#Went in and edited the formatting a little

[lucalicatteart]

Poll adventure (paventure? lol) Day 3: read the small story tidbit below the poll for more details, OR just vote based on initial impression

(✦ see past poll results + further information HERE (link) ✦)

The winning option of yesterday's poll was that the adventurer should throw a coin into the mysterious well ….

"After nearly ten minutes rummaging through the disorganization at the bottom of his backpack, he finally approaches the well once again, meager coin pouch in hand. He meticulously balances a little golden coin on the tip of his thumb, positioning it just so for an elegant coin flip… With a flick of his hand, the coin wobbles off, anticlimactically dropping into the darkness.. He pouts, leaning in to listen for a plonk as the coin hits the water but… nothing…. silence.. A few minutes pass and he shrugs, moving to pick up his bag and just continue his journey elsewhere, when suddenly a faint noise echoes from the well.. an almost cartoonish plopping sound, like wet feet slapping against stone..? The pitter patter grows closer and closer…then stops abruptly. The adventurer cautiously slinks over to the well, only to find.. a creature of some sort, clinging to the walls, staring up at him blankly. - What should he do next?"

[dreamlit-wanderer]

To me u r lilac tiger mint :3

Lilac -- Love to see you on my dashboard

Tiger -- Funny in a very dumb but gracious way

Mint -- You deserve all the rights

Yayayaay yippeee :DD Thank you for the ask and the nice things :]

[[Ask game in question]]

[always-a-joyful-note]

All right. Time to ramble about a new thing that grabbed me by the neck and didn't let me go until I finished all available episodes.

That new thing, my friends, would be the Mistholme Museum of Mystery, Morbidity, and Mortality. And despite being terrible at writing proper reviews and hardly ever doing it, I'm gonna do my best to give a semi-coherent review of why you should listen to this funky little Australian podcast.

So! I see a lot of people comparing Mistholme to Magnus Archives. ..and while that definitely works, I also want to both compare it to Welcome to Night Vale and Wolf 359 for its at times very cavalier attitude towards the unexplained and its exploration on personhood and humanity.

Seriously, though. What I LOVE about this podcast, asides from the philosophical and discoursey tidbits that make the nerd in me go absolutely bonkers, is the way that while it is very much horror and mystery, it's just not that.

Like...it's a museum about supernatural occurrences and terrors, and while a lot of stories do end in creepy, bone-chilling ways, there's also stories that end ambiguously or happily. It's just people living in a world that happens to have alternatural items in it, and while many of the times things go horribly wrong, a lot of times things also can go right...or leave something good to think about. It's just...the best part about this podcast for me is how it's almost slice of life, but a slice of life that happens in a world of magic through the lens of a museum (literally ;)).

Moving on, though, I also seriously love how sometimes it gives off the feel of those educational shows where the characters talk to the audience. There's definitely some great meta moments (and y'all know how much I am wild over those), some stuff I DEARLY want to say about the second person voice but won't for coherence/spoilers. It blends genres - from sci-fi to horror to fantasy, etc. - and has an amazing meta mystery plot thread that just gets better and better as the show progresses.

More than that, though, I seriously just love the focus on worldbuilding. Ironically, this podcast is a MASTER at the show don't tell rule (with reasonable and very seamlessly woven ways of telling, too), and we gradually get to know of this world similar to our own but noooot quite right as the show progresses in a very organic way. And I'm also gonna seriously express the joy I feel in the ambiguity of the year in which the show is unraveling, as well as the ambiguity of how much the common public is aware of the alternatural and so many other things like that. Enough that you're not toooo curious about it but it still adds just another amazing element of story and FUN to this world.

The characters in this podcast - STARS THE CHARACTERS IN THIS PODCAST!! ATG (what I call the Audio Tour Guide)....well, other people have said it better than me but you WILL want to die for it and treasure it and protect it. The other characters that appear? Phenomenal, complex, just...people. And the VOICE ACTING IN THIS. I am....not a good judge of VAs, I'll admit, but just the voice acting in here. The subtle emotion and RANGE they give to their characters. How I'm able to almost SEE them all just from the way they speak. And the way they all develop, both silent AND speaking characters - I don't know how but Dom somehow made me love the mute or nonspeaking characters...or...just feel certain things for them ;)).

Just....plotwise, characterwise WORLDBUILDINGWISE (I am very much a fan of excellent, incredible worlds), performancewise, the themes and discourse on humanity and nature it invites, everything - solid 1000/10. It's really and seriously ranking up there with W359 as one of my favorite podcasts so far....

Now, of course, there will be some stuff that you may personally not find to taste like I did (what with the diverse stories and so on) but I don't think they belong in this review as they're more subjective opinions those up there were all objectively true despite my gushing I don't take arguments so we don't need that. I think the show really does its best in being respectful to all mythologies, religion, sociopitical issues, etc. that may crop up, and it keeps such an...objective? more hopeful? stance on almost every person narrated about (despite in-show opinions) that's kind of...well, refreshing I suppose? to hear? (Maybe the best way to explain it is that its neutral tone allows people, evil and good, to be people without betraying its show's own ethical code.)

Anyway, yeah....I love Mistholme. I love ATG and co. I love the VA and their voice and all other voices once again I ask why are podcaster voices so nice to hear? I love LOVE the individual stories and their unique way of just...revealing the world of Mistholme. And yes, again, I really love all its themes and the Thoughts(tm) they invite or that invade your brain space.

Anyway, with that, I'm still not forgiving the creator for s4 despite being on s5, how DARE -

And secondly, if I had a nickel for everytime an Aussie creator made an urban fantasy world with some of the best worldbuilding and character arcing and plot twisting I've seen, I'd have 2 nickels which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice...

Comparisons and jokes asides, though, you really WILL love this world on its own. And maybe scream a little in wounded agony. But that's just the fun of visiting a museum of mystery, morbidoty, and mortality right?

[dodomingo]

Sea of Thieves is the best game of all time

[meal-on-wheels]

Just scrutinizing this page, it’s interesting! This is the chapter that reveals Chilchuks reason for being so closed off about his personal life. But this page reveals a lil bit more about him.

The small visual novel formatted moments of Chilchuks POV shows when he’s had to interact with others and the options he could’ve made. He wavered a bit on choosing whether to tell Marcille she looked pretty or if he should laugh at her, I think with this moment he chose to play it safe not wanting it seem like he was flirting with Marcille keeping it professional. Then there’s a little moment with Namari, going out to grab drinks nothing much to read there he seems comfortable with her as a friend.

I also just realized the little hearts are meters of how much love he has for each person! He seems to care a lot for Laios. This is the moment Laios is fighting to save Falin immediately after recovering after she went missing again. He chose to be honest instead of doing nothing? You’d think it’d be him lying to get Laios to the surface but I guess it was more of a decision of whether he’d just let Laios go by himself to save Falin and separating himself from the party choosing himself over the others or being honest that he cares about them.

With Falin, this looks to be when they first started adventuring into the dungeon. They hadn’t really interacted as much, curious why he considered squeezing her palm then. Might just be something he thought in the moment like he coulD, a small impulsive thought.

Then there’s the person who’s hidden behind Leed I think that might be his wife? His heart meter is full, but the hair color isn’t the same.

Edit: It’s

Really curious how he feels about Senshi but it’s covered! And so is Izutsumi’s but he clearly cares for her the lil pointer finger hovering over her kind of indicates that.

[dduane]

I had a note from a librarian...

Along these lines:

I am a public school librarian and would like to put your young wizard series in the library this year as I have no joy in promoting HP anymore. What's the best method of getting the whole set hardback where the $ goes back to you the author?

So first of all, to the OP: thanks for being in touch. I'll drop you a note shortly.

That said, the question you raise might be one that's occurred to other people: so I thought I'd handle this part of it in public.

About Young Wizards hardcovers: (rueful look) This is kind of a challenge, as—due to changes of publishers and other weirdness—there has never been a whole-series, unified-format hardcover set of the Young Wizards books in the series's 40-year history.

...Let's take it from the top, and you'll see the problem.

The books' first home was at Delacorte Press, an imprint of Dell Publishing. So You Want To Be A Wizard was published in hardcover in 1983, the Deep Wizardry hc in 1985, and the High Wizardry hc in 1990, with these covers. (The art, respectively, by David Wiesner, Darrell Sweet, and Neal McPheeters.)

All of these editions are now difficult to find in good condition, especially SYWTBAW, which as a first book in a series by a new/untried author, perhaps understandably had a very small print run, and was mostly sold to libraries. (The run might have been as small as 1500 copies. It's hard to tell now, as this wasn't data that was shared with authors in those days.) As a result, most copies of this edition are either very beat up, or (if in good condition) pretty expensive. The Delacorte DW and HW hardcovers are a little easier to find, but not that much.

In the early 1990s there was a change in publishing direction at Dell shortly after HW came out. The publisher's interest had pivoted toward wanting more bestselling authors; so they jettisoned many then-new or midlist authors so as to be able to pay the best-selling authors more. (In this particular micro-bonfire of the vanities, Dell's stupidity in throwing Jane Yolen overboard, FFS, astounds me to this day.) So though the books continued to be published at other Dell imprints (Laurel-Leaf, Yearling) as paperbacks through the mud-1990s, that was the end of the Dell hardcovers.

The next hardcover publication was therefore in 1990, from GuildAmerica / SF Book Club. Support Your Local Wizard contains SYWTBAW, DW and HW, and was a Book Club bestseller: it sold a quarter million copies and set a record as their most popular new-member-requested book that lasted until they went out of business. As a result, there are a lot of these books around.

Also in plentiful supply is The Young Wizards, which SFBC Fantasy published in 2001. (NB that a lot of sources list this as being a 1984 book, which is incorrect: as it also contains, besides the first three, A Wizard Abroad and The Wizard's Dilemma, this makes it impossible to have been published any sooner than 2001.)

Anyway, after that, things get a bit simpler. In the mid 1990s the series was picked up by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt / Harcourt Trade Publishers' new YA imprint Magic Carpet Books, which began republishing earlier works. A Wizard Abroad had until then been published only in the UK (in a mass-marker mmpb from Transworld/Corgi); its first hardcover came out from the SF Book Club/GuildAmerica in 1993, Dell having passed on acquiring it. (The cover on this one was done by the fabulous David Cherry, artist and brother of my old colleague C. J. Cherryh.) Harcourt did an unusual small-format hardcover of AWAb in 1997—testing the waters, I think—and then, when that sold strongly, went straight to full-size hardcovers with The Wizard's Dilemma (with art from then until now by Cliff Nielsen) and have stayed with that format since.

Harcourt also did a lovely 25th anniversary hardcover edition of So You Want To Be A Wizard in 2003, which is easy to find inexpensively. I strongly suspect this republication trend would have continued with Deep Wizardry and High Wizardry when their respective anniversaries came around. But unfortunately the Magic Carpet program wound down soon afterwards, and the most recent volumes have been published simply as HMH.

...So you can see, you've got kind of a mixed bag to deal with. Availability has also been something of an issue, as the books are considered backlist by Harcourt's current owner (HarperCollins), and warehouse supplies of some books in the series have been iffy.

So if I was a librarian in this situation, I'd be tempted to do this: (a) Grab a few used copies of the 25th-anniversary edition of SYW, and a few copies of the The Young Wizards omnibus, to take care of books 1-5. Then (b) see about acquiring all the rest in the Harcourt hardcover editions of volumes 6-10, new or used, as opportunity allows. Royalties come to me off all the Harcourt books, so I'm okay on that count. (And thanks for being concerned about it!)

For all who might be interested: hope this helps!

[headspace-hotel]

I was talking about editing a bunch of wikipedia pages to talk about native americans and farmer family friend was like

"yeah, it's like when we went to Turkey and we visited these historical museums, and the museums acted like the history of the country began when the Ottomans took over. The Hagia Sophia was built in what, 500 AD? And there are Roman ruins everywhere but the 'history' only begins in the 1400s. In this book I'm reading about the history of agriculture in Kentucky the author doesn't even discuss Native Americans before Europeans came. It's a huge oversight."

I've consciously tried to unlearn that shit so many times why does it STILL unlock little doors in my brain when I learn examples of how deeply arbitrary the boundaries of what we see as "history" are.

He also talked about how we have this idea of cave men being our ancestors because the things left by them in caves were more permanent, whereas the structures and things people built above ground would have decayed.

...I really do think about that a lot. How we have evidence of the civilizations that built things out of stone, while civilizations that used materials that biodegraded wouldn't have left as much evidence.

Come to think of it, some of the best known ancient civilizations did live in deserts. But they had contemporaries (like Punt, which we now know was in Ethiopia iirc...)

Farmer family friend also has been to Arizona (Might have been New Mexico? Idk.) and saw these Indigenous rock carvings he told me about that I never stopped thinking about. According to him, there's a rock face that has pictographs carved into it showing the steps of how to plant and harvest corn. "Very simple," he said, "like a tutorial."

And the crazy thing is. There's this nearby rock formation that casts a shadow on the rock face. And throughout the year, as the position of the sun changes, the shadow points to the step in the corn growing tutorial you're supposed to be doing at that time of year.

...I swear this guy has me come over just so he can have someone to talk to while he's doing mind numbing manual labor.

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

Master’s Whore

Pairing: Vincent Phantomhive x Fem! Maid! Reader.

Warning: NSFW, Smut, Master x Servant (possible power dynamic), Cheating, Pet Names, Creampie, Unprotected sex (please wrap it and stay safe everyone!), Intercourse (P in V), Breeding kink?

Summary: Vincent fucks his maid just a room over from his entire family.

Word Count: 806.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 1

A/N:

Welcome to Kinktober! My first fic, posted on time. Let's see if I can keep it up for the rest of the month. Hope you like the first edition to Stitched's first Kinktober!I did try to keep this gender neutral in the beginning, but it's a little hard to with smut so you can see when I stopped trying to be GN and just made the reader female. I suppose you can say the reader's gender is still ambiguous despite their female body (and though Vincent calls them 'Princess').I tried to make a McDonald's joke at the end but I don't think it landed at all (I can't fucking believe I made a McDonald's joke in a smut fic)

If you think this fic is good, just wait for Day 2...

Here is the masterlist for all of my Kinktober 2023 works.

—-///—

Your eyes slowly rolled back as the master fucked himself into you.

"Shh, baby, I know you can be quiet..." He whispered into your ear.

You whimpered against your master's hand. It was becoming harder and harder not to scream in ecstasy from his thin fingers and thick cock. Two fingers were pressed against your clit, rubbing in slow sensational motions whilst his dick eased in and out of you at nearly the same pace.

You were trying so hard not make a noise. The consequences of being caught in such a scandalous position with Earl Vincent Phantomhive could be devastating. Not only was Vincent's happy family was at risk, but most importantly your reputation and job was at risk.

Imagine what people would think of you, the Phantomhive mistress whore.

But the thought of the dangerous consequences thrilled the both of you. Made you both all hot and bothered.

"Oh Master!" You moaned out.

Vincent squeezed your jaw tightly, a warning to quiet down.

"Oh princess, you know my family are just outside that door. Are you trying to get us caught?" Vincent tutted.

You whined and lowered your head slightly. You stood facing the door with the Earl right you behind you and inside you, watching and almost daring someone to walk in and catch you in the act.

Vincent suddenly picked up the pace, moving faster in and out of your desperate hole. You placed your hands over Vincent's, the one still squeezing your face, as an attempt to hide your moans and cries better. Vincent groaned behind you, feeling himself grow closer to his climax.

"Oh God, I'm going to fill you up so good my little maid." He huffed into your ear.

"Please Sir!" You cried, the sound muffled behind both your hands and Vincent's over your mouth. You were just as close.

It wasn't long before you and your lover made it to your long needed orgasms. As promised, Vincent spilled his seed far into your awaiting hole. Whilst your cum spilled onto the carpet under you. You'd have fun trying to get that stain out later, seeing as you couldn't possibly leave it for your co workers to deal with.

You sighed and went to stand up straight, but Vincent stopped you with a kind hand on your back.

"Wait Darling, we can't let all this cum go to waste." Vincent chuckled.

He pulled up your panties nice and tight and lovingly tapped your pussy through your panties before letting you stand up and turn to face him.

Vincent tutted again and sighed as you looked down at your cum on the carpet, he was stingy with cum, always insisting both your fluids be properly taken by the other. Vincent liked getting his and yours cum worth. Oh well, he'd just have to make up for it later. He pulled himself back into his trousers and smiled at you while stretching a bit.

He walked over to the door but before opening it, he turned back to you and grinned, "I'll want you again before the day is over, so I'll need you stay later than usual. You don't have a problem with that, do you Princess?"

You stood in front of your master, skirt still pulled up, cum sticking to your thighs and filling your cunt also covering the carpet under you whilst your legs shook. His words had your pussy clenching around nothing, again.

So obviously you smiled and slowly shook you head, "Not at all. Master..."

[feeder86]

Feeder 86: The Top Ten

Can you believe that the Feeder86 ‘Orginal Gainer Stories’ blog will soon be posting the two hundredth story? I thought of many ways to celebrate. But then I stopped and realised that I would probably be best using the time to address one of the questions I get asked about most frequently. Which of the stories do I personally like the most?

This was not an easy list to make as I very rarely go back to re-read my own work after I have finished editing and posting them. This is not because I do not like them, but because I always see bits that I want to change. Nevertheless, this project was the perfect opportunity to revisit a few oldies that I remember being very proud of at the time. 

Hopefully you will see this list for what it is: a glimpse into how I write, my motivations and drive; rather than just a self indulgent pat on the back for myself. Yuck!

So, with that being said, let us begin...

#10 The Feeders’ Formula: This tale certainly had to be placed into the list. After all, it is the one that kicked off ‘Original Gainer Stories’ all those years ago. There are many amazing examples of instant body weight transformation stories out there. I felt that I needed to write this one as my contribution to the genre. It went down well at the time. I swiftly wrote a Part Two, then followed it up with others (The Feeders’ Formation, The Feeders’ Formalities, The Feeders’ Foreclosure, The Feeders’ Forecast, The Feeders’ Former Years), becoming something of an ongoing saga in recent years; focusing on the different Feeders from that very first meeting. As a writer who sometimes struggles to find the ending, these are wonderful to write as they all have the same inevitable conclusion. There is also so much freedom to be had when you’re working with characters who are pretty much pure evil. I know so much more about the Feeders than I’ve ever written down, so it is great to tease out those little details with each new installment. The newest of these tales (The Feeders’ Foreplay) was the darkest yet, but seems to have provoked a very favourable reaction from many. Who knows what the Feeders may get up to next? I do! And you can find out too, once we start a whole new sweeps season of stories this April! Come with me into The Feeders' Fortress!

#9 Only One: Where do I start? Only One has my absolute favourite type of feeder. Ben is big, sexy and very in control. He’s one of those rare types of guys who always stays on top and is a step ahead of absoultely everyone he meets. Who wouldn’t fall for him? I certainly did! In fact, I loved him so much that I wrote an entire prequel for him (and none of you even noticed!) Check out Rewire if you want to see how Ben became the man we know and love.

#8 The Wright Boys: The idea of a weight gain that cannot be stopped or controlled is a tempting one for many. How much easier would it be if you didn’t have to second guess your choices or face the pressure to lose weight? This was the first tale of what I see as ‘The Curses’ saga that eventually bled into many other stories (including another one on this list!) and culminated in Wright vs Beckett. However, this story remains my personal favourite of these. If you’re a fan of looking for crossovers between my stories, these are some of the most explicitly linked. I followed it up with a spin-off tale (The Wright Boys: DNA), but continue to have ideas about how I could go back to these boys in the future. Watch this space.

#7 Making Monsters: The title of this story really does give away how I felt about it at the time. This is quite the saga, spread over into not just two, but three parts! It began as a story that was very similar to Blackmailed; a tale that I had written previously about a guy voyeristically enjoying seeing his friend fatten up her boyfriend. However, this story evolved even further for me, with Tommy’s love of eating and gaining weight being both his greatest love, and his biggest shame. His denial only heightened the tension for me, and, when he does eventually give in, the gains feel all the more satisfying as a result.

