#Adam is a broken trash man

[demonictacobeard]

Lucifer dragging Adam into the hotel, a month after he became a sinner, by the back of his shirt: It was funny at first, but when you get killed the 30th time it’s just bad for the fallen Angel brand

Adam, his ears flat against his skull: Fuck your brand, it’s already gone to shit with you as the representative. Do you really think your kid is going to let me in there after everything I did to her family of sinners, and try to save my wretched soul

Lucifer: I don’t know why you’re putting quotation marks around that, you summed up your soul very well to me. But I know Charlie will take you in, because she believes in second chances

Adam: I don’t know how when she was raised by you. Bitch do you even believe in this crap?

Lucifer: Not at first, but she changed my mind. I believe in her. And she was right! She did it, a sinner was redeemed into heaven. That snake sinner you killed is now causing mass molting in heaven because the angels are having a crisis of faith

Adam, horrified: PENTAGRAM BARBIE DID WHAT?!

[lvandrskies]

— from eden

synopsis: eve found a snake in her garden, and then fell in love with the fruit it offered.

tags: god au, past lives, soul bonds, angst, smut

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, oral (fem. receiving), corruption kink if u squint, character death

word count: 18.3k

m.list

a/n: if you've read this before, it's because i deleted my old account and then decided to come back. as a disclaimer, religion is pretty broad in this fic. "god" in this fic is not god from the christian/catholic religion. also !! thank u @yeonjunszn for betaing this last year, love u pookie!! <33 [photo creds]. MINORS DNI

❝all the fear and the fire of the end of the world, happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl.❞

When God created the universe, he first created light. He separated the light from darkness and called them “Day” and “Night”. Then He made the sky, separating the water with a dome to keep it in two separate places. Then he made the sun and the stars, weaving his essence to light up his beautiful creation to help guide those who will soon live on it. Then He created animals, for both the sky and the water. He blessed them and told them to live in the sea and the sky, to fill the ocean and the earth with bustling cycles of life.

On the last day, he created humans. He created man and woman, and told them to have children so they may produce their own descendants to walk over earth and bring everything into their control. The first two humans he created were Adam and Eve.

He provided them with an abundance of fruits and grains for them to eat in a beautiful garden he called Eden.

In the garden of Eden, they were to fall in love and create many children. Adam was the first one to fall in love with Eve, and she pliantly went along with it. 

But, something in Eve felt… empty. Like Adam was not the one she was to be with. Adam was not the one she was to share this beautiful, vast, garden with. But, she wasn’t sure who she was to share this with. Eve knew she couldn’t delve much more into the unsettling pit in her stomach at the thought of her fate already sealed by Adam’s side, as it was not smart to defy God. 

“God knows best,” she would tell herself as she lay with Adam in the garden of Eden.

________________

I’m dying.

If the blood flowing around him wasn’t enough of a tell, or the way his sight blurs in and out. The heavy rain pelting against his dying body is a desperate, yet pathetic, attempt of the universe trying to save him and wash the red sticky liquid away. His breathing is shallow, hitched. He feels the urge to cry, to mourn the life he’s no longer going to be able to have. He was so close to reaching his goals too, and now they’re all washed up and ruined, like trash washing back up on the shores of beaches he visits. Or, in just a short while it’ll be visited.

“I’m sorry, m—” Chan chokes. “Mom. I did everything I could.”

Just as he is about to slip into eternal sleep, a bright light opens up in the sky. It’s blinding, and warm? 

Why is it so warm? Is this heaven?

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on his body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in the road. The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. His entire body relaxes, and he feels himself being pushed further into his body, into his own mind.

Is this really what dying feels like?

—

Chan wakes up in a hospital room. 

His body is aching, and his head is filled with an uncomfortable pressure. Breathing hurts, and he’s sure his ribs are broken. The machine that’s keeping track of his vitals beeps rhythmically, and he lets out a, albeit pained, sigh of relief at it. 

He looks up at the ceiling, like he was looking up towards the heavens and thanking whatever God was gracious enough to let him keep living. 

“Ah! You’re awake!” A voice says, cheerily. A woman in her late thirties is standing in the doorway. Her slick black hair is pulled into a low ponytail, a few strands falling into her face from being up for what Chan presumes to be hours. “I’m your nurse, Eunkyung. I’ll go grab the doctor.” Chan barely has the chance to respond before the nurse leaves, the sound of her shoes squeaking steadily quieting as she hurries down the hallway.

The doctor follows her into the room a few minutes later, inspecting his eyes and the nasty bruising around his ribcage. “Do you remember your name?”

“Bang Chan,” he answers. “Do you know how I got here?”

“You walked yourself here, do you not remember?” The doctor asks, bewilderment encasing his wrinkled face. “You were a sight to see. I don’t know what kind of God has your back but, you should have died last night. It’s quite literally a miracle.”

Chan’s head pounds at the doctor’s words, and he flinches. He pinches the bridge of his nose as an attempt to relieve some of the pressure.

“We’ll keep you here for another day or two to see how you’re feeling. Do you have any family we can call?”

“Oh, uh,” Chan looks down at his scraped hands, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. “No, I don’t. My emergency contact should be Seo Changbin, though.”

Changbin does make it up to the hospital that same night, with Han Jisung bounding in right behind him. Changbin and Jisung aren’t one to shy away from theatrics, so when they finally enter the room, the younger of the two is loudly shouting in distress as he practically launches himself onto the bed to lay with Chan. 

“Oh, my precious hyung! I can’t believe you almost died!” He wails out, wrapping his arms around Chan’s shoulders and obnoxiously crying out, the sound of his faux wails echoing into the room and piercing Chan’s eardrums and racking his brain even more. 

“Ah, Sung. I love you, but please don’t yell. My head feels like it’s splitting.” He whines out, pinching the bridge of his nose once again. 

“Yeah, the doctor said you have a pretty nasty concussion,” Changbin says. Chan nods, trying his best to move his shoulders to shake the younger boy off, but to no avail. Han Jisung is glued to his side, no matter how much pain it’s bringing to his ribs, but he eventually decides to give up and relaxes in the younger’s hold. Before he can fully relax, though, boney knuckles are making contact with his bicep, which then makes him groan and lurch up, shooting more pain into his torso. He opens his eyes to see that the worry is wiped clean off Changbin’s features, and instead replaced with a feign look of anger. “You idiot! How could you get yourself hit by a car!” Chan flinches at the rising level in the man’s voice. 

“Did we forget that I said my head hurts?” Chan whines. “I don’t even know how it happened. One second I was crossing the street and then the next thing I know I’m laying in the middle of the road.”

“The doctor said you walked here,” Jisung says. “How did you even manage to do that, hyung?”

“Funny thing is, I don’t even remember doing it.”

— 

Chan’s discharged after three days, and given a stern order from Ms. Eunkyung to “take it easy” until his head fully clears. He chuckles to himself, because he knows he’s not exactly going to follow that order. 

Not if he wants food on the table. 

Speaking of food; his fridge is empty. Save for a stick of butter, a gallon of milk Chan is more than a hundred percent sure is expired, and a singular tomato staring at him pitifully. Even the tomato looks like it’s on its last leg, too. He cringes.

Suddenly, his head starts pounding again. He groans, shutting the fridge door and stumbling to his couch where he throws himself down on it. He lets out a pained whine as the pressure in his head builds, and he’s almost convinced his head is going to explode.

“Am I dying for real this time?” Chan whispers to himself. The pressure feels almost familiar, like how it did when he was dying because soon it’s encasing his entire body again and his eyes slip closed.

—

When Chan awakes again, he feels so far away, like he’s not fully in his body.

He must have taken a harder hit to the head than he thought. He doesn’t even remember falling asleep, let alone when he moved to his bed. He thinks maybe he should call Minho over to watch him in case he passes out like that again. Maybe he really is dying this time.

Fuck. This isn’t entirely how he wants to go out. Alone, in his shitty apartment with no one around, barely any food in the fridge and nothing to his name that can be tied to any sort of legacy.

Though, he isn’t surprised he’s dying this way. It’s just his luck.

“Can you stop thinking so loud?”

What the fuck.

That was his voice. But he’s sure he wasn’t talking. 

“Oh you mortals and your need to constantly think, think, think!” He feels his palm hit against his temple. 

What..

“You’re not dead, kid. Well, not until I leave this vessel,” He says… to himself. He sighs. “I’m a god. Gotta say, you decided to go and get yourself killed at just the perfect time too. I didn’t even have to find you.”

What?!

“Don’t yell! You echo in my head and it’s giving me a headache!” The god scoffs, rubbing at his temples. “I’ll explain it to you in a second I just…” just then, Chan’s stomach growls and the god groans. “I’m fucking starving. When’s the last time you ate? You mortals love treating your bodies like shit.”

I ate… Wait, what time is it?

“It’s the next morning,” the god responds. 

The next morning?!

“Yes! Gods, stop yelling!” Cato shrieks, gently knocking his fists on the top of his head in an attempt to quiet the human in their shared consciousness. “You were out for quite a while. I was convinced I completely shoved you out of your body. Just my luck I got someone who holds on, though. Tsk.” Chan watches as the god moves his body to sit up in his bed, swinging his legs over to firmly plant them on the ground. He groans, his body is sore and his joints are aching. Chan groans too, still able to feel everything. Just a little more dulled, but he still feels that incessant knot in his neck he’s never been able to get rid of. “You really let this thing get this rickety? How old are you?”

Twenty five.

“So young,” the god says, an almost mournful tone in his voice as he stretches his (their?) arms above his head. He walks out of the tiny bedroom and into the main apartment. “Cute place,” he chuckles. Chan doesn’t respond, as he watches the god look around the small apartment and take in everything. The god’s curious gaze lands on his stack of records, old vinyls he’s collected since he was about fourteen. “Nice collection.”

Thanks. Are you gonna tell me what’s going on now?

“After I feed myself,” the god quips. “So impatient.” He rolls his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen. Chan doesn’t miss the grimace that paints across his face as the god stares at the stack of dirty dishes in the sink.

Don’t roll my eyes at me.

“I’m piloting this plane right now, so they’re my eyes.” The god snaps. 

Can you at least tell me your name?

“Cato,” the god responds as he opens the fridge. Cato lets out an indignant sound at the sight. The same stick of butter, expired milk, and pathetic tomato are glaring back at them once again. “You have no food, you useless man! How are we supposed to eat!”

I haven’t had the time to go grocery shopping. 

“How have you not died earlier?” Cato asks, sarcastically. 

You’re so not funny.

“It’s still a sensitive topic, I see,” Cato quirks his eyebrows. “Where can we get food?”

There’s a convenience store down the street I usually go to when I’m in between groceries.

“Is this your definition of in between groceries?”

Shut up. I’m a busy guy. 

Cato doesn’t respond as he goes and gets himself dressed. He pauses putting on the tee shirt he chose to look in the mirror the human has hanging on his wall. He’s bruised heavily on his torso and his face is scraped up. He and the god both grimace at the damage done to his body. “How did you even manage to do this?”

It’s not like I was playing chicken with the car. It just happened.

“You got hit? And they didn’t take you to the hospital?” Cato presses down on the bruise along his ribcage, which sends a sharp pain to crawl up his spine. Chan whimpers quietly in his head at the touch. Cato whimpers out loud. “That’s why I had to walk us there myself.”

That’s usually what entails in a hit and run. Stop touching it! That hurts. Wait – you were the one that took me to the hospital?

“Yeah. I was in a lot of pain… You can feel that?” Cato asks, eyebrow raised as he looks in the mirror. He presses on it again. Chan lets out a whine.

Yes. It hurts. A lot. My ribs are broken. I don’t know if you remember, but that’s what the doctor said. At the hospital. That you walked me to.

“You lost a lot of blood last night,” Cato says. “I don’t know how I managed to heal your cracked skull but not the bruises and your ribs. But also, this isn’t just your body you stupid mortal. It’s mine, too.” Chan sighs, annoyed.

Maybe they weren’t life threatening? 

“No, it’s not that,” Cato murmurs. He places a finger on his chin, eyebrows scrunched as he racks his brain (or, his borrowed brain) for an answer. His stomach growls again. “Oh, man. I can barely think. Food first, everything else later. Oh, and try not to talk to me. I don’t wanna look like a weirdo talking to myself on the street.”

You could just not respond out loud.

Go fuck yourself.

Walking to the convenience store was quick. The cold winds nip at Cato’s nose, painting it a delicate shade of red by the time he enters the store. The heat from inside the building wraps him in a hug, thawing his frozen nose and hands as he steps in almost instantly. The store itself is small, maybe four aisles at best with a line of freezers and fridges lining the back wall. There’s a table with a microwave and two two-seater tables next to it. 

Cute.

The old lady that owns it gives me a discount because I help her stock sometimes. 

That’s called a job. 

I don’t work here. 

But you do — whatever I’m not arguing with a stupid mortal. 

Didn’t know God can get hangry. 

I’m not “God”, I’m a God. Did you not hear me when I made that exact distinction when you woke up earlier?

I see I’ve hit a nerve.

It’s like if I called you an animal when you’re a human. It’s rude. 

To whom?

To me! And to the big man himself, but that’s not who we’re concerned about right now.

Sorry, God.

Are you not going to apologize to me?

No.

“Fucking mortals.” Cato whispers under his breath as he walks the aisles.

I heard that. 

You were meant to!

“Chan?” a soft, pretty voice speaks out from next to him. Cato whips his head to find a girl. She has a look of uncertainty on her face, but once she realizes it actually is who she thought, a bright smile paints across her angelic face. “Hey! Missed you in class yesterday.”

Cato stands there, shell shocked. His mouth drops open and he’s standing there, gawking at her for a full ten seconds. For some reason, after seeing this girl, a hole feels as if it’s torn open in his chest, where his heart should be. It’s painful. Raw, carnal pain shoots through his chest and it makes his eye twitch.

Answer her, idiot! Don’t make me look stupid!

“Oh!” Cato sounds out, plastering a nervous smile on his face. “Hey, you…”

Y/n. Her name is y/n.

Y/n. Why does that sound so…familiar?

“Hey?” You say, confusion lacing your voice. The confusion is wiped away once your eyes settle on the scrapes along his jawline and eyebrow, concern replacing it instead. An attentive hand reaches up and carasses against his cheek, and both Cato and Chan have stopped breathing. They both can feel how their cheeks heat up at your touch. Cato has half a mind to flinch away, and he does. Your hand retracts immediately, your mouth pulling to the side in regret for accidentally hurting him. In truth, you didn’t touch him. But the heat of your hand so close to his skin felt as if it was burning. Your pretty eyes are filled to the brim with worry, and you ask, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just took a pretty nasty fall last night,” Cato responds, sheepishly. He scratches the back of his neck with an embarrassed smile. “That's why I wasn’t in class yesterday. Had to go to the hospital and get my head checked out.”

“Oh, that’s awful! I’m glad you’re okay, though!” You respond, your bright smile coming back to your face, though it is tainted with worry still. “Since you missed class, we were partnered together for a project. Maybe we can meet and I can go over the notes and the project with you? Or I can just… send them to you.”

Tell her we can meet tonight. 

What happened to ‘taking it easy’?

Chan only laughs in response.

“I’m down to meet you tonight, if that’s okay.” Cato smiles down at you. 

“Yeah, for sure!” You chirp. “I’ll see you at your studio tonight, then? I get off work at seven!” 

Studio?

Y/n and I major in music production. 

“Cool, I’ll see you there.” Cato responds. You give him a wave goodbye, making your way up to the cashier to check out your things. Cato was so in shock he didn’t even notice you were carrying anything. 

His stomach growls. He groans quietly. 

For someone who had such a sense of urgency over eating, you sure are taking a long time to get something to eat. 

Will you shut the fuck up?

________________

❝i slithered here from eden just to sit outside your door.❞

As Eve bore child after child for Adam, for the earth, that pit she so desperately tried to bury in her stomach grew bigger. More insistent. She watches as more and more of her children experience many things she didn’t get to; exploring, meeting, falling in love with who they choose and so on and so forth. 

As much as she hates to say it, let alone even let it into her heart, she resents her children. She resents Adam. She resents the life that the strings of fate have weaved for her, as she watches her children experience the freewill that God gifted them. Yet she and Adam are forced to simply be their means to an end, to push their future generations along so the human race may flourish. 

As she sits in the garden, weaving a crown of flowers and singing a song she does not think has been orchestrated yet, the stream she sits in front of singing quietly with her, a snake slithers up to her. It’s beautiful brown scales and equally as beautiful brown, slitted eyes glint etherally in the early morning sun. She extends a gentle hand towards it, its forked tongue stretching out to slide across her fingers curiously. She giggles at the ticklish sensation, watching with her own curiosity as he climbs up her forearm and upwards so its head rests gently against her naked shoulder. 

She goes back to weaving the stems, the soft melody she hums lulling the snake to sleep against her shoulder.

________________

So, I’m… your vessel?

“Correct,” Cato responds, watching the electric kettle impatiently. Cato had finally decided on food after you left, a bowl of ramen and a couple seaweed snack packages he managed to find in Chan’s desolate cabinet. Seriously, why doesn’t this guy have any sense of care for himself? “Every God and angel has a vessel on earth in case we need to come down.”

Can you just not come down in the way you look?

“No. Our heavenly form will drive an ordinary person insane,” the god lets out a small noise of glee once the kettle settles, indicating it’s finally done heating the water. Humans, as stupid as they can be sometimes (he’s looking at Chan, specifically), they sure have made quite a few amazing inventions. Just like this kettle. He’s absolutely enamored with it. “We originally weren’t supposed to have access to earth. We were just supposed to observe from the heavens.”

But?

“But, there’s just some things the Big Man dangles in front of you and you take the bait,” Cato pours the water in the bowl of ramen, watching as the spices he added immediately dissolve in the scolding liquid. He chuckles in amusement to himself as he recloses the paper lid, laying a pair of chopsticks over it to keep it closed. “Hey, how long should this sit for?”

Like two or three minutes. What do you mean by bait?

