#{ so if you message him at the wrong time you might get with his grumpiness xD }

[mcltiples]

{ OOC / HC } Evil Morty in person is a lot different to when he's texting or messaging through apps or on the phone.

When he's face to face with someone, he tends to be more reserved, is more straightforward and doesn't really speak his mind that openly. He has a filter and he uses it constantly. Always strategizing the best approach in every single conversation. It also varies to who he's with.

If he's with a stranger, someone he's never met, he'll tend to get right to the point. He may try to razzle dazzle your muse with sweet promises and an air of class. Good impressions and keeping up with appearances are what he's all about.

When he's around someone close, he's still very straightforward, but he can relax a little. He doesn't need to try to impress because he already has. So he forgets himself at times and might say the wrong thing.

Online, however, is a completely different story. He's more bold, has no filter and feels as if he can speak openly about almost anything he wants. He doesn't care about strategizing or making impressions. He cares about having fun with this online world.

It also varies on who he's talking with. If it's someone close, he tends to let his guard down, becoming sillier and softer than he usually is. If it's with a stranger, it depends on how you treat him first. He'll be kind, but if he doesn't like you, he'll be very rude and insulting.

He doesn't usually use a lot of emojis. Unless he gets into a certain mood or if he's really sleepy. He lets a side of himself show that he normally wouldn't in person. And that's because there's no face attached to him when messaging. So he feels freer.

[pshcomforts]

➳ only | psh. — requested

idol!sunghoon x fem!reader

“be my only one”

synopsis: you get your period on an unexpected day, and find your boyfriend, park sunghoon, a little more annoying than usual when he comes home early from practice.

warnings/content: written in third pov. slightly angsty but more fluffy fluff! sunghoon’s down bad <3 and reader has a lot of mood swings. reader’s a little mean. not proofread (i’m sorry if it’s bad).

comments, likes, and reposts are appreciated :)

word count: 1.9k

a/n: message request. — this was a little rushed so i’m sorry if it’s not that good </3

༘˚⋆𐙚｡masterlist⋆.✧˚

current song playing: only by leehi

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

1:40 ─────────|────────── -2:19

“are you kidding me?” y/n annoyingly huffed at the sight in front of her.

her stomach furiously grumbled as she sighed and reached for a pad in the cabinet drawer.

“i actually started.., great!” she sarcastically beamed with an eye roll to herself, ignoring the small amount of pads left.

a quick change of undergarments was made in the bathroom, making her feel ever so slightly better about starting her period.

the girl left the bathroom and almost instantly, was hit with a mound of cramps. her hands quickly clenched onto her abdomen, face scrunching in pain while trying to find some sort of pain killer.

swiftly, she downed the pills as if her life depended on it, all while getting a text notification in the process. her head peeked over and found her boyfriend’s messages.

hoonie 🫂:

Hey gorgeous, you there?

Text me back, I’m bored at practice ㅋㅋㅋ

a slight eye roll was taken from y/n, and she was sure she could blame her period for it, but she was annoyed for no reason.

she did feel bad for feeling this way because sunghoon didn’t even do anything wrong but, the girl just started, could you blame her?

she softly grumbled out a sigh, responding to not make him worry.

after sending a message, she shut her phone off, pouting in defeat of the discomfort that took over her body.

“maybe a nap will help..,”

her body laid down on the couch and within seconds, she was out like a light.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the day was ending soon, and with his busy schedule, sunghoon was still far from coming home (or so she thought).

y/n had awoken from her nap hours ago but in all, it didn’t help.

if anything, it just made her more grouchy than before; and sunghoon would have to deal with that soon.

or much sooner.

the doorknob quickly rustled as if someone was fighting it, confusing the girl on the opposing side before it creaked open to her boyfriend.

“hoonie?? why are you here?” her brows raised to depict her puzzled look, causing a light chuckle to deplete out of him.

“i just missed you, baby.” his low voice murmured out, lips curling into a hot grin.

maybe it was her hormones, but the way he played out that smile had her replay it in her head multiple times.

“didn’t you miss me?” sunghoon croaked out.

and just like that, her love for the boy disappeared.

not entirely, but her hormones pushed her to be more annoyed than gushy.

y/n shook her head, turning away instead of hugging her boyfriend who was longing for it after all day.

hoon gave a faint grin, mind almost catching onto her reasoning.

“come on, y/n, don’t leave me like that.” his hands snaked around her waist, emitting butterflies while she only shook her head.

“not right now, hoon,” she firmly mewled out.

‘so grumpy today,’ he mindlessly said in his own head.

“what’s wrong, baby?” his voice was low, sending shivers down her spine as she simply huffed out a sigh.

“i started my period, hoon. my cramps are hurting me.”

y/n didn’t hear a peep out of the boy until a soft chuckle slipped in through her ears.

“you know..,” sunghoon caught up to her, letting his hands wrap around her waist to pull her in. “i actually left practice early because my stomach was hurting. i think i might be a little sick..”

his grip attempted to tighten around her but she pushed his hands away with a small whine.

“that’s not funny hoon, i’m really in pain here.”

the girl crossed her arms with slightly furrowed brows, indicating that she wasn’t liking any of this teasing mess that she usually liked.

“gorgeous, i swear.. i’m not…,”

she watched her boyfriend clench onto his stomach with a scrunched face.

“hoonie, you better not be messing with me.” she murmured in a displeased look.

sunghoon gave a faint grin at her words. “i’m not, but maybe a little kiss will make me feel better?”

his lips puckered and he slightly leaned in, expecting an easy and simple kiss — only to hear a quiet scoff slip by his girl’s lips.

you know the feeling when you get grossed out by everything and anything when you’re on your period? yeah, y/n got that.

she quickly turnt her head, dodging the kiss.

“y/n.. come on,” sunghoon whined, pouty lips going on display again. “i need a kiss to feel better.”

she groaned out a sigh whilst looking at her handsome boyfriend. he was gorgeous, but the upset feeling still fueled her mood swings.

“don’t make fun of my cramps,” she murmured, walking away to the room with tears filling her eyes.

her emotions were out of the place because she started her period, could you blame her for tearing up?

sunghoon huffed out a sigh as he watched his girlfriend leave the scene before feeling his tummy gurgle again.

he whimpered in slight pain, holding his stomach as he slumped down on the couch.

“i really wanted that kiss,” the male cutely pouted to himself, resting in the living room to give y/n space.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

a few hours after their little spat, the girl escaped from their bedroom and into the bathroom to do a pad change — only to encounter the worst.

no more pads.

a groan escaped from her lips as her head dropped low in defeat.

sunghoon watched her leave the bathroom and walk up to him with her lips formed into a thin line, displaying her awkward smile.

“hoonie?”

“yeah, pretty girl?”

“ineedpads,” she quickly muffled out, causing a chortle to erupt out of him.

“slower, y/n, i barely understood that.” he flashed a wide grin at her, almost making her fold at his attractive feature.

“i.. need pads.”

“are you still mad at me?” hoon lightly teased, fangs shining in his charming smile.

“no… i just need pads..,” her head dropped low in shame as she tried to not let her mood swings get the best of her. “please, sunghoon.”

the boy attempted to bite back his smile at the little plead she let out, but how could he deny his girlfriend?

she was his weakness.

“come on, let’s go.”

he stood up, grasping her hands and leaving the apartment to head to the convenience store.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

arriving upon the store, y/n hurriedly ran to the hygiene section while hoon chuckled in his hidden mask and hovered hoodie, searching for various snacks.

her eyes scanned through each brand, looking for the right one before finding it.

“here it is!” she quietly beamed to herself, walking around to finally search for her boyfriend.

she soon reached the medicine aisle where sunghoon stood, a few heated pads and tasty treats loved by his girl were in his hands while looking for ibuprofen.

her heart melted at the sight. every small thing she found slightly annoying of him because of her period was gone in an instant.

she couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend.

y/n opened her mouth to call his name but figured she probably shouldn’t with his famous background of being an idol, so she walked over to him instead.

but when she found the bottle of ibuprofen in his hands already, she found herself worried and confused.

‘is he really sick?’ her concerned eyes scanned his hidden face that was still focused on the sight in front of him.

“hey,” she softly poked his forearm. “are you really sick?”

sunghoon turned to his girlfriend who was deemed bothered at his state of health.

“i’m okay, gorgeous, my stomach just kind of hurts.”

he tried to laugh it off but y/n only furrowed her brows. “why didn’t you tell me that your stomach was actually upset?”

the boy huffed out another laugh before giving a soft ruffle at her hair. “it’s okay, you were upset so i didn’t want to bother you even more.”

not letting her respond, his hands grasped onto hers to lead her towards the cashier as she quietly fumed to herself, feeling guilty.

sunghoon thanked the employee before exiting out of the store with his favorite person, finally walking home.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

throughout the entire walk, y/n stayed quiet to herself, replaying how she completely dismissed his pain because of hers.

when they got to their apartment, sunghoon quietly sighed.

“okay, baby, what’s wrong?” he softly asked with the bag still in his hands.

“i’m sorry..,” she quietly peeped, turning around with her head down in shame — gaining a laugh to come from him.

“why are you sorry, y/n? you didn’t do anything.”

he approached the sad girl, lifting her head up with his hands pushing her cheeks to look at him. he found her with tears already streaming down and he couldn’t help but feel a gush of love over his heart.

“i’m sorry i didn’t take your stomach ache seriously, i don’t know why i did that..,”

sunghoon’s inner lips curled at her words. “y/n, it’s okay, you started your period, i understand.”

“shut up sunghoon! it’s not okay! and now i’m crying and i don’t know why i’m crying!” she fumed, letting her tears drop more. “and now you’re in more pain because of me!”

her hands fisted, softly hitting his shoulders out of instinct as he laughed to himself, heart warming at her little guilt.

“y/n,” he called, but she ignored him, not meeting his gaze.

a sigh left his throat as he continued, “gorgeous, can you please look at me?”

hesitantly, the girl raised her head and immediately felt his lips peck hers.

“i’m okay, okay? yes, my stomach hurts but i got medicine for a reason. i’ll be okay,” he pressed another kiss onto her nose temple, hearing her breath hitch as he grinned once more.

y/n softly pouted, pushing him away out of instinct. “i’m still sorry... so.., i’m gonna make you some rice porridge so you can feel better.”

she walked away to the kitchen, wiping her last tears before feeling his hands snake around her waist like earlier.

“you’d make me feel better, you know that?” sunghoon whispered into her ears as his height towered over hers.

“rice porridge would, actually, so sit down and wait until it’s done.”

“but i want cuddles,” he pouted, thumbs rubbing around her stomach area.

“you are sick because you get clingy when you do.”

his head dug further into her shoulders, taking in her scent he loved so much while chuckling.

“you know me so well.”

“i do, now will you please go wait on the couch? i want you to rest.”

she turned to face him, only to find the boy with his usual pouty lips.

“i want you to rest too, you know?”

he beamed an ear-to-ear grin before she playfully rolled her eyes.

“i know, hoonie, but you’re the sick one.”

“but-“

“wait on the couch until the rice porridge is done, and then we can cuddle all you want okay?” she intruded, letting him sigh in defeat.

sunghoon returned himself on the sofa, allowing his girlfriend to take care of him like she wanted.

after a few more fusses, the night eventually ended with the two concluding that hoon had gotten food poisoning.

so after connecting the dots of how, they ended up falling asleep on the furniture in each others arms — both snuggly fit as they were already feeling better in the presence of each other.

✩ ‘my only one’ ✩

★・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・★

[theemporium]

people requested a part two to this wee blurb so here it is because i desperately need some fluff to cope with today's race!!🤠

.

Despite his insistence, Daniel didn’t think you would actually take up his offer. 

He had been dragged around the paddock and the media pen, attending different interviews and conferences and all the other shenanigans media day on a race weekend ensured. And, much to his dismay, he hadn’t seen you once since that morning. 

He assumed you were locked away in some room in the motorhome, most likely drowning in graphs and data sheets from the last few races as you and your colleagues discussed what the best plan of action for the cars would be this weekend. 

He was surprised when he knocked on the engineering staff’s doors, only for every single team member to tell him that they hadn’t seen you since the last meeting. 

Daniel would be lying if he said his concern didn’t grow—especially when his messages to you came back unanswered. 

He found himself running around the paddock like a mad man, stopping by other team’s garages to see if you had stopped by. A move that was ultimately useless because he couldn’t find you and all he got was shit from other drivers. 

“Lost your girl, lover boy?” Lando had teased, the nickname somehow having made its way around the paddock—probably by Max himself. 

“Shut up, Norris,” Daniel grumbled, and it was a shock to a lot of the paddock to see the Aussie driver so grumpy. 

He had convinced himself that maybe you had headed back to the hotel early and quickly raced back to his driver’s room, prepared to grab his stuff and bolt before someone could drag him into another media duty, only to fall short when he caught the sight in front of him. 

You were lying on the couch, still bundled up in his hoodie with your arms tucked under your head as a pillow, looking far more peaceful than you did that morning. 

His face instantly softened, and he quickly glanced down the hall before he closed the door behind him, making his way toward the couch until he was kneeling beside you. 

“Sunshine,” he murmured softly, reaching to gently shake your shoulder but you remained fast asleep. He frowned a little, wondering just how little sleep you had gotten the night before to be so tired during the day. 

He muttered your name this time, a little louder and when he shook you, he found you slowly blinking your eyes open. 

You let out a soft whine, nuzzling your face further into your arms and Daniel smiled a little at the sight. 

“C’mon, sunshine, if you sleep any longer, you won’t be able to sleep tonight,” he grinned down at you, watching as you lifted your head to stare at him. 

“Danny?” you murmured sleepily before everything clicked. Realisation dawned on you and you quickly tried to get up, ignoring the rush to your head from moving so quick. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, hey,” he frowned and placed his hands on your shoulders, stopping you from getting up. “It’s fine, I said you could nap in my room for a reason.” 

“I wasn’t meant to, I—” you paused, letting out a sigh. “I just came here to wait for you until you finished up. I must’ve fallen asleep.” 

Daniel didn’t bother hiding his grin. “You were waiting for me, sunshine?” 

Your cheeks burned but you nodded. “I was gonna offer to get you dinner, to say thank you.” 

The Aussie’s grin widened. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured before tucking your chin against your chest. “But you’re probably busy so I’ll just—”

“Woah, woah, woah, not so fast, sunshine,” Daniel pushed you back onto the couch before you could get up, still kneeling in front of you. “Who said I was too busy to get dinner with a pretty girl like you?” 

You could’ve sworn your body was on fire at this point, and a part of you wondered how much Daniel enjoyed making you squirm. 

“You gotta stop saying stuff like that, Ricciardo,” you laughed, hoping the nerves in your voice weren’t obvious. “Or else I might start getting the wrong idea.”

“And what idea would that be?” he asked, his eyes never once leaving yours.

Yet, you found yourself unable to reply.

“Because I would hope that the girl I like is starting to catch the hint that I have been flirting with her for the last few months,” he announced, so casually that for a second you thought you imagined it.

You blinked. “What?”

Daniel grinned. “Did you actually not hear me or do you just wanna hear me say I like you again, sunshine?” 

Your face softened. “You like me?” 

“Of course I do,” he murmured, his hands resting on your knees as he gave them a soft squeeze. “Thought I was being pretty obvious with it.” 

“Not obvious enough,” you muttered.

“The boys would think otherwise,” Daniel snorted. “Now, how about you get that pretty ass up and we get some dinner so I can tell you all about how much I like you?”

You laughed. “My treat, Ricciardo.”

Daniel scoffed, pushing himself to stand up before offering his hand to you. “You’re fucking delusional if you think I’m letting you pay, sunshine.” 

“How am I meant to show I like you too?” you asked, unable to hide your smile as the driver tucked you under his arm, grinning down at you too.

“I don’t know, I think a kiss would be pretty telling,” he shrugged.

You rolled your eyes. 

“But I have a feeling I might have to wait until you’re not as hangry before I get one from you.”

.

[whiskersz]

Can you please do headcanons with Angel and Husk with a reader who suffers from chronic pain/illness and how’d they’d help reader get through it? Platonic or romantic is up to you! It’s okay if you can’t but thank you so much if you do.

Hey there! Of course I can, I decided to go with chronic pain though it’s written pretty vaguely, so it can be relatable to a wider audience; and for anyone struggling with this, make sure you rest a bunch :)

Angel and Husk with a Reader who has Chronic pain/illness

Angel Dust

✧Angel is a very caring boyfriend; he remembers all the meds that you’re supposed to take and at what time, and if you forget about taking them he’s going to gently scold you and remind you that this is important for your health.

✧However, his life is pretty busy with him having to be on set for most of the day, so he can’t really take care of you the way he’d rather do it. Still, he’ll take a few breaks to remind you to take your medicine at the right time and entrust somebody else to take care of you if you’re having a particularly bad day.

✧Speaking of bad days, every single morning before he goes to work he’ll stop by your room; if you’re already awake he’ll tell you to text him if there is a problem and you two will share a kiss as good luck to both of you; if you’re still sleeping, he’ll gladly leave a neatly written note on your nightstand where he reminds you how much he loves you and tells you he hopes that you have a good day, and to obviously text him if something’s wrong.

Good Morning Sweets, I hope you slept fine, and that today goes well! Leave me a message if you need, I’ll try to check my phone for you. I love you a bunch, -Anthony <3

✧At the end of the day, expect a lot of cuddles and kisses! He’ll ask you how it went and if you managed to carry out any of your projects. At the start of the relationship he might even avoid talking about his own struggles because he knows you have to deal with yours every day, but as you two get more comfortable so will the relationship, and you’ll be genuine with each other, as the other will always be there for comfort.

Husk

✦Husk may appear grumpy, but as I said probably a million times at this point, he’s the exact opposite in a relationship, especially if you struggle with chronic pain or illness. He’ll be extra careful not to cause you any additional pain or fatigue, and will be thinking of you pretty much the whole time when you’re resting in your room.

✦Alcohol doesn’t really help with chronic pain and illness, so he’s willing to mix you non-alcoholic cocktails and of course prepare something extra for you, such as a breakfast in bed here...a favourite dish as lunch there...he’s skilled in the kitchen! So he does so both because he enjoys it and because it lessens your strain.

✦He can also be a bit of a couch potato, so he doesn’t really mind if you sometimes prefer to have little dates at the Hotel because you’re not feeling the best. Watching some TV to distract you sounds good enough to him, as long as you get to spend time together and he gets to comfort you with his purrs.

✦If you’re having a particularly bad day, he will do anything for you; bring you your meds, remind you to eat and drink, he will even take breaks from tending to the bar to check on you. Alastor doesn’t mind him doing that either.

✦- This only applies if you’re dating both of them – Husk will always be appointed to look after you by Angel while he’s at work if you’re in pain, and he doesn’t mind it one bit. You will receive lots of love once Angel comes home, from both him and Husk, and the playful banter between the two will surely be able to distract you a bit.  

[arahusk]

Husk is tired once he reaches the home’s front steps, and maybe a little grumpy. His ears were still ringing from static.

He ignores the deer antlers perched over the door, like a morbid holiday wreath. But it’s both typical and so very predictable, and after weeks of this routine, Husk is barely put off by it anymore. Its winding antlers are almost like a beacon of sorts, pulsing and calling out to him as he traverses the city’s streets to Alastor’s home. 

Part of the deal is to keep his boss company. Nightcaps and the sort. Husk knows it’s risky every time but the prospect of a drink is always hard to turn down. That, and his radio back at the casino is on the fritz lately, static and noise playing over the speakers in both long and short bursts that was giving Husk a headache. Which probably meant Alastor wanted him over there right now instead of two hours later. Jackass.

But maybe, in some ways, Husk also craves for a little company. He’s not ready to admit that just yet.

“Boss, you in?” he calls out, pushing open the creaky door into darkness. He has his own key and everything, even though Alastor would usually just summon him without any warning. Maybe to see Husk get pissed off, or maybe because he was really that impatient. “Got your fucking radio message. Ever heard of using a phone?”

The house is evocative of the abandoned homes that are the staple of any low-budget horror flick—with rotting floorboards, cobwebs in every corner, and skull paraphernalia decorating every available surface. It had been a shock to Husk at first, but now it was just a little blasé for his tastes. He now expects Alastor to put up creepy decorations like hanging plastic bats or wearing a witch’s hat to liven things up.

But he only sees the same thing, with the lights completely out. There’s a fireplace from across the room, the wood dry, the flames gone. 

And it’s Husk’s first hint that something is wrong.

Every instinct is telling him to run, an instinct that he usually fucking listens to. After all, it’s the only damn reason he stayed alive for so long until an unfortunate slip up made him end up here in Hell. (He does not want to think about it, so he’s going to stop that right now). His foot is already half out the doorway, his wings opened up, in case something tries to grab at him from the darkness.

Instead, he stays. Instead, he walks inside the house. A sensation, a sound, pulls at him to move forward, hidden in the shadows, even as his mind is screaming at him to leave.

But he doesn’t think it’s Alastor that’s going to pounce on him in the darkness. If he did, he might have felt less afraid—mildly. But the feeling keeps moving his feet to further inside the home, to hallways that sometimes shifted for his own boss’s shits and giggles. Husk lost count of how many times he had found himself in a long hallway with no doors to leave through, just for Alastor’s own amusement. 

But the shadows that move around him, some of them with eyes, are frantic. The hallways keep rearranging themselves until he feels he has been traveling for miles. But there’s always another door, always another deer skull hanging around, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to leave again once the home brings him to where he needs to be. 

He also keeps hearing that same radio signal from before—those short and long bursts, high-pitched and keening inside his head. It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth, but he keeps going forward, even as the sound makes him want to rip off his ears. It’s distant, but it’s growing, and he knows he’s getting closer the further he goes deeper into this house.

At one point, he finds himself on the stairs. Old, creaking stairs that were covered in mildew, where a few steps in-between were entirely missing. He walks up them with no question, his wings fanning out to hover any missing places for his feet. The stairs seem to lead in a spiral, and then the wood slowly, almost subtly, begins to turn to metal grates. Instead of mold, there is now rust, much of it covering the railing Husk occasionally uses. It makes his claws screech against it, whenever he lets his hand place itself on it.

The radio tower is supposed to be on the other side of Pentagram City. But Alastor’s home was always a place to rend apart reality to suit where he wanted to be, whether that’s a murky swamp or a glaring red tower where the frequency is always at an awful signal—and it was that awful signal bringing him up, always playing that same deformed patterns, over and over again.