#6 The Pig Feed: It’s not easy to write a gainer story where there isn’t another character spurring the events along and encouraging things. In this tale however, that role is given to a very tasty and surprisingly addictive pig feed mixture that Steve gets himself hooked on. It’s a story that I really enjoyed writing and still feel very happy with. I have considered writing more stories around this interesting feed. However, I am yet to do so; deciding (for now at least) that things are perhaps best left as they are. But, feel free to let me know your thoughts on this.

#5 Farm Boy: Whether you grew up in a big city, or a small rural community, like Hayden in this story, we can all relate to having desires and attractions that those around us don’t understand. And, thanks to how well connected we are these days, we now know what it’s like to realise that you’re not actually alone, and the whirlwind of excited emotions that follow. I enjoyed writing this story because I, quite simply, fell completely in love with Hayden. As kinky as he was, he still retained that fresh faced innocence throughout. If any of my characters were destined to be together forever, I imagine that these two would be my top choice.

#4 Keeping a Crush: This is one of those stories that I wrote in a matter of hours, and I was so pleased with it when I was done. Getting the train to go to work is not necessarily something that many Americans have to do, and so the location had to be switched to the UK (quite refreshing, I thought!). For me, it’s one of those really rare instances where placing very solid restrictions on the structure of a story (In this case, having it all take place during the commute to and from work) and finding that it actually elevates the sexual tension and mood. All scenes take place in public settings. All conversations could, in theory, be overheard. These days, so many people meet online and flirt for weeks by messaging back and forth, before they even see each other for the first time. Nowadays, for better or for worse, the actual, real fantasy is finding a connection with someone you just see in the real world; perhaps with a person you literally just met on the way to work...

If you’ve not read this one, I really would highly recommend it.

#3 To the Max: Stories with a magical element to them are either loved or hated. However, I find that this tale walks that line very successfully. Ned gets his hands on a love potion and makes straight guy, Max, fall for him. I’m sure we’ve all been there with that fantasy! However, it is in the consequences of inviting someone into your life, someone that you actually know very little about, that the entire eroticism of this story is based. I won’t spoil it for those who have not read it, but believe me when I say that things soon start getting very interesting indeed…

#2 Tommy’s Two Hundred. Don’t recognise this one? Well, that's because none of you have read it yet. 

Now, I’m not just saying this because I want you all to come back for the two hundreth story, but this is genuinely one of my absolute favourites. For my big milestone stories in the past, I have written something specifically for that event (Wright vs Beckett, The Seven Feeders of Finn). However, this is just a tale that I adored writing and decided to hold back for you all, especially for this occasion. It’s a story of domination and submission within a fairly open, but very kinky, relationship. Strapping Hunter plays the part of a very controlling feeder, making me break many of my own rules and stretching my boundaries to the absolute limits. You’ll either love him, or you’ll hate him. That’s all I’m going to say…

Also, this story is going to be the first Feeder86 story that will be fully illustrated. It’s all thanks to the amazing talents of Spellwell9 who was given an advanced copy and asked to imagine the characters in four different scenes. I cannot wait for you to see this!

Put it in your diary. All will be revealed from Friday 5th April…

#1 F80 Control: This is perhaps a controvercial choice (especially as my #1). I have previously admitted that this story strays a little from its purpose of being a gainer story. In other words, I get very caught up in the background story that is being told. However, I feel that the science fiction genre is surprisingly underused in tales of weight gain. Yet, the combination of Aritificial Intelligence and submission seemed, to me, to be the perfect blend. It really is a beast of a story if you can follow it all the way through to its conclusion. 

With the advent of improved artificial intelligence software in recent years, I felt the time was right to develop the world further, with the addition of F80 Ctrl Alt Del; a spin-off tale set slightly before the main story. Then, unable to help myself, I followed this up again with another companion story, F80: Kidnap and Control. 

The reason I chose this universe as my favourite is because this is where I am happiest writing. With AI, I don’t need to consider the morality or motivations - I know exactly what their aims are and I can see multiple ways in which it will cause conflict with humanity (and their waistlines!) I would also love to write more for this world one day, and I even left a little unused subplot in the last story that I think would provide the perfect starting-off point for another chapter. Will I ever write it? Well, we’ll have to wait and see…

So, there you have it! The the complete list!

This was a much harder exercise than I expected when I first embarked upon it. Stories like: Jiggle the Jock, Meticulous, Rule Number One, Freaks, Leftovers I and II, Ethan: The Secret Feeder and, not fogetting The Consequences I, II and III all crept in and out of the list, unfortunatley missing out on the final cut. There are many, many others, of course. But this list cannot go on forever...

So, why not tell me which ones were your favourites? Feel free to write in the comments and post a link to any other stories that you have enjoyed from myself, or from other authors. Hopefully, if we all work together, this could become a great resource for people in the future, filled with signposts and reccommendations.  

Also, don’t forget the Feeder86 Contents page where you can find links and descriptions of all the 200 stories posted so far (as well as plot outlines for upcoming tales as well). Please continue to enjoy the vast catalogue of stories, and even have a go yourself! I love supporting the many new gainer fiction writers who contact me. So please do get in touch if you need advice, or to talk through your ideas. Let’s all encourage a whole new generation of people to get typing away! I’m sure you will cheer them on just as much as I will.

Thank you to everyone who supports the stories blog here on Tumblr. Keep checking in every Friday througout April for a whole new sweeps season to celebrate this milestone. Stories will include: Tommy's Two Hundred, Train for a Gain, The Feeders' Fortress and The 1% (a companion story to The 5%). For now, I thank you all for taking time out to sit and read the very bizarre tales that sprout from my mind. You are all wonderful.

Happy 200 stories!

Feeder86

[toodelusionalforreality]

Azriel x OC | Chapter 3

Bastards

At long last, his blessed mate is revealed to Azriel. Their first real encounter is enough to leave the Spymaster with dread and dilemma.

Word count: ~9.4k Warning: Slight mentions of blood [minimal editing/proofreading/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. A lot is going on here that editing is a lost cause. I'm sincerely praying none of you know anything about fighting.

Previous Chapter: Sanctuary

Ahead. 

His shadows urged him as if he couldn’t hear the call himself. They snaked through the trees, leading him through a darkness softer than their own. The melody tugged at his heart, enough for him to lurch forward, tripping and stumbling over the overgrown roots under his feet. Her voice grew nearer, clearer, the tremors in it raking over his skin.

Ahead.

As he emerged through the entangled branches, his breath hitched. Moonlight broke through the canopy and illuminated a wide circle in the clearing. And she at the centre of it, her head tipped skyward.

Her shirt, barely a white veil in the dim light, caressed her skin as the breeze danced to the rhythm of her song, her words unintelligible and foreign. The soft waves of her hair whipped in the gentle wind. A thick white mist stood a barrier between them, shielding her from him as though she wasn’t his to embrace. 

Ahead.

He took another step. Twigs snapped under him. The fog lifted. She lowered her eyes and blinked. Her lips stopped moving. She stood, frozen in front of him, radiant than a full moon above the mountains. The word hung in the air, whispered by his shadows and the breeze. 

Mate. 

.

.

.

Azriel opened his eyes to a cloud of darkness flittering above him. With each gasp of breath, the weight in his chest sank a little deeper. Every time he saw the same face. Some nights, she sang for him under the golden lights in her bar. On others, they were far away from the rest of the world, alone and safe. But she always smiled. At him, only him.

Despite the torture of facing reality at the crack of his dreams, he went to sleep every night only to catch a glimpse of her. 

Masochist, he might be, but it was all Azriel had of her.

His brothers never mentioned being plagued by visions of their mates after the mating bond snapped for them. He didn’t have the gall to ask either, partly because he didn’t dare believe it was what he suspected it to be. The clear whisper from his shadows only haunted him in his dreams. A mere word said into his ears once and gone, leaving him to wonder if he had dreamt it as much as his hallucinations of her. But every time he woke up with his skin prickling with need and heart swelling with bittersweet longing, he swore he smelled that same fragrance of spices.

And then, there was the matter of the bond itself. His emotions and desires came crashing down on him so fiercely, so fast, that there was no other explanation, even if he wanted to deny it. The tether wound tight around his heart every time he refused to seek her. But it was quiet. So eerily quiet. If he sensed her, he told himself, he would know for sure.

His brothers realised the moment the growl erupted from his throat. They scented the bond on him, Rhys had said. It was the feral look in his eyes that had convinced Cass though. Azriel believed him, for he had wanted to tear every limb of the man that night.

He could see it as he sat in the booth with his hands fisted on the table—thundering up the stairs past Uri’s protests, ripping the door that snapped shut softly above them off its hinges, going straight for the man’s throat. He wouldn’t have used his knife. No, he had wanted to do it with his bare hands.

Darkness exploded around him at the sight of the locked office door. His siphons shone bright like hellfire against the black of his shadows. If his brothers hadn’t dragged him out of the bar a minute later, his shadows would have claimed the one who belonged with them, belonged with him .

What truly stopped him was her eyes.

Even after months, he remembered the pure disdain and disgust that filled them when she defended the fae against a pervert. The flicker of alarm, the following rage, and then the void. No, Azriel couldn’t bring himself to be the cause of it. Mate or not, he didn’t want her to look at him with those eyes. 

And when he shot to the skies and flew over Velaris until sunrise—afraid to stop, afraid he might end up in front of her doors—all he thought of was her smile, her voice, her. 

His brothers didn’t bother to stop him. Even Cass didn’t make one of his jokes. After hours of trailing him, they left him to his own misery. But not before a slow, careful presence nudged against his mental wards as if he were a breath away from shattering. 

Whatever you’re tempted to do, Rhys had voiced when Azriel allowed him in, don’t.

And he listened.

He listened every day since. He fought his impulses to run to her, to see whether she had felt anything that night. Even when he knew mating bonds didn’t work that way. 

Rhys made it easy though, or so Azriel believed, by sending him on mission after mission with barely any day to spare in between. Months ago, he would have visited Pharus even during only a day’s break. But now, he didn’t trust himself enough to be in the vicinity of the bar, day or night.

Cass took the honour of owning the loosest lips in the family by telling everyone what had transpired that very night. Apparently, Rhys had wanted to wait until Azriel was ready.

One look at Mor’s brown eyes and he knew when the conversation veered towards Ayla. But five centuries of friendship counted for something as she picked up on signs of his frustration and let him be. Nesta gave him a disapproving stare but respected his silence, on occasions. At least Cass backed off when he showed no interest in pouring his heart out like a lovesick youth. 

But Feyre, believing she was as sly as her mate, took him on errands for her paint supplies. And supposedly remembered an important meeting always somewhere close to a specific red-bricked building. Azriel wasn’t a fool, and so he left his High Lady to attend her meetings alone. Honestly, it was Elain’s company he tolerated, the only one in his family who never asked about Ayla or his brooding over his own cowardice.

Rhys’s generosity lasted for a whole of three grand weeks. He dismissed every pressing concern Azriel brought to him and bound him home. With an endless list of people who loved to pry into his matters, each day posed a new kind of torture. 

Given they were aware of his obsession with the middle Archeron sister and the consequent dispute with his brother—the High Lord, it was safe to say his longing to be mated like his brothers surfaced with not much of a shock. And they all had one question.

Why hadn’t he done anything yet?

To begin with, Ayla barely knew of his existence. When the mating bond snapped for his brothers, they were acquainted with their mates to some extent. Feyre knew Rhys enough to hate him. Nesta and Cass. . . they were at each other’s throats as much as in each other’s pants. And he distinctly remembered Elain’s reaction. She hated Lucien when he declared the bond in front of everyone, resented him for it, and resisted it with all her might.

So Azriel listened. He stayed away.

He stayed away as years of rejection finally caught up to him and fear snagged his heart. He stayed away though centuries-long prayers were answered in a heartbeat. He stayed away when everything he ever wanted was so close to his reach.

Shackled to home day after day, his options were limited—antagonising himself with his family’s nosiness, running errands which gave his legs, wings and shadows a reason to seek Ayla, or training. 

‘Ready to talk?’ asked Cass the moment his brother took his stance before him and raised his fists to his chin. 

Azriel threw the first punch, and that was the end of that conversation.

It became the new routine. Waking up at night with thoughts of her and releasing his tension in the ring in the morning. He expected Cass to coax him into action, but Rhys was the one to intervene.

Glaring at his brother’s back, Azriel froze in his steps. Close to the southern border of Velaris, stood a lone white stone building along the wide bend of Sidra curving into the city. The turquoise blue on the carved iron doors demanded attention from miles away. One of the heavy double doors was pulled open while the other remained closed, blocking the view of the inside. Through the mesh-covered grilled window, hot air billowed out only to be carried downwind over the waters. Smoke coiled out of a chimney in the back. 

Two horses—creatures of beauty and grace complimenting each other in every way—were tied to the stump outside a modest stable erected beside the quaint smithy. One, as stark as Rhys’s hair and the other, as pale as Amren’s grey eyes. They shuffled silently at the sight of the three brothers who invoked their primal need to surrender their beastly control.

‘Why are we here?’ Azriel ground out. His hands clenched, twitching to throw his brother into the river. Not nearly adequate, but enough to get his point across.

Rhys adjusted the cuffs of his tunic. ‘I fancied a new blade. It’s been a while since I got any, don’t you think? You could get one too.’ He glanced over his shoulder with the same insufferable smirk at the Truth-teller strapped to Azriel’s thigh. ‘Give it a little rest maybe.’

Cass rubbed his sore shoulder from two mornings ago. ‘Do you think I enjoy getting my ass handed to me every day?’ He scowled, stalking up to the two wide doorsteps made of the same stone as the building. ‘I don’t care what you do there. Get. Inside. ’

Azriel stared. Cass stared back.

His brother’s solution to everything was training until his body was limp and trembling. If Azriel had gotten him grumbling about a few landed hits, he definitely pushed this too far. He took a step forward and Cass breathed in relief.

Rhys opened the other door and peered inside. 

Azriel came up behind him and said quietly, ‘You told me not to do anything.’ His shadows drifted ahead before he could reel them back.

‘That night, Az.’ Every trace of amusement disappeared from Rhys's face. Shaking his head, he entered the shop with his brothers on his trail. ‘I told you not to do anything stupid that night.’

A short counter took the space along the breadth of the room across the door. A metal mesh formed part of the wall on their left separating the forge from the shop front. Wood groaned and crackled beyond the partition as a shadow moved in front of a glowing furnace.

To their right, cabinets with glass doors spanned the wall from floor to ceiling. One half showcased knives, swords, and arrowheads made of iron and steel fit for regular use. The other exhibited an interesting collection.

The polished metal of the blades gleamed with a liquid sheen under the soft morning light. Gold and silver made their hilts. Gems of every colour, cut and size adorned the intricate swirls along them. Little wooden placards took a place next to each with centuries, lands—except Night Court—and a few names of fae lords, long dead or forgotten, etched on them.

The brothers studied each weapon carefully, their breaths held in reverence in the presence of ancient blades that had been lost in time, wielded by warriors who once walked and warred and bled to death.

If his brothers chose to wield a sword of their own and name it, Azriel knew, long after they were gone, they would be as coveted as the ones before them. One day, his Truth-Teller would be too, and it had nothing to do with him. The sheathed knife weighed heavy on his thigh as to confirm his belief.

Metal groaned behind them. A man pushed the mesh wall aside and came through. He offered a mild smile, sealing the path again. 

Azriel had seen an uninhibited version of that smile once, hated it, and wanted to carve it out of that face.

Cass strode past to Rhys and blocked him from the clueless fae. He muttered under his breath, ‘What were we thinking? This is a bad idea.’

But his brother smiled smoothly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Azriel resisted the urge to snarl at the man. His shadows curled around his ears, hissing how they wished to shred the one who dared touch Ayla apart. His face that brought a smile to hers, his lips that kissed her cheek, his hand that held her body. Another reason he had stayed away.

‘How can I help you?’

Orvin was no warrior but his build suggested he could handle himself in a fight. His wrapped hands implied he indeed helped Ayla in the workshop. His eyes held an effortless sparkle, unlike the one Azriel usually had to muster for anyone but his family. His short chestnut hair curled at the ends and all Azriel could think was the way Ayla would have tugged at them that night when he—

‘We were hoping to talk to her.’ Rhys tipped his head to the mere shadow looming beyond the makeshift wall against the roaring golden of the fire.

Orvin folded his arms across his chest. His smile faltered a little. ‘She’s busy. Whatever you’re looking for,’ he nodded at the case beside them, ‘you can find it here.’

Cass’s eyes roved over every steel with the warrior's scrutiny, unable to resist his instincts. ‘They’re not good enough.’

And Rhys didn’t deign to look at them, ‘We have a special request.’

In a blink, Orvin stood to his full height—his chin held high, his smile vanishing. ‘She doesn’t work with lords and High Lords.’ 

While Azriel watched her as she moved farther into the shadows, Rhys purred, ‘Surely you can make an exception once.’ 

Metal hit metal in a steady rhythm in the other room. For long minutes, they stared at each other. Feet shuffled. A harsh hiss cut through the silence.

Orvin remained unfazed. ‘She doesn’t make exceptions. For anyone. You can either buy one of these or leave.’

All his life, very few who weren’t a lord or High Lord had defied Rhys. He never abused his power in Velaris. It was one of the reasons the city thrived and people admired him. Still, no one ever forgot who he was and what he was capable of under that beautiful face and charming smile. 

Yet, the sheer arrogance Orvin radiated at that moment, looking down at the most powerful High Lord to have ever existed like the scums he drove out of the shop, was not something anyone had dared do before. He either had a lot of courage or little common sense to deny Rhys what he wanted. 

‘I’m no lord,’ Azriel said finally, his voice gratefully even and low. ‘She makes weapons for others though, doesn’t she?’ 

Orvin slid his gaze to the darkness swarming the shadowsinger's shoulders, ripples and ripples of them challenging him, threatening him. He brought his eyes back to the glowering hazel ones that promised nothing good. Then he turned to the forge. ‘I’ll have to ask her first.’

‘Don’t tell her who we are,’ added Rhys softly.

Orvin paused to throw a warning look over his shoulder. The sliding door clanked gently into the stone wall behind him.

Azriel heard her heart beat as steady as every clang of metal that rang through the air. Time crawled as he waited and waited. For a moment, he considered if Orvin had returned to his work instead. Finally, every sound came to a halt when light footsteps headed towards them.

‘Make yourself presentable,’ her friend sighed. His voice was smooth as a caress when he spoke to her.

Her feet stopped. She took one sharp breath and bit out, ‘If they want me to look pretty, they shouldn’t interrupt me while I’m working.’

Cass pressed a fist to his lips in a useless attempt to hide the stupid grin on his face. Rhys turned to him, his usual amused eyes glowing that set Azriel’s nerves on edge. 

Another sigh, long and deep. ‘At least wash your face.’

‘I regret hiring you.’ 

Her quiet grumble left Azriel’s heart fluttering in his chest. He surveyed a short sword perched on the lowest shelf to hide his smile from his brothers who watched him intently.

‘You wouldn't have a business without me,’ Orvin’s voice followed her to the back and the sound of running water muted his words. ‘How do you plan on selling anything when you hate talking to your customers? You need me to run this place.’

Water splashed. ‘And you get compensated for it.’

In her bed. The words birthed something wretched and slimy in his gut. Azriel closed his eyes as if the simple act could erase his filthy thoughts. With each breath, he tamed the self-loathing that filled him at his own perverseness.

Rhys spoke with a touch of kindness. ‘She doesn’t take an interest in him that way.’

‘Did you,’ his words came out in a low growl and Azriel didn’t try to hide it, ‘look into her mind?’

Though his brother had done it to many over the centuries, none of them ever tempted him to throttle Rhys to death. He could have as well laid his hand on Ayla in ways he shouldn’t.