“A lot of god’s fell in love with mortals on earth,” Cato answers. “You ever read any Greek mythology stories? Apollo and Hyacinthus. Eros and Psyche. So on and so forth.”

I mean, yeah, but, I didn’t think they were real or anything.

“Oh, they’re definitely real,” the god chuckles. “Apollo and I are friends, actually.”

No way! So, like, is every God from every religion real, then?

“Yeah.” Cato shrugs. He takes the chopsticks off and rips the paper cover off of the bowl, excitedly using the chopsticks to stir the broth and noodles around.

So, why did you come to earth?

Cato pauses. He’s standing in the middle of the kitchen like an idiot, frozen in real time as he stares dumbfounded into the bowl of noodles. Why… Why did he come to earth?

Hello? Earth to Cato? Your food is gonna get cold.

“Oh, right,” Cato shakes his head to rid him of his internal struggle. “I… I don’t know why I came to earth. I don’t seem to remember.” He manages to make his way to Chan’s kitchen table, which is just a small round table with two rickety chairs in the corner of his living room.

So do vessels usually die before god’s possess them?

“No, not usually – ah! Fuck, that’s still hot,” Cato whines, sticking his burned tongue out and waving air onto it with his fingers. Chan’s laugh echoes in his head, and he makes an offended noise from the back of his throat as he continues fanning his tongue.

So, me dying the same time you came down was just… pure luck? 

“Yeah,” Cato makes sure to blow cold air onto the noodles this time. “I mean, lucky for me. Not so much for you.”

What’s gonna happen when you leave?

“You’ll probably die.”

But you healed me? Shouldn’t that stay when you leave?

Cato shrugs. “Don’t know. You’re technically not even supposed to be conscious like this, either. I’m supposed to have full control of your vessel if I possess it.” 

Comforting.

It’s silent after that. Cato is grateful Chan has stopped playing twenty questions. It gives Cato’s one track mind a way to fully focus on his food and not about the fact that he does not remember why he’s even here in the first place. But it’s not like he can just go back up to the heavens and ask someone. As annoying as he is, he quite likes the human that’s his vessel. It’s a shame that once the god is done on earth, Chan’s fatal wounds will most likely come back full force.

Cato hopes he’s able to leave fast enough to not have to witness it.

After Cato ate, Chan was insistent on switching when it came time for his meet with you later in the evening. It took a lot of bickering back and forth, but once Chan got it through the stubborn god’s head that you would know something was off with him (that didn’t have to do with his head injury) the second Cato opened his, in Chan’s words, “big dumb mouth”.

“Why do we have to pass out to switch?” Chan asks as he steps out of the shower. 

Do you always have this many questions? Gods, I feel like I’m speaking to a toddler. 

Chan copies his words in a silly voice, rolling his eyes as he does so. “Sue me for wanting to know how to work my body with someone else camping in it.” 

The way you said that just sounds so… weird. 

“And a god possessing a human body is just a regular Tuesday, right?” the human jokes. 

For us, yeah. 

“Shut the fuck up, Cato,” Chan chuckles, shaking his head in faux annoyance. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror and runs his fingers through his thick curls. For some reason his stomach is buzzing at the thought of being in his studio with you. 

Why are you so nervous to see y/n?

Chan’s cheeks heat up. “I’m not,” he mutters.

You know I can feel everything, right?

Chan doesn’t respond, too afraid that his voice might way to just how flustered he is. It’s true he finds you very attractive, and your personalities mesh well together. You both have a lot in common and since the day he met you he’s felt a weird, otherworldly pull towards you. “You said her name was familiar to you. Why?” Cato doesn’t respond for a minute, and Chan almost wonders if the god even heard him ask. “Cato?”

I… I don’t know. Just when you said it it just felt like deja vu for some reason. How long have you been friends?

“Since she started college,” Chan replies. “She’s like two years below me.”

Chan doesn’t miss the weird boulder that settles in his stomach. But for some reason, it feels distant. Like it’s not his boulder.

________________

❝apollo showed me the sun. told me not to fly too close or else i would be one with the people on the land.❞

The snake visited Eve in the garden everyday, in the same spot, resting its head on her naked shoulder as she weaved crown after crown of flowers every day, humming the same tune. It became a routine, and then it became something for Eve to look forward to. She finally had something for herself! Adam was out every day for most of it hunting so Eve spent a lot of time with this serpent. 

She couldn’t place her finger on why, but when she was alone, weaving her flowers, with the snake on her shoulder, she’d talk. Like word vomit, she vented about her unhappiness in the garden and her jealousy towards her children being able to explore the vast earth and experience things she will never have the privilege to. For she was cursed to stay here, day after day, weaving her flowers in the garden, and bearing more and more children for a man she felt absolutely nothing for. Even the garden, once vibrant and vast to Eve, was now growing dull and shrinking in on her. She feels trapped, she’d say. Her world was dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

“Why me?” She asked the snake one day. “Why did I have to be the first one made? Why do I have to carry this responsibility? Why wasn’t I asked first? Where’s my freewill?” 

The snake nuzzles its head, like it was gesturing that it was listening to her. “I wish you were a person,” Eve whispered. “Maybe then I’d have someone who gets me.”

The serpent nuzzles its head again. Eve’s eyes well with hot tears. 

She’s so lonely. 

________________

Chan is reeling. 

It’s hotter in his studio than usual. It’s definitely not because you’re alone with him in his studio and for some reason that’s making him more flustered than usual. Definitely not. He’s definitely not noticing the perfume you used, or the way your fingers flit over your laptop keys almost elegantly, the click of the keys echoing in his ears. He also most definitely was not looking at how your thighs look sitting in his extra chair, or how your dainty necklace falls on your neck, the charm brushing against the low collar of your tee shirt. 

You’re sweating profusely right now. Calm down, you pervert.

Shut up, Cato. I feel like I can barely breathe right now. 

Yeah, I know. That’s why I said calm down, pervert. Did you not hear me?

“Are you okay, Chan?” You ask him, concern washing over your pretty features as he tugs on the collar of his shirt for the fourth time in thirty seconds. “Do you want to cut this short and meet another day? You don’t look so good.” 

Chan all but stops breathing when your delicate hand reaches up and presses gently against his forehead. Your hand is cold, and it works to cool his heated skin almost immediately. His eyes fall close, and he lets out a heavy sigh. “No, I’m okay,” he says, opening his eyes again and giving you a gentle smile. He watches as your cheeks flush the slightest bit. “Just needed a second is all.”

“Let’s take a break, yeah?” You say, closing your laptop as an excuse to not look at him for a second. Chan nods, and then it’s quiet for a minute. Neither of you know how to act around each other. Sure, you were friends but you weren’t best friends. Chan and you also never really hung out one on one, it was really always you, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung or anyone else in your classes. While he didn’t consider everyone to be his friends, always keeping to his close knit circle, he did know a lot of people, and those people also happened to know you. So it was never the right time to get to know you. “So… Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?” You puff your cheek out, shyly. Chan can’t help but let the smile stretch across his face.

“What’s there about me you wanna know?” He asks. Your cheeks flush again, and you scramble to keep your hands busy, opting to twirl your pen between your fingers. 

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “We’ve known each other for so long but I don’t think we’ve ever really had the chance to actually know each other.”

He nods. “You’re right,” he sucks in a breath, letting his gaze fall towards his desktop as he thinks of what to tell you. “Well, I was born in Australia.”

“Yeah, I know that,” you giggle. “You and Felix talk about it all the time. What’s it like there?”

“Hot,” he chuckles, shrugging. “It’s beautiful, really. All my family is still there so there’s… like this part of me that’s still there with them, if you get what I’m trying to say.” Chan lets out another breathy laugh, suddenly embarrassed. 

“I think I do,” you say, nodding your head. “Like a piece of you is missing because it’s back home?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Chan says. “I miss it sometimes.”

“I bet. It must have been hard moving here all by yourself.”

“I mean yeah, but… I don’t know, as much as Australia is my home, this is also home, you know? I love what I do and I’ve found my people. So it makes up for the part of me I left at home,” you both nod along to his words, small smiles shyly turning up your mouths. “What about you?”

“Well,” you sigh, still twiddling with the pen. Your leg starts shaking. “I’m from here.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Chan copies your words, which brings out a giggle from you. His heart lurches. 

I felt that. 

Shut up. 

“I don’t know, I…” you trail off, letting yourself think of what you wanna say. “My moms a school teacher and my dads a realtor, so we’re well off on my dad’s money. They’re kinda the… traditional, married at nineteen, had me at twenty, church every sunday, and have a certain plan for their daughter kind of people.”

“And?”

You shrug. “For the most part I went along with what they wanted me to do. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, perfect boyfriend that I’ll one day have to marry and continue the cycle,” Chan doesn’t miss the way his eye twitches at the mention of a boyfriend. “But, I really rocked the boat when I said I wanted to go into music production.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s… Well they say it’s unrealistic,” you sigh. “I’ve always loved music, and when my perfect, middle class family life got to be too much pressure to uphold, it comforted me. I taught myself all the instruments I know.”

“Impressive.” He chuckles. 

“Right?” You giggle along with him. Chan decides he really likes that sound. “But, they expected me to almost go into something… I don’t know, easy? Something that will let me rely on Seojun when we eventually get married.” 

“Do you want to get married?” Chan asks, eyebrow raising a little. Your fingers stop twiddling with the pen and your leg goes still for just a second before it picks up again. 

“Honestly? No,” you say. “It’s just not something I feel like is for me. Of course, I want to spend the rest of my life with someone but I don’t need a piece of paper or an expensive ring to solidify that I love them and they love me.”

“How long have you been with Seojun?” Chan almost feels the bile that coats the man’s name as he says it. 

“Three years,” you answer. “My dad is business partners with his dad and we met at a company party and it just kind of… I don’t know, happened.” You shrug.

“Is he in college too?” You nod your head yes.

“He’s in finance,” you glance over at him. “He’s actually almost done. He’ll be working under his dad after he graduates. His dad is also paying for his real estate classes after he graduates so he can sell commercial properties.” 

It’s quiet again, and your leg is still shaking. Your face, now pointedly looking away from him, holds a sort of… loneliness. And almost a hint of regret for even saying what you did out loud. 

Don’t ask that. 

“Can I ask you a question?” Chan interrupts the heavy silence, and pointedly ignoring Cato’s warning. You hum, letting yourself look at him again. The loneliness he saw on your face floods your eyes. It’s almost overwhelming. “And you can tell me if I’ve crossed the line and we’ll never talk about this again.” 

Don’t ask that. 

“What is it?”

“Do you… like Seojun?” 

And you asked it. I cannot believe you.

Your face falls, but it doesn’t morph into anger like he thought it would. You don’t yell at him, or tell him to mind his business and storm out. He doesn’t know why he was expecting you to lash out at him like that, though. Call it anxiety, he guesses. Instead, that loneliness intensifies — if that was even possible. You’re quiet for a minute, almost like you were deciding to lie to him or if you were about to spill something he’s not sure he — or you — would know what to do with.

“He’s nice,” you settle on. “We don’t have that much in common, but he treats me well.” 

I don’t like that answer. 

Neither do I.

Chan only nods, though.

“Should we get back to it, then?” You ask, your mouth turned into a tight lipped smile. 

“Yeah.” He smiles.

You both delve into a rhythm of bouncing ideas off each other, and the building almost obsessively on the idea you both really like. Chan doesn’t know why he hasn’t worked with you before this, you’re so smart and your ideas are so unique and full of life. He can really see your love for music and the creative process behind making it. His heart flutters a bit at the thought that you both share this pure love for music in the same way.

“Do you wanna maybe meet again tomorrow?” You ask as you pack up your stuff. By the time you both decide to call it quits, it’s nearing one in the morning. He walks with you to your dorm, and he can’t help but smile shyly at the hopeful look in your angelic eyes. You're holding onto your tote bags strap that sits comfortably on your shoulder. He sees you shiver a little, and then only notices the pathetic little jacket you decided to wear despite it being less than forty degrees outside. He fights giving you his jacket. He would, normally without hesitation, but after learning you have a boyfriend he doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, no matter how cute he thinks you would look swimming in his hoodie.

Down boy, down.

Will you stop?

I’ll stop when you stop being such a male.

“We can go to the cafe on campus after class,” Chan suggests. You nod, giving him a bigger smile at his words. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your eyes glint with excitement as you nod your head. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Will do.” He reassures you as you open the main door to your dorm and walk in. He waves to you from outside and then steps off the porch, walking down the lit walkway, unable to erase the smile from his face.

You like her.

“Shut up,” he sputters out. “She’s always been in my sights, and I always thought she was cute. We just never had the chance to bond like that before. Changbin or Jisung are always usually with us, or my other friends.”

Too bad she’s someone else’s.

Chan rolls his eyes. Quietly, though, he wonders what would have happened had he met you before you met Seojun. Would you be his? Would you be happier with him?

Cato heard those too.

________________

❝didn’t know my world was dark until you came.❞

Eve sits in her usual spot, weaving her flowers once more. It’s another day, but this time she’s by herself. The snake hasn’t showed up yet, but she hopes it's on its way now. She tries not to let herself get too upset over not having her usual companion today, but she can’t help it. This newfound routine of her weaving flowers and talking to the snake while he rested peacefully on her arm has brought her more happiness than anything else in the garden – even the entire world – could.

So when a day turns into two, and then turns into three, then seven, her mood worsens. Even Adam, as unobservant as he is, noticed her change in mood. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong though, of course he doesn’t. As much as he claims to love her, to cherish her with his entire earthly being and his heavenly soul, he never seems to notice her until he wants to bend her over in the grass and give her another baby. Or two. Or three.

On the eighth day, when Eve is back at her favorite spot, weaving flower stems, a frown on her lips, a man approaches from out of the brush. It’s a man she has never seen before, but he is beautiful. Chocolate brown eyes and pretty brown hair to match with them, he gives her a gentle smile. “Hi,” he says. “You might not recognize me.”

“You’re right, I don’t,” Eve says, on guard. She’s covering her body, cautious. “You’re not one of my children. So who are you?”

“I– I’m the snake,” he says. “My name is Cato. I’m a god.”

“Cato,” Eve repeats, the name swirling around her tongue pleasantly. “That means all-knowing.”

“Yes.”

“So, why did you come to me as a snake and not as yourself, Cato?” She asks, sitting up straighter against the tree behind her. “Why not show yourself to me from the start instead of deceiving me?”

“Forgive me, my dear,” he bows his head in apology. “I did not have an earthly body, and my heavenly form would have scared you. I transformed myself into a snake to meet you, and until my earthly body was ready. I am sorry for tricking you.” His eyes, his beautiful eyes, shine with genuine regret.

“What do you want from me?” She asks.

“Forgive me if I sound weird,” he starts. “But I was there when God made you. You are so beautiful, I will never understand how he did not make you an angel. Alas, I fell for you. And then before I could say anything, he sent you down here with Adam. And I had no way of meeting you anymore.” 

“You…” she trails off. “Fell? For me?”

“Yes, my angel,” he says, walking closer and settling himself on his knees before her. “I fell for you. You have my heart. And if you let me, I would love to have yours.” The god takes her delicate hand into his, running his thumb over her knuckles. His hands engulf hers, long, spindly fingers holding hers with such love, such gentleness that she’s never felt from Adam’s rough, calloused hands. 

She finds her heart fluttering at his honey coated words.

________________

When Chan gets home from dropping you off at your dorm, he remembers to send you a quick text before he retires into bed. 

When he sleeps that night, he dreams. He dreams of him, in an earlier time, walking with you through a beautiful garden.

Your cream colored dress encases your body so elegantly, and the way you wore your hair out of your face yet still cascading down your back makes you look so… ethereal. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”

Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling. 

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”

“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

He wakes up in the morning, confused. The sadness he felt within the dream stays with him as he gets ready for the day, unable to shake the sinking feeling in his stomach. It’s uncomfortable, and he tries to get it to go away by saying to himself in the bathroom mirror, “it’s just a dream. Why are you so upset about it?”

Upset about what?

“Oh,” Chan says, startled by Cato’s questioning voice in his head. “Just… A weird dream. It’s nothing.”

Whatever you say, human.

Chan doesn’t respond, brushing his teeth in a tense, perturbed, silence.

—

Classes were dragging. He’s unable to fully pay attention to what his professors are saying because he can’t get the dream out of his head. Why did it feel so… real? And familiar? Like it's actually happened before? And the loneliness in your eyes from the dream matched the loneliness he saw in them last night when you were talking about Seojun. 

Your thinking is echoing and it’s annoying me. What was the dream about?

A nicer way of asking “what’s wrong” is just asking what’s wrong, you know.

Chan’s eyes roll, but he doesn’t do it himself.

Don’t roll my eyes for me, I’m the one in control right now.

Sorry, I just had to show you my annoyance somehow. 

This time, Chan does roll his eyes. 

“Hyung?” Minho whispers from next to him, tapping his pen against the older man’s forearm. “Are you okay? You keep rolling your eyes.”

Damn, were they that dramatic?

Roll your eyes quieter next time, idiot.

You’re the idiot.

“I’m okay,” Chan reassures quietly. “Just trying to keep them from falling shut.”

“Did you not get enough sleep again? Do I need to start coming over and knocking you out?” Minho balls his hand into a fist, and it takes everything in Chan to not laugh at his friends' antics. Before he can respond, though, their professor clears his throat in annoyance, giving them a glare from his spot in front of the lecture hall. They exchange embarrassed glances before going back to listening to the lecture. 

He quickly makes eye contact with you from a few seats in front of him, and he watches in amusement as you scramble to face completely forward, flustered that he caught you staring at him. He exhales a laugh at your antics, shaking his head slightly as he goes back to typing on his laptop.

Cute. 

Yeah.

After class ends, and Chan’s packing up his stuff, you walk up to him, your tote bag over your shoulder, giving him a shy smile.  “You ready?” 

Minho wiggles his eyebrows at Chan, and he tries not to notice how his cheeks flush at his younger friends' antics. “Yeah, let’s go,” he responds. He turns to Minho, who’s giving him a raised eyebrow. “See you around, Min.”

