route yet.) Chev is reactive rather than proactive. He waits for the opponent to make the first move and reacts accordingly. (I'm not saying he is not reactive once game is on. More like "if there was not threat to deal with, he wouldn't create one".)

Chev doesn't care what you think about him. Gilbert does. He might seem like he doesn't but he is really there to prove a point. (I will pick up his dislike for lying later >.>) Chev is not. Chev knows that his way is the right way for him and that is enough for him. Chev also actively makes a "gettaway plan" for himself in Clavis. He knows that Clavis is the final thread that keeps him from going overboard because he understand that he has to be blind for "individual people" aspect to be a good ruler. Gilbert probably understands this about himself too, but he is trying to prove a point. So he needs to go overboard. Because masses of people need absolutes to react to. If it is something banal, it won't do. His evil actions need to shake the very foundation of ideas. The people have to face those things head on and see it for themselves. They cannot be sheltered. Gilbert gives me the vibes that he is willing to sacrifice himself not for the kingdom, but for the betterment of all mankind. He is happy to become the villain #1 if that means that other people will rise and take down the corrupted Obsidian or the corrupted idea. I would say that he is Lawful Good going on about things like Lawful Evil.

Gilbert asking questions means that he wants you to think, he wants to challenge your opinions and how you look at the world. Same as Clavis. They yearn for change. They want to change the world. Where as Chev wants to maintain things as they are. Chev "If it is not broken, we don't need to fix it" Michel. Where as Clavis and Gilbert want to improve the system. They are idealistic. Gilbert and lying

This is something very interesting. At first I thought that he was all "I dislike when people lie to me." but he really is "I dislike lying in all its forms." And he does say that he doesn't lie. And I'm starting to believe that is really the case. All the things he says are true. But because how other people see him, they are suspicious anyway. Like MC is. Like we all probably are when we start the route and think "So what is your trauma, baby girl?" When he is unsure or knows that he shouldn't say the thing he really thinks or that is true, he will deflect or give a very vague response. Which makes me quite happy to replay his route at somepoint with this in mind. In conclusion: Welcome to my TED talk, with no head or tail, just me overthinking about things about a otome gacha game. If you read this far, thank you for your time. Remember, if I ramble about it, it just means that I'm invested. Have a good day~

#me rambling about ikepri #dicenete rambles #ikepri #thoughts #gilbert von obsidian #clavis lelouch #chevalier michel #is this what they call a character study #or analysis #TED talk #ikemen prince

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punctuation-completionist · 8 months

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the interpunct (also known as the interpoint, also known as the middle dot, middot, centered dot, or centred dot) is a point that looks like this [·]! the interpunct is used for a variety of things, it has a super interesting history as being used *before* the space was used for interword spacing

take a minute for that to sink in actually. · <- this bad boy was around before the FUCKING SPACE (things were written more·like·this in classical latin) isn't that wild⸮

but, i hear you say, "but punctuation completionist, why should that matter‽ you have never reblogged a post in classical latin!" and to which i say. uh rude. i could if i wanted to dude. but secondly, there are actual uses in english (and also other languages too :)

in english, the interpunct is sometimes used in place of a decimal place in formal writing. it's also been used instead of a full stop (basically a period) in certain documents historically! it is also in twitter screenshots o noticed. that's the main reason i was thinking of doing this lol Ɛ>

in other languages though it has more important usages! firstly, it's used for gender-neutral endings in french (say as in the word "musicien", the gender-neutral form would be "musicien·ne" which has the masculine form with the interpunct and then feminine ending) which is important to me specifically but it's also used in many other languages such as catalan as the punt volat, used between two l's to indicate that it is pronounced differently than the double l sound (that prononciation being called the "ela geminada" & being pronounced more like the english l as opposed to a y sound)

it's also used in chinese, hokkien, tibetan, ethiopic, franco-provençal, modern greek (as well as the classical greek), japanese, latin, and MUCH more that i literally cannot go over because there are so many uses... like so many languages use it for real. if i were to guess right now while i am not looking at the list i would guess ~15–20 languages use it. that's a lot

mostly i am just asking because it's in some twitter screenshots though :/

. ? ! , : ; – — - [ ] { } ( ) ' " ... / < >

21/21

bonus:

‽ & ⸮ ~

4/16

#original posts #this was such a flex of punctuation i am sorry but also >:] i am not look at that skillful punctuation usage

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purpleender29 · 12 days

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So I just rewatched “73 yards” and although i still have no idea what was going on I have some thoughts and mini theories(did not expect the post to be this big, sorry both that)

So first thing to note, there is no opening theme song doesnt play at all, which marks the first of many mysterys of what on earth happened with the woman this episode. This most likely relates to the doctor just vanishing into thin air as soon as they reach the fairy circle as the show is called Doctor Who, and he is needed for the show to happen properly. A sort of crack theory I had is that the “showrunner”(see previous theory for more context, tldr potential pantheon member) took the doctor out of the episode when the woman started appearing cause if the doctor speaks to it, he will hate ruby and that would ruin the showman’s plans? Im also quite certain the showrunner didnt make the woman in the first place as i think they have some direct control over 4th wall breaking people, and Mrs flood who we see at the christmas special broke the wall says “Nothing to do with me” which could be a disguised way of hinting the showrunner has nothing to do with the woman.

Second, I dont think ruby is the woman, but more so was taken by them at the end of her life to absorb her I guess? and cause of pantheon wishy washy magic, old ruby is able to get to young ruby to stop it from happening again. I doubt this is a time loop cause if it was, ruby wouldn’t have mentioned 3 welsh visits the second time round, which means that the main bulk of the episode did in fact happen. It could be that when old Ruby “died” she could access the “tech room” and get young ruby to leave to potentially save the show. I also couldn’t find much on why 73 is significant, maybe one thing could make sense, is that it means “best regards” in telegraph code. Not sure how excactly it fits into everything tho. Also the snow happens quite frequently at the start of the episode, specifically at the cliff when the doctor vanishes as well as the whole susan encounter, and at the final chat between ruby and her adoptive mum. while outside the flat door, Carla says to ruby “Not even your birth mum wanted you.” ending the call and soon after snow starts. This could be ruby’s mum reaching out to her although she doesnt know it.

Final note, the actress for the woman, Hilary Hobson, doesn’t exist. there is no info on her and it seems to be a stage name for plot reasons like with Susan. Hilary means “cheerful” in Latin and Hobson from scandanavian origins means “Son of Hob”. The cheerful could just be an ironic twist as all the womans victims just scare them away from their places because of ruby, and the only dr who related Hob i found was a tin robot so im confused in regards to the name. Final sort of out of no where bit I promise, I think what the woman is saying to everyone is the Truth, the Truth being the fact that its a tv show, and they all play apart, and that ruby is some sort of demigod and is causing all the supernatural stuff to happen to begin with, and that this whole timeline is a sort of what if/warning for ruby to basically say that if people find out who she actually is, they will all hate and reject her, the first being the doctor as he always runs away.

Ok just thought of this last bit as I was typing this extra last paragraph, The toymaker on regards to his encounter to the one who waits says, “I saw it hiding and I ran”which could mean maybe that this thing could be the one who waits or at least related and it certainly did wait for ruby to finally perish before taking her so the showrunner and the waiting one could be different people after all.

Ok thats all I swear, thanks for reading all this extra long post, im also honestly quite excited for the next one too :)

#73 yards #doctor who #dr who #theory #doctor who theory #the one who waits #ruby sunday #hilary hobson

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kiwi224 · 7 months

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Spanish

Mike finds out that you are latin american and wants to test his Spanish skills on you.

Obs: Security reader, female reader, Mike Schmidt being cute and speaking spanish omg

It was another ordinary round at Freddy's. You casually ate a bag of snacks leaning against a wall in the main stage room while Mike slapped his flashlight, trying to get it to work again.

"Isn't it easier to buy another flashlight?" You scratch your head and grab another handful of snacks, receiving a dirty look from Mike. "That one is gone."

"This flashlight is really good, it just needs one..." He slaps the flashlight again and it finally lights up right in front of your eyes, making you groan as you cover your face with the brightness. "See? It's great."

"No, I didn't." You mutter sarcastically as you rub your still sore eyes, placing yourself next to him.

It's been a week and a few days since you started working at Freddy's Fazzbear Pizza. You needed money, and some crazy person with no other goals in life decided to hire not just one, but two security guards to inspect an old, dilapidated restaurant like that. You're not the one who's going to question it, since they pay some money and you needed it quickly.

But what made that place more bizarre was how afraid people were of it. You'd guess there's some kind of rumors about the place, making even your disheartened co-worker pay attention.

Sometimes it even made him scared, like now.

He turns the flashlight to a corner of the room, looking from side to side.

"What happened?" You laugh as you place the bag of chips on a table, turning on your flashlight. "Is there a haunting there? Those rumors aren't real, Mike. You're just trying to scare the poor new girl, like many people love to do..."

"Watch Foxy." He interrupts you with a shaky voice, almost making you start to really worry. "You wouldn't want to see him run."

You smack your lips and roll your eyes. What is this place? Do robots run now?

You move in the direction that terrifies Mike, aware that you won't let yourself be led away by yet another co-worker deciding to play a prank on you.

Or you just thought you wouldn't let yourself go, until you heard metallic noises coming from that direction.

Mike grabs your arm and you look at each other, terror starting to rise through your body in the form of goosebumps.

Damn, you should have listened to Mike.

"Du rum dum dum dum du dum..."

Holy shit, you should have fucking listened to Mike.

Mike's feet are faster than your reasoning, taking you to the camera room in a matter of seconds. When you enter and lean against the door, it finally sinks in that the fucking robot really runs.