Rhys simply shook his head. The cockiness in his eyes from mere seconds ago vanished as a calm contemplation replaced it, the one that overtook him in the face of an unknown opponent.

His. Hers is shielded. Rhys held his brother's glare and admitted solemnly, That night in the bar, she knew I peeked into her mind. I didn’t mean to. Her shields went up so fast I could barely find my way out. She knew what she was doing, Azriel. But she didn’t chase me. Any Daemati would have, but she didn’t.

That was months ago and Rhys chose to disclose it with Ayla only a few feet away. Revealing it now meant one thing. A warning. To a brother. From the look on Cass’s face, it was obvious he had been privy to that information as well. 

The groan of wheels against the floor brought the three out of their mental conversation. Ayla walked out, wiping the back of her neck with a washrag. A sheen of sweat coated her flushed skin below her collarbones. Hair slipped loose from her braid curling along the curve of her face. She didn’t come any closer.

Azriel had been so wrong. He had a glimpse of her legs that night, and yet he never could have imagined what he saw in front of him. 

Her oversized shirts and pants were a disguise for what truly lay underneath. Every inch of her body was a sculpted perfection. Every curve and dip of muscle earned from years of training and discipline. Her light sleeveless shirt hung off her shoulders and shifted with each breath she took. The tunic underneath and her dark pants clung to her like a second skin. The scratch on her exposed calf had turned into a fading pale strip. And a fresh scorch mark stained the inside of her forearm.

How long had it been since that night? Weeks? Months? It felt like aeons. And now he stood in her presence, mere steps away from touching her. If he wanted, if she allowed. Azriel couldn’t breathe. His hands trembled by his side. He focused his will on binding his shadows to himself as they chanted her name and begged to be set loose.

‘What can I do for you?’ Her voice lost the airiness from moments ago. Her words were polite, yet her frown asked— Why are you bothering me?

Rhys smiled like the beautiful prick he was. ‘We hear you're crafty with weapons. We’d like to commission you to make one for us.’

None of the brothers missed the slight roll of her eyes. ‘We don’t make weapons. The ones on display are for sale. My partner will help you with that.’

Her partner leaned against the sliding door, wearing a smirk on his face. A smug, satisfied smirk.

Ayla turned around. She was halfway through the door when Rhys’s words stopped her. ‘That’s not what I heard. You have quite the reputation all over Prythian. And beyond.’

‘You heard wrong.’ She noted each of their faces with nothing but a blank observation.

Don’t you remember me? Azriel wanted to ask like an insolent child. You sang for me!

‘So what’s that hammering back there about?’

‘I deal with arrogant fae men every day. Helps with stress.’

Rhys lifted a brow. Ayla mimicked him. 

Azriel couldn’t help but chuckle. A calm warmth smothered the anger, jealousy, and everything vile that consumed his heart.

‘Indulge us,’ Rhys gave her a smile that charmed everyone into compliance. ‘Just one weapon. It shouldn’t be much trouble.’

Ayla blinked.

‘For him,’ Orvin lifted his chin, ‘at the back.’ Maybe she wasn’t into him, but he sure seemed to be protective of her.

Ayla dragged her eyes across his face, peering through the mask of indifference he wore, or Azriel hoped he did.

‘One for each of us,’ amended Rhys, earning a glare from her partner.

‘Special requests cost extra.’ 

Orvin paled. He opened his mouth but Rhys interrupted, ‘We can afford it.’

‘This way.’

Ayla turned on her feet and headed back. 

Orvin stalked her, his eyes widening and yet, they softened for her, ‘Listen, they are—’ 

‘It’s fine. I’ll handle it.’

‘But they are—’

A heavy quiet fell in the room. The brothers went in before Orvin revealed their identity. Heat swallowed them the moment they set foot inside the forge. Sweat trickled down their bodies, making their leathers stick uncomfortably. 

Azriel tucked his wings close to his back, wading through the narrow path between two wooden worktables. He keenly avoided the fire that gorged on coals on his left. The scarred skin on his hands stung and tingled. His shadows swarmed away to his other side, twitching against his wing. 

As they crossed to the end of the room, he took in a breath, her overwhelming scent etched in every corner soothing him. The sweet and bitter scent of spices. All those months when he had thought it was the bar, it had been her.

Ayla stopped in front of a carved wooden door. Removing a heavy iron key from a hook above her head, she unlocked the door, pushed it open, and stepped aside. 

All the while, Orvin stood beside her and scowled at Rhys. His brother flashed him one of his perfect grins and peeked into the room over Ayla's shoulder.

Azriel appreciated one thing—her partner’s refusal to back down even knowing who Rhys was. And couldn’t decide how he felt about his unwavering loyalty to his mate.

‘It wasn’t my fault this time,’ called out a voice. A young fae, no older than twenty, walked in and came to a halt when she spotted the three brothers.

Her skin glowed golden in the light from the furnace and the brown in her eyes turned into a pool of molten copper. A purple bruise adorned her child-like face from her cheekbone to her jaw.

Ayla arched her brow, bored and challenging. 

The fae shrugged, but there was panic in her eyes. Fear of disappointing Ayla, Azriel realised. ‘I mean it! He came at me.’

Finally, losing interest in the brothers, Orvin went to the girl. ‘When did this happen?’

Her thick red hair swayed as she jerked her face out of his grip. She scanned them from head to toe, the frown on her lips deepening with each passing glance. ‘You’d make a knife for another one of these rich bastards, but not me?’

‘I’ll consider making one for you when you come in here without a scratch,’ said Ayla mildly.

‘I have to stop defending myself against those bastards to get a weapon?’

With her bared teeth and fiery eyes, the fae looked like a portrait of a feral cub. The brothers tried to hold in their smiles.

Ayla cut them the same bored look and it was enough to sober them up. When she turned to the fae, her eyes shone. ‘I meant don’t get hit.’

For a moment, the girl only blinked. Then her lips parted in a childish grin as she let Orvin inspect her bruises and answered his questions. 

When none of the brothers moved, Ayla said to Rhys, her face placid. ‘What are you waiting for?’

Azriel couldn’t hide his smile this time. He bowed his head as he entered the room after his brothers. The shell of his wing brushed against her shirt and a shiver shot down his spine.

A short writing desk stood beside the door. Ayla went on to pluck a notebook from the shelf next to it leaving the brothers to their inspection. The room, almost as big as the store and forge combined, included a training mat in the middle. Weapons ranging from knives to swords to maces to war hammers were mounted on one wall. The other carried practice weapons with blunt edges and wooden swords. Long windows, as wide as his hand, split the continuous racks on either side. No way in or out except for the carved door.

‘Who is she?’ asked Rhys, eyeing her every move. 

Cass had been unnaturally quiet since they arrived. 

Ayla unwound the thread holding the notebook close. ‘I don’t see how she's your concern.’ She flipped through the pages, the soft crinkle echoing through the air. She continued without looking at them, ‘You will not tell anyone that I made these for you. You will not speak of this room to anyone. You will return here if and only if you need a replacement.’

‘You seem to be fond of rules,’ Rhys drawled with a tilt of his head, gauging her every reaction, her every word, her every breath.

She lifted one of her beautifully arched brows. ‘You can leave if that’s an inconvenience to you.’ With a pencil in her hand, she looked up. ‘I’ll need your names.’

‘Silence for silence. We won’t talk about you and you won’t know us.’ The words fell off Rhys's lips as if he had been expecting it.

‘This is for me. You shall choose your weapons today. If you prove safe to use one, you will get one.’

Rhys stared at her. Ayla stared back. Her face was a vision of calmness, one that even he never mastered.

A minute passed. Then another. The silence was stifling. His shadows nipped at his neck.

Speak .

Azriel took a steadying breath.

Speak.

He opened his mouth.

‘Rhysand. Call me Rhys since we’re about to be good friends.’

No widening of eyes, no parting of lips in a soft gasp, no shaky breath as the name hung in the air.

Instead, Ayla stood still. Her eyes roved over Rhys’s form in an agonisingly slow, measured scrutiny. She took in every feature, from his infuriatingly perfect face to his broad shoulders to his toned chest to his shaped legs. And all the while, Azriel ground his teeth.

‘Rhysand it is,’ she said in a voice that left his skin prickling. She made notes in her notebook and his shadows writhed to know what she observed.

Cass crouched in front of the stack of longswords finer than Illyrian blades. He had a sincere smile on his lips and appreciation in his eyes. ‘You know how to use all these weapons?’

‘Most of them, yes. Others, I have a working knowledge.’ Ayla frowned, shrugging a shoulder. Her gaze lifted to Rhys again before she jotted more. Finally, she closed the notebook marking the page. ‘Pick your weapon.’

Rhys walked along the shelves surveying the assortment, before he stopped in front of the double-edged swords. He ran his finger over the one at his eye level. Sunlight hit its gilded dark edge and scattered on his palm. A thick white rope corded along the length of its hilt for a better grip.

‘Which one do you recommend?’ He asked softly with a ring of awe in his voice.

‘It’s not up to me to decide yet. First, I need to know what you can do.’ Rhys looked over his shoulder and she added, ‘We’ll assess your strengths. Pick a weapon of your choice. Knock me off my feet.’ 

Rhys faced her with a wicked smile. Cass grinned walking up to Azriel. His brothers knew. Even his shadows didn’t find out this little slice of detail in their spying. 

Ayla moved to one end of the mat. Her feet planted shoulder-width apart. Her hands clasped behind her back. She had not an ounce of doubt or worry on her face as she waited. 

Did she know who they were? Would she still be calm if she knew of the wars they had seen and fought in? The Illyrian wings must have clued her in. Yet, she stood poised and composed.

Rhys lifted his hand, fingers brushing against each other, ready to get rid of his jacket with a single snap. Then, he reached for the buttons instead.

Ayla didn’t even blink at the sight of his naked warrior torso, and a petty satisfaction churned in Azriel's heart. Her gaze shifted though, when he picked a broadsword, the one he admired.

Her brows furrowed, ‘You sure?’

‘Your turn,’ was Rhys’s only reply as he swung the steel, testing its balance. 

‘I don’t need one.’ Rhys looked up. Ayla shrugged, ‘I’m making an assessment. I don’t need a blade for that. When you’re ready.’ 

Grasping with both hands, Rhys adjusted his grip on the hilt and grounded his feet. He winked at Azriel. How do you like her now?  

How did he like her? He wanted to shove her against the wall and devour her lips. He wouldn’t care if his brothers watched. He wouldn’t care if the whole of Prythian watched. He wanted to feast on her, feel her body against his, naked and sweaty. He wanted to run his tongue over her skin until the taste of her was all he remembered. 

Azriel took a shuddering breath and crossed his arms against his chest. His shadows sheathed his body hiding the one true indication of where his thoughts had wandered. His brother chuckled, and he scrambled to put his mental shield back up, tripping over and over again.

Rhys took a step forward and swung his sword lightly. Ayla didn’t move. He inched forward and did it again. Not a blink. He held back his thrusts, stopping short with lazy flicks. 

Azriel smirked at his dilemma. How do you like her now? 

Rhys straightened, his hand and sword limp by his side. ‘At least pick one of those blunt ones,’ he smiled. ‘It’s impolite enough to fight a lady.’

The corner of her lips twitched. ‘If I need a blade to win a fight, I'd rather learn how to fight first.’

Cass laughed and jabbed an elbow into his ribs. ‘She’s fun. I bet—’

‘We both can’t bet against him.’ Azriel grinned back. 

‘Ten gold marks says Rhys will be on his ass in fifteen.’

‘Twenty marks. And make it ten.’

Rhys opened his mouth when Ayla sighed softly to herself, ‘Rich bastards indeed.’

The three brothers shut up but had identical grins plastered on their faces.

Rhys moved in the precise steps he had mastered over years and years in war camps and battlefields. His hands set to motion to match his stride—fluid, quick. The edge almost grazed her arm and Ayla leaned back an inch.

Pulling the sword back, he swung it to her other side. Ayla swerved, but barely. Every move was calculated, nothing more than to dodge the attacks, none to waste her energy or lose her balance.

Rhys noticed too. Do you mind if I nick her a bit? 

Azriel smiled. You can try.

Smirking, Rhys launched into attack after attack. With each step, he pushed her back. He cornered her against the wall stacked with the training swords, careful not to hurt her, much. 

And she stood rooted every time, her hands behind her back.

Her body twisted and stretched with grace. Her feet slid against the floor in effortless drags. Her serene face gave away none of her thoughts. Her gaze darted between his arms and legs, swift and cunning. A glimmer flickered in her eyes but it vanished as soon as she blinked. 

In her presence, at the sight of her, Azriel trembled—not out of fear. But with need, with reverence. He wanted to run his hands down her every curve and watch her move at his touch, at his kiss. Just the thought of the curl of her delicate body against his or the glide of her hands along his skin was too much to bear. Every fibre in his body cried to get on his knees for her.

Rhys swept high and went for her neck. Ayla moved with the blade, ducked low, and turned away as she grasped a wooden sword off the rack and blocked his next strike.

‘I thought you didn’t need a weapon,’ Rhys smirked and aimed for her leg.

Ayla sighed, twisting out of his reach. ‘You’re taking too long.’ She nodded at their audience, ‘And I have other customers.’

She made no attacks. Splinters flew with each blocked hit. Every move was as fluid as her breathing. 

Rhys quickened his pace. His smile fell off his lips, but the spark in his eyes remained. He went for her shoulder, the flat of his sword hoisted to land a hard blow.

Ayla leaned back, dropping to her knees, her sword tucked along her spine. She swivelled around and rose to her feet behind him. The blunt tip of her sword tapped Rhys thrice. On the back of his neck, right behind his heart, at the base of his spine. 

They were done in seven.

Azriel was mesmerised. He had never seen anyone move with such precision or swiftness. But he didn't have the chance to linger on what she had done for long.

‘Or your wings if I’m being generous with your life.’ She walked past Rhys back to her desk, ‘Do you not prefer using them in close-range combat?’

Rhys faced her, palming the spot on his neck where he took the soft hit. His lips parted with a mild gasp. ‘You can see them?’

Ayla shrugged and opened her notebook. ‘Most glamours don’t work on me. They are still hidden by shadows.’ She glanced at Azriel, and he sucked in a breath. ‘Not like his. But faint outlines, more of a disguise by a dark smoke.’

Azriel hadn’t realised his shadows were perched on his shoulders, watching her without their usual chatter.

‘It’s not a glamour,’ mumbled Rhys. The earlier wariness returned to his eyes as he met his brother’s stare.

She wrote in her notebook again. ‘Then I don’t have an explanation for it. That one is too heavy for you,’ she peeked at the sword in his hand, a frown tugging at her lips. ‘You need a lighter steel since you don’t use your wings. The weight throws you off balance. But then, you’ll need more force in your thrusts.’

Rhys gaped at her. 

Cass agreed with a simple shrug. ‘You better show up for training tomorrow.’ He wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulder as he did his shirt. Rhys shoved his hand off, the buttons at the top left forgotten.

‘Where did you learn to fight?’ Cass asked her. Noting Azriel's unwavering eyes on her like a creep, he gave his ribs a harsh nudge.

‘Around,’ she mumbled, flipping through her notes, scratching with her pencil, and marking a few details. She opened a new page, ‘Next.’

Cass clapped his hands and skipped forward with a feral smile that showed all his teeth.

‘Azriel.’ He smirked when his brother mouthed a curse at him and walked to the middle of the room.

Ayla looked up. She studied him—every inch of his face and body. For a moment, Azriel let himself believe she took longer than she did with Rhys. She blinked slowly, her lingering gaze setting his skin on fire. When her eyes landed on his wings, they flared by a degree in response. She scribbled in her notebook as his brothers chuckled under their breaths.

Azriel had already decided what he would do once they walked out—kill Rhys for his mental comments and then Cass for indulging the prick.

Ayla went to the racks. She returned her sword and rearranged the ones misplaced by her earlier. ‘Choose your weapon,’ she said gently.

Azriel hated that she never spoke his name like she did Rhys’s in that sweet voice of hers.

The moment they entered the room, he spotted the one he wanted to try. Narrower and longer than his Illyrian sword, the simple piece of art swallowed the light around it. Leather wrapped along its hilt as a seamless extension of the abyssal black of the blade. His shadows glided over it, testing it for him, almost as drawn to it as himself.

A muffled ring of metal sliding against leather echoed in the quiet. Ayla turned around to find a curved knife in each of his hands. 

Though Azriel had knives and daggers sheathed on him at all times, he favoured swords. But not that day. They wouldn’t allow him to get close to her, give him a chance to touch her.

Taking her place across from him, she quietly assessed his hands, the way he brought them to his front, gripped his knives ready, and shifted his weight on his feet.

She murmured, ‘Odd choice. Most don’t go for these. They prefer something big and flashy,’ she smiled, bringing her gaze to his face. ‘Requires a lot of practice to master. How long did you take?’

Azriel blinked. Every thought went out of his mind at that smile. ‘Been a while to remember.’ 

Wisps of hair fell over her face as she tipped her head. Her eyes shifted over his shoulders and arms. ‘Your shadows,’ darkness wreathed around him anticipating the little touches they longed to steal, ‘need to sit this one out.’ There was a flicker of hesitation, a weight on his back. ‘Just you and me.’

Like it had been a command from him, his shadows drifted to a corner of the room. 

Just you and me. 

Her words roved over his skin. He stared at her. His brothers fell silent too. 

‘Whenever you’re ready,’ she said softly.

For a full minute, Azriel stood frozen. Then, he lunged forward. 

The same dance ensued, him leading with the first move, her dodging with minimal movement. A strangely familiar rhythm they both fell into with an ease that rendered him senseless. Her warmth grazed his body, her breath hit his fist, and her hair caressed him every time he got too close. Unlike with Rhys, she didn’t keep her distance. She threw her own punches this time.

Azriel summoned every knowledge he acquired fighting for five centuries to take down one woman—his mate.

He wanted to win her challenge only to pin her down under him, to know what she felt like against him. He was, by no means, a simple warrior. Even without his shadows, he was easily one of the most powerful the Illyrians ever dreamt to be. And yet, in her presence, under her calculating eyes, he hardly remembered to steady his breaths.

‘Your left footing needs work,’ she said, stepping back to miss his blade that almost slashed her rib. 

His footing needed no such thing. She was goading him, mocking his consideration, that much her smile told him.

Cass yelled from one corner, ‘Don’t let her win again, brother.’ His eyes twinkled.

Training with each other for centuries left no mystery in their technique or style and removed the freshness of a challenge. If his brother got the chance, he wouldn’t hesitate like Rhys, and Azriel knew. 

Rhys scowled beside him, a look so foreign on his face. ‘She didn’t win against me.’

‘Sure, she didn’t kill you thrice either.’

‘She didn’t have a real blade. I was being courteous.’ Rhys’s lazy smugness returned to his voice. ‘It’s something you wouldn’t understand.’

Azriel breathed a laugh. 

Her gaze dipped to his lips and then to his hand that came at her. She swerved to her right, grabbed his wrist and ducked under. And as she came back up, her other fist met the inside of his bicep. She retreated a few paces. Feet apart, hands behind her back. 

Pain rippled through his muscles. He shook his arm twice, slowly. His skin burned and ached where her fingers had been. His body came alive as though it had felt her grip elsewhere. His heart pounded in his chest, their beat drumming in his ears. He let out a long exhale.

How he wished to throw the knives away and grab her waist instead.

She observed every move he made—the flex of his fingers before they wrapped around the daggers, the rise of his chest as he heaved in a breath, the shift of his legs under him for his next move.

Azriel wanted her eyes only on him anyway. He wished he had taken off his leathers like his brother had done so. Maybe she would have appreciated that too. He would have definitely enjoyed her hits.

He threw the same punch. She swerved. He went for her chest. She glided back. He took a step forward and swept his dagger across her torso before she landed on her feet. She skipped back. He smirked. The corner of her lips twitched. He aimed a strike at her face again. She leaned to her side, and Azriel slammed his left fist into her jaw. She staggered back a few steps, far from his arm’s reach.