But then, Husk finds himself at the top, and the red decor that makes up this place is almost all gone. It’s just dark, and it’s cold, and there is Alastor—

—and he’s kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room before a woman that Husk knows, because everyone knows who she is. 

There are nights when Husk tries to sleep, and makes sure his damn radio is off. But he still hears singing, floating on the air, and he can’t help but admit that the voice makes him feel some sort of hope that he should have stamped out years and years ago.

She’s so tall, regal and timeless, with sleek and black horns curving from her head to tangle along her golden hair. In her hands is a chain made of a light that there is no name for. She looks over at Husk, who has just appeared from the dark like nothing, first with a curious lift of an eyebrow—and then finally a light laugh. The melodic sound of it makes his heart race, fends off exhaustion from his limbs.

But then he sees Alastor again who is on his knees, whose head is bowed, and over his neck is a manacle that is so tight—and then the chain pulls upward.

And the movement makes Alastor lift his head and there is a flash of something that’s terrified and broken, and any music that lives in Husk’s head is suddenly gone in a flash.

He makes the mistake of talking.

“What’s…going on here?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. The tone is tight, stripped of everything. It’s as if some part of him knows that if he breathes wrong, it’s over.

“Oh, look, Alastor. Your friend is here.” The woman finally speaks, her eyes flicking over the chained Radio Demon. His head is still turned away, and only Husk notices then that his once neat red hair is frazzled, unkempt. 

At her tone, Alastor starts visibly shaking. His ears lay flat against his head, and Husk can even hear him breathe faster. “No.”

“You don’t believe me? But you must have heard him.” The woman smiles, something that Husk can still see, even in the dark. “It seems he’s finally caught us.”

Husk isn’t sure he wants to understand what she fucking means by that.

She bends down from her great height so she can place her hand over Alastor’s head—so grand that it looks as if she could crush the demon’s head with just her palm. Her fingers tap along Alastor’s cheeks, a thumb playing with his hair. “You should greet him. It’s only polite.”

And in Alastor’s voice, he hears something akin to terror. Panic. Shame. The radio filter is off completely, leaving no room for error to what Alastor feels, to what he’s experiencing.

“Wait, wait, no—”

“Now, come on.” A hand that grips the back of Alastor’s hair, and a pull of the chain that yanks him upward, enough to lift him just slightly off his knees. “Say hello.”

“Wait, stop it, I don’t-!” 

And then Alastor turns.

Husk sees a face that is finally bare of every glimmer, of every facade, of every blistering smile. Alastor stares back at him, under the pressure of both the hand and chain. In his eyes, steeped in red that is now so dark, there is an awful and silent cry. 

But in that silence, Husk hears something. It’s coming from deep within Alastor’s chest, the radio waves that had been missing from his vocal chords. But Husk hears it, those same long and short bursts of awful sound, all as Alastor keeps looking at him with widened eyes. Calling him.

Husk then realizes what he had been hearing over the radio back home: a corrupted form of an S.O.S signal.

--

Inspired by this art.

Full fic on AO3.

[qtssvnwoo]

Hurt-Ron Weasley

Description: Your relationship with Ron was seemingly going pretty well. You both were happy and all you needed was each other. But, Ron slowly grew more and more distant, without a reason why. And as more fights came, you slowly started to lose it.

A/N: I was actually so excited to get back to writing, so I have a new Ron fic for my angst loving babes.

Word count: 1.6K

Warnings: Mild language, not too excessive, might be structured weirdly cause i’m tired 

Part Two

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He was always there before. At the start of your relationship, Ron would be glued to your hip like a baby on a mothers side. He would be with you constantly, talking to you constantly etc etc. You felt like you were on cloud nine when you were with him, which was all the time. Ron never failed to make you smile, you were always laughing and giggling with him, like a little girl. You two were completely and utterly in love. But something changed.

Around the time of the yule ball, tensions got high between Ron and Harry. Ron accused Harry of butting his name in the goblet behind his back, while Harry claimed he did no such thing. You had no idea how such a silly thing could turn into tearing a trio in half, but it had. You had tried to be there for Ron, showing him love and kindness even if he was short and rude to you, you still held your kindness high up, hoping that Ron would see how he was acting towards you and change, but he never saw his fault, and never did change.

It wasn’t until the first fight you had with Ron that made you realize the dreaded truth. That Ron was not going to change anytime soon. 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a cold winter day, and you loved it. You were at peace with the snow falling at your side, hands wrapped up in gloves and necked neatly covered in the red and gold scarf given to you by Ron. You listened as people laughed far off in the distance, but that did not bother you. You were content with sitting in the snow, watching the landscape and taking in your surroundings. 

Your harmony was unfortunately interrupted by a very angry Ronald Weasley stomping your way. You immediately knew that it was him when you heard the rough crunching of snow and whispers of incoherent curses coming from his mouth. You turned your head and were met with a bright red, and choleric, Weasley boy. 

Sighing to yourself, you turned your body around to face the grumpy ginger, and with a glare he stared at you back. 

“What's wrong Ron?” You purposely tried to add a milk and honey texture to your voice, to try and show him that you were trying to help him. Apparently, the message was not sent. Ron glared even harder at you, his frown growing deeper as he rolled his eyes at you and attempted to continue on his pity party journey. You stopped him once more by grabbing his arm, but he didn’t even let you get a word out before his top blew off and he was yelling at you. 

“Bloody Hell Y/N! Can’t you see I do NOT want to talk to you right now?” You were taken back by his sudden outburst, he never yelled at you like this, why now?

“Well Ron, I’m trying to help you. You look angry-”

“Yes I’m angry and you nagging me about why I'm angry isn’t helping.” 

“Nagging? Ron, I asked you one question.”

“A question I do not feel like answering.” 

You didn’t know what to say. You were astonished at the sudden cut-throat attitude of your once so sweet and pleasurable boyfriend. 

“God forbid I’m worried about you Ron, am I not allowed to worry about you?” Ron glared at you and took a step forward so you were face to face. You felt the heat of his anger burning off his cheeks and you knew the words about to come out of his mouth were not going to be pleasant ones.

“I don’t need someone worrying about me like I’m a little kid. Get off my back and leave me alone. Can you at least do that right?” 

You were frozen. Your words caught in your throat and choked you when you tried to talk. You felt a rush of several different emotions rush through you at once. Anger, sadness, confusion, all of them were racing through you. You looked at Ron’s eyes and searched for any sign of remorse, or hurt. Any sign that he possibly didn’t mean what he had said, but you found none. Nothing was behind his eyes except a blazing fire of anger.

You let him walk away. No words you could muster up would make him turn back and you knew that. You just stood there as you tried to comprehend what he would have meant. So many things ran through your mind as you felt your cheeks grow warm and your eyes start to weld up.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Ever since that day weeks ago, you hadn’t spoken to Ron. Just as he asked you. The yule ball was approaching and you didn’t know if you and Ron were going together or not. You told yourself that it was evident that he would ask you, or that you would just go together since you were his girlfriend, or, you at least thought it was evident. This was until you came across Ron asking a girl to go with him, to which he got rejected. You stood there puzzled, why hadn’t he asked you? You were his girlfriend. You listened as he complained to Harry about not being able to find a date, and this was your turning point.

You hurriedly stomped up to him and turned him around by a quick pull of the shoulder. He looked confused at first, his confusion was followed up by a swift and hard slap to the face. The slap echoed throughout the courtyard and people stopped to look at the origination of the sound, but you didn’t care.  You tried to stop yourself from crying as you stood there breathing heavily. 

“Bloody hell Y/N! What was that for?!”

“You, You Ronald Weasley are a complete ASSHOLE!” And with your harsh words you shoved him backwards, causing him to fall and stare up at you in wonder, wonder in what he could’ve possibly done to offend you.

“Mate, did you not ask her?” Was all Harry said before you turned yourself around and walked away? Tears stain your cheeks as you try to recollect your breathing.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The yule ball came a week later, and still, Ron could barely even give you a glance. You were, nonetheless, trying to enjoy your night, you wouldn’t let some boy ruin your night. But, throughout the night, you couldn’t help but catch yourself staring at him. He was never looking at you, nor did he try. Of course, this made you sad but a lot of things Ron had done recently made you sad. 

You caught your eyes drifting over to Ron once more, and this time, he was glaring at someone. You followed his gaze and your eyes landed on Hermione and Krum dancing together. You looked back between Ron and Hermione and Krum. You couldn’t believe it. He was jealous of Krum. Rage engulfed you and you felt yourself once again crying. Your sudden rage had caused you to squeeze your glass a little too tight. The sound of breaking glass caused Ron to look over at you, and a couple people as well followed his gaze. You stared Ron down, the pain from your heart outnumbered the pain in your hand. You felt blood rush down your arm, a result of the glass cutting deep into your hand. 

You kept looking at Ron, and he kept looking at you. He saw the blood falling and decided it was best if he got up to check on you, but as he got closer you shook your head, repeatedly saying no as you tried to push him away. He was confused about this, and still advanced further. Your series of no’s got louder and louder until you shouted at him. The shout was lost in the music, and you looked at Ron with hateful eyes.

“Y/N, you’re hurt. Please let me take you to Madam Pomfrey.” His voice sounded so genuine, and for a second you thought he truly did care for you. He reached out his arms to hold your bleeding hand, but, just as you were about to give your hand to him, you caught him taking a quick glance over his shoulder, in the direction of Hermione and Krum. 

“NO. FUCK you, Ronald Weasley. FUCK you. I HATE YOU.” You walked backward, the words you were speaking were foreign to you, you had never told him you hated him, and you felt incredibly bad for it, but at the moment, it felt like it needed to be said. He looked hurt as he slowly put his hands down at his sides and stared at you in disbelief. 

“I wish I never dated you, Ronald Weasley. I hate you.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat in your room, your hand still moderately bleeding through the cloth around it. You thought back on the words you had said to Ron. You knew you didn’t mean a word you said. But, seeing the way he stared at Hermione and Krum set you off. You could tell he wanted to be Krum, he wanted to be in his place. And the way he looked at Hermione? God, you had felt like he had ripped your heart out and laughed as he stomped on it. 

He had never looked at you like that, with such adoration, compassion, and with such love. The mere thought of this made you sob, your makeup running down your face as the moonlight hugged you in the red dress that you had gotten just for him. 

You planned on staying in your room all night, crying your guts out until you cried yourself dry and fell asleep. But, unexpectedly you heard a quiet voice saying your name, and a knock at the door.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[bangtanficsforyou]

They Reject You (maknae line)- part two

Pairing: Bts maknae line x Reader

Word Count: 8.8K

Warnings: swear words here and there

A/N: here's my patreon just in case you enjoy reading my stuff!

Park Jimin

Jimin's eyes light up when he spots you in the cafeteria. You're sitting alone with a cup of coffee and typing away something on your laptop and he can't help but feel like the chair next to you is practically calling for him. 

He makes a quick beeline towards your table and occupies the seat. "Hey, sweetheart."

You don't bother looking up at him as your eyes remain fixed on the screen.

"You shouldn't be sitting alone, if you needed company you could have just texted me," he suggests taking hold of your coffee cup. His plump lips wrap around the straw and he draws up the liquid extra loudly, knowing very well that the noise annoys you.

However, you pay no attention to his lack of table manners.

"Do you know we were supposed to have an exam today but it got cancelled?" He speaks in a tone of disappointment, knowing you'd agree with him. It's one of your icks when you've worked hard for something and have shown up for it, but ultimately do not get the chance to prove yourself.

But you still remain focused on your work and give no reaction or response.

At this point, Jimin finds himself feeling curious as to what might be so important in your laptop that it has all your attention. He leans forward to take a peek and realises that you're working on an assignment.

"Assignments are now more important than me, I see," sighing dramatically he looks down as if upset by your lack of acknowledgement. Not even a moment later he looks up subtly to check if you're looking at him.

When he realises that you aren't, the slightest bit of annoyance sparks inside him.

"If you're not going to talk to me, I should just leave," he keeps his tone casual, not intending to let the fact that he's feeling grumpy, be known.

You tilt your head cutely and mumble something along the lines of vertices having a degree two to yourself. 

Jimin's jaw drops in complete shock. The last time you two had a proper chat was three days back and now that he's trying to talk to you, this is how you treat him?! If that's what you want, fine. He isn't going to sit here and beg you to pay attention to him.

"Fine, I'll leave. I have better stuff to do anyway," he grumbles and takes his leave.

If anyone were to take notice of Jimin's expressions, they'd probably end up laughing. He looks angry but that little pout on his lips and the sad look in his eyes makes him look like a little child throwing tantrums. 

It's a good thing your eyes are not on him. Not even when he makes his leave.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Two classes later, Jimin is scrolling through his Instagram when he comes across a reel of a cute puppy doing the usual puppy antics. His first instinct is to send it to you. However, when he clicks on the share button, he doesn't find your account on the list of people to send. His brows furrow in confusion and he types your account id on the search bar only for the screen to read a message saying no matches found. 

Have you....have you blocked him?

He exits the application and opens WhatsApp. When his eyes land on your contact he notices how your profile picture is appearing to be blank and it only makes him desperately type out a message to you. 

Throughout the class, he keeps hoping that he'd notice a double tick to assure him that you haven't blocked him but unfortunately, no such thing occurs.

At the end of the day, he goes to sleep with a displeased frown. How could you do this? How could you just ignore him during recess and then block him on social media out of nowhere? He didn't even do anything wrong. 

Did he?

He tries to recall the last time the both of you had a proper conversation and his mind goes to the events that occurred on the night of the frat party. 

It's true that you had snapped at him and that the conversation you had, would not fall under the category of 'friendly'. But he didn't think it was serious, either. Both of you had silly arguments here and there, but it never seemed to matter in the long run. Somehow or the other, Jimin always managed to get under your skin and get a reaction out of you. Sooner or later, the two of you would fall back to the rhythm of him annoying the shit out of you and you talking back to him. 

The more Jimin recalls the little fiery banters you two have engaged in, in the past, the more his confidence grows. He tells himself this time would be no different. It may take a little more time but Jimin is sure you'll be talking to him again. 

It's true that you have never blocked him before. Or never have downright ignored him like this. Even when you would appear to be mad, there was always that little twitch of your eyes or you poking the inside of your cheeks with your tongue, which let him know that he was being successful.

But it doesn't matter. 

Maybe you're really really mad at him this time. But he's sure he will melt that anger away with his smile and charm.

It works on everyone, no doubt it will work on you as well.

----------------------------------------------------------------

With a wide confident smirk plastered on his face, he walks into your classroom and looks for you. 

His smirk softens into a small smile when he spots you with your head buried in books. 

He ignores the hushed whispers and the dreamy stares and walks to your seat before sliding next to you. 

"Hey sweetheart," he says, putting the effort to make his voice extra sultry and smooth. That always works on the girls. 

And for a moment, Jimin thinks he has won when he notices the look of complete surprise on your face. However, his victory is short-lived as your surprise fades quickly and once it does you're back to your work without paying him any mind.

"I got you a gift," he places the said gift on top of your notebook. A rose. "I looked at it and it reminded me of you."

Your hands falter for a brief moment as the nib of your pen is met by the flower. You use your other hand to move the flower out of your way.

Jimin huffs. He is starting to get annoyed and there's this sense of unsettlement in his veins but he tries to look amused. If there's one thing that bothered you to no end, it was when he found your anger as a source of his amusement. 

"Awww," he coos with an underlying tone of mockery. "Are you angry at me?" 

You don't react. Jimin is neither surprised nor flattered. 

"It's so cute though," he comments, and only if you were looking at him would you have known it's only his voice that gives the faux impression of him being amused. His eyes, his frown even the curve of his lips don't hide the fact that he is anything but not amused. 

Jimin feels a mix of frustration and desperation, which makes him snatch the pen away from your hand.

You seem startled by his actions but instead of arguing with him for being such a pain in the ass, your hand makes its way to your pencil pouch. However, before you can take another pen out, Jimin is taking that away from you as well. 

"You aren't getting these back until you talk to me," he declares, as he hugs the pouch and your pen close to his chest as if shielding them away from you.

You sigh, not out of agitation or anger. You seem bored. Something that scares and hurts Jimin, at the same time.

"What do you want?" You query, finally talking to him directly. After four days.

"What do you mean by what do you want?" He scoffs, making air quotes to mock your question. "You aren't talking to me and have blocked me on socials. What do you think I want?"

You sigh, once again and once again you look bored. As if you'd prefer to be anywhere but here. "I thought you had a reputation for being a fuckboy or something."

Jimin's brow furrow in confusion. "What does that have anything to do with this?"

"As a fuckboy whose commitment lasts for only one night, you must have faced many instances where you just wanted the girl to just take the hint," you state, speaking in a tone that's so calm that it makes Jimin squirm in discomfort. "Wonder why then, do you not know when to take the hint yourself."

His eyes fall and suddenly all traces of anger and frustration is gone and is replaced by sadness. Jimin looks a like sad kid who has just been told Santa isn't real. 

The look in Jimin's eyes catches you by surprise. He is an expert at making sad eyes to lure someone in. You know that because you have been a victim of it. But Jimin's eyes always had that little spark in them. Something that gave away his act and highlighted the mischief brewing within them. Something that let you on the fact that he's only pretending to be sad. 

However, now that you look into his eyes, they just seem dull. Making it seem like Jimin is sad, maybe for real this time.

You ignore the urge you feel to comfort him and maintain a blank face. Why should you even feel bad for choosing yourself? How many times has he thought or cared about his words and how they have made you feel? How many times was he there to wipe the tears that he made you cry?

Not even once. 

You may be someone who's tough and headstrong but you're also just as soft and loving on the inside. If you give in now and comfort him just to see him happy, you know you will be repeating the same cycle with yourself. And it would be so damn toxic.  

"Are you really not going to talk to me?" He whispers, in a soft voice. 

"I don't want to, trust me." This time your voice is not cold. This time you sound like you. The you, Jimin is familiar with. You don't even seem mad. And that's exactly how Jimin knows that you mean what you're saying.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Jimin has had a tough week. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, perse. He has been going to parties, has been getting drunk and has been the same him. But maybe that's exactly why he is having a tough time. Because despite doing regular 'Jimin' things, he hasn't been feeling like himself. 

He doesn't even know what's wrong. Or maybe he does, he just wants to ignore it and pretend that everything is fine. That he's fine. 

He does his classes and tries his best to focus on the material that's being taught but somehow or the other, he zones out. 

But it's not like it's a big deal. It's normal and all cool. He's fine. 

During football practice, he misses the opportunities that present themselves to him as if he's a blind man. 

But again, that's normal, right? Even the best of players make mistakes. Who's Jimin to not make one? It's fine. He's fine. 

During lunch, he accidentally puts pepper instead of salt in his food. But that's also normal! Nothing out of the ordinary. 

He's fine. 

He repeats these two words in his mind as he makes his way to the next class. However, he is met by a sight that has his steps halting.

It's you. 

You have your head thrown back and you're laughing at something your friend said.

The scene causes a stir of emotions inside him. 

One of the first things he feels is longing. Any other time he would deny it with everything in his being but now that you're in front of him like this, he simply can't. He misses you. He misses talking to you. He misses teasing you. He misses how your nose would scrunch up in annoyance. He misses the way you would chew on your lower lip to hold back from smiling. 

He misses everything about you.

The next emotion that hits him is anger. Here he is, feeling like he can't act and function normally without you, and there you are totally unbothered. 

The thought also scares him. What if, what if you just don't care about him anymore?

If that so happens to be the case, Jimin at least needs to know for sure. He can't be going around like this with a hole in his chest and having unanswered questions in his mind regarding what exactly happened for you to suddenly cut him off like this.

So, the next thing he knows, he's walking towards you. Ignoring the surprised look on your face, he grabs the courage to speak. 

"Can I talk to you for two minutes?"

You look at your watch simply because you need to make an excuse as to why you can't give him the two minutes. "Sorry, I have to head for my class."

Jimin nods, having expected something like that. "We can talk while walking. I'll drop you to your class."

"You don't need to–"

"I want to," he cuts you off with a determined look on his face, not willing to take no for an answer.

Truth be told, you have no intention of talking to him. But somewhere, at the back of your mind, you're curious as to what he might have to say. After all, after one whole week of Jimin not trying to bug you, you had honestly assumed that that was the end of whatever friendship (if you can even call it that) you two had. 

Jimin takes note of the indecisive look on your face and before you can come to a negative decision, he takes hold of your hand and gently tugs you to a side. 

"What–"

"I am sorry but I had to," he says with a tone that conveys nothing but sincerity. 

You're half pissed at Jimin's behaviour but you ignore it nevertheless, thinking that whatever it is that he has to say, it must be serious. Because you have never seen Jimin being like this before. 

"Whatever you want to say, make it quick," you say with a sigh. 

"Why are you cutting me off like this?" Jimin's words are out of his mouth the moment he knows that you're ready to listen to him. It's like he has been waiting for ages to ask you this particular question. 

Your brows furrow for a split second before you scoff. "Is that what this is all about?"

He is confused as to why you're looking at him as if he has asked a really stupid question.

"Yes?" He responds hesitantly. 

You sigh once again, this time much louder and in disbelief. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe this," you mutter to yourself before looking at Jimin and he does not miss the gleam in your eyes. 

"Let me spell it out for you, you were an asshole to me," you state, your voice having a certain hint of anger to them. 

"A-Asshole? How?" He stutters, looking even more confused than before. 

"You knew I had feelings for you, but you couldn't give two shits about it. I had no issues with you not liking me back, but rubbing all your sexual escapades on my face, and flirting with me is a total disregard and disrespect to how I feel."

"I didn't–"

"It doesn't take much for someone to realise that. Anyone with the minimum common sense can figure that out for themselves. But just because your feelings have always been shallow does not mean that the people around you are shallow as well."

There are a lot of responses that come to Jimin's mind but he knows none of those are good enough.

"Do you know how much of a fool I felt when you were being ignorant of the fact that I am a person who feels? I felt so stupid to be hanging out with you when you couldn't even pause and give me the minimum respect I deserve."

Each word of yours hits him like a bullet but he thinks this has been a long time coming. He is willing to take as many hits as it requires, but he just hopes this is not the end. That somehow he gets to redeem himself. No matter how difficult it is. 

