#|| ' i don't want to change the world ; i just want to leave it colder . ' || { v; main // path ii }

[thyjester]

      and this is why we can't have nice things .

[neredoesnotfail]

tags

[pomefioredove]

hey so can I possibly have a scenario where Azul reveals his octopus form to his s/o and s/o is surprised, but doesn’t mind it. When he keeps being unsure and hides under water, s/o just dives into the water right next to him and kisses him under water? They can’t breathe under water unlike Azul being human.

this is so sweet!! I hope you don't mind, I did a fic instead of headcanons cause it felt right to me

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ "I'd owe you"

summary: in the context of a first kiss type of post: short fic characters: azul additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, established relationship

It's not that Azul is nervous.

Of course not. He's long gotten over the "crush" phase of your relationship. No more butterflies or blushes when he sees you, and for the better.

You're... a part of his life now.

He's not a fool, though.

He knows that each phase of the relationship comes with a different test to pass. And he has passed; the butterflies, the blushing and stammering, the confession, the first date, all with flying colors and his usual bravado.

Now, a month in, he knows the next is imminent.

He is NOT nervous!

He wants to... to be prepared, that's all. But he can't put it off forever.

"Is this strange for you?" he asks, neck-deep in the water.

You, beautiful, effervescent in the moonlight, are sitting on the dock, kicking your legs back and forth. It's high tide, and dark. "No,"

Somehow, in his mind, he thought this would be fine.

"Are you certain? We could go back to school, if you'd like," he says, hopeful you'll change your mind.

"I'm sure," Damn it.

"You haven't let me see you yet, anyway."

Damn it, damn it. Was being in the water in his natural form not enough?

Azul curses himself again. He did agree to this, foolish as it was.

Hesitantly, he lifts one, just one tentacle out of the water. He's trying very hard to keep calm, but he feels like he's being crushed.

You don't react. At all. No teasing, sure, but no reassurance, no smiling, not even that look of awe you so often have. He suddenly feels much colder than the water, and, without thinking, goes to hide.

Again.

The last thing he sees are your eyes, widened in surprise, and then he's underwater.

Azul knows he'll have to come out eventually. He can't just leave you alone on the dock. And he has an exam first thing in the morning, anyway.

But for now, he'd like to wallow. And so he will.

Of course, he should have known better than to think he'd get away with that. In seconds, the surface tension of the water breaks, his calm interrupted by you, you, of course you, suddenly with him.

Azul wants to say something, he wants to hide, but before he can even move, your hands are on his cold cheeks. And then, as if it were the easiest thing in the world, you're kissing him.

The world stops.

For the first time in a long time, he doesn't know what to do.

So, he lets you lead. It's... sort of nice. In a way. Then it sort of feels like you're holding your breath, which is a little- oh, right.

He comes back to his senses, grabs your shoulders, and swims you to the surface.

"Look at you," he sighs. "You're shivering. We need to get you back to school before you catch something."

You say nothing. You're smiling.

Azul sighs again. It's like you hadn't heard a word he said. "Too late for that, then. What are you staring at?"

"You're beautiful,"

His hearts stop. He doesn't respond; if he tries, he knows he'll just make a fool of himself.

Of course. After he was so confident he'd left this awkward phase behind, you manage to give him butterflies all over again.

Finally, he clears his throat. "...Thank you,"

"...But don't think that'll excuse you from drying off and getting warm. I won't have you sick on my behalf. I'd owe you."

Your smile warms with something he recognizes, but can't think of now.

"I think you already do,"

[elixirina]

Hey! I saw your post about requests being open (and that you enjoy writing angst)! I humbly submit for consideration toward any of the following: Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Lexi Grey, or Kara Danvers.

Reader being discovered in the wee hours of the morning, unconscious or barely conscious, outside characters place of work or place they frequent (home, thinking spot, running path, etc etc) with a pretty serious wound. It's getting to the colder months of the year so them being out unsheltered seemingly all night makes the situation that much worse.

Tone of the ending and reason for them being in that situation I shall leave up to your preference. I hope this tickles your creative juices :)

hihi!! i really loved this request and i decided to make it a natasha fic!! i incorportated most of what you said and added some things and changed some but i love how this turned out. hope you enjoy !!

# here, kitty kitty — iron man!natasha romanoff x fem!blackcat!reader

synopsis — after a rather long day, natasha's met with a bloody surprise on her fire escape.

warnings — reader being a flirtatious mess, physical injury, mentions of blood, nat trying not to curse, angst, i don't think anything else

please please please reblog and like 🤍

© elixirina — all rights reserved. my work is never to be reposted, translated, modified, etc, even if i am credited.

the sky was a blanket of soft gray, heavy with clouds that spilled a steady drizzle onto the world below. raindrops danced against the windows, their rhythmic tapping filling the quiet air. the new york streets glistened with a mirror-like sheen, reflecting the blurred colors of the passing cars and neon street signs. luckily, most new york residents were used to this kind of weather this time of year, yourself included.

after a rather nasty fight with another vigilante, you found yourself roaming the dark, empty streets, bloodied and battered.

you contemplated going back to your apartment, but you knew these streets like the back of your hand; you knew you were at least 20 minutes away.

so, you looked for the next best thing: natasha’s apartment.

now, you’d only known the woman for a short amount of time, but to be completely honest, you felt safer going to her than anyone else. maybe you were just going soft. whatever.

a cool, damp breeze carried the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth and pavement, the rain blowing in your face as it did so. everything seemed to move slower, as though the rain had draped a calming hush over the bustling city.

as you walked, you could feel the blood gushing out of each and every one of your wounds. you knew it was a stupid idea, walking the one mile to her apartment but you would just have to pull through. though, there was no denying the unbearable agony you were in.

limping your way through the streets, the apartment complex natasha lived in, came into view. it was a tall, building with weathered bricks and fire escapes zigzagging down the sides.

knowing you couldn't enter the building because that would cause suspicion, you slowly made your way to the side of the building, where the fire escapes were lined on the walls. you did a quick check for cameras, which fortunately, there were none.

you look up, examining all six rows of windows. natasha was on the fourth floor. fourth row, fifth window. now, how the hell were you going to climb up that latter and all those stairs? shit.

you'd done this before, obviously, but with a burning sensation in your abdomen? definitely not.

with a resigned sigh, you gritted your teeth and reached for the cold metal of the fire escape ladder. the rain made everything slick, and your bloodied, gloved fingers slipped slightly, but you held on, determined. each movement sent a fresh wave of pain shooting through your body, but you pulled through on. you couldn’t risk being seen like this.

the first rung was the hardest, your muscles screaming in protest. it felt like every cell in your body wanted to quit, but the thought of natasha—of her calm, steady presence—propelled you upward. one rung. then another. the ladder creaked softly under your weight, blending with the hum of the rain.

by the time you reached the first platform, your breathing was ragged, your vision blurring slightly.

you paused, leaning against the railing as you gathered your strength. the rain continued to fall, drenching you completely now, but it dulled the sharp sting of your wounds, if only for a moment.

"come on," you muttered to yourself, wiping the rain from your eyes with the back of your hand. "just three more floors." you cracked your neck.

the climb was agonizing. every pull of your arms and push of your legs sent pain radiating through your body, but you couldn’t stop. Not now. not when you were so close. when you finally reached the fourth floor, you nearly collapsed against the railing. your hands trembled as you forced yourself to move toward natasha’s window.

fifth window, you reminded yourself, counting them out one by one. there it was. the faint glow of a lamp illuminated the room inside, but no on inside. let it be her who leaves her lights on all the time.

you cursed under your breath, the rain pouring down even harder than before. you sat down on the platform, though even that movement felt like fire in your body.

you were certainly hoping she was just in her bedroom. however, when you knocked on the glass of the window, there was no response.

"wow, the universe is really on my side today." you uttered sarcastically, rolling your eyes to the best of your ability.

minutes dragged on, and your patience wore thin. just as you contemplated dragging yourself back down the fire escape—a terrible idea, given your condition—you heard the faint click of heels on pavement below. you perked up, glancing over the edge, and there she was. natasha. walking toward the building with an umbrella in one hand and a paper bag in the other, completely unaware of the disaster waiting for her on the fire escape.

“nat,” you breathed in relief, your voice barely audible even to yourself.

she stopped by the front door, scanning her surroundings with the precision of someone who never let her guard down. her gaze darted upward, freezing the moment it landed on you. for a split second, her face was unreadable. then, her brows furrowed in a way that made your chest ache more than your wounds.

“are you freaking kidding me?” she called up, her voice sharp, though it cracked slightly at the end.

her umbrella clattered to the ground as she darted into the alley and grabbed the fire escape ladder. the metal groaned softly under her weight, but natasha moved fast, climbing with a precision that reminded you just how good she was at what she did.

“hey, red,” you rasped when she reached you, managing the ghost of a grin. “miss me?”

she crouched in front of you, her sharp green eyes scanning your face, then trailing down to the rest of you. the exasperation you expected was nowhere to be found. instead, her expression darkened as she took in the full extent of your injuries. blood soaked through the leather of your suit, and a nasty gash on your bicep had left a trail of crimson dripping onto the platform below.

her jaw tightened. “what the hell happened to you?”

“ran into someone who didn’t appreciate my charm,” you quipped, trying to lighten the mood. “jealous, maybe.”

natasha didn’t laugh. her eyes lingered on the wound on your abdomen, and when she reached out to inspect it, her fingers brushed against your side. you flinched, unable to hold back a sharp hiss of pain.

“god,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. she knelt closer, her hands hovering over the worst of the damage as though she wasn’t sure where to start. “why didn’t you go to your place and then a hospital?”

“c’mon, red,” you said, forcing a smirk despite the searing pain. “hospitals don’t let you flirt with their nurses like this. figured i'd wait here until i heard, 'here, kitty kitty'.” you chuckled, the sensation making your stomach ache.

“stop it,” she snapped, her voice suddenly harsh. her gaze shot up to meet yours, and for the first time, you saw something crack in her carefully composed exterior. “this isn’t funny.”

you blinked, your smirk faltering. “nat—”

“do you have any idea how bad this is?” she interrupted, her tone sharp but trembling. her hand pressed lightly against the wound on your abdomen, trying to stem the bleeding. “damn it, y/n, if i hadn’t come back just now…” she trailed off, her jaw clenching as she swallowed hard.