"Puta que pariu, filho da puta do caralho, vai tomar no cu..." The curses in your native language come out instinctively, followed by your unregulated breathing. You feel Mike's gaze on you, not caring at all because, fuck, you guys just almost died.

You walk slowly until you practically fall into the chair, staring at Mike with wide eyes. "Okay, I promise I'll never doubt you again, I'm sorry, I swear I paid for all my sins today."

He has the courage to let out a laugh, walking towards you with his hand on his chest and unregulated breathing, leading you to think that he's not much of a runner.

"What are you laughing at?" You sigh, looking up at him. He smiles, and you're sure you'd be much more enchanted by that sweet smile if you weren't already terrified.

"Where are you from?" He sits in the chair next to you, sipping the iced coffee he abandoned hours before.

"Why are you asking me that?" You frown, slowly getting used to the calm that has now set in.

"I heard you say a few words just now. You know, when we had just arrived in the room." And you suddenly remember swearing at the fifth generation of that shitty robot in your first language. "Is that... Spanish?"

You shake your head and laugh in disbelief, leaning your elbow on the table. "No, it's Portuguese. Brazilian Portuguese."

He closes his eyes in confusion. "Do you speak Portuguese? I swore you spoke Spanish."

"You north-americans swear a lot of things." You laugh, taking a cookie from a package that has been open for who knows how long.

"What? Why do you say that?"

"Well, that's one of the reasons I don't usually say I'm latina." You mumble, chewing on the cookie. "Either foreigners will tell me something very stereotypical, like thinking that we all have pet monkeys and capybaras, or they will be extremely idiotic and prejudiced. Then, you know, I avoid it."

He nods, taking a cookie from the same bag. You spend some time in silence, leaving you curious about what he thinks about this, while wondering if he's going to say something absurd typical of poorly educated natives.

"I speak Spanish." He looks at you with a very serious expression, and you remain silent for a few seconds, absorbing the information.

"Are you serious?" You laugh and see him frown in confusion.

"Seriously, I've already taken some classes. But since you speak Portuguese, you probably don't understand it very well..."

"Of course I'll understand, Mike." You say like it's obvious, biting into another cookie. "Portuguese and Spanish are very similar, I will understand a lot of what you say. I can speak a little Spanish, as well as portunhol, which every Brazilian knows how to improvise a little." You laugh, leaning back in the chair, seeing him still staring at you, making you almost sink into the chair with those tired and cute eyes.

"And what the hell is portunhol?" The fact that he actually is very confused makes you want to laugh, while also making you happy that he's not being a jerk to you about it.

"Portuguese mixed with Spanish. It's often used on Brazil's borders with other Latin American countries, or in situations where Portuguese and Spanish speakers need to communicate. It's kind of difficult to explain, it's not just one language... It's a feeling."

He laughs and shakes his head. You continue: "But you still haven't proven to me that you speak Spanish. Come on, say something."

He nods, turning the chair to face you, making you nervous for some reason. Maybe it's because your handsome co-worker is all sweet and shows off his Spanish skills, or maybe it's because you have a slight crush on him.

He clears his throat and lifts his chin in thought, then looks at you again, pulling his lips into a restrained, but incredibly charming smile.

"¿Hola bella dama, cómo está?"

"Hi beautiful lady, how are you?"

You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, making you exhale through your nose with a smile, focusing your eyes on his again.

"Tu pronunciación es muy buena. Muy imponente, sensual..."

"Your pronunciation is very good. Very imposing, sensual..."

You only realize what you said when you see him lock his eyes with you, his face red. He clears his throat and tilts his head slightly with a smile so attractive it makes your stomach flutter.

"¿Crees que mi voz es sensual?"

"Do you think my voice is sensual?"

The way his voice sounds hoarse brings heat back to your cheeks as you shift in your seat, having no idea what to say next, all you can do is nod your head as he laughs at your embarrassment.

"Tu sonrisa es muy bonita."

"Your smile is very pretty."

You shoot without even thinking. He tilts his head with a frown, making you feel a little scared for fear that he didn't like it.

"What the hell is son... how do you say, sonrisa?" The americanized pronunciation of the word that comes out of his mouth makes you sigh and hold back a laugh.

"Sonrisa. It means 'smile'." Your eyes meet his softly, and you're sure he understands what you said when his cheeks redden and he looks away from yours, biting his lip in an attempt to hide his smile.

You see him run his palms over his pants and look at you, agitated. "There's a sentence... Can I... Can I try to say it correctly?"

You frown and say in a playful tone. "Go on, señor."

He adjusts his posture, opening and closing his mouth several times, as if to rephrase the sentence. He sighs and those sweet eyes lock onto his again, his breathing suddenly becoming uncertain.

"¿Estaría interesada una dama tan hermosa en tener una cita conmigo?"

"Would such a beautiful lady be interested in going on a date with me?"

Your heart races and your hands ring at the same time, making all your lines of logical reasoning freeze. You let out a crooked laugh and stammer out a response: "Yeah... That's a great phrase, you said it very well."

You see his mouth waver and his gaze stays on you for long minutes, making you finally sure that the question was really meant for you.

The most charming man you've ever seen, with the most charming voice you've ever heard, just asked you out in Spanish.

An inevitable smile appears on his face as he is painted in warm tones. You see that this wasn't enough to quell Mike's anxiety, which almost melted in front of him with worry, and this hurries you to respond, feeling warm inside.

"Sería un placer, chico hermoso."

"It would be a pleasure, pretty boy."

#mike schmidt #fnaf #latina #mike x reader #five nights at freddy's

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tethered-heartstrings · 9 months

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Hi sorry if I'm bothering you, I just had a question? I noticed that in season three (the first part, with the Italian names) (Italian is my first language) the names are out of order. Like, S3E2 being called "Primavera" (Spring) aside, we have "Appetizers" "Second course" "Apéritif" "Side dish" "Sweets" and "Digestive". And that's not the usual order?

You usually have Apéritif late afternoon/early evening, then you sit at the dinner table and the courses are: Appetizers, Main Course (which is replaced by Spring, but I enjoy the allegory), Second Course with Sides, Sweets and lastly Digestive (or coffee lol).

So yeah I was wondering if you knew whether there was any reason for this change?

Again sorry to bother, also I love you blog. Thank you very much and have a nice day :)

omg you aren’t bothering me at all this is a great question!

Let me start off by saying I do not know Italian, but I have some ideas as to the naming schematic.

“Apéritif” is the first episode of season one, and from what I looked up, an apéritif is an alcoholic drink used to stimulate the appetite. As it is the first episode of the show, it is meant to entice an audience to watch the rest of the show, so it makes sense that this episode is enticing the appetite of the viewer. Also, the first glimpse we get of Hannibal in this episode is him eating a meal, and as the titular character who has a particular appetite, we are kind of appealing to his appetite as well. And the first meeting he has with Will also indirectly stimulates his appetite and interest in Will as a person and his involvement with the GJH case and his decisions to intervene. Hannibal wanting to “see what would happen” is his appetite being stimulated. “Apéritif” is also a French word derived from Latin “aperire” which means “to open” which makes a lot of sense as it is the opening of the entire show.

The first episode of season 3, “Antipasto” makes sense as it is the first course of a meal, and thus the first episode of the season. “Secondo” I take to mean a second course, so pretty straight forward.

I wonder if “Apertivo” (aka appetizer) is next because we kind of go back in time a bit to Will being in the hospital and truly seeing how thing occurred, and not his hallucination with Abigail being alive. Like going back “before” the meal. We also see Will back in Hannibal’s kitchen, going back to where everything went down, but there is a peace there as if it was before it all happened. And Abigail is there, too. Granted, Will “knows” she is dead now, but it still feels like before when she was alive. Like Will is trying to take little pieces of life before, little bites of something more savory than the reality he is in. It is also before Will really confronts Hannibal again, seeing and talking to him directly. So maybe the use of “appetizer” is more of this episode and events in it happening before other things. The events of this episode happening before the “meal” episodes as it goes back in time a little bit.

While “Dolce” and “Digestivo” are in the “correct” order, I still want to talk about them. “Dolce” meaning sweet is so perfect because of the Uffizi Gallery scene, because it is so tender and perfect. And “Digestivo” is also perfect, because digestives are supposed to aid in digestion, and Hannibal was planning to eat Will. And not only could it be interpreted as literally helping the meal digest, but also the aftermath of having killed and eaten Will, having to digest the reality that not only is Will dead, but that Hannibal killed him. And that Will’s flesh is finite, and eventually there will be nothing left of him, and soon even the taste of him, the feel of him between his teeth, will be lost to Hannibal, nothing more than a memory.

I also found that bitter digestifs contain carminative herbs intended to aid in digestion. There are a lot of herbs that fall into this category, but two of them being parsley and thyme, which are herbs in the soup Hannibal spoon fed to Will while he was drugged prior to his head being cut open. Hannibal even says the soup is “more for my sake than yours,” after Will comments on how it isn’t very good. And I know that it technically happens in “Dolce” but the end of “Dolce” and beginning of “Digestivo” overlap and blur together a bit like they do. And in “Digestivo”, Will even comments on how he doesn’t have Hannibal’s “appetite”, thus tying it all in together a bit.

As a side note, I also love “Primavera” meaning spring, because this episode is another stage of Will’s becoming and his growth, shedding an old skin. We see a new perspective of what happened in “Mizumono”, and I think “Spring” is a very fitting title for this episode!

thank you for this ask and hope you have a nice day as well!!