"But at some point, you realise that you shouldn't put up with someone who doesn't appreciate you. I know how I deserve to be treated and it's obvious that you don't know how to treat a woman with respect. Hence, I'm afraid we can't be….friends anymore." 

You paused briefly before using the word friends as if you were not even sure if that's what you two were. And it sure as hell, makes Jimin feel shittier than he did moments ago. 

Oh my goodness, he really has messed this up, hasn't he? 

When you turn around to leave, Jimin doesn't stop you, knowing very well there's nothing much he can say to prove that you mean much more to him than what he has made you believe. 

So he lets you go. 

But only with the intention of earning your forgiveness.

Kim Taehyung

February

Tae 🐻:  did you reach home?

You: yes, just did!

Tae 🐻: i see

Tae 🐻: take rest and sleep well

Tae 🐻: also, i got a little something for you 

Tae 🐻: *image attached*

On clicking the picture, you're greeted with a small little teddy bear that looks adorable in every way possible.

It brings a smile to your face and there's a part of you that knows that it's his way of apologising for the dimmed smile you had throughout the day. His words may have been upsetting but at least he knows the effect they have had on you. And you know he's sorry for it. Mayhaps, that makes it a bit easier for you.

You: it's cute 

Tae 🐻: i know 

Tae 🐻: that's exactly why it reminded me of you 

You chuckle and shake your head softly.

He never leaves a chance to flirt.

--------------------------------------------------------------

April

You: you won't believe what happened

Tae 🐻: what

Tae 🐻: What

Tae 🐻: WHAAATTTT

You: a cat just snuggled against me.

You: CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???

You: like i used to be so scared of them 

You: but now i think they are just soft little balls of fur

You: now i want a cat for myself

Tae 🐻: this is so cute for some reason

Tae 🐻: i can just imagine your bright excited smile *sighs*

Tae 🐻: I'm glad you are not scared of cats anymore 👍😌

Tae 🐻: but but but 

Tae 🐻: idk how to feel about you getting a cat

Tae 🐻: what if you get one and then your whole attention is on them and then you forget about me 👉👈

You: 🙄

You: is this supposed to be a joke?

You: can i not have a bear and a cat at the same time???? 😒

You: also, don't worry i doubt the cat can ever get as annoying as you're 

You: so in a way, you'll always be special 😌

Tae 🐻: uhh thank you

Tae 🐻: that's very reassuring 🤗💖

You: well why, you're welcome 🤗

-------------------------------------------------------------------

July

Your phone rings making you alert of an incoming call. Checking the screen you realise that it's Tae. 

"Hello?" You greet in a sing-song voice, your mood suddenly turning bright.

"Hello, my lady," he greets back in a British accent. "How have you been?"

"Same old, mate, same old," you sigh, mimicking his accent. "Work has been hectic."

"It's even worse that I haven't seen you for so many days" he huffs, his accent gone and voice sounding whiny and complaining. Something that makes you think he has a cute adorable pout on his face.

"I know, work decided to be the biggest bitch ever," which is why you and Taehyung have not been able to find free time to spend with each other. 

The lunchtime for his department changed, making it impossible to have lunch together. Your department has way more workload than his does and as a result of which, you always have to stay back at least an hour to complete your share of work.

Taehyung doesn't wait for you or for your work to get done. And in a way, you're glad. You can't imagine how tiring it can be to wait a whole hour after a full day of work when you know you have the option to just go home and lay in bed and do nothing. 

Everyone deserves good rest and sleep after spending a whole day in front of a computer and that includes Taehyung. You'd never expect him to wait for you or do anything that would be at the cost of his discomfort.

Anyways, it's not like you and him have been out of touch. You text him about every silly little thing that would occur throughout your day. It could be a lizard staring at you intensely as if judging the way you're brushing your teeth, and Taehyung will be the first person to know about it. Hence, yes you do miss his presence physically but your days have been filled with him. 

You both have chatted for hours on end, sometimes via text, other times on a call.

This time is no different. You two end up talking for a whole hour before, he says something that ends with your heart skipping a few too many beats.

"Hey man, I won't say I love you on the phone," he jokes, but there's just something in those words that tells you he knows this isn't just a joke. "That's not fair to the both of us."

It is said out of nowhere, yet it fits the context of the conversation as well as of the situation you both are in. 

"Umm, w-well, say it in person I guess." Your cheeks warm up, a bashful smile that is so incredibly shy at the same time, adorning your lips.

"So I will," he whispers as if even though you two are only connected via call, he knows how gentle this moment is and what it means to you.

And then, the conversation is loud again. You with your silliness and him playing along with it and laughing loudly at your antiques.

----------------------------------------------------------------

September

"Why do you look down?" You query as you munch on popcorn.

Taehyung shakes his head, denying anything's wrong. "Nothing, I just feel tired, I guess."

Bullshit. You know Taehyung well enough to know when he's lying. His eyes just twinkle in a certain way as if on alert about being caught. 

"Do you want to leave?" You whisper, paying mind to the people around you. The last thing you want is the people in the movie hall shushing you or glaring at you.

He shakes his head, again. This time more vehemently. "No, I want to watch this movie with you."

You sigh but then speak in a gentle tone. "You know you can tell me right? Anything that's bothering you, you can tell me."

Taehyung looks at you and there's that certain look of vulnerability as if he's scared and worried. But whatever it was that he was looking for, he finds it in your eyes. It makes him decide that yes, he can be honest with you.

"Remember Kira? I saw her today and I guess it just triggered something within me."

Kira. 

How can you forget that name? 

Two months in your friendship and the both of you had discussed your lists of shitty exes and Kira was a topic discussed in detail.

Kira was his first and only girlfriend whom he loved a lot. Their relationship was filled with ups and downs but he never let it come in the way. He was there for her in ways you only see in movies and shows. But alas, things did come to an end. 

What hurt Taehyung more than the relationship coming to an end were the comments made by Kira. She didn't stutter while saying that he's just not the kind of guy she's into. He isn't bulky or muscular. He laughs too much and smiles easily. He isn't intimidating and is very gullible and naive. 

That...that was what broke him.

You remember the day he told you about Kira. It had made you so angry. How could anyone ever say something like that about a person? If you're not interested you're most welcome to leave but why go an extra step to be an asshole and scar someone? 

What was worse was the fact that you could tell Taehyung believed in those words. He thought they were a down point to his character and that it made him unlovable. 

It's also since that day, that you have developed this protectiveness over him. He may not see it but he deserves the absolute best. He deserves to know that it isn't difficult to love him at all, in fact, it might just be the easiest thing in the world. 

But right now, you know that her words from the past are probably being repeated in his mind over and over again. Hence, it becomes your goal to make him see that those words are not true. 

"I understand why it may have been triggering for you," you comment taking hold of his hands and playing with his fingers. "But I assure you, she was only being a bitch because she knew she losing a gem."

Taehyung smiles a smile that does not reach his ears. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I'm not done yet."

For the first time this evening, the briefest spark of amusement enters his gaze. 

"I know she hurt you, but if you need a reminder that what she said to you was total bullshit, I'll serve as one."

Your voice comes out firm but there's that tone of love and affection to it, that is simply unmissable.

"People say and do mean things and they hurt us. But their choice of actions and words define them, not us. At some point, you have got to stop and realise that you can't keep hurting yourself because of what someone has said. It's difficult to do that, I know but that difficulty is worth it. You are worth it."

A small, tiny smile appears on Taehyung's lips at your words. Before he can get the words out to express his gratitude, you're speaking again.

"Also, all those things that she made you feel were unlovable about you, make you just that much more lovable. Because that's what makes you, you."

Once you're done, you feel the insecurity hit you that you may have been a little too passionate or that you went overboard. But Taehyung resting his head on your shoulder and muttering the softest of thank you's makes you relax. 

And that's how you watch the rest of the movie. With his head on your shoulders and him constantly wanting some part of his body to be in touch with yours.

---------------------------------------------------------------

December

You were promoted. 

You won't say it was out of the blue, you had seen it coming. Despite that, being recognised and awarded for your hard work, felt nice. 

But your promotion also meant you were now working in a different branch of your office. Same city, a different building. This also meant the chances of you and Taehyung meeting in between work had slimmed down to zero.

But again, it didn't seem to affect the bond you two shared. You two chatted with each other about your day almost regularly. It just didn't feel right, without telling him about the itsy bitsy details of your day-to-day life. 

It was your second week in the new building and by now you had become comfortable enough with the group of fellow employees you were mingling with, for them to ask the very important question. "Do you have someone special in your life?"

The question was asked in good spirits, with raised eyebrows, teasing smiles and mayhaps with an underlying hope that the answer to the question would be 'no' so that they can set you up with the company sweetheart Jeon Jungkook, who you have a hunch, has a crush on you.

Nevertheless, the question makes you stutter. 

It's not a difficult question to answer if the answer is a simple yes or no. But in your case, it's not so simple. It's complicated. 

But how do you explain it to them? 

You don't even know where you and Taehyung lie. You both have never directly addressed the feelings except once or twice. But what does that mean now? Do you two fall under the category of "more than friends, less than lovers"? 

You don't know.

You don't know if he still has feelings for you. What if it was just a phase and now all that you two are is just good friends? What if you're the only one who keeps thinking of the time you had confessed and what if you're the only one to whom the moments spent with the other, mean something special? 

But what if the opposite is true? What if he still has feelings for you, what if it wasn't just a phase? What if the moments spent with you, mean something to him as well?

Gosh, this indeed is complicated.

You take a deep breath and conclude that irrespective of whatever his feelings for you may be. You're someone who cares for him. A lot. 

You don't want to be someone who hurts him, ever. Knowing of the few instances that he has been hurt and the way he has been hurt, you never want to make him feel like he failed at love again. Or that, he isn't worthy of love. 

You don't want to assume that Taehyung has feelings for you. At the same time, you don't want to assume that he doesn't. Because you know, if you assume that he doesn't have feelings for you and act accordingly, and then it turns out that he still did, he will feel crushed.

"Let's just say, I do have a certain someone," you answer with a shy smile.

Your new coworkers look disappointed for a brief second, most likely because now they won't be able to play matchmakers but the disappointment is soon replaced by excitement. 

Multiple questions are thrown your way to know about this special person and you spend the rest of lunch trying to answer them as swiftly as possible.

--------------------------------------------------------------

February

You: why the 🙄 next to her name?

You ask in reference to him re-posting a status update of a co-worker on Whatsapp. Something about company lunch.

Tae 🐻: cause she's annoying! 

You: lmao why so 😂

Tae 🐻: oh boy she has no respect for boundaries 

Tae 🐻: her jokes are in such poor taste and inappropriate

Tae 🐻: it's just annoying and hence would explain the emoji choice

You: damn 

You: that's harsh 

You: but I'll trust your judgement

Tae 🐻: as you should, yes 😒

You: but this has me curious, if you were to put an emoji next to my name, what would it be? 👀

Tae 🐻: damn that's a good question

Tae 🐻: let me think

Tae 🐻: How about this one? ✨

You: huh? 

You: that's kind of unique 

You: why that one though?

Tae 🐻: because you shine, duh

Tae 🐻: and you light up every room you walk into 

Tae 🐻: and this ✨ just suits you 

Yet again, you feel the familiar warmth in your chest that at this point is just very common every time you talk to him.

But that doesn't make these little moments any less special for you.

------------------------------------------------------------

March.

Work was extra tiring today. You couldn't catch a breather. Couldn't even go to lunch. Stayed back after work till eleven.

And now here you're, finally home.

While having your ramen, you decide to respond to texts that you haven't and so open WhatsApp. 

Once done, you check through the status updates of people. It's always nice to know what fun people have been up to while you were being drained of all energy.

However, you frown when Taehyung's status appears on your screen. There are a few paragraphs written about love and how it can change the way you view life. When the next slide appears, it's a picture of him with a girl. He has his arm casually on the girl's shoulder as they smile at the camera. That added with the heart emoji as the caption causes a weird nervous sensation in your stomach. 

You type out a question as a reply to his status.

You: what is all this about? 😂

You add a laughing emoji next to it just to make sure you sound casual and curious.

Taehyung so happens to be online and his response comes quickly.

Tae 🐻: did you not see my status updates? 😂

Tae 🐻: I'm in a relationship ☺️

And just like that, your hands start shaking and the food in front of you gets forgotten.

Jeon Jungkook

It's been almost a month since you confessed to Jungkook. 

During the first week, you tried to reach out to him because you were so angsty to just get some sort of response. You didn't care if it was in the negative or was harsh. Anything was better than this. Anything was better than him just straight out ignoring your presence as if you never existed. 

You just couldn't understand. Did the friendship you two had mean nothing to him? Did you ever mean anything to him? If you did, how could he possibly treat you this way? Did you not deserve at least a proper explanation as to why he was doing what he was doing?

But after a week, you gave up. Your hurt turned into anger. You didn't care what his possible explanation could be. You did deserve better than this. So you ultimately stopped trying to reach out to him.

It's not like it doesn't bother you. Sometimes, it still does. But the difference is, you have stopped expecting anything from him. And that admittedly, makes it a little easier for you.

"What are we doing today?" Namjoon asks with a bright dimpled smile as he took his seat on the chair. 

"Four short interviews and then a late-night show," you reply, quickly opening your pouches to get out the brushes. 

He sighs. "Another round of answering what our love life looks like."

You snicker, finding it hilarious how done he looks. "Another round of you answering on behalf of the team that you all are a little too busy to find time for dating."

Namjoon shakes his head. "Sometimes I wish I didn't know English." 

The thought makes you laugh with your head thrown back.

"Well I can't imagine anyone else being the spokesperson, it would be damn funny."

You really do think that would be the case. Each of the members has a very distinct personality and just imagining what they would be like, is nothing short of amusing to you. 

Your amusement, however, dwindles when your mind comes up with the question about what Jungkook would be like if he were the one translating other members' words into English. But then your mind leads you to imagine how cute his English is, despite being broken. And then your heart ultimately shrank and you had to remind yourself to not think of him.

Namjoon seems to notice your distress and quickly changea the conversation to something else. 

Thankfully, it works. There are no other sad moments where your mind goes to Jungkook and you find yourself enjoying your conversation with Namjoon and that was more than enough. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It's three in the afternoon, you conclude after checking your watch. Which means another interview left and after that the boys can rest, until the late-night show of course. This also, means that there's another hour for you to just relax in the AC room. After that, you will have to get to work to remove Namjoon's makeup.

You lay down on the sofa and scroll through Instagram. What's better entertainment than this? 

Your fingers get to work and start scrolling, one meme after the other. Some you find hilarious, some you need to read twice to get and some you simply roll your eyes at. But you guess, that's just how memes are.

However, it's after a few more posts that you find one which simply makes you blink in disbelief. 

It's a picture from the news outlet dispatch. The picture in question is of Jungkook's with his arms around a woman. On reading the caption you realise that the said woman is, Niki from the girl group JION. And to no one's surprise, the photo has caused a stir on the internet and apparently, everyone's talking about it. 

You exit Instagram and open Google. You search for Jungkook and Niki are immediately met with a bunch of articles. Each of them discusses their possible relationship and whether or not they are dating. 

When you feel like you have had enough of the sick churning of your stomach, you close all apps and just shut your phone. 

Wow. 

This is something.

It leaves you perplexed and with a bunch of emotions, you have no idea how to deal with. 

Was he already seeing the woman when you left that note? Gosh, if that's the case, it would be so embarrassing. 

Is that why he thought it would be best to just get rid of you? Was that why he made that sudden move out of nowhere? Couldn't he just tell you that he is dating someone else? Learning this from a news outlet, for every reason, feels painful.

It's not even the fact that he is dating someone. It's just the fact that you both have become such strangers that he feels like a distant person you once used to know. All because you decided to trust him with your feelings.

But most likely it didn't matter. Your feelings didn't matter. You're someone who's always behind the scenes, someone who no one knows. But him? He is the world-renowned artist. He is the one who earns in millions and has an army of fangirls, quite literally. Why should he waste his time caring about how you feel? More importantly, why did you expect him to? 

It was undoubtedly a mistake on your part to have trusted him. As they say, expectations lead to heartbreaks and maybe you had to learn it the hard way. 

But that doesn't mean the pain is anywhere near acceptable. You needed a way to vent your anger, so you do the only thing that comes to your mind.

You block him on all social media sites.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Two weeks since the rumour about Jungkook and Niki dating begun and it's still all over the net. Why, you ask? Because the two people involved in the matter aren't helping their case at all. 

They have been spotted several times together and thus have been fuelling the rumours further. 

It angered you. Weren't idols supposed to be very careful about their relationships? Why were then, these two, flaunting their relationship for the world to see?

You're aware you sound bitter and ridiculous because no one should have to hide if they are dating someone but you just can't help yourself. No matter how hard you try, news about Jungkook and Niki would somehow or the other appear on your feed, be it on insta or Google. It just became unavoidable as these two were everywhere.

The comments didn't help either. People adored them. 

Apparently, these two were the perfect match for each other. Both maknaes of their individual groups and both fan favourites. 

It made it suck all the more for you. 

Argh. 

"Have you seen my chapstick?" Namjoon asks as soon as he enters the room. "Hobi just lectured me about how I should always keep my lips moisturised." 

"It should be in the drawer," you reply and get up to look for the chapstick. "Let me check once."

As it turns out, it indeed was in the drawer. You hand the small tube to him and as soon as you take a seat again, the door swings open to reveal someone you would have never imagined seeing. 

Niki.

"Namjoon oppa," she smiled, putting her dimples on display. "I was looking for you."

Namjoon turned around at the sound of his name. His expression too turns into that of surprise when he realises who it is. "Niki! I didn't know you'd be coming."

Huh, makes the two of us. 

The two idols chit chat and you ignore all of it. Simply, because they seem to get along really well and if there's one thing you know about Namjoon it's how protective he is of all the members. But if he likes and approves of Niki, well you guess she and Jungkook might just be the perfect match. 

It's not like Niki totally ignores your presence. She shoots you a smile that's sweet and warm, and you smile at her right back. Your's looking a tad bit less sincere.

Thankfully, whatever conversation the two of them were having soon comes to an end and Niki leaves the room. 

As soon as it is just you and Namjoon, you blurt out the question you have been wanting to ask for a long time. 

"Are they really dating?" 

Namjoon doesn't seem too surprised by your question, if anything he looks like he expected it. However, he does look hesitant to answer. "Umm, yes they are."

Shit. 

You don't know why you had to ask the question but you did, and now you got your pretty little confirmation and now you're hurting again. 

Well, shit, indeed.

But but but, why was Namjoon hesitant to answer? Was he perhaps aware you had feelings for Jungkook? Had Jungkook told him the reason of requesting a change? 

Fuck, you should really have kept your curiosity to yourself because now your mind is running wild and it's not helping you at all. 

"But, I don't think it's anything serious," Namjoon adds after a beat of silence then nods as if reassuring himself that it was the right thing to say.

It makes you even more paranoid that Namjoon knows about your little more than crush on Jungkook and it makes you want to flee from the spot. 

"Uhmmm, I need to pee," you squeak out and immediately shut your eyes because gosh that was stupid. 

"Uhh, okay." Thankfully, Namjoon isn't weirded out by your silly choice of words. Instead, he looks amused and there might have been something else in his gaze but you are too embarrassed to take notice.

You quickly leave the room and rush your way to the washroom. As soon as you're in, you splash your face with water.

What the fuck? Does Namjoon know? Does it mean that the other members know too? How are you ever going to face them again? 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This is no good. You should have never confessed. You should never have listened to those excited beats of your heart and to those fluttering butterflies. Look where it got you.

"Don't worry about it, babe. It's all cool, it's all under control now." A voice reaches your ears from one of the stalls in the washroom. 

You assume the woman must be talking on the phone and you ignore it.

"Yes, I know how you feel about it but trust me this whole thing with Jungkook should be over in like a few weeks."

Now, that has your ears all perked up in attention. 

"You know, I don't even like him like that."

What. The. Fuck. 

"I'm not mad at you for it, relax babe, I love you."

And just like that, you hear the toilet flush and the doorknob jiggling followed by Niki stepping out. 

You pour the liquid soap on your hand and wash your hands with them just to look like you weren't eavesdropping on her conversation with her babe. 

Although, could it really be called eavesdropping when she was speaking so loudly? 

Thankfully, Niki doesn't find your behaviour suspicious and leaves the washroom with a small smile lingering on her lips. 

Uhh okay then. 

This is something. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the shock dials down and you could think, you knew you had to tell someone. 

You don't know what and how to say, though. You can't just claim that Niki is cheating on Jungkook, despite your initial assumption being that. Because people call their siblings babe too right? Or their best friends? Yes, you can't just assume that she's having an affair behind everyone's back. 

But what you're plenty sure of and have heard Niki admitting is that she does not have feelings for Jungkook. What the heck is going on then? 

Before your mind can start running in circles, the door swings open announcing someone's arrival. Much to your relief, it's Namjoon, someone you can be honest with, without worrying about the technicalities. 

"Listen, I need to talk to you about something," you say, your voice coming out nervous yet firm.

Namjoon takes notice of your nervousness and smiles at you warmly, hoping to put you at ease. "Sure, go ahead."

"I went to the washroom and uhm, I heard Niki talking on the phone about something and I think you should know about it."

A small frown appears on Namjoon's face because of all things, he did not expect that what you had to say was anything related to Niki. He, however, keeps quiet and gives you an encouraging hum to go on. 

"I–She told someone over the phone that she doesn't really have feelings for Jungkook."

Namjoon looks as shocked as you had been but his shock wears off much much quicker than yours did. 

For the first time, he looks a little awkward having this conversation. Scratching the back of his neck, he gives you a small awkward chuckle. "I see what you're saying."

Your first thought to this reaction is that he does not believe you. It would make sense for that to be the case if Jungkook really had told Namjoon about the note. But that does not mean you don't feel incredibly offended and hurt right now. Just because you liked Jungkook does not mean you'd be lying. Is that how much faith Namjoon had in you?

"I'm not lying!" Your voice doesn't hide the emotions you're feeling, not that you were trying to hide them anyway. 

Namjoon's eyes widen and he immediately shakes his head. "No, no, no. That's not what I meant."

You cross your arms and look at him with a scowl, refusing to believe his words. "What did you mean then?" 