‘You always favour your right,’ he remarked softly.

Ayla didn’t move. Her feet planted on the spot. Loose strands of hair veiled her averted face but not the patches of red blooming on her jaw. Her breaths were uneven for the first time since they started. Even his brothers went silent.

She slowly turned to him, her head hung low, her eyes trained on the ground. She reached a hand to her face. A streak of crimson, thin and sharp, ran along the smooth curve of her jaw through the framing bruise. 

Azriel stared at his blade. Blood gleamed along its edge. His grip loosened. Dread filled his chest along with an ache. He looked at her, breathless, as her fingers ghosted over the cut, pulling away with smears of pale red on the tips.

Apologise, Rhys hissed in his mind, now .

Azriel opened his mouth.

‘You,’ she wiped her fingers on her shirt below her ribs—the stains akin to the ones she tried to erase that first night, ‘learn fast.’

Her eyes met his, and a dangerous delight swirled in them. She moved quick. She took two long steps and lunged at him.

Azriel crouched and rooted to his feet as he brought his arms up to block her incoming blow to his face. It wasn’t her hand that met him, and he wasn’t fast enough.

She stepped on the inside of his thigh hard to shift his weight, propelled herself up, and her other foot pushed into his chest. Using the momentum, she swung herself over and around his shoulder.

Before Azriel could blink, his feet gave out. His wings spread behind him easing his fall.

Her grip was strong. She pressed his hand to his throat, the edge of his knife cool against his skin. Her face hovered over his. 

Azriel let his head rest on the ground. Painfully aware of her body pressed against his—straddling his waist, her hands around each of his wrists—he willed himself to hold her stare steady. 

She breathed, ‘You’re dead.’

‘So are you,’ he rasped the words out. He lifted his head to peer down between them. The glinting tip of his other blade poked at her chest, where her heart was, where he was sure a spot of blood would soon taint her white shirt.

She followed his stare. Her lips pulled into a smirk before she looked him in the eye. ‘As long as I take you with me.’

Azriel yearned for nothing more. For her to take him—to death, to hell, to his damnation. 

Her braid fell over her shoulder, and the ends tickled his face and neck. Her short breaths hit his skin, the scent of her making him heady. Her hands were warm against his shadow-kissed cold ones. Blood rushed to her face. A bead of sweat trickled down between her brows, followed the curve of her nose, and trailed down her cheek.

Azriel wanted to trace it with his tongue, taste her. Her blood, her sweat.

Beautiful. The word clanged in every corner of his mind as he took her in, raw and bare. 

Beautiful. The blade dug deeper into his skin, reminding him she held his life in her hands. 

Beautiful. Especially when she had him at her mercy. 

His mind chose the inappropriate time to conjure the other ways she could have him at her mercy. Gods, if she moved, she would feel him. 

His shadows crept up to them, teasing her hair, teetering along the cut on her jaw, furious for what he had done to her.

His head fell back. He took a deep breath and still, it wasn’t enough. The delicious burn of cool metal scraping against the column of his throat felt painless compared to her intense gaze peering into his soul. He swallowed. She tracked the movement. He swallowed again, her eyes snapped to his. Every nerve in his body urged him to reach up, let the blade slit his throat, only to kiss her once.

And for a sweet moment, he thought she wanted it too. 

She blinked. She pulled back an inch and looked up. 

Orvin hurried in with the red-haired fae. Panic flashed in his eyes. He shoved the fae inside while he lingered close to the door. ‘She’s back. She’s here.’

Ayla shot to her feet taking every sense of warmth around him with her. ‘It’s fine,’ she urged them in and stepped out. ‘Don’t make a sound.’

The door closed behind her. Azriel’s feet followed her on their own.

But Rhysr’s voice in his mind brought him back. She’s gone. Quiet your thoughts a little.

He turned around with a snarl to find both his brothers sporting a cruel grin.

The key clicked into place and so did an invisible force. ‘It’s warded,’ Rhys observed the narrow slits along the walls. His smile vanished. ‘Why do you have wards here?’ 

They turned to Orvin, but he stared at the closed door. He shielded the fae with his body and coaxed her back, far from the entrance. He didn’t answer. 

Outside, a fire crackled in the furnace. Metal whined. Sharp clicks bounced off the stone floors and walls. Both Orvin and the fae sucked in a breath.

‘So,’ said a voice low and feminine, ‘you’re hiding in the monster’s den. I can’t decide if you’re smart or losing your mind.’

Orvin shivered at the sound.

Rhys studied the door, lost and distant in his thoughts. He reached out a hand despite Cass's warning. His palm rested on an invisible field a few inches short of the wood. His touch sent out glimmering waves along the walls, floor, and roof. The wavering stilled once they merged on the far side. A breath later, they rippled and eddied until they reached his palm again. Rhys stepped back staring at his hand.

Ayla spoke calmly. ‘You wouldn’t have found me if I were hiding.’ 

‘I wasted a long trip on this.’ The voice sighed, every word tinged with a seductive drawl. ‘Let’s not dally. Come with me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Have you forgotten your deal already?’ The voice got closer and closer to the door. 

‘I never made a deal with you.’

‘Didn’t you?’ The voice hummed. Long and light. ‘Never mind. We can always make a new one.’

Bare feet shuffled across the floor, drawing away from the locked door. The wards muffled some of the conversation, but their fae hearing helped. Ayla’s voice barely carried through the room. ‘I don’t work for any court.’ 

Heels stomped across the floor. The intruder whined, a delicate teasing sound. ‘Name your price. I’ll get you whatever you want.’

‘I have everything I need.’

Metal groaned against the wood. A sharp thump, metal against metal. Another and another. Each one harder than the previous. 

The voice snorted. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of this pathetic excuse of a court.’ 

Cass stiffened beside them. He asked Orvin, ‘Who is she?’ Neither he nor the fae answered.

Ayla said softly, ‘This is my home.’

Those simple words from her lips made Azriel’s heart clench in his chest. A twisted approval of who he was, an acknowledgement of his existence.

‘This? Velaris? Don’t fool yourself.’ The voice laughed. It would’ve been the most melodic sound Azriel had ever heard if not for the mockery in it. She moved away and away, stalking Ayla, circling her. Venom dripped from each word she spouted. ‘What did you expect? You’d find a man here, maybe a lord , fall in love, have a cosy little life like a common fae?’

Ayla chuckled in response. So soft, so tender that it made Azriel smile, too. ‘Is that what you think I’m doing here?’ Her voice lingered, drifting farther past the furnace, past the fires. ‘Gods, sounds like you’re projecting your dreams onto me.’

‘Don’t you dare!’ The voice turned into what it truly was. A vile, cruel shrill masked by the sweetness of its lull.

‘Or what?’ Ayla paused, and Azriel could see the smirk on her lips. ‘You come into my home and threaten me. Did you expect me to kiss your feet next?’

The voice fell silent.

Azriel turned to Rhys, and he shook his head. Her mind is shielded. 

The heels turned to the door again, hitting faster and faster. They stopped right in front of the door. ‘Where’s the half-fae youngling?’ 

Orvin hissed behind the brothers and gestured to them to step back. They all turned to the fae who cowered to a corner, yet schooled her face in defiance. The pointed arch of her ears peeked through her thick hair. But the tan skin, the hazel eyes.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Please,’ the stranger whined with a thrill at the tightness in Ayla’s voice. ‘I can smell her.’

Rhys asked the fae kindly, ‘Why does she want you?’ When she didn’t answer, he tried again. ‘I’m Rhysand. You know who I am?’ She nodded once. ‘I can help you if you tell me who that is.’

But one look from Orvin had her pursing her lips.

Ayla padded over, biding her time. ‘It’s just me. And I’m very busy. So leave.’

‘Right, since the silver-tongued half-fae High Lord finally gets his way with you.’ 

A long silence. Despite Rhys’s warning looks, Azriel checked the wards. Shadows writhed along the door prying for a way out.

‘The men inside,’ she huffed a breath. ‘Don’t look at me like that. Of course, I knew. Who do you think they are?’

Another moment of silence, only longer. A heart beat faster and faster while the other remained steady outside the door.

‘You didn’t know,’ the voice whispered. ‘Of course, they hid it. Very clever.’ Her breaths filled the pause as if she were calculating her next words. ‘No matter. You already had your doubts, didn’t you?’ She let out a dreamy sigh, one many men yearned to hear in their beds. ‘Well sculpted, beautiful beyond measure, skills better than that of an ordinary warrior. Come on, they are Illyrians! ’

From her tone, it was certain she meant more than just their appearance. The brutal savagery of their kind.

Ayla was silent. So very silent. But her heart—the one that remained calm and rhythmic while fighting—now raced like a fawn’s being preyed upon, trying to break free of her ribcage. 

Azriel inhaled sharply. His own heart filled with fear, anger, and confusion. A breath later, it was gone as swiftly as it had overtaken his senses, leaving a hollow in its wake. So was the frantic beating of her heart. He pressed his fingers to his chest. His brothers noted it.

Finally, Ayla said, ‘Who I do business with is none of your concern.’ Her voice was surprisingly composed.

‘Oh, but it is. Your hypocrisy is my concern when it stands in the way of getting what I want.’

‘Whatever that is, you need to look somewhere else.’ 

A low grunt rumbled through the door and sent his shadows skittering. 

The intruder hissed, ‘You know, your righteousness is starting to get old.’ 

The wood jerked when something hard slammed against it. Shadows exploded against the ward, only to be pushed back and contained inside the room. A whimper escaped the young fae behind them.

Ayla gasped. Feet scraped against the stone floor.

Before he realised, Azriel pounded at the door. The ward wavered like it did against Rhys’s gentle palm and settled into stillness. He hit it again. Again. And again. His shadows slithered along the walls, searching for an escape, through the roof, through the narrow slits of the windows.

‘She won’t even hear you, Shadowsinger.’ Orvin spoke, concern lacing through his words. ‘The ward strengthens with each impact.’

His brothers only watched him. When Cass looked at Rhys, he hesitated, ‘I can’t get through.’

There was a strain in his voice, worried for Azriel. Worried about the danger his mate posed. Worried what might become of his brother if something happened to her. 

The voice hissed, ‘Remember.’ A strangled choke left Ayla’s lips when her head hit against the door again. ‘Remember what you owe them. For once,’ the voice ground out, ‘remember everything.’

Silence returned, suffocating and intense.

‘Finally!’ Another soft thud. ‘Next time, don’t play too hard. Make the bargain.’

Ayla sucked in a breath. The sharp footfalls pulled away from the door, from her. She growled, ‘Next time, I’ll melt you.’

The air stilled. A dark promise carried through in those words of hers. With each passing second of quiet, the gravity of her threat settled deeper and deeper.

Then there it was, the grating mockery of that angelic laugh. But no words followed. And the intruder was gone.

The key clicked. The ward faded. Azriel took a step back and so did his brothers. The door slowly flung open.

Ayla stayed outside. She took in their faces as carefully as she did before, as every other time. Her stare settled on Rhys. For the first time, recognition flickered in those still eyes. A deep red handprint tainted her delicate neck.

Azriel gritted his teeth. ‘Did she do that to you?’ 

He didn't truly need an answer. His whole body shook with rage as his shadows swallowed him, ready for his command. Cass came to stand beside him.

Ayla only looked at Rhys. ‘I don’t work for High Lords. You need to leave.’

Azriel reached for her, but Rhys held a hand out. He glared at his brother.

But Rhys ignored him. ‘I can explain,’ he spoke as gently as he would to a babe. ‘We had our reasons. We didn’t me—’

‘I respect them. I want you to respect mine.’ She stepped aside from the doorway. ‘Leave.’

Rhys waited for a moment. He then turned to his brother and nodded. But Azriel stood his ground, watching Ayla. Later, Rhys promised. You will come back for her later.

Azriel released his breath. He took in her distant eyes once. He stormed out without waiting for his brothers, his knives clenched tighter in his fists. 

He and his shadows were going on a hunt.

Next Chapter: Shadow

[janitorhutcherson]

bedtime with mike and abby ( mike schmidt x reader)

hi guys! this is my first ever lil fic/imagine/blurb here!! if y'all like this, I'll keep it up. I'm also new to tumblr, so please please be patient with me. in the future i'd love to do requests.

also if someone wants to help me with formatting/be friends, just shoot me a msg :p

this is just a quick lil imagine/blurb. I've seen so many smutty fics and i wanted to spice it up w/ some fluff. just sleepy time on mike's night off! on w the fic :p

*edit* this isn’t revised!! i threw something together last min and posted cause i felt like writing lol. don’t mind the typos

word count: 1,633

warnings: none! just fluff, angst if u squint!!

summary: nighttime with mike and abby on his day off!

Most of the time, you, your boyfriend Mike, and his little sister Abby were on entirely different schedules. Mike worked nights at a shitty gas station job for the time being after his job at Freddy's was... well.. no more for obvious reasons. Even though he swore off the night shift, this was necessary until he could find something better. Jobs were sparse at the moment, and Mike's history didn't exactly make him a star candidate.

A typical night would consist of you making the three of you dinner, slowly forcing Abby to venture out when it came to her taste buds. Recently, she'd taken a liking to tacos. You and Mike would make a joint effort to get her ready for bed earlier together, as Mike was more particular about being there for her since the incident. She'd get a bath, get into her jammies, and the two of you would tuck her in with a bedtime story. You'd both kiss her little forehead goodnight, then kiss your boyfriend on his lips before sending him off.

Most nights, you tossed and turned in your sleep, unable to rest properly without Mike by your side. A painfully dull feeling would rest in your stomach, the lack of his warmth beside you agonizing. You'd spend all night waiting for 6am to roll around as you felt the bed dip on his side, barely stirring you from your sleep. You'd have thirty minutes until your alarm went off, thirty minutes to wrap yourself up into him before you once again went on your separate ways... living your separate lives until you could have your few hours of union later on.

But tonight, you were lucky. Mike had gotten the next few days off. His job was being extra kind as they actually recognized the hard work Mike put in, something he wasn't used to. They'd told him someone would take over for a bit, to enjoy himself, to rest. It may have been a low-paying, trashy, borderline dangerous job, but his boss was nice, and the customers were certainly safer to deal with than those at the pizzeria.

You called out sick from work, not wanting to miss a single second with your little trio. You'd both even made the decision to pull Abby out of school for the day, spending it building forts, watching movies, and eating ice cream. The three of you even went out rollerskating, Mike awkwardly tumbling every few seconds on the rink as Abby would bust out laughing at him. The three of you were now sat around on the couch, Mike smooshed into the far side of the armrest as your entire body lay on his, Abby's head resting in your lap as she sleepily blinked her eyes. She'd already had her bath, brushed her teeth, and all three of you were in your pajamas.

"So, everyone have a good day?" Mike asked, turning his head to the two of you with a small but sleepy smile.

"Mhm," Abby hummed quietly, slowly nodding her head against your lap. It was clear that she was moments from passing out, and once Abby was out, she was impossible to get up without a fight.

"Okay, I think it's time for bed," you giggled, slowly lifting your own head up from Mike's shoulder. Mike nodded in agreement, a laugh of his own escaping his lips.

You both slowly pulled Abby up, getting her up on her feet, her half asleep state making her delirious as she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, staring back at the two of you in confusion.

"C'mon, Abs, it's time for bed," Mike muttered, standing up. He grabbed your hand, pulling you up with him. You stood as well, following Mike as he led Abby to her room. She crawled up into her bed, her little body tucking under her blankets as the two of you sat on both sides of her.

"Want a bedtime story?" Mike asked, raising his eyebrows as he leaned down to press a small kiss to Abby's forehead. Abby's lips parted to answer, but before she could, her eyes were closed and she was out. A sincere and quiet chuckle escaped underneath Mike's breath, his eyes full of love for his sister as her stared down at her. You couldn't help but stare, the edges of your mouth turning up into a sleepy smile of your own. He was so majestic, his messy but soft brown curls were laying in every which way on his head. Even though he was much more rested than usual, his eyes were still somewhat sunken in, but to you, that just made him more attractive. His scruff was messy, unshaven, but it managed to highlight his jawline. The sparkle that remained in his eyes, even through it all, after everything that he'd been through, warmed you to your core, your love for him overwhelming.

"What?" Mike asked quietly with a smile still plastered on his lips, his eyes now locked on yours. A blush crossed your cheeks as you realize you’d been caught, your eyebrows raising.

“Nothin’,” you hummed, shaking your head. “Just admiring you.” Your hand reached out to his as the two of you went to your own bedroom, the only light now lighting up your house being the moonlight and street lamps peeking through the blinds. You both crawled into bed, pulling the blankets over your bodies.

There was nothing but silence other than the sound of the fan in your room, the hum almost hypnotic as you wrapped yourself up in his arms. Your head rest against his chest as he instantly tugged you closer, his back flat on the bed as his hand cradled your side. His thumb drew small figure eights on your shoulder. Your body felt fuzzy, a type of relaxation you hadn’t felt at night in a while. Mike made you feel safe. On nights where you two were able to just snuggle up, nothing could buzz in your mind. Anxious thoughts disappeared, even the ones that seemed to be a constant in the back of your brain. There was nothing but a warmness in your mind and a beam of love in your heart.

“Hey, baby?” You heard Mike ask softly, his voice cracking from his sleepiness. You were broken from your train of thought by this, looking up at the man with the sleepy eyes. “Hm?” You hummed in response, your eyes fluttering, but he couldn’t see due to the lack of light. Mike sat up, pulling you up with him as he grabbed your hands, both of your faces now lit up by the light peeking through the cracks in your curtain.

“I- I know we don’t get nights like these much, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m never home, I’m sorry you have to do so much for you and Abby alone. I’m sorry I dragged you into that mess with Freddy’s, got you involved in so much of this,” he said, his voice seeping with sadness and regret. His eyes held an even softer emotion than they did earlier, one that felt like a knife to your chest. “Most importantly, I’m sorry I can’t be the boyfriend I should be. I mean, we should be spending our nights out at clubs, going out on special dates and vacations, and I hate that I’m unable to give you that,” he sniffled, a tear now falling down his eye.

You leaned forward, a frown on your lips as your eyebrows furrowed, your eyes locked on his as you placed your hand on his cheek, wiping away the tear with your thumb as you shook your head. Mike’s own two much larger hands were now placed on both of your cheeks as he continued. “But listen, Y/N, I love you, more than I have ever loved anyone, okay? I- I’m not good at this shit, I know I’m not. I’m clumsy and I’m bad at emotions. I don’t always know what I want or what I need, but I know I don’t only want you, but I need you. You came into my life and you brightened it where it was the darkest. You brought happiness back, you made me understand what joy was again, what it was like to feel.. complete. You saved me, but..” he trailed off again, full on tears falling down his cheeks now. “Most importantly, you saved Abby, made her feel whole again too, gave her somethin’ like a mother, something I couldn’t give her,” he said, his voice breaking at the end. Before he could say another word, you wrapped around arms around him, pulling him into a massive bear hug. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, your mind not even focused on the salty tears and the snotty nose that was leaned up against your shoulder. Your hands rubbing his back as you kissed the top of his head.

“Oh, baby..” you whispered softly, squeezing him like if you let go he’d disappear. “You know I love you so much too…” you finished, pulling his face up by his chin, pressing a soft, gentle but electric kiss to his lips. The two of you then settled back into bed, curling up in each other’s arms as he played with your hair, occasionally leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips, small sniffles still leaving his nose from the emotional moment. He was right, it was rare you got moments like these together, but when you did, you cherished them. It took about thirty minutes of sweet nothings and cuddles before the two of you drifted off, in your own little dream worlds filled with many nights like these.

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.69)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The pack meet with moonbyul to discuss terms.