“Yeah,” the younger male responds. “Bye, y/n!” He waves her a goodbye, of which you copy quite excitedly. The corner of Chan’s lip turns up into a small smile at your antics towards the other male. He knows that out of their whole group, you seem to be closest with Minho and Hwang Hyunjin, always seeing you three together in passing. He wonders if you two will start getting closer, even after the project is finished. He hopes so. He doesn’t think he can go about just being casual to each other – especially after last night's conversation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Your voice breaks through his thoughts, causing him to shake his head a bit in response. 

Good going, idiot.

Shut up, Cato. As if you’ve done any better with her. Remember the convenience store?

This isn’t about me right now.

He fights rolling his eyes. “No reason,” he answers you. “Come on, let’s get some coffee.”

The cafe he took you to is the one right across the street from the building your class was held in. It used to be a house, now repurposed as a cafe, and it has the perfect homey feel to it to help you feel comfortable and relaxed as you picked a seat in one of the upstairs rooms that has a couple tables in each of them for a little more privacy. The morning sun is shining brightly into the window, and Chan can’t help but let out a small chuckle to himself as he watches the way you squint from the sun as you try and look out the window. “Should I close the blind?” He asks as he sits across from you, pushing your tea to your side. 

“No,” you say as you happily pick up the cup. You blow on your tea to cool it down, and Chan can’t help but let his smile grow at the way your cheeks puff out dramatically when you blow on the drink. “I like sunbathing. Minho’s cats and I will lay on our bellies together in front of the big windows in his living room.”

“I’d love to see that sometime,” he laughs out. He doesn’t miss the way your cheeks flush and you giggle shyly in response. “I’m sure Min has a plethora of pictures of it.”

“Don’t tell him I told you but,” you start, taking a sip of your tea. “He joins us.”

“Somehow I really don’t doubt that.”

You fall into a rhythm once more over your project, and after a couple hours, you both decide to take a break. 

“So, are you seeing anyone?” You ask him out of nowhere, now sipping on a second cup of tea. Chan chokes on his coffee, but he quickly covers it up by clearing his throat.

Cato laughs. Nice one.

Shut the fuck up, Cato.

“No, I’m not,” Chan answers, taking a more cautious sip now. “I’ve never actually been in a serious relationship.”

“Oh?” you say, quizzically. “So, you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

“No, I have.” He answers, his cheeks heating. He doesn’t understand why he’s so flustered with your questions, even if they did come out of nowhere. Well, he does understand why. He just doesn’t wanna say it out loud. 

They weren’t y/n, though, right, Channie boy?

Cato, I swear to God.

Don’t bring the Big Man into this.

“But?” You inquire.

“But,” he copies. “They just didn’t work out. We wanted different things.” He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. “Why the sudden interest in my love life, y/n?” The teasing lilt to his voice causes you to stammer out, falling (rather cutely) over your words, trying your best to come up with a reason. Chan chuckles at the rattled expression on your face.

You know why she’s asking.

I don’t.

Don’t be stupid, Chan.

Chan fights a scoff at the god’s words, not wanting to give you the wrong impression. He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to explain who’s camping in his consciousness with him without taking a trip to the nearest psych ward. 

‘Man claims God lives in him’ has been a headline I’ve seen too much in the time humans have existed.

I wonder why.

Before Chan can continue the conversation he has with you (more like redirect it so he doesn’t have to admit to his commitment issues), something – or someone – catches your attention from behind him. The way your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and a flash of disdain that goes away as fast as it showed up cause Chan to turn around. A man is seating himself in the room across the hall, a blonde girl at his side as they laugh at something the man says. He turns back around to see that you’re still looking at them. “Y/n? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, that’s Seojun,” you say. Chan’s stomach drops, turning back around at the exact time Seojun turns to look at the two of you. Something flashes across the other man’s face, but it’s gone before Chan can even fully register what it is.

Seojun turns to the blonde next to him, before he turns back and starts walking towards their table. Seojun is… wow, is he tall. And buff. Chan almost feels intimated.

Oh great, here comes the jolly green giant.

Chan has to force himself to not laugh at Cato’s comment as he turns back to you. You give him a weird face, which he decides to ignore.

Cato, please.

I’m just saying. Why is God so unfair when he makes you humans? He could have given Seojun’s extra height to you.

Stop it!

No one needs to be that tall is all I’m saying.

“What are you doing here, babe?” Seojun asks as he stands next to you at the table, a rushed lilt to his voice. Almost like he’S panicking. Chan watches your face as it drops, the tight lipped smile you give to your boyfriend is clear to no one but him. “Who’s this?”

“This is Chan,” you answer. “He’s my partner for a project.”

“Hey. I’m her boyfriend, Seojun,” the other man says, outstretching his hand for Chan to take. He does, giving it a firm shake and a quick head nod in greeting. “Though, I’m sure you’ve already heard of me.”

Arrogant.

Tell me about it.

“Oh, I’ve heard plenty,” Chan responds, the snark in his voice subtle enough that it seems like a genuine compliment. “She said you were in finance.”

“Oh, yeah,” Seojun answers. “It’s gonna help out a lot, money wise. This girl right here wants a big wedding. Isn’t that right, babe?” 

Chan’s eye twitches as he looks to you for your response. Your smile is that of discomfort, tight lipped as you rigidly nod your head, not making eye contact with Chan.

“Who are you with?” You ask, changing the subject as you strain your neck to look into the next room. “Is that Aecha?”

Seojun’s face drops. “Oh, uh, no. That's my project partner,” he answers quickly. “We have a business plan due in a couple weeks so we’re meeting to get it done early.”

“Oh, okay,” you say simply. Your eyes stay on the girl in the other room, squinting a little in suspicion.“I didn’t know you had a project.”

“Yeah,” Seojun rubs his neck, almost nervously. “Well, I should get back to her. I’ll leave you two alone, now. Don’t forget about the dinner with our parents tomorrow.”

“How could I,” you mutter as he starts walking away. “I’ll see you later.”

Chan’s almost grateful that Seojun didn’t kiss you. It seems you look grateful he didn’t, too. He can’t help but notice the way your mood instantly sours after Seojun leaves, though you try not to show it too much. You give him a forced smile. “Shall we continue with our project then?” You ask him, your voice pitches higher towards the end, and Chan knows you’re uncomfortable.

I don’t like him.

Neither do I.

________________

❝i could die in your arms.❞

Eve is giggling.

She’s resting her head on the soft grass that encases her body, the edges of the blades tickling against her naked waist. Cato lays next to her, chuckling along with her. “So,” she starts as she sits up on her side, picking a flower from the field and rolling it between her fingers gently. “If your name means all-knowing… Does that mean you’re a god of knowledge?”

Cato quiets. Eerily quiet. In the short time Eve has known him as his humanly self, he is never short of words. He always has a story or a joke to tell, Eve wonders how his puny human lungs can even hold that much air for him to talk so much. So, for him to go as quiet as he did, she worries. 

“Did I say something to upset you?” she asks, her delicate fingers stopping its movements. He also sits up on his side, letting his long fingers brush through the front of her hair as a small smile encases his beautiful face. 

“No, my angel,” he responds. “You could never do anything to upset me,” his thumb swiped gently across her bottom lip, and then down her chin before his hand fell back to his side. Eve feels her face heat up. “I’m not the god of knowledge, as you might think. Actually… I’m a calamity god.”

Eve doesn’t respond. “Like… the flood? That kind of calamity?”

He nods. “I was ordered to flood the earth myself.”

“It killed everyone…” Eve whispers, widened eyes filled with tears. “Why?”

“God is…” Cato trails, unsure if he should continue. His eyes, so beautiful and such a deep color, cascade down to glare at the grass blades dancing in the wind, unbeknownst to them that a god is staring them down with a look of disdain on his expression. Eve can see the regret and the anger in his eyes as he stares down at the earth beneath them. Eve wishes she can rid him of the hatred he feels for himself.

He doesn’t have to say anything, though. Because Eve knows how God is. She knows how He is all too well. For she, too, has been forced to be things she does not wish to be, solely because the person who created her says so. Her own eyes well with tears. Tears of anger and sadness, for both her and Cato. She doesn’t think anyone on this damned planet will ever understand them the way they do each other.

“Did you want to?” She asks. Cato shakes his head.

“I didn’t have a choice,” he adds. “It’s what I was created for. To bring destruction.”

“I think you’re more than what you were meant for.” She says, a smile on her face. 

Eve doesn’t expect it, but the god starts crying. And as he cries, she cradles him in her arms, brushing her fingers through his curly hair. “You are good, Cato,” she whispers in his ear, letting her lips ghost gently against the shell of it. “It does not matter what you have done, you are good.”

She presses a gentle kiss to his temple as his wails echo in the garden.

________________

Chan doesn’t hear from you all weekend. You weren’t in class Friday morning, and you haven’t answered any of his messages since before your dinner with your parents. He hasn’t thought much of it. He assumed you had a late night on Thursday and just skipped class the next morning because you were nursing a hangover. 

“Hey, have you heard from y/n?” Minho asks him Monday afternoon, when their whole group is sitting at a table in the cafeteria. “I’m only asking because you two have been… close recently.”

His cheeks flush as he watches his other friends look at him with widened eyes and agape mouths. “Uh, no I haven’t. I was actually just gonna ask you the same thing.”

“Didn’t she have dinner with her parents on Thursday?” Jeongin asks. Chan nods in response. “Last I heard from her was when she was asking me which outfit was appropriate for the dinner, she didn’t seem like she wanted to go, though.”

“Yeah, she was texting our group chat during it and she wasn’t having a very good time. But she never usually does with her parents involved.” Hyunjin adds, taking a bite of his noodles. 

“What group chat? I didn’t get anything in our group chat,” Jisung whines, opening his phone to double check. 

“Me, y/n, Minho hyung and Felix all have a separate group chat together,” Hyunjin answers casually. “She was texting in there.”

Chan tunes them out as Jisung and Changbin start whining that they want a group chat with you, but all Chan can focus on is how you’ve gone completely silent since Wednesday. 

“Hey, hyung,” Felix says, getting the older man’s attention by waving his small hand in front of his face. “Don’t worry about y/n. She’s okay. She goes ghost like this sometimes, especially after an event with her parents. She’ll come back around soon, she just needs to recharge.”

“Are you mad at her for not answering you?” Minho questions, eyebrow raised. The younger male looked as if he was waiting for Chan to answer the wrong way. 

“No, of course not. Why would I be?” Chan shakes his head in response. “I was just worried. We’ve just… been talking a lot recently and I wasn’t sure if I did something to upset her or anything.”

“I don’t think you could ever do anything to upset her.” Felix mutters, and Chan watches in confusion as he and Hyunjin both share a knowing look with one another. Minho elbows Hyunjin in the ribs. 

It means she likes you, idiot. 

Do you know how to be nice?

Chan doesn’t get any response from you until Tuesday night. A simple “can i come over?” was all you sent him.

Now, he’s panickedly cleaning his apartment while he waits anxiously for you. 

Why don’t you clean like this on a normal day?

“Because,” Chan grunts as he scrubs at a particular stain in his bowl. “I’m a busy guy and don’t have time to keep up with things regularly.” 

Just as Cato is about to respond, there's a knock on the front door. Chan stops in his tracks, hurriedly rinsing the bowl and adding the last couple of dishes into one side of the sink to hide them as he runs to answer the door, clumsily drying his hands on his pants. When he opens the door, you’re standing there, glaring at the space where the door was a second ago. “Hey,” he says, which snaps you out of your trance to look up at him. 

“Hi,” you answer softly, smiling. Though it doesn’t match the defeated look in your eyes. “Can I come in?”

Chan nods, stepping aside as you walk into his apartment. He follows you to his couch, where you both sit on opposite ends. Your legs immediately go up, knees pressing against your chest as you wrap your arms around your legs. You’re not making eye contact with Chan, and it makes his stomach hollow in anxiety. You look so sad it almost feels like it’s creeping into his bones, souring his mood and ramping up his anxiety as he sees you cave in on yourself from the other end of his couch. He watches as you bat away tears, rolling your eyes in annoyance as they fill your pretty eyes. 

“Is there something you want to talk about?” Chan asks softly, scooting himself closer to you. He crosses his legs on his couch and turns his body to you, giving you a softened, welcoming look. The hand that isn’t propping his head against the back of the couch is twitching on his legs to reach out, to hold yours to comfort you. But he doesn’t want to over step and make you uncomfortable. You don’t answer, seemingly falling back into a spaced out trance, if the unfocus in your eyes is anything to go by. He lets his finger gently rub against your shin to get your attention, and he watches as your eyes fill with tears once more as you look up at him. “What’s wrong, y/n?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head, biting the inside of your lip. “Just… wanted to see you.”

Chan doesn’t believe it, giving you a raised eyebrow. “Just to see me?” 

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing. “I missed you is all,” you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, giving him a small smile. “I got used to seeing you all the time now.”

Chan’s cheeks flush, and he tries not to let his smile get too dopey as his heart flutters at your words. 

Oh! You pathetic man. 

Stop. 

“How was the dinner with your parents?” Chan asks. You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your throat as you look away from him. “Was it bad?”

You’re quiet. You look as if you want to say something, the words on the tip of your tongue and threatening to spill over. But you hesitate. You’re biting your tongue as you contemplate your next words. It almost concerns him. 

“If I do something,” you start quietly. “Would you be mad?”

Chan’s eyebrows scrunch, his head tilting to the side in question. “What is it?”

“Can I try something?” Eve asks, tilting her head as her eyes flicker between Cato’s mouth and his pretty dark eyes. Cato nods, watching in nervous anticipation as Eve climbs over his lap, plush thighs on either side of his lips as she leans in and ghosts her lips against his. 

Cato catches her mouth in a soft, tender kiss. It raises goosebumps to their skin, and their heartbeats quicken. Eve’s belly erupts in butterflies, climbing up her throat and she lets out a small sound. Cato hands find home at her waist, the pads of his fingers indenting her skin as he squeezes gently.

You finally look at him, eyes flitting down the length of his face, stopping at his mouth before looking at him again. Your gaze flickers between his mouth and his eyes before you lean forward, your nose ghosting against his as your lips meet. Chan responds immediately, cupping your face and deepening the kiss.

It’s shy, yet so electric. The butterflies you feel in your stomach are intense, prickling up your back and making you light headed. It isn’t long before you're clamoring across the couch and into Chan’s lap. His hands slide down your waist before he wraps his arms around your back, caging you into his body. He keeps his mouth working against yours, and can’t help the way his cock jumps when your hips shift a little, pressing your clothed core against him. Your hands hold his face, your thumb brushing against the apples of his cheeks every once and a while. His heart swells at the noises you make as you shyly start to grind yourself down against him, wanting to feel him more and more against you.

Should you really be doing that?

Doing what?

Kissing someone who isn’t yours.

“Wait,” Chan says as he pulls back. He has to swallow the groan that’s threatening to escape his throat as he takes in the sight of you. Your cheeks are red, lips swollen and spit slick. You already look so fucked out and all he’s done is kiss you. He feels like he’s going crazy. “What about Seojun?”

“What about Adam?” Cato asks Eve as he breaks away, his fingers rubbing circles on her hips. 

“It was never Seojun,” You respond, shaking your head. Your thumb swipes against his cheek. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Chan.”

“It was never Adam,” Eve responds, nails digging into the skin on his shoulders. “I waited for you for so long, Cato.”

“Since the day I met you,” you continued, breathless. Somehow, your cheeks turn redder. He doesn’t think you could look more angelic than right now. “I’ve wanted you.”

“Since the day I came into existence,” Eve sighs out. Cato thinks she looks absolutely ethereal this way. “I’ve waited for you.”

Cato can’t help the smile that stretches across his lips as he leans up to kiss her again.

Chan doesn’t respond, only placing a hand at the back of your neck and pulling you back down to him. He kisses you again, this time a little more desperate, a little more aggressive. You whine, letting your lips fall open so his tongue can explore inside your mouth. Your mouths work in perfect sync with one another, a desperate, needy, rhythm that says more than any words in the English and Korean lexicon could ever say. He can’t explain the way he feels while he’s kissing you, but he feels as if clouds are filling his head.

His hands move back to your hips, helping you to grind down against his hardened cock, and he doesn’t miss the way your whines sound more and more breathy each time he moves you against him. “Have you ever had sex before?” He asks you.

“No,” you say. “No one’s ever touched me, either.”

“You mean, in the three years you’ve been with Seojun, he hasn’t fucked you once?” Chan asks, eyebrows furrowing and a sense of pride filling his chest. You shake your head. “Why?”

“I didn’t want him to.” You whisper.

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around your waist as he stands up from his couch, carrying you into his bedroom and gently placing you atop his sheets. 

Cato lays her naked body gently on her back in the soft grass. She looks so pretty like this, some of hair still laying softly over her shoulders and the rest blending beautifully with the grass, eyes widened in curiosity. “I got you, my love,” he says in a gentle voice as he crawls over her. “Let me show you how much you mean to me.”

He thinks this sight alone is enough to be painted and framed in a gallery. Eve, splayed out like this for him with her ruddy cheeks and widened eyes. It was a sight he never wanted to stop seeing.

He kisses her again before letting his mouth move from her own to her cheek, jaw, then down her neck, biting softly on his way down. 

Chan unbuttons your jeans, and you help him with getting them off your legs and onto his floor. He takes off your shirt and bra next, leaving you only in your underwear. He crawls over you, his thigh slotting in between your legs and ghosting against your clothed cunt. “Let me take care of you, my love.” 

He kisses your lips once more before he places a kiss on your cheek, then along your jaw, then down the expense of your neck, leaving pretty purple marks along the way. He stops at your breasts, ghosting his mouth around one nipple before taking it into his mouth. His free hand comes to tweak the other, softly pinching and rubbing along the top of it while his mouth works at the other. Your hand weaves its way into his soft curls, pushing them off his forehead so you can see what he’s doing better. He almost moans at the feeling of your hips bucking up to slide your cunt against his thigh. 