He yet, again looks a little sheepish as he answers, "It's just that I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything to me," you reply without missing a beat. "This has nothing to do with me. It has to do with Jungkook. Tell him that this girl probably has some ulterior motives or something. Save him from the heartbreak he will inevitably go through when he comes to that realisation himself."

"You're right, that's exactly what I should do." Something in Namjoon seems to click and he nods. "Wait, I'll be right back."

Just like that, he's walking out in a hurry leaving you all alone in the room. 

---------------------------------------------------------------

It's been fifteen minutes since Namjoon left. 

At first, you were walking with hurried steps from one end of the room to the other but then your anxiety got too much for you and you decided to sort out the skincare items and put them in place. 

Productivity is better than burning calories by walking in circles in a room. Right?

You were only putting the new moisturizer in the drawer when someone clears their throat to announce their presence. 

It rightfully startles you and you let out a small yelp. 

However, when you realise who the person standing in front of you is, it makes your stomach sink. 

Jungkook. 

The same Jungkook you have been avoiding for weeks. Not that it was difficult though, he had never really made any effort to reach out to you. But whatever. 

You swiftly look away from him and get back to work, not wanting to pay him any attention. Why should you? You're not his makeup artist anymore, he does not have any business to be here. 

"Umm, I need to talk to you about Niki." 

You don't respond.

Your silence is met with a sigh from Jungkook. 

"Hyung told me what you heard Niki say. Ummm can you please not share it with anyone else?" 

Maybe it was something about the way the words were phrased but they did not sit well with you.

Your hands pause and a scoff of disbelief makes its way past your lips. Is...is that what he wanted to talk to you about? 

That too, of all things to ask you to not tell others about it? As if you had told Namjoon about it to spread some sort of gossip. The only reason you bothered with it was because....well, you were worried for Jungkook. 

But imagine caring about someone despite being treated the way Jungkook treated you and then that person coming to talk to you for the first time in weeks only to tell you not to get involved. As if it was by choice. 

One thing was for sure, you were this close to letting out the words you have been holding in for a long long time. Your position as a makeup artist be damned. 

"It's just that if word gets out she will be framed as the wrong guy."

She....she will be the one framed as the wrong guy? And you being the one who could potentially do it, doesn't make you sound like the villain? What he's saying is you could do something that could end up making Niki the victim.

That's it. You have had enough. 

"Do you even know what you're saying?"  You speak the words out with your tone laced with every bit of anger you have been keeping in for weeks. 

Jungkook winces. "I do–"

"Let me finish. I have no business telling people what I heard Niki speak on the phone with lord knows who. Heck, if I was selfish I would have just stayed out of it because who's gonna believe my words against those millions of articles and fans shipping you two? But the only reason I thought you should know about it is because what if you really loved her or something? Knowing it later when you're much more invested would be way more painful and crushing." 

Something enters in his gaze but you're too furious to notice or to even pause to give him the time to form a response.

"Not to mention that you treated me like trash. Didn't bother talking to me. Changed your staff without giving a proper reason. Heck, I might just be a make-up artist and you might be a world-renowned artist but I thought we were more than that," for the first time since you started speaking, your voice goes quiet. "To me, you were more than the idol everyone sees. Maybe that's why I assumed I was also someone more than just a make-up artist to you."

"But I guess I was wrong," your voice cracks and as soon as the sound of your wavering voice reaches your ears, you know it's time to shut up. Because no way in hell are you going to cry in front of Jungkook. 

But somehow that single voice crack says a lot.

You have seen Jungkook cry in pain and frustration. You have seen him laugh until his stomach started to hurt. You have seen him drink until he's all giggles and smiles. Those moments had led you to believe that you two were friends, at least. But then if you two ever were friends, he has disrespected that friendship way too much for you to be calm about it.

Jungkook looks at the ground as if it would magically give him the answer to the question of what he should do now. When it doesn't, Jungkook battles himself and ultimately decides that it's best for him to simply say the truth.

He has complicated things enough.

"Niki and I aren't dating." 

------------------------------------------------------

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[darkhymns-fic]

SOS

When a distorted radio signal calls Husk to Alastor's home, he doesn't expect to be facing the Queen of Hell, offering him the chance of a lifetime.

But monsters always have the brightest smiles.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters/Pairing: Alastor/Husk/Lilith Morningstar Rating: M Word Count: 8588 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Originally was just a throwaway fic I wrote on my sideblog, but then it morphed afterwards to be this unholy OT3. It was fun! I want Lilith to be devious because that is also fun. Inspired by several fanarts that are shared on the mirror, but special shout out to this art by @datchidatchi.

--

Husk is tired once he reaches the rickety house’s front steps, and maybe a little grumpy. His ears were still ringing from static.

He ignores the deer antlers perched over the door, like a morbid holiday wreath. But it’s both typical and so very predictable, and after weeks of this routine, Husk is barely put off by it anymore. Its winding antlers are almost like a beacon of sorts, pulsing and calling out to him as he traverses the city’s streets to Alastor’s home. 

Part of the deal is to keep his boss company. Nightcaps and the sort. Husk knows it’s risky every time but the prospect of a drink is always hard to turn down. That, and his radio back at the casino is on the fritz lately, static and noise playing over the speakers in both long and short bursts that gave Husk a headache. Which probably meant Alastor wanted him over there right now instead of two hours later. Jackass.

But maybe, in some ways, Husk also craves for a little company. He’s not ready to admit that just yet.

“Boss, you in?” he calls out, pushing open the creaky door into darkness. He has his own key and everything, even though Alastor would usually just summon him without any warning. Maybe to see Husk get pissed off, or maybe because he was really that impatient. “Got your fucking radio message. Ever heard of using a phone?”

The house is evocative of the abandoned homes that are the staple of any low-budget horror flick—with rotting floorboards, cobwebs in every corner, and skull paraphernalia decorating every available surface. It had been a shock to Husk at first, but now it was just a little blasé for his tastes. He half-expects Alastor to put up creepy decorations like hanging plastic bats or wearing a witch’s hat to liven things up.

But he only sees the same thing, with the lights completely out. There’s a fireplace from across the room, the wood dry, the flames gone. 

And it’s Husk’s first hint that something is wrong.

Every instinct is telling him to run, an instinct that he usually fucking listens to. After all, it’s the only damn reason he stayed alive for so long until an unfortunate slip up made him end up here in Hell. (He does not want to think about it, so he’s going to stop that right now). His foot is already half out the doorway, his wings opened up, in case something tries to grab at him from the darkness.

Instead, he stays. Instead, he walks inside the house. A sensation, a sound, pulls at him to move forward, hidden in the shadows, even as his mind is screaming at him to leave.

But he doesn’t think it’s Alastor that’s going to pounce on him in the darkness. If he did, he might have felt less afraid—mildly. But the feeling keeps moving his feet further inside the home, to hallways that sometimes shifted for his own boss’s shits and giggles. Husk lost count of how many times he would find himself in a long hallway with no doors to leave through, just for Alastor’s own amusement. 

But the shadows that move around him, some of them with eyes, are frantic. The hallways keep rearranging themselves until he feels he has been traveling for miles. There’s always another door, always another deer skull hanging around, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to leave again once the home brings him to where he needs to be. 

He also keeps hearing that same radio signal from before—those short and long bursts, high-pitched and keening inside his head. It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth, but he keeps going forward, even as the sound makes him want to rip off his ears. It’s distant, but it’s growing, and he knows he’s getting closer the further he goes deeper into this house.

At one point, he finds himself on the stairs. Old, creaking stairs that are covered in mildew, where a few steps in-between were entirely missing. He walks up them with no question, his wings fanning out to hover any missing places for his feet. The stairs seem to lead in a spiral, and then the wood slowly, almost subtly, begins to turn to metal grates. Instead of mold, there is now rust, much of it covering the railing Husk occasionally uses. It makes his claws screech against it, whenever he lets his hand place itself on it.

The radio tower is supposed to be on the other side of Pentagram City. But Alastor’s home has always been a place to rend apart reality to suit where he wanted to be, whether that’s a murky swamp or a glaring red tower where the frequency is always at an awful signal—and it was that awful signal bringing him up, always playing that same deformed patterns, over and over again.

But then, Husk finds himself at the top, and the red decor that makes up this place is almost all gone. It’s just dark, and it’s cold, and there is Alastor—

—and he’s kneeling on the floor in the middle of the room before a woman that Husk knows, because everyone knows who she is.  

There are nights when Husk tries to sleep, and makes sure his damn radio is off. But he still hears singing, floating on the air, and he can’t help but admit that the voice makes him feel some sort of hope that he should have stamped out years and years ago.

She’s so tall, regal and timeless, with sleek and black horns curving from her head to tangle along her golden hair. In her hands is a chain made of a color that there is no name for. She looks over at Husk, who has just appeared from the dark like nothing, first with a curious lift of an eyebrow—and then finally a light laugh. The melodic sound of it makes his heart race, fends off exhaustion from his limbs.

But then he sees Alastor again who is on his knees, whose head is bowed, and over his neck is a manacle that is so tight—and then the chain pulls upward.

And the movement makes Alastor lift his head and there is a flash of something that’s terrified and broken, and any music that lives in Husk’s head is suddenly gone in a flash.

He makes the mistake of talking.

“What’s…going on here?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his own. The tone is tight, stripped of everything. It’s as if some part of him knows that if he breathes wrong, it’s over.

“Oh, look, Alastor. Your friend is here.” The woman finally speaks, her eyes flicking over the chained Radio Demon. His head is still turned away, and only Husk notices then that his once neat red hair is frazzled, unkempt. 

At her tone, Alastor starts visibly shaking. His ears lay flat against his head, and Husk can even hear him breathe faster. “No.”

“You don’t believe me? But you must have heard him.” The woman smiles, something that Husk can still see, even in the dark. “It seems he’s finally caught us.”

Husk isn’t sure he wants to understand what she fucking means by that.

She bends down from her great height so she can place her hand over Alastor’s head—so grand that it looks as if she could crush the demon’s head with just her palm. Her fingers tap along Alastor’s cheeks, a thumb playing with his hair. “You should greet him. It’s only polite.”

And in Alastor’s voice, he hears something akin to terror. Panic. Shame. The radio filter is off completely, leaving no room for error to what Alastor feels, to what he’s experiencing.

“Wait, wait, no—”

“Now, come on.” A hand that grips the back of Alastor’s hair, and a pull of the chain that yanks him upward, enough to lift him just slightly off his knees. “Say hello.”

“Wait, stop it, I don’t-!” 

And then Alastor turns.

Husk sees a face that is finally bare of every glimmer, of every facade, of every blistering smile. Alastor stares back at him, under the pressure of both the hand and chain. In his eyes, steeped in red that is now so dark, there is an awful and silent cry. 

But in that silence, Husk hears something. It’s coming from deep within Alastor’s chest, the radio waves that had been missing from his vocal chords. But Husk hears it, those same long and short bursts of awful sound, all as Alastor keeps looking at him with widened eyes. Calling him.

Husk then realizes what he had been hearing over the radio back home: a corrupted form of an S.O.S signal.

He shouldn’t have answered Alastor’s call.

The next moments that come by are fuzzy in his recollection. The strange trip through Alastor’s home had made him lose touch with reality, so he isn’t sure just when his boss is suddenly back on the floor, dropped like a sack of rotting meat. He isn’t sure when the woman seemingly glides across the floor to stand in front of him, the chains having left her hands. He isn’t sure just when she looks down at him, as if she is an ancient mountain, and he is just some pathetic outcropping of mud that had somehow ended up in her shadow.

This is his fault, Husk thinks, all as he stares up at someone who held a certain type of beauty he could only call terrifying. Stupid fucking bastard. Yet, he keeps flicking a glance towards his boss, who is still on the floor, and wonders suddenly at the damp sensation he felt over his palms.

The signal stops—for now. It’s faint, like a fading heartbeat. Husk doesn’t know if this means Alastor’s given up.

He can’t look long, because the woman demands his attention. She bends down, her golden hair unfurling past her shoulders, smelling of lavender. And then, she places her hands over his cheeks, and grips.

Not hard. Not painful. In fact, it is gentle, the way her fingers travel through his fur. But Husk is so, so deeply aware of the strength in her touch. And even then, he isn’t ready for the voice that leaves her painted lips, suddenly softer than when he first saw her.

“He hasn’t been treating you well, has he?” she says. This close, her voice makes his ears flick, makes something catch inside his chest until he feels it’s going to burst open with thorns, coated in poison. “You poor thing.”

And from the floor, Husk finally hears the static crackle in the air. It’s a sound he is long used to—Alastor always made clear his displeasure with him—but the context it exists under makes it screech with something desperate.

The woman sighs. He feels her breath sift the fur over his face, and how her hold slightly lifts up his chin. “I am so sorry for his rudeness. You would think he’d know better by now.”

Don’t say anything, Husk tells himself. He swallows, worrying how she must have seen that. How she must have felt it. He doesn’t want to be in the middle of this, but it’s far too late.

Then, a soft little screech that builds up next to them, the feedback bursting with so much feedback. “Lilith, you—”

A hand leaves Husk to gesture towards Alastor. The chain whips up like a frenzied snake, diving into her palm, and she pulls.

She pulls so hard that Husk hears Alastor gag. He hears just how very, very close it had come to breaking the Radio Demon’s neck. The static flickers and explodes, sounding like some horrendous mass of angry flies. It makes Husk’s fur stand on end, but he can’t look towards Alastor, because the woman still has her hand on his cheek.

The Queen of Hell, an ancient soul that so few have ever even seen. And somehow, Alastor is fucking entangled with her.

Husk does realize something though. The hand on him, which is still cradling his cheek gently, is normal-sized. Nothing like the grand, engulfing claw that had threatened to crush Alastor’s head just moments ago. He hasn’t even seen her transform or anything of the sort.

Or maybe she just makes them see what she wants them to.

“Such a naughty boy,” she says, her eyes flicking behind her, all while Alastor struggles to breathe. The chain goes lax again, and then comes the sharp intake of breath. “And here, I thought you wanted me to meet him.” The chains clink again, just slightly, and the air vibrates from the very intensity of some unspoken threat.

“Wait—” Husk says, breaking his own promise. He whispers desperately, his hands reaching out in instinct. Maybe he’s thinking that he’d reach for the woman’s shoulders, or even for her hands, where one was still resting against his face. Instead, his claws grasp onto black fabric, and his palms meet the solidness of her knees.

At that, the woman—Lilith, Queen of Hell—smiles down at him. “Getting handsy with me now?”

Husk sweats then. Shit shit shit shit.

He thinks he can feel Alastor grinding his sharp teeth together. The sound is in his skull, worming inside his very ears. He has no idea why it’s so invasive, why it seems to live inside him like some parasite.

But maybe bound souls were always close like this.

Husk quickly lets go, but he tries to calm his heart a bit. He tries to act fucking normal, but it is getting harder to even pretend when he once again stands before her. A part of him still remembers hearing her songs over the radio frequency, and that part of him wants to get lost in it completely…

“Look, I don’t know what…all of this even is…” He vaguely gestures at the space that was the radio tower, to where his boss still lies on the floor. “But, it just doesn’t seem…”

Right? Good? He isn’t sure of the word. What does goodness have to do with anything or anyone in Hell?

“Aw, I see. How sweet.” Lilith runs a gentle thumb against his fur. She hums, a soft melody. Slightly jazzy, even. It sets something stirring in his chest. “You were worried about him. Even after all he does to you.”

Husk doesn’t like the idea that she knows anything about what he has to deal with. And yet, the way she stares down at him, still humming, makes him suspect that she knows every little detail.

Did Alastor tell her? Or did she pull it out of him?

“Well, as you can see, he’s doing just fine.” She doesn’t even turn, still smiling down at Husk. Suddenly, Alastor appears next to her, still on his knees, a hand at his throat as he rubs at the manacle over it.

He sees Alastor stiffen, eyes darting all around as he realizes he’d been taken. His grin stays on his face, but it looks so close to breaking, the sharp points of his teeth trembling in their rictus shape. Reality shifts, and to Alastor, she is a giantess with horns of obsidian and a smile that is biting, eager to draw blood.

And when she sings, it’s so easy to fall under her spell.

“You should learn to cherish your friends more. All that fame, getting to your head.” An index finger, curved like a talon, presses against the very middle of Alastor’s forehead. Right where a certain symbol was engraved, inflamed and permanent and full of rage.

But Alastor only shakes instead. His eyes fixate on that finger, on her, on the glow of the chain that lays on the floor. He smiles so wide that his lips draw back from his gums, and soon there is blood, dripping from his mouth to slide down his chin.

Husk wonders how easily it would be for Lilith to slide her fingers inside the other’s skull, picking apart brain matter. He pictures it so easily, and so suddenly, with such a ferocity to it, of viscous fluids falling around him, and shards of bone that would pierce from Alastor’s head like broken porcelain. Husk stays frozen in place, visualizing bits of meat dropping to the floor all too clearly and all too detailed. What the fuck.

It’s not like he isn’t used to seeing such violence and gore, in his everyday life, or experiencing it himself. But it had played out before him like a feature film, and who the hell had put that in his head?

Lilith laughs, her tone so low and smooth. “It’s not healthy for you.”

The signal that had been sleeping inside Husk’s head, low and dull like a building headache, is suddenly deafening.

He winces, but Alastor remains still. A deer in headlights. Suddenly very fragile, and weak, and so very small.

“Now, what do we say?”

Husk closes his eyes, but it only makes him focus on the signal even more. It echoes inside his head in those same repeating patterns, until he’s surrounded in it. He doesn’t want to hear this anymore.

“....ry.”

“You’re mumbling.” The finger presses more against the forehead, and even though Husk isn’t even looking, he can somehow see it. He can even feel it. Like he’s the one there kneeling before her and staring, and watching as the light in her eyes brighten, as the smile on her face turns so sharp. 

Like he’s in Alastor’s place. Somehow. What is even fucking happening anymore?

“Again.”

Teeth that grind against each other further, filing down canines. Weakening himself for her. Husk feels the familiar weight of the manacle over his neck, and it only makes things even more confusing. This is never something he wanted to share with Alastor. He didn’t want to be here.

“I am… trying …to be apologetic—”

The finger bores down through bone, with a sickening crunch. Alastor—or Husk—gasps in pain, but still remains on his knees. Lights flash in his vision. This was death, slow and methodical. Permanent.

“Mean it,” Lilith speaks. Or sings, her tone so sweet and airy. It sounds much too beautiful for what she’s doing to him.

The finger burrows further in, like a hungry maggot. Alastor and Husk and whoever they are now are shaking, with tears in their eyes. It won’t stop until she’s satisfied. And they just want it to stop.

“I-I-I…I’m s-sorry …”

And even then, it’s said through gritted teeth.

Lilith hums, her face so close, even as her claw still digs through meat and bone like it was just a bit of dust she was cleaning up. “Now, that wasn’t so hard. Very good.” Then, she leans down to kiss him.

And it’s the moment she kisses him, or Alastor, or maybe himself still, that Husk is wrenched away back to his own body. He doesn’t feel the pain, or the softness, or anything else. Only the hand on his cheek.

She hasn’t let go of him all this time.

Alastor then slumps to the floor, breathing hard again, his ears laid flat against his head, and his antlers pulsing and threatening to grow, but just stop short. Lilith ignores him, turning back to Husk, and now petting at his ears.

“I’d like to get to know you more,” she says.

--

At some point in the night, Husk found himself having a drink with the Queen of Hell. 

It’s something that the Hell-papers would have chewed on for a week—’Our Beautiful Queen Gives Charity to Some Drunk Loser!’ the headlines might have spun—and then keep recycling that story for weeks. But Husk isn’t one to care about someone’s certain station in this messed up landscape that was his afterlife. He’d already been an Overlord once, and those hanging from the higher rungs of the ladder didn’t always do so with style, let alone any sort of decorum. The closest he could say was any such thing was Zestial, but he’d never known the Overlord on a personal level.

And Alastor could always put on a persona when one didn’t know of his petty nature.

But as Husk is forced to sit before her, in some weird imitation that reminded him of Rosie’s little get-togethers, he has to give something to all that reputation. He has to admit to himself that he’s scared shitless by what she represents, all while still having little to no idea of who she truly is.

Except for what she has done to Alastor. And except for the songs that Husk could still recall from memory.

“You seem a little stressed,” she says to him, holding up her drink, and smiling pleasantly. It seems genuine. Or maybe it’s a trick of the light. But so little light pierced through this space—they were back in Alastor’s home in one of his second-rate nightmare parlors, with all of its stupid hunter decorations, its shoddy wallpaper, and its animal skulls that were even on the very table they were sitting at.

To the side, far off in the corner, Husk could just barely catch the shape of Alastor. Hardly any noise except for a brief crackle or two, his face just faintly lit up by the manacle on him.

“Not exactly a relaxing place, if you get my meaning.” He doesn’t even remember how they got here, but he stares over at the cup in front of him and kinda wishes he at least had some whiskey to spice it up.

…And just like that, a whiskey bottle appears, elegantly-shaped, the liquid inside looking as if it was distilled from ambrosia. The label on it is vintage, or actually, even older than that. As if Lilith has just pulled out the alcohol from a time long past, a time that she lived through.

Only one other person has ever bribed him with drinks like this.

“It’s a smooth flavor, I guarantee it.” Lilith nods, looking over at Husk with golden eyes, then takes another sip of her drink. He wonders if there’s already anything in the liquid, if it’s something that will bind him down if he dares.

“I’m good,” he says, though not without his tone becoming a little snappy. “I’d rather not be drunk for this.”

“Ohh, are you a lightweight? I wouldn’t have guessed.” She places the glass back on the table, flicks a glance towards a deer skull that had bits of cobweb stuck to the antlers. She looks at it, and hums, then turns back to Husk. “Maybe you and Luci would get along.”

In the corner, he hears another crackle. A sharp pain jams into his skull. Yeah, alright. So whatever Alastor was feeling, he was going to feel now. That was fantastic.

Husk’s tail flicks, swatting away at invisible flies. “I think meeting one of Hell’s royalty is enough to spice up my night.”

His tone is brisk, but Lilith doesn’t seem to mind. She simply lays her elbows on the table, places her chin on the top of her hands, and leans forward. “Sounds like you know how to make someone’s night very exciting.”

There’s a part of him reeling at the fact just now. The Queen of Hell is flirting with me.