Tags: Violence, Angst with the happy ending on the horizon, fluff if you squint, Yoongi gets really really angry and kinda triggers the m/c, allusions to past abuse, Blood, manipulative behavior, murderous tendencies, trans! tae, Transphobia, Trans! moonbyul,

W/c: 11.5k

A/n: wow something went heavily wrong with the formatting while i was editing this! if you notice any extra lines or weird breaks (especially on mobile) i tried my best! not sure what went wrong but i might just have to physically re-type this chapter again.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

I’ll let you in on a little secret: 

In every other version of this story, Hobi doesn’t get to the door in time. 

In every other version, the doors would close and Hoseok would hit them with his fists and yell. Screaming himself bloody and hoarse in the futility of it all. Watching as his future with you melts away at his fingertips like ocean foam, slipping away into the sea like a piece of clear sea glass, disappearing into the deep. They’d miss you at the next station and the one after that too. 

In every other version of reality, in every parallel universe, he's too late to save you. 

But in this one, he gets his pinky finger between the doors just before they slam shut.

The safety feature that keeps the train from closing on any late passengers shoots open with a hiss of compressed air. It's only open for a split second but Hoseok shoves himself through the 8-inch gap and into the warm interior of the train. Jungkook is left on the other side, banging on the door, running to keep up with the car as it thuds and lurches and starts to speed up.

"Next station" Jungkook’s mouth forms the words but Hoseok doesn't hear him say it over the roar of the train. There’s only a few seconds of them staring at each other. Jungkook’s messy hair flops as he runs. The wetness on his cheeks from frustrated tears glistening in the yellow sunlight before Jungkook runs out of the platform and is left standing there at the edge. Hoseok hurdles on. 

Hoseok’s blood is roaring in his ears. He puts his hands on his knees and pants. The thudding momentum of the train makes Hoseok fall over, either that or it's from lack of oxygen. One second he's looking at JK and then next he's sprawled on the dirty linoleum floor before he pulls himself upright.

His throat feels like it’s still swelling a little. He puts his hands there, trying to steady himself. Black spots dance in his vision and he catches himself for a second time on the metal rail as the train rolls and jostles.

When he coughs, there’s dark blood in the palm of his hands. Hoseok wipes it on his pajama pants and starts looking. 

He knows he must look like something horrific because an old woman in the first priority row looks at him with a crinkle of concern twisting her face. “Are you alright son?” She asks, voice squeaky.

“Yeah, just a rough morning” he grabs the back of her seat as he sways, steading himself for just a second before he uses the headrest of the seat to pull himself back down the train. 

Hobi combs through the train cars slowly, betting that you'll be close to the end. He takes the longer route first, better to go down to the end and work his way back up in case you're in the first three cars, just in case you decide to get off at the next station.

He searches and searches until the fear starts to take hold in his stomach, nausea or maybe it’s just motion sickness.

He draws a bit of attention as he moves. Mostly from adults, the little unpresented pups that jump back and forth between the seats without a care in the world don’t find the bruises on his neck anything out of the ordinary. But an omega pulls his pups into his lap at Hoseok's approach. Hoseok is too sick with worry to pay them any mind. 

But Hoseok doesn't need to worry, because he finds you on the fifth train car.

The blue sticky vinyl seats are full of all sorts of people; A stuffy alpha in a suit and a pair of bright yellow headphones. A small elderly omega woman with a big bushel of frizzy hair and about 10 tote bags to her name muddles through her morning commute. Two freshly presented teenagers with patched-up jackets, punky and honest in their aesthetic.  

But there- at the end of the car where the booth seats facing each other turn into single rows all facing the same direction. Folded into the window a figure in dark clothes hunched over trying to look as small as possible. Trying to disappear. 

Trying to hide. 

Anyone would be able to scent the clear and clary smell of distress and loneliness on the air. It’s the same scent that soaks Namjoon’s hospital- noxious and pungent. It hits Hoseok with such a visceral wave that he almost falls over again. 

You’re wearing his sweatshirt and Yoongi’s jacket. The hood drawn up over your head to hide your sob blotchy face from the strangers. Sniffling as you look out the window. He sees you wipe your eyes. You don't look up at all. You don't even notice Hobi approaching until he's slipping into the seat next to you and sliding his hand to lace through yours. His knuckle, your knuckle, then his. 

You startle. Predictably- your fear response has always been a little bit over the top. You flinch, whirling, starting when you see it’s him. Jerking your hand out of his on instinct and nearly backing yourself into the window. Getting yourself as far away from him on the narrow seat as possible. 

He wants to yell at you, he wants to shout at how stupid you are for leaving something good. (Don’t you know how rare good is for people like us? Don’t you want to hold onto it?) All of the shit with his ex- with Moonbyul seems impossible- but you sacrificing yourself for others is not hard for Hobi to believe. That part of this is so painfully logical and so painfully you that if Hobi were less scared right now he might start crying.

You've always thought you were less valuable, less necessary, less loved by the pack. The last one in is the first one out. Hoseok knows you think this because he used to think that way too.

He wants to yell at you but instead his voice comes out soft, the way that the others used to talk to you back when you didn’t speak. Like he's comforting a startled animal. You are a startled animal. 

"You used the train ticket" He swallows. It stings. Hurts like a bitch really. Every time he speaks it hurts. "I never thought you'd use it."

Hoseok puts his hand on the seat in front of you blocking you as you try and get up and out of your seat. Moving automatically to get away- to get safe. That might be all that you know how to do- keep yourself safe.

You stand there for a second, in stalemate. Blood drains from your face, and you stare each other down as Hoseok goes from devastated to angry and then sad again. Struggling not to cry. Hoseok doesn’t like to cry- it’s too much like begging. His body asking for what he can’t. 

It’s quiet, you have to be quiet here. There aren’t too many people but a few rows in front of you is a pair of alpha's in suits with briefcases. Unseemly eyes could be hidden everywhere so you need to be quiet. Hoseok's voice is quiet anyway. He still can’t speak much above a whisper. 

No quicker have you startled than you start to push at him, at his shoulders. Literally trying to push him out of the chair. Shaking your head. "You can't be here Hobi you have to go, they'll kill you-" You start to pull him up to his feet but he makes himself a lead weight. 

“No- no I’m not going to let you go.” Hoseok cups your cheek, long fingers rubbing your tears away. The pads of his fingers cradling your cheek. Soft skin, your cheeks have always been so soft. Hobi’s brain gets caught on the sensation. 

"This is how this is going to work; we're going to get off at the train station- and then with any luck- Yoongi and Jimin and Jungkook will already be there and we're going to go home, okay?" He tilts his face, trying to get a better look under your hood, lower lip wobbling, voice breaking, “You have to come home with me, okay?” 

You’re trembling so hard that Hobi can feel it as he holds your face, shaking your head stubbornly. 

"Hobi, if I don't go. Jimin’s going to die, you're going to die, Jin’s going to die. I can't not do something. Don't pretend one life outweighs three." 

"I can't let you go."

You lean into his hand. Has Hoseok ever cupped your cheek before or is the first time he's touched you this way? He can't remember. There are so many firsts that he can't remember. So many firsts that haven't happened yet. Slipping through his fingers like water. 

"And I can't let you die." 

Hoseok holds your cheeks, thumbs skimming up and down your cheekbones, a little more hollow than usual. These last few days have stretched all of you thin and honest. The truth does not feed you, like subsiding off of air. This truth is not one that he wants to share but-

Yoongi had looked a little shocked when he’d told him, that kind of shock that sort of feels vindicating- like you matter. Hoseok doesn't understand why Moonbyul being his ex matters. But Yoongi's reaction makes him think it is. 

The light fills the train car honey golden slipping away to the clean brightness of a winter day. The light flashing through the trees like some sort of strobe light, flickering across both of you here- at the back of the train where there is no one to overhear. 

Hoseok pulls himself closer to you, his lips brushing your ear. "I never told you- the name of my old pack omega but I think you know her.” 

The train hisses and shrieks and your hand settles over Hoseok’s bruised wrist. 

“I think you know her very very well because Yoongi said you do." 

Hoseok pulls you flush against him, across the seat, your foot hitting his ankle, and whispers it into your ear. 

"Her name was Moon Byul-yi." 

You freeze in his hold, trembling, and he pulls away to watch the visceral realization dawn on your face. You're smart. The Moonbyul he knew would have never thought to anticipate that either of you was smart. Haughty and superior to the last inch. She’d have assumed that she had the upper hand like all narcissists do. Why would prey know anything about the hunt?

You panic, your conviction is slipping away, Hoseok can see you’re struggling to hold onto it. “Hoseok- you don’t understand, I have to do this, I need to.”

He takes your hand in his. “Okay- if you want to go then I’m coming with you.”

“Hoseok.”

He shakes his head and brings the back of your hand up to his mouth to run his lips along your knuckles. Gripping it tight. Your bones and his bones all aligned, the sunburn on the back of his hands that’s always sort of there from driving and the faint scars that line your hands from cooking. Both self-inflicted and accidental.

(Love is that way too, either something that you seek out or something that happens to you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to Hoseok, you could never be the worst).

There is one scar at the bottom of your hand and the bottom of his; a line across his right palm and a line across your left one- both gotten the night that you tried to take the train. You didn’t take the train then but you’ve taken it now.

You’ve made your choice and Hoseok makes his. “Either together or not at all.”

Hoseok rationalizes it by thinking- If you were going back to Geumjae and if he was still alive, you’d never let him walk into his clutches. You would never let Geumjae lay a hand on him, so he won’t let you go to her. Will do everything in his power to get you off of this fucking train.

“I’m sorry, Hobi- I’m-”

He pulls himself closer to you. Lips touching your temple just like the sunlight. Your warm thigh pressed to his warm thigh.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing to make up for. If we want to survive this then we need to do it together.” Hoseok presses a kiss to your hairline and lets it linger there. “I won't haunt you if you won't haunt me."

“You don’t understand-“ 

“Why? Why do you have to be the one? If you can answer me that honestly and in a way that makes sense, then I’ll let you go.” Hoseok says the words as he drags his nose across your hairline in a small scent mark. A growl rolling in his throat. His hand itching towards the back of your neck- if he were able to scruff you- he could drag you off this train with or without your say-so. 

Hoseok won't do that to you unless it's absolutely necessary. He won't scruff you maliciously but honestly, he'd damn the consequences at this point. You know the risks, and yet you let his hand settle on the back of your neck. He doesn't scruff you yet.

You are on the train now, but you could get off of it. Hoseok managed to convince you once he can convince you again. You do not respond to him, but he doesn’t need you to. He continues on word vomiting out his feelings. Drenched half in panic and half in fear that if he stops talking you’ll tell him something heartbreaking. Hoseok can’t handle any more heartbreak today. 

"I know you’ve been in a lot of pain. I’ve known it since the first day I met you. But this self-sabotage- sacrificing yourself because you think your life isn't worth risking the rest of ours- this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way that you get out.” 

This is the question that you’ve been asking the whole time he’s known you. All of this is just trying to get out of the holes that you dig for yourself. The graves that you haunt. Graves of things that might have been and the things that should or shouldn’t have happened to you.

Your voice is so small and quiet, your palm in his tightens just a little bit. “How do I? How do I get out?” 

"You can start by just getting off this fucking train."

You eye him like you think it’s impossible like it can’t possibly be that easy.

The announcer overhead is telling you you’re almost to the next stop. To mind the gap and such. The same way people mind children and precious objects. Mind the gap. Such a strange turn of phrase. How do you treasure the space between one motion ending and the other beginning? The end of one place and time and the beginning of another. 

“How do I do it? How do I-” 

Hoseok laces his hand with yours again and pulls you up onto your feet. The train is slowing. “I’ll show you just- follow me. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. 

You do follow Hobi, you follow Hobi off the train as he coxes you softly onto the platform and onto the frosty tracks. It’s mid morning by now and the sun is streaming in that bright yellow way when he tugs you up the stairs slow. Slow because he still has to. His body aches from yesterday. Both of you are bruised and tired but together. Clinging to each other- his hand and your hand and not a breath of space between.  

In the parking lot, there is a red car double parked across the lines closest to the stairs. Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook are already standing outside, the doors blown open. Jimin falls into a squat the second he sees you. Head in his hands. Running through his hair and tugging. A cigarette discarded on the concrete bouncing before it rolls to a stop and burns.

“Oh thank fucking god, Tae would have fucking killed me-” 

Jungkook groans and rests his head on the hood of the car, hitting it with an open-palmed slap. It echoes in the empty parking lot.

"That sentence is substantially less funny today than it would have been yesterday.” 

Yoongi is just staring at you fists and shoulders tight. You watch him swell the closer that you walk. Every step made in trepidation. He's breathing heavy, eyes wild with panic and anger and his hair stands on end. His eyes are bloodshot and his scent is almost acidly salty. The kind of salt that guides metal to rust and break. The salt that melts cities. That crunches under your feet next to dark puddles from snowmelt. 

When you're 3 paces away he seems to break, stalking up to you and jabbing a finger in your face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I swear I’ll-” Yoongi breaks himself off. Shaking so viscerally that it's hard for you to keep your hands by your side. but you stand your ground as Hoseok swats yoongi's jabbed finger away. his other hand tightly laced with yours.

“Yoongi, let’s just get into the car and go home- please. Let's not talk about this here.” The parking lot is mostly empty, but the danger still lingers. There’s too much to talk about. Moonbyul's name rings in Hoseok's ears like the subtle hum of hearing loss, like a high-pitched shriek. There are things more important than Yoongi's anger. 

But Yoongi’s not done with you- oh- he’s boiling with rage. Shaking with it as he opens the door for you, every action, every little moment restrained. His anger is palpable. You get into the back of the Lamborghini and Hobi follows.

You can tell he wants to slam the door but doesn't. He shuts it extra extra soft but you flinch anyway. He gets into the driver's seat every moment controlled but tense, like he'll explode if he moves with any more energy than necessary, a firework with a fuse burned all the way down just begging for heat.

Yoongi waits for everyone to buckle their seat belt but you don’t, frozen watching him in the window and then the rearview mirror when he gets into the front seat. Yoongi doesn’t even get around to starting the car. Sliding the key home but the beep goes once, twice, and then a third time because you don't have your seatbelt buckled. The others wait in silence.

“Yoongi-“

“Fuck!” He kicks open his door again with a stream of spat explicatives. Slamming it shut this time. The others don't say anything, completely silent in the face of his anger.

Yoongi doesn't get angry. You've never seen him like this before. He wrenches your door open and for a horrible moment, you think he's going to yank you out of the car and tell you to get lost.

Yoongi's murmuring things to himself, so low that you almost can't make out what he's saying as he pushes himself into the backseat. The backseat of the Lambo isn’t that large. Hardly big enough to fit two people let alone four.

Jungkook lets out a belated “Hey!” at being squished up against the door but Hoseok just reaches around him and unlocks it for him to get out. Jimin is already out of the passenger seat and heading in the direction of the driver's side as Yoongi scrambles with your seat belt, jerking it over your shoulder and slamming it home.

"-Fucking asshole- of all the stupid omegas in the world I had to be mated to the fucking- dumbest- little- fucking-" The belt digs into your shoulder extra tight and Jimin starts the car wordlessly. 

You're closed in on both sides by him and Hobi on the other. They switch and shuffle. Jimin pulls away from the train station, gentler this time but still faster and with more finesse than you'd do it. Yoongi is still looking at you, glaring, tears in his eyes with wet cheeks, his voice low and uncompromising. 

“Give me your phone.” 

“My what?”

“Your. Phone. You used it to call her didn’t you?” You nod after a second, slowly pulling it from your sweatshirt pocket and handing it over. 

Yoongi takes your phone and breaks it over his thigh.

It’s a bit impressive really- the show of strength. He brings it down once and the screen breaks, winking out like a shooting star. Another and it bends just a little, a third time- and it's practically at a right angle. It breaks so easily in the face of adrenaline and anger and fear. 

You make a small noise, not a whimper but a descending sound. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, wild. Like he’ll break even further if you complain. Hoseok’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi this broken.

"Just- There were pictures of Noodle and Tae on there.”

Fear and anger are an intoxicating mix to anyone- let alone someone who almost lost their person. He goes at your phone until its jagged edge bites into his hand drawing blood. Then he tosses both pieces of your phone onto the floor of the car like they're paperweights.

One of the pieces hits your shoe with a small metal clink, and even Hobi looks down in surprise at the sound. 

Yoongi laughs and then bends over. Yanking the gun out of your boot. Small, shoved there. Hoseok didn’t notice. He's not sure why it surprises him- that you'd be armed. You're not an idiot, you know the risks, and you were armed the last time that you tried to run away.  

He holds it out to you, long fingers wrapped around the barrel pointed at his chest. The handle facing you, the barrel of the gun level with his heart.

“You want to do the honors sweetheart?"

Jungkook’s worrying away at his lower lip, turning around, nervous. “Yoongi-" but Yoongi just holds a finger out, cutting him off. He's watching you, waiting to see what you'll do.

Jimin very gently reaches back and takes the gun from Yoongi. The beta lets him. Jimin flicks the safety off with a twitch of his thumb. And takes out the magazine one-handed that he hands to Jungkook before he puts the body of the gun barrel down in the cup holder where it rattles freely. 

“Don’t fucking do that. we do not point guns at ourselves or each other in this pack.” 

Yoongi hardly looks mad, he hardly reacts to Jimin at all. Jungkook's eyes flicker nervously from Jimin to Yoongi, then to Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin's flush sits on the top of his cheekbones, "Jin-hyung gets a pass obviously."

You quirk an eyebrow at your mate, not impressed in the slightest, not even intimidated truly. Hoseok doesn’t think you’ve fought since you tried to leave the first time. 

“You didn’t really expect me to go unarmed, did you? Thought I could at least take one of them out- at least Moonbyul before they-” Jimin breathes hard through his teeth and Hoseok actually laughs, although he sounds a little unhinged. Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little.

“I didn’t expect you to fucking leave me either but here we fucking are.” Yoongi has never raised his voice with you- he never raises his voice period. But anger and terror have made his words sloppy where usually they strike exact.

In the mirror, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench as Jimin accelerates home a little faster. Yoongi crowds you against Hoseok. Resting his forehead against yours, you can hear the grit in his teeth as he grinds them together nearly spitting, but it’s quiet. 

“If you try something like that again, you will see a side of me that I do not want to show you. Do you understand?” 

That makes you unnerved, and makes your lower lip start to tremble. Your “Yes.” Comes out so quiet that Hoseok is sure Jimin and Jungkook can't hear it in the front seat over the Lambo's purr. 

You’re unable to meet his eyes, Yoongi has never been rough with you, but he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from screaming, yelling, crying. There are no words for you, no words that he could ever say that might hold you. He is so angry he can’t even fucking speak. 

For a terrible moment, you think that he's going to hit the seat in front of you. But then he tucks your hair behind your ear out of your face so that he can look at you properly. 

This is Yoongi's karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. He's come to know their pain so keenly, this was only a few hours of what they endured but still- this is exactly like that. 

“You know- I’ve never wondered if you need me, but sometimes I wonder if you love me at all.”

His hand slides down your cheek, gentle in the way that he goes, and it hurts so much more than a slap or punch ever would. It stings. Everywhere Yoongi touches you stings. 

“I know you don’t love me the way that I love you- I’m not that dumb, but-" 

Your face screws into a whimper, and you can't whisper out that you're sorry quick enough. Yoongi guides your forehead back to rest against his. Still angry, still spitting the words like they take something from him. You should deny what he says and you want to, but you’re mute in the face of your mate's anger.    "How many hours do you think will exist between your death and mine?”   You’re silent as Jimin drives, but his eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. You don’t see any pity in his eyes maybe because Yoongi, like you, had nearly left them broken. Had actually left and stayed gone. Yoongi will never quite deserve pity for words like those. Yoongi directs your face away from Jimin and back to his.

“How many god damn it!” He grips your cheeks, gentle, fingers that touch so softly, that cradle you, shaking all the while. 

“Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last 5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough to apologize and you don't make it easy- I don't-

"Yoongi. That is enough." 