#and THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK BTW this did not bother me at all #these are the kinds of asks i love #the ones that get my brain thinking #will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #dolce #digestivo #antipsto #aperitif #hannibal meta #murder husbands #hannigram #hannigram meta #anonymous #the curious clown

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whinlatter · 4 months

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author's note | chapter 12: scarecrow🪞

thank you soooo much for reading chapter 12 of beasts. january was long for all of us, but january 1999 was especially long for the worried youngest weasley, stomping around in the highlands snow going through that all too common and deeply humiliating experience: trying to get a text back from a man. embarrassing! pls know the response to this chapter has knocked my socks off and as a thank you i have given you many unsolicited words on mirrors, weird latin names, and thestral erections. to paraphrase movie molly weasley... just what you all wanted, actually! (plus the smallest of sneak peeks at chapter 13)...

✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut ✨

writing notes and headcanons:

curse you/bless you chapter 12: my god this chapter took SO long to figure out. not just because of real life ramp up (cheers again for being patient legends with this), but just because i couldn’t for the life of me decide how to structure or pace it, kept writing scenes then scrapping them or deciding to keep them for later then repeating that ad infinitum. it had about five different opening scenes til i figured out how it needed to start. i know a lot of fic writers will have discovered this long before i did, but it’s such hard work when you know what the arc of a chapter should be, what the main plot points that need to happen are, where the emotional beats should come, but need to actually write a lot of building-block scenes to create that sense of pace and mood to build up to the important scenes, as well as also weaving together plot-threads that need to happen at this point in the fic in order to set up the later stages. this is how i learned that writing a service/‘turning point’ chapter (and this is, in many ways, a turning point chapter for a lot of different plots) is really really hard. part of the trouble is that to earn the relief and the dam breaking you have to write so many little scenes to create a sense of build up, and because those scenes are sort of service-scenes it’s so easy for them to be boring to write and, usually, boring to read. some realisations about what needed to happen happened way too late (there were no governors in this chapter as of like january 28th lmao. i was out on a walk and swear i stopped dead on the path when i remembered that the governors exist and i could use em to start to add the state in a more meaningful way, and especially the encroachment of the outside world on the castle.) when i posted i was feeling VERY uncertain about the chapter and just wanted it to be out so i could move on from it so honestly the response to it has been like the biggest loveliest shock ever. thanks forever lads. the gems i've been left in the comment section and the askbox will stay with me for a long time.

mirrors: this chapter is structured around the idea of the mirror (sylvia getting us going with the poem, sorry you ended up kicking off a chapter in a harry potter fanfiction mate). it begins with little ginny unable to look herself in the eye in the leaky cauldron’s talking mirror (that freaks her out - where does the mirror keep its brain?). it ends with ginny holding the two-way mirror, looking her own reflection, then watching it fade into harry’s as the two of them finally speak and connect after starting, for the first time, to be properly honest with each other. partly this is me wanting ginny to have a different way to talk to harry, something more honest that doesn’t let her cultivate or craft false versions of her days in letters but actually speak face-to-face much more honestly, and that is harry showing he gets that writing is a more loaded act for ginny than it might be for others. but what i hoped to convey was the idea that the mirror has other significance. the mirror is such an important image and device in harry potter - the mirror of erised, that shows you who you truly are and what you really want; the chipped mirror in the girls’ bathroom that leads to the chamber of secrets, where malfoy will later break down when called upon to do crimes he can’t bear to (plus hermione carrying one to look around corners with the basilisk); the foe glass mirror that shows you when your enemies are close; the two-way mirror itself, the item with the most tragic irony (a lifeline to sirius harry doesn't use to devastating consequences, the portal to malfoy manor that saves the day and costs dobby his life) etc. “what do you see when you look in the mirror?” - it's a line dumbledore first utters in PoS, and that comes back in DH, when harry is grappling with the idea that dumbledore might have lied to him about the answer (the socks are convincing nobody). it’s such a good mission statement for some of the themes that run through the series at large: who are we, really, what is the contents of our soul, who will we be (it is our choices that define us etc). harry potter as a series is also full of mirrors in its structure (see this on the books as mirror pairs), and narrative mirrors are a really important device in characterisation (most of all harry/TMR, the two orphans, but also sirius and snape, ron and draco etc). like most female characters in the series, ginny’s narrative mirror is a bit underdeveloped, but it does really seem to be bellatrix, the narration drawing them into association on multiple occasions to compare and contrast them as characters. (hermione’s is like - what, pansy? develop female characters jkr i beg). canon romantic pairings don't get to be properly fleshed out mirrors of each other, in part because they're a) all het pairings and b) het pairingswhere the female character is either excessively idealised and/or underwritten. it's fic writers' job to problematise, unpack and challenge basically errrrrr all of that. to that end, then...

hinny & mirrors: … what i wanted to suggest is that part of what makes hinny so compelling is the idea that harry and ginny at times come as close as being mirrors of each other of the canon ships, in ways that hinny writers can play with/tease out/develop as a canon coherent choice. i’ve talked previously about how we might see sirius and ginny as narrative mirrors in some ways. but i think harry and ginny are mirror characters too, to some extent. it's not just that they're extremely similar. the harry and ginny plotline as rendered in the series starts to happen the moment ginny starts being herself in ootp, and the two of them are able to see each other clearly and see themselves in the other person. there’s also a reason HBP and CoS are the mirror image books by design, harry and ginny literally paralleling each other with the prince’s book and the diary etc. even their respective journey to their own death mirrors the other person's. playing with the mirror as the item that brings harry and ginny back together after their conflict is therefore me doing a bit of a wink and a nod to this idea: harry and ginny on this journey to seeing themselves as equals, as two sides of a coin. the mirror as a device inherently invites character to see themselves clearly, and, in the case of a two-way mirror, invites the character to consider who they see themselves in, who is their reflection, who is their opposite number. ginny finding her way to a mirror where she can both see her own face and yet also call on harry's is a big moment for her starting to think about who she is, what she wants, and also start to grapple with how she feels about her own selfhood, her soul, her morality, her past. on harry’s part, him mending the mirrors and starting to use them - the mirrors he vowed he would never use with sirius, and that are so connected to his guilt over sirius’ death - is such an important step. it’s (literally) him picking up the pieces and rebuilding the mirror and his connection to another person he sees as his family, moving past his grief and guilt to try to see and be seen more clearly by the person he loves. we know when harry potter looks into the mirror of erised, he sees his family: here we have harry, having come a long way in having to confront, acknowledge, unpack and apologise for some of what he’s asked of ginny over the years, lifting up the mirror given to him by his dead family member and seeing his new family, the family of his future.

on the break up that wasn't... two months of getting the nicest most polite threats in the inbox if i broke harry and ginny up… lads. i would never! the scarecrow of the chapter title is partly a reference to ginny's fears - the inquiry, the forest - but ultimately about her relationship with harry, which she fears is in jeopardy - a fear that, ultimately, turns out to be baseless. part of my point in the hinny plot for this fic is to write a version of them that sees them growing up, and especially growing up together, not burning things down or being emotionally immature and dramatic, but doing the quiet boring grown-up work of learning to become a team, and learning it together. break-up plotlines can work beautifully (and i will always devour them), but i knew it wasn’t going to be a part of this fic as i imagined it. i wanted these two burn-it-all-down impulsive characters not to go for the nuclear option, which they might do in other relationships in their lives, and instead do something arguably harder: commit to doing thinking and reflecting and owning up to where they’ve both gone wrong along the way, because they care about what they’re building between them. there are all sorts of general writing love stories manifesto issues in this for me (people can grow and change and learn when they’re in healthy relationships, the only catalyst for growth in a relationship doesn’t have to be a breakup, female centric dramatic arcs don’t have to be break-up centred even though lots of brilliant ones are). but there are also some hinny specific points i wanted to make. the main one is that one of the things i like most about harry and ginny as a couple is that in canon their drama is largely external to their relationship. they’re just two people who properly like each other, get each other, bring out the best in each other, want to hang out and build something together, despite all they’ve been through. they're two characters that canonically just want to hang out and talk to each other, in a really nice way but also, i think, quite a healthy way too that would see them in good stead in their conflicts. post war hinny absolutely have issues and blindspots and skewed dynamics to confront. they have things to learn and they are going to fuck up (harry hurry up ya thinkin and write her back you dickhead). but it’s my view that they’re not going to have a big dramatic screaming breakup, they’re going to muddle through and figure it out, because what’s true about hinny is that it’s a ship where its two participants are emotionally mature, kind to each other, and ultimately constructive even when they aren’t always with other characters lol. that's my two cents anyway!

quidditch: this WAS in this chapter originally and then it got shunted to chapter 13. partly because this chapter had far too many plots already but also (i think) it’ll make more sense there for lots of juicy reasons. so that’s why you have that cop out line at the start about quidditch practices being on pause x because the author can’t juggle very many balls at once :)

death eater recruitment, or: why are young people drawn to dark magic? what i wanted in this chapter was to have a political flashpoint that kingsley, the politician, can use as a catalyst for the thing he really wants, which is an inquiry into hogwarts, as a microcosm of the wider wizarding world and the symbol of its future. the inquiry should happen, but, in reality, it would take political will to make it happen. it was important for me to have the catalyst for the inquiry be something that would really galvanise and piss off the DA, namely why does everyone care so much about the kids they hate getting involved in violent blood supremacist politics and not care about the victims of death eater hate. of course, the DA are understandably fuming: they suffered so much for fighting against death eaters, and they want their story of persecution and of resistance to be told. but the elephant in the room, and what's awkward in these little moments of right-wing talking points on the wireless or in the press or parents of death eater children pleading for understanding is that, actually, there is quite an important question at play here, which is, wait why would a fourteen year old kid or whatever want to go out and kill muggles? isn't that fucked up? how much agency do we give them? when is it grooming, when is it someone being actively hoodwinked (including the possibility of the imperius curse), and when is it an active choice of intent that deserves punishment? didn't all of that recruitment of young people for extremist politics happen before the war? aren't there child soldiers on both sides of this conflict, and if so, is that ok? how did that happen? these are uncomfortable questions that defy easy answers. they're questions that will sharpen and take on new life in the form of the inquiry for our protagonist and for the DA and resistance as a whole. i am so so excited to develop it let me tell ya!