And yet, there’s another part of him that wants to act like a bastard. Maybe it’s Alastor’s influence, or the ache in his head. Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t slept fuck-all since coming here.

“Oh yeah? Sure, lady, I can show you a good time…”

With a sharp-toothed grin, Husk takes the whiskey bottle that the Queen had conjured, dangling it by its neck as he holds it between two fingers. He shakes it slightly, back and forth like a metronome, then flips it up into the air above them.

It doesn’t shatter into a thousand pieces or spill. Instead, it instantly transforms into a long-stemmed rose. Husk catches it without even a blink, handing it over to Lilith. The grin on his face is tight.

“Here’s a shitty little party trick for you, your Highness. ”

He still feels kinda pissed off at that weird torture session he had the pleasure of enduring.

If Lilith is angry at his comment, she doesn’t show it. She might even have the best poker face Husk has ever seen, all as she graciously takes the rose and brushes the petals against her chin. “If this is what you can do now, I can’t wait to see you when you’re in a good mood.”

Her voice is low, a soft timbre quality to it. Almost like a purr. Husk clears his throat. It’s been a while since he’s been in this type of game, and he’s way rusty at it now.

“Listen, can we cut through this shit and tell me why I’m still here?” He doesn’t feel like being polite, or even smart. He just wants to leave. He keeps his eyes diverted, trying to look at anything in this house that is vaguely normal. The closest is a piece of lint that’s caught on the edge of the carpets. “I didn’t mean to walk in on whatever fucked up game you and the boss do. I’ll just forget it. I’m good at that.”

And when Lilith speaks again, he expects disdain, or even some kind of anger. He’s just some low-life nobody that’s talking back at what is one of the oldest beings of mankind.

Except, and here is where she is suddenly at his chair, right where his wings are laid across them. And her hands place themselves over his shoulders, and her hair falls over his face, like the gossamer strands of a frail curtain.

Except, she suddenly sounds so very sad.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” 

There is no fucking way, he thinks, but as her voice is so close to his ear, it’s hard to focus on all the misgivings in him.

“And as I said before, I only want to get to know you.”

Reality shifts again.

Husk used to care, once long ago, how he presented himself. Clean-pressed suits, slick-backed fur, and his wings carefully preened so that feathers didn’t fall into the customer’s drinks. Even the occasional ‘kitty’ comment he’d endure as long as they were paying for a game at one of his tables, or were desperate for deals that he was open to negotiate on. The only messes were the occasional blood spatters on the carpets when he had to take out the trash himself, or bullet holes in his walls from those who excelled at winning the game of stupidity.

Alastor’s deal made him forget all that. What did dignity matter when one was forced to work behind the bar, or made to match his owner down to the shade of his bow tie? So he drank, and he would forget, and it was better that way.

Until Lilith is facing him, holding both of his hands, her dress covered in rhinestones, and her gloves made from black satin, the material soft against his claws. Husk looks down, and the suit he is wearing now is like a second skin he’d long forgotten he missed. Barely a thread out of place, with even his favorite designs—heart and spade next to each other—on his lapel, and his bowtie a classy shade of gold instead of stark red. His wings stretched, and they remained up instead of dragging to the ground like they mostly did these days.

A quick, furtive look around, and Husk sees them both on a stage. The audience before them is faceless, just a mass of black with bobbing heads. The lights above them are so bright, and they halo around Lilith specifically, brightening up that wonderful smile.

She lets go of his hands, and waves to the crowd. Still, she keeps her eyes on him. “You’ve always been a stage man.”

She says it like she knows him. And going by his outfit, and the fancy lights around them, she probably, actually does.

He spreads his hands wide before him, then notices the gleam of heart-shaped cufflinks just at his wrist. How did she know every detail? “Well, I’m not much of a performer anymore,” he tells her.

And suddenly, a saxophone appears in his arms, the sash already looped around his shoulder. The weight of the instrument is almost like nothing to him.

“Let me hear you play.”

Husk stares at her, then back to the instrument in his hands. His claws fell over the keys, molded for his own touch instead of just anyone else. “It’s been years.”

In Lilith’s right hand, a microphone forms out from the stage lights. She brings it close to her mouth, while her other hand reaches down to stroke Husk’s cheek. “But you haven’t forgotten.”

She’s right.

Husk isn’t immune to the allure of a beautiful woman, even if there is something behind her eyes that terrifies him, and how he still remembers the pain she had inflicted on Alastor. The ache of it still lingers inside Husk’s skull, but when she hums so sweetly into the microphone, so much of it simply washes away. The stage lights focus on her, making her dress sparkle. 

He knows her songs, some of them uplifting and powerful, and others so sweet and melancholy that it drives souls to the brink of madness. It’s a coinflip to what she would sing next for that radio show, where her songs simply served as a backdrop to the array of screams.

The brief reminder makes Husk blink. Shit. Where’s Alastor? He looks around, but there is only the stage and the audience, which is only dark shapes and nothing else. They applause when Lilith begins to sing, her voice caught on the sweeping melancholy that already makes his limbs feel heavy, as if his bones were being slowly filled up by honey.

It’s a nice feeling. Almost addicting.

Husk knows he should be high-tailing it out of here, but when Lilith sings, it seems to move his limbs in other ways. His wings stretch wide, and he already presses down on the saxophone’s keys as he plays along with a song that he already knows. It doesn’t seem to matter if the lyrics she sang move through his head, losing shape and meaning, until it was just the melody itself. Maybe that’s what she wants, after all.

“You have such talent, Husk” she tells him between the verses. She says it casually, her voice showing no fatigue. She controls her notes as easily as changing into her dress. “It’s such a shame you don’t get to use it.”

A question that wrinkles the smoothness of the moment. Husk pauses on his playing, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “Lady, not that I don’t appreciate the compliment, but no one’s stopping me from just busking around.”

He really could, like the old days when he would put up small side hustles of card tricks to make a little extra cash, accompanied by playing out in the streets when he didn’t feel like grifting. Hell’s own streets weren’t always as receptive to a random show (and in some places like Cannibal Town, sometimes they were too eager) but he knew the good spots. And back in his casino heydays, he had to stop himself from going out to play old melodies on stage just for the heck of it.

Lilith only smiles at him, and then brings the mic close again, turning towards that faceless audience. Another note, one that builds higher and higher, and it pulls at his hands again to play along, to use his breath to match the beats of her own.

And it’s suddenly akin to the feeling of being pulled by the strings.

Husk can’t even will himself to stop, his thoughts becoming only filled with that music, one that writhes and lives inside him. It’s euphoric, and it’s terrifying. Isn’t it better to just play like this? A part of him says, something that doesn’t even sound like him. Husk can’t shake it away though, still not finished with the song that Lilith leads.

Don’t you want to be a freer soul?

And as the music slows, Lilith towers over him, humming the last note into the microphone. She smiles, and it’s only for him. She is a beautiful soul, decked out in lights, so bright that it blinds him. It’s almost like a dream, but he knows he’s not dreaming—only dead.

As she hums, she extends her hand, its touch silky as she grips his chin. She raises it as the spotlight rings around them both, leaving the rest of the world in darkness.

“Wouldn’t you rather make a deal with me?”

The voice in his head is her, her music repeating in his skull like a tune he can’t shake off. It’s to the point where he can’t listen to anything else. And, for a second, he almost answers her before he even knows what to say. 

Then he hears it. The signals, thudding in his head, three short bursts, then three long ones.

What?

Husk blinks. The stage lights pierce right into his eyes with a terrible ache. The sound continues and it makes it all worse. Stop it. Stop it.

With a snarl, he wrenches his head out of Lilith’s reach, taking a step back.

And just like that, the stage disappears.

It’s almost like cold water is dumped on him immediately. The glitz and glamor that had been their surroundings is snuffed out, and he’s already shivering from the lack of clothes. No more of the clean-pressed suit and dazzling cufflinks, or even the shining instrument that was in his arms. Husk is back to his loose trousers and suspenders, the hat on his head nearly close to falling off him. He can’t even summon the energy to lift his wings.

Lilith, by contrast, still looks radiant as always, but there is a sharp glint in her eyes that isn’t there before. Then it moves to the right, back to a corner that is in the dark—

He hears Alastor’s static before he sees him again, a barely seen shape in the shadows. Turning to him, and his boss is glaring with eyes so brightly lit that it seems to engulf his face. 

Wait, Husk thinks. Did we even leave? Has he been watching the whole time?

And then the chain that connects from Alastor’s neck is given a sharp tug that sends his boss sprawling face-first into the floor.

“That’s enough.” Lilith brings the chains to wrap around her palm, the light of it reminding Husk of the stage. “Trying to disrupt my business, after all I did for you? Now you’ve just confused the poor thing.”

The chain’s links ringing together makes Husk grit his teeth. Alastor doesn’t even say words, still on the floor and glaring poisonous daggers in their direction. Was he mad at Husk too? Fuck me, I didn’t even want to be here!

Lilith has that strange look on her face, all as she slowly twirls the chains around her fingers. Husk snaps, full of exasperation and fatigue. 

“The hell was all that about before? What did you just do to me?” Husk shakes his head, trying to rid himself of whatever strange effects Lilith put on him. “Just…what are you even…?”

Stupid thing to say. He knows exactly what she is.

With those words, she shifts her attention from Alastor back to Husk, and suddenly her smile is much sweeter than before.

“I was only giving you a peek into your possible future.” Her eyelids lower, along with her voice. “If you’d like to switch deals, that is.”

Her voice sends another shiver through him, one he tries to ignore. “I’m fucking through with making any more deals.”

Like he’d risk getting another bad hand.

“Oh? But you haven’t even heard my terms,” she says.

Maybe Husk is a little more on edge than he realizes, because he stares up at her with slightly bared teeth. Or maybe, he already misses that stage more than he thought, and is angry at the thought that he left it so soon.

“No offense, lady, but if you made a deal with that whack job there, I can’t imagine one with me is much better.”

A risky glance to said whack job, but Alastor is barely looking now. His boss is still face-down on the floor, even if the static and signals are still thudding inside Husk’s skull. 

“Then, let me show you at least.”

Her hands reach up to his neck, and he stiffens. He can only imagine bad things, because nothing in Hell was gentle. But her fingers only hover over him, just barely catching onto the fur, even though she has already held him and certainly knows how he feels against her touch. He doesn’t like that a part of him is almost aching for her to touch him, that a part of him wants her to sing again.

Then he feels that familiar weight of the manacle that signals his status, his fuck-ups, and his desperation—all rolled into one embarrassing accessory that he could never take off. It’s only loosely-hanging on, like an oversized collar, and it only slightly burns whenever Alastor would will it so. He expects it to burn right now, but it doesn’t, even as Alastor is right there in the corner, consumed with so much angry static that’s like flies buzzing around incessantly.

The green of the chains light up Lilith’s eyes, just for a moment, before golden irises swallow it up. She presses one finger over the manacle, sliding over it, like it was the rim of a wine glass.

“I can get rid of this for you.” She raises her eyes to meet his own. “And I would never clip your wings the way he has.”

The words are so sweet that it makes his teeth ache, and it stings right at his heart.

“It’s also such a troublesome thing for you, isn’t it? Alastor has never been so good at keeping to himself. I’ve always told him it’s bad manners.”

That, however, is not what Husk expects to hear. He stares. “What are you getting at?”

Lilith’s eyes seem to express some sort of pity, and he’s not very sure if he’s pissed at the idea or not. “The way he just drags you to him, like a child.” She then brings her hand to his forehead, a thumb rubbing a circle over it, oddly soothing. “You’re not his whipping boy. His punishment wasn’t meant for you too.”

The memory of her finger digging through bone and meat, and then leaving no trace of it at all.

Fuck, so she did know of what happened.

She holds onto Husk’s chain, but takes care to not pull at it, or even tug. He doesn’t feel any pressure at all. “I’ve always been a solo artist, but lately, my songs have felt like… they’re missing something. So I’ve been looking around lately for someone who could help with that. Alastor’s radio show can only do so much. The people want so much more.”

Husk can’t believe what he’s hearing, once he’s finally caught on. “Are you saying you just want me to be part of your band? ”

It sounds so simple and so easy—and he can’t trust it all. But then Lilith smiles down at him, and suddenly it feels like he’d be crazy to not accept the offer. 

She curls her fingers around his chains, and he hears something crack. Metal snapping, slowly, one link at a time. 

“I love finding those who have talent, Husk. And baby, you have it.”

The promise of freedom, and the sweet words from someone who looked like a goddess—who practically was—is enough to make Husk consider falling down to his knees and accept anything she was offering. If he was younger, he would have. If he was still an Overlord, with all the money and power at his fingertips, he still would have.

But…isn’t this just changing one leash for another?

The signal bursts again, loud and grating, breaking the spell. It’s hard to focus, and it pulls at him like nothing else, and so he has to turn to that corner, and see Alastor get up to his knees. He has to see him glare and grit his teeth, and there’s something so incredibly feral there. Inhuman. Desperate.

“You can’t have him!”

It’s just a split-second but Husk sees Lilith drop her smile before she also faces Alastor. She stands tall instead of crouching down to meet Husk’s level. For Alastor, she will only view him from up on high.

The signal keeps bleating, in time with Alastor’s boiling words.

“He’s mine.”

Husk doesn’t want to admit that the word does something to him. He’s still half-sharing a space with Alastor, feeling his rage that sends his teeth shattering from the strain of it. He can also feel how the Radio Demon is engraving that word deep in his chest, past the bones of his rib cage and squeezing painfully at his heart.

Lilith only stares, her silence so deafening that it overpowers the static until it’s fizzling out, like the hisses of a dying fire. Alastor keeps glaring and his teeth look ready to tear, but he doesn’t move. 

In Lilith’s hands are two separate chains, entwined together. She wraps both different-colored links around her fingers, and seems to consider.

“You never seem to understand that what’s yours is mine. Your power. Your radio show. Your souls.” She tilts her head, golden hair cascading, the strands nearly reaching Alastor’s face by just half an inch. Distance seems to mean nothing to her, already with Alastor, with Husk. Everywhere. “You have plenty of others, don’t you?”

The signals inside Husk’s head transform into a monotone, blaring and digging further inside. It’s panicking. It’s reeling over from fear. Husk feels the urge to run over to Alastor and shake him so that he could fucking calm down and not make this all so much worse.

“Ah, but maybe…” Lilith has her smile again. She wraps the chains tighter around each other. “It’s only him, isn’t it? Oh, Al… you should take better care of those you love.”

At that, the signal is so loud, so awful, like claws slowly tearing through metal, that Husk collapses to the ground.

He just barely hears the chains clatter at his motion, but he’s already clutching his head, ears pinned down, and fur standing on end. He can’t even open his eyes. The sound is unreal. It’s torture. His head is literally going to explode into tiny bits and pieces from the sheer pain of it.

You should take better care of those you love, he hears again, and then it gets even worse. Like he was caught in a spiral and kept descending and descending, knowing there was no end to it.

Why was Alastor doing this to him?!

By then, it’s only her voice that finally saves him.

It’s faint and distant, like a far-off light through the fog. Husk feels his soul stumbling towards it, but as she sings, the pain seems to recede. It takes him a while to know that she’s holding his face again, like before, lifting him up, and humming what sounds like some sort of lullaby.

The static and the awful signal seems to disappear. He tries not to think about what that means.

Lilith bends down, and he wonders if she’s about to kiss him, the same way she did with Alastor.

“Husk…” she whispers, her lips just brushing against his pointed ear. He feels her breath across his fur. “My deal still stands. My voice, your music.”

He clasps her wrists, tightly. He shakes, and he considers.

A curious note in Lilith. “Did you change your mind then?”

He doesn’t hear anything in his head now. Only her beautiful voice, and the lingering memory of a song they played together. It should have been easy to decide. After all, how many times in the middle of the night has he wished to finally escape the means of his deal? How many times has he wished he would never see that infuriating smile of Alastor’s ever again?

Instead, Husk just holds that position, looking down. He waits, almost sure of what he would say.

“No,” he says instead.

“Hmm. I see.”

It’s not disappointment in Lilith’s tone, just acceptance. Somehow, that’s worse.

With the pain gone, Husk lets go of her, and slowly gets to his feet. He tries not to think about how he somehow keeps touching her. But then again, back in the day, he’d have done everything he could to lay his hands on someone as beautiful as she is. Even if right now, he can barely look her in the eye.

But she’s also touching him too, hands still over his cheeks. And she hasn’t let go just yet.

She’s expecting him to say something. So he does so, struggling.

“I only came here because the boss called me.” He won’t say his name right now. “I didn’t come here for deals, or to be part of some new music crew. And right now, all three of us in this room is doing none of us any fucking favors. So maybe just….” He trails off. 

But there’s no polite way to tell someone to leave, especially when he’s not sure he wants her to.

He doesn’t think Lilith would hurt him, but he flinches when she leans forward again. But it’s simply to plant a kiss just over his forehead. He feels the pressure, the warmth of her mouth, the feel of her lipstick. There’s a part of him that wants to know the taste of it.

It’s blackberry, from when she kissed Alastor before. He resists the urge to lick his lips at the memory.

At both the thought and her face, Husk looks up as she smiles down at him.

“I can see why Al likes you. Such a rare kind of soul. But I really hope he takes better care of you.” Then, her voice, only for him right now. “And if he doesn’t… call me.”

Husk isn’t sure, but it almost sounds like she means it.

It’s sudden when she leaves—like a dream from an intense hangover, leaving him reeling and wanting to fall back down to his knees. Everything about her is gone; from her hands that were once on his face, to her song that’s barely an echo around him. There’s just the creepy house of Alastor, still with its grisly decor and torn-up wallpaper, its decaying stairs and its array of skulls placed on the bookshelves. No evidence at all that there had once been fancy lights once upon a time.

“God damn—” Husk stumbles, trying to keep himself from banging his head on the floor a second time. That’s it then. He’d told her to hoof it and she did. He feels a sense of relief. A sense of anxiety. A sense of unimaginable loss. Almost like she’s already taken his soul without him realizing.

And without her to even provide even a modicum of distraction, Husk hears that same stupid, godawful signal that had ruined his entire fucking night. The bursts of static are low and jarring, but faint, like the wings of an annoying, dying beetle.

Alastor is still in that corner, probably having his own pity party right about now.

Husk feels sick. He’s not in the mood to feel sympathy. Still, it comes regardless. He rubs at his face, missing the softness from before.

“ Boss, ” he calls out, pulling on the word like it’s a bad taste on his tongue.

He doesn’t get a response, Alastor still lying on the ground like some dead fawn.

“Fucking asshole, you keep calling out to me this entire time and now you won’t say a damn word!?” The dazed feeling from before is now fully gone, his anger evaporating it all. Husk goes to Alastor, kicking aside stupid cobwebs and stray bits of bone from the decorations to kneel on the floor and grab Alastor’s shoulder. Not like the fucker was going to hurt him for touching him. Not now. “You wanna explain to me why the literal Queen of Hell was even here? Christ, what did she even mean when she said you…”

Hell, he can’t even repeat it.

But Alastor just groans, lifting his head. Weak eyes flicker in their depths. But no answer.

Husk feels himself start to shake. So he shakes Alastor more for good measure. “Well?! Ya really got nothing?”

“Husker…” Alastor says, then raises an eyebrow. “So… you didn’t leave….” He then lets out a soft exhale. “That’s good.”

Maybe there’s a hint of triumph in his voice, if it hadn’t been so, so weak. Husk wants to punch him more than anything.

Still, his boss is alive and barely functioning. Alastor’s eyes slowly close again, the static fizzling out, as if a storm has finally cleared. The man passes out.

Husk shouldn’t feel glad about any of this.

“Dammit, Al. Why should I even give two fucking shits to what happens to you?” he growls out, voice trembling. “Someone finally offers me a way out after everything. I should have left. Why didn’t I leave?” 

He pauses, speaking to nothing, to no one. Just the darkness of this home and an unconscious demon who has the faintest smile on his face.

“Why did you call me of all people? Niffty, Rosie…. Hell, even fucking Vox. Why me?”

But he’s not going to get an answer, no matter if his boss is awake or not.

Even so, after everything, he grabs Alastor’s shoulder, pulling him along from his pathetic position. It’s instinct almost, barely feeling anything for it. It’s not the first time Alastor would be exhausted like this, whether from going hog-wild on an Overlord killing spree, or stressing his magic to give someone a real good scare. And Husk was usually the fall back, the one to watch out for things. Reliable, Alastor had once told him. For a washed-up drunk, he’d also add.

Yet as Husk brings Alastor up, close enough to see those small antler stubs, to hear the subtle breathing, he can’t help but remember that soft hand on his cheek.

That soft hand that had also made Alastor writhe in pain.

With a held-in sigh, Husk digs a hand into his pocket. Another instinct as he determines how to carry Alastor without having him get tangled up in his wings. His claws feel out the familiar edges of his playing cards, sort of a calming habit of his—except, this one felt different.

Husk pulls out the card, its surface a gleaming white instead of the red and black of his own. On the front, there was a phone number, all written in an elegant flourish. And then, there was her name, followed by a little command. The presence of it sends a thrill through his spine. He can’t tell if it’s from excitement or fear. 

Maybe the difference doesn’t really matter.

Call me.

[daisynik7]

A Bento for Kento

Chapter 3: Love Language

Pairing: Nanami x f!reader

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: none, just fluff and delicious food

Summary: You do some internet sleuthing. Ren visits Jujutsu High for the first time. Nanami keeps a secret in his pocket. And a wild Gojo appears!

Notes: This chapter’s bento is inspired by this recipe: Chicken Meatballs. Thanks for all those that have read, reblogged, liked, and/or commented so far, hope you’re enjoying it!

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A Bento for Kento Masterlist

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This week’s bento features teriyaki chicken meatballs over a bed of white rice with a side of steamed broccoli. You elegantly drizzle teriyaki sauce on the top, the finishing touch is a sprinkle of sesame seeds. Aesthetics matter, you think to yourself, impressed by your arrangement. You repeat the meticulous process inside the Hello Kitty bento box.

When you’re done, you admire your creation. An idea pops in your head, inspired by the many viral videos you’ve watched. As a cute, personal touch, a small note can be included in the meal. It’s usually words of affirmation, sometimes even a funny joke. You take two sticky notes from your desk and write a different message on each, smiling proudly as you insert each one inside the cover of the containers.

Ren comes out of his room, ready for his Monday lesson. He joins you at the table to eat breakfast. “Morning, sis!”