“hey,” you said softly, your voice weaker now. you lifted your hand to the best of your ability, placing it on her cheek. “i’m fine. i made it here, didn’t i?”

she shook her head, her lips pressing into a tight line as she helped you to your feet. “you’re an idiot,” she muttered, but the words lacked venom.

“yeah, but i’m your idiot,” you teased weakly, leaning on her as she guided you through the open window.

once inside, she eased you down onto the couch and crouched in front of you again. as she grabbed the first aid kit, you noticed her hands were shaking ever so slightly. she opened the kit with the kind of precision that spoke to how many times she’d done this before, but her silence hung heavy between you.

god, this pained you. the last thing you wanted to do was worry her, and you had done just that. “nat,” you started, but she cut you off.

“don’t,” she said sharply, not looking at you as she began to open your suit, cleaning the blood from your side. “just… don’t.”

the sting of antiseptic made you flinch, but you bit your tongue. her movements were firm but careful, her focus locked entirely on patching you up.

after a few moments, “you scared me,” she said finally, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. the words hung heavy in the air, and the sharp edge of anger was gone now, replaced by something raw and unguarded.

you blinked, caught off guard. “nat…”

“no,” she cut you off, setting the cloth down and sitting back on her heels. her eyes, now shimmering with an emotion you couldn’t quite place, met yours. “do you even get it? i come home, and I see you—half-dead, bleeding out on my fire escape like it’s just another...freaking tuesday.”

her voice cracked slightly, and she quickly looked away, as if embarrassed by the slip. she ran a hand through her damp hair, taking a steadying breath. “do you have any idea what went through my head when i saw you up there?”

“natasha,” you tried again, softer this time.

“i thought you were dead,” she continued, ignoring you. H=her fists clenched at her sides. “for a split second, I thought I was too late. and the worst part? the worst part is that you probably don’t even care. you’ll laugh it off, throw some stupid flirt my way, and act like it’s fine. like you didn’t just scare the hell out of me.”

her words hit you harder than you expected, the guilt settling deep in your chest. you just wanted to say sorry, even though you knew that wasn't enough. you wanted to tell her how much you felt for her and how you were never going anywhere. you opened your mouth to say something—anything—but she wasn’t done.

“do you know how many people i’ve lost because of this kind of stupidity? people who thought they were invincible, who thought they could take the hit and keep going?” she was looking at you again now, her green eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something that looked a lot like fear. “i can’t… i can’t do that again.”

your breath hitched. you’d seen natasha angry before, you’d seen her annoyed, amused, even borderline fond. but this? this was different. this made your stomach churn.

“natasha,” you said, your voice breaking slightly. “i didn’t mean to—”

“i don’t care what you meant,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “you think it doesn’t matter, that you can just push through anything, but it matters to me, okay? you matter to me.”

the confession hit you like a punch to the gut. for a moment, the pain in your body was secondary to the ache in your chest. you’d always known natasha cared in her own way but hearing her say it—hearing the crack in her voice as she did—made it feel real in a way you hadn’t expected.

you swallowed hard, your usual bravado slipping away. you propped yourself up with your shoulders, despite the ache. “i didn’t mean to scare you,” you said softly, the teasing edge completely gone from your voice. “i swear, i didn’t.”

her shoulders slumped slightly, some of the fire in her expression dimming. she let out a shaky breath, her hands falling to her lap. “then stop doing this to me,” she whispered. “stop making me wonder if the next time you show up, it’ll be the last.”

the silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft patter of rain against the window. you reached out, your hand brushing against hers. “i’m sorry. i'm so fucking sorry. i know that's not enough, but i mean it.” you said, the apologies meaning more than they ever had before.

for a moment, she didn’t respond. then, finally, she squeezed your hand, her grip firm but trembling. “just don’t make me regret caring about you,” she said quietly.

you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “i won’t.”

neither of you spoke after that, but her hand stayed in yours, and in the quiet of the rain-soaked room, you promised yourself you wouldn’t let her down again.

[creative-clawmarks]

Longass Vampire AU Loredump

I feel I should preface this with the most important fact of this AU: supernatural beings are not actually a part of this world.

What I mean by this is there is no secret society of vampires, there is no chapter in the medical books on lycanthropy, and ghost hunters still have not found conclusive evidence. As far as you or I or anyone else knows the cast of MH are the only things like them in existence.

Because the Operator did this to them.

It's a parasite, and its strategy is to make people into predators then mop up the trail of bodies they leave behind.

As for why their monstrosity takes the specific forms it does? The Watsonian Explanation is that we will never really know, such things are beyond people's understanding. The Doyalist Explanation is that I have taken the character's metaphorical roles and made them literal to give myself an excuse to draw sharp teeth.

With that out of the way, here's what these freaks are actually capable of:

Alex (Vampire):

Standard package of fast healing, unnatural speed, and unbeating heart. Probably immortal but I guess now we'll never know.

Drinks blood, of course. But I like my vamps fucked up so there's a good dose of gory cannibalism for flavor.

He won't combust in the sun or anything, but his skin is especially sensitive to heat and his eyes are especially sensitive to light.

Heightened hearing, he could hunt someone down with his eyes closed just by tracking their heartbeat.

Venomous, specifically paralytic toxins. Once he's bitten you there's no running away, you're basically screwed.

Fangs and claws are retractable. I also gave him a forked tongue because he's like a terrarium snake to me :)

"Once more I have seen the director go out in his lizard fashion."

He can purr. Because I know what the people want.

Tim (Werewolf):

Standard package of fast healing, unnatural strength, and canine features. Would rather not think about whether or not he's immortal.

Does not hunger for human flesh. If given the opportunity he might maul a deer tho.

Burned by the touch of silver. He also personally thinks wolfsbane is gross but that's unrelated.

When in human form he's mostly that, human. Sure his senses are sharper and he can grow out his teeth and claws a little bit but otherwise he's normal.

When in wolf form, on the other hand, he is DANGEROUS. I'm talking bite through steel tear you in half only thing that can stop him is a silver bullet dangerous.

The wolf form is analogous to Masky in this AU, as in he turns against his will whenever he's threatened or misses a dose and he won't remember much whenever he eventually turns back.

The only time he can change under his own power with his mind intact is during the full moon. He looks forward to it every month because without the threat of loosing control being a wolf is rad actually.

If you scratch him under the chin he goes boneless. Doesn't matter what form he's in.

Brian (Ghost):

Standard package of walk through walls, disappear, and fly. I don't think the term immortal applies to this situation tho...

You know the excuse that ghost don't just physically manifest cuz they don't have enough energy for it? Yeah he's so incandescently pissed that he's tangible more often than not.

Its actually kind of the opposite conundrum where he has to focus and calm down to actually use his ghostly abilities.

Salt circles will totally work on him, but good luck catching him first lol.

Even if you can't see him you can still sort of feel his presence, the room will get colder and the shadows will get deeper.

If you catch him on a bad day he can pull some Poltergeist TM level shenanigans.

Can't really communicate like he used to, his mind is too broken and detached from what it once was. That's why all the ToTheArk videos look like that.

If you were to put a spirit box in the room with him all you would hear coming out of it is his death screams on loop.

Jay (Mortal):

He's just a guy lol, poor bastard doesn't stand a chance.

Why yes, he has read Twilight. Why do you ask?

[pacifierbby]

CINDERELLA ✧  ; - LN4

Taglist 𐙚 Masterlist

* ੈ✩‧₊ Being brought up in a royal family is hard. Your mother is always expecting something highly off from the way you dress and how you don't act like your other siblings. but what happens when you meet a prince at the masquerade ball? Will they be envied by your siblings and mother? and will there be love?

: ̗̀➛ pairing ln4 x royal fem reader

: ̗̀➛ warnings slight toxicity, fluff, kissing,

: ̗̀➛ Word counter 1,637

Being brought up in a royal family has its pros and cons the pros? well, the late-night balls that the royals have the cons? having your mother pestering you about how you dress and why you can't follow in your sister's footsteps. you always wanted to be like a normal kid who went to college and got your degrees and who partied at the crack of dawn sadly that's forbidden in royal households. that's why sometimes you wish that you weren't born into your family. especially with your evil mothers and siblings like a Cinderella fair tail. You just don't have a powerful godmother, just an awe-full one that you call your sister. your mother's own doing your father has no say

your father was different he cared how you thought about this life wished he could change it for you wished he could have sent you to school when you were younger he didn't care how you wore your clothes or how you did your makeup you were just a normal girl in a royal household. sadly, your father passed away last year. The only person who you could talk to suddenly wasn't here anymore, the person dividing you from your mother. telling her to let her be who she wants to be leaving a mad sigh from your mother slamming the door behind her leaving you and your dad alone once again that feeling of being protected from your father's well being long gone

that's when your life changed, your mother became colder towards you taking control of you. how you lived your life to how you dressed, banning you from the outside world and forcing you to act like your sisters.

Looking back at yourself through the mirror the hairstylist and makeup artist doing their job your mother giving them strict instructions to not let you change how the makeup is. The maids rushing around you giving your dress the final improvements. The dress that you will be wearing for the masquerade ball tonight it was lovely you must admit but it did show so much breast and you wasn't the most comfortable women and to be honest you very rarely wore something like this.

"Alright, Elle everything is done" the hairstylist softly spoke grabbing you from your thoughts and smiling at them through the mirror looking at their work "Thank you" you softly spoke standing up from the dresser and watching the ladies pack "You are very welcome," they both said and with a quick goodbye they walked out of your room leaving you to look in the mirror your make-up making you look different your hair has a wave to it softly bouncing every time you moved. Making you feel a little more comfortable in your self "Miss Ella should we try your dress on before Miss Woods comes in" the maid asked "Yeah" you replied walking towards where your maid was standing with your dress in her hands following her into your bathroom " okay miss Ella ill leave this here shout me if you need anything at all" nodding her head before she left you closing the door behind her. Grabbing the dress from its plastic protector, raising it above your head a little the diamonds around the top of the dress reflecting from the light. Giving the walls a little watery effect. Putting the dress over your head, letting the dress fall a little "Um excuse me" you shouted hoping the maids were still behind the door like they said hearing the door handle move sighing in relief "Yes Mrs Ella what can I do for you" the lady stepping in " can you help me with my buttons please" going red a little in embarrassment holding your dress up at the top making sure it didn't fall "of course my lady" turning away from her. "how does it feel" she asked once she finished the last button "slightly tight but I adore it" smiling at the lady "you look wonderful" she softly replied stepping back to look at you better " your father would be so happy if he could see you today " smiling at her a little looking down if she only knew that your mother forced you into doing this it would be totally different the way your feeling right now is so out of place yes you felt like a princess but this is not you.