Jimin is steely. Cutting him off before Yoongi can say something that he regrets and that he doesn't mean. But Yoongi won’t continue anyway. He's crying so hard he can’t see your face, can’t even see the way that you crumple.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Pushing away your hands every time you try and wrap them around him until you’re crying with how frustrated you are. Keeping that one point of contact only, his crumpled face pressed against your mating mark. 

He doesn’t want your touch- the touch of someone who hurt him. This is the first time that Yoongi has denied you something so simple, something so habitual as your arms around his shoulders. 

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, your words come too late. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry Yoongi I didn't mean- please believe me- I didn't- Please i'm so sorry-"

It’s a pity isn’t it; someone always has to love the other more. This is the oldest story, and there is no other story. Karma comes just in time or not at all. But right now? Right now it does not feel nice being Yoongi’s karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. 

The car ride is mostly silent for the rest of the drive. The car has barely stopped when Yoongi scrambles to get out. The car door flings open with the momentum of Jimin stopping. The hood is hot when he skims his fingers across it steadying himself to round it and dash inside.

Your hands shake too hard to unbuckle yourself as Yoongi hurries, he almost runs. Hoseok gets out of the car, shouting "Yoongi!" but your mate doesn't turn around, doesn't do anything but barrel past the others. Pushing away their worried questions and hands to get inside the house. 

The bindings on your hands are already bleeding a little bit, your hands chubby and swollen, and unable to see the seat buckle as you claw at it. 

A warm chest hits the side of your face as strong arms reach around you. Jungkook unbuckles you, close and filling the backseat in Yoongi's absence. He holds you for a second, giving you a squeeze and a sideways hug. "Just give him a second it’s gonna be alright." 

You stare at Jungkook for a second. Wiping your tears away with a curled fist. He looks tired. “I mean you’re literally his mate so- it's not like he can really...” Jungkook trails off, and the keys jingle in Jimin's hands as he waits. mute and unreadable, staring at the steps where tae stands with Jin and Namjoon.

"Aren't you guys going to yell at me too?" Jungkook snorts, and when you pull back to look at his face, he doesn't look angry, he doesn't even look tired. 

"That wouldn't solve anything." Your face crumples further, but Jungkook just starts to pull you to the edge of the leather seat to hug you better under the guise of firmly setting you on your feet. 

"What I am gonna do is make you go work out with me. I'm gonna make you do like- so many burpees in punishment for making me run that early in the morning."

You laugh wetly and Jungkook giggles, nuzzling the top of your head. Gripping around your waist to pick you up just a little. 

Jin looks just as puffed up as Yoongi but so much less angry, wrapped in your big blue blanket like a cape, a corner pulled over his head and ears like a hood, his fluffy bunny slippers poking out below.

The wooden planks of the deck have dried in the winter sunlight and Tae is barefoot where she stands, silk robe too thin for the winter chill. looking at you with that same hollow look she’s had for the last day.

Jin doesn’t try to grab Yoongi as he stalks past. Namjoon sends a conflicted glance at him and then at you. His shoulders are pinned up by his ears, the scraggly five o'clock shadow he wears looks tear tacky. He looks at you for a single second but then heads into the house after your mate. You blanch, but you're not surprised that Namjoon needs a second before he talks to you too. 

The pervasive sound of wrenching can be heard echoing out into the porch, and a look inside says that Namjoon’s got a hand on Yoongi's back where he's bent over the sink. Throwing up nothing because your mate had hardly eaten last night- worried about you and Hobi. You've never felt more undeserving of him, the guilt hits you harder than any words ever could.

You swallow at the bottom of the steps. Hoseok and Jungkook and Jimin behind you, hand on the small of your back urging you forward gently. Willing to let you stray more than a few steps away after chasing you down.

Jin is extra tall and on the upper step, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face, he places a hand over the back of your neck scruffing you smoothly and evenly until you almost fall, knees already shaky. Jungkook steps up and grabs you before you hit the floor. But Jin just stoops. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When this is over, when everyone is safe, we’re going to have a long long talk about this. About why pups don’t make decisions on their own. Give me your phone.”

You can hear Jimin’s grimace in his voice, “Yoongi already broke it.” 

“Are you angry with me?” You ask lower lip wobbling, tears drifting down your nose, “Please don’t be angry with me- please-” Jin squeezes the nape of your neck again, harder. You see sparkles in your vision- your body compensating for Jin's touch even though you're so tired you feel like you might pass out. You easily submit to the scruff, you'll do anything Jin asks right now just to temper his disappointment.

Hoseok grabs under your elbows to keep you standing. Between him and Jin and Jungkook- you’re a soggy little bundle of omegas. You don’t see it, but from the railing, Tae cups Jimin’s cheek. 

Jin croons. “Hush pup. Come inside where it's warm. We've got a lot to talk about- mostly what we can do besides make rash decisions like that." 

Hoseok's hand is on Jin's wrist before he has a chance to continue. Eyes bright with something that looks an awful lot like hope. 

"About that..." Hoseok gulps, “We think we figured out how to get out of this Jinnie. I have to talk to Yoongi about it again but-” Jin tugs Hoseok onto his other shoulder.

“I think we’ve figured a way out of this.”  

You sniffle where you're tucked against Jin's chest, but you’re right next to his scent gland when it swells with pride, sweet and milky. Jin runs the back of his hand softly over Hoseok's warm cheeks, and croons.

“Good puppy.”

~-~

The next time you call Moonbyul, you’re all sitting around the dining room table. The blinds are drawn and Noodle has been fed. Jimin’s collection of guns lay on the table in several neat little rows, the barrels of them pointed in the same direction like the legs of some long-dead arachnid. 

A list of demands and a dialogue are written out in front of you but they're not for you. Jin and Yoongi will be doing most of the talking. You've done nothing for the last hour it took to hatch the plan other than sit obediently at the reach of your alphas. Willing to trade little 'I'm sorries' and the barest attempt at teasing after you'd gotten up to get a glass of water and they'd all flinched. Jimin had even gotten up and out of his chair before shaking his head and sitting back down. instincts reacting to your movement before his brain caught up.

"Would it make you feel better if you put me in handcuffs?"

"Only if they're the fuzzy ones." 

"Jk- now is not the time.”

All in all, Jungkook and Hobi seem to be the ones who are the least angry at you for trying to pull that stunt. Jimin's just a little more tactile with you than usual pulling you to sit close to him at the table. rubbing over your knee. Fiddling with your hands and gently avoiding the wounds there.

Namjoon still can't look at you, eyes flickering away every time you speak. Not angry- but maybe still upset- still working through his feelings. 

There are more important things to work through; the plan, the facts of what you know, a list with numbers sit next to your dialogue. The facts of everything connected with arrows and different handwriting and a good bit of doodles- courtesy of Jungkook and Tae (and you- when she'd prodded). 

Your list goes like this:

Moonbyul is not an alpha (verified by Hobi) (ew it's so gross to think of you with another omega hyung)

Only an alpha can rule the family. (That's a little sexist) (I didn't write the rules Tae)

LEVERAGE. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ (JK- stop doodling on official FBI documents.) 

Yoongi hasn't spoken a word to you since he came inside the house and you don't expect him to right now. That’s hardly the most important matter at hand. Baby steps.

Baby steps. 

You call her with Jimin’s work burner. The one he keeps in his car and uses exclusively for instructions about which murder and which target needs to be taken out. Moonbyul answers on the first ring and guesses it’s you before you even have a chance to speak. The others had unanimously decided that you wouldn't be speaking for this conversation. You don't mind sitting back for this. 

Whatever makes them happy, whatever makes them feel better. 

Her voice strikes a chill down your spine, now that you know that she's the one who hurt Hobi. It's her he sees behind his eyes on his worst days and it's her voice he hears when his internal monologue becomes vicious and self-shaming. You hear it differently than you did before; a cross between a snake's hiss and the purr of some dark-furred jungle cat. 

“Any much longer and you’re going to be late pup, you know how impatient I can be.” 

It's surprisingly difficult to not give her a piece of your mind. Your hands tighten into fists, your bones and skin all tight where you'd hurt your hands. But before your knuckles can even go white a big hand covers yours, prying your fingers apart so that your fingernails don't dig into the gauze, still bloody. You look up at Namjoon. He shakes his head, just a little, and you relax your hands.

Yoongi leans over the table so that his voice comes across clearer over the speakerphone. 

“I think you’ll want to be patient for this alpha- or should I say omega.” 

Hoseok holds the edge of the table hard, leaning in too. He's sure the hitch of his breath must be audible over the phone. But Moonbyul doesn't remark on it. Jin’s hand remains settled on the nape of his neck and you wish you were sitting next to him too.

Yoongi scoots himself closer to the edge of the table. On the side opposite from you. “The claws of an alpha don’t suit you, cousin.”  

Moonbyul laughs and none of you smile. The tone of her voice shifts, a bit more serious. “They fit me better than they'd fit you. Let me see how deep your bite is or should I ask Hoseok? Is that pup there? How about Minnie and mommy?” 

Tae folds her hands over her chest, affronted, but doesn't speak either. Your hand goes hard on Namjoon's wrist and he grips yours back just as hard. Holding out his hand for Hobi's across the table. 

You open your mouth to retaliate- for the comment on Tae alone (you're not sure how Moonbyul found out about your nickname for her) but Jimin mouths across the table, “Don’t” You're all silent, waiting for her next move.

Jin's FBI training kicks in. Negotiation and kidnappings had been a course he'd been required to take during his orientation to the fbi. and his voice is measured and polite.

"I think we're past the point of petty jabs and assassin's, aren't we? Let's talk, pack omega to pack omega."

“You want to parley then? Make a deal?”

Jin drums his hands across the table. Nervous but his voice doesn't shake, not even a little bit.

“This has gone on for long enough. Let’s meet.”

~-~   Moonbyul comes in with the quiet. 

The hours drag on in the space before she arrives at the house. The pack perks up in the direction of every errant sound or neighbor in your cul-de-sac. The sound of the little kids across the street leaving for Saturday morning sports, of the dull scape of someone shoveling out their driveway, the rumbling of distant cars on the highway.

It’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Strange, that this kind of thing should happen on a Sunday. Jimin stares out at the driveway, leaning against the railing, and thinks it must be some sort of punishment both wretched and divine. He smokes his cigarette, spitting the smoke out like he's burning, and shakes off the shivers of a god he doesn't believe in.

He finishes his cigarette, then he and the others and ready the house for Moonbyul’s arrival. 

Hobi feels every tick of the clock like the beat of his heart knowing that she’s on her way. She’d started driving after Jimin had shown her a video of his guns being thrown into the river. A meeting without any weapons will be as safe as anyone can get.

But still- the pack isn't stupid. Hobi watches from the kitchen as Jin tapes the pack’s sharpest and largest kitchen knife under the kitchen table in front of his seat as well as Jimin’s and Yoongi’s just in case. 

Allowing her inside the den goes against every instinct. To have their softest most safe place violated by the presence of someone who has hurt them like this. It's almost too much. But to have the upper hand and have this meeting on their turf is more than they’ve hoped for. So Namjoon restrains his growls, hand still held in yours at the table. After a tangle of so many hours and days of all this violence, the pack takes their chances for a way out. 

You'd discussed the meeting happening at the house before you'd even called and agreed. Talked it out between the eight of you the idea location for any meet up. Only Namjoon was against it- but he's been overruled by Jin and Yoongi.

You’d remained mostly silent and agreed with Yoongi when it came to a vote. Warm big eyes on him, waiting for a hint of approval that never came. Jimin thinks that wound is going to take more than simple obedience to heal. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. Jin and Jimin take over most of the planning as far as what’s going to be said and how. Everything needs to be carefully orchestrated for this to not go poorly. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior. 

But there is hope here, on the edge of their scheming is a plan that might work- this might really work. You all might get out of this unscathed. Even Yoongi who’s never taken a simple breath outside of this life of murder and secrets. Who has had this violence built into his blood from the moment he was born. Yoongi was born a liar. Yoongi always thought that he'd live and die belonging to his family- at the will of their beck and call.

Now he's not so sure. 

He feels like he’s hyper-aware of you, in your orbit the way an addict is always aware of how little or lot is left of a drug. Every twitch and movement of your body sets him on edge. But when you’re not watching- Yoongi watches you. Tensing with every step you take in the direction of the door, heaving a thankful sigh whenever you pass by it. 

He tries not to touch you but it’s hard. He’d taken your shoes and locked them in the closet upstairs, it's silly but it's necessary.

His pulse is still beating so fast that it scares him a little. The mating mark at his hip aches with every step, he wonders if yours aches with every word or breath. Pressed there against your throat where he'd kissed countless times, where he'd nuzzled sleeplessly just last night. Breathing in your scent because it soothed him. 

It still soothes him, even if he doesn't want it to. 

Yoongi spends every few minutes bent over the kitchen sink or the toilet, the revulsion curling up in his gut like a snake dragging its teeth down the sides of his heart. You’d left him again, actually left him again. Yoongi wants to scream and cry but- 

But there are moments of you saying you’re sorry- to Tae, to Jimin, and Jungkook- who stubbornly wraps his arms around your back like a living blanket and makes you stoop forward with his weight. Or Jimin who rubs his chin across the top of your head and jostles you with the aggressiveness of his scent mark, catching your wrists in both of his hands roughly in a way that almost- almost has Yoongi intervening. He's just clumsy and tired. 

All of you are. 

There are other moments of Jin lingering close, speaking to you in the soft stern way that has you deflating that makes Yoongi’s body hum in that mate way- that way that lets him know you need him. 

Namjoon hasn't changed the bandages on your hands yet, even though there's a tiny bit of blood on your right one. Yoongi wants to ask him to change it out but can't make his mouth form the words. 

Hobi watches you from wear he rests against the couch, pointedly not sitting on the spot that Jin cleaned of blood. Holding a bit of ice to his throat and sipping on water. Able to talk now- for real. Voice strengthening with every minute. 

Yoongi pauses by his side and asks, loud enough for you to overhear "aren't you angry?" Hoseok doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense. You’re looking over things and talking with Jin and Jimin, clarifying something- some rules about the family that only you and Yoongi know of. There are documents on the table with the title FBI property- do not reproduce or take off premises. 

He tips his head back against the back of the couch, Hoseok’s legs sprawled out, aching from running so hard and so fast and being so out of practice with it. Fuck- Hoseok is so tired. So anxious and so keyed up by the knowledge that Moonbyul will be here within the next hour. He yawns in Yoongi’s face without covering his mouth. His stretched lips full of teeth teeth teeth. 

Yoongi feels his anger quiet even before Hoseok shrugs. "i don't know if my anger would make it better. i care more about making sure we all get to wake up tomorrow without feeling like shit"

Jungkook echoes the same sentiment on his way past. “Same like- I cannot wait to nest” And Jimin nods, blonde hair fluffing. Even namjoon's subtle agreement as he does the dishes makes yoongi feel...Not better...but maybe a little less angry.

Namjoon does the dishes, but you're his close shadow. They could wait- but Namjoon needs something to do with his hands besides holding onto yours. You still haven’t talked at all, and haven't apologized verbally to him for that phone call. He wants a wide birth and you give it to him.

Survival first- and apologies and forgiveness later.  

"I think motive counts for something too," Hoseok says, looking at you across the room helping Namjoon stack dishes without being asked. "You didn't mean to hurt us when you left, but you felt like you had to." Yoongi swallows hard and feels like he's the one who's been choked in the last 48 hours.

If there’s one thing Yoongi hates, it’s how love makes you forgive. (Yoongi wouldn’t be standing in this house right now with the pack if love wasn’t this way). You could hurt me and I’d ask for it, beg for it really, as long as I’m still yours. As long as you stay. 

At the beginning, the fact that Yoongi loved you more always hurt the pack, Jin especially. But watching Yoongi’s eyes follow your movements as you're asked to do some small remedial task to appease the pack, watching you do it with so much sweet eagerness. the pack find that they're thankful for it.

You say you’re sorry to anyone who will listen. And Jungkook's endless replies of "it's okay" make Yoongi's ears itch in the interim.

The moments and minutes stretch out long.

But about an hour before Moonbyul is due to arrive, in the quiet panic of making sure things are ready and just waiting, Jin tries to convince you to go upstairs for the entirety of your meeting. But as much as the pack doesn't want to admit it you might be the best at getting what you want from Moonbyul. They're prepared for you to be a little bratty about it, to push back a little regardless of the circumstances.

What they're not prepared for is Hoseok standing up in the center of the room, setting his icepack on the couch with a small crunch, before he says “I want to see her again.” 

It's met with an immediate rejection, and a barrage of questions from the other alpha's, Jimin and Namjoon especially have their hackles raised. Yoongi actually checks his ears to see if they're bleeding. Jin quite literally grabs Hobi and shakes him a little. But he’s convinced that he needs too. He’s got questions for her that no one else can answer.

You had been the one person who had agreed with him. Some questions can only be answered by the person who hurt you. 

Moonbyul isn’t stupid- she won’t walk into your den without a few face cards in her hands. You won’t let her come here without a card up your sleeve either. But aces are aces- a royal flush will beat 4 aces every time, and it’s up to you who wears the crown. 

You watch the pack put on the air of royalty. Watch Namjoon recline at the head of the table the picture of Pack alpha ease. Scent blockers are applied to all of you liberally out of necessity. You rub it into Hobi’s scent gland yourself (You won’t let Moonbyul get a wif of him).

You watch your mate settle into his shoulders; neck held high. Putting on the same Placid but brutal he'd worn the first time you'd met him. That untouchable coldness that all members of the family wear out of necessity. 

But Yoongi had never been good enough at keeping the warmth out of his eyes. Even back then.

Moonbyul comes in a black car, non-descript. She's driving herself today. No extra ears or extra packmates attached to her hip. Even Hyejin is absent and it’s strange, strange to not see her get out of the car with her.

It sets you off kilter when you peer out the window. Lingering until Yoongi comes close. Your breath hitches as his hands touch your shoulders. Urging you upstairs without a word, an unspoken heaviness in his eyes.

Regardless of what you'd agreed, now that she's here. yoongi doesn't think he can do this if you're not upstairs safe.

“But Yoongi- Hobi-“ Hobi stands by the door. If he's going to talk to her you want to be by his side. But Yoongi's scared, you can see it in his face and feel it in the mating mark.

You think you'll have a few more moments to sort this out, but Moonbyul does not knock on your door, she just lets herself in. 

“Cousin!” she starts, splaying her hands like she’s about to go in for a hug but Yoongi does not smile, Yoongi does nothing but glare at her until her smile and her hands both drop. 

Seeing Moonbyul again after so long does not feel like just seeing her photograph. For a second Hoseok feels cold, so so cold looking at her face. Her fair skin, her silver hair. Tunnel vision and the most dizzying mix of fear and anger and alpha posturing that he’s ever felt. His instincts yell at him, screaming in his ear that he needs to run, needs to get away. 

She smells different, metallic and medicinal, different than her sweet omega peppermint smell that he remembers. It's stronger now- more musky. the scent of an alpha and not an omega. Hoseok wouldn't be able to pinpoint that it was an artificial change if he hadn't smelled the same sort of hormone shift on Tae.

He’s distantly aware that there are people in between him and her, you, Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and even Jungkook who fluffs up, looking determined and like he’s about to unleash all 5 years of experience he has teaching kickboxing on her. (Tae stays at the back of the room- the soft and delicate fairy star child that she is- but even she subtly stands straighter, eyeing Moonbyul’s stiff black coat with the same air that Anna Wintour might wear while viewing a subpar fashion show).

6 feet away and every bit of his instincts is yelling at him to move, to run. His heart thunders in his ears like a battalion of racehorses. How stupid of him to think he was ready- that seeing her face after all these years wouldn’t hurt- that the fear wouldn’t be there- his breath hitches and-

She grins at him and Hoseok flinches. 