“Morning! Are you excited for your lessons this week?” you ask, taking a bite out of your toast.

“Yeah! We might do one of our lessons out of the office. Nanami said he wants to show me around the school. I’m excited.” He takes a forkful of eggs into his mouth, grinning. 

“That sounds fun. It’s nice to change scenery once in a while.” You take a sip of coffee. “So do you like your mentor? Nanami, right?”

“Yup, he’s pretty cool. At first, he seems super serious, which he totally is. But I think we’re getting along well. He knows I’m taking these lessons seriously. I think that’s why he likes me.”

“Is he the grumpy old teacher type?” you ask, jokingly.

He chuckles. “He’s definitely grumpy. But he’s not old. He’s probably your age.”

This sparks your curiosity. You can’t help but wonder what he looks like, just to put a face to a name.

Ren continues. “Anyways, we’re making a lot of progress together. He’s a really good teacher. He’s opened my eyes to a lot of things.”

Part of your smile fades as you say, “Well, it sounds like you’re learning a lot from this Nanami guy. I hope you’re not planning on replacing me with him.” You’re kidding, of course, though there is a hint of actual jealously there. 

Smirking, he reassures, “Don’t be jealous, sis! He’s not as fun as you are, trust me. I told you, he’s super serious. Sometimes I wonder what he does fun. He probably reads.”

“Hey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that!” you exclaim, throwing a grape at him. “He sounds interesting. I should meet him one day, just to size him up.”

In all seriousness, you actually want to check this guy out, confirm that this man isn’t negatively influencing your sibling in any way. You still have no idea what these “lessons” consist of, or what this Jujutsu High is. This creep could be teaching your baby brother how to be a deviant.

Finished with breakfast, he gets up to retrieve his backpack, bentos packed securely in place. “You have nothing to worry about. He’s a good guy.” He pats you affectionately on the shoulder before leaving.

You sit at the table for a little while longer, contemplating while you play with the stray crumbs on your plate. Minutes later, you text Ren:

You: What’s your mentor’s full name again?

Ren: Kento Nanami

Ren: why?

You: just curious, thanks!

Let the internet sleuthing begin.

~~~

This week, Nanami plans to take Ren on a tour of Jujutsu High. He insisted Gojo visit sometime on Monday to give Ren an overview of the rules and general layout, hoping to prepare his student before he first steps foot on campus. It can be overwhelming for a first timer, he’s well aware of that.

As expected, Gojo does not give him an exact time for when he’ll arrive. Nanami’s attempts at extracting an answer from his flake of a friend are useless. I’ll get there when I get there, Nanamin! I’m a busy man! is all Gojo texts him, after being pestered for the third time about his current location.

The day isn’t wasted, however. In typical fashion, Nanami planned accordingly with some new material to teach Ren, already predicting this type of behavior from Gojo. Lunch time approaches and he still hasn’t shown up. Growing impatient, Nanami decides to take their break now. If Gojo pops in while they’re eating, he’ll just have to wait.

Ren hands the Hello Kitty bento box to Nanami, this gesture becoming a small tradition between them. “Thank you, Nakamura,” he says, walking over to his desk. “I’m going to the break room to make my tea. Would you like anything from the vending machine?”

“Hm, maybe a Pocari Sweat?” 

After Nanami brews his tea and a purchases Ren’s beverage, he returns to the room, ready for another delicious treat courtesy of the older sister. As he sets the drink on Ren’s desk, he sneaks a peek at his open container, spotting meatballs and some type of glaze over a bed of rice. The smell is intoxicating, his mouth watering from the inviting aroma.

Surprisingly, the food is untouched. Usually, when Nanami comes back from the breakroom, his student is halfway finished with his meal. He glances over at Ren to see what’s distracting him. He is staring at the inside cover of his bento box, a warm smile spread across his face.

Curious, Nanami asks, “Is everything alright?”

He looks at Nanami and answers, “My sister left me a note.” He flips over the cover to show it. In neat handwriting, the memo reads:

Happy Monday, booger! Have the best day ever!

A little heart and smiley face are scribbled at the end.

Nanami raises a brow, amused. “Booger?”

Ren chuckles. “Just a little nickname she calls me sometimes. Maybe there’s another one for me in your box! Can you tell me what it says when you see it?”

Agreeing, Nanami sits at his desk. For some reason, he’s nervous to open it. As if he’s intruding on something intimate, something personal. He uncovers it slowly, examining the top for a note. In the same handwriting as the other, a message is displayed:

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

There’s strange tightness in his chest upon reading those words. He glances at Ren, who is now his normal self, devouring his meatballs whole. Focused back on his desk, he quietly takes the note off the cover and pockets it.

Ren, mouth full, asks, “Is there anything?”

Nanami contemplates for a few seconds, then responds, “No, there isn’t.” He starts eating a meatball, which tastes even better than he imagined. Though, his mind is distracted by the fact that he just lied about something so trivial, so insignificant. Why?

“Ah, okay.” Observing his own note again, Ren laughs. “Can’t believe she’s still calling me booger! Ha!” He takes a sip of Pocari Sweat and continues to eat, blissfully unaware that his own mentor is hiding a secret in his pants pocket.

Nanami stuffs more food into his mouth in silence, questioning his own motives regarding this damn piece of paper. His hand slides into his pocket, feeling for it, remembering the words scrawled over it.

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

He knows it wasn’t written for him. Of course he knows that.

However, there’s an odd sensation coursing through his being. An unusual tightness in his chest spurred by a simple statement attached to the back of Hello Kitty’s face. Whatever this sensation is, Nanami reasons that this is what compelled him to lie about the note. 

A few more moments of contemplation, he realizes something as he finishes his last meatball. The true reason why he is acting this way.

He wants to pretend it’s for him.

Gojo finally arrives as soon as Ren and Nanami are finished with their food. “Hello, my dear friends!” he greets happily.

Nanami wipes his mouth with a napkin and closes the box. Just as he’s about to hand the empty container to Ren, his friend squeals, “Nanamin, wait. What is that?!” Even behind the blindfold, it’s obvious that Gojo’s eyes are filled with glee.

“It was my lunch,” he answers, nonchalant.

Gojo’s grin widens, as he squeals again. “I need to take a picture of this! You and Hello Kitty! Nanamin, this is just adorable.” He takes his phone out and starts snapping away before Nanami can hide his face behind his hand.

“Stop it. You are awful.” He slides the bento over to Ren, still trying to conceal himself from his annoying friend’s ridicule.

Gojo turns to Ren, showing him what he captured. “Isn’t this so precious? Little Nanami with Hello Kitty. This day can’t get any better.”

They giggle with each other while Nanami sighs heavily, palm pressed against his forehead in aggravation. “Can we just get on with this, Gojo? And delete those photos immediately.”

“No way. The world is better a place now because of these,” Gojo teases, swiping through his phone, a smug grin plastered on his face.

Nanami begins to blush, remembering the note. He sticks his hand in his pocket and feels for it again, making sure it’s still there. He clears his throat, speaking a bit louder. “Okay, enough. Let’s move on.”

After more snickering between Gojo and Ren, they finally get back on track. As Gojo introduces Jujutsu High to Ren, Nanami takes this opportunity to zone out. He stares at his desk, thinking of food, Hello Kitty, and his dumb friend taking those incriminating photos. Occasionally, he brushes his hand over his pants, rubbing the outline of the note. The one that is not his. What’s the harm in pretending? It makes him feel good. It makes him feel appreciated.

He slyly removes it out of his pocket and sets it inside his suitcase, where it’s safe. The last thing he needs is Gojo having any more leverage against him than he already has. If it accidentally falls into the wrong hands, specifically Gojo’s, he’d never hear the end of it.

~~~

During your break, you decide to investigate Ren’s teacher. You type the name “Kento Nanami” into the search bar. The top result is a blog post from a finance company you’ve never heard of. Clicking on it, you notice the article is a few years old. It features five different employees from the company, each one having a picture with a small blurb beside it. You scroll towards the middle of the page and find what you’re looking for.

Name: Kento Nanami

Age: 23

Position: Senior Stockbroker

About: Kento Nanami is one of our youngest and most successful stockbrokers. He started working for our company straight out of high school and has excelled ever since. Hobbies include eating, drinking, cooking, and reading. He enjoys helping others and has been an asset to us during the onboarding process for new employees. His favorite part of working for this company is the salary because it helps him fund his addiction to bread.

You laugh out loud at the last part. Then, you notice his picture. It’s a professional headshot, probably taken in the office for the purpose of this post. His blond hair is parted on the side with loose strands falling over his forehead. He has a sharp nose and cheeks that are slightly sunken, maybe due to the stress of being a stockbroker. The spotted tie he’s wearing over his navy-blue button up stands out. It’s an interesting pattern, but for some reason, it works. His expression is neutral, neither smiling, nor frowning. He looks serious, just as Ren described him. 

You stare at him a bit longer and you smile to yourself.

He is handsome.

But why the sudden change in career? Based on his description, he was doing well as a stockbroker. Why would he leave? And what exactly is he teaching your younger brother? Surely it isn’t lessons on stockbroking. Or is it? Is this some sort of pyramid scheme? They have their lessons in an office building, which is very suspicious to begin with. 

You continue your web search and find nothing else outside of his previous occupation in finance. He doesn’t have any public social media pages and there is nothing mentioning current employment. Curious, you search Jujutsu High, only to be redirected to pages related to Jiu Jitsu, the Brazilian martial art. Anything related to Jujutsu doesn’t exist on public record.

Your inner alarm bells are ringing. This is strange. You’ve made it almost a month blindly trusting your brother, not asking too many questions. How much longer can you hold out for? You have no clue what Ren has gotten himself into and the constant mystery surrounding it has you worried.

Also, you know nothing about this Nanami fellow. He could be a creepy cult leader or a shady ex-stockbroker roping innocent youths into a Ponzi scheme, hiding behind an attractive suit and a pretty face. Either way, it’s suspicious. 

Retrieving a small journal from your drawer, you jot down questions you want to ask Ren. You need answers to give you peace of mind. The rest of the summer can’t go on like this. If something terrible were to happen to him, you will never be able to forgive yourself. You have to know the truth. 

~~~

On Wednesday, Nanami brings Ren to Jujutsu High. He can tell that Ren’s mind is blown as soon as he steps foot through the protective barrier, jaw dropping and examining the campus, speechless. 

They walk through the training grounds, watching students spar with each other. Ren observes them carefully, looking away briefly only to scribble notes. They watch for nearly an hour, Nanami explaining their moves and typical training regiments that are expected of first years. 

Their tour through campus continues. Ren gazes up at the buildings, appreciating the architecture. It reminds Nanami of his experience as a Jujutsu High student. He doesn’t dwell on the past all too often but being here makes him reminisce, as if he never left. 

Currently, there are no classes in session, so they take this opportunity to peek into each of the empty classrooms, ending with Gojo’s. There are plenty of windows, a sparse number of desks, and one big blackboard, displaying the remnants of whatever was taught in the most recent lesson. Nanami takes a couple of minutes to go over this with Ren.

Afterwards, they decide to take their break in one of the courtyards. Nanami is handed his usual bento box with Hello Kitty. He looks around to make sure Gojo isn’t nearby to tease him. With the coast clear, he uncovers the container, finding a note attached to the inside again. He purposefully positions himself across from Ren so that he can read the message in secret. Glancing over at his student, who is distracted by his own meal, Nanami focuses on the familiar handwriting:

Have the best day ever! I love you!

Followed by three hand drawn hearts in a row.

His lip twitches into a small smile, admiring the words in front of him. Once again, he removes it and secures it in his pocket. He’s not exactly sure why he’s keeping them. Maybe he likes having it within reach for a quick pick-me-up. Yesterday, he met with Gojo to exorcise a low-grade curse, and when he was home, he took Monday’s note out of his briefcase to read it again: The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that.

The words replayed in his head as he soaked in the bath that night. It lingered in his mind as he prepared dinner, even when he was in bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep. That message gives him validation. What he’s doing now as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, and even as a mentor, makes a difference in the world. He is important.

However, this new note offers a different reaction, right in the pit of his stomach. A strange, fluttering feeling. He can’t remember the last time someone told him, “I love you.” In fact, he’s barely heard that phrase throughout his entire adult life.

Is he this desperate for affection? Enough to pretend that these words are actually for him? He’s actually envious of Ren for having someone like this in his life. A person who constantly reminds him how much he is loved, how special he is to this world. When will Nanami experience this for himself? He wonders if that will ever happen. 

He catches himself, scoffing as he continues to eat. It’s silly, sentimental, and immature for him to be feeling this way. This is unlike him. 

Ren breaks the silence, bringing Nanami back from his deep thoughts. “Hey Nanami, words of wisdom from my sister. ‘In life, we should all aim to be like meatballs: Well-seasoned and well-rounded.’” He flashes a smirk as he lets the joke sink in.

Nanami genuinely chuckles at the corny pun. “Clever.”

“She made huge ones today, just for fun. Wanna see?” Ren offers, scrolling through his phone. He faces his screen towards Nanami, showing a picture of a woman around Nanami’s age, wearing a black apron over pajamas. She smiles brightly at the camera, holding two massive meatballs in her hands, like trophies.

“She was so proud of them she had me take a picture,” Ren laughs, pulling his phone away.  

It isn’t the giant hunks of meat that captures Nanami’s attention. It’s her smile, bright and endearing. Inviting and welcoming. The second thing he notices are her pajamas, obscured partially by the apron she wears over it. They are wasabi green in color with different types of sushi as the pattern. It’s cute. As much as Nanami despises using that word, there’s no other way to describe it.

And it’s not just the pajamas. She is cute. 

He almost chokes on his meatball upon this revelation. Guilt sweeps over his body, ashamed that such a thought comes to his mind in front of his student. In front of her brother. He doesn’t even know this woman. One picture and he’s already thinking she’s cute.

A blush creeps up on his cheeks as he clenches his jaw, uncomfortable with the flurry of thoughts rushing into his head. He tries his hardest to stop thinking of her, but it’s too late. He imagines her standing in front of him smiling, holding out the Hello Kitty bento box filled with glorious food, reciting the words she scrawled on those pieces of paper. 

The world is a better place with you in it. Always remember that. I love you, Nanami.

His entire face is hot, certain that it’s red all over. Thankfully, Ren is distracted by his phone as he munches on a piece of broccoli lazily.

Nanami can’t believe himself. He’s making up scenarios in his head about a woman he’s never even met before. No one should see him like this, so it takes all his willpower to calm down and remove all these ridiculous thoughts from his head.

With perfect timing, Gojo joins them in the courtyard, eating an apple and chatting with Ren. He takes a moment to tease Nanami, Hello Kitty still in front of him, but he doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he’s focused on appearing calm and stoic.

He decides for himself that he wants to know more about Ren’s sister, mentally noting what type of questions to ask without giving his true intentions away. Ren constantly praises his sister, it’s only natural for Nanami to wonder what she’s really like. The woman behind the bento. 

It’s just curiosity, Nanami tells himself. That’s all it is. Nothing more.

~~~

Friday arrives and you send your brother off with his two bentos. Tonight, you’re going to demand the truth. Not every single detail, but anything to put your mind at ease. You plan to butter him up first by going to the local street food fair and buying him all the Yakitori he desires. Then, maybe after some delicious soft serve, you’ll ambush him.