“Just like that, angel,” he mutters against your skin. You whine, your fingers almost kneading the top of his head. He presses his thigh more into your core, giving you more friction that makes your sensitive body jolt and your breath hitch.

He doesn’t stay long at your breasts, opting to let his kisses and marks trail down your torso, right to your hips. He settles onto his stomach, hands holding the under part of your hips as he takes in the sight of your cunt. A wet patch has soaked through your underwear, sticking to your lips and outlining the shape of you. He presses a gentle kiss against the wet patch, and he doesn’t miss the way your hips jolt back. “Chan,” You whine. 

“Yes?” He coos, freeing a hand from under you and letting his pointer finger gently ghost along your cunt. You wiggle your hips, trying to get more pressure from his finger but he pulls it away. “You have to tell me what you want, angel. Wiggling your hips isn’t gonna help me know what you want.”

He watches in adoration as your cheeks flush yet again, your eyes darting to look everywhere but at him as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. “I want you to touch me,” you whisper. “Please, touch me.” Your words come out so breathy, so desperate, it makes Chan’s head want to explode. He gives you a smile.

“Anything for you, my love,” he responds before he sits back up on his knees, letting his fingers grab ahold of the waistband of your panties and sliding them slowly down your legs with your help. They fall somewhere on the edge of the bed behind him, but it’s not something he’s concerned about as the musky smell of your cunt hits his nose again as he lays back down. Your cunt glistens so prettily for him, and he forces himself to hold in a moan. “You’re so pretty.” 

His fingers slide up and down between your swollen lips, and you let out small whines whenever his fingers rub a teasing circle against your clit that’s peeking out between your slit. He kisses along your inner thighs, across your mound as he slowly inserts a finger into your entrance. 

Cato kisses along Eve’s thighs, before he gives a broad swipe of his tongue up the expense of her cunt. She gasps, hips twitching. “Has he ever done this to you?”

“No,” Eve sighs out as Cato gives another broad swipe. “He barely touches me.” Cato doesn’t respond, letting his tongue circle around Eve’s clit, which elicits a moan to fall from her pretty mouth.

“Don’t worry, my angel,” Cato says. “I’ll show you just how a man should love you.”

Your walls clench around his finger, and he places gentle kisses against your sensitive nub, whispering, “Relax, baby. I got you.” Your body deflates when you let out the breath you were holding, your own hand falling towards the hand that’s gripping onto your hip. You intertwine your fingers together, and he gives you a reassuring squeeze as he crooks his finger up into that spongy spot that has your back arching slightly and a gasp falling from your pretty lips. His mouth attaches itself to your clit, alternating between lightly sucking and feverish kitten licks. Your hand squeezes his as shy moans involuntarily fall from your lips at his ministrations. 

He feels his cock pulsing at each sound you let out, and he can’t help but grind his hips down onto the bed for some friction of his own. “Chan, more, please,” you whine out, bucking your hips into his face. He doesn’t hesitate to add another finger, scissoring you open as his mouth continues at your clit. He pumps his fingers in and out of your entrance slowly, making sure to hook up when he plunges back in. You’re so tight around his fingers, and he can’t help but let out a moan at the thought of you taking his cock, sucking him into your warm walls. The fact that no one has ever touched you – not even your own boyfriend – and that he has the honor of being your first is driving him up a wall.

Only he gets to see you this way. Only he gets to hear your whiny moans, and only he gets to see the pretty way your body reacts to his touch. He can't help but let his fingers get a little faster, a little more prominent in the way they press against that sweet spot that has the coil tightening in the pit of your belly. “Chan.”

“You gonna cum, angel?” He asks against your pussy, keeping his steady yet harsh rhythm of his fingers plunging into your hole. You let out a hum as your response, and he can’t help but smile against your cunt. He keeps his mouth on your clit, his eyes rolling back as you let out another moan, your hips bucking to feel more, more, more. You clench around his fingers, your pretty sounds are strangled as your body clenches up, and that’s when he knows to remove his mouth from your clit, watching your face as your jaw slacks, and your body writhes so prettily under him. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.” He slows his fingers, helping you ride out your high on his fingers. You feel so much more wet than before, and it takes every ounce of control Chan has to not dive back in and overstimulate you, drive you to another one. And another one. Until you’re spent and begging for him to stop, yet pushing him closer to continue.

Next time.

He moves up your body, and kisses you again. You let out a whine when you taste yourself on his tongue, your own essence covering your chin from his own as he licks into your mouth. You use your legs to redirect him, so his clothed cock lines up with your dripping pussy as he grinds his hips down against you. You shiver, still sensitive from just a second ago. “I want you,” you whisper. He pulls away, looking at you with widened eyes.

“Are you sure?” He asks. “Cause if you’re actually not ready, tell me. I’ll wait for you.”

“I’ve waited for you long enough,” you answer, rutting your hips up against him. He sucks in a breath. “Please?”

Chan only nods as he climbs off you to discard his clothes to the floor. The bruising on his side hasn’t fully gone away, but it’s not as bad as it was last week. “Was that from your fall?” You ask him as he climbs over you again, your delicate fingers ghosting over his ribcage. 

“Uh, yeah,” he said, looking down at your hand. “I didn’t actually fall, though. I got hit by a car.” 

“I know.”

Chan gives you a double take, eyebrows scrunched and his mouth agape in confusion. You giggle and press a chaste kiss to his lips. “You know?”

“Yeah, I was with Changbin and Jisung when he got the call,” you respond, still giggling. “I just figured you said you fell to not worry me.”

Yeah, we can go with that. Really I was just saving you the embarrassment. Who gets hit by cars these days?

Don’t ruin this, Cato. 

Chan only chuckles softly, his smile widening and crinkling his eyes in such a pretty way. You can’t help but lean up and press your lips to his, your hands cupping his cheeks to bring his face down with yours. He kisses you back quickly, letting you take the lead as he opens your legs and maneuvers himself so his cock can glide along your slit. You lift your legs more, letting the head of his cock catch along your entrance. “Please,” you whisper against his mouth. “I’m ready.”

Chan moves a hand down to guide the tip of his cock into your entrance, and he goes slow as he sheathes himself inside. You tense up, the pressure a foreign feeling. “Relax,” he whispers, kissing along your cheek and down your jaw. A small whine leaves your mouth and he stills his hips immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out. “I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt it just… feels full.”

“Yeah?” He asks, letting himself move again. One his hips are touching yours, you can fully feel him snugly inside you. You feel so full, and it’s so overwhelming but so addictive at the same time. It feels as if you were molded to fit him. He gives an experimental movement, and your hands immediately go to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “You okay?”

“Yeah. You can move.” He kisses you, distracting you as he pulls out and then plunges back in again. He keeps it at a slow rhythm at first, letting you get used to the feeling before he gradually starts speeding up. You were so tight around him, your velvety walls welcoming him in with each time the head of his cock ghosts along that spongy part that has the breath punched out of you again and again.

“You feel so good, angel,” he grunts against your neck. “Like you were made for me.” You can only choke out a moan in response, nails raking over his shoulders. He intertwines his fingers with yours above your head, and he digs his face further into your neck as he places wet kisses along it. 

Cato intertwined his fingers with Eve’s as he slowly moved his hips. “You’re mine?” Cato asked.

“Yours. I’m yours,” Eve gasped in response.“I love you.” Cato can only smile as he dips his head down to capture her lips in a messy kiss.

Chan keeps a steady pace, making sure to angle himself upwards when he thrusts back in. He hits deep, stretching you around his cock and every time he’s at the hilt, it knocks the wind out of your lungs. The breathy moans you let out at each thrust sends Chan deeper and deeper into the clouds, mind hazy and senses full of you. You’re everywhere, it seems, encasing his body in yours as the whole world melts away. He about loses his hold on himself when your quivering walls start clenching around him, greedily sucking him back in. His thrusts speed up, his one hand letting go of yours and finding home under your head, a fist full of hair as he brings your body as close to his as possible. The feel of your breasts pressing against his chest grounds him a bit, and he lets out a strained moan from the back of his throat.

“Cum in me,” you manage to say in between strangled sounds. “I want it, please.”

“Just a little more,” Chan grunts out. “Almost there. Fuck, you feel so good. You’re so good for me, angel.”

Chan’s hips still, his cum shooting into you and painting your walls. He moans, whiney, as he shoves his face back into your neck. Your hands move to his hair, raking through it as you whisper in his ear. 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

—

You spend the night at Chan’s house, only sending a simple message to your group chat with Hyunjin, Minho, and Felix where you were staying and that you were okay. Your simple message respectively blows up the group chat, with Felix and Hyunjin practically screaming to tell them details, and then Minho crashing into your world like a meteor with one single question.

Did you break up with Seojun?

You decided not to answer that question (because you haven’t), only texting back that you’ll explain when you get back to class on Friday and then shakily put your phone down on the coffee table. You look over towards the kitchen to see Chan’s back towards you, the sizzling of the food in the pan the only sound filling the apartment. You can’t help but smile at the sight. You uncross your legs from the couch, walking into the kitchen area and standing behind Chan. Your arms wrap lovingly around his waist, your cheek pressing into his back and you feel his body relax into your hold. He turns down the stove and turns around in your hold, a smile adorning his features as he places a kiss against your lips.

“Thanks for letting me stay last night,” you say as he pulls away from you. “I didn’t want to face Ryujin’s interrogation yet.”

“Well, now you’re gonna have to face mine,” Chan says, raising his eyebrow at you. You smile sheepishly at him, your gaze tearing away from his. He lifts your chin up, forcing you to keep eye contact. “What happened?”

You sigh, pulling your body away. You run your hand over your face as you lean against the counter behind you. Chan does the same on the opposite side, giving you an expectant look as he waits for you to start talking. “I found out Seojun was cheating on me. At the dinner.” You say, voice a little shaky.

Chan pauses, and his stomach drops. Seojun was cheating?

Don’t act as if you aren’t happy to hear that. 

I’m not happy! That’s awful!

You know what I mean, you idiot. You’re happy he’s out of the way now.

Chan doesn’t respond to Cato, focusing his attention back to you. “I’m so sorry, y/n,” he responds, his arm stretching over to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You don’t deserve that.”

You take in a breath. “Yeah, well,” you shrug. “It happens. Sad thing is, I can’t even say I’m surprised. Looking back, it makes a lot of sense.”

Chan’s eyebrow furrows. “Did… you break up with him?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. “I… haven’t yet.” 

And you slept with her. 

“You… You haven’t?” He asks, confusion painting across his face. “Why?”

“I— I was going to,” you start. “I just… I wanted to see you first,”

“y/n,” Chan says, voice shaky. “Am I a rebound?”

You shake your head vigorously, your own eyes shining with unshed tears. “No! No, I really wasn’t planning on last night happening at all. I wanted to break up with him first but I just… I don’t know, I had to see you first.”

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks. “About wanting to be with me as long as you said?” 

“Yes,” you nod. “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Hyunjin or Felix. Even Minho. They know how I feel about you.”

Chan’s quiet. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what to think. On one hand, the selfish hand, he’s over the moon he had you in his bed last night, and he’s still a bit drunk off your words from last night. But, on the other hand, he wants to send you on your way, to give himself, and you, some space. He can’t believe he didn’t prod further about what you meant last night. He just assumed by your confession, you had already broken it off with Seojun.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I should probably go.” 

“Call me when you break it off with Seojun, okay?” Chan finally says, nodding his head. His heart clenches as he sees a tear fall down your face. “We’ll talk about us after that.”

The silence that replaces the apartment after you leave is deafening. 

Chan?

“Not now, Cato,” Chan replies, shaking his head. He can feel a migraine coming on, his eyes becoming sore and sensitive to the bright lights of his kitchen. “Shit,” a pained whimper falls from his throat as he massages his eyes. “I think I need to call someone.” 

I remember why I came to Earth.

“Can it wait until later, please?” Chan winces, annoyance mixing with the pain in his voice. “My head is fucking splitting.”

Chan…

“Cato, for fucks sake, please!” He yells, which makes his head pound even more. “I can’t figure out your problem right now.”

Cato doesn’t respond.

Chan calls Minho, which in hindsight probably wasn’t the best idea, but he knew Jisung and Changbin would be loud and dramatic and he really didn’t want that right now. Minho is quiet, and he knows what to do when Chan is under the weather. 

The younger male is quick to arrive, immediately shoving pain pills into Chan’s hand and ordering him to take them. “Were you making something?” Minho asks as he points to the pan. 

“Oh, yeah,” Chan said from the couch. His head feels as if it can explode. “I was making y/n and I breakfast when—” he stops himself, looking over through his lashes at the other man. 

“I already know,” Minho says. “So, where is she?”

“Uh, well,” Chan starts, having to take a second to will away the urge to vomit. “I slept with her…”

“And?”

“She never broke up with Seojun before we did.” Minho sighs, shaking his head as he joins the brunette on the couch. 

“I told her she needed to do that first,” Minho responds. “She’s just as impulsive as Han Jisung. Worse than Han Jisung, actually.”

Chan wants to chuckle, but his head is somehow getting worse. His body starts aching again, as if the bruises are coming back. And suddenly it hurts to breathe. “Min,” he grunts out. “Min, I think we need to go to the hospital.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

Chan?

I feel like I’m fucking dying again. 

Chan collapses to the floor, and when Minho slides down with him does he notice the blood pooling and staining the rug underneath the older man’s head. “Fuck. Fuck, okay. Hold on, hyung. I’m calling for help.”

Suddenly an otherworldly amount of pressure is pressing on Chan’s body, like the weight of the skies is laying flat along where he lays in his living room. He starts to panic, lungs starting to work overtime as Minho calls the emergency hotline from somewhere in the room.

Cato, what’s going on?

Your… Your injuries are coming back. 

A white, blinding light floods Chan’s vision from the ceiling, and he feels a pull from the light. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Cato?

I’m getting taken back, Chan.

Cato! Don’t leave me!

The air slowly leaves his lungs, deflating like a balloon that wasn’t tied. He feels like a layer of his skin is being peeled away as the pressure in his head worsens, and Cato’s voice gets farther and farther away.

“Ca—” Chan tries to call out to him, but he passes out before he could.

I’m dying.

________________

❝took my breath from my open mouth, never known how it broke me down.❞

Cato and Eve snuck around under Adam’s nose after that fateful morning in the garden. Always meeting at the spot where they first met, making love to the song of the stream whenever they could. It felt different with Cato. It felt… good. Like lying with this man wasn’t a chore, but something she felt was their way of bonding. Connecting. She didn’t give a damn what God said. 

She was not made for Adam. She and the god, Cato, were weaved from the same essence that brought them life — a single soul split into two different beings. And by lying with him, it strengthened that. She was his, as he was hers. 

Cato was such a gentle lover, compared to Adam (if you could even call Adam a lover). Cato took her into his arms and worshiped her body as if she was a Goddess herself. The way his fingers indented her skin on her hips when his head was in between her thighs, lapping at her nectar, had her seeing stars. She found God in a lover, and the forbidden fruit tasted so sweet on her tongue.

Eve was happy.

That happiness didn't last long, though. And she was foolish to think it would.

She swore Adam went out to hunt that day, she saw him off. So, how he managed to find Eve at the stream hanging off a cock that wasn’t his, she’ll never know.

Adam told God right away.

Cato was ripped from her before she could even get to her knees. Before she could beg. She watched as a bright light encased Cato’s earthly body from the heavens, the light so blinding she’s forced to look to the ground if she still wished to keep her sight. She wailed that day, a mantra of inhuman, throat curdling sounds ripped from deep within her core as she punched her fists into the soil. 

“Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!” She howled. Adam stood behind her, face stoic as he watched Eve mourn the loss of her lover. 

“It’s what you deserve,” Adam spits. “You’re lucky I’m gracious enough to let you live. Your pretty face would be one with stone if I was anyone else.”

Eve’s crying stopped then. The garden of Eden was silent, not even the stream was brave enough to sing. Everything was dead still, a simmering animosity burned brightly just under the surface of Eve’s plush skin. Adam’s stoicism fell as he caught the look on his wife’s face. 

It was that of pure, unadulterated rage.

“I should have strung you up to that tree when I had the chance.” The venom drips from her words and poisons Adam’s veins the second they hit him.

—

“You weren’t supposed to tempt Eve,” God’s commanding voice boomed across the heavens. Cato sat on his knees, wrists and ankles chained to the marble ground. Different god’s sat around, watching the serpent intently, curious as to what was to happen to him. “You weren’t even supposed to make yourself known to her.”

“I told you why I was going to Earth,” Cato responded, voice tired. “I told you I fell for someone.”

“And that person was not supposed to be Eve!” Thunder cracked angrily across the sky. Murmurs erupted among the other gods. “You have tainted her, driven her off her path to her purpose.”

“Her purpose?” Cato repeated, indignant. “Her purpose is to be a breeding cow for a man who can’t even bother to see her as his equal?”

“And you were equals?” God laughed, a bellowing, boom laugh at the lesser god’s foolishness. “You’re a god, Cato. A heavenly entity that simple mortals can barely fathom the concept of. And you think Eve and you are equals?”

“I love her.”

Whispers of “love her?” echo through the chamber. 

“She’s not yours to love!” God’s angry voice silenced the whispers, a tense stillness crushing Cato and pressing on his lungs. “You know I have to punish you.” 

“Punish me all you wish,” Cato spat. “It will never deter how I feel for Eve.”

“Oh, my sweet child, it will.”

— 

Cato wakes to cold biting at his skin. It’s so cold, so so cold. His eyes open to gray skies and heavy snow sprinkling along his cheeks. Snow covered trees line the horizon of his bleary vision, head pounding and body aching. He moves his fingers, feeling under the layer of snow and making way to the dead grass underneath. 

He’s on Earth.

He tries to sit up, but his chest is burning and he’s having a hard time moving his arms. He feels like his body is being held down by a cinder block, unable to move himself from his spot. 