Stepping out of your bathroom you saw your mother and sister standing beside your bed "Oh my Ella you are beautiful" walking towards you inspecting you thoroughly you knew this was all an act just to have in front of the maids the siblings smiling a little the evil smile that they always put on " isn't she just " they both replied your mother standing back in between them "well the cars here shall we go and hopefully you will find a lover boy" you knew that was a dig towards you. It wasn't the first time or when she would blackmail you about getting an arranged marriage. Not listening to their fake comments grabbed your purse from the bed following your sisters behind.

"Right, Ella, don't fool us tonight, lady. I know you don't want to be here or wear that dress or the makeup, so please, to god, act normal, " she harshly spoken inside your right ear, giving you the warning sign looking down at your feet softly playing with your hands hoping the time will go a little faster your sisters not hearing the words that your mother spoken or they will be teaming up and honestly that's the last thing you want tonight.

Getting out of the taxi, the freezing cold hair hugging you instantly pulling your jacket closer to your body, following the guards into the event everyone in line given a small face mask to cover their eyes. Your mother grabbed your hand before walking into the double doors. "Remember what i said in the car, Ella I don't want no stupid business" with gritted teeth looking around to see if anyone watched throwing your hand away from hers gritting your teeth a little but you couldn't defend yourself not here and definitely not right now walking away from your mother with your head down

sitting in the back off the hall people dancing switching from different partners every now and again your mother dancing with some guy his hand going to her bum not even bothering moving his hand rollings your eyes sometimes you did have thoughts about your mother even loving your dad or was it an act to get into this family? just like she pressured you into a young age to call her your mother a small, forgotten part that you should have said at the start of the story.

The dancers stopped stepping aside letting a handsome man step into the event your breathing stopped a little "this is the Kings son whoever he chooses to dance tonight with is the one" the girl who you whispered in your ear your eyes never leaving the curly brown hair man his eyes moving around the room suddenly stopping on yours your heart beating alot more than normal the boy moving alot closer to you reaching his hand out for you to grab "may I have this dance" connecting both of your hands together "of course" you whispered quietly

Your bodies moving in sync to the music, every person's eyes on you both your eyes falling on your family your step sisters filled with nothing but rage the brunette twirling you around "do you know what this means" he whispers in your ear shaking your head "no" looking into his eyes something about them automatically pulling you in " my dad said whoever I dance with tonight has to be the one and may I add you are one beautiful lady and something about you from many pretty girls in here pulled me in."Well, mysterious man, what's your name?" You asked a small smile on your face still watching where you put your feet "lando" the music slowly stopping both of your bodies separting "well I'm happy you picked me" lando grabbing your hand "Shall we grab a drink" moving you towards the bar the next song slowly coming through the speakers the people going back to the dance floor.

"Whose them people looking at you like they're about to kill you?" lando nodded over towards your family. You didn't need to look over. You knew exactly who he was talking about "My sisters and my mother" you softly replied taking a small swig from your drink " they hate me and everything I do dosent go by there standard's so when you asked me to dance they know now they're lower than what I am" Lando nodded "your mother" lando spoke "why is her face completely different to them though" "Because she won this is her dream and she didn't care which sister as long as one of us did it" playing with your glass lando nodded understanding "your safe with me now" stroking your back giving you some sort of comfort "thank you" you softly spoke.

Quicker the night started quickly the night ended most of the time you did stay with lando the best you can to stay away from your family not wanting the fakeness from your mother but you knew you had to go with them "my farther said we need a family dinner tomorrow 2pm sharp" lando came to you passing on his fathers words "sorry my farther blunt always have been always will" laughing a little "you don't have to say sorry I understand my family are quiet the same " Lando kissed you on your cheek "ill see you tomorrow" giving you some sort of flutters in your stomach.

© pacifierbby works

a/n this is going to be a part series hope you enjoy reading it

[elinty]

Shattered Promises

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– •

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Short summary: You love him more than anything but does he even care a bit about you?

Warnings: This piece contains themes of emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, and unanswered love

A/N: hello! this is my first post and i wish to post many more. Hope you like it!

wordcount: 525

༺═─────────────────── ═ ༺

I shouldn’t have followed him, you thought to yourself.

I shouldn't have followed Tom riddle.

Like the icy air of a winter night that tingles your skin, the warning had been written into the very air surrounding him. Tom Riddle was a dark, relentless storm, and I had chosen to follow its path.

It was intoxicating at first. His personality was attractive and he was brilliant. you thought you could have an impact on him—not as a puppet in his constant desire for authority, but as something more.

What an idiot you were to fall so shamelessly in love with someone like him.

Someone who could twist your heart with just a glance and crush it with a single word. He had a way of drawing you in, making you feel seen, only to leave you questioning your worth.

Suddenly, he stopped walking ,his footsteps echoing in the cold, empty corridor. Without warning, he turned back, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that froze me in place.

For a moment, I thought he might not say nothing, that he’d simply let his glare do the talking. But then, in a voice sharper than a knife, he said, "You really are weak huh ?"

The words felt like a blow to the chest, and I instinctively took a step back, as if the distance could shield me from the sting of his judgment. He stepped forward instead, closing the gap.

"You let your feelings control you," he continued, his tone laced with disdain. "It’s pathetic really."

I opened my mouth to respond, to defend myself, but nothing came out. The intensity in his eyes pinned me down, making me feel small, insignificant.

You spoke in a low voice , "Our feelings make us human, Tom," but your voice broke. "You don't have to destroy everything good in life to prove you're powerful."

Something sparked in his eyes for a brief second , anger,pain, or maybe something left over of the person he used to be. But it disappeared before I got hold of it, hiding beneath the cold face he wore with so much ease.

"Love is a weakness," he said and took a step forward. The air became oppressively heavy. "You think your love can change me?"

The lump in my throat seemed to choke me as I swallowed rapidly. "I don't like the person you've turned into Tom . I love the parts of you that stay—"

His voice was low and toxic as he interrupted, "Still what?" "Are you still holding onto the pathetic ideas of kindness and faith? I've lost those parts of myself. You should have let them die.

I refused to back down even though his remarks were like a curse. Not now.

"Tom, I can't let them die.Because I will lose you completely if I do."

That something broke inside me, not between us. I came to understand that I had already lost the fight. He had no wish to be saved. I wasn't what he wanted.

His tone was colder than ever as he said, "You're a fool." "And fools don’t matter in my world"

༺═─────────────────── ═ ༺

A/N: Here’s the story you guys my first one! Hoped you guys liked the story. I currently only write angst and fluff and but in the future I might write smut. You can request any type of story you want and I will try my best to write it!!

[damianbugs]

(comic references under cut)

a personal and fav hc of mine is that following jason's death, yes, batman shuts down, yes, he becomes colder and destructive — going out every night and staying out for as long as he can because hurting is better than trying and failing to sleep. i don't think he would have done the same as bruce wayne, though.

bruce wayne pulls away from the public. galas and events are either cancelled by the wayne foundations or go ahead without the man in attendance. no one can really blame him, after the death of his sheltered and beloved second son. there are no comments issued by anyone in the family besides what is strictly necessary and after one unavoidable yet invasive investigation¹ to sedate public obsession, bruce wayne does not speak on the matter at all.

he does however say a lot through action.

within a couple months, a long standing project finally gets unveiled with no big event or publicity. the Jason Todd-Wayne Homeless Shelter, right in the centre of Crime Alley. the Jason Todd-Wayne Children's Fund, offering free lunch meals to school children from struggling families. The Jason Project, focusing on reading programmes in prisons and rehabilitation support. donations under the name Jason Todd are publicly given to a multitude of charities.

the public opinion on these actions are split. some find it wonderful if heartbreaking, how a child can be so loved that their parent will do anything to make their legacy leave a mark in time. gotham hasn't seen such abrupt change in — well, ever. bruce wayne is known for charity, of course, but this is different. this is for one person. this is the most expensive form of mourning.

others are a bit unsettled. if all of this could have been done, why not do it before? why use a dead boy's name to do good that will only benefit the living waynes reputations? is this some sort of ego thing? to make himself feel better? to make everyone else feel bad?

bruce doesn't quite know himself.

part of it feels useless, pouring money and time not spent breaking bones (his own and others) into fulfilling dreams jason had once had. the boy had always wanted to help in a way that was more than batman, more than bruce. is it invasive, to assume jason would have been grateful for this, that jason would have agreed? does he have any right to be so presumptuous?

part of it feels necessary. to implicitly tell the world that even before jason todd had publicly died, the city had lost a hero². that losing him is more than just an article for the front page of the daily newsletter. that gotham has lost someone intrinsically important. to make it clear that bruce wayne is only as good as what his children let him be. that they are the ones who can make change, at the end of the day.

most of it is selfish. the Wayne Botanical Gardens opens a new exhibit for the first time in decades named My Son. the Gotham Library dedicates an entire self to Jason Todd-Wayne. the third door in the living quarters of the Wayne Manor is always locked, except for monthly dustings. there is a lesson, locked in a glass case down in a Cave, labeled A Good Soldier.

¹ : Batman: Gotham Knights #45

² : Batman #125

[macsimagines]

hellooo! i hope all is well! May i please request Headcannons with Rindou, shinichiro, and izana where their darling gifts them something they made but once they accept the gift the darling immediately changes their mind and think the gift isn’t good enough for them? please and thank you! (Feel free to ignore this request if you don’t want to write it!)

OOOOOOHHHH MEEEEE

TW: YANDERE BEHAVIOR, MINORS DNI,

Yandere!Rindou Haitani

Oh how he loves his cute handsy girlfriend. When you told him you like to sew and embroider things he immediately made a request for something.

It was weeks before you actually handed him the handkerchief with his birth month flowers and yours so wonderfully and delicately intertwined, leaves and vines wrapping around his initials.

He thought you had forgotten with how long had passed since he made his request but seeing you now nervously twiddling your hands while he held the tiny cloth in hand made his heart swell.