In his peripheries, he sees Namjoon and Jimin start to say or do something. Hoseok had put himself- almost perfunctorily in front of you. But after a second with your hand on his wrist tightening, you put yourself between him and her. Stepping around him and Yoongi in one clean movement and blocking his face from view. Moonbyul just raises her eyebrows at you.    Before anything more can happen- before any jabs or warnings can be exchanged, a grey mass skitters across the floor. As quick as a bullet and twice as violent. Out for blood and the bringer of death.

Puffed up and looking large and menacing. Noodle yowls loud, a war cry, before driving his needle-like teeth into Moonbyul's ankle and right through the leather of her Louis Vuitton boots, ripping them with a vicious toss of his neck.

“What the fuck-“ 

Moonbyul startles, knocking into the wall in her surprise at your cat's viciousness. She hardly wastes a breath before she kicks Noodle clear across the floor. 

You gasp and Tae makes a noise. But Noodle is totally fine, He goes hissing and spluttering, and claws his way right back for more not deterred in the slightest. He leaves gash marks on the shiny floor as he aims himself, back to bite her again. 

You have no doubt that he’d be headed for bloodshed and her other ankle if Yoongi didn’t scoop him up from the floor and hold him to his chest. Honestly- Noodle looks more surprised at Yoongi holding him than he does about getting kicked. 

“If you touch my fucking cat again, I’ll fucking kill you." Yoongi's deadly serious. No part of him joking as he says it.

It's barely 60 seconds in and this meeting is already going to shit. 

Namjoon steps up and steps around Yoongi’s shoulder shoving the beta behind him as Noodle starts to squirm in Yoongi's hold.  “Please, lets just get this over with.” He tips his head and gestures to the dining room table for her to sit. 

Tae takes Noodle from Yoongi’s arms. Checking his stomach. Glaring at Moonbyul who does not grin, does not smile, only tucks an errant hair behind her ear.

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor is the only sound as the 9 of you sit in silence. Noodle stays in Tae’s lap, big tail swishing as his beady yellow eyes track Moonbyul across the room. Everyone’s silent, settling. Yoongi and Jimin are the ones seated closest to Moonbyul. You and Hobi are the farthest by Namjoon on the other side. 

“Well- you’re the one who wanted to talk.” But Moonbyul is not looking at Jin and Namjoon and Yoongi- she’s looking at Hoseok- who can do little but look at her through his bangs. Skin burning when she looks at it. A feeling like Hoseok wants to hide and maybe shower until his skin falls off almost overcoming him and making him run. 

“I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to get you fucking flayed out on this kitchen table and-”

“Jimin.” Tae cuts him off with a snap of her teeth around his name. Her hand is on Hobi’s thigh, holding him still keeping his thigh from jumping up and down under the table.

“The time for violence is over,” Jin says sternly. 

Moonbyul grins, “is it?” she drags a sharp nail over a groove in the table. A spot where a bullet or maybe a knife grazed it, probably from the last few days. You wouldn’t know where it came from even if you thought hard about it.

“Some would consider the very act of possessing something that’s mine violence and you have two things that belong to me.” 

Hoseok shivers, and you narrowly avoid snapping a smart retort at her. Jimin’s fingers hover around the knife under the table. Ready to wip it out and drive it clean through her hand splayed on the table. Ready to kill her in the next second if the pack wish it. He’s half convinced he should do it before she opens her mouth because Hoseok looks like he’s going to be sick all over the table and Tae is shaking faintly. 

But then Jimin looks up, meets your eyes, and takes his eyes off of his target for a second. You shake your head a little imperceptibly. 

“Some would also consider lying violence as well- how well do you think that the rest of your family and organization would handle the fact that they’ve been lied too?”

Yoongi settles, tilting his head. Jin and Yoongi are a dangerous pair when they talk through things like this. “We both know that all I’d have to do is pick up a phone and you’d be dead. You and your pack. If you kill me- someone will tell and you'll die. If you touch my pack again- I'll tell and you'll die. And if even think about taking my mate from me again- if i start to sense that you've tried to manipulate her away from me in the slightest- I'll kill you my fucking self."

She turns to you, mirth toying at her lips, "I got away with killing the beta once, what makes you think I can't do it again?" 

Jin smiles at her, it's an honest and genuine smile. "The truth is- you gave us too much time to think. Too much time to figure it out and plan. There's a trigger clause out there. On a computer you couldn't possibly find. If I don't log in every 36 hours, an email will be sent with pictures of her recipe book to the director of the FBI, and you'll go down for it."   Moonbyul turns to you, narrowing her eyes, "You'd risk going to prison or being killed? Rather than be with me?" 

You shrug. "You- prison- tomato tamato. And besides- I know enough- you made sure I knew enough to be useful to them. I'd probably land a sweet gig in witness protection."

Tae pets over noodles head, smiling at you, "We could call Noodle meatball."

Yoongi straightens, getting you back on track. "We'd also send pictures and evidence to the heads of house too; you'd have to take your pick who you'd want to deal with- them or the Feds."    Moonbyul goes quiet and for the first time but you know you have her backed into a corner with this. This secret- this secret is truly her undoing. She fidgets, settling herself firmly into the uncomfortable chair. 

And then it comes, her concession, “What do you want?”

Yoongi nearly lunges forward with how eager he is to outline your terms. “Release Jimin from his contract. Let Y/n go and relinquish the bullshit claim you have on her. Don’t punish Jin for working for the FBI and never contact me again for my responsibilities as a beta. Leave us alone- never touch us again and you can have your empire. We won’t say a word to anyone about your true sub-gender.” He lays his hands flat on the table. "But lay a finger on any one of my packmates and I'll tell everyone what you really are." 

Moonbyul is a manipulator first and foremost, and a good one at that, you don’t know if it’s honesty or a simple tactic when she turns to Tae and appeals to her.

“You’d let them do this for what? One female alpha to the other?” Moonbyul’s eyes are too empty for her to be totally honest. Jungkook can’t stop his flinch. She knows what she’s doing. How to find the weak spots in your conviction and press at them.  

“One trans person to another? You'd let them forcefully out me? don't you know how wrong that is?”

You physically can’t look at her, you have to look away- and Jimin looks like he wants to punch her, jaw rolling- preparing to spit before Tae splays her hands on the table, chipped nail polish catching the light. 

Tae struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know if your reasons are the same as mine.” 

Moonbyul scoffs, crossing her arms. The mask slips at the same second. “Sure they are. You chose to become a woman rather than stay a man because you liked the set of qualities your life could have as a woman better. That's no different from me choosing to be an alpha over an omega because it gave my pack and me the most security.”

You know, you know in your heart that security isn't what Moonbyul's after, it's always been power, but Tae's scent starts to leak around the scent blockers, going sour.

Tae sits back in her chair. “That’s the thing- it wasn’t a choice.”

Moonbyul’s fingernails are digging into her arms in an effort to keep her hands busy. “Was it? You were comfortable being a man once until the risks outweighed the benefits of not being honest with the people you love. That seems like a choice to me- if it wasn’t a choice- you’d never have had to tell anyone- they’d just have known.” 

Moonbyul has always had a terrible knack for finding people's soft spots, Hoseok knows this, and yet he can't say anything. Can't come to Tae's defense. Can't scream at her to shut up- to not touch Tae. To not find the weakest link or perhaps a link she can exploit.

Tae’s hands tighten into a fist and she swallows, before standing up from the table. Noodle falls to the floor with a jingle of his bell collar and an offended meow. Tae leaves the room heading up the stairs and leaves you behind. Done with Moonbyul and the conversation, A choice in itself. You follow her, heading upstairs after Tae with not even a glance in Moonbyul’s direction. 

Moonbyul laughs and laughs and laughs, it’s a little unhinged. The pack stays silent. They just watch her. Yoongi settles into his shoulders and when she leans back in the chair and tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s still smiling.

“Alright cousin, let’s draw up terms.”

The family does things in old ways, a smear of Yoongi’s blood and Moonbyul’s blood on the bottom of a slip of paper and their names ink signed. A red seal printed with both of their initials. Paper that Jin will burn up later because what’s written on it could condemn them all. She also writes up a release of Jimin’s contract too- this one does not get burned. While Jin types up his resignation too.

“I’d still laser off your fingerprints if I were you.” Jimin is already planning on it. He’s not too worried about the loss of income or the family possibly rolling on him and using his long history of murder to put him in jail. He still has his other job after all.

In the end, Moonbyul leaves not with a bang, but with the click of the closing door, soft as all can be. Violent with the gentleness of her actions when she gets up from the table and says goodbye to Yoongi and only Yoongi. But when she makes to leave, she has to pass by the stairs where you wait.

You do not speak from up on top of the stairs, where you’d gone after Tae and left after she told you she was fine, that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Now Moonbyul smiles from the bottom step. Her teeth catch the light like the pearls at the bottom of the ocean.

“I guess it was never going to be us, was it?” Her eyes flick to the mark on your neck and all at once you’re reminded of the feeling of it;

Geumjae’s teeth sink into your throat, the pulse of your veins around his teeth, the feeling of his tongue hitting your skin and the pain and shock of it. Her smiling feels like that. Her smiling up at you makes it feel like she’s taking something from you. 

“There is something in you that’s hungry pup- hungry for more than they can give you. And when they realize that- when they realize that you’re more like me than like Tae- Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for when you decide that this is not enough.” 

Your finger trails down the railing of the stairs. You don’t meet her eyes. “That’s the thing isn’t it, I do get to decide, don’t I? It's my choice.”

But Hoseok is there, between you and her, and there’s no one between the two of them. Not Noodle or the others although Yoongi gets up quick and comes over to his side. Both of you hem Hobi in. 

“Wait- I just have one question for you- before you go.”

Moonbyul hovers, hand on the door. Almost out of your lives for good. You keep a hand on Hobi’s back, holding him, letting him know you’re there. You can feel the tremble in his shoulders. 

“Why did you do it, why did you hurt me like that when you could have just left? I’ve thought through it for years but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Did you know that you were hurting me when you did it?”

“Yes,” there isn’t a bit of remorse in her face, none at all. 

Maybe Hoseok is expecting something like this- something like this: “I thought if we broke you down, we might be able to remake you into something great”

“I didn’t need to be changed I just needed you to love me.”

 But there is none of that. It’s infuriating and it will bother him for years later but what Hoseok gets is this: 

“There wasn’t a reason, we were just bored and waiting for my father to give me the chance to transition.” transition into power or transition into an alpha? She doesn't clarify. She’s remorseless, nothing in her inflection indicates that she regrets what she did. 

“You weren’t the first.” 

Hoseok feels nauseous like he's going to be sick on the entryway floor. Hobi doesn’t respond and she leaves without a second glance behind her. Out of your lives for good. Leaving Hoseok standing there in the precipice of the door, watching her pull away from the house and staring at the empty driveway after she’s gone. He'll never see her again after today.

Namjoon gets up and opens up a window, clearing the house of her smell of peppermint.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you dab your sleeve at his cheek. Yoongi at his front and you holding him from behind, keeping him together as he cries and cries and cries. Jimin puts himself between you two and the door, a knife that he'd tapped under the table in his hands.

Jungkook huffs. "Should have stabbed her when you had the chance Minnie."

Closure escapes him, just out of his fingers. Hoseok wants to run after her and demand an apology. But he doesn’t know what’s better, an apology that’s hollow or none at all. No one talks for a moment while they watch her car pull out of the driveway and leave. No one says a word. 

And then Jin gets up from the table and walks over to the kitchen. Namjoon follows him. Tae’s at the top of the steps, she’s changed her clothes from her PJs and washed off the scent blockers. Her hair hangs shaggy and messy over her glossy face, her bangs in a curly pink roller, and her skin pearly from her skincare.

She doesn’t smell distressed or upset. She doesn’t smell like anything at all but she’s wearing her favorite pink sweater. She comes close, runs her hands through Hobi's hair.

"I'll be fine, just give me a second I just need-"

"You cry for as long as you need to ho-baby."

"Yeah- cry as much as you want, use me as a napkin for all I care." your shirt is wet at the collar where Hobi burrows in.

Jin opens up the pack's liquor cabinet. Small and just to the side of the fridge. None of them really drink- but occasionally patients give Namjoon expensive bottles of whiskey for saving their lives. Jin pours himself a full glass of the most expensive bottle of it. No ice. He pours a second glass for Yoongi without asking.    It’s barely noon, but when he asks “who wants a drink?” Seven hands shoot up.

~-~

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Notes:

the very fist part of this chapter where hoseok and her are on the train was a part that i liked until final edits and then it felt??? idk??? clunky??? maybe a bit repetitive???? idk what it is and it's way too late to fix it T-T

this chapter is really an ode to what i originally thought of for bily, in the og version of this story yoongi was supposed to hate the m/c at the beginning for taking him away from the pack. i think his anger at the end is entirely justified- it's also like- his karma for leaving at the beginning you know? he might take it a bit too far in his reaction but tbh- i think we can cut him some slack for everything he's ever given to the m/c- all of the unconditional love.

i think that the train is like- a metaphor for getting better, or not getting better and keeping going on the reductive patterns that make you sick, because the things that make you feel better- like picking at a sticky scab- will only make you scar deeper. this is the last moment for the m/c, the moment she starts to heal for good.

the moment where hobi and the m/c are walking up to the car and yoongi is there i litterally see him puffing up like a studio ghibli charecter you know? or maybe like noodle whenever yoongi comes close.

honestly- the line where yoongi says that she doesn't love him like he loves her made me fucking sick when i wrote it like???? not me lowkey not giving them a happy ending. but i think that the part of bily thats always been fun to experiment with is how people sometimes people hurting you doesn't change how you feel about them.

did you catch the reasons wreched and divine refrence????

the line that yoongi says “Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last ////5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough too apologize and-" is very much a refrence to what hoseok says to yoongi at the begining of the series "You won’t even tell me now when I'm fucking dying over you, suffocating under the weight of things you just won’t say- and you don’t even care!” and i think thats pretty.

i think the yoongi parts will either make you guys feel vindicated or upset. i think it's up to you if he goes too far when he's angry- but i do think it's very human of him to get so angry like...the m/c is his whole fucking world...he will get over it! don't worry! he's just momentarily angry!

the part between when the pack call her and she arrifes felt really clunky while i was editing it, i decided not to take it down too much because i wanted you guys to feel some of their anticipation- but maybe it's too much. it's this kind of part that might get seriously paired down once i go back through bily and clean it up

"fuck this bitch"- noodle probably

noodle is like my favorite charecter i swear to god i love him so so much. i had the idea that he would be the only one to get some bloodletting in since the very begining of the series before he was ever written into the story. this is also the begining of them sorta being friends like- after this noodle is alot more tolerant of yoongi.

Moonbyul discloses that she has some pretty uncomfy views of being trans in this! i think it's pretty obvious that it's not meant to be like 'this is how all trans people are' and more of an effort to contrast tae- we are also talking like fake secondary genders here as well so- do with that what you will!

i also wanted to make the point with hobi and moonbyul's part at the end that sometimes the people who hurt you have no remorse, you don't get clousrure from them because they'll never admit that they shouldn't have done something. and the biggest closure that you can get is from giving yourself the strenght to let go. in a way- this directly contrasts the parts on the train in the begining. in order to heal a wound you have to stop touching it.

this chapter may feel like an ending in a sense because it is an end of all the mafia parts. truly- after this chapter we won't see any more violence or blood or anything close to the last 6. it's all happy endings from here <3 Thank you for sticking with it!

<3

[cherryredstars]

Hi! I really really love how you write for Simon. Like honestly it is so good. I saw that you're taking regular requests right now, so if it's okay could I request some jealous/insecurity headcanons or a oneshot (any format really) for Simon? Like maybe him and the reader are still working toward being more secure but there's still those moments where there needs to be some reassurance and a bit of comfort.

I just loved your cocky!Simon headcanons and I would love to see the progression of him getting to that point if you know what I mean lol.

Also congrats on 1k!! You deserve it!! I love your blog.

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x gn!reader

Warnings: Fluff, Insecurities, Mentions of Simon’s Trauma, Angst (???) with Comfort

Summary: He just needs a little reassurance sometimes.

A/N: I need to write for Simon more, I miss him!!

Word Count: 1.6K (Edited)

Simon’s been jealous before. Envious being a better word. 

He used to be jealous of all the kids who had a loving home to go to. Jealous of peers with perfect parents and perfect siblings. Jealous of all the things he felt like he should have but couldn’t get. But this is a new kind of jealousy, a new insecurity. One so ugly and consuming that he feels particularly shameful of it. 

He knows relationships, especially for him, are all about time. Everything is about time. Hell, he spent fucking months trying to come to terms with the fact that he liked you. Spent even more time building up the courage to ask you out on a date and begin a relationship with him. Add on to that the long hiatuses caused by deployment? This whole relationship is a slowly spinning clock. 

But he’s here, a newly taken man with the kindest thing on his arm. He should be grateful, and he is grateful! Truely, undoubtedly grateful for the opportunity you have given him. But, he can’t help wanting more. From himself mostly, but also from you. And it frustrates him, frustrates him to no end because he knows he’s the reason why the both of you can’t have more. You have told him countless times, drilling it into his head like a daily affirmation that you’re okay with that. That would wait however long it took for Simon to get the hang of this. To fully comprehend what it means to be yours and how to navigate through it. And he is so blessed to have someone so understanding waiting up on him. 

But he sees the difference. Sees the way how natural, how fucking easy it is for you to talk and interact with everyone else. Can see how easy it is for everyone else to interact with you. Things he can’t comfortably do yet. It makes a dark well of hatred form in his stomach because he can't understand why it has to be so hard for him. Why he got the shitty deal of cards, why he got the short end of the stick. He knows, realistically, that it's his fault. So what if his shitty family life and not so glory-filled military career played a part in it? It's still Simon’s own actions at the end of the day. 

It’s fucking torture to watch the casual touches everyone lays on you. How easy it is for your friends to playfully shove your shoulder when you tell a joke, how they don’t hesitate to wrap you in a tight hug when you greet them, how they casually rest their chin or head on your shoulder and complain about everything that went wrong today. Fucking hates how confident people are as they try to flirt with you, how they could so easy articulate their attraction towards you in mere minutes when Simon can’t even do it in months. It makes him want to throw himself against a wall until his screwed up head fixes himself.

And you just look so happy. Smiling at your friends and returning the physical touches with ease. Face beaming with joy as you wrap someone in a hug or link their arm with yours. How you just fucking glow at the compliments given to you by your friends or a passing stranger in the street. He wishes so desperately that he could give you that, that he can casually walk into a room and tell you how fucking stunning you look instead of keeping it in his head. Wishes he could casually grab your hand without feeling like his skin was just dipped into a tub of acid. The only thing that keeps him together is your instant dismissal of anyone that tries to flirt with you, a proud look on your face as you say I have a boyfriend.

But he knows that it doesn’t look like it. Not when there is an obvious space between the two of you as you walk together. Not when he doesn’t make a single move to wrap his arm around you in a crowded space so you don’t get separated. He definitely screams boyfriend when he just watches someone come up to you and try to get into your pants instead of marking his claim on you. Safe to say, he doesn’t expect to find a Best Boyfriend Ever mug under the tree during the holidays this year. 

He knows it pains you too. Can see it every time you instinctively go to grab him only to stop midway through and you give him a bashful smile. Sees how painfully obvious it is when he comes back from deployment and you and him stand outside the terminal gate awkwardly because you don’t know how to greet him if it isn’t with a tight hug. It’s painted all over your face when the both of you are at a group hangout with friends and you watch with an envious gleam in your eyes how the couples are squished into each other’s sides or sitting in their laps. A sharp pain runs through his chest when he can’t even drape his arm over your shoulders to comfort you. He knows that the small smile you give him when you turn towards him is because you know he won’t, even if he really wants to. 

He hates that he can’t give you the simplest of things. Things that are supposed to be so natural in a relationship. Things that were promised to you when he asked you to be his partner. Things that make you so happy. He hates the idea that he’s robbed you of something. That something being a happy and normal relationship. That feeling builds and builds until he’s an insecure mess on your couch as you guys have a movie night.