The best plans begin with food, right?

~~~

Gojo suggests taking Ren on a low-risk mission, which Nanami hesitantly agrees to. He’s aware his pupil will not be the one fighting; he’s only there to observe. Still, he’s nervous. Although more mature than some other kids his age, he is a child that Nanami has temporarily taken under his wing.

On Friday, they stay in the office for the first half of the day, going over every possible detail he can about this mission. They agree to eat before heading out, following their usual routine: Ren distributes the bentos, Nanami heads down the hall to brew his tea and grab a drink from the vending machine for Ren. The two of them sit at their desks, eating their lunch while exchanging casual conversation. 

Today, Nanami’s note says: Can’t wait to spend this weekend watching movies and baking cookies with you!There’s a doodle of the Cookie Monster surrounded by chocolate chip cookies. He takes it, sliding it into his briefcase, wondering what movies they enjoy watching together. He smiles thinking of the cookies, how wonderful their house will smell as they bake in the oven.

He looks over at Ren. “Any words of wisdom today?”

Ren shakes his head and responds, “Nope. All she said was ‘Happy Friday to the best brother ever.’” He stares at the note with a small frown.

“What’s wrong, Nakamura?”

He sighs, setting his fork down. “I don’t know. I feel guilty. I haven’t told my sister anything, and she’s been so great and supportive, but I just…” He stops, unsure what to say next.

“I understand where you’re coming from. What we do...well, it’s not easy to explain.”  

“Exactly. Like, what do I even tell her? Hey sis, I think my biological parents were involved with some curse users and killed. Then I somehow inherited these strange powers and now I can see curses. How crazy would she think I am?!”

“Well, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

Ren scratches his head anxiously, not responding. Then, Nanami says, “You always talk about how supportive your sister is. Don’t you think you should give her some credit? She might be more understanding than you think.”

Still frowning, Ren replies, “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I just have to tell it to her straight and hope for the best. I mean, we’re going on a small mission today, right? We might be going on bigger ones in the future. What if something happens to me? She’s gonna see my mangled body and not even know what happened. I can’t do that to her. I won’t do that to her.” He goes back to eating his meatball, brows knit in deep thought.

Nanami is honestly impressed. Ren is a teenager, but he’s surprisingly mature and responsible. “So, do you think you’ll tell your sister tonight?”

“I think so. We’re planning to go to this street food festival nearby. Once we’re full of Takoyaki, I’ll tell her.”

Sounds fun, Nanami muses. “I hope your talk goes well.” He gives Ren a small smile, then returns to his lunch.

“Do you like street food, mentor?” Ren wonders, sipping on his drink.

“I do. I like Takoyaki as much as anyone, but I’m partial towards Taiyaki.” Pancake batter filled with sweetened red bean paste and shaped like a fish. Of course it’s Nanami’s favorite.

“Ha, you’re the same as my sister. She loves Taiyaki.”

Grinning, he wonders what other foods she might like. What other things they have in common with each other. Trying to play it cool, Nanami asks, “What’s your favorite, Nakamura?”

“Oh, it’s definitely Yakitori. I love meat!” Ren exclaims. He turns to face Nanami. “Hey, do you want to go to the festival with us? I’m sure my sister wouldn’t mind.”

Nanami’s heart thumps, actually considering it. Street food on a Friday night sounds amazing, but he should decline the offer. Tonight will be important for both Ren and his sister. The last thing they need is a gloomy Nanami hovering over them like a rain cloud.

“That’s alright. You have important matters to discuss, so I don’t want to intrude.” He pauses for a few seconds before adding, “But thank you for the invite.”

Ren smiles politely. “Maybe next time then. I’d really like you to meet her.”

Nanami thinks it at first, then decides to say it out loud.

“I’d like that, too.”

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Tag List: @liliorsstuff-blog @hughugh20 @lucyrocks86 @bloompompom @vampyra-needs-food @extrasugafree @deepcloudspyhairdo @invisible-mori @justnamuaf @syynnaaah @unknownspecies @goldencattto @maqqiekwon

[ladykibutsuji]

┌── •✧• ──┐

“ The Sunrise is here, You aren't „

└── •✧• ──┘

• ANGST! Muichiro x Reader

The night was silent, save for the relentless ticking of the old clock on the wall. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“it's awfully quiet...“ She gazed out the window as she twiddled with her hair. "It's always been like this ever since tanjiro's sister conquered the sun" Muichiro responded as he went back to continuing his work of origami, his favorite hobby.

She was surprised upon hearing that muichiro could finally remember names, She then smiled as she moved a strand of hair away from her face, "I'm glad that you're finally recovering mui". Muichiro hummed in response as he stood up from where he was seating to walk towards her, handing her a paper airplane.

She raised an eyebrow and asked, "you want to race again?" Muichiro smiled and nodded, "like the old times." She returned the smile as she went along with his request.

As they both got ready to throw their paper airplanes, she noticed that muichiro threw his paper airplane weakly, this resulted in (R/N) winning for the first time since their childhood.

"I feel offended that you have to weaken your throw just so I could win." She complained as she crossed her arms, staring directly at him. Muichiro chuckled upon seeing her reaction "I let you take the win because I'm afraid that you might end up dying first before you could actually win against me" he teased as she got grumpy.

"Oh really?" She asked in an annoyed tone, smiling at him in anger. "R/N." His call instantly seized her focus. his tone, rather uncharacteristically, carried more concern and perhaps even a hint of doubt.

"Yeah?" She responded, he stared at the ground then moved his eyes to look directly onto her E/C eyes "If the storm ever come, promise me you'll make it until sunrise".

"what?" She asked, not seeming to get the point of muichiro's words, "I'll meet you at sunrise" he responded, "WHAT?" She asked still not getting a hang of what he was trying to say.

She gave Muichiro an uneasy look as he glanced at her, and he could see that she was bewildered. "forget it." He said sulking.

She noticed that he was sulking so to try and cheer him up, she went in for a hug "Cheer up!" She said trying to ease the atmosphere, "ok." Muichiro responded, He returned the hug, resting his chin on her shoulder, savoring the moment. She relaxed, gently patting Muichiro's back to comfort him.

As she slowly pulled away from the hug, she noticed Muichiro's concerned expression. "what's wrong?" She asked, He then placed his other hand on her cheek, gently caressing it. She was surprised as Muichiro's expression softened.

"If you make it until sunrise...I promise I'll..."

✏ TIMESKIP

"I could make it...in time...in time...in time....make it in..."

BOOM

I couldn't make it in time.

She froze, her heart sank through her feet, her breathing accelerated, pure terror clawing at her throat as regret filled her veins.

"keep moving."

As she approached the charred remains of the Ubuyashiki mansion, she noticed a severely burned man struggling as spikes held him with a woman that was hanging onto him.

"THAT'S MUZAN KIBUTSUJI, HE WON'T DIE IF YOU CUT HIS HEAD OFF"

"that's him? The guy that was responsible for everything?"

As they all tried to attack Muzan they were immediately transported somewhere else, somewhere where majority would die.

- As they fought, and fought many lives were lost yet in exchange for the better.

R/N lost her hearing due to a direct attack from Upper Moon 2, leaving her unable to hear the crows' messages to the slayers in the fortress. She had to rely on her fellow slayers for support.

Fortunately and unfortunately She managed to held out until the sunrise countdown. But did he also?

10 MINUTES UNTIL SUNRISE!

"Damn you!" R/N yelled out as she forced her body to it's most utmost limits.

Where is he? Why isn't he helping when it's almost sunrise?

5 MINUTES

Are you not coming muichiro? Where are you?

"STAY FOCUSED L/N!" The other hashira yelled as they noticed that minute by minute she was distracted by her own thoughts. Didn't help because she basically lost her hearing

3 MINUTES

Ever since the final fight started you haven't appear, where are you?

Her body was slammed to the hard bricks, making her cough blood as she forced herself not to pass out.

1 MINUTE

Muichiro? Muichiro where are you?

She stood from the ground as her bones movements became unbearable, sending her body waves of sharp, shooting pain coursing through her limbs.

It's almost sunrise where are you?

10 SEC!

As she helped Gyomei prevent Muzan from escaping, she began to feel her body burn as if it were engulfed in the hottest fire. She then gazed at the rising sun, overwhelmed by a flood of emotions.

"I made it until sunrise, muichiro."

5 SEC!

"but did you?"

As Muzan's flesh crumbled away, she too collapsed to the hard ground. Staring at the rising sun which seared her eyes, she murmured, "..The sunrise is truly magnificent.." then the realization struck the chord.

He didn't made it until sunrise.

"What did you even made the promise for if you can't even fulfill it yourself?"

"Only the sunrise came, you didn't."

--------------

As she woke up in her hospital bed, bitterness consumed her. She refused to speak to anyone, and even the surviving Hashiras were concerned, noting the disappearance of her once bubbly personality.

KNOCK

"Good morning, R/N, it's Tanjiro. I'm sorry if you—" He started to talk but quickly remembered she was deaf, mentally chiding himself. He closed the door politely, then walked over and sat in the chair by her side. She turned away from the window, making direct eye contact with him.

"What?" she asked coldly, sending chills down Tanjiro's spine. "This box, it's from Muichiro-san." He then took out a small wooden box with the initial "M" on it. This immediately caught her attention, and she took the box.

She gently traced the "M" initial before slowly and carefully opening the box, revealing a letter from her dear 'friend' inside.

-------

Dear R/N L/N

If you are reading this, then I have failed to return to you at sunrise, and I am no longer with you. I wish there had been more moments to share, more words to say, and more memories to create. Yet, life is fragile and unpredictable, and now I must speak to you from the silence of the past.

I enjoyed making paper origami with you, racing paper airplanes, tasting your homemade cooking, and most importantly I enjoyed just being with you. I'm also sorry if I grew distant after my brother passed away but I wanted to grow stronger so that I wouldn't have to lose you too.

I'm sorry, R/N. I'm sorry if I couldn't keep my promise. But this time, I promise that in another life, I'll find you. Then, maybe we can enjoy the sunrise together.

Love, Muichiro Tokito

------------

Her lips pressed together as she tried to stop herself from crying Infront of tanjiro, She clenched onto the paper that muichiro wrote for her not noticing that tanjiro was giving her a note.

Poke

She then looked over at tanjiro with teary eyes as she accepted the note.

The note: I know you're deaf so I decided to write this down, at first Muichiro didn't want to write the letter as he was sure he would return to you at sunrise. Cheer up R/N :⁠-⁠[

Are you serious? She thought as her eyes slowly began to be filled with sorrow, she then hugged the letter as she began hysterically crying.

"I'm currently deaf ... but why am I hearing your voice as clear as the day?"

┏━°⌜ END ⌟°━┓

TAISHO SECRETS!

- In this angst fanfiction, the reader isn't actually good at cooking but regardless, muichiro will always choose your "homemade meals"

- Writer isn't actually into angst and this is my first angst ever So I apologize if it's bad (⁠っ⁠˘̩⁠╭⁠╮⁠˘̩⁠)⁠っ I'm trying out new things so I thought why should I not write angst?

- Now open for recommendations

[anukulee]

Period Comforts

Requested By; Hold My Tesseract.

A/N: This is my first time trying a period type of comfort, so please bare with me 

Tap, tap, ratted Loki's fist against the door, only to recieve no answer, Loki allowed his eyes to gaze his surroundings ensuring that he was in the right place, before once again allowing his fist to knock against the door. Once again there was no answer, with no sound of her angelic voice entering through his ears. While some upon getting no response might've left, Loki Friggason (formally Odinson and Laufeyson), was far from what the Midgardians deemed as normal. The words were already on the tip of his tongue, for he knew excatly what he must do. "Rest assured one way or another you shall open this door, so we can either do this the easy or the hard way. Now pick your choice." Thus rather then teleporting like most other magical beings would've done in his place, instead with a quick glow of his seidr, he materialized two daggers, ready to stab the door if need be, for if anyone was in there aside from her, they would get the message whether that be through his words or through his actions. 

Click, Loki heard the door unlock, daggers still ready in his arms, until upon the door opening he saw her. Slowly Loki lowered the daggers down allowing them to vanish in a puff of green seidr. "Are you coming in or not," she asked, her tone lacking all of her usual amusement. Rather then question it, Loki slowly stepped into their shared apartment, giving it a good once over to ensure that he still had the right apartment. 

Thump, was the next that Loki heard, upon looking into it, he was faced with his darling now lazily spread across the couch, with a tub of ice cream sitting abandoned on the table. That's odd, rarely does she abandon such a sweet treat, he thought as he allowed his eyes to drift around the table to see if he might be able to find some more clues, that may answer his darling's particular mood. 

Before Loki could even look into it, he heard a sharp groan, along with a certain cuss word slip from her lips. Words that Loki wasn't used to hearing from his angel's lips, for while she did cuss, she usually kept it the tammer words of those Midgardian cuss words. Yet upon hearing a word that Loki only really heard when she was deep in her pleasure did Loki know something was wrong. As Loki opened his mouth to speak without putting thought into it, something that while would be fine on any other day wasn't fine for this day nor this week in particular. "Darling," he uttered, inching every so closely to the couch.

At this he recieved a glare from his darling, eyes boring into his, almost as if she was starring daggers into him. "What," she muttered, her voice full of grumpiness, and a bitter tone.

"Is everything alright?"

All Loki heard at first was a deep exhale escaping her lips, as the tips of her fingertips rubbed against her forehead. "Life."

"Life," Loki asked, very much confused of what she might mean in regards to life. 

"What else?"

"And what does that mean excatly," Loki asked, his voice treading ever so careful given the tension that was clearly filling the air. 

"It means I am on my period."

"Your period?"

"Yes, and I hate my life," Loki's darling said, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. 

Despite other maybe taking this as a sign to back away, Loki instead went closer to what one would call the lion's den, slowly wrapping his arm's around her. "And this period is the reason for it?" His voice far softer then one might expect from him.

"Yes," she muttered, as she seemed to embrace it going so far as to nuzzle her head into the crook of his neck, allowing her to embrace in the warmth before she spoke.

"I see, and may I ask what excatly this period might be?"

Slowly did Loki's darling head rise, her frustration, now going to the side, as she gazed at the clear confused look on her godly boyfriend. "You don't know what a period is?"

"No, should I?"

Rather then being frustrated or irritated as one might think at being asked this question, instead Loki's darling seemed more at ease. After all how would one expect Loki to know? As Loki's darling voice seemed to lower, now calmer, as a laugh soon escaped her lips. A laugh that Loki usually loved at least when it wasn't at him. "hm ha ha hm."

"What is it?" Confusion still continued to cloud Loki's face, as he watched his darling continue to laugh. 

"I never thought I would hear you ask that?"

"And why is that?"

"It's just generally men aren't particularly interested in our womanly troubles."

"And why is that? For on Asgard we worship those we choose as lovers as the goddesses, for they are the one who provide us children, who carry on our names on their back."

"Sadly we Midgardians aren't like that."

"And why not?"

"Back in the olden days, periods were a thing of shame, woman forced to hide their troubles, so as not to be seen proper. Sometimes it was a sign that a woman could produce heirs, or she was reaching womanhood."

"I see, so what exactly does this period entail?"

"Basically woman bleed from their vagina, every month due to the lack of fertilized egg in our system."

"The egg is what produces children right?"

"Looks like someone studied up."

"While I may not be as knowledgeable in Midgardian sides, I am not as lacking as others."

"Loki, be nice."

"I never said it was him."

"You didn't have to."

"Fine, so you bleed every month?"

"Unless we are pregnant, during that time our periods will stop, this way our the linging that sheds during periods remain in."

"So this means you stop bleeding?"

"In simple terms yes."

"I see, so what I might do to help?"

"You want to help?"

"If you are in pain, why shouldn't I be of use?"

"Oh."

"Oh, have your mere excuse of a Midgardian men, not done this?"

"Yes," Loki's darling responded as with this, she allowed her head to nodd, the moment that Loki saw this, his fist slowly curled ready to punch something. Yet with one touch of her hand on his, slowly Loki's fist began to uncurl.

"Clearly they are more lacking then I thought. Seeing as you provide us with so much, are our pillars, and our better halves you should be worshipped."

"What would you build a shrine for me," Loki's darling teased, her hands folding against her chest in a teasing manner.

"Perhaps," Loki hinted, as slowly he allowed his arms to wrap around her waist. 

"Aren't I a lucky one?"

"Yes, now what is it that you wish for me to do?"

"Are you sure about that?"

"Why wouldn't I be," Loki asked, as another confused look crossed against his face.

"Who knows what I might ask."

"How bad could it be?"

"Don't you know about craving?" At this Loki's darling began to move her arms in a siggly motion, despite Loki's arms still wrapped around her.

"Is that not something one gets during pregnancy?"

"Yes, and during periods."

"And what might these craving entail."

"Who knows, it could be normal or it could be as abnormal as pickles and mayo."

"I see, well whatever it might be, I shall get it for you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Even when I am moaning about cramps?"

"Cramps, like muscle contraction?"

"Yes."

"Well then I shall be here to assist in whatever way I can."

"Truly?"

"I did swear my loyality did I not?"

"Yes, but..."

"Nothing you shall ask of me will be out of question, for while your other partner's might not been as supportive, I will do anything for you."

"Truly?"

"You doubt my word?"

"No, it's just..."

"Not this again," Loki said going so far as to allow his finger tip to be placed on her lips. "As I have said I will do anything for you, even if it means burning the world for you."

"Overdramtic much," Loki's darling asked once Loki took his finger off her lip.

"You know love me."

"Always."

"Now I shall ask again what is it you require?"

"I suppose I could use," Loki's darling started as bit by bit she named what she might need. Just as promised Loki provided it all, never faltering on his word. Bit by bit leaning more about the Midgardian woman's time of the month, yet with this the two grew ever close in their comforts of one another. Comforts that would continue throughout time and time again, for no matter what happened the two always found their comforts in one another, no matter what time of the month it was. For as long as they found comfort in each other that is all that mattered, at least it did to them.

[privateanxieties]

forget my mercy, take my blame (chapter 2)

Summary: You thought the events of the day couldn't get worse than one robbery and a cryptic conversation with a mysterious stranger. You thought wrong. This, you realize, is how it all starts.

Words: 3.3K

Series Masterlist | NEXT CHAPTER

----------------------

Many hours later, guilt is eating its way through a considerable portion of your conscience, as it usually does following the clash of hot temper and arrogance— both of them yours. You're no longer insistent on pinning your shortcomings on the mysterious stranger with molten brown eyes, though you're still grumpy about his bold assumptions and oddly skewering way of getting a point across. 

Just let it go. Don't do what I know you want to do.  

You split the four hundred dollars he left between your two employees, but for some reason, the crumpled up singles still rest in your jacket pocket. The money takes up a lot more space inside your head as you drive home, radio turned up above its usual volume. It doesn't provide much of a distraction, because the faintly illuminated road ahead is the perfect canvas for a busy mind to fill. 

Traces of the past hide inside misshapen trees and uneven asphalt, and if your grip were a little tighter, it would leave the same dent in the steering wheel that it did the night you drove back from that slate quarry in your hometown. Nineteen years is a long time to still remember the smell of overheated excavation equipment. It's far away, yet surfaces so abruptly that your nose almost floods with it. Your lips press together in displeasure.

Well, at least you're breathing. You suppose Mark couldn't from beneath all that gravel you buried him under. Did he suffocate or was he crushed? Maybe a question you'll always have in the back of your mind. You know the answer wouldn't give you peace, were it to arrive from an omniscient being. What does it matter how he died? Yours is the will that killed him. Turning an event around and over and upside down two decades after it took place is just another way of engaging your guilt and letting it gnaw on more mental acuity. You need your wits about you, so you don't forget what all this is even for. You're alive. You have a life that needs living. Sometimes, there will be people who won't let you live it, and you can't just throw everything away to settle the score. 

Scoffing at the bullshit mantra you’ve tried feeding yourself all day, you take the last right turn before you're finally on the road that leads home, hand reaching out to lower the volume on the stereo. Whatever. You made it through today, and you'll try your hardest not to think about the little shit who stole from you and his neon green jacket. You’ll also do your best not to think about your encounter with the strange man and his gruff voice, lest he become the thing you lose sleep over tonight. 

It'll be hard to avoid it, because you kept his message. Maybe as a symbol, or maybe as an excuse. There is some part of you that wants to believe he was meant to be there today, if only so you didn't truly screw up this time and become a criminal. Shooting someone while they're robbing you and hunting them down to do it afterwards are actions that the law tends to distinguish between unfavorably. Just like it might distinguish between killing someone inside an old quarry and killing them after they'd already taken you there for murder.

The self-defense angle always felt shoddy in your mind. Maybe what you did to Mark would've looked like self-defense to a jury, but you sure know you didn't bury him under seven tons of jagged rock because you wanted to protect yourself. You didn't burn down his house because you were feeling reasonably threatened. You just wanted him to get what was coming his way. Karma, your hands. 

You might have a problem, but you're alive. You survived that and you're going to survive more, just as soon as you take a cold bath and chase away the heat settling in your bones. That's what mid-August spent in an ancient car with no working air conditioner will get you. Replacing the shitty truck will have to wait, because news of the robbery will spread and you don't want to be telegraphing the fact that the bakery isn't your main source of income. 

This may be a nice town, but today was a good example of a gap in people's decency— yours included, because you were so fucking rude to that mysterious stranger, and what did it accomplish? He replenished your losses and left without another word. The longer you look back, the more guilt advances on your psyche. It stills momentarily, however, when a suitable distraction finally appears as you find yourself a couple hundred feet down the road from your house. It’s true that you wanted something else to focus on, but this is so unwelcomed that it sends a wave of nausea through your body. 

The scene is flooded with the red and blue lights of two police cruisers and one ambulance, all parked along the narrow cul-de-sac housing only two buildings: yours and Hazel's. Your mind kicks into high gear before you even lay eyes upon the crowd that has gathered on your front lawn. The sky turned dark not long ago, the hands of the clock approaching a kind of twilight zone of your neighborhood: nobody is typically out at this time of night, and yet, at least twelve people found enough interest in the unfolding scene to leave the comfort of their homes. 

The commotion is centered around your property, but the ambulance suggests someone requiring medical attention. You live alone. Hazel is in her late 80s, and you've known her to need a doctor now and then. However, the police being here is the part of the equation that you really don't like. You try to slow down a mind that by nature has already zeroed in on potential scenarios, making a decision to pull over right outside the cul-de-sac instead of crowding it with another vehicle. In a neighborhood this small, your arrival is noticed. 

You don't linger, unsticking yourself from the clammy leather seats and stepping out of the truck. The air outside is marginally better than inside the car, though heat still scalds with the gentler hand of a dry climate. At least you're not pouring sweat and disheveled, because it appears that bath will have to wait. And, after only a few moments of approaching the scene, you realize just how long that wait is going to be. There is black tarp on your porch. 

The closer you get, the more your spine tingles. Pairs of wide eyes settle on you as you pass them, and it isn't long before Sheriff Randy O'Hare nails you with his own bulbous gaze. He looks like an idiot, and not even one that's in charge. You glance at the porch again. 

Tiny surface area. Not much room between the ground and the black material taking up space. Small, lithe. Your house. 

The sheriff is having some sort of internal conflict you wish you weren't here to witness. He shuffles from one foot to the other and clears his throat as you stop in front of him, several feet away from the stairs leading up to your front door. It's spattered with blood, visible even against the dark brown oak. Fresh. 

Randy says nothing for several more seconds. You have many things to say, none which are appropriate. You've never been good at playing the emotionally fragile. There's a body on your front porch and you need this fucking idiot to speak or— 

"I'm so sorry. We're… We're all still in shock. I've known her—" He stops, wiping his mouth and looking away as if something startled him. "—my whole life, I swear. She never did nothing to nobody. Jesus help me, if I get my hands on the one that did it—" 

"Who is that, Randy?" you interrupt. It's a question you've asked law enforcement before in your life. The air pressing down on your skin is even warmer now. 

"Look, I can't imagine how hard this is. She meant a great deal to everyone in this town, but you knew her best. Ain't nobody ever have a kinder word to say than her. I can't believe—" 

"Randy, who the fuck is that?" 

If you snap, it's not of your own volition. You're not here. Not really. You aren't with Randy O'Hare, Sheriff of Apolline County who apparently can't utter a simple name. Your mind has traveled backwards in time, and the house you're standing next to isn't your own, but it's painted just about the same. It’s easy to slip away into memory. The awning and the windows are fashioned into the same mold as your childhood home, because those were the things you’d loved most about that house— a mistake. You made a mistake. Your eyes are drawn to the ground, mind working in all directions.

"Hazel Bergman." 

You think you hear another name for a brief and cruel moment. The sight of polished black boots atop lush grass only works to further blur the line between past and present. 

"I'm so sorry, honey." 

"What happened?" 

You haven't been so aware of the nuance in your voice since it last betrayed you by shaking as it now is. It's so, so warm outside, but not humid. Not like Auckney. It's not as bad as it was when you were standing in front of a similar house, aged nineteen and wondering why the woman who raised you wouldn't get up from her rocking chair. 

You need to get a grip. Look O'Hare in the eyes. You need to know if he lies to you, like cops always do. His face is melting under the cowboy hat. Even his eyeballs are sweating. He's emotional. He should be truthful. 

"Daniel Roywood said he saw her arguing with somebody on your porch. He ain't hear what they were talkin' about, just that she looked upset. I've never seen that woman upset once in thirty years. She must've had a damn good reason," Randy explains, looking torn between grief and inoffensive anger. You're not torn between anything. 

"Who was she arguing with?" 

O'Hare sighs, a curt movement of his neck telling you he doesn't know shit. 

"Nobody Danny knew. He couldn't get a good look— the damn house is too far away. But he just said they were arguin', and that was it. He shot her. Just some punk in a green jacket." 

It's a miracle you don't react in any meaningful way. For that small interval between the words hitting you and your brain processing them, you're as impassive as before. That brief amount of time is all you get, however, because putting a face to that vague description happens in the blink of an eye. 