"A-actually I don't think my stitches are tight enough! Give that back!" "Wha-No! Fuck off, its mine forever!"

Cold day in hell before he ever lets you or anyone else try to take this from him. He always has it in his pocket wherever he goes~

Yandere!Shinichiro Sano

The moment you handed him the scarf it became his favorite thing in the world. His favorite colors, and the stitch was so intricate and pretty he couldn't stop his fingers from tracing over the lines.

You paid such attention to detail, you had waited for the perfect moment when the weather had just started to get colder, he loved that thoughtfulness about you.

"O-on second thought, lemme take a look at it my edges look horrible!" "Wait-No! Don't take away my scarf baby!"

Will wear it every day even when it's not cold, only time he takes it off is when he thinks he's going to get into a fight. He won't risk your beautiful work getting ruined.

Everyone makes fun of him, but he wears it with pride. "It's like Y/n is here with me now! Wrapping me up in all her love. You guys are just jealous!"

Yandere!Izana Kurokawa

He was caught off guard whenever he caught you playing with his hand. He noticed despite you trying to be casual about it, but he never said anything.

When you hand him the bracelet you made for him is when he realizes you were trying to take his measurements, and honestly the thought that you were thinking and planning so far ahead for him made him blush.

But then you start reaching for the piece of jewelry back. "Y-you don't have to wear it. Actually, just give it back-!" He snatches it away from you and slips it on his forearm quickly.

"I mean... I'm not usually a big accessories guy. But seeing as how you went through the trouble..."

Tells you to make yourself a matching one.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement. 

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this. 

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime. 

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air. 

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava. 

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after. 

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life. 

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!” 

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately. 

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.” 

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger. 

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint. 

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets. 

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!” 

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling. 

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!” 

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds. 

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice. 

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?” 

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things. 

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.” 

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.” 

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again. 

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had. 

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision. 

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider. 

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line? 

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.” 

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.” 

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead. 

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough. 

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing. 

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!” 

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out. 

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly. 

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes. 

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment. 

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline. 

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand. 

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth. 

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them. 

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones. 

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment. 

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas. 

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt. 

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh. 

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad. 

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow. 

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond. 

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed. 

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!” 

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door. 

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger. 

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge. 

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide. 

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle. 

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms. 

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused. 

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs. 

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile. 

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience. 

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes. 

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette. 

At the end of the train, only the engine remains. 

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man. 

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering. 

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet. 

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time. 

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher. 

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame. 

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion. 

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts. 

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor. 

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air. 

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake. 

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you. 

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.” 

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch. 

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot. 

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple. 

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you. 

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.” 

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up. 

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!” 

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.” 

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse. 

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you. 

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.” 

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves. 

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck. 

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch. 

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.” 

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat. 

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard. 

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up. 

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains. 

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion. 

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now. 

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming. 

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood. 

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh. 

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast. 

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony. 

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly. 

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath. 

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat. 

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice. 

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function. 

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack. 

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist. 

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty. 

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh. 

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction. 

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.” 

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied. 

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you. 

But he can’t move.

“Harp!” 

And you can’t feel your fingers. 

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry. 

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross. 

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils. 

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy. 

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze. 

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this. 

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly. 

You can’t break—not like Rorke. 

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull. 

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless. 

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out. 

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do. 

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you. 

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later. 

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before. 

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.” 

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open. 

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood. 

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth. 

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh. 

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse. 

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes. 

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches. 

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt. 

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

 “Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground. 

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage. 

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!” 

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion. 

Keegan? 

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.” 

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger. 

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid. 

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed. 

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.” 

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad. 

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.” 

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!” 

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again. 

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head. 

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious. 

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.” 

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him. 

“Christ,” he hisses. 

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick. 

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane. 

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge. 

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold. 

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding. 

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan. 

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead. 

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body. 

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still. 

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes. 

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you. 

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion. 

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!” 

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob. 

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on. 

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.” 

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how. 

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind. 

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence. 

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard. 

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had. 

Two months. 

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet. 

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President. 

He’d denied all of them. 

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety. 

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open. 

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention. 

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none. 

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you. 

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing. 

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?” 

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight. 

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully. 

It’s a moment before he answers you. 

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.” 

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room. 

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared. 

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say. 

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy. 

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you. 

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again. 

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent. 

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks. 

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there. 

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them. 

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it. 

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr. 

Hesh. You want your Hesh back. 

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging. 

Home. 

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.” 

You push yourself into him tighter. 

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture. 

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love. 

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

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[thyjester]

pierro vc womp womp -

[inkspiredwriting]

Starlit Promises

Five Hargreeves x Fem!reader

Warnings: none

The sky above was a canvas of deep navy, dotted with countless stars that twinkled like diamonds. Five Hargreeves had chosen this secluded spot on a hill, far from the city's artificial lights, for its unobstructed view of the heavens. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the faint hum of nocturnal creatures filled the air. It was the perfect setting for a quiet, intimate night.

Five and his girlfriend, y/n, lay side by side on a soft blanket, their hands intertwined. Y/n's head rested on Five's shoulder, and her eyes were wide with wonder as she gazed up at the stars. Five, who was usually more accustomed to chaos and danger, found a strange but welcome sense of peace in this moment.

"Look, there's Orion," Y/n pointed out, her voice soft and filled with awe. She traced the constellation with her finger in the air.

Five turned his head to follow her gaze. "The hunter," he said, his tone reflective. "Funny, I never really took the time to appreciate things like this. Always too busy trying to save the world or fix the timeline."

Y/n's eyes sparkled as she turned to look at him. "Well, tonight you get to be just Five Hargreeves, star-gazer. No timelines to fix, no apocalypses to prevent."

Five chuckled softly, the sound blending with the night air. "That sounds nice for a change." He tightened his grip on her hand. "You know, I brought you here because there's something I've been wanting to talk to you about."

Y/n's expression grew curious. She shifted slightly to get a better look at him, propping herself up on one elbow. "What is it?"

Five took a deep breath, the seriousness of the conversation he was about to have weighing on him. He turned his gaze back to the stars, using their distant light as a way to anchor himself.

"I've seen so many things," he began, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. "Most of them are grim, filled with loss and pain. When I met you, I found a reason to hope for something better. But I also realized how terrified I am of losing you."

Y/n's expression softened, and she reached out to gently stroke his cheek. "Five, you don't have to worry about losing me. I'm here, and I plan to be here for a long time."

Five smiled, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. "I know that now. But my life... it's complicated. I’ve been to places and seen things that are hard to come back from. Sometimes I wonder if it’s fair to ask you to be part of that.”

Y/n leaned in closer, her eyes locking onto his. “Five, everyone has their own battles. Yours just happen to be a bit more... unconventional. But that doesn’t mean you have to face them alone. I want to be there with you, no matter what.”

Five’s heart swelled with emotion. He turned his body slightly to face her, his free hand reaching up to cup her face. “I love you, y/n. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And I promise, no matter what happens, no matter what the future holds, I will always support you and be there for you.”

Tears glistened in y/n’s eyes as she smiled warmly at him. “I love you too, Five. And I promise the same. Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together.”

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss that seemed to seal their promises under the watchful eyes of the stars. When they finally pulled back, they remained close, their foreheads touching, basking in the intimacy of the moment.

As they settled back onto the blanket, their hands still entwined, Five felt a sense of peace he hadn’t known in years. For the first time, the future didn’t seem so daunting. With y/n by his side, he believed they could face whatever came their way. They lay there under the starlit sky, talking about dreams and plans, knowing that no matter where the winds of time took them, they had each other.

The night grew colder, but the warmth of their connection kept them close. And as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Five felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

[ruhorih4ra]

I really reaaally should be sleeping right now.

This chapt contains descriptions of violence against humans and demons, big demons and little ones. :(

Get out of my way 🌈

The devildom isn't suitable for humans. Everything is too dangerous for the vulnerability of their souls and the fragility of their bodies. The days were cold, but the nights were colder, freezing. Human eyes can adapt in the morning; the sky even resembles the one in the human world when the sun has just set. Even so, the devildom doesn't have a sun and the dark just grows more intense as the hours pass with no promise of a brighter tomorrow.

There comes a time when you cannot see a thing and the cold stiffens your muscles so much you start to look like a statue. But you had never had to worry about it before, the brothers were always there to hug you, guide you, protect you with their hands and warmth.

“You don't want to open your eyes, Mc? Don't worry, dear, you don't need to see us devouring your soul.” The Little D. of pride said. Even though he had the same voice of Lucifer, it sounded different. “I'm just enjoying the clean air.” you answered.

“Ah, so that's why you are protecting yourself with magic?” The impersonator of Satan inquired. You finally opened your eyes and searched for the new addition to the group, all of the Little D.s had morphed into the brothers' demonic forms.

“Zzzz Night, Mc. Zzzz.” The copycat of Belphie was sleeping in a fetal position over a bush. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Heh, no problem. We don't need him to start the feast!” Leviathan's impersonator cracked his knuckles. “I guess that's true, but first listen to me.” you stood in the middle of them. They had surrounded you in a circle, leaving no place to run.

“We are on the outskirts of the Devildom forest, as you can see, we are completely alone except for the creatures that lurk in the dark.” Your voice was calm as you inspected the demons’ faces. “We are the creatures that lurk in the dark, Mc.” Asmodeus's copycat said.

“Yes, one of them.” you took a rock and closed your hand into a fist, bringing it to your lips and chanting a spell. “Look, it is pretty, isn't it?” the rock glowed a bright green color.

The demons looked at each other as if they were questioning your sanity. Some raised their eyebrows, and others merely shrugged. “Catch it!” You threw the rock at the Little D. of Wrath, who caught it effortlessly. “Oh! Look! it's me!” He said excitedly, turning to the Lucifer impersonator. Sadly, before he could even meet the eyes of his companion, fangs, huge like sharp knives, sank into him.

“A fufufucking giant venus fly trap!! Aahh get the hell outta my way!!” The first to run was the Little D. of Greed and you followed in his steps, quickly closing your eyes and casting another spell. “I am the magician, MC… Heed my words! Open the way forward and create a path where there was none!”.