the governors thinking ginny is dead: this - bleakly - is canon! in CoS, the governors think ginny has already died, that’s why they ask dumbledore to come back. (“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. They’d heard that Arthur Weasley’s daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once...") wouldn't dumbledore correct them when ginny was out of the chamber? a question for future chapters...

what's in a name: wouldn't be hp worldbuilding without trying to come up with some good latin and/or greek names to hint at character traits. this chapter we had to stick in a load of minor new characters (human and otherwise), so to google we went. we have benignus tuft, the governor - benignus giving us benign, so someone who is at best harmless and mild, but at worst ineffective and sort of useless. we have another governor, coelamus (koelemos), minor deity or spirit, god of stupidity and foolishness (of course ginny isn't dead you idiot). for the thestrals, we know hagrid named one of them, his favourite in canon, who is called tenebrus, like tenebrous, in english, meaning shadowy or obscure (from the latin tenebrae, meaning darkness). so the other thestrals got their names on a similar theme: caligo (darkness, fog, mist) anima (in some variations, the soul), and umbra (shadow). umbra's got a little deathly bun in the oven, which is going to need a name, too - much like a certain owl...

thestrals: the worldbuilding around thestral and thestral breeding was maybe the most fun but strangest part of this chapter to write (i googled a lot of stuff about horse pregnancy and birth and saw images i do not wish to see again). i will thank david yates for giving me the idea and then go back to never thanking him ever again. in canon, we know the thestrals live in the forest and that ginny is familiar with their habits as early as ootp, long before she's able to see them ('because in case you hadn’t noticed, you and hermione are both covered in blood,' she said coolly, 'and we know hagrid lures thestrals with raw meat, so that’s probably why these two turned up in the first place…', in ootp) the only thing we know about the hogwarts' thestrals' origins is dean thomas accidentally insulting firenze ("did hagrid breed you, like the thestrals?”). this is hardly concrete knowledge or evidence, so in this chapter i wanted to play with the idea of hagrid quite readily admitting he doesn't really know how thestrals come to breed, part of these magical mysteries of the natural world that are beyond wizarding knowledge. we do know, though, that thestrals have some connection with death, especially to bearing witness and processing it. i think they're one of the most intriguing and poignant images in canon (retconning over their visibility aside, joanne), and i'm excited for the plot that explores these themes and ideas as the different plots start to wind together. (a spoilery clue for ya: hagrid mentions time periods where the thestral herd has previously grown... thank you to @saintsenara, the real unsung hero/brains behind the operation, who puts up with all of my inane questions and thinking at her and always proves enormously and generously helpful, especially in this instance with some crucial date deets). also i took out a joke about thestral erections because it wasn't the vibe and i think we can all agree that is for the best.

songs from the playlist for these chapters:

had to wap out the celtic vibes on at least one song now we're back in the castle ya feel! neko case, herself a ginger goddess, has provided too many great songs for inspo for this fic and one of my favourite's of hers is in this week's batch (the most tender place in my heart is for strangers/i know it's unkind but my own kind is much too dangerous). the hinny songs for this week are star by mitski (that love is like a star, it's gone/we just see it shining/it's traveled very far/i'll keep a leftover light burning/so you can keep looking up/isn't that worth holding on?) and comrade sweetheart by my beloved bonny light horseman/anaïs mitchell (who's going to bind up your wounds? who when the wildflowers bloom? no other lover but you... in the dusk of my days.) it's about the blessing of time, the hinny DH parting gift! hours and days and maybe years baby!

and a wee sneak peek of chapter 13... (the inevitable line now harry and ginny basically have wizard facetime):

'Gin. For fuck's sake. Stop. Dropping. The mirror. On your own face.'

#beasts #author's note #chapter 12 #as ever #me just keyboard smashing deranged hinny thoughts #and showing i've never studied latin a day in my damn life #hinny

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xdaddysprincessxx · 9 months

Text

In Every Lifetime

Demon!Ezra x Witch!Reader

Warnings: none, Reader is mid to late 20s, witchcraft, tarot, yes the witchy things depicted in this is real witchcraft things, use of Latin (look for the a/n at the end for the translation)

Summary: It’s fall of 1974 in your quiet small town of Chesterfield when everything falls apart. Or is it the beginning?

A/n: I’m super excited for this series, I hope y’all enjoy! This is not edited or beta’d, written on my phone, any mistakes are mine(: & the moodboard is made by moi!

🌙 A little ping sounds off as you enter your favorite used bookstore. The distinct smell of old books and worn leather floods your nose as you step inside. Ronald, the store owner, must be in the back, leaving the place all to yourself for the moment. You immediately head back to the nonfiction section hoping to find some books on the moon. Ever since you were little, you’ve found yourself drawn to the moon. Always a beacon of light for you in the darkness of the night. A few years ago for your birthday, your best friend Louise dragged you to a tarot reader to get your cards read. The first card the tarot reader pulled was the moon.

“Be wary of the illusion in front of you. Release your grip on your painful past and look for answers within yourself and your dreams.” the lady said.

Ever since that night you’ve poured yourself into learning everything you can about the moon, tarot and witchcraft. Since you’ve begun your craft, you’ve found you have quite a knack for kitchen witchery. But lately you’ve found yourself wanting to dabble in more mystic arts. To put it simply: you want to work more with the Greek goddess Selene and work on actually casting spells.

Lost in thought as your finger glides across all of the different book spines a sudden thud brings you back into the present. After jumping out of your skin you quickly look around trying to find the source of noise. That’s when you notice a small black book laying on the ground at your feet. Bending over to pick it up, you can’t help but feel a magnetic pull. Almost as if the book wants you to pick it up. Giving it a quick wipe to get the dust off, you realize it has no title on the front and a little lock holding it closed. Twisting the little knob you unlock the book and open to the first page. As you flip through the pages you realize it’s a journal filled with notes and little drawing of the moon, various spices and herbs and on one particular page; a drawing of a terrifying creature with horns and green eyes. Your curiosity got the better of you and you quickly put the journal in your bag before zipping it up and adjusting the strap that sits diagonally across your body. Giving the store one more quick glance around to make sure nobody saw you, you make your way back to the front and leave.

Once outside you make your way back home. The quaint little town you reside in seems quieter than normal for such a beautiful fall day. Colorful leaves scattered the ground and all the stores lining up and down main street all have their fall decorations adorning their windows. As your passing the little cafe on the corner, you can’t help but notice a stranger sitting at one of the little tables outside the cafe. Being in a small town you know everyone and everyone knows you. There is next to no type of privacy. And yet here this man sits with a small tea cup in front of him. With dark shades covering his eyes, he has a distinctive blonde patch on his otherwise dark brown hair. You find yourself staring at the man when you realize he’s smiling. At you.

“You do know it’s not polite to stare?” he says with an air of lightheartedness in a deep southern accent.

You begin to open and then close your mouth a few times before you found your words, “I am so sorry sir, I didn’t mean to stare. I- I just I’ve never seen you around here before. That’s all.”

The man’s smile widens as he sits back and tilts his head up at you, “And this is how you choose to show a stranger some hospitality?” he teases.

“I- welcome to Chesterfield mister. This cafe has a good herbal tea that cures colds and the diner down the street going”, as you point in the opposite direction, “that way has the best pancakes you’ve ever had and if your looking for something fun to do well then you’ve come to the wrong place. We have a rather rundown movie theater that only holds two movies at one time, the local high school has a pretty decent football team if your into that and here soon ole farmer Joel will be opening up his corn maze and hayrides to the public.” You say in a single breath. As much as you love living here it is a small town and there’s not much to offer.

“Well then I guess I’ll just have to find some other way to pass the time then. But thank you for that marvelous introduction to your beautiful town.” he says with a smirk still on his face.

“You have a good night now!” You say, rather high pitched, as you raise your hand to wave goodbye to the man.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Soon enough Main Street is a distance behind you as you turn into your neighborhood. With just a little bit longer before your home, you can’t shake the feeling that your being watched. The feeling is so sudden and strong it makes you stop in your tracks. Looking around real quick to see if anyone was following you, you find your the only one outside. Now that’s weird. You’re the only one. No cars driving by, no kids outside playing, the only noise is the wind rustling the leaves. It’s as if your in a ghost town. Unnerved you start walking again, this time with a little pep in your step so you can get home faster.

You live at the dead end in your neighborhood. A small, one story brick house with a tree in the front yard and two jack o lanterns sitting with their smiling faces on your front porch. You speed walk up your driveway, speeding past your little Volkswagen bug as you make your way up the few stairs leading to your front door. You unlock your front door, getting inside and shutting the door quickly as if you were running from someone. Placing your keys on the hook you take your shoes off and go to throw your bag onto the couch. Making your way into the kitchen you pull out your favorite mug and grab the tasty tea mixture you recently made and started making you a hot cup of tea to help calm your nerves.

Walking back into the living room while you wait for the water to heat up, you plop down on the couch and go to retrieve the journal laying inside your bag. Unlocking the little lock holding the journal closed, you open it to the first page and start reading. You soon find yourself immersed in this strangers writings. Different spices and herbs listed with descriptions on the best time to use them and for what purpose, the different moon phases and rituals to do during them. Looking at your calendar you realize tonight is a full moon. Perfect you think, no time like the present to try out a ritual you found in this mystery journal. What could go wrong?