“General Bang!” A voice shouts, muffled. He moves his head to find the voice, but a face comes into his line of vision as he looks right. “General Bang! You’re badly injured, don’t move. Wagon! I need a wagon!” 

“What happened?” Cato whispers out, and the man grabs one of his hands from the snow. “Who are you?”

“It’s Hwang!” the man yells. “Hwang Hyunjin, do you remember?” 

Cato wasn't able to respond as his eyes fell heavy and then closed.

When he awakes again, he is in a tent. He shoots up in a panic, looking around the space. A sharp pain shoots through his chest, making him groan and his elbows give out. “Hey, easy,” the same man says as he helps Cato lay back down. Hyunjin. His long black hair is tied up out of his face, a look of relief washing over it as he settles back down in the chair next to Cato’s cot. “You got a pretty nasty gash across your chest. It’s a miracle you didn’t die out there, Chan.”

“What do you mean?” He asks. 

“I mean a dozen other men died from the same wound,” Hyunjin responds. “Your guardian angel is really looking out for you.”

“What happened?”

“Did you hit your head? We’re in a war,” Hyunjin responds, his eyebrows furrowed. “This was the most brutal battle we’ve fought in three years. How hard did you hit your head?”

Chan’s memories of the past couple years flash in Cato’s mind – like a short synopsis of what his vessel has been up to before he took over. Cato realizes that at that moment, Chan was dead. Cato was the sole entity keeping this body alive.

But why?

“Pretty hard, I guess,” Cato chuckles in response. “Does that mean… we won?”

“You bet your ass we did,” a smirk spreads across the male’s mouth. “We lost a lot of good men out there, though. Not looking forward to letting their wives know they’re widows now,” Cato nods his head, his gaze flitting around the ceiling of the medical tent. Hyunjin nudges his arm again, a grin on his face. “Are you gonna go back to y/n?”

A pulse shoots throughout his entire body at the mention of your name, a sinking feeling in his stomach that’s accompanied by the racing of his heart. He only shrugs. “If she’ll have me.”

“I don’t think she’d have anyone else.”

—

The war ends, and the troops all come back home. And Cato finds himself in front of a beautiful castle. Memories of Chan courting you for years flash in his mind. He seemed to have really adored you. Cato feels a twinge in his heart at the thought that Chan will never be able to experience being with you. 

But, to Cato, you give him an overwhelming sense of deja vu. Like he already knew you. Like he already knew your body, your soul, like the back of his hand. So, when he visits you after three long years, and you were already taken by another man, his heart shatters. For Chan, and for another unknown reason he doesn’t think he’s ready to explore.

He still walks with you in the garden that day. Your arms are linked together, and he can’t help but stare at the side of your angelic face as you giggle at something he says. “You are a character, Mr. Bang,” you say in between giggles. “I sure am glad you came home from the war, alive and healthy.”

“I am too,” he says, his own smile unable to leave his face. “It’s just a shame I couldn’t marry you before I left. I hope Lord Emroy is treating you well, though, and giving you everything you could ever want.”

Your smile falters, and your gaze flitters away from him. Loneliness fills your pretty eyes and you quiet for a second. “He does treat me well, Chan,” you glance up at him for a quick second before your eyes cast down to the ground once more.``But that does not mean I am happy with him.”

“I see,” is all he responds with, his own smile falling. 

“Why did you not marry me?” You ask, voice wavering.

He sighs, stopping your walk and placing himself in front of you. He takes your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. “I wanted to marry you, I still want to marry you. But, I could not let you wait for me, for if I were to not have come back, I would have made you a widow, and you did not deserve that. You are beautiful, Y/n. And you deserve to have the chance to have a long, healthy, and loving marriage.”

“My marriage is anything but loving,” you say bitterly, tears welling in your eyes. “Sure, he doesn’t belittle me like other husbands, but it is not a marriage forged out of love, Chan. It was a business transaction. I was property he wished to buy,” a single tear falls down your cheek, down your neck and soaking through the neckline of your gown. His heart breaks at seeing you cry. He cups your face, letting his thumb wipe the tears falling from your eyes away.“He will never love me the way you did.”

“I am sorry, y/n.”

“I would have waited for you,” you continue. “I would have waited lifetimes for you.”

Cato doesn’t respond, only letting his eyes flicker around your face, sadness overtaking his gaze. You both stare at one another, so close to each other. It’s quiet, between you two. Not tense, but not comfortable either.

His eyes widen in shock when you lean up to kiss his lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss you back, letting his hands cup your cheeks. You pull away after a second though, tears pulling into your eyes. “I’m sorry, I just… needed to know what it felt like to kiss you.”

You turn and walk away, leaving him alone in the garden with the taste of you still on his lips.

Cato is sentenced to live a life next to the reincarnation of Eve, always at his fingertips but never having the right to have her. Chan’s soul was with him for every single one. Each life is a punishment, a test. Each time he gives into his temptation of having Eve to himself, of dancing along that line with her, he is ripped from his mortal body and Chan’s own soul is torn with him. 

Chan dies every time.

Again. And again. And again. And again. For millennia, Cato is subjected to always losing Eve in the most brutal of ways just as he finally thinks he has her for himself. As soon as he lies with her, he is forced to leave her soon after.

He can never escape it.

________________

❝i won’t die for love, but ever since i met you, you could have my heart and I would break it for you.❞

Cato sits on his knees in a desolate chamber. It’s deathly still, and eerily silent. The only sound is his breathing – which is slowed. His wrists, bound in enchanted steel cuffs, sit chained to the ground in front of where he sits on his knees. His hair lays on his shoulders, dirty and knotted. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here — it could be months. It could be centuries.

He doesn’t think he cares anymore.

Chan is dead. He has to be. There’s no way he managed to survive the way Cato was ripped out of him like that. He hasn’t survived it in any of the lifetimes Cato spent using his body. 

It was cruel — the way Cato and Chan are subjected to this, lifetime after lifetime, a never ending cycle of Chan losing his life before he can even turn thirty all because Cato fell for someone he had no business falling for. He grimaces to himself, shaking his head in defeat as he remembers the way Chan was crying out for him when he was ripped from his subconsciousness. 

“When are you ever going to learn?” A voice echoes in the chamber. God.

“I do not wish to speak of this.” Cato snaps.

“Don’t you wish to see how Chan is doing?” God asks, snapping his fingers. A gateway to Earth opens under Cato, and he watches in horror as medics work on his dying body in the middle of his living room floor. “He’s still holding on. For now.”

Cato looks away, clamping his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to see Chan like that. Not when he knows he’s the cause of it.

Chan is going to die. Again.

“Please,” Cato whispers. “Please, kill me.”

“Kill you?” God repeats.

“Yes, fuck!” Cato spits, his shout echoing deafeningly throughout the empty chambers. The silence that refills the space is enough for the god to break, sobs racking through his body from where he is chained. “I can’t do this anymore. Let Chan live, and let me die. Please.”

God does not respond, only watching as the calamity god wails, a mixture of snot and tears pooling on the concrete from under them. He takes a deep breath before speaking. “Is that what you truly want?”

Cato can only nod his head. “Chan’s life, for my mortality,” he responds, still crying. “I can’t keep watching him die.”

“You know that means he might not be reincarnated,” God says. “The only reason Chan is a living soul on earth was for you to use him as your vessel. He’s not needed after that.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Cato shakes his head. “That’s a better outcome than having to die before twenty six every single time.”

“How do you wish to go?”

“Like Icarus,” he doesn’t hesitate to respond. “I will fling myself into the sun.”

________________

Walking away from Chan has to be the hardest thing you’ve done.

You genuinely weren’t planning on sleeping with him the night before. You don’t know what took over you. It just happened. That’s not to say you regret it, though. Because you don’t. While you’ve never slept with someone before, laying underneath Chan felt so… right. Even if it is wrong from a moral standpoint. But, it felt otherworldly. Not just because the sex was good, but you felt as if it was meant to happen. You and Chan were meant to happen. As cliche as it is, and you cringe thinking of it, you wholeheartedly believe you and Chan were written in the stars, destined to find each other in this life. And the next. Nothing has felt more clear than being with him, and you use that as courage to knock on Seojun’s door.

When he opens it, he’s still in his sleep clothes. “Did I wake you?” You ask, voice and face void of any emotion.

“Kinda,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “What’s up?”

“I just came to say that I know you’re cheating on me,” you start. His eyes widen in quick panic, and he’s about to respond when you put your hand up to stop him as you shake your head. “I just want to tell you that we’re even. And it’s over.”

“You cheated on me?” Seojun repeats, indignation in his voice. “You fucking whore!”

“Yeah, save it, Seojun,” You scoff, shaking your head. “I already know about Aecha so you have no room to take a moral fucking high ground. Just nod and say okay and shut the door with what little dignity you have still intact.”

“Y/n?” A voice echoes from behind Seojun. His mother walks up behind him, a cup in her hand. Her eyebrows are furrowed. “Did you just say you cheated on my son? Do your parents know what you did?”

“I also said he cheated, too, so,” you shrug. Her mouth drops open, her face scrunching up in anger. It looks as if she’s about to scream at you before you continue, “I’ll leave your stuff with Aecha.”

You don’t let either of them speak as you turn around and walk down the stairs and out onto the street. You pull out your phone, about to call Chan and let him know you’re on your way back when Felix’s contact name pops up on your screen. You slide to answer, placing the phone against your ear. “I know what you’re gonna say, but I just broke up with Seojun and I’m–”

“You need to get to the hospital right now, y’n,” Felix cuts you off, his voice shaking. “Chan had an accident, and he might not make it.”

Your phone falls from your hand.

________________

God’s of all origins gather around in the chambers to witness Cato’s execution. Everyone is whispering anxiously amongst one another. One deity stands silent, his arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at where Cato is chained intently. His heart is heavy, having to watch his dearest friend kill himself in the worst way possible.

“Have you spoken to him yet, Apollo?” Artemis asks as she walks up behind him. “I’m sure he would love to see you one more time.”

“What am I to even say?” Apollo asks. “Nothing I say will change his mind, you know how stubborn he is, that bastard.”

“It still must hurt,” Artemis responds. “You’ve been in love with him since the day he was created. I know it must kill you to see the torture he’s gone through.”

“There is nothing I can do about it,” Apollo shakes his head. “I love him, but it hurts more to see him be thrown back to earth again and again. It’s better this way.”

“He will live on in your heart,” his sister assures, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t have to put yourself through the torture of seeing this.”

“After a millennia of divine punishment, Cato, god of calamity, has decided to take his life,” God’s booming voice echoes through the chamber, silencing everyone in an instant. “He will join Icarus in the deep sea below.”

Hushed whispers resound once again through the chambers, all of them having remembered watching the man’s wax wings melt from the flaming star and plummeting to his death in the never ending, and unforgiving seas. 

Cato does not look up at anyone, not even to God himself. He does not speak, nor does he try to beg for forgiveness. He’s tired. He’s so tired. 

God stands next to him, a hand on his shoulder as two angels unlock the shackles from his wrists and ankles. “Chan will wake up once you have hit the seas. You have my word.” Cato only nods in response.

And as he launches himself towards the sun, the burning heat of it burning at his skin and singing his feathered wings, he wails. He wails and screams, mourning his love for Eve and the time he’s spent being tortured with her almost in his grasp. Truly, he thinks death is better than being without her. The sun dries his tears, and it brings him a dark sense of comfort. And when his wings are all but ash, and he’s falling into awaiting waters, he smiles.

Apollo cries quietly as the god’s body is swallowed by the dark blue seas.

________________

Chan wakes up in a hospital room.

© lvandrskies — all rights reserved. no reposting.

[buttercup12233]

Alastor is such a Gary stu that wants everybody to know that he's "sCaRy" because he can have black eyes and red pupils, turn big, and shoot out tentacles. Like bro. That's not creepy. And most of his lines fucking suck. How does he know about modern slang? Didn't this guy die during the great fucking depression? Not to mention, this guy swears a whole lot. It would've been perfect if the only time he ever swore was when his staff got broken apart. That would've really shocked the audience. I wouldn't mind him saying "fuck" a few times, but when that shit becomes a common thing, that's a problem. Swearing wasn't common in the 1900's. So why is Alastor using it on a daily basis. He no longer stands out from the cast. He's just another edge lord. He says the most corniest lines too like omg everytime he says ONE embarrassing word, I have to pause from watching the show bc the guy gives me second hand embarrassment. He's trying so hard to be terrifying that it's not working. For some reason, Alastor just wants power.... I'm not sure if it was planned from the start, but the execution is dog shit in my opinion. Pilot Alastor was done better than this. The reason why pilot Alastor was so creepy and overall an amazing character, at least in my opinion, was because you didn't really know exactly how he was feeling, or what was going on inside his head. The whole point of him volunteering to 'help' Charlie run the hotel was that he could see sinners fail and give himself some entertainment. He even flat out admits it in the pilot. But then you just have that gut feeling that there's something more going on with Alastor. That he's probably planning something else than just finding entertainment. Let the 'him wanting power' be like a b plot if THAT was the case (explain why he even wants power too bc if he just WANTS it for the sake of it, then that's boring). And I think what was the most exciting thing about his character, was that he was mysterious. Notice how the only times he EVER used his power or lost his cool was when Angel Dust claimed that he could suck his dick, or when Sir Pentious interrupted his song and threatened to literally hurt him. I swear, this guy used his title as the radio demon for times when it was appropriate. That's what I loved about Pilot Al. He wasn't trying to be creepy unless it was needed. In this show, he desperately wants people to fear him. He even tries to pick a fight with everybody, even the ones who are kind to him. He's a complete asshole and a dickhead. And I'm just like "boo, fucking corny, bitch". Idk, man. It's pro just me. But I hate Alastor so goddamn fucking much. At least in the show. He gives me headaches, he's a Gary stu, and I can't believe this mf got away with talking trash to the KING OF HELL like holy SHIT. Why didn't his ass get humbled at the moment there? He just got freewill the whole time during season one without consequences. Besides Adam tearing his ass up.

Alastor is just so- ugh.

I beg for you guys to let me know if some of my points were invalid. I would actively listen to them. I was just in rage the whole entire time while writing this, so my mind was just clouded with 'wtf happened to the cool guy I once loved' and just...RAAAAAH. so please don't hesitate to speak out. I'm aware that not EVERYBODY will agree with what I say. But it's great to hear y'all's opinions about this. Thank you.

[kelppsstuff]

Hi!

I was just wondering if it’d be possible for you to do like a pick your ending for the Adam cheating fic?

Seriously, your poll hurt me to choose between them.

“HOW LONG.”

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | ALT ENDING

Masterlist

Warnings: mentions of cheating!

Taglist: @dustsofangels @leathesimp @michelleszn @pinkiee @strangerthings36 @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @dak-ots @adamsfavoritesinner

Okay so yes I can and shall be doing this! I’ll have an alt ending of Lucifer getting the girl. I’m doing and “ALT” instead of choose your own cause Adam did win the poll! However I hope you enjoy! 💛 THIS IS ADAMS ENDING!

—

Court went absolutely terrible. Adam had basically trashed the whole idea. Adam also had a huge influence on the court.

I felt truly sorry for Charlie, and Emily. I had thought Sera told Emily, but apparently not. Let’s just say, the whole session could have gone better.

“I’m so sorry Charlie.” We were back in the heaven hotel. We had a few more hours before we had to leave. “It’s okay, not your fault.” Her smile was shaky. “Do you think I could have some time alone?” I smiled gently at her. “Of course darling, get some rest.” I closed the door and looked up to see Lucifer. He looked conflicted, confused, and concerned. The three C’s.

“I knew I shouldn’t have set up this meeting. They crushed her!” We walked back into our own hotel room. “She’s a strong girl Luce. She’ll be okay. I promise.” And she will be. Eventually.

Lucifer smiled at me, but the it faltered. The conflict-ion coming back into his face.

“I saw Lilith.” I nodded my head and gestured for him to continue. “I-I don’t know anymore. I like you.” He sat down on the bed putting his face in his hands. “Like really really like you.” I sat on the floor in front of him. Moving his hands away to look at his crimson eyes. “I like you too.”

His eyes squeeze shut almost as if his next words hurt him to say. “But I made a vow. That no matter what she and I would always have one another.” Even if those words did hurt him, I was positive it hurt me more.

“Your going back to her.” A tear fell down my face. Lucifer opened his eyes again and brushed the said tear aside with his smooth hand.

“What kind of man would I be if I didn’t keep my word to her? What kind of example would I be telling my daughter?” My heart was hurting.m but I understood even if it did hurt.

“Do you love her.” My voice breaking. I never even met her and yet it felt like she took away all the ones I loved. “Yes.” Fuck.

“Do you love me?” Another tear fell. This time instead of his hand brushing it away it was his lips.

“Yes.” He whispered just above my cheek, his breath fanning over my skin. Fucking Christ.

“I’ll love you.” I said, my words full of truth. Even if we hadn’t known each other for a long time.

“I’ll always long for you, but I’ll always miss my wife.” He looked so tired, so torn, so broken.

I brought his lips to mine, my lipstick once again staining his lips. “I love you. So I’ll let you go.” Perhaps in another universe. Perhaps another timeline. We would have been together.

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Being you. I couldn’t ask nor want anymore fro you. Your fill me full with content like no other.”

His words done it’s job, it had comforted me.

—

Lilith went back to hell with Lucifer and me and him would share conversations, but we drew a line we never crossed.

Over time Adam started to show up a lot more around me. I had also made him call off the extermination. He always was asking for me to come home every time. This most recently time had finally worked out in his favor.

—

“I miss you.” Adam said looking up at my roof in the hotel. “I’m sure you do.” He had only said it a million times. He got up and turned my body away from the window, making me look at him.

“Every breath I take without you is filled with poison. Every drink I sip burns my throat as if it’s lava. You food I eat I feel like chocking to death.” Be brushed my forehead with his own. “I have tasted the most delicious divine fruit of all in a place that was paradise, but even that felt like hell because I didn’t have you.” I went to speak but he pushed a finger to my lips, dishing me. “I never asked for Lilith. Or Eve. And yet both left me. I never felt good enough, not once because of it. That’s why I did that horrid thing. But I was too good for them. The only thing I’m not good enough for is your love, and your being.”