Suddenly, the air changed and you knew you were far from the forest. You were in the coliseum, surrounded by the vestiges of Diavolo's ancestors. The peace didn't last much as sardonic laughter filled the place. “Hahaha! I must admit that was funny, Mc. But as you may know, you CAN'T kill us!” the Little D. of Envy spited, fury evident in his agitated movements.

“Oh, but I can and you know it. For all these months the truth about your kind was impossible to find, there was nothing!” You walked towards him. “But in the end, you are just demons. I know I made you stronger but I did not create you.”

One by one the Little D.s arrived, all but one. “Phew! that was close hahaha!” The demon of greed laughed while wiping away a drop of sweat. “Ugh! my clothes are ruined!”

“Hey! where is your arm?!” Beelzebub impersonator asked, looking at his partner in crime with confusion. “Enough!” the voice of Leviathan resounded in the silent place, the echo of his order made sure that the others obeyed. Even you stood still for a moment, trying to remember if you had heard Levi speaking in that tone before. It makes sense, after all, Leviathan is supposed to be and admiral.

“I will not give you my soul. I’d rather die.” with a swift movement of your wrist a dagger materialized in your hand and you adopted a fighting pose. “As you wish, Mc.” Lucifer imposter ran towards you and kicked you right in the stomach, throwing you against a wall.

He was incredibly fast, you only saw a shadow before crashing into the hard surface. “Already bleeding, human?” The Little D.s were surrounding you again but they stopped when black, well defined lines appeared on your neck. You stood up with no effort, arranging your clothes and brushing off the dust. “I borrowed some of Beelzebub’s strength, I'm sure he won't mind.”

“Ha! Points for trying but you cannot avoid the inevitable.”

***

Sc ran towards the house of lamentation under the inexplicable feeling of urgency and shame. The other students looked at her with curiosity and amusement as she left RAD, most looking for the demon chasing her just to realize that the human was simply running.

It felt unreal, everything since she had arrived to hell feels the same way, like a comedy. She paid no attention to the blurry faces and shady laughter, she couldn't care less about them in this hellish asylum. She heard the high-pitched squawk of a bird in the sky and noticed how a couple of crows flew back to RAD after looking at her. “The Avatar of Greed and his thousand eyes.” she thought, unconsciously running faster.

“Fuck you, you blabbermouth jerks!” Sc shouted, already sensing their intentions. Her whole body felt ready to explode, her lungs were burning, breathing had long since become painful. “I won't make it, I won't make it, I won’t ma-”

The sudden image of the house of lamentation's door appeared in front of her, seconds weren't enough for her to stop before crashing into it. “Shit, oh, fuck!”

“I saw you running away, I thought I’d give you a little push, Sc.” She heard a condescending voice from behind. She touched her nose and the pain was sharp, surely it was broken. The blood on her fingers took her attention away before her brain could process the demon's words.

“Did you open a portal in front of me?” She asked, still confused. “You seem to be in a hurry.”

Sc looked at Satan with wariness, he looked mad but it was quite different to previous times, he seemed tranquil, peaceful. Sc felt goosebumps trough all her body, something was screaming at her to get up and run away and so she tried. “Not so fast, little rat.” Satan moved so fast it looked like he had teleported, he took her arm before she could open the door and pulled her closer, gripping her hair tightly with his free hand.

“We have some unfinished business, Sc.” Tears unconsciously welled up in Sc’s eyes as the burning of her scalp became unbearable.

Satan's eyes widened, confusion filled green irises, darkening his gaze with pain. Sc sunk the dagger deeper into the demon's stomach without taking her eyes off his. “I'm sorry, m'lord but I don't have time for your tantrums.” Sc twisted the dagger viciously, years of experience helping her to keep her hand still against the fear. “I’ll kill yo-” She thrust the dagger again until the grip in her hair disappeared and Satan fell to her side, moaning in pain as dark blood pooled around.

***

The pain in your stomach was sharp as the knife that caused it, you looked first surprised and then with fear at the black form of Mammon, drops of saliva sliding through his fangs as the knife sank more and more in your body. “What kind of idiot gets stabbed with their own knife?!”

You took the Little D.’s hand, the one that was wielding the knife, while the other hand searched for his face with apprehensive calm. “…ring of light!” you murmured, tightening your grip on the demon's face that gradually changed from mocking to pained. Rays of divine light came from the ring that had belonged to Lucifer so many years ago, light that worked as a deadly repellent against demons.

Your wound was nothing compared to the cries of pain from the Little D. of Greed who begged for mercy with a voice that no longer resembled Mammon's. His body fell at your feet with a loud thud. “5 left.” you murmured, looking at the Little D.s, who were becoming more and more manic with every passing second.

***

Sc entered the house of lamentation as if she was coming from a peaceful walk in the gardens rather than a death fight with the Avatar of Wrath. However, once that she realized the other demons weren't coming at her, she started walking faster, following a direction that only her intuition knew.

She stood in front of the attic door, where she had been staying since she had arrived to the devildom. An ominous feeling filled her when she touched the doorknob, her skin was crawling as she opened the door slowly. The fast beating of her heart slowed down when she saw the Avatar of Sloth sleeping in deep slumber, like that he even looked like an angel.

Suddenly, something called her, a force too strong and pressing to ignore. Her gray eyes landed on the little cage she'd bought, like the sleeping beauty was lured to the spinning wheel, she was lured to the bird cage. It was situated above a dresser, just a few steps ahead of the bed.

Once she took it, the urges to go became stronger, as if the cage was commanding her to move. A voice in her head murmured words she could barely register. “Forest. Dark. Cold.”

“What?” She murmured, her voice as feeble as the one in her head. “Careful. Attic.” Sc's hands tightened around the small bars of the cage, absorbed in the voice and the message she couldn't decipher. “I don't understand you.” She said, how was she supposed to sharpen her hearing if the voice was coming from inside her mind. But it wasn't necessary because what she heard then was loud and clear.

“Behind you.”

***

A left hook from the Little D. of Gluttony sent you straight to the ground. The other demons had returned to their more amicable form, small black demons with friendly smiles cheered every time Beel imposter landed a blow. Before you could stand, you received a kick that conected with your jaw and made you kiss the ground again.

“You're the best, Leeb! Give them a good lesson!” The little D. of Envy shouted. If not for Beelzebub’s strength, you would be dead. “Leeb? This is the first time I hear your name.” You said, breathless.

“It doesn’t make sense. Don’t try to fake it, I know you’re not my ‘inner demons’.” You were beaten and bruised but there weren’t broken bones and so you could hold your ground. “You stole his shape and now his name?” The Little D. of Gluttony didn’t answer, instead he charged towards you. You dodged his punch at the last second, putting distance in between. “Where did you come from?”

It was clear that your questions wouldn’t be answered, the demon was too focused on ending you. “Hear me, denizens of darkness, you who are born of shadow and you who give birth to it. Hear me and do as I command! I, MC, call upon you to give me the strength of one of your number! the Avatar of Greed, Mammon!”

Before Leeb could land another blow, you moved behind his back, but you were so fast that it let you disoriented. Your body felt so light weighted and free, no wonder why Mammon is the fastest of them all. The demon aimed a kick to your torso, with Mammon’s speed you avoided in no time and thus began a round of blows and dodges.

“This is taking too long! Just break their legs!” You heard the voice of Leviathan, the Little D.s were tall again, clear proof that they were getting impatient. Leeb charged towards you one more time and, just like last time, you waited until the last moment to launch yourself out of his reach.

The demon crashed entirely into the wall, he stood there for a few seconds before turning around. Just when you thought another round would begin, what was left of the giant wall came crushing down on Leeb.

“Clearly, you are not on the good side of the Avatar of Greed.”

***

SC turned in time to see Belphegor aiming a punch, she dodged it in time too, her eyes glued to the hole Belphie made in the wall behind her. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Mm-hmm.” Belphegor murmured, but didn’t move. Sc looked at him, his eyes were closed and his head was tilted to the right side, occasionally moving to the left. “Lord Belphegor, are you a sleepwalker?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“That’s okay, I’ll leave now, okay?”

The Avatar of Sloth remained still, breathing calmly over Sc’s face. She wanted to relax, but she couldn’t remember any animal with claws as large and sharp looking as the demon in front of her. The same demon that had killed Mc in the very same place.

“Ookay, my lord, I’ll take my leave.” She moved slowly around Belphegor, never turning her back on him. She was almost out of Belphie’s reach when the demon straightened and dug his claws into Sc’s arm, making her gasp in pain. “Mc?” he murmured sweetly, in stark contrast to his actions.

“No!” She muffled her mouth with her free hand, noticing how the sleeping demon was in fact still sleeping. “They’re not here.”

“Where are they?” Belphie asked, tightening his grip, making the woman bend over in pain. “The news-” She gasped, closing her eyes. “The newspaper club, my lord.”

The relief she felt was immediate, Belphie let go of her arm and went back to bed. “Stupid eggplant.” He said, then a bunch of snorts as adorable as those of an angel were heard.

***

The Little D.s started attacking all at once, too upset by the current situation. You moved, attacked, and avoided as efficiently as you could, but the constant use of magic was taking its toll on you and more often than not their hits were successful.

"Spirit of the fire, bring your force upon the demons before me" you screamed, breaking the spells that allowed you to use the brothers’ strength and directing all your attention on the current one.

Two of the Little D.s avoided the intense fire that appeared out of your surroundings. Asmodeus and Belphie impostors screamed as the fire consumed their flesh. Similar to the others, their bodies didn’t die like a human one, instead they crumbled as if they were made of porcelain.

For a few moments, the world stopped moving and you watched them burn, the fire illuminated your face and your eyes reflected the flames. “Only two left.” Both the Little D. of Envy and the Little D. of Pride stood in silence, their faces disfigured by a perverse grimace of hunger.

“You are correct, Mc. We aren’t your inner demons.” The Little D. of Envy took the first step, as soon as his foot touched the ground, his leg broke and rolled into itself, his body did the same. “Congratulations!” He broke into maniacal laughter. As for Lucifer copycat, he vanished from his previous spot, leaving behind a cloud of black fog.

Your eyes scanned everything as fast as they could, but the fear had flooded your brain, stifling your ability to move. “Don’t resist, Mc.” Said a voice you hadn’t heard before, the real voice of the Little D. of Pride. You tried to move but something was forcing you to stay still, a black mist adhered to your body like freezing cold. “No, I refuse.”