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Excitement fills you making it hard to wait until midnight to perform this ritual. You cleared the floor of your bedroom, lifting the rug you had laying down so you could write these symbols on your hardwood floor. Sitting in the middle of the triple moon symbol drawn with chalk and covered with a mixture of cinnamon, aloe, mugwort and hibiscus combined and crushed to a powder. You have a single red candle sitting in front of you with the journal laid open to the page depicting the full moon ritual. Repeating the incantation in your head, you glance over at your clock noticing it just hit midnight. Clearing your throat you speak out loud,

Vivamus, moriendum est

Ergo dum me diligis

Cor meum tuum est

And so it shall be.

As soon as the words left your mouth, you heard a loud, incessant banging on your door right before a gush of wind blew your candle out seemingly taking every light out with it.

A/n: !!! Okay I really hope y’all like this! Yes the moon is the star of this show! The incantation is Latin meaning: Let us live, for we must die. So long as you love me, my heart is yours. Let me know how y’all like it! I’m already working on chp 2 now! Happy hauntings my little witches 🌙

#demon ezra #ezra prospect #ezra x reader #demon!ezra x witch!reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal characters #in every lifetime #ezra x f!reader

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ramblingoak · 1 year

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His Dark Song, Chapter 1: Let’s Get Started

~ A man covered in occult tattoos, a difficult ritual, sex magic...would you be able to survive months alone with Cardinal Copia? ~

Copia x f!reader

This was for week two of the challenge put on by @petrifyingpapas last year and the theme of the week was “Incantation”. This story was inspired by the movie “A Dark Song”, but I’ll be giving it a Ghost twist.

Warnings: alternate universe, mentions of past child loss, violence, eventual smut, 18+ only mdni

His tattoos looked like they were glowing.

The swirling words and symbols that covered most of his skin had always caught your attention, but right now you couldn’t look away. He had said tonight would be the night, that all the months of hard work you had both been putting into the ritual would finally pay off. That the thing you had been attempting to summon was finally going to appear this very night and you’d finally get to ask your wish.

Copia continued to murmur under his breath in Latin, tracing intricate symbols into the air between you with his fingers. He was mesmerizing, he had always been mesmerizing even when you had first met him in that diner. Despite his attitude and his penchant for pissing you off you had quickly become entranced by him. Copia had been your only companion for six months now and you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from falling for him.

The sex magic had certainly helped.

“Are you ready, dolce?” You met his eyes and nodded, taking a steadying breath before you held your right hand out towards him. He brought it to his mouth, dropping a quick kiss on the back while winking at you. Copia turned it so your palm was facing up and traced a symbol on your tingling skin with a finger before letting you go.

His mismatched eyes looked into yours then, holding your gaze steadily. For a moment you thought he was going to say something else, but he gave a quick shake of his head before reaching down to the floor beside him. The dagger’s blade flashed in the dancing light of the room and you held your breath when he raised it into the air above his head. Neither of you glanced away from each other, Copia just raised an eyebrow and you slowly blew your breath out before you spoke.

“I’m ready.”

Copia winked once more before bringing the dagger down.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ six months earlier ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

The house was old.

It wasn’t really a surprise, all the houses this far in the country were. Most had been passed down between a few generations. Many were boarded up. You had seen the insides of quite a few at this point but as soon as you had walked inside of this one you knew.

This one would work.

The realtor continued to drone on as he followed you around. Mentioning things he thought you’d be interested in. How the furniture was included. The age of the paintings adorning the walls. He thought you would care and while you didn’t, not really, you let him say his piece.

“It’s a one year contract unfortunately.”

“I’m sorry?” You had made your way to the main room on the second floor, large windows took up most of the wall letting you watch the sun set behind the hills.

“The lease, it’s for a year.”

A year. Would this take that long? You had only been able to find a few accounts of the ritual being attempted. But the information had been scarce and you weren’t sure if you trusted the sources.

“Utilities are included though, which is rare around here. You’ve got privacy and plenty of land to roam around.” The realtor had walked up to the windows to stand next to you. “Do you have any kids?”

Your body froze like it always did at that question. People always asked it out of polite curiosity. No one would ever ask if they knew the truth.

“I did.” You let yourself have a moment to stare him down, to watch him deflate before you turned and walked back towards the hallway. “I don’t anymore.”

Cardinal Copia wasn’t what you expected.

To be honest you had been looking for a man in a cassock while you waited in the diner, like the Cardinal’s had worn in the church you had attended as a child. The man that had sat down across from you in the diner was in worn jeans and a red sweater that had seen better days. Dark brown hair with streaks of gray at his temples. He was handsome and your brain chose that moment to remind you about the sex magic the ritual entailed, making you fight the blush that wanted to appear on your cheeks.

“So, in the mood for a little magic, eh?” You would’ve smiled back if his had seemed genuine, but to you it felt like an act. There was an odd twinkle in his even odder eye, the left being entirely white. He squinted when you didn’t respond, looking back down at his plate and poking around the eggs with his fork.

“Was it from an accident?” Copia froze and looked back up at you. The blush couldn’t be stopped now, but you were mostly mortified you had asked such a thing. Thankfully he seemed more bemused than annoyed and looked back down at his food.

“Not unless you call my birth an accident.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m just-I’m nervous.”

Copia had shoved some eggs into his mouth but thankfully swallowed before responding.

“Do I make you nervous, dolce?” Your eyes narrowed at him but he just chuckled and crossed his arms. You let your gaze drift down to his hands, the backs of his fingers were covered in tattoos. They looked like letters of some kind but you couldn’t tell from across the table. From his fingers the letters turned into swirling patterns on the backs of his hands that continued onto his wrists and then disappeared under the sleeves of his sweater. You shook your head and met his amused gaze.

“It’s a big undertaking, isn’t it? The ritual.” You reached out for your water glass but it was only to keep your hands occupied. “I think some nerves are to be expected.”

Copia hummed and reached a hand out, gently peeling one of yours away from the glass. He held it up above the table, sliding his hand down to your wrist and holding his thumb against your pulse for a moment. He smirked and swept it back and forth across your skin a few times before letting go and then pulling his thumb into his mouth. He let it slide out with an obscene pop, smirking as he looked at your hand.

It was shaking like a leaf.

Irritated and a little embarrassed you yanked it back and crossed your arms over your chest. Was he going to be like this the whole time? You were ashamed to admit that you were glad he was…ok, glad that he was handsome. But you’d barely been in his presence for thirty minutes and he had you blushing like a teenager. You needed to set some ground rules if he was going to act like this the whole time.

“Cardinal Copia…”

“Just Copia is fine, dolce.”

“Fine, ok. Copia, we shou—“

“You need to be sure.” You huffed and glared at him but he seemed unbothered. “This ritual is delicate, so very delicate. Any nerves or wrong moves, this can ruin the whole thing. Did you look into how long this could take?”

“I saw a few things that said weeks, bu—“

“Months, dolce. This could take months.” Months? You’d be stuck in that house with him for months? “Months of strenuous, precise recitations. Of cleansing your body, your soul. Is this something you’re ready for?”

“Yes, Copia. Yes. I’ve been ready, I’ve done the research.” You were starting to worry he wasn’t going to do this. There weren’t many others you could ask and none besides Copia that you had heard had actually been successful at it before.

“What about the sex magic?” The poor waitress was walking by at that moment and stumbled, Copia reached out to help catch her, gently grasping her elbow before she ended up on the floor. The poor thing was blushing even worse than you had been. He gave her a wink before directing his attention back to you.

“I can do whatever magic is required as long as you can do the ritual.”

Copia reached for his napkin and wiped his mouth, throwing it onto his plate before reaching down for his bag he’d brought in with him.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, dolce. I can do the ritual.” It was your turn to receive a wink from him, but before your cheeks could redden he stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder. “Let’s go see this house.”

He didn’t seem particularly impressed with the house, but he also hadn’t been very impressed with your car.

“Dolce, how old is this thing?”

Or your music collection.

“I didn’t know they still made CD’s. Do you have any ABBA?”

When you arrived at the house itself he had let out a string of Italian and none of it sounded complimentary. You gave him room to wander, unpacking some of the supplies you had already gotten and shoving them away in the kitchen. There was a large freezer in the basement so if this was happening you’d have to go back to town and stock up on food. You weren’t sure if you'd be able to leave once the ritual started.

If it did start.

After an hour or so you started wandering the house in search of him. You smelled a faint hint of cigarette smoke inside but there was no sign of the man himself. It wasn’t till you found your way back into the main room and its large windows that you spotted him. He was standing near the pond the estate had, watching the sunlight dance across the water.

By the time you made it out there the sun was dropping rapidly into the horizon. You couldn’t smell any smoke on him so you held off admonishing him for it. It would take forever to get the smell out of that old furniture if he spent the next few months smoking all day.

“Do you remember my fee, dolce?”

“Yes.”

“How about everything the ritual entailed?”

“Yes, yes Copia we’ve been over this. I’m ready.”

“You say this, but I don’t think you understand what it means. So you must be sure, absolutely sure.”

“Goddammit, yes! I'm sure!”

“Then tell me why you’re doing this.”

“Wh-what?”

Copia sighed and turned away from the water to gaze at you. That white eye of his was so unnerving you kept wanting to look away.

“I want to know why you’ve done all this, why you’ve hired me.” He took a step towards you and you had to fight the instinct to take a step back.

“For love.”

The look of disgust on his face was immediate and he stepped back away from you.

“Love?! Are you serious?”

“Yes! Why does that—hey!” Copia had turned and started stalking back towards the house, but you were hot on his heels. “Hey! What’s wrong?”

The only response you got was a scoff and some more Italian. When you tried to grab his arm he ripped it away and then yanked the back door to the house open. Before he could get to the kitchen where he left his bag you shoved yourself in front of him and blocked the doorway.

“Move.”

“No, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong is you’ve wasted my time! I came all the way out here for some bullshit, spoiled little rich girl fantasy!”

“I don’t understand what’s wrong with love as a reason to do this!”