You’re on opposite sides of the couch, something that makes him want to choke himself out. He’s spread out, arms thrown over the top of the sofa and legs spread. You’re pushed into the arm of the sofa, making sure none of your limbs touch him accidentally. He almost wants to throw up when the actors on screen run into each other’s arms and a small ‘aww’ leaves your lips with a dizzying smile. His hands clench and unclench as the movie ends. You sit up stretching and about to leave for a bathroom break before putting on the next movie when Simon speaks up. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snaps to him quickly, a confused furrow forming in between your brows. You’re about to open your mouth to question him when he continues, “I’m trying, but…it’s hard.”

It’s not much of a clarification, but you still understand what he’s talking about. A sympathetic smile comes across your face as you approach him. This time, you sit next to him but still not touching him. A tenseness leaves Simon’s body, preferring you close by even if he can’t touch you. You’re fully turned to him, a look of admiration on your face as you study him. The look ignites his soul and that little well of hate dries up the tiniest bit. 

“I know you have, and I’m so, so proud of you, Si.” The small tilt of your head and soft smile makes him want to nuzzle his face into your neck and shower you in his own praise. He knows he’s practically glowing from your words, and he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed. 

“Still… I know how happy it would make you. Just… please.” He doesn't know when the lump formed in his throat, but he tries to subtly get rid of it. 

The way you melt into the couch also makes him melt into the fabric. The two of you study each other for a moment, taking in each other’s presence. Slowly you get up and Simon moves to get up too, a moment of panic running through his veins before it dies away when you grab his empty mug from the coffee table. You give him another soft smile as you hold the cup tightly in your grasp.

“Of course, Simon. Thank you for trying. Thank you for wanting to try for me. That is what makes me happy” 

You leave Simon there, excusing yourself to make him more tea and going to the bathroom. He sits and stares at the TV, a new feeling emerging in his chest. It pushes away the insecurity and that hatred and the jealousy. It expands until his own body is buzzy and a puff of air leaves him. Everything feels lighter, brighter now. This feeling is new. One so beautiful and consuming that he feels particularly at peace with it. Love, he thinks. He thinks it might just be love.

So when you come back to sit at his side, mindlessly blowing at the surface of his cup of tea before giving it to him, he lets the tips of his fingers purposely brush over yours. He holds your gaze, making sure you know it wasn’t an accident. A beaming smile forms on your face and he feels a smaller one form on the rim of his mug. He turns away then, sipping on his tea as you look for the next movie to put on. 

He doesn’t touch you again that night. But it still made all the difference. That one, singular touch was worth everything. 

The next night, he comes back to your apartment and stares down at the new mug that greeted him when he opened the cabinet. His finger rubs against the printed words with a lovesick smile. 

Best Boyfriend Ever.

I ♡ Simon Riley mug when???

[lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom]

Hello there! 👋🏽 If you don’t mind, I was wondering if I could make a request with Tech? With maybe a bookworm reader if that’s okay? I feel like it would be a cute dynamic! Thank you and have a good day! 🙏🙌

Bookworm

Tech x Reader

Summary- You and Tech have a moment alone on The Marauder. What better way to spend it than reading! Accompanied by Tech on his datapad, of course.

A/N- It's totally okay!!! I figured the best format for this kind of request was bullet point- but I am not very good at those. So, i compromised with this! Hope you enjoy, thanks for requesting!

Word Count- 990

Hunter, Omega, Wrecker, and Echo had all left the ship to go look for some dinner. A job you all completed recently left you with some spending money. You figured everyone deserved a real meal for once.

It left you and Tech alone in The Marauder. You could have easily went to hang out at Cid's bar, but you couldn't stand to be around her. You hated the way she poked fun at Tech's goggles.

Only you were allowed to call him 'goggles.'

The thought only temporarily distracted you from your book. You quickly resumed reading, only to realize you had to restart the whole page. This time actually process what you're reading! You thought to yourself.

Grumbling, you squeezed your eyes shut and straightened up in your seat. You happened to take a spot in the co-pilots chair. Tech always sat in the pilots.

"Something the matter?" Tech asks, not looking up from his datapad.

It was sweet, that he noticed your small movements. "Just trying to focus, I lost my place." You finally found a comfortable position, situating your book back in your hands.

"It can help to fidget with one hand, to increase your chances of focus." He informed, per usual.

You smiled up at him, he glanced up from the pad when he felt your gaze on him. He flashed a very brief smile- more of a grin, it was all you needed though.

You listened to him rant about his findings on 'focus' for a few minutes, knowing anyone else would have shut him up by now. Him talking never bored you or made you uncomfortable, despite many others complaining.

"Thank you, Tech." You simply said, returning to your book. He seemed pleased enough and went back to tinkering on his datapad.

A newfound silence came over, you read your book in peace. The story of the thieves with powers fighting the government amused you. What amused you more was the fact you had personally been on more dangerous missions, yet the book still captured you.

It was nice to imagine yourself in their place, even when you wouldn't change what you have for the word.

You'd go on a million death defying missions if it meant you were with Tech.

While you typically could put down over 50 pages in an hour, Tech interrupted you again. Not with any other intentions than to please you.

"Yes?" You responded after he called your name.

He reached in a compartment to the left of the console. A place Tech used to store his latest experiments.

He pulled out a neatly wrapped gift. It had swirls of color on the paper that wrapped it. He said nothing, just handed the rectangular item to you.

"For me?"

"That would be correct."

You tried to fight the corners of your mouth rising, but it was no use. Tech watched you violently, showing little expression.

You gently took the paper off, not wanting to make a mess of his careful work.

You slowly revealed it to be a new book, the fourth book in the series to the one you were just reading.

"Tech, I- I thought it was a limited edition! There was only a hundred made across the galaxy!" You looked in his deep brown eyes.

"Yes, it is." He confirmed.

"H-how did you get it!" You were baffled, the thought he put into your gift- and for no special occasion.

"It was not difficult. I was able to track all the shipping numbers to their respective planets, and when we had a mission on one- I located the book through its buyers." He said, nonchalantly. Like he didn't easily buy one of the most rare books you knew of.

"Why? Did I miss an anniversary?" You were slightly confused on why he gave you the gift. You hoped you weren't supposed to also have a gift prepared.

"Uh, no. You mentioned exactly 129 rotations ago that you wanted the book. I saw no problem in getting it." He remembered...

You were moved to small tears, now flowing down your cheeks.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Yes, Tech. Of course I am." You rose to your feet, throwing yourself on him in a big hug. He hugged you back. While he didn't completely understand your acclimation to physical affection- he didn't mind you doing as you pleased to him.

He gently patted your back, and you pulled away. "Thank you, i'm going to have to finish this book quickly now. I can't wait to read it..."

"You are welcome." He responded, you let him be and lifted yourself off of him. He grabbed his datapad and clicked away.

What you didn't know was that sometimes Tech would watch you read. In times like these, when you found yourself sitting or laying next to each other. You reading, him on his datapad.

He would study your face, taking in every expression. He would think about what you were reading- was it sad, happy, thrilling? Feelings were a trivial matter to him, but he was always thinking of ways to make you happy.

He loved it when you read, sometimes out loud to him. It was soothing to hear your voice when he worked on a project or was fixing a part on The Marauder.

The way you tapped your foot, or bounced your leg when you got to a complex part in a book. Or, when you were both laying down together and accidentally hit Tech in shock at a twist in the story. He loved every bit of it.

You turned back to your original book, now more determined than ever to finish it.

You did, however, catch Tech staring this time. You met his gaze, a wide smirk on your face. You couldn't help but giggle briefly. He gave you an odd look, but went back to his datapad. Just as you went back to your book.

A/N- Thank you so much for reading! Requests are about to be open, just one more to fulfill! As always, I am open to constructive criticism.

Tags- (LMK if you want to be tagged as well!) @thethreeeyed-raven @knight-of-flowerss

[spockandawe]

Right, here's something new! This is the novel Sacred And Terrible Air by Robert Kurvitz, the writer behind Disco Elysium, set in the same alternate universe. The original is written in Estonian, and there's been talk of licensing a translation, but that was supposed to happen in 2020, and given the time lapse since then and other events, it looks increasingly unlikely. So earlier this year, two fan translations dropped! As the fans involved say, definitely support an official translation if it happens, but if it doesn't happen, at least there's this. One translation is by a hired translator, and one is by Group Ibex as MTL that went through iterative edits. And something that's very interesting to me given how much time I've spent wallowing in the danmei pit, I couldn't identify which one i definitely liked BETTER. So rather than wrestling decision paralysis, here we are!

Dos-a-dos time, babey! I did one of these in VERY small size for binderary, but other than that, I think the only time I've done this is for my sixfold/fourteenfold experiments? It's very pleasing to have one in my hands that's so substantial. There's 350ish pages on either side of this, and I love it a lot!

It does feature one easter egg that's a special treat for me. When I was trying to pull together the front matter and scrounging for info about the original Estonian novel, google translate gave me some... interesting takes on the title, and I took my favorite (holy and terrible smell) and tucked it inside my endpapers. To build on the stack of in-jokes that will be inscrutable to anyone who stumbles on this book later, I scented the spines of the books with perfume, 'the sea foams milk,' both because the scent felt right for this and because the name felt thematically appropriate

I had a very fun time with this! The formatting took more time than I expected, but the actual binding was nice and relaxing. I don't cover many covers with paper, but this paper was so PERFECT for the story, and then I got excited about matching the endpapers to covers, and the bookcloth spine was a flawless color match, and this all came together so nicely! It was a great little project, and I had a great time making it :D

[trendywaifus]

there’s a nice little ref in yukong’s part (ifykyk). my format isn’t changing, just diff than usual cus it’s a short series and i wanna practice nsfw and writing.

↳ oou, you’re just my type!

hoyoverse women edition part 1 ↳ when she whimpers

↳ featuring—ganyu, stelle, ei, tingyun + honorable mentions

| nsfw! | dom! gn!(unless specified) reader | warnings: ganyu (reader has a cock/strap, overstimulation), stelle (semi-public sex, fingering, a small bit of pet–play if you squint), ei (face siting, implied misuse of cryo vision(reader), overstimulation), tingyun (reader has a cock/strap, blowjob, gagging)

GANYU gasps when your length sinks itself into her soaking cunt with ease. “ don’t let your knees give out, pretty girl. you’re giving me such a perfect angle right now. “ you cooed, drinking in the sight of her face smushed against the pillow and her plump ass positioned beautifully in the air. “ i-i’ll try my best.” she responded obediently, moaning as you stretched her out fully.

ganyu’s angelic moans blurred in your ears as you shift your attention to the satisfying view of your cock sliding in and out of her hole. with each and every thrust it felt like she was sucking you in deeper and deeper. not to mention, your tip and further down the base was beginning to be covered in her cream and essence. “ you’re creaming so much, ganyu.” you noted, nearly moaning at the sight of it.

the adeptus whimpers at the warm sensation of your hand wrapped around one of her sensitive horns. her mind became completely clouded with euphoria and lust when you begin to squeeze and tug while pounding your cock into her cunt feverishly. “ yes, pl-please just like that! f-fuck m-me dumb! “ she moans out in a muffled voice, face now squished into the pillow. her knees trembled, legs turning jelly by your relentless thrusts.

“ you sure are using your voice tonight, baby.“ you delved down to kiss ganyu’s toned back, enjoying the way her muscles coil under your lips. your free hand went around to squeeze her mound of flesh and reached further down her stomach to mess with her pulsating clit. with one final thrust, ganyu’s babbling and screaming as your cock hits all the right places and she squirts everywhere on you and the sheets. you pulled out, happily watching her slick and cum deliciously ooze out of her cunt. finally, her knees gave out and her body hit the mattress.

you wondered if she’ll be able to walk in the morning.

“ who’s my good girl? “

your hand journeys up her skirt and palmed her clothed clit, STELLE ‘s breath hitched. “ m-me. “ she breathes, her lustful golden eyes pools into yours while she starts to grind on your palm. your lips met with hers in a sloppy kiss; teeth promptly clashing together as she hurriedly tilts her head to deepen the kiss. you paid no mind to the sound of people walking and chatting in the distance as you moved her panties to the side and played with her clit with your index finger.

“ in this alleyway right, baby? “ you asked breathlessly, breaking away from the kiss. she nods her head, steadying herself against the wall; her gloved hands gripping your shoulders for support. you teased her entrance, arousal coating your digits. you smirked roguishly at her and brought two of them to your lips and sucked on it. stelle observes you intently like a starved man while your tongue lazily licked at the remains of her juices; not bothering to catch the saliva trickling down your knuckles.

you hummed with satisfaction, “ you taste so good that i already finished my treat. “ stelle whines, biting her bottom lip and watched as you removed your drool-covered fingers from your mouth and brought it back to her soaking entrance. “ brace yourself, sweetheart. “ you warned before slipping your fingers inside of her with little trouble. she throws her head back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping her lips. her walls clenched around your fingers as it sinks deeper into her.

“ you’re taking it so well, baby. “ you purred. she grunts in response, desperately attempting to grind her hips downwards for more friction. chuckling at her eagerness, your fingers begin to thrust inside of her, nails brushing deliciously against her walls. “ s’good! it feels s’good! “ stelle slurs, drool tickling down her chin. you peppered kisses on her face, relishing at how cute she looks. with your other hand, you grabbed ahold of her jaw; forcing her to hold eye contact with you.

“ now, who’s a good girl? “ you crooned, squishing her red cheeks. her half—lidded eyes glistens with tears at the incoming feeling of her climax reaching its peak. “ m-me. . “ she whimpers, slick running down her thighs. “ i-i wahnna cum. . “ you chuckled darkly, kissing her puckered lips. “ not yet. i want you to say it as loud as you can for the people in the back. who’s my good girl? “

the plane of euthymia was anything but it’s usual silence and tranquility. instead, it was filled with EI’s cries and broken moans much to your delight. when you said you had other ways to fill the silence; you fucking her with just your tongue was the last idea she had in mind. now, she’s on her third orgasm, seated perfectly on your face with your tongue stuffed in her cunt.

“ i can just fuck you stupid for an eternity like this, ei. would you like that? “ you asked teasingly, pressing your cold tongue flat against her abused nub. she responds back with a loud gasp and arched her back in pleasure; digging her nails into your knees. grinning devilishly, paying no mind to the stinging pain, you continued, “ of course you’d like that my precious ei. “ tears rolls down her cheeks as she feels the familiar tension knotting in her stomach.

“ dearest, i-i feel it c-coming again. “ ei whimpers, staring down at you with her glowing, pleading eyes. she looks so ethereal right now. your tone softens, “ then let me take care of you. “ with that, you slid your cold wet muscle back into her heated core, she nearly screams.

“ i think someone’s in the front looking for you. “

her ears twitches in annoyance at the local merchant nervously calling out her name from the front of her shop. TINGYUN’s swollen lips pulls away from your cock, snarling. “ oh aeons, can i get a break without being requested?— sorry sir, i’m currently on break, please come back another time! thank you! “ she yells out, uncharacteristically making no attempt to hide the irritation in her voice. hearing that his visit was unwanted, the merchant apologizes quickly before scrambling off. you cast your foxian lover a pointed look.

“ i know, i know— i’m aware that wasn’t very professional of me at all but i have my hands full here. .“ she sighs, before wrapping her lips right back around your length and drags her tongue against a prominent vein. you rest your hand on the back of her neck, rubbing shapes against her skin, chuckling. “ if you’re so eager to suck my dick, let’s get down to business, pretty girl. “ you pushed her head down until the tip was hitting the back of her throat.

a broken mewl emits from tingyun’s throat; she adjusts herself properly between your legs and descends her head further down until her mouth hits your groin.“fuck, you’re taking it like a champ, baby.”you scratched behind her ears affectionately, she whimpers at your praise and touch; her tail wagging from side to side. her cheeks hollows as she moves up and back down on your cock.

her narrowed jade eyes was full of tears as she stares up at you almost innocently—it was driving you crazy. “ keep looking at me like that tingyun and i might prolong your break even more. “ which was exactly what she wanted, the pleasurable burning sensation in her core was getting unbearable. she was already making a mess in her panties. the brunette takes it upon herself to reach down and slip her hand under her dress to satisfy her aching cunt.

tingyun was a complete moaning mess as she starts to pleasure herself unbeknownst to you while you fucked her throat. fat tears runs down her cheeks as she gags on your cock. her climax draws nearer in every waking moment as a small puddle of slick forms under her. noticing tingyun’s moans suspiciously growing louder, you paused—gingerly pulling her head away from your length; a thin line of saliva connects to your tip from her lips.

you tilt your body to the side to follow the direction of her arm with your eyes; your gaze darkens at the discovery of the placement of her hand and the puddle. the look of confusion on tingyun’s features disappears, a sheepish smile stretches across her lips.

“ tingyun, on my lap, now. “

HONORABLE MENTIONS: seele (reader is a fem!, hate-fucking) nilou (semi-public sex, oral sex), yukong (reader is a fem! and being a menace)

SEELE curses under her breath as your hips met with hers, clits rubbing against each other. you moaned in her ear and left sloppy kisses along her jaw. “ you so feel good, seele. “ she gnaws at her bottom lip, holding back a loud groan from the pleasure running up her spine. she hates how submissive she feels under you and as much as she hates you; she can’t deny that her body feels so right against yours. “ i’m going to try a different angle. “

before she can react, you propped her leg against her chest, giving you full exposure and a perfect angle of her cunt. “ wh-what are you—ngnh! “ you grind your clit against hers roughly, smiling in awe of how beautifully her slick is mixed in with yours. she lets out a loud whimper, throwing her hand over her eyes from both pleasure and embarrassment. wet, lewd sounds fills the room as you mercilessly fucked her, not caring about her proclaimed hatred for you. you moved her hand away from her glossy amethyst eyes, warmth fills your voice as you peered down at her with a condescending smile. “ don’t cover your eyes, you look so pretty this way. “

if she really did hate you, you would of been the one under her.

“ let me give you a reward for your beautiful performance back there, NILOU. “ were the exact words you whispered into her ear before you whisked her away to back stage after her grand performance for the celebration of the new grand sage, al haitham. before she knew it, she’s up against the wall and you’re on your knees, head shamelessly underneath her skirt. her fingers cards through your locks, softly moaning as your tongue flicks her sensitive nub.

“ you sound so beautiful, nilou. i wanna hear more.” you slid your tongue inside of her and she gasps angelically, knees buckling. since the red—head was already exhausted from dancing all night, you kept your hands steady on her hips for support. your tongue explores her warm insides, particularly rubbing against a spongy spot she’s helplessly weak to. “ d-darling. .! “ she whimpers, tugging at your hair, eyes screwed shut from immense pleasure. your hands travels up her bare midriff, massaging the tense muscle.

“ cum on my tongue if you want to, i’m enjoying this personal, private performance.“

“ for a foxian who claims to be past her prime, you sure have a lot of energy for someone who’s in heat.” you mused, pressing the vibrator against her swollen bundle of nerves. YUKONG was completely at your mercy—her wrist tied together to avoid her reaching and clawing for you, pretty peach lips parted open, spilling nothing but the most beautiful whimpers known to man. “ can you stop with your talking and get on with it already?! “ she demands, glaring fiercely at you with tears in her eyes.

you whistled in amusement, “ don’t be so feisty baby, that’s how i felt when you teased me while i was tied up in your chair. but since i’m so forgiving, all you have to do is say please and i’ll set this to the highest volume and stuff it up your cunt until you make a absolute mess of the sheets. “ you negotiated, waving the fully buzzing vibrator in her face. she lets out a deep sigh of frustration before succumbing to your “ deal.” “ please, (name). “

“ i thought so. “ as promised you pushed the vibrator into her sopping cunt and she’s practically screaming in utter ecstasy upon penetration. yukong’s eyes rolls to the back of her head, her tail jolts up while she cums and squirts everywhere. you grinned at her fucked out face.

“ woah, that was quick! but don’t worry, i’m gonna let this run until you’re completely milked dry and satisfied. “