The Little D. of Envy finally stood in front of you, taking your face with his hands, sinking his claws into your jaw. “Open your eyes.” He demanded. You had closed them, remembering Mephisto, Mammon, Amodeus… they had seen something in you through your eyes. “No!”

The fog that had adhered to your body forced your eyelids, tears of pain, fear and frustration slid down through your face. “Oh! It is not as white as before, is it?” the demon laughed. “So resilient, so persistent!” “Stop!” You screamed one last time before the mist prevented you from even that.

He looked at you and you looked at him, something stole your breath and left you empty.

The smell of your favorite food, that reminded you of Beel.

That feeling when you sleep on freshly washed sheets, that reminded you of Belphie.

They vanished, something absorbed them until you couldn’t remember what was there before.

A deep laugh, he doesn’t laugh often. Well, he does laugh a lot when he is with you. It makes you feel proud. Proud. Lucifer. That disappeared too.

You try to fight it, to grab an invisible rope that is not there for your soul knows no strings.

Someone is pulling your wrist, a voice is calling your name, asking you to follow him and only him and no one else. Your first disappeared too.

Your favorite color, that one song that accompanies you in all your difficult moments and the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks. Your favorite book and the hand of Satan, holding your hand as you turn the pages.

You started crying, feeling the emptiness as a part of you.

Someone hugging you, the relaxing smell of tea, the warmth of the fireplace, the silly jokes, the routine. A decorated cane, a simple courtesy.

“It’s mine!” You cried in vain.

Flowers, roses hanging from the bed and a beautiful demon smiling at himself, smiling at you. A bathtube filled with roses and then empty, just a pillow and a sheet. The faint sound of video games while you see the slow movement of a goldfish, alone in a giant tank.

And the only thing you can feel at the end is love, tender love.

You can feel the taste of your favorite food, the rhythm of that song, the ache in your stomach when you laugh too much. And what you thought was emptiness was only the resistance of your soul, the incorporeal fight for your soul.

And you feel it in yourself, with all its colors and shades.

You smiled, no longer looking into the dead eyes of the Little D. but looking at everything that makes you feel alive. “I told you, you can’t have my soul. It’s mine.”

As soon as you finished talking an intense pain spread from your stomach to your throat, blood came out of your mouth and choked you for an instant. “If not your soul, at least your body.” The Little D. of Envy said with boredom and hatred.

Before delivering the final blow, a dazzling golden flash hit him on the head, a woman holding a bird cage landed blow after blow at Leviathan impersonator, who was now lying on the ground. Gradually, the mist that held you still vanished and took the form of the Little D. of Pride, but this time it was as little as the Little D. of Envy that you had seen the first time, no bigger than your hand.

“Catch him!” You barely had the strength to speak but Sc heard you, quickly launching herself with the cage in hand towards the little demon. The bird cage did all the work, sucking inside the little demon.

“Thank you.” You murmured. Sc was hugging the bird cage, slowly sliding against a wall. Until that moment, you hadn’t noticed how injured she was. “No problem.” She said before passing out, the cage firmly secured in her arms.

You heard hurried footsteps and frantic voices but your eyes couldn’t resist more, you surrendered to your tiredness and closed them, perhaps forever, you thought.

Last part ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ???

Taglist: @yuumaofc @asmolover1234 @gallantys @prefesro @urminebutidontwantyou @fiveofspades @exrellian @kaiserkisser @cutestpatoootie @fandumshippr @frenchmess23yo @reject-queen @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf

Yes, next one is finally the end of this long ass fic that is taking me forever to finish (feign surprise please 🙏🏻)!!

Also, I KNOW it was kind of sappy, if I were Mc my soul would already be marinade and ready (bon appétit! 🍷) but this Mc is amazing just like you! (⁠っ⁠˘⁠з⁠(⁠˘⁠⌣⁠˘⁠ ⁠)

Still, I feel like I lacked angst in this chapt. My soul is sad rn. :(

Thanks for reading and commenting! 🩷

[killthewhisperingart]

"It's Cold Without You"

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x reader

Word Count: 2,452

Summary: A perfect description of your psyche while your husband is gone, would be the color blue. When he leaves, he takes the warmth with him, dragging the color orange behind himself, only bringing it and the sunrise upon his return.

Warning(s): Angst and descriptive thoughts of anxiety and death

A/N: It's a little abrupt, but I really wanted to post something. And I also wanted to express a specific energy (my requests r still open)

I am an 18+ Blog.

The house is cold. Maybe it's the slow approach of Winter, or the fact that the heater was busted and you refused to call someone to fix it. But the house wasn't as warm as it usually was. You stopped using the lamps with yellow bulbs, instead opting for either the blinding overhead light, or no light at all. The curtains were perpetually drawn, closing your bedroom off from the world outside, closing you off from the world outside.

Everyday is the same thing on repeat, go to work only to return home. But no matter where you are, you're always miserable. When you're at work you want nothing more than to be at home, wrapped in a blanket of silence and warmth. Though, when you're at your house, you feel lonelier than ever, longing for the human connection of your job and coworkers.

It isn't always like this, the chill in the air. The chill that settles so deeply within your bones your teeth chatter, it isn't typically present. And you know why it's here, but admitting it feels colder than the wind that hits you harshly when you walk outside. Saying it out loud, or even thinking about it for too long makes you feel... shitty, for lack of a better word to describe yourself in your head.

You don't tell him the problems you're having. You especially would never tell him why you are having these issues. Because you know him, inside and out, and you know he'll feel guilty. But you also know yourself well enough to be aware of the fact he knows you just the same. He would so easily see through the facade you have created, look through the walls you've built up as if they were a window pane. This is why you've been dodging his calls, and why he currently thinks you are sick with the flu.

You simply wait, counting the days until he's home, begging time will move faster. And while you lay in bed alone, ponder on the idea that perhaps you're wasting your life. You know it's pathetic, the fact your existence is dependent on the presence of your husband. And you feel horrible, the codependency clawing its way up your throat. It's even worse when you remember you haven't always felt this way, and you don't know what's changed. You don't know why you can't seem to act like yourself when he's gone.

Well, perhaps you do know. You just don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit that you're terrified. You don't want to admit that every time he comes home complaining of a new ailment due to a painful ejection, you get nervous. That every call from one of his superiors, or even one of his colleagues, you have a shock of terror that has your heart beating out of your chest. That you only ever feel comfortable knowing he's alive when he's next to you.

When he's home, it's different. He doesn't realize he does it, but he chases the chill away. The nervousness that wraps itself around your ribs, squeezing until your heart constricts, it lessens. You find yourself distracted by the feeling of his hands on your hips, the pressure of his kisses against your skull, that it all disappears for a moment. But you know, as your ear presses against his chest at night, listening to him breathe, that the problem is still present.

"How do you feel about kids?" He asks one day, standing behind you as you analyze the paint samples for the bathroom after it's remodeling.

And your heart sinks, because you don't know. You don't know if you'd be able to handle a baby with him, let alone when he leaves. How would you be able to calm a crying baby when you consider yourself one when he's gone?

How would you be able to handle his death...?

You think about it a lot. The idea that he will fall to his demise the same way his father did, leaving the same trauma his dad left him, on the child you two have. But you don't know if you're as strong as Carole Bradshaw. You never considered yourself a weak person, but that's what he does. Bradley makes you weak, and you don't know if you'd survive his death. If you'd be able to go on with your life, go back to normal. You don't know if you'd be able to handle your own grief, not to mention teaching your child how to do so.

You don't give him an answer that day, and he lets it go. He's good at that; letting go. It was always something you admired about him, his ability to let things slide over him, continuing on easily. The only exception he had ever displayed, was his attitude towards Pete Mitchel, never letting that go. And you can't help but wonder if you'd do the same thing to your child. Would you hold them back? Perhaps beg Jake Seresin to pull your own sons papers because you'd be so blinded by the grief for Bradley, that you'd stop your own child from achieving his dream as well.

Today is a day like any other, the calendar is marked with a bright red heart exactly six days from now. You tell yourself the house will be clean three days prior to his arrival, and the Bronco will be washed the day before, and you will be presentable the day of. But for now, you hide within the comforter that his smell still lingers on. You've taken the week off, avoiding your job with a simple call that ends with a cough you and your manager know is fake.

Bradley is never early. He's a punctual man. He's never late either. He has a talent of showing up to things at the exact time as expected. And you adore this about him, because you're never nervous about when he'll show up. After ten years together, why would you ever think that would change?

He notices the house is darker and colder than normal. He softly drops his duffel by the door, removing his boots slowly before treading towards the lamp in the living room. And the home looks eerily different. He knows you're sick right now, but he questions the extent of it as he takes in the mess.

Almost all of the dishes are piled in the sink, definitely not the amount someone who has been sick for a little over a week would use in that time. His eyes move from the dishes to the rest of the counter, where mail is scattered. He removes himself from the room, drifting into the laundry room where what can only be your entire wardrobe laying haphazardly in front of the washing machine.

It's not that Bradley ever expected you to be the sole proprietor of the household chores, typically every task being traded between the two of you. But this was clearly out of character for you. He always came home to a spotless house, something he dearly appreciated. Internally he wonders if it's his fault, for coming home too early, but he can't help but be concerned.

His chest constricts when he walks into your shared bedroom to find you, curled into the fetal position sleeping. You look exhausted, even though you're sleeping. For a moment he forgets all about the fact that his back hurts, or the fact he's been wanting to sleep in his own bed for almost two months. All he can think of is you.

"Baby," He whispers, a hand softly against your shoulder. "Honey?"

You awake with a sharp intake of breath, heart beating out of your chest in a panic. Realizing it is your husband and not in fact a murderer, does little to quell your anxieties.

"Bradley?" You blurt, springing up. "What are you doing here? It's not the twelfth is it?" You go to reach for your phone, frustration leaking through your voice. "What are you doing home?"

"I came home early," He exhales, brows knitted in concern as you rush around the room. You're clearly distressed, pacing before you finally stop and run your hands down your face.

"Why?" You dare to ask, voice warbling against your will. "Why are you home early?"

"You sounded like you were really sick, and it was only six days-" He clenches his eyes shut before looking at you with his sad eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You aren't supposed to be home yet." You whisper, crossing your arms. Your face crumbles as you remember the state of the house, the state of yourself.