Copia groaned and shoved his hands into his hair, taking a few steps back from you at the same time.

“This is a sacred thing. ‘Love’ isn’t enough. It needs to be more than that.”

“More than love?” You bit your lip and let your eyes wander around the room. Your own bag was sitting in a chair nearby. There weren’t a lot of things you had traveled with but there was something in there that was more dear to you than anything else you owned. A token of someone that you longed to speak with again.

Copia was watching you expectantly. Waiting for you to convince him.

“I love someone and they…they don’t love me anymore.”

“So? You’re going to torture yourself for months on end, torture me for months on end? And for what? To get your boyfriend to love you back?”

You closed your eyes and started shaking your head, but he used that moment to shove past you. It made you stumble and you had to grab onto the doorway to stay upright.

“Copia! Please, you don’t understand!”

“No, dolce, I don’t understand and you’re doing a shit job of fixing that.” With his bag in hand he turned to glare at you, his icy white eye seemingly staring into your soul. “I’m supposed to summon your guardian angel for you. A being that will grant you anything your heart desires and you’re going to choose making an ex love you again?”

“You get a wish too, don’t forget that.”

“Trust me, dolce, I’m not forgetting that. That wish is the only reason I’m here. It’s the only reason I’ve done this before, that I’ve tried this before.” He started moving towards the back door again and you flung yourself into the doorway once more. Copia growled and spun around to go through the other door and towards the front of the house.

Fuck, fuck this couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t let him go, you couldn’t let this chance go. Copia was the only one that could make this happen. The only one that could give you what you wanted.

“It’s for my child!” You watched as he froze with a hand on the front door. He didn’t turn around yet, but his hand remained still so you continued, “I lost my child.”

“How?”

“He was taken from me.” Copia turned then and regarded you, waiting for you to continue. “My child was kidnapped. He was murdered and I didn’t get to say goodbye.”

“You want to speak to your dead child?”

Later you’d sob in the room you’d chosen. In your hand you’d clutch the little action figure you always kept with you. The little plastic ghoul your son loved so much. Right now you looked into Copia’s eyes and nodded, silently begged him to change his mind, to help you. When he tossed his bag onto the floor by the door and spoke again you nearly sagged in relief.

“Okie dokie, let’s get started.”

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

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#tw child loss #cardinal copia x female reader #copia x female reader #the band ghost fanfiction #copia fanfiction #oakie's writing #ghost band fanfic

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bucky-fricking-barnes · 2 years

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I’m Listening (Between The Lines)

Title: I’m Listening (Between The Lines)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Selectively Mute!Reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Very mild language, mentions of being triggered, symptoms of PTSD and panic attacks

Summary: Y/N is in charge of reviewing the Avengers’ mission reports, and when Steve brings her coffee to apologize for all the paperwork, something more comes of it.

A/N: I hope you all enjoy this fic! Please note that it is a work of fiction and people who are selectively mute may or may not communicate in the ways depicted in this story. Thank you for supporting my work by reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting! I couldn’t do this without you. Dividers are by @firefly-graphics

You’re hard at work on a stack of paperwork from the Avengers’ last mission when Elijah comes by your office with his delivery cart. He gives you an apologetic smile as he slides the second large pile into the only open space on your desk, his face twisting in sympathy.

“Sorry,” he says when your shoulders slump forward. “It was apparently a big one.” You nod and then he’s off again, heading back towards his cart and then to your floor’s mail room for whatever he’s supposed to deliver next.

The extra workload isn’t unexpected; you’ve known it was coming since your supervisor had mentioned off-hand that the team was going out again—something about a terrorist cell in Europe. It hasn’t been on the news, but you have a feeling that the whole thing is being kept on the down-low until all damages and casualties have been accounted for. Fury likes to know everything going into press conferences. In short, you have a long week ahead of you, with probably more late nights than not.

Elijah passes by the doorway a few minutes later with a full cart of parcels and papers, but you pay him no heed as you bury yourself back into your work. The blue light from the computer has most certainly contributed to your headache, and as you read through the mission reports from the mission in Latin America, you rub your temples with your free hand.

“I know that I’m probably the main cause of that headache,” you practically leap out of your seat when Captain Rogers appears in your office doorway, “so I figured I’d bring you a peace offering. Tony said it was your favorite.”

Captain Rogers holds up a brown paper takeout bag and sets it on the small table just inside the door. You give him a tight smile and a nod in thanks. He doesn’t leave, however, and you try not to look too uncomfortable with the situation as he leans against the doorframe. He’s still in his uniform. You’d dimmed the ceiling lights in favor of the lamp on your desk, but you can still see the thin coating of dirt, soot, and blood on his face. It covers the red, white, and blue of the suit, too.

“Hopefully we didn’t add too much work for you?” he prompts, and you reluctantly shake your head. It’s only the normal of work amount for an Avengers mission, which is a lot, but you’ve learned to manage it.

Slowly, you close the mission folder and set down your pen, then push away from your desk. Your muscles are tight but you refrain from stretching while he’s still standing there.

“That’s good,” he says. He pauses, then continues, “Thank you for being so thorough with the mission reports. I know I write a lot, but it’s important to me that everything is recorded. You never know when those details will come in handy.”

You nod again and force another smile. You’re exhausted and starving. You silently will him out of your office, then feel bad for wishing that Captain America would leave. He means well and he’s never been anything other than a gentleman. It’s not even that you don’t like him, because you very much do. He just… lingers. You’re never quite sure if it’s because he’s just curious about you or if it’s something more. Maybe you could ask the other employees in your department for their tricks for getting him out of your office. He never seemed to want to be around them as much as he did you.

Captain Rogers clears his throat and straightens when you approach to take the bag of food from where he’d set it down. When you turn your back to bring it back to your desk, he steps further into your office, following you.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you—”

You turn with eyebrows raised and with the food clutched against you, a little startled to find him this close when you’d purposely tried to create some distance. He’s now within arm’s reach.

“Sorry.” He raises his hands in apology and steps back into the doorway, watching you carefully. When you’ve relaxed a little and set the food down on the corner of your desk, he asks, “Would you want to grab a coffee some time? It can be in the shop in the lobby, if you’d rather not leave the building during your break.”

Confused, you frown at him. He wanted to buy you coffee? Why?

“Or you can tell me what you want and I can bring it to you,” he offers. “As a thank you for dealing with all our shit.”

Captain Rogers gestures to the teetering stacks of papers on your desk and you can’t help but smile a little. Hadn’t Tony mentioned that his teammate was a stickler for clean language?

The room fills with an uncomfortable silence and as the awkward pause seems to stretch on for too long, you reach for the tablet on your desk. He takes that as a sign to bow out while his dignity is still somewhat intact. Panicked, you race to find the button you want. You jab your index finger against the screen when the app finally loads the selection of neat little squares that represents your schedule.

“Tomorrow at 2:30pm Eastern Daylight Time,” FRIDAY reports through the overhead speakers.

You blink when the Captain turns around, visibly confused by FRIDAY’s sudden interruption into his escape. With the tablet still in hand, you press the button again, this time adding on the beginning you’d dropped in order to give him a quick answer.

“My break tomorrow is at 2:30pm Eastern Daylight Time,” FRIDAY says.

Slowly, Captain Rogers resumes his place in the doorway. You can tell he’s still processing your strange way of answering, so you offer him a small, encouraging smile. He doesn’t seem angry that you haven’t spoken aloud, just a little confused.

“Do you want to meet there or do you want me to bring you coffee here?” he finally asks.

You only have to glance at the tablet to input your response for FRIDAY to relay. “Please bring it here.”

“If I give you my number, can you tell me your coffee order?”

This time, you grab a sticky note from your desk and scribble down your order. You’re almost positive that the baristas will recognize it given the number of times you’ve frequented the cafe while working on Avenger mission reports. Captain Rogers steps into the office and takes the sticky note when you hold it out, his eyes crinkled at the corner as he smiles at you.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says, holding up the sticky note. He backs up towards the door and gives you a small, awkward salute, then heads back down the hall towards the bank of elevators.

Grinning, you plop back down in your office chair and pull the bag of food into your lap. As soon as you’ve got it open, you can tell that it’s exactly what you like to order on long nights like these. The smell coming from the still-hot containers inside is warm and welcoming. Captain Rogers had definitely asked Tony about you. The thought shouldn’t make you giddy, but it does anyway. You try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you scarf down the food and hurry to finish up your last set of reports so that you can head home.

The next day, Captain Rogers knocks on your door just as the digital clock on your desk changes to 2:30. You look up and smile, then gesture for him to come in while you close the report folder and set the papers aside. He’s got coffee cups in both hands and a pastry bag hanging precariously between his left index and middle fingers.

You quickly get to your feet and take the cup and bag and he holds out to you, smiling in thanks. He makes sure not to crowd you as you inspect the contents of the bag and the order scrawled on the cup in black marker.

“Everything right?” he asks, and you look up and nod. “Good. That’s good.”

He pauses, clearly wanting to say something else, so you raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. Captain Rogers glances at your desk and then forces a polite smile.

“I guess I’ll see you around? You look like you have a lot of work to do, I wouldn’t want to interrupt your break if you just want to sit and relax.”

When he goes to leave, you reach out and touch the side of his arm before you thinking twice. The pastry bag bumps against his arm as Captain Rogers stops and looks back at you. Hesitantly, you smile a little and nod over at the couch and chairs situated against one wall of your office. The room is small enough to suit your position at the Tower, but it’s also big enough that Tony had outfitted it with a couch, two armchairs, and a coffee table in addition to your desk and office chair. He took good care of you, and for that you were thankful. You’d yet to find a workplace as welcoming as the Avengers Tower, and that was saying something, given all the danger that surrounded your work. It helped that Tony had known you long before he’d become Iron Man.