“If I forgive you, you’d do it again.” I tried to explain but he shook his head as if my words were ludicrous. “That’s we’re your wrong, I shall worship the air you breath, devote my entire existence to you and only you. And if I have to rip my heart on and give it to you on a silver platter then so be it, because I love you more than any apple, and garden, and heaven, hell, world. I love you more than anything ever even thought of.”

Tears fell down from my eyes. “One more chance, that’s it.”

—

You didn’t fully trust him but over the years he did as he said and devoted himself to you and only you.

Adam knew you deserved a better man than him, so he became one.

—

AHHHHH DONE! I’m going to do an ALT ENDING! So if you wanted Lucifer it will be out shortly I promise. Also sorry if this was short.

I’m trying to upload at least three things on my upload days! So others should be out today as well so check it out if you’d like!

Taglist

[ohdeerfully]

hii! i just read everything you've posted and am obsessed. can you possibly write an alastor x fallen angel!reader? i would just love to see the interactions! -🐈‍⬛ anon

HIII 🐈‍⬛ im sorry this took one hundred thousand days to write. but at least its fairly long!!!!!! 4k words

honestly i cant imagine alastor warming up to an angel very quickly, like he would probably haaate reader for a long time before being like "actually u know what <3"

though that being said this can definitely be read as a platonic story since theres no romance (though maybe ill write a romantic fallen!reader someday)

anyway hope u enjoy!! mwah!

Welcome to Hell

alastor x reader TW: heavy descriptions of gore WITH the reader, reader is heavily wounded, alastors a dick, cursing obviously, thats it i think join my discord!

PLS READ: im putting the story immediately under a read more because it jumps really quickly into gore, so if ur uncomfy with that please dont read on!

◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈

“Hey, bitch,” A dangerously whispered voice spoke in your ear after you shooed away a small demon, sending all the warning bells in your body ringing. You stood and braced yourself to run, but—

The sensation of bone and arteries being savagely torn from your shoulder blades sent flaming, white hot pain through your body, setting every nerve ablaze and prompting a scream of agony through your lips. Your throat quickly became sore with the intensity of your cries as you crumpled over yourself, tightening your arms around yourself in a useless attempt at comforting the pain away.

Knife-like sensations rolled through your body, leaving you struggling to catch your breath and see through tears. You lifted your gaze from your trembling, bloody-gold hand onto the two who stood above you, one looking down with a twisted smirk and the other a disgusted sneer. The man still held your ripped wings between his claws. You could barely hear the ambience of terrified screaming that surrounded you through the heartbeat in your ears.

“Angels like you sicken me,” Lute said, chin tilted up in superiority. “You don’t even deserve that title.” She brought a foot up and then down onto your shoulder, shoving you onto your chest. The movement made you scream as another flash of pain ignited in your back. You balled your hands into fists, pulling them against your chest as you pressed your forehead against the hot ground, trying to catch your breath once again.

You sat, hunched, for what felt like hours. Maybe it was hours, as when you finally came to your senses the atmosphere was eerily silent. Adam and Lute were long gone. You only heard the faint noise of cannibalistic demons tearing apart bodies, and the occasional rustle of trash or paper being thrown in the wind across a deserted street. The recognition made you sit up—oh, shit, too fast. Your vision practically vanished as your head became light. You tried to catch yourself with your hands before you fell backwards, but considering the nature of your wound; ripped flesh directly over your shoulder blades… your elbows buckled at the intense sting.

I’m so fucking stupid, you cursed yourself as you contemplated your situation, deciding that it would be better to not try to stand up and walk around right now. Honestly, you’d be surprised if bloodloss didn’t kill you, considering the glistening puddle that had formed around you. You had managed to slowly scoot into a somewhat secluded corner and rested your head against the brick wall. Uncomfortable, but all things considered… it might as well be a five star hotel bed to you. Your eyes shut.

“Come on—...never know-”

“If you think— unpredictable—”

The two things you noticed when you came to were a broken conversation and an uncomfortable prickling sensation on your skin. You struggled to crack open your eyes, dried blood nearly pasting your left eye together. When you finally managed, you still had trouble focusing.

Two blurry, tall demons stood in front of you. Despite the fact they were demons, it felt considerably less imposing than the two that were in front of you earlier that day—was it still the same day? Still, you were on high alert and grabbed for where you thought you had left your weapon. You palmed at empty concrete. You cursed both at the lack of your tool for self defense and at the fact the two noticed you were now conscious.

“I do hope you don’t mind,” An amused bark of laughter erupted from the taller of the two, which forced your gaze back towards them. “We confiscated your little prong for our safety.” You blinked rapidly, squinting slightly till you could finally focus your eyes and actually get a good look at them. Surely enough, your trusty spear was held tightly between red claws.

To your right was an oddly friendly looking girl with blond hair and the reddest cheeks you had ever seen, who stood with a slight bend at the hip and hands on her knees as she peered down at you. Her brows were turned up and furrowed with what you guessed was worry, although the thought was shocking considering… the circumstances, you mused gravely when another rush of throbbing pain coursed through your body, reminding you of the giant wound on your back. You hadn’t noticed yourself wince, but the woman in front of you did, what with the way her hand shot forward as if wanting to help you. She paused, unsure.

You turned your head to the voice, taking in the demon next to her. He was just a bit taller, and incredibly… red. Red coat, red hair, red eyes… a little excessive, maybe—though, it didn’t really matter what you thought of his fashion choices, because the overwhelming and ominous feeling of dread ensnared your thoughts. He bent at the hip in a similar manner to the girl next to him, though the movement seemed somehow much less natural. The ever-present radio noise in the air increased in volume as his face inched closer. Meeting his gaze seemed to cause your mind to fill with a buzzing emptiness, prickling your entire being and causing your skin to tickle with goosebumps. Although you’ve never met him before, you knew by aura alone the power he held, especially over you in this situation. It was frankly obvious that he knew, too, for he stood with practiced leisure, leaning his weight onto his cane with one hand as he fidgeted curiously with your spear in the other. You immediately switched your gaze towards the friendlier of the two, who still seemed to be fighting a mental war, her still outstretched hand twitching as she considered her next move.

With a brief, sideways look towards her companion, she smiled gently and outstretched her hand in your direction. You eyed it suspiciously, gaze flicking between her and her hand. She had to have ulterior motives, right? Maybe she was just leading you somewhere where you could be finished off. Or something. Adam always insisted that the demons were far to “fucking stupid” to know how to hurt, let alone kill an angel, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t resort to various strange experiments and tests. They were demons, after all. In Hell.

Though, you had to admit to yourself with a sigh, at this point, I’m not any different than them. You figured “fallen angel” could even be a worse title than demon, because how horrible of a being do you have to be to fall from holy stature? Was saving the life of a demon, a child, at that, so evil?

It wasn’t worth thinking about, you decided. You were here. In Hell. Fuck.

You raised an embarrassingly trembling hand and cautiously received her own, and fought yourself to keep from ripping away as her slender fingers wrapped over yours. You were watching her movements sharply, nearly flinching when her black manicured nails glinted as they caught a light. Even still, her expression regarded you with so much undeserved compassion, a softness in the subtle curve of her eye, that you let your shoulders relax. She pulled you gingerly to your feet, and caught you against her steady shoulder when you nearly fell.

“I’m Charlie, by the way,” She said. Although she seemed hesitant earlier, every minute that passed seemed to confirm some unknown idea in her head as she slowly grew more vibrant and excited. Even still, she remained otherwise calm and gentle, her body holding strong to support nearly your full weight. She shot a look at the other demon.

“Oh! I apologize for my manners,” You weren’t even lookin at him—his voice alone sent a weird feeling down your back. You turned to look. “Alastor! A pleasure to meet you my dear, quite a pleasure!”

You finally turned to look, and noticed he didn’t hold his hand out, but rather the blunt end of your spear. When you reached to grab it, maybe to yank it away from him—not that you had any intention of fighting back at this point—you found that he still held a vice-like grip to it. When your fingers closed around the stick, he merely shook it, as if the weapon was an extension of his own hand. You weren’t really sure whether or not to take it as an insult.

Charlie seemed indifferent to Alastor’s antics, and you started a bit when she seemed unable to control herself any longer, and began blabbering about some hotel and some plan she had. She spoke with such a furious speed that you wondered if anybody could decode her words. She paused, suddenly, to take in a long breath, but the other demon interrupted her before she could begin again.

“Charlie, while I love watching you try so desperately, I’m not sure beings of their ilk are fit for your idea.”

Ilk? Sure, you understood him holding caution to your presence, considering you were an angel, but come on! Circumstances have changed for you! You opened your mouth, planning to make some retort (that you had not yet planned out) but Charlie quickly beat you to it.

“No! Alastor, come on, I know they’re… was one of them, but that gives them all the more reason to want to follow my plan… right..?” She looked down at you, where you still leaned heavily on her shoulder as the three of you slowly walked down the street. You honestly weren’t sure what they were talking about—you barely managed to catch a single word she rattled about earlier. You gave a weak shrug and a nod, just to be agreeable.

Alastor only gave a dismissive ‘hmm’ in return, and picked up his pace to walk in front of Charlie and you. In fact, he kept his pace and just continued walking away, down the sidewalk, around a corner, and gone. Personally, you didn’t mind. The air was noticeably lighter without his presence.

Charlie sighed in defeat, but didn’t mention it. She seemed accustomed to his behavior. You silently expressed your sorrows for her; even if he was nicer than he appeared, which you doubted heavily, he was likely still an exhausting guy to be around. 

The walk was long and unbearably painful for you, each labored step sending pulses of sore pain through your body, and your back occasionally exploding in needles that would halt you in your tracks. Charlie was incredibly patient, and you couldn’t even begin to word how thankful you were for her. Being one of two demons you had encountered since falling, you began wondering what else was in store for you down here for what you assumed may be the rest of your eternity.

You didn’t have long to ponder, as it seemed enough time passed since the extermination for demons to start their usual routines. And man, what routines they had. If you weren’t in imminent danger, you would find the scene almost comically chaotic. There were projectiles smashing through windows, sending shards everywhere, and fires erupting from said windows. Your eye caught the glinting of weapons in the hands of various demons, which some were… actively using to stab another demon. And, of course, when bodies fell there were at least two pit-eyed cannibalistic creatures that would descend on the corpse like starved dogs. You clung close to Charlie, who seemed unnervingly calm in the situation. Surprisingly, even with the lack of a weapon or any means of self-defense, nothing came at you.

Seeming to sense your unease, she looked at you with a calming smile. “Charming, huh?” She joked lightly. She grimaced slightly at the sound of a scream being cut short by a loud bang. “It’s not usually… this bad. They’re just worked up after extermination. That’s when the crazies hit.”

Yeah, you silently mocked. Yeah, starting fires and murdering people is being ‘worked up.’ Cool. You only nodded in response, not really finding anything nice to say. And, honestly, anything you said would probably seem hypocritical given the fact you were an exterminator mere hours ago. Luckily for you, she seemed content enough at that. She started to talk again about where she was taking you, a bit slower this time, obviously half focused on keeping you supported.

“So, my Hotel kind of just started, and Alastor is in the process of making a commercial to get some attention. I think he said it would be done today.”

You nodded wordlessly. Part of you felt a little guilty, not having much to say despite Charlie’s efforts to welcome you and take care of you, especially compared to her constant rambling. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

She re-explained her whole idea, undeniably proud of her plan. Sinners working on themselves to get redeemed? To leave Hell and climb those glittering steps to Heaven?

Absolutely unheard of.

Maybe it was your internal biases talking, but you could not imagine the possibility. If it was possible, why hadn’t somebody showed up at the gates from Hell before? You held back a roll of your eyes, feigning support and interest to the best of your ability.

After an achingly long journey, you finally reached the stone path that led to a rather plain, but tall building. It looked sleek and well built, but you couldn’t help but notice the tacky blinking lightbulbs that formed arrow shapes towards the entrance and the huge, spelled out name of the hotel. 

Hazbin Hotel.

You stifled a laugh as you looked up at the signage.

“Well! We’re here!” Charlie announced, brandishing her arm forward and sweeping it in a ‘viola’ motion. Your eyes traveled over the expanse of the property, noticing how many windows lined every wall. Were there that many demons here?

You were answered nearly immediately when Charlie opened the door to the hotel and you found yourself in a nearly empty lobby. It was kind of sad, honestly. There was a cat-like bartender and a long-limbed pink demon splayed across the couch, but other than that…

The demon next to you scratched the back of her head, and gave you a light smile. She jerked her head towards the door as if inviting you, but to be fair you didn’t really have any choice but to go wherever she led you.

“Ooh, fresh meat,” The pink-ish demon with a striped top shot upright, eyeing you wryly with a cocked brow. He stood and took long strides forward, one pair of arms on his hips and the other crossed under his rather… voluptuous chest. 

“Eyes up here, toots,” He snapped a finger, but when you met his eyes you could tell he was all jokes. You gave him a tight smile in response.

You heard the sound of quick steps and an already aggravated looking face appeared from the upper level, quickly descending the steps. You felt an ice-cold feeling of familiarity when you saw a gray-skinned, white haired angel—or, well, fallen angel at this point—stop in front of you. She apparently felt a similar feeling, though her response was much more rapidly aggressive. With a narrowed eye and tense shoulders, she manifested an angelic spear and held it at the ready. You tried to remove yourself from Charlie’s hold, desperate to be able to defend yourself even in your sorry state, but her protective grip held you fast against herself. You struggled only for a moment, but the exhaustion coursing through every vein stopped you. Man was she strong.

“What is someone like them doing here,” The other questioned in a hiss, her lips curled in a sneer. She eyed you up and down suspiciously, likely analyzing your capacity of harming anybody in the room. Admittedly you couldn’t blame her caution. 

When your lips parted, planning to shoot an accusatory in retort, the tip of her spear shot to your lips, effectively shutting you up. There was a look in her eye, behind the rage and caution, that you somehow recognized as a silent plea. A plea for what? To stay quiet? Not state the obvious recognition you two shared? Did the others somehow not know she was an angel? Whatever it was, you obliged and swallowed a lump in your throat.

“Vaggie, please,” Charlie spoke in a tumble, rushing her free hand to press the point of ‘Vaggie’s weapon away from your face. “She’s practically one of us now. Don’t go threatening my new guests every time they walk through the door! We can’t scare them away…”

“Angels aren’t guests Charlie,” Vaggie’s voice seemed strained as she held pinched fingers on the bridge of her nose. “We literally just had an extermination.”

“I know,” Charlie pressed, the tone of her voice conveying some sort of desperate ‘just go with it and calm down.’ “But… obviously she was an outcast, unwanted by Heaven. Just like us, right?” 

You furrowed your brows and looked at her through the corner of your eye, but decided not to fight for your dignity. She wasn’t even wrong.

Vaggie seemed easily defeated by Charlie’s words, yielding quickly to her words and putting her spear away. You briefly wondered where your own was. Charlie gave Vaggie a thankful smile, a light kiss on the cheek—to which the angel blushed—and led you carefully into a nearby room. 

It seemed to be some type of medical room, and Charlie quickly got to work dragging a warm rag over the dried blood that left streaks down your skin. You grabbed her wrist, and she looked up at you, a little confused.

“I can wash myself, I’m not that useless,” You argued, using your other hand to pull at the rag.

“But, you can barely—” 

“Charlie,” You said, more stern than you meant to, which you immediately regretted after the taken aback expression on her face. Considering you barely spoke a word since meeting her, it was no wonder she seemed surprised at your sudden brash tone. You tried to speak more gently. “Please, just let me wash myself off. I’ll need your help dressing my wounds, anyway, it’s the least I could do.”

She pondered for a moment, but nodded, smiled, and left you to it. She left the room with a quick ‘call me when you’re’ done, closing the door with a gentle click. You sighed, finally enjoying a moment of privacy. You looked at yourself in the mirror, a sick feeling churning in your stomach.

It was still you, staring back, but it somehow at the same time wasn’t. Golden streaks tainted your gray skin, crusts of blood still grabbing at the corners of your eye and matting your hair. You briefly brushed a hand through the strands, but promptly gave up after your fingers caught on multiple knots. You’d have to wash it out.

For now you focused on just wiping the blood and grime off of your skin, especially around the wounds. You were incredibly tender when you reached your back, elbow bent awkwardly over your face as you tried to reach the marred flesh. You tried positioning your arm under your armpit, hoping for a better angle, but it was still no use. Even when you managed to get close to the wound, every touch sent stinging pain down your back. On top of all that, you could barely see where you were dragging the damp cloth, neck struggling to crane enough to look in the mirror.

The door opened suddenly, and with it a sense of impending doom and static sensations encased you. You froze, eyes darting towards the entrance. Even though you knew exactly who would stand there, you still couldn’t help the sick surprise that twisted your gut.

Alastor stood in the entrance, eyes half open and brows raised as he examined you bent in so many awkward ways. 

“How’s our new vulture doing,” He asked suddenly, eyes lighting up in an overly cheerful manner. He entered the room without much invitation, circling you. You felt like prey being stalked and toyed with by a wolf. Your eyes diligently followed until he took up a spot behind you. “Charlie got caught up in something, so she asked me to help you.”

You watched him in the mirror as he looked down at the torn flesh of your back, his long, clawed finger tapping at his chin while his other hand thrummed against the head of his cane.

“A ghastly sight you are,” He commented, meeting your gaze in the mirror. His hand pointed down at your back. “That wound of yours is rather unpleasant, too.”

You frowned and opened your mouth to shoot something back, though you didn’t know if you wanted to throw curses or insults back at him. Any words you may have said died on your tongue as the look in his eyes darkened, and his smile curled impossibly higher, more sinister. 

He leaned down, positioning his head just next to yours, still meeting your eyes in the mirror. Every inch of proximity caused the prickling on your skin to increase, and the static in your ears to grow louder.