"Baby if you've been sick longer than you told me, we can go to the hospital," He stands up, stepping towards you. "Something can really be wrong-"

"You're not supposed to be home," You repeat, turning it into a mantra under your breath as you cover your eyes. You can feel the slow burn as tears erupt from your eyes, strong emotions wrapping themselves around you like an octopus around a crab. Faintly, you can feel Bradley's hands touch your shoulders, and the way he rubs up and down doesn't feel the way it normally does. His touch burns your skin, itchy and irritating in a way that makes you want to cry harder.

"Will you let me take you to the doctor?"

"Will you shut up about the hospital?" You hiss, your frustration coming to head as you explode. His hands pull away as you look at him with such venom on your tongue, you can taste it. "God! Why are you home?"

His face twists in confusion, then to his own form of irritation matching yours. He doesn't understand, and typically you'd feel bad because it isn't his fault. But he wasn't supposed to be home yet.

"I don't understand." His mouth is slightly agape as he exhales. "I thought you were sick, you weren't answering my calls, you haven't been to work in two weeks-"

"You called my job?"

"I was worried!" He shouts, and you feel itchy again. "I was worried about you! And evidently I needed to be because the house is a mess-"

This strikes a chord within you. The house is yours. Bradley and you share ownership of it, you bought it together, decorated it together, but it's your domain. Every detail is finalized by you, from the color of the floors to the oven you own. It's yours. And it hurts that he points out how you've mistreated it. It hurts on a deeper level that he thinks this. No matter how much you know it's true.

"Don't you dare talk to me about my house." You can hold yourself back, snapping back at him.

"It's a fucking mess!" He points out, and you know. You know it's true. "It's never like this so clearly something is wrong and I'm worried about you!" You don't know what to do, because you had everything planned out, you knew when things were going to be put back-

And he's home early.

You prided yourself on being able to hide this part of your life from him. Being able to disguise your pain behind a mask of stability, pretending nothing had changed. That you hadn't changed. But now that's all gone. He's taken a peak behind the curtain and now the entire illusion falls apart, like ashes between your fingers.

"I just want you to tell me what's wrong." His voice is lower now, and he knows you're avoiding eye contact. "You've been pulling away, and I'm worried."

You can't bring yourself to lift your eyes from the floor to his face, where you know his eyes are bright regardless of the hurt that paints them.

"Is it me?" He asks, bending slightly to try and put his eyes in your line of sight. "Do you not want me anymore? Us?"

"No-" You can see his heart break in his eyes as you look up. "It's not that. No, Bradley, it's not that." You step closer, harshly laughing at yourself. "It's the opposite."

"I don't understand, honey."

"I love you." You whisper, feeling warmer now as his hands slide to your hips. "I love you so much, there's no one else in the world I'd even consider replacing you with. And I can't imagine my life without you."

He watches you apprehensively, eyes darting to your hands and back up to your eyes.

"I'm scared." You finally let it slip, soft like a prayer, quiet like a secret. He tilts his head slightly, practically begging you to elaborate. "I'm scared, when you leave the house for work in the morning. I'm scared when you go on missions-" your voice cracks harshly. "My heart drops every time Mav calls me instead of you, and when someone knocks on the door."

"I don't..."

"I'm scared that you're going to die soon." You blurt, not missing the way his eyes widen.

"Baby, I'm not going to die-"

"Do you think Goose told Carole that?" You ask, knowing you're crossing a line. Tears blur your vision. "You can't tell me you aren't going to die because you are, and there's nothing I can do to stop it-"

The hug is abrupt, your face being pushed into his neck and your bodies close. You feel nothing other than Bradley, and you can't even bring yourself to apologize as your hot tears drip onto his skin and inevitably his shirt. Your fingers tighten around his back, desperate to have him closer because you don't think he'll ever be close enough unless you're beneath his skin.

You know this conversation isn't done, it's not tied neatly with a bow on top. You know there's an entire can of worms that inevitably will be opened. But for a moment you feel warm again. Heat bubbles beneath your skin, rumbling through your chest as you feel his heart beating against your chest. Reds and oranges fly behind your eyelids in a way that has you breathing easier.

As he silently pulls the both of you to the bed, he hugs you a bit tighter. The smell of him surrounds you in a thick layer, your skin buzzing beneath the feeling of his lips against your forehead. You whine as he pulls away, tucking you in like you're a child.

"We're not done talking about this." He whispers, looking down at you with his sorrowful eyes. "Not even close to being done talking about this."

"Okay," You say softly back, agreeing.

"But you should get some sleep," He advises with a crooked smile. "I'll be here when you wake up."

[oracle-of-dream]

I LOVEEEEE your writing sm especially the riize nct and enha ones (frankly cause i only write fics of them) THE SUNGCHAN ONE I LOVEEEE it and i also love the emha series i hope it doesnt get shelved <//3 BUT ALSO SWEETNESS i hope you inspire alot of writers cause istg the riize x male reader space is SO SMALL LIKE theres probably 3 and 1 just uses the tag cause a riize member is a second lead and even the enha x male reader its suddenly all dead apparently

if you dont mind also i love the sungchan x male reader fic you did i requested it help but i cant really relate to it cause a. my fem ass cant and b. will NEVER work out fuck weights so if you can you dont have to have smut where an insecure fem gay reader thinking sungchan might not be into him cause hes either het or into masc gays so his shock when he confessed he was into him you could decide anything else thank youuuuuu

An interesting request! I don't really think about if the male POV is providing a masc or fem vibe, more that they're male. I don't really describe physical characteristics for the male POV so they're a blank slate, but I think I'll give this a shot! I may... change things a little though. As for my other work, thank you so much for liking it! I want to continue the Enha work, but I added more to my plate so I need to catch up!

Unexpected

PLEASE READ WARNINGS CLOSELY, TRIGGER WARNINGS

Summary: You've always tried to be closed off to the world around you, as hateful as it is. But one person seems to shine better than the rest, Sungchan is the only person who understands you.

Warnings: Male Reader, Attempted SA, Bullying, Homophobia, Forced undressing, Violence

Wordcount: 2.2k

Your forehead grew colder as you laid your head on the desk, looking out the window. Students laughed and talked all around you but you couldn't hear anyone. Birds in the sky, students coming to school, teachers giving lectures were all irrelevant to you when he was around... Sungchan, one of the more popular students in your class sat across the room from you. You'd known him since you were little but always kept your distance, never trying to enter his bubble.

Being openly gay put a target on your back, but you were happy not to have to hide that about yourself from anyone. The beatings were something to hide from. Most of the time you'd been picked on for being "girly", or talking funny, or some would beat you up for looking gay.

But not Sungchan. He always treated you so kindly. He'd offer his jacket, leave a snack on your desk between classes, and smile at you as you passed him in the hallway.

Your heart flew anytime you saw him. But you also knew he was just being nice. Because he's a nice person. Other than being nice, he was another straight guy who put up a front to look good in front of the girls who swooned over him. Even though you couldn't stop yourself from glancing at him, you couldn't risk your heart. You'd imagined it; asking Sungchan out and seeing the disgusted look on his face as he pushed you away, probably running off to tell everyone what you'd done.

"Y/n, you'll be partnered with Sungchan for the assignment. Now that everyone's been assigned a partner, I expect it to be done and ready to be turned in by tomorrow!" Your teacher's words snapped you out of your horrible daydream. You looked around to try and catch what you'd missed. A partner assignment, some sort of book report, and you had to be partnered with him–of all people.

You tried to pack your things quickly, maybe if you rushed out the door before he caught you–

"Y/n! We're partners!" Sungchan spoke to you cheerfully as he sat in the empty seat near you.

You lowered your head and looked at him. "Yes, seems so," You mumbled.

"We were assigned about LGBTQ rights for the book report."

You rolled your eyes. Of course, you have to report on LGBTQ rights. You sighed as you packed your things into your bag, ignoring Sungchan, and headed for the door.

He followed you closely. "So did you want to meet up somewhere? Like a cafe? Or even my place?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of you, alone with Sungchan at his house. But you steeled your resolve. "You shouldn't stand so close to me, they might hate you too," You said as you walked a little faster to gain some distance.

Sungchan's long legs made it too easy to keep at your heels. "Hate me too? Someone hates you, who?"

You shrugged. "Every girl who sees me talking with you, and maybe almost every boy in the school."

"Why?"

"Don't be irritating."

"I'm not trying to be, I just want to understand!" Sungchan tried to step in front of you but you sidestepped him.

You looked over your shoulder at him. "Don't. You'll ruin things for yourself, and I'll get the worst of the hate."

Sungchan grabbed the back of your bag, pulling you to him as you tried to walk off. "At least give me your number to talk about the project. Then I'll let you go." Eyes started landing on you as Sungchan held you in place. You could hear them laughing, and teasing, and the sneers on their faces were like always. You quickly and softly told Sungchan your number, with just enough time to run before he could reply.

You ran out the school doors, around the corner, and down a few blocks. Your chest heaved to catch the air it lost, but you kept walking to put more distance between you and school. You were safer that way. Eventually, you felt calm enough to stop rushing and listened to music the rest of the way home. Music made school bearable–the whole world fell silent and moved at the pace of your songs.

Around the corner from your house, you felt a sharp tug on the back of your bag–strong enough to knock you off your feet. You hit the ground and turned to see boys from your school, they were playing basketball with Sungchan...

"Stay the hell away from Sungchan, Fag!" One shouted.

The others shouted similar comments as you tried to stay low, not looking up at them. It was better not to look at them.

You tried to crawl away but felt a sharp pain in your side as a foot collided with your side, making you crumple to the ground. The air knocked out of you as you tried not to spit up on the sidewalk.

"You think you can leave!? Gonna cry to Sungchan? Wait, what if he's turned Sungchan gay!?"

Your skin ran cold. You knew people who hated you for you, but you hated it when people hated others for who you were.

"He's not gay, he was just helping me," You groaned.

"Defending your boyfriend now? Sungchan must be gay like you–he'll even try to fuck us!" Another blow to your stomach as the boys started to crowd around you, dragging you into an alley. You were so close to home, to safety. But you could see your street getting smaller as they pulled you away, without the strength to fight back.