The smile on Captain Roger’s face returned, but this time it was genuine. He nods in agreement and follows you over to the sitting area. You don’t fail to notice that he trails behind and lets you pick where you want to sit before taking a seat himself.

There’s a tablet built into the wall off to the side of the couch. You set your coffee and pastry down, then twist in your seat so you can pull the device from the wall. It pops out and the screen lights up automatically, scanning your face before unlocking the app that connects you to FRIDAY.

“Thank you for the coffee,” the AI says as your fingers fly over the screen. “You got everything right.”

“Well, they seemed to know your order as soon as I started reading it. I think I got a few words in before they asked if it was for you,” he replies.

Your cheeks heat up and you smile, ducking your head back down to tap at the tablet. “I go there a lot at night.”

“Doesn’t the workday end at 5:00?”

Nodding, you gesture with one hand at the large stacks of Avenger mission reports piled on your desk. You grab your coffee from the table with the other as Steve’s face flushes. Even his ears turn a little pink. It’s adorable.

“Oh.” He fiddles with the cup of coffee in his hands. It seems so small and you glance between your cup and his, wondering if he got a smaller sized drink or if he’s really just that big. “Sorry about that. Like I said last night, I—”

You hold up a hand to stop him before he can apologize and rationalize his actions again, then shake your head, hoping he understands. Thankfully, he nods and takes a small sip of his coffee.

“What did you get to drink?” you ask via FRIDAY.

“I usually get black coffee with a little bit of sugar.”

Your face must’ve clearly betrayed your thoughts because Captain Rogers laughs. He gestures with his cup at the one in your hands.

“I’ve tried something similar to yours. It was okay. I haven’t seem to find anything I really like, but I will say that even the plain coffee nowadays is better than the stuff we had when I was growing up.”

Smiling softly, you nod in understanding and set your cup down, then reach for the pastry he’d picked up for you. You pull it from the bag and tear it in half, holding one of the parts out for him to take.

“No, it’s okay,” he says, but you push it towards him insistently. Sharing is the least you can do.

Captain Rogers takes it after your push it a second time. You watch as he takes a bite, raising your eyebrows when he looks back up at you.

“This is amazing!”

You nod excitedly and pull up the keyboard on your tablet, typing as quickly as you can with only one hand.

“It’s my favorite. My mom used to get it for me on special occasions when I was little. I was happy when they added it to the menu here at the Tower.”

He’s smiling as he finishes his half of the pastry. You eat your own and you’re leaning forward to set the tablet on the coffee table when FRIDAY chimes through the speakers.

“Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Stark is on the phone for you. Shall I tell him you’re otherwise occupied? Your break is not scheduled to end for another three minutes.”

You tap the “yes” button on the tablet as you set it down and turn your body back towards Captain Rogers. He glances at the tablet, then at you.

“You can answer that if you want,” he says. “It’s probably important if Stark is calling you.”

Knowing it’s not, you shake your head with a small smile. You don’t talk on the phone and Tony knows that. If he’s calling you, it means that he’s somehow heard Captain Rogers is with you and he wants to interrupt. He likes to scare people away if he thinks they’ll be bad for you, and though you appreciate his protectiveness, you can take care of yourself. Captain Rogers is a good man. Logically, he should make you anxious. He’s a large man and he has abilities that would surely allow him to overpower you in an instant, but instead of fear, you feel safe. He would never hurt you and it’s easy to relax in his company.

“Are you sure?” he asks, and you nod again.

FRIDAY interrupts him before he can say anything more. “I’m sorry, Miss Y/L/N, but Mr. Stark is overriding my systems. Apparently it’s urgent.”

You roll your eyes as Captain Rogers raises an eyebrow. Instead of paying close attention to whatever Tony’s rambling about as his voice floods the speakers in your office, you sip your coffee and open up the notes app on your tablet so you can scrawl out a message with the attached stylus.

Captain Rogers is standing to leave when you tilt the screen for him to see. He pauses to read your message and then glances up at the ceiling where the speakers are inlaid. You can see the wheels turning in his head.

“Don’t you need to go help him with OGRE?”

You frown and tilt your head a little, then tune into the sound of Tony’s voice. It’s not hard to track what he’s saying, but you’ve also gotten good at tuning him out over the years.

“—need you ASAP. Dum-E’s mostly just getting in the way today—this is your own fault, you know better than that—and Pepper’s out of the office on some good relations press tour, so you’re really the only person who can come help me sort out this OGRE business. Worry about all those reports later, we’ve got—”

As far as you know, Tony isn’t working on any new projects, secret or otherwise. You can usually tell when he’s keeping something under wraps, though he’s quick to clue you in about any developments in the “secret” projects. OGRE isn’t real. He’s making things up to get you away from Captain Rogers, and that irks you.

You clap twice, as loud as possible, and Tony stops speaking. It’s your surefire way of getting his attention and telling him to shut up.

“I’m sorry, am I bothering you?” he asks.

Huffing, you switch back to your communication app and tap the “yes” so that FRIDAY will relay your annoyance. For good measure, you add the “asshole” button as an afterthought.

Tony chuckles on the other end of the line. Your words are being communicated directly to him through FRIDAY, but they’re not coming through the speakers, and you catch the Captain watching you and the screen out of the corner of your eye.

“Your break ended a minute ago, Y/N,” Tony says, and you can hear the teasing in his voice. “Why don’t you come up and help me? I’m sure Steve has more important things to be working on.”

“I don’t,” Captain Rogers flatly replies. “And we were enjoying ourselves until you interrupted. Why do you need Y/N’s help anyway? She doesn’t work in the science division.”

You try not to seem insulted at his answer. Of course he doesn’t know about your longstanding friendship with Tony, and there’s no way for him to know that you’d been working on a graduate degree at MIT before you’d had to drop out your senior year after everything that had happened. Tony and Fury buried that deep within SHIELD records at your request. You don’t want to be dragged into anything that could possibly trigger you, though you’ve gotten better at it over the years. Tony is careful not to invite you up while he’s working on anything that could be a possible trigger.

As subtly as possible, you tap a few buttons on the tablet screen, letting Tony know you’ll be up in a few minutes. He’s quiet for a moment before FRIDAY informs you that he’s ended the call.

Captain Rogers is frowning when you glance over at him. You reach over with one hand and tap his, giving him a worried look.

“I’m fine,” he replies, shaking his head. “Does Tony always demand things like that during your break? It’s no wonder you’re here so late all the time?”

You pause, wondering how to approach the topic, especially since he’s clearly noted that you often leave late. Has he been keeping tabs on you?

FRIDAY relays your message after you finish pressing all the buttons you want. “Tony and I are friends. We met when I was working on my doctorate at MIT. He’s just trying to get a reaction out of both of us, but he probably also wants my help with something that he doesn’t really need help with. I’m a good sounding board, apparently.”

You offer the Captain a small smile when FRIDAY finishes speaking, and he relaxes a little. Carefully, you set the tablet down aside. He stands as you do and you both tidy up the coffee and pasty trash.

“Thank you for humoring me during your break,” Captain Rogers says as you put the tablet back into the built-in dock on the wall.

Smiling, you glance over your shoulder at him, then click the tablet into place. “I had fun, Captain Rogers. Thank you,” you tap out before stepping away from the device. You grab your coffee from where you’d set it on the edge of the desk, if only to have something to hold so you’re not standing awkwardly in front of him.

“Please call me Steve. Maybe we can do this again sometime?” he asks. After a moment, you nod in response. Steve smiles wide. “Have a good day, Y/N.”

You wave a little and watch in silence as he leaves. The butterflies in your stomach are back, launched into flight by the sight of his smile. It makes you wonder if he had such a winning smile before the serum. If he had, maybe he would’ve eventually been scooped up by some pretty girl who didn’t mind him being on the small side. You definitely wouldn’t have.

Coffee breaks with Steve become a regular occurrence, and it’s one of the best parts of your day. He’s being sent on more missions than usual lately, so after your third break together, he offers his phone number so that the two of you can text. You graciously hand over your phone and hope that he can’t hear your heart as it tries to beat out of your chest in excitement.

It’s on one of the days that Steve is out on a mission with the rest of his team, Tony included, that something triggers you. You woke up feeling a little queasy, but you’d pushed it aside and gone to the office anyway. Now you regretted that decision.

Something one of your co-workers had put in the break room microwave triggered something in your brain. The smell is somehow wafting across the entire floor of offices and cubicles, and you’d seen a few peoples’ disgusted faces before the scent had made it to you. All bets were off as soon as you’d smelt it. Instantly, you were back in the lab at MIT, staring down the man you’d once considered a mentor.

You blink away the memory and curl up on the floor with your back against your desk drawers. The handles dig painfully against your spine but it doesn’t really register as you fumble with your tablet, pressing the button that turns the clear glass wall of your office into an opaque one so that your co-workers couldn’t see you melting down. You manage to press the button to turn on the fans in your office too, hoping that will force the smell away from you quicker. You’re fading fast, and you react on instinct, grabbing your phone and pressing the call button.

“Hey, Y/N.”

When Steve’s voice comes over the speaker on your phone, you’re frantic. Why was he answering? Had something happened to Tony? He sounded too casual for something to be wrong.

“Y/N, are you there?” Steve asks.

You’re frozen in place even though your heart and mind are racing inside of you. How you’d managed to call him instead of Tony, you’re not sure, but you can’t speak over the phone, especially not with him, and you don’t know what to do. If you just hang up, Steve could call back, and you don’t think you have the mental capacity to text right now.

There’s a loud rumbling in the background of the call, but you can hear faint voices as well. Struggling to focus, you shudder and close your eyes, listening carefully to try and decipher what they’re saying.