“Let’s patch you up, then!” He straightened himself out, walking towards a cabinet and quickly grabbing various tools from different shelves. “While I’m not in the business of playing doctor to someone like you, I can’t deny the Princess.” His voice seemed all too cheery for the rude words he spoke, and that smile on his face never faltered. You briefly thought about him referring to Charlie as “princess,” but quickly dismissed it. You’d think about it later—right now, you had to be ready to make a run for it in case that feeling of doom that loomed over you came to fruition.

Alastor approached you again with a small tray of medical supplies, and pulled thin gloves over his hands with a brief snap, saying something about the importance of being sanitary, but part of you wondered if he was just making more jabs at you regarding his disdain for angels.

Surprisingly he seemed to know what he was doing, working quickly with different types of wipes and stitches and gauze. He was being rougher than likely necessary, pretending to accidentally poke a claw into your open wound and pressing his tools far too firm against your sore skin. You bore it with gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of putting you through a miserably painful half hour. 

After it was finally over you drew out a long sigh and watched as he discarded the gloves and washed his hands. And washed his hands. And washed his hands. And… still he’s washing his hands. You began to wish you counted the seconds.

He turned to you after finally finishing up, shaking water off his hands. He didn’t seem to recognize that he was flicking droplets directly on you. If you weren’t in such a weak state and absolutely terrified of him, you probably would’ve made some effort to stop him, but now… you opted to let him get away with it. For now.

“Now, if that’s all…” He turned, waving a hand at you dismissively. “I’d prefer you keep out of my business from here on.”

No fucking problem, you agreed to yourself. He didn’t even have to ask. You couldn’t imagine bearing to be around him unless absolutely necessary. Though, in an effort to maintain pleasantries…

“Thanks, though,” You called, not trying to hide the hint of dislike in your tone. Your words made him stop, hand just barely hovering over the knob to the door. After a brief moment, his head turned slightly, just enough for him to look at you out of the corner of his eye.

Although it was brief, you saw a glint of what you assumed was malice in his eye as his lips twitched and curled, momentarily revealing the black of his gums. His face quickly returned to his regular facade of cheer. He opened the door, not saying anything in return, and quickly took his leave, slamming the door behind him.

You drug your hands down your eyes, looking at yourself once again in the mirror. Cleaner now, but still rough. You thought deeply about what your future here would be like, especially around Alastor. If he was truly Charlie’s right-hand-man, you doubted avoiding him would be easy, despite how desperately you wanted to.

Yeah. This is Hell.

[ashlingiswriting]

do i know you? chapter nine

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[ chapter nine — 8.5k words ] [ masterlist ] [ prev chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight ] "i never fucking asked you to!" richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

just outside your apartment building stands mikey, hunched against the wind and smoking. he gives you a friendly nod and you grant him a nod in response, guarded but polite.

you never know what you’ll get with this guy. he alternates between foul moods that verge on frightening and a brilliant good temper that tempts you to shine your phone in his eyes to see the confirmation of pinprick pupils. he has moderate nights, but they’re becoming rarer and rarer. 

still, his company beats the emptiness of your apartment. like a creature taken to a faraway zoo, you haven’t acclimated to your new environment in chicago, haven’t learned how to take this much loneliness; that’ll come later.

for now, you’re still standing on your separate little patches of sidewalk, familiar strangers engaged in tacit truce, when it comes flying out of nowhere.

fuck. 

mikey snarls it so savagely that you look over for threat assessment, just quick enough to catch him looking up at the pitiless hard sky, profile: once-broken nose, twisted mouth, adam’s apple. wild gleam of desperate dark eye, more startling than the snarl. sudden rage from a man is no surprise, but this one looks worse. this one looks caged. 

you can sympathize with that.

what? you say gruffly. 

his eyes shutter, his jaw pulses. nothing.

you shrug, turn away. resume the truce. 

in your peripheral, you can see him looking down and firing off a text. and you think that’s it, that’s all, but then he turns to you and says, you’re good at getting people to fuck off, yeah?

his voice is the voice of a friend, low and familiar, warm and a touch wry. his dark eyes the same. you’re looking at each other directly and it feels like a touch. 

a laugh startles out of you. you’ve been pretty direct about rejecting his attempts at conversation, belligerent, sweet, or otherwise. but here he goes again, trying, and you’re tempted.

mikey turns so he’s facing you, chucks his cigarette, and sticks his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his big gray hoodie. for some reason, that does it.

yeah, you say, i’m a world-class expert at getting people to fuck off. they should be giving me tenure, the way i could teach that shit.

then you’re the one i wanna talk to. 

you’ve got nobody else in this godforsaken city except patients and threats, and so it’s probably a side effect of loneliness, nothing to do with the man himself, but still: it feels good that somebody wants to talk to you.

you hesitate, fighting it. he exhales. 

who’s after you? you say. debt collector? ex?

my brother, actually. there’s an odd space, flicker grimace, between brother and actually. he’s not proud of this. again, you can sympathize.

why do you want your brother to fuck off?

he says nothing, rubs his shoe against a lump of hardened gum on the asphalt. ‘s complicated.

with that, your sympathy—never in abundant supply to begin with—goes down the drain. if he’s gonna play the whiny teenager, making you beg him for his deep dark secrets, fuck it. compassion isn’t your style anyway.

okay, you say flatly. you turn towards the street, keeping him in your periphery just in case. the silence grows heavy, but you ignore it. 

fuck it, he mutters. then, louder, it’s not that complicated. carmy’s the baby, and ma was always telling us to keep him out of trouble. i guess it stuck.

that’s such an innocuous way to put it, pulled from childhood. what about the rage from earlier, his trapped eyes? sense tells you to end things here. don’t be a trash bag for this man’s problems, whatever they are.

the thing is, though. it does feel good to have somebody talk to you like you’re a person. 

what’s the trouble? you say.

he sighs, settles in. you ever seen a house on fire? 

no, i’ve seen a helicopter on fire, but that’s…you look over at him, and you can tell it’s not the flames he’s talking about. no. you?

sort of. he pauses, and the silence is full enough that you know to wait for the coming story. so when i was little, i used to sneak down to the basement, right? i was supposed to be babysitting carmy and sugar, putting them to bed and all that good shit, but some nights i’d get bored. and they never got in much trouble without me.

they must’ve been pretty well-behaved kids, you say.

he laughs. he’s beautiful when he laughs, you can’t help but see it. not exactly.

i’m just saying, if my brother told me to stay anywhere, i would’ve been out the window by the time he’d gotten down the stairs. 

mikey gestures with his cigarette at exactly the wrong moment, and the wind snuffs out his cigarette, but he’s so caught up in his story, he doesn’t even notice.

nah, i knew how to play it. sugar was going through this phase where she was fixated on us taking her seriously, so she loved the responsibility. and what was carmy gonna do about it? he was like five. he smiles, remembering. so anyway, before i would go down there, i’d put on my little light up sneakers, cause the stairs to the basement were dark and scary. 

you find yourself smiling too. you can picture it. 

and my mom would be down there in the dark, watching the tv, sitting in my dad’s old chair. she was usually drunk or sleeping, but sometimes i think she noticed i was there with her and she was okay with it. or, i don’t know. he laughs, short and sharp. she definitely never changed the channel on account of me. i saw all kinds of crazy shit on tv before i was twelve. 

mikey pauses, then looks to you. what the fuck am i even talking about? there’s no real embarrassment in it, only appealing self-deprecation.

it works on you. you do want to know where this is going. house fire.

house fire, he echoes, pointing at you. okay, so one time i’m sitting on the floor next to dad’s chair, leaning on it, and i fall asleep. i wake up to this woman screaming. at first i think it’s real, but then i realize it’s from the tv, right? there’s a house on fire. the whole neighborhood is standing there watching, and there’s this old woman screaming, but they don’t look sorry for her. and after a second i figure out what she’s saying. she’s screaming at the firefighters to go in. and i didn’t get it, like, why is no one listening to her?

it scared him, you think. it must have. someone was in there?

i don’t know, i never found out, mikey says. mom woke up, and she saw that i was freaked out, so she got super fuckin angry and, uh. made me go to bed and all that. standing there and holding a cold cigarette, he looks tired. but when i was walking to the stairs, the woman stopped screaming. so i looked back and i saw on the tv that the house was gone. the whole thing collapsed. the roof must’ve caved in.

the silence lingers, then mikey looks across at you like a question. why should it matter whether you understand? why should you care? but your heart is in your throat.

it was right for the firefighters to stay outside, because if they’d gone in, they would have died. the roof was always going to crumble. whatever was inside the house, it was already gone.

you think you understand. so you’re inside the house. 

nah, mikey says, i’m the house. 

.

.

.

in the aftermath of christmas eve—gold chain, two generations, soup—christmas itself passes quietly without hurting much. 

save for a handful of texts, completely unexpected. 

> what’s the fastest way to infect people with food poisoning?

richie, of course. you don’t even bother to play coy by letting a few minutes elapse, like you had something better to do. he wouldn’t be fooled by that. he already knows better.

> it’s that bad?

> not fatal food poisoning, just the regular kind.

> it’s that bad? x2

> i think if we all threw up a lot we’d be having more fun.

> you want me to fake an emergency? pull a fire alarm, stage a bomb threat? i’ll drive the getaway car.

> your mind jumps to terrorism way too fast. you’re just looking for an excuse, aren’t you.

> seriously. 

> you’re the third guy. it’s al qaeda, then isis, then you.

> seriously, get out of there. come get an unfrozen burrito, if you’re hungry.

no reply. not even three dots to show he’s drafting. with your left hand, you drum a nervous beat on your kitchen table, and with your right, you send another text.

> you can bring sugar and carmy with you.

and there they are, those three dots. you don’t know if you’re more worried about what will happen if he takes up your offer, or what will happen if he turns it down. you don’t talk about carmy to richie, though richie talks about carmy to you. he knows that. you like tina and you don’t mind his other coworkers, but you avoid the berzattos like the plague. richie knows that too. your reasons are your own, but if it really comes down to it—

> it’s fine. all the people i want to save wouldn’t fit in the car anyway.

relief. yeah, that’s relief, and you feel a little guilty for it, but it’s just easier this way: you in the kitchen and no one else. 

> you have jumper cables in your trunk, don’t you? just tie pete to the top of the car like a christmas tree

> like i’d bring pete.

> cold hearted, that’s what you are.

nothing. no typing, no read 7:12pm, nothing at all. after fifteen minutes, you give up and toss your phone on your bed. drink your tea, though it has gone cold. try not to think about whatever’s happening in that other kitchen. try not to think about how close by it is, or how far. 

.

.

.

the day after christmas, you’re so busy thinking about richie that you almost deliver yourself to the feds on accident.

walking to your boss’s house without an invitation is never a good idea, doubly so when your boss deals his displeasure in blood, but after so long without pay, work, and news about your carbon monoxide poisoning patients, you’re desperate. the idea is that you’ll barter your knowledge of howie and kevin’s stupid shenanigans in exchange for information. maybe you’ll even ask for severance pay.

that’s why you’re thinking of richie. you’re trying to keep calm, and he’s something to look forward to. you wonder how he’s doing ice fishing with carmy. will they get frostbite? maybe. will they catch anything? doubtful. will they end up shouting? definitely. will—

you’re just about to take a left onto the caruso’s street when you see it: about nine or ten houses down, there’s a gaggle of suburban moms gawking at the caruso house, and beyond them, cop cars. 

this is it.

your stomach drops, and you look away immediately, heartbeat going full jackhammer about to drill through your concrete chest. keep walking straight, past the scene. you only got one glance before the instinct to flee kicked in, but you’re pretty sure that the cops were carrying heavy cardboard boxes out to their cars. you’re not worried about what evidence they might find—tweety bird wouldn’t let contraband be stored in her pantry, not in a million years—but you are worried that the cops were all a matched set. the navy windbreakers? that’s fed fashion. that’s.

yeah. this is it.

when you get on the bus, some part of you is surprised the driver even allows it. the end’s not here, but it is coming. only a matter of time. 

.

.

.

as you get off one bus and get on another, taking a circuitous route in a useless effort to try and allay the feeling of being hunted, your dread coalesces into nausea, the kind you get when a headache or period cramps are left untended too long. it’s physical. you focus on the fraying cuff of your hoodie, and all you want to do is lie down.

you’ve expected the world to end for a long time, so you know exactly what to do. you’ve done research. you’ve imagined it all in excruciating detail, and you’re not bothered by the unknown, except for richie.

richie’s the one unknown. imagining the end of the world with him was so unbearable that you could never force yourself to go through with the exercise of imagining it, and you kept him at arm’s length just enough to pretend that the end of the world would somehow leave him untouched. now that shit’s real, you can’t pretend anymore. when it comes to richie, you’ll be flying blind. you could kick yourself. you could k—

your work phone rings. it’s your landlady. you ignore it, but she rings again and again and again. finally, she texts you.

> please come up to the office as soon as you can. we have discovered irregularities with your october and november payments, and unless this is fixed soon, we’ll have to explore our legal options.

your landlady was not the one who typed that message. if she’d been the one typing, it would’ve looked something like get your ass up here, give or take a few typos.  

so yeah, there’s cops after you. this is it.

.

.

.

when you call your brother from a newly purchased burner phone, he answers immediately. what’s up?

it’s julie.

okay, he says very flatly. one nice thing about your family: minimum talking, minimum fuss. he doesn’t say a thing about the years past. he just repeats, what’s up?

i’m probably going to prison for a while, you say.

how long? 

should i be insulted that you’re not surprised?

he says nothing. you don’t know what you expected, really, but you hate that you’ve become the talkative one. 

stifling your annoyance, you say, like ten years max? it’s not like i killed someone, but i’m in with some assholes. i don’t know, i haven’t talked to a lawyer yet. 

silence on the other end. 

you pinch the bridge of your nose, nausea swelling. you can picture him, your one and only sibling, even though you know the picture must be outdated: broad-shouldered like you are, annoying, tall, decked out in some kind of colorless athleisure and the eternal baseball cap, slanted eyes narrowed even more than usual in judgment and exasperation.

are you there? you finally say.

you need bail? he says abruptly.

god, you want so badly to give him a shove, knock the stiffness out of him. no. no money. not from you, not from mom, not from anyone. that’s why i’m calling. if anyone finds out about this, just keep them out of it, yeah?

yeah. 

that’s where you should shut up, unless you want feelings leaking into it, but today’s a day of helplessness and this conversation is no exception. 

you say, a little desperate, i don’t want anyone near this one.

i got it, pebbles. with his particular mix of sardonic affection and condescension, the fog around you lifts, and there he is standing in front of you. you can see him clearly: pissed off at you now and probably forever, but still family. not much. but not nothing.

suck my dick, you say, awash with relief.

he snorts. and adieu.

you hang up on each other at exactly the same time.

.

.

.

i’m not telling you that. 

you’ve worn your lawyer down to a thin veneer of professionalism through which her palpable annoyance has begun to show. and you’re not even sorry. it gives you a certain satisfaction, a sense of getting your own back—her steely, emotionless affect was getting on your nerves before. 

you put all your remaining money into her retainer check because she’s not just a lawyer, but an effective one, according to your research. so it shouldn’t matter that you don’t know what she thinks of you. shouldn’t matter, but it does. you want to know her judgment, one way or another. maybe it’s because this is the first time you’ve told the full story to anyone. 

or at least, as close as you’re ever gonna get to the full story.

i’ve already explained confidentiality to you, she says. 

i already knew that you’re not gonna snitch on me unless i’m about to commit another crime, you say. but i’m still not telling you. 

all right. let me get this straight. she spreads her hands out flat on her desk, and her wedding band clacks against the dark wood. there’s not a strand of her gray hair out of place, and her brown eyes have lost their annoyance. back to professionalism. disappointing. you’re here because you believe you witnessed federal agents bagging evidence at your employer’s house, and you believe your employer has been arrested. your employer is giovanni caruso—

hold up, you interrupt. giovanni? that’s his name?

you call him old caruso, son’s name is jack, there’s a limited number of organized crime families in the area and i happen to be acquainted with that landscape, generally speaking.

you snort. that’s so fucking funny. 

if your lawyer finds you more annoying than before, she doesn’t show it. you have been working for caruso for over a year and a half in an off the books capacity as a doctor. you received biweekly payments to be on call between the hours of eight in the evening and eight in the morning, and during that time, you treated multiple gunshot wounds and other injuries, including broken bones, stab wounds, and carbon monoxide poisoning. while your clients were cautioned not to tell you their names or explain how they received their injuries, you do feel that you know enough information to be of interest to the police. you are not willing to testify.

on account of not wanting to die, yes, you say, adopting a professional tone to exactly match hers, dangerously close to mocking. you’re being an asshole for a reason. she’s tried to persuade you to testify before, and you don’t want her to try it again.

she continues unperturbed. you have been threatened with violence on multiple occasions to that end, sometimes with a weapon. so far, understandable. 

now the lawyer spreads her hands out on the desk in a summary gesture. 

now all of this is not necessarily as dire a predicament as you thought when you said you might ‘get ten years’. if you had proof you were coerced, i could get your sentence reduced even more, but as things stand this seems like a set of offenses that would land you around two or three years, five at the worst. you do have a medical license, so they can’t get you on practicing without. you never directly participated in any of the presumably violent crimes leading to the injuries, and you never procured the drugs and medical supplies yourself. other than the payments to your bank account, there’s not much of a paper trail because you took no notes, used neither laptop nor smartphone—yeah, you didn’t tell her about the michael and richie phone, because that would require telling her about michael and richie—and cycled through burner phones instead. so again, it will be hard for them to nail you on specifics, unless they have multiple witnesses.

i sense a ‘but’ coming, you say.

but i need to understand why you got into this in the first place.

with that, you snap. it’s been a day, and she’s using the words of a counselor with the expression of a robot. why the fuck do you care?

ma’am, she says, that glimmer of irritation just barely showing, you are paying me to defend you. i would rather not enter that fight with one hand tied behind my back. 

you’re an idiot.

of course she doesn’t care about whether you’re good or bad, clever or stupid. there’s no judgment to be had. all she cares about is how defensible you are. you really are an idiot, and you’re so relieved.

with that, it flows freely.

i fucked up, you say. i was a resident at ui—university of illinois—and i was on my second to last year, everything was good. but then the carusos tried to blackmail me into getting them the medical files of one of my patients, so i freaked out and quit. it’s hard to convey to her just how much your world ended, without sounding melodramatic. in the end, you keep it brief. i burned all my bridges. but then i had no job and nothing else to do, and they knew it. shit happened, and now here we are. 

she doesn’t hesitate. caruso tried to blackmail you with what?

no. that’s all, that’s it. she only gets the one word.

i can’t do my job if you’re being obstructionist.

i’m not tell you that—i’m not telling fucking anyone that. i’d rather go walk onto state street bridge and blow my brains out. there’s no way she knows what you’re talking about, but some of it must creep into your voice, because she does stop for a moment and think before pressing you again, this time with a slightly milder tone.

is it sex, violence, or money? she says.

none of the above. some money was involved, but not more than a month of rent. 

you paid, or someone else paid?

all right, that’s it. you charge by the hour, right? you say.

in your current arrangement, yes.

well, the retainer’s all i got. so. you pat your hands on her desk in a brisk, final gesture. i’m gonna fuck off now, you have a think, and then tomorrow i’m gonna swing by and you can tell me what i need to know about turning myself in. in the meantime, i’m gonna go get a burrito. 

for a split second, you think she’s going to argue with you, and you can pinpoint the exact moment when she resigns herself to having an unreasonably stubborn client.

you do that, she says.

as far as you’re concerned, she got the whole story. it ends with prison, the way it was always going to end. it starts the way it was always going to start too: you fucked up.