"W-What do we do now?" The boys chatted with each other about what to do with you now that they had you. You'd been tied up tightly with shoelaces and leaned against a wall while they huddled in a circle. "Well... We could–" The boys got quieter as they listened to the idea. Then their attention turned to you. Fear climbed up like a spider as two boys tried pulling off your pants.

"What the fuck!? Don't touch me!" You kicked at them but others joined in to restrain you.

Tears streamed down your face in fear and embarrassment as your pants were cast aside, leaving you in your underwear. The boys hesitated as they looked around, down the alley, and back at you. Your eyes were full of hate as you waited for their next move. One turned on their camera and started filming as two others slid down their pants. "Just open your mouth, gay boy. You've gone through this before, haven't you? If you want to be a girl so bad, then we'll make you one."

You squirmed and cried, your eyes closed. You were helpless as these guys were about to have their way with you, recording every second. You couldn't do anything but cry as your heart pleaded for someone. Anyone. Help!

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing to him!?"

Your eyes shot open to see Sungchan running down the alley at full speed. He jumped and kicked the closest guy, knocking him on the ground, and started punching his way to you. It wasn't long before they gave up and ran away, leaving you behind.

Sungchan chased the group a bit before turning back to you. He threw his jacket over your legs. "Are you okay? You hurt?"

You nod. "I'm fine," Your voice was weak and shaky.

Sungchan untied you and helped you to your feet. You couldn't help but feel mortified as you were half-naked in front of him, but you were grateful he saved you when he did.

"Thank you," You said softly. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, it was too embarrassing, but you could feel his eyes scanning you.

"Is your house nearby? Or should we go to my house, it's close. I can run and get you pants."

You shook your head, "My house is around the corner."

Sungchan started unbuttoning his pants, making you panic and turn around. "What are you doing!?" You shouted.

"You can't walk around without pants."

"W-What about you!?"

"You can give them back when we get to your place."

You felt Sungchan's pants fall onto your shoulder, still warm from their owner. You went to uncover yourself but stopped. "Can you look away please?"

"Right!" Sungchan turned around as he waited for you to change.

Once you slipped on his pants, which were much larger than you expected and sagged around your waist, you hit his arm. "Let's go, you perv."

"How am I a perv!?"

You didn't respond as you led him to your house, cautious of any neighbors who may be watching. Thankfully your parents were out of town, so no one could've been home to see you bringing in a handsome half-naked man with you. Inside, you took Sungchan to your bedroom and let him sit on your bed as you changed into other clothes. You also gave him his pants back.

"Thank you again, for saving me," You say as you sit on the bed.

"It's not a problem. You needed help and my body just moved." Sungchan made a gesture like he was being pulled forward.

"You're not my neighbor, or even in my neighborhood, so how did I get so lucky to have you save me?"

Sungchan's face turned pinkish. "Well, we have the project and we needed to finish it. I asked if anyone knew where you lived and the teacher gave it to me," Sungchan played with his shirt while explaining.

"That's very illegal for the teacher to do. But since it saved me, I'll skip on suing. And you could've just called me!"

"I-I don't know! I just wanted to see you again and I felt like you would've told me where you lived if I'd asked."

Your heart skipped. Sungchan wanted to see you.

"And I'll make sure those guys never bother you again," Sungchan's expression darkened at the thought of the boys who'd jumped you. "I just don't understand why they'd do it."

You laughed wryly, "They thought I turned you gay and that you were my boyfriend. Saying we're both gay and that we'd turn all the other boys gay..."

"Why would they–"

"It doesn't matter. You don't see me like that, so I don't have a chance." You cut him off sharply, the pain in your chest was too much. Having to say out loud that you had no chance with Sungchan made your heart crumble.

"And if you did have a chance?" Sungchan scooted closer to you.

"What?"

"If you had a chance to ask me out. Would you?"

You blushed. "I-I don't know. Maybe!"

Sungchan leaned closer toward you. "Would I have a chance if I asked you out?"

Your heart raced, your palms sweaty, and your eyes could only see Sungchan's sweet face. "Um, maybe?"

"I'll try something, and if either of us don't like it then we can stop," Sungchan suggested, looking in your eyes for confirmation. You nodded slowly, allowing Sungchan to initiate a kiss. First a peck, then moving into a full-blown kiss. His hand found your waist as he pulled you closer to him, making you yelp which he used as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your hands gripped his shoulders as his tongue explored you, meeting your tongue, and earning excited twitches from you. When you separated, a single strand of spit connected you before it broke. "How do you feel?" Sungchan asked.

You nodded. "I liked it, a lot."

"Then, can we kiss more often? As boyfriends?"

You jumped to your feet on instinct. "But you're straight!"

He shrugged, "Bisexual if you need an argument."

"So you mean?"

Sungchan laughed. "I've been into you since we were kids. I never knew it was something more than feeling strongly about a friend. When we hit middle school, I realized I had a crush on you but you started distancing yourself from me. And by the time we hit high school, you treated me almost like a stranger... I thought I'd done something wrong."

"I was only avoiding you because I knew I was gay and had a crush on you!"

Sungchan kissed your lips. "Then we both learned something." You giggled as Sungchan attacked you with kisses, tackling you into the bed as he cuddled you. "I think I've been in love with you for a while, and being this close to you is making my body crazy..."

You tensed. "You mean like..." Sungchan nodded, his breathing heavy as his eyes focused on your lips. "We should take things a little slower, right?" You pushed Sungchan off you, as he whined.

"Of course, whatever you want, babe."

"B-Babe?!"

Sungchan smiled. "I need to call you a nickname now. I'll keep trying more until we find something you get attached to." You rolled your eyes, embarrassed. Sungchan picked up his backpack and pulled out his textbook. "Let's knock this report out, then we can cuddle."

The next day after Sungchan had gone home, your phone blew up with texts. He was constantly checking in with you, making sure you were alright. He even sent a text of the group of boys, kneeling in the principal's office as a punishment while they got yelled at.

Everything seemed brighter and better with Sungchan. And he loved to show you off, holding your hands in the halls to tell everyone about the unexpected change. No one dared to speak out against Sungchan, so you spent more time at school learning rather than running...

[thefrenchydude]

Murderous Lust chap 4 (part 1)

(It's kinda very short for now, I got a new job and the hours of works are very complicated so sorry, gonna try and post the rest in part two and Halloween I hope :''(.)

The atmosphere changed.

Lex didn’t know why, but at the very moment Reader left the room, the atmosphere became more heavy. The two kings who were now watching him with fury in their eyes. Their hands seemed more contracted as the veins were getting more visible as time passed. And they looked like they were ready to jump at him at any moment. 

Lex felt like a sheep surrounded by a pack of hungry wolf.

He didn’t dare to talk, didn’t even dare to look at them in the eyes. They were not only very intimidating, but they were also extremely dangerous. Lex knew the stories about the two demon kings that had killed thousand of gods, demons and humans. He knew if they wanted to hurt him, they could obliterate him at that moment and nobody could have done something to help.

Wukong’s tail flipped violently, smacking the hard floor and making Lex jump.

Strangely, that’s when Lex felt like talking again. 

He began to talk about the city, the projects he had for it. The things he wanted to get rid of and the things he wanted to build.

The kings looked at him. Not listening at what he is saying at all.

Wukong wanted to get up and walk down to that little fraud. He imagined himself punching him in the face with all his strength, literally exploding his head into some kind of jelly.

Oh, god. He really REALLY wanted to just kill him right here and now - and truly nothing could stop him. But, Macaque was right about the whole “getting Reader on our side for him not to hate us for centuries”.

So instead, Wukong just exhale loudly, sitting back on his throne.

He frowned.

Lex’s voice was getting on his nerves.

…

o0o

Reader woke up slowly, feeling as if the world were spinning. His eyelids were heavy, and his body felt like lead. He could barely move, as if an invisible force was holding him down. His mind raced, trying to remember what had happened before he blacked out.

The tiger demon. The blood. And then—Macaque.

His heart pounded as he fully regained consciousness.

Reader tried to sit up, but his body protested.

— Don't strain yourself.

The voice came from a dark corner of the room. Macaque emerged from the shadows.

— You fainted, Macaque said, coming closer. You're not used to seeing things like that, are you?

— You… Reader's voice was shaky.

— Me ? I’m your husband.

— You’re just a psycho demon that keeps here against my will. (I don’t like this part ;-;)

Macaque's gaze didn’t leave him. 

— That’s one way to see it. But we’re keeping you safe. You’re important to us. Lex... he was never meant to be in your life. We were.

The room felt colder.

— Where is he ? asked Reader.

Macaque sighed, sitting at the edge of the bed. 

— He’s alive, as we told you. But, Reader, you need to understand... we are your past. Your real life. You and Lex—it’s an illusion. Something that never should have been.

— An illusion? Reader repeated with a contained rage. Lex is my husband. He’s my life. Whatever you’re saying doesn’t change that!

Macaque’s eyes flashed with something darker. He leaned closer, his voice low. 

— You don’t remember, do you? Not everything. Not yet.

— Remember what?

Macaque’s hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from Reader’s face. His touch was gentle, yet it felt bitter. 

— Your past with us. Your life before… this little worm. You weren’t just some mortal. You were... everything. To the both of us.

Reader moved away, his body finally cooperating enough to get away from the demon.

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

— You will, Macaque said, standing up. In time. When you’re ready to face the truth. Wukong and I, we’ve waited for centuries. We can wait a little longer.

A loud knock echoed through the room, breaking the tension. The door swung open, and Wukong strode in, his golden eyes sharp and focused on Reader.

— Feeling better, Peaches? Wukong asked with a grin, though his tone had an edge that made Reader uneasy.

Reader glared at him, gathering the strength to push himself up further on the bed. 

— Don’t call me that. I’m leaving. NOW.

Wukong laughed. 

— Oh, you’re not going anywhere, Peaches. Not yet.

Macaque gave Wukong a warning look, but the Monkey King ignored it with a big smile, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the opposite side of Reader. He leaned in, so close that Reader could feel his breath against his skin.

— You don’t know how much I wanted to cuddle with you !

He took Reader in his arms.

Reader looked for his tail, if he could twist it again… But Wukong isn’t stupid and Reader couldn’t reach it. His embrace was too strong.

Wukong took his sweet time to enjoy the very angry Reader’s presence and just ignored all the insults that were launched at him.

(I'm not a big fan of this beginning for the chapter ;___;)

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