The first person you can pick out is Tony. His voice sounds tinny and far away, but it’s definitely him. “Is that Y/N? Did she call you?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve says, pulling slightly away from the phone before lifting it back to his ear. “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“FRIDAY’s sensing something’s wrong. Her heart rate and blood pressure are high and she’s breathing abnormally,” Tony says, and you grimace. Of course the AI noticed your vitals were off. You try to take a deep breath to calm yourself down, but your skin is crawling and your muscles all feel too tense.

Steve brings you back to the present when he speaks again. His voice is a little bit softer this time. “You don’t have to talk, it’s okay. Whatever happened, it’s going to be okay. FRIDAY would’ve told us if something was really wrong in the building, so I know it’s not that. I just need to know if you’re safe or not, Y/N. Can you let me know somehow if you’re safe?”

You don’t know how to tell him that it’s all in your head and that you don’t necessarily trust yourself right now, so you stay silent and motionless, curled up in a ball behind your desk.

“Do you want me to send someone to check on you?” Steve asks.

A panicked grunt escapes from the depths of your chest before you think twice, and you grip the phone harder.

“Okay, I won’t send anyone. Can you… Do you think you could clap? Or click for me?” Steve demonstrates, clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth one time. The ridiculous idea of him making that noise in an airplane full of Avengers loosens the knot in your chest. After a moment, you mimic the sound.

“Good, that’s good,” he soothes. “Once for yes, twice for no, okay? Are you safe?”

It takes you a second, but you click once. Steve’s sigh of relief on the other end of the call is audible.

“Good. Are you injured?”

You click twice.

“Do you want me to distract you from whatever’s going on?”

One click.

That’s all the confirmation he needs, and then Steve is launching into some story about Clint and Tony arguing over the food that they brought with them on the mission. Apparently, they had a rotating cycle of who was in charge, and Tony had somehow found a way to rig it so that he was the person who chose the food for the last three missions. That sounded exactly like something he would do, and by the time Steve has finished the story and moved onto a new one, you’re more yourself.

The noise in the background of the call lessens over time, and the voices of the other Avengers disappear after Steve’s fourth story. You’re enraptured by the smooth, low sound of his voice over the phone speaker. Slowly but surely, you relax enough that your muscles can finally unclench and you move from being tightly curled against the desk to having your legs sprawled out in front of you a little. Your body still feels heavy, though, and you carefully move to lay on the floor on your side. The plush rug you added to your office is suddenly a godsend and you’re mobile enough now to reach up and grab the pillow from your desk chair. It’s normally just a back support pillow, something you’d deemed a necessity after sitting for hours on end, but now it’s a source of comfort as you tuck it underneath your head.

“You still with me, Y/N?” Steve finally asks.

You’re drowsy now that the panic has washed away and the adrenaline is leaving your system, but you cluck your tongue once. You swallow and try to rid your mouth of the dryness. It takes a great effort, but you manage to force out a weak “thank you” in the quiet.

Steve doesn’t hesitate or seem surprised by your response. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says. “I’d do anything for you, Y/N.”

That makes you smile. You put the phone on speaker and set it beside you on the floor, then close your eyes again.

“We’re back at the tower now. I’ll come check on you as soon as I’m cleared by medical. Are you in your office?” You click once in response. “Okay. Tony’s already been cleared so I think he’s coming to find you. I’ll stay on the line and talk when I can, but even if you can’t hear me, know that I’m here on the phone. Alright, sweetheart?”

You click again and listen as Steve goes back to telling his stories. After a while, he stops talking and you can hear someone else, presumably one of the medical team members, talking to him.

While Steve is occupied by one of the Tower doctors, your office door opens and someone enters the room. You don’t need to sit up or open your eyes to know that it’s Tony because he’s muttering about the overpowering smell. Apparently, it’s not just your floor that’s feeling the effects of your co-worker’s horrible meal choices. A wave of the smell enters with him and you have to brace yourself as your mind screams at you, your old mentor’s words banging around in your skull. For a moment, you doubt if it’s really you that’s sitting in your office. Maybe you’re still at MIT and this is all just another experiment being done on you.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

Slowly, you blink open your eyes and stare up at Tony. He’s crouched beside you, one hand braced on the corner of the desk so he doesn’t lose his balance.

“It’s pretty bad out there. I’m sending everyone home early and I turned on the fans in every room on the floor. You hurt?” he asks, though you’re positive he already knows the answer because of Steve.

You shake your head and move into a sitting position. It takes you longer than it should but he doesn’t rush you or seem impatient. Tony understands what it’s like after being triggered.

“I think Steve is probably on the way up. Do you want me to help you back to your apartment after he’s checked on you, or do you want him to help?” Tony asks.

After thinking it over, you hold up two fingers—option two, have Steve help you. Tony smiles a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he shifts to sit on the floor instead of crouch.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

You’re very aware that Steve is still on the phone and you glance down at the device, then up at Tony. It’s clear that the genius knew exactly what he was doing and that he already knew that Steve was still present in some capacity. Your cheeks feel hot as you nod.

“Steve and I don’t always get along. My therapist would say that we should find middle ground and work out our issues since we’re both grown adults” Tony begins, waving a hand dismissively. “I trust your judgement, Y/N. You’re smart. You don’t need my permission or approval if you want to date him, but as your friend, I want you to know that if he makes you happy, then I’ll be happy about it. He always seems to be on your best behavior around you, which is good. You’re a lot more relaxed around him than anybody else on the team, besides me, of course..”

Tony has bad timing for heart-to-heart conversations and though you still feel a little bit like you’re in the wrong body and itching to get out, you appreciate that he’s telling you what’s on his mind. He doesn’t often do that, not when other people—like Steve—could overhear. It’s forcing you to stay present with him.

You nod a little and then Tony is producing a water bottle from somewhere and asking if you’d like to have some. He mothers you until there’s a soft knock at the door.

“That’s Steve,” Tony tells you. “You’re good if I let him and head up to see Pep? She’s got an early flight out in the morning and I want to make sure we’ve got time together tonight.”

You nod again and he gets up. He leaves you behind the desk and you reach out to tap the red button on your phone to end the call now that Steve’s here with you. A few moments later, Steve is occupying the spot where Tony had just been sitting. He’s clearly worried, but he’s trying to act casual about the whole thing, and he’s practically doing a whole song and dance to make sure you’re comfortable after what’s happened, even though he doesn’t even really know what happened.

“Steve,” you murmur, smiling a little. Your throat is tight and it feels like someone’s scraping sandpaper over the tissue and muscles there as you speak.

He pauses and meets your eyes. “Yes?”

You reach out and take his hand in yours, squeezing once. He squeezes back and you keep hold of his hand as you look up at the tablet on your desk. It’s just out of your reach, but Steve grabs it easily and sets it on the floor between the two of you.

With your free hand, you open the app and tap a few buttons.

“Will you take me to my apartment?” FRIDAY asks.

The AI’s voice comes through all the speakers in the room and you flinch at the volume. You’re not as wound up as before, however, so you’re able to switch the settings on the tablet so that it’s no longer connected to FRIDAY and instead just coming through the tiny speakers on the device.

“Yeah, I can,” Steve answers. He rubs his thumb over your hand in small, soothing strokes. “What’s your address?”

“I live on floor 23,” you tap out. “Unit 46.”

He huffs a little, smiling. “No kidding. We’re almost neighbors. How did I miss that?”

You shrug at him and lock the tablet, then gather up your phone and the pillow from your lap. Steve stands first. He offers to help you to your feet and you nod in consent. His hands are gentle as he guides you until you’re standing upright, and though you’re a little dizzy from not eating most of the day, you’re mostly stable.

“Do you think you’re okay to walk?” he asks.

Slowly, you nod. You drop the pillow back onto your desk chair where it belongs and tuck your phone into your pocket, then adjust the tablet so you can tap on it again.

“The smell is the problem,” the tiny speakers announce for you. “I don’t know what will happen when we leave my office.”

Steve nods in understanding and places a gentle hand on the small of your back. “I’m right here,” he reassures you. “I can carry you or find a place for you to sit if we need to take a break.”

The two of you leave your office and make it to your apartment with little difficulty. You leave the tablet behind on your desk. Like he promised, Steve supports you when you need it, and he slows down after you get off the elevator on your floor so that you can steady yourself.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks as you arrive outside the door of your apartment. The hall is empty of other agents and employees, though it’s close to dinner time, so you imagine that most of them are either out or making their way towards one of the cafes and cafeterias inside the Tower.

You nod and pull out your phone, typing quickly and then showing him the screen.

“You want me to stay? Are you sure?” Steve goes to shove his hands in his jacket pockets. He’s still dressed in his suit from the mission, so there’s no pockets, and his entire face flushes when his hands jab at nothing. He drops them back down to his sides as a giggle escapes you. Though he’s still pink, he grins wide at the sound.

Typing furiously, you tell him that of course you want him to stay. It’s helpful for you to have company to keep you present, and you trust him.

“I’m not exactly good company after missions,” he tells you. “I need to shower.”

You smile in understanding and type out another message. He watches over your shoulder, reading as you go. He seems a little relieved when you reassure him that he doesn’t need to talk if he just wants to relax after his mission.

“Watching movies sounds good. There’s so many I haven’t seen yet. Do you want to pick one of your favorites while I shower? I can come back with snacks.”

The promise of snacks makes you smile, and Steve smiles back. When you nod, he leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek. Your face is warm when he pulls away, and your smile turns shy as Steve backs away from you with a little wave.

“I’ll be back soon, Y/N,” he says, and you nod at him before heading into your room to set up the movie night.

As an afterthought, you pull out your phone and text him a few of your favorite snacks. Steve is quick to reply. He already knows what you like, apparently, and the sweet texts he sends you are enough to make your horrible afternoon feel like almost nothing.

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