You look away, covering your face with both hands. You slow your breathing as much as you can, trying to not make any noise as blood rushes through veins that have no hope of containing the pressure. It pounds at your temples and raises your temperature, and suddenly the only lever that hasn’t been flipped on your temper is labeled self-preservation. You can’t do this with people watching, and you’re briskly reminded of that as an unexpected weight settles upon your shoulders. It makes you flinch and move away, and you hear O'Hare apologize before he clears his throat again. A silence follows that isn't long enough. 

"Look, I know this is hard. But you know I need to ask you some questions, right? We need to find the son of a bitch that did it and if you have any idea who—"

"I don't." 

You've clipped your tongue with how hard you were biting it, but at least you've got your breathing back under control. Facing Randy is easier with a constant trickle of pain and metal. He looks torn, apologetic. 

"Come on, honey. I know you don't want to think about anybody you know doin' something like this, but we need something to go on," he pleads. You don’t like the implication behind his words or the ring of truth around it. 

"Randy. Everybody knows everybody here. I promise you, if Roywood didn't know him, then I sure as hell don't. I don't have a boyfriend. I'm not divorced. I generally don't keep male company. There is no one! " you seethe, and you're certain that he mistakes your outburst for lingering shock and anger about what happened. It is, but not in the way he seems to think. 

The Sheriff frowns, so obviously pitying you and finally seeming more at ease now that you're the emotionally vulnerable one. It's fine. It works in your favor. Tonight will be long and you will benefit from not raising eyebrows or invoking anything other than sympathy from both police and neighbors. The Sheriff looks around for several moments, lips pressing together like he's chewing on the words he hasn't yet said. Soon enough, they part. 

"Listen, I hate to ask right now. But if we have any chance in hell of catching this bastard, we could really use the feed from your cameras," he says, gesturing left. Your gaze follows his to the perimeter of the house, covered at every angle by wireless surveillance systems. 

Just like that, a spark. A needle to thread. Another choice presented. 

Crumpled up bills in your front pocket. 

Warm steel at your back. 

A splattered front door. 

The maligned prescience of four words. 

Ain't worth dying for.

"Randy, I…” You enjoy the first real breath since you've arrived. It really doesn't take you long to make a decision. “I'm sorry. I left those up for show more than anything. Couldn't afford the bills after a while. They don't work." 

O’Hare deflates. There’s no suspicion you’ve told a lie. It's as if the grit he's supposed to have is flowing through you instead, lighting up your eyes and triggering the itch in your fingers. It's the challenge, the defiance, the guilt that sears through your veins now. The air is almost cool compared to the heat of your skin and the surge in your temper. 

The Sheriff imparts more condolences you don't care to hear before walking away, but he's soon replaced by Deputy Dipshit, who you hope is wise enough to only offer pertinent details for the unfolding scene. You aren't interested in what Brent Rivers has been up to, and he usually insists on making it everybody's business. All you want to know is how long before you can enter your house, but pretty soon you realize he won't provide any clarity. It has to be his first murder scene, because he stumbles around simple words after greeting you with a mumbled hi . 

He talks and talks, and nowhere does he utter that crucial piece of information you’re waiting to be told. Too long into his jumbled speech, you find the right place to interrupt. He had the nerve to comment on how you’re holding up. 

"I'm sorry. I just don't think I'm all ears right now. All I want to do is…" A shaky breath rattles your chest. "… get away for a few days. I don't think I can sleep in my own house knowing this happened. Um, is there any way I could grab a few things and get out? I don't want to be alone once you leave." 

Along the way, your words are punctuated by little tells of vulnerability: eyes downcast, vocal chords trembling, excessive blinking. Your shoulders pull in. Brent nods up a storm, mood lightening up as his arm comes to rest around them uninvited. 

"Yeah, 'course. I can take you—" 

You break away from his grip with an apologetic smile, rubbing your neck to keep your hands busy. 

"Can you wait for me at the door? I'll feel better knowing someone's downstairs, and I already have a bag ready. You know, for uh, emergencies and stuff." 

The Deputy is less pleased than before, but he acquiesces to your request with a nod and a motion towards the house. You pretend to hesitate before taking the wooden stairs slowly, keeping your eyes averted as you plant your feet on the porch. The edge of the tarp is barely an arm's length away. From this spot, you can see both the pool of blood seeping out from under it and the drops spread across the brick wall. You retrieve the keys from your jacket as Brent stops behind you. 

"I'll be right here," he reassures in a too-gentle tone. 

You walk inside without a reply, and to Brent's briefly glimpsed surprise, shut the door after you. The security system needs a two-step deactivation that would raise eyebrows after you've told O'Hare you can't afford the bills for the cameras. You breathe deeply for another moment, finally alone. 

You only told a half-lie. There is a bag for emergencies, but not for the kind that people usually have. Downstairs as well as upstairs, you keep two duffels properly stocked and periodically checked. They're similar in contents, and yet your preference has always been clear. The bedroom closet. Upstairs. You move untethered towards your target.

Throwing two changes of clothes inside along with a plain pair of sneakers, you zip it back up and lift it over your shoulder. It feels familiar. This bag could be your life. Your life could be this bag. If things go wrong, you'll be good for a while. Back downstairs, where you arrive in the same haze, you make sure Piper and Mae will be good for a while too, replenishing the bird feeder and their respective water drippers, bidding them goodbye soon thereafter. You try not to linger in the house, but a glint draws your attention to the kitchen counter in your peripheral. 

The casserole you stuffed your face with this morning and forgot to put back inside the fridge is resting exactly where you left it, the blue sticky note still attached to its side. You remember the message word for word, as well as the curving of the letters you've always been impressed by, though never more so than by the kindness behind each gesture. Hazel couldn't grip the pen quite as well as she used to in her old age, but she liked to practice in the notes she left for you. 

She made you food. Cared for you. Made life feel less lonely. 

She's outside your door for the last time because you didn't do the right thing today. 

Ain't worth dying for.  

You don’t realize you’ve walked over until your outstretched hand hesitates before the small note. It's the final one you'll ever get. 

'Don't work so hard! It's Saturday, live a little!' 

More copper flows into your mouth, this time springing from the lip you tore into so a sob could be stifled. You fold the paper with care and it goes into the same pocket as the pair of singles, just as your mind goes to the same place it's always been more comfortable resting. Maybe, the only place it can have any peace. 

Keeping your head down as you exit the house, your eyes find her almost by accident. They're drawn to the tarp. You figure they have to be, since you put it there. You put her there, because you didn’t put a bullet in the right person. You didn't do what you knew you should've.

"Hey. Did you get what you need?" 

Ain't worth dying for.  

Your eyes don't stray, glued to a puddle of blood and the greedy floorboards swallowing it up. The eyes want to remember, just like the ears remember a thundering rock slide and the nose remembers diesel and construction equipment. 

You tell the truth, and it sets you free. 

"No."

.

.

-to be continued-

A/N: No Frank in this one unfortunately, but plenty of him in the next one and let me tell you, they are not the best of friends. Chapter 3 is scheduled for August 13th. If you'd like to be tagged for updates, you can reblog any of the previous chapters!

[yanderelmk]

My curiosity take my mind again so...

What would MK, Macaque, Wukong, Nezha and Red son do if they notice y/n doesn't hang too much time with them or growing distant enough to forget about them for a while and maybe tries to avoid them? (Buy lying about they were busy)(I can see someones creeping though the window or just enter to the house and demand some explanation XD)

Sorry if my English is kinda rotten but I hope it's understandable ;^;

Thanks a bunch! 💕

CW: Murder (Severe Burns) 🐒MK🐒: You'll have a bit of time before MK begins to overact. Emphasis on a bit. Once he realizes you're avoiding him, he's gonna immediately start spiraling in his thinking, believing that he did something wrong and that you hate him. Maybe he accidentally ignored you and that's why you're mad? Perhaps it could be that he said something without paying attention and it upset you? Regardless, he's gonna try to message you to ask if you can talk things out...and he's going to keep sending messages. By the end of the week if he hasn't gotten a response he's just gonna mosey his way into your room to check and see if you're okay, convincing himself that it's totally fine! It's not like he's a creeper or anything, he just wants to make sure his darling's doing alright. On the whole, relatively harmless. 🌑MACAQUE🌑: So Macaque... is a spiteful motherfucker. He's going to immediately start having the thought process that you abandoned him just like Wukong did, that you're no better than he is, that you're gonna probably plot against him in some way. And Macaque is going to act pre-emptively, giving you a nice, comfy stay in his lantern, only bringing you out to question you in the most passive-aggressive way possible. If you continue to deny that you weren't planning on stabbing him in the back in someway, he might get more angry, insisting that it's true and that you're just lying. There's a reason I ranked him on the Very Violent tear, I wouldn't be surprised if he decided to take out his anger with various methods of torture he's learned about over the years. ☀️WUKONG☀️: Wukong's on the Violent tier, meaning he's a bit more reasonable than Macaque, but not by much. If you continuously ignore him he's most definitely going to show up in your house, at first playfully grumpy. But the more it becomes clear that you're actively avoiding him, the more angry he's going to get. You want to be that way? You wanna act like he's the bad guy? Fine. Now he's the bad guy. At least in your final days wasting away locked in his temple you'll have that solitude you always wanted. 🪷NEZHA🪷: Nezha's much more level-headed than the others, he'll probably just catch up with you while you're out (and can't brush him off) so he can try to have a discussion with you about why you've been so distant. He's gonna be hurt once he realizes you've been intentionally distancing from him, but he'll say he understands and that he wishes you would have just told him instead of ghosting him. He'll be fuming for a few days, but he'll try to keep it contained. Maybe try taking down some larger demons to work out the negative energy...but he's definitely going to be passive-aggressive if he meets up with you again. 🔥RED SON🔥: He's pulling up the second you don't respond to his messages after a day, and he demands to know why you haven't responded. Probably breaks open your window to break in just for the extra insult of you having to pay to get it repaired. Oh? You're ignoring him on purpose? Well that won't do. By the time anyone finds you, you won't be recognizable. Being brief, you'll look like those images of car accidents where the passengers inside were melded to the seats, they'll only be able to identify you by your dental records.

[ink-and-hedera]

Acquaintance

"Brewed in academia, we sip knowledge, each cup filled with life's realities. In the shadow of ancient trees and hills, we find comfort, learning to endure our shared existence. Like an over-roasted coffee, life blends bitterness with inexplicable charm."

My go-to is black coffee - drip when I'm in a rush, or filter when my favorite barista is working at the coffee shop near the dormitory. The other barista over-roasts the coffee beans and brews it without passion. I'd rather skip coffee altogether than face that disappointment in a small white cup.

You can always tell when a person loves what they do.

I'd love to say that I wake up to the first rays of the sun sneaking into our room through the solitary window, but the truth is we live in the shadow of a hill and old trees. It's unusual, given that we're in the center of Kyiv, but neither my roommates nor I complain. In the summer, the shade provides welcome coolness.

Our room, a cramped 10 square meters, houses four of us. There's no such thing as privacy here. It's not a life, but a fairy tale. But you get used to it. The options are limited: a) find a third job, neglect studies, and rent an apartment; b) sell a kidney; c) endure.

Since I don't have a spare kidney, and a day only has 24 hours - the first two options are out. As for the third - I'm a born endurer.

Back to the room and its inhabitants. To protect privacy, I've changed the names, ages, appearances, and some biographical details. Girls, if you're reading this, know that I love you. Probably.

We're four girls of different ages, tastes, and views. Essentially, we're strangers forced by circumstances to share a roof. In such a situation, you must find common ground. Living together requires rules and responsibility sharing, and quarrels over household matters are inevitable. Sometimes, someone might eat your dinner, the one you've fantasized about all day during tedious lectures. Sometimes, you spend two hours deciding who should pay for the internet and who should take out the trash.

It's like a family.

“Alaska, are you busy?”

A friend messages me while I'm sitting in class, rubbing my forehead. My students are in an anti-bullying lecture, so I'm doing my own thing. Teaching in college at 22 while studying for a master's? It’s a cruel joke. Don't get me wrong, I love my students. But the administration, colleagues, standards from the ministry, and bureaucracy that has me rewriting the curriculum for the sixth time...

I sigh heavily and return to the message.

“Yes,” I answer, though I'm not really bothered. I have at least 20 free minutes.

“Come outside.”

Ugh.

“Why did you even ask then?” I text back, irritated.

“Just come, grumpy.”

I sigh again, shut off my work laptop, and leave everything in the office. I put on a black trench coat with a packet of two remaining cigarettes, a lighter, and keys in the pocket.

"I hope you didn't call me just because you're bored. I have zero desire to climb back to the 4th floor," I say as I exit the building. The cold autumn wind hits me as I descend the stone stairs of the old building.

Oliver is sitting on a bench next to an abstract statue. He waves as I approach. We study Computer Science together at the university, though we don't fit the programmer stereotype.

Oliver, half a head taller than me, has red hair and freckles covering his nose and cheeks. He might seem cute to some, but his snarky sarcasm ruins that image.

"And I missed you too, grumpy. Let's grab a coffee," he says as I stare at him in disbelief. "You're a jerk. Couldn't you just come to me? I'm gonna die climbing back to the classroom."

"I care about your health. Maybe you'll finally quit smoking."

"Shut up," I snap, though I still follow him through the green gates marking the college territory. "So, what brings you here?"

"Had some business around, decided to stop by, check on our grumpy," Oliver says, smirking.

"And who told you I'm at work, and not in the dormitory or elsewhere?"

"Mary. She's worried because you've been acting strange lately," he says as we reach a coffee shop.

The coffee shop is spacious and not crowded - it's the middle of a workday. The interior is green and white, and I momentarily drift away from the conversation, observing every detail of the décor.

The spacious café is cozy and calm, as if immersed in a peaceful oasis in the middle of the city, where time meditates to the rhythm of coffee drops. Modernity intertwines with elegance in every detail. The walls, made of fresh white brick and adorned with green accents, seem to reflect the trends of nature that seep into the modern urban landscape.

Filling the space, the soft light shimmers from stylish pendant lamps with glass shades, creating an atmosphere of tenderness and tranquility. Tables, made of glass panels and metal legs, embody the spirit of innovation and refinement. Interwoven green and white accents add whimsy and refresh the space, creating a sense of lightness and harmony.

Meanwhile, the café does not lose its functionality. Comfortable chairs with soft cushions invite you to relax and enjoy the aromatic drinks brewed in copper coffee makers on the kitchen windowsill. The taste notes of coffee, complemented by the delicate aromas of freshly baked pastries, awaken all your senses, prompting instant relaxation and rest.

Thanks to its refined design and sophisticated approach to decor, the café in green and white color becomes not just a place where you can enjoy the taste of coffee, but also a true masterpiece of modern urban life, inviting you to discover new horizons of taste and aesthetics.

“Are you even listening to me?” Oliver asks, and I just stare at him, momentarily forgetting that I'm not alone here. “I asked what coffee you'll have.”

“Yes, sorry. Americano,” I finally respond. He smiles again and turns back to the barista, while I decide where we should sit.

My gaze lands on a table by the window, and I head there to claim it.

After a few minutes, Oliver joins me, holding two sandwiches. I look at him with a silent question in my eyes.

“You clearly haven't eaten anything,” he says as if he knows me like the back of his hand.

Indeed, I haven't eaten because I overslept three damn alarms and ran to work as if I had been scalded.

“Thank you,” I say gratefully and unfold the bag. The smell of food makes my stomach somersault, and just from that, I let out a pleased “mmm…”

“God, don't rush. When was the last time you ate properly? You're losing your mind with your work. Mary said you were acting strange, but I think I see that the reason for it is your workaholism,” Oliver says, taking a sip of his cappuccino, which the barista has just brought.

“Just... a lot of work,” I say, just having chewed my long-awaited food. “Mary worries in vain.”

“I think she is doing the right thing worrying. I, of course, call you a workaholic, but that doesn't mean you should actually become one, for God's sake,” he says, looking straight at me and exhales with disappointment. “Anyway, we'll talk about this later. Anyway, I came with a proposition.”

I stop eating and look at him in surprise.

“I won't marry you,” I say, with a note of sarcasm, joking.

“Hey! Actually, I'm a great catch,” he adds, laughing openly. “But no, you're wrong. Not that proposition. I know a guy who really wants to open a private educational institution. Somewhere in the summer. The building is great, and so are the ideas and programs. They promise a room, food, and decent salary..." he says, and I look at him with irritation.

“Oliver, you must be joking? I dream of escaping this teaching pit, and you're offering me to dive deeper into it... sorry, frankly, this shit? You know how I'm counting down the days until the end of the contract,” I add, exhaling.

“Alaska, wait and don't get heated. I know, I know, you're planning to go into the gaming industry. And yes, I know how much you like teaching. But this is a really cool opportunity. At least temporarily, until you finish your master's degree. You've been needing to move out of the dorm for a long time, get away from all the problems and start... living. Come on, where else will you find a job with such conditions? And there's a young team there. Lots of opportunities. You'll be able to balance everything appropriately and finally take care of your health.” Oliver says with such determination, trying to convince me. “You don't have to answer right now. Just think about it. It's a good start... Considering... events. Don't refuse right away.”

I take a sip of my Americano.

Damn.

The beans are over-roasted again.

[pascaloverx]

As It Was

Chapter Eight

previous chapter next chapter

Summary: Our protagonist has a plan but like everything in life, it is subject to change.

Warnings: Use of explicit language, adult content, potential depiction of physical and verbal violence. Minors are advised not to read or engage with this story. Minors should not interact with this story.

Personal Note: I will possibly divide this fanfic into two seasons so this season of the fanfic will probably end in the next two chapters. Afterwards the fanfic will take a brief hiatus. I hope you continue to follow the story.

The turquoise blue dress that I was forced to wear tightens around my waist significantly. Dave planned everything so that today's mission would go better than the last. He'll even make sure Bucky doesn't get into trouble.

"It's too dangerous for you to try to deceive Killian and only take Rogers with you." James says as he helps me finish putting on this dress. His metal hand gently touches my shoulder while the other hand finishes fastening the dress.

"Thank you for the unsolicited opinion dear but in the current situation I will choose to take the one who hasn't been shot recently." I say while fixing my hair, then putting on the shoe with Barnes' help.

"Are you always going to throw that gunshot story in my face?" Barnes speaks.

I turn to face Barnes—who is as uncomfortable as can be—and kiss him. A kiss that serves to calm the nerves of your grumpy ex-husband.

"I'll throw it in your face until I forget about this situation. Also, try to go easy on Dave. He'll keep an eye on you while I..." I was going to continue, but it seems unnecessary to disclose everything to Barnes. I then hear the sound of a car arriving. Steve must have come as planned, as per the encrypted messages Dave sent to him—Barnes and I exchange glances.

"Promise me you'll be careful. I'll come to you if necessary." He adds. He looks so apprehensive, I end up hugging him tightly to comfort him. This moment that you are together makes you remember what it was like before all this. When you realize it, you're already near Steve's car, waiting for Steve and Bucky to stop staring at each other.

"I hope you know I don't like the idea of you being her date tonight." Barnes says — crossing his arms as he awaits a response from Rogers — who, in turn, lets out a sarcastic chuckle.

"You're still the same arrogant Barnes; it was expected that you had grasped that no one here is asking for your opinion." Steve says so calmly that it might have irritated James a little more because he doesn't have a happy expression.

"You two will have plenty of time to stare at each other and exchange compliments when this mission is over. Until then, pretend to tolerate each other." You say looking at the two, eye to eye. To make sure they understand you don't have time for male rivalry.

"I just wanted Rogers to understand that if something goes wrong today, he's going to have to accept the consequences." James speaks in a threatening tone - which I personally find cute when he's not so inconvenient.

"How did you deal with the consequences of putting yourself at risk in the middle of a mission? Or did you leave Harrison to play babysitter while I had to grapple with the fact that we failed to gather crucial information to clear a man who doesn't seem so innocent to me?" Steve speaks, pointing his finger at James. I can feel the tension escalating between them right in front of me.

"I don't seem innocent to the great and noble Steve Rogers, please arrest me. You're not the moral authority. No wonder Carter left you." Barnes just crossed a line that you're not exactly sure of, but I know it's been surpassed because Rogers' fists now meet Barnes' face. You don't know how to react, you just know that you have to separate the two while using a tight dress and a mask that prevents you from having a clear view of everything.

"Nice speech coming from the man who was with his partner but ran into the arms of his ex when he needed help. It must be good to have the courage to point out in others what you see in yourself." Rogers says while punching Barnes, who retaliates with another punch. I'm surprised by such idiocy. Not much options, I decide to break up the fight by getting into the car and reversing. What also gets I very close to running them over.

After some shouts of disapproval—with both of them yelling while I brake the car—I manage to not only make them stop fighting but also get them to focus on me. I feel like I could fight with both of them, or just give up on everything; enter that cabin and go to sleep.

"Rogers, inside the car now. Barnes, go inside, and it's better if I don't find out you left this cabin before I return. Otherwise, find someone else to help you. I hope both of you have understood; I won't repeat myself." Without having anything else to say, I head into the car, in the back seat. I no longer look at either of them as they obey my orders.

Steve doesn't say anything the whole way, and I don't encourage him to talk to me either. Today is my possible last chance to snag Killian, and now all I can think is that I'm surrounded by idiots. I only realize that time has passed when I find myself surrounded by masked people in front of what seems to be the fanciest hotel I've ever seen. Steve silently opens the door for me to leave, which is a good indication that he understands that I am at my limit. I grip his hand tightly, but instead of moving forward, I pull him towards me.

I feel the need to make the atmosphere more passionate between us, so I kiss him. A kiss that I intended to be soft and quick but intensified as neither Steve nor I made any move to end it. Sometimes, I just don't know how to understand Rogers. It seems like he doesn't want anything with me, but he helps me and kisses me as if he wants something more.

"Now you really look like my boyfriend, and let me fix something here..." I say, adjusting Steve's tie. He, looking somewhat confused, gives me a peck on the lips and thanks me. I officially can't understand my relationship with Rogers, but strangely, it works.

We both entered the hotel lobby seeing that the masquerade party was taking place in the main hall. Everyone was so luxurious that I felt slightly inadequate. Steve looks stunning in his black suit and mask. He holds me by the waist and guides me to the main hall.

"I'll try to locate Killian, and..." Steve begins to speak as he tries to pull away from me, but I hold him by the waist, intertwining my arm around his back.

"Killian needs to come to us naturally. No tricks. The only thing you have to do is take me to the center of the ballroom and dance with me as if you're in love." I end up sounding bossy, but in reality, being commanding is addictive. Steve seems to accept my idea and just takes me to the dance floor. Our dance is slow, with a touch of sensuality. For a moment, Rogers holds my leg as we're about to finish the dance. I even forget that the plan is to attract Killian when I feel Steve's hands guiding me in this dance.

When the music stops, Steve and I smile as if proud of the dance. I even hug him lightly, which allows me to see Killian watching us. I confess that him being the only one without a mask leaves no doubt that it's him. And he's coming our way. I guess now I'll have to do my best.

To be continued...

tag: @cjand10

[castlebyersafterdark]

i'm in loveeeee with mad will re: mike shaving, and especially crossing his arms and saying 'IM SERIOUS' while mike tries to pull him towards him and kiss him, finding it soooo cute

but also seeing as we see a mad mike who storms off in the show a lot, like the rink o mania fight. i feel like its totally in character for him to do this to will sometime. so what would be the scenario where will does something to do his body/hair/clothes and mike gets grumpy and sulks? hehehehee

This is so interesting and it kinda stumped me for a little while I'll admit, to get the creativity flowing (sometimes the sappiness overwhelms and it's giving a very bland 'noooo they like everything about each other' vibe and then I have to backtrack and bask in how fun these two are when they bicker as well heehee). Refresher since this one is old - question spawned from a scenario of Will getting mad at Mike when Mike randomly decides to shave off his own pubes 🤭🤭🤭 - So, what might Will do that irritates or shocks Mikes. Hmm

Tough to say, because I HC Will as more meticulous with his appearance while Mike is very casual so it's not like he's gonna have as strong opinions on very specific particulars? Maybe early on he finds it odd if Will wants to experiment with stuff like shaving/waxing his chest, maybe initially Mike thinks that's so odd? The waxing especially he's like "why would you put yourself through that?" But over time it's just another thing. I also have this whole scenario in my "staying at the Wheelers" fic about when they get together, sharing Mike's bed every night, he kind of has to coax Will to wear less to bed. Because young Will does not have that confidence yet, he's not our flirty, sometimes a little slutty, Will of future/older Byler scenarios after Mike gets him to embrace less is more in wearing things to bed and be freeee. So, I think the classic clearly, nothing's happening tonight vibe Mike gets when they're older and established and Will comes to bed in full flannel pajamas. Not that he's not cute in them, but sex is definitely off the table that night. Message received. Sometimes it be that way, can't be every night, let him resttttt haha.

OH wait hahaha total silly crack scenario. It's the 90s which we know are fun but TACKY. Maybe one of Will's friends convinces him to get a spray tan because that seems like it was a thing then and oh god, Mike just. Hates it. Hahaha. It's just uncanny wrong coloring for Will and Will's regretful and Mike just. He can't resist poking fun a bit, he's not into it. And Will isn't either and he's also mad and pouty too! Leave him alone! Just gotta wait for it to fade now my guy... Any one else with other suggestions for this ask? I struggled but I tend to want to lean more toward light or humor for this, because they really do love everything about each other's looks really, and a genuine critique about appearance makes me sad! But life has silly little funny moments, too! I think they'd maybe take a dig at a questionable fashion choice here or there, I personally know that life! Their bickering and arguments and annoyances are more about both of them having that sarcastic, stubborn tendencies...