.

.

.

so you’re inside the house. 

nah, mikey says. i’m the house.

he immediately goes digging in the pocket of his sweatpants to get his lighter, refusing to look at you. the shame is how you know this is real.

it hits you then: he’s the one you want to talk to. you distrusted him before because he was so transparently on the brink of falling apart, but now you can see that that’s just something you have in common. you’re the house. you’re the fucking house. and here he is, someone who knows what that feels like, and there’s nothing else between you. what are the chances? 

what about you, mikey says, relighting his cigarette. do you have any younger siblings, or is it just the one? 

the question comes unexpected, and you realize that he knows you have an older brother—that you’ve talked about your family, that you’ve been drawn in that much and that easily. 

just the one, you manage to say.

ping, goes a little notification sound, and there it is, saved by the bell. he gets out his phone, and you point at it.

what? he says.

i got good news and bad news.

he looks back down at his phone, grimaces at the text, then puts it away. okay. what’s the good news?

you can’t help yourself. who asks for the good news first?

he shrugs, smiles, wide open and easy. i do.

for a second, you’re both smiling at each other. but then comes your next words.

good news is, i haven’t spoken to my family since 2019. when you say it like that, you can almost make it sound like something to be proud of. so. i really am the one you want to talk to.

shit, mikey says, looking at you. 

it’s the first time you’ve thrown him off kilter, and you enjoy it. 

you really are the one i want to talk to. he switches his cigarette from his right hand to his left so he can shake yours. i’m mikey.

his hand is callused and cold, but his grip is firm. it doesn’t feel perfunctory. it skitters electricity up your arm that you promptly ignore.

i know, you say.

his smile is harder to ignore. you never said what your name was, though. 

you only vaguely remember rebuffing him the first time you both smoked outside together. it feels so far away now.

julie, you say. you only realize that you gave him your real name once it’s too late to take it back. his hand is warm, engulfing yours. 

good to meet you, julie. 

likewise.

he lets go first.

you wanna hit me with the bad news? he says.

you stick your hands in your coat pockets. bad news is: if you want him gone, you have to want him gone. you say you want him gone, but you’re still texting the kid. what’s he supposed to think?

so you’re saying i should block him? you can tell from mikey’s voice that he already hates the idea.

i’m saying you already know what to do.

i don’t! he’s almost laughing, like the whole thing is so desperate, it’s funny.

yes you fucking do, you say. you just haven’t ended it because you don’t actually think things are over for you. there’s a chance that you wake up a different person tomorrow, and that’s enough reason to postpone the end of the world, right? 

he’s not laughing now. he’s not angry, either. the whole weight of his attention is on you, and he’s gone so perfectly motionless, you know you’ve hit bullseye. yeah. you really are the one he wants to talk to.

so, you say, the reason you want your brother to fuck off is not because you think you’re gonna sink to the bottom of the ocean and drag him down with you. it’s because you don’t want him to watch you floundering around, gasping for air, trying to survive. cause it’s fucking embarrasing.

okay, he says slowly, so you think i’m, what. being dramatic? it’s not a rhetorical question. he’s locked in, he’s really asking. you think the house isn’t on fire here?

you lift your shoulders an inch, wound tight, focused. honest, but not only honest. trying hard to say it right so he understands.

i don’t know you, you say. i don’t know the situation. all i’m saying is, if it’s only shame, then you’ll stay floundering in the in-between forever, fuckin miserable, never in and never out. 

mikey is listening so intently, you think maybe he does hear you. maybe he does understand.

and, you know. don’t do that, you say. just let the kid in, if it’s shame. it’ll hurt, but it won’t kill you. 

what if it’s not shame? mikey says. what if the house is on fire?

you hesitate. you love him? 

he’s my brother. there’s years in his voice, decades. you can hear every second of them, and all you can do is nod. 

yeah, you say. look away. take one last drag on your cigarette, then snuff it out before it can burn you. chuck it in the makeshift ashtray, and throw away your empty cigarette box too.

wordlessly, mikey passes his to you. you’re used to menthols, not whatever the fuck these are, but you take it because he offered. the taste is his, and the slow exhale. 

 is watching you, but before you can gather up enough courage to look back—he’s close now, which makes looking at him feel like a risk—his phone goes off and you try to tell yourself that that feeling is relief. 

this fuckin guy, he mutters, then types a reply.

you smile to yourself over the rough affection in his voice. a private smile, all yours. you’ve lost track of time out here with him, and you’ve got no desire to find it again.

carmy’s not giving up, huh, you say. 

what? it takes a second for his mind to catch up. oh, that’s not carmy. that was richie.

he’s so funny. you know you just say random names sometimes like i already know who they are? 

richie’s my best friend, he explains.

and are you shaking him off too? you’re aware that this is a lot to ask, and you want the answer precisely because it’s a lot to ask.

to your surprise, mikey laughs. 

richie? no. he holds out his hand, and you pass the cigarette back to him. richie’s not a guy you can shake off. his wife’s been trying to leave him for like a year, but he keeps hanging on. he’s that kind of guy. 

you attempt to withhold the judgment from your voice when you repeat, for a year? 

he shrugs. on and off, but it takes two to tango. it’ll work out.

okay, companionship only goes so far, no matter how much you like mikey. you’re not about to stand here and let a man tell you that keeping a woman in a marriage against her will is a good fucking thing.

it takes two to tango, but it only takes one to leave, you say. and i bet she has her reasons. 

look, whatever she has, richie’s not a quitter, mikey says. fuck, i couldn’t shake the guy if i had a gun to his head.

you smoke in stony silence, thinking to yourself that this richie sounds like an absolute fucking nightmare. for a while, your thoughts and mikey’s veer off on such diverging paths that you’re almost about to make your excuses and go back upstairs, the feeling of camaraderie gone. and then.

hey, mikey says. there’s an odd note to his voice, nearly gentle. how did you shake your family, can i ask? what did you do? 

you look over at him and hold that look for a long moment, fighting the urge to swallow.

there’s a lot you can give to mikey, and you’ll find out just how much in the coming year. but that. you’ll never give him that.

instead, you give him what you think he needs, what you’ve turned over and over in your mind during so many sleepless nights: the conclusion you finally came to, long ago.

you gotta make absolutely sure the house is on fire, you say. because if you’re not, if you leave your brother and live on, then you’ve done something unforgivable and you’re not even dead enough to escape.

.

.

.

there’s only one more thing you need to do before you turn yourself in, and despite the overwhelming urge to duck it—be a coward, find a way—you force yourself to walk all the way to richie’s apartment building. the exercise is supposed to wear you out, take some of the fight out of you, but it fails. now you’re just waiting for him with sore legs and recurring nausea.

you don’t have to wait long. one second, you’re grimly watching the smoke from your cigarette drifting upwards, and then there’s a flicker of motion down the street. you look, and there he is. richie’s coming towards you in long strides, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, a man on a mission. he’s clearly spotted you.

hey, he calls, when he’s still stupidly far away. what’s going on?

it’s okay, you want to say, but the words won’t come. as much as you’ve kept hidden from richie, you don’t like lying to him much. so you just put out your cigarette in case you need to leave quickly, and you wait.

when richie finally reaches you, he’s evidently curious, but you speak first.

how was ice fishing? 

not too bad, weirdly enough. he settles in and lights himself a cigarette before continuing. maybe he’s under the illusion that this is one of your normal companionable nights, just happening in a different location. turns out carmy still sleeps better in a moving car, so i actually drove the long way home and i think it did him some good.

feels like it did richie some good too. he tried to take care of somebody and for once, it worked. you’re glad. he needed it, after that hell of a christmas.

you can sense his weary contentment, and you know you’re about to ruin it.

that’s good, you say quietly, and at the same time, richie says, what?

looking up into his face, your heart sinks right along with your hopes. his blue eyes are sharp enough. 

goddammit, but he’s caught on. he knows something isn’t right, and you’re not asshole enough to try and claw back an ease that’s gone for good.

i gotta go away for a while, you manage to say.

how long is a while? he says, uneasy.

you can’t do this.

hey, he says, a little softer, and you have to look away. you shouldn’t have even come. you shouldn’t have even fucking come. five minutes with him, and you’re already fighting to keep your face under control. 

can we go upstairs? it’s fucking cold. you feel exposed, visible to anyone who might drive by, and you can’t shake the rising urge to hide.

yeah, richie says. yeah, we can go upstairs. it’s not that cold out compared to your countless nights spent outside together, and he knows it, but he just opens the door for you.

.

.

.

the elevator ride is long and painful. you can practically smell the worry coming off him in waves, festering, so you don’t make him wait. as soon as his apartment door is shut and locked behind you, you say, how long i’m away kinda depends on the prosecutor. 

you, uh. he runs a hand over his mouth, thinking. fuck. what are the charges? 

we’ll see. i, uh, i have this feeling there’s feds involved. tomorrow i’m going to turn myself in. 

fuck, he says again, hard. he runs his hand from his forehead back over his skull, then just stands there for a second, head half bowed and hand gripping the back of his neck. you want to comfort him, but shouldn’t. you want to run, but can’t. 

instead, you take this opportunity to get in one last long stare. richie is the same as ever. his hair is dark and close-cut, his beard too. his eyebrows are scant, and there’s a ridge on his forehead as if to make up for it. his nose is straight and straightforward. there are bags under his eyes, because of course there are, but his eyes themselves are as blue as summer, so blue they’re barely believable. that’s him, that’s his face.

then there’s the eternal black leather jacket, oversized and complete with unnecessary shoulder straps for all the bags he’ll never carry. he smells faintly of smoke. he’s allowing you to stare at him, an indulgence that you can’t question without being a dick. he makes you want to not be a dick. all this is here, all this is real. 

richie says, what can i do?

he looks at you, and though his voice is subdued, you can tell he’s dead serious. thank god. you thought you’d have to beg for it, but here he is, offering. you really want to know?

he nods once, tight. anything. 

that one hurts, because he knows just how much a person can ask of him, and he’s standing there offering it anyway. 

i want you to stay out of it. 

dead silence. a muscle tics in his jaw. why?

i don’t want to make things messy. i don’t want to cause trouble, and there’s—you try to eke out a laugh, downplay it. but your laugh is raw and you can tell in his eyes that you’ve only made things worse.  there’s some fuckin trouble in this.

okay. he digs out his phone, swipes a couple times, and then points at the round blue logo of the jpay app. you see this? his voice is tight. i don’t know what makes you think you’re so special, but this isn’t the first time i’ve had a friend catch a charge and it probably won’t be the last. so you don’t need to look so freaked out, you’re not gonna infect me. i’m fine. i can help. 

fucking richie. the one night you need him to be unreasonable, and here he is making arguments, using logic and shit. exasperated, you try to argue your way out of this.

you were dealing coke just a few months ago.

richie scoffs. so what?

fak found out about that, didn’t he? you give him a look. fak, richie. fak. fucking—

he raises both hands, palms spread in irritation, voice rising. would you stop saying fak? 

irresistible. fak. 

i don’t—

come on.

okay. he gestures widely, in an exaggerated motion used to indicate he’s the sole light of reason in a dark world of total bullshit. maybe i've been exaggerating a little. maybe fak’s not the worst guy in the world. i mean, he can be a lot. clingy, sure. but a snitch? nah. he told carmy, but carmy’s not a cop, so that's different. it’s fine. we’re fine.

i'm just saying. if fak knows and carmy knows, other people probably know too.

it’s not even relevant, richie says. so i moved a little weight, who cares?

look, i’m not trying to be a dick, but i don’t think the cops were were hunting that hard for you. if they start digging into me, that’s gonna change. cause i’m not a snitch either, and i know they’re gonna want me to flip, so they’ll leverage whatever against me, and… yeah, you can tell he’s not finding this convincing. a bad feeling is growing in the pit of your stomach. just get it over with. 

there’s one surefire way to make him flinch, and you push that launch button, voice casual.

you helped michael get painkillers too, right? you say. 

takes a second, but he finally admits, yeah. i knew a guy.

michael was not keeping it neat and tidy, you know what i mean? it takes so much effort to seem this careless. but it works. he looks a bit more like he should—guarded, almost suspicious. 

what are you saying?

i’m saying i knew he was using within a month of meeting him. and. you can tell you’ve hurt him a little, but still, your arguments aren’t working, your wild swings aren’t working, he’s not listening to you, nd desperation wells up in you. is there nothing you can do? just, can you please stay out of this. you didn’t mean to say please, but it burst out of you. i don’t know what’s gonna go down, and i just want everyone clear of this. i know they’re coming for me, i know i’ll lose, and i don’t—i don’t want you anywhere near it all. 

richie is silent for a moment, thinking hard.

you rub your thumb over your wristbone. can we just…

what’s your plan? he says. that’s what i wanna know. like, you’re not fighting here, and i don’t get it. what happens after you turn yourself in? you’re not gonna get a deal if you don’t talk, so what? you’re just gonna sit there and take the twenty-five to life? 

twenty-five to life? you echo. richie, what the fuck do you think i did?

after one long moment of the both of you staring at each other, he hums a little james bond. 

your face lifts into a wide, incredulous smile. you think i’m. he does. he absolutely does, look at him. you could kiss him. you could shake him. you start to laugh.

his face twists like he just got pinched hard. no, i—what do i know, man, i don't know that much about the law or whatever, i just—

twenty-five to life!

—don't get fucking offended, okay?

i'm not offended.

i'm just a well-read guy with a very active imagination, and maybe i got a little carried away, but—

his shoulders are up by his ears, he’s so defensive.

richie, you say firmly. i'm not mad.

what? there he is. finally listening. eyes looking directly at you, electric blue, raw current.

you hold that silence a little longer than you need to, just to feel it. then, deliberately giving each word its own due weight, you say, you thought i’d killed somebody, and you were gonna help me?

richie shrugs helplessly.

i thought you had your reasons, he says. i always think you have your reasons.

that shakes you to the core. 

goodwill, you already knew you had his goodwill. but faith? jesus. you’re the last person on earth that anyone should believe in, but richie doesn’t know how wrong he is and you can’t tell him, so you just to stand there under the weight of his belief and try not to crumble. at this point, prison would be a fucking mercy.

you have to get out of here.

it'll be five years at worst, you say. your voice sounds strange even to your own ears, but you keep going. the feds will be shaking me like a fruit tree hoping some juicy information tumbles down, but everything i did was pretty boring. you think of the factory, the bodies laid out like so many logs. nonviolent, anyway.

doesn’t seem very james bond to me, he says you fuckin drama queen.

bottom line, you say, the thing is enough of a mess already, so just let me do my time and we can hang out after. i don't want you anywhere near this. you start heading for the door. i gotta go anyways, i have—

you serious? he cuts in, suppressed and flat. warning bells are going off in your head, but you walk on.

dead fucking serious, you say, unlocking the front door. i don’t even want anyone to know that we’ve met. 

dead silence, and then, richie says, well maybe you don’t get a fucking choice.

you turn and meet his eyes. there it is again, that stomach-churning nausea that you thought you’d managed to quell. the plummeting feeling of having no control. it stops you in your tracks. 

what? you say.

i mean, i’m not going anywhere, so fucking deal with it? the life has come back to his voice, and with it, all the anger. his blue eyes are sparking with it, he’s gesturing, he’s gathering momentum, and you try to stop him but you already know it’s useless.

richie—

look, i don't run when things get bad, i’m not that guy. i’m here. he smacks one hand into another. like i’m in it. that's the whole fucking point.

the point of what?

you know what i’m trying to say.

the point of what, richie? 

his face twists. oh, don't do that. don't do that thing where you act like you know everything that goes on in my head.

but i fucking do, though. 

yeah, well i fucking hate it.

if you hate it so much then why did you give it to me then? 

his voice goes higher. i'm not just gonna drop you!

i am literally begging you to drop me. somehow, you’ve crossed the room, you’re up in his face and he’s not backing down and the words are flying so thick and fast as you talk over each other that you can barely make out yours, much less his. i want you to drop me, i specifically—i did so much shit so that you could drop me, i was so fucking careful—

i never asked you to!

i got rid of my phones and i stuck to my rules and—

i never fucking asked you to!

if you get involved, it's gonna be fucking awful and it won't help, it won't even help, if that's what you think—

i can help! i'm not, fucking useless, like. you guys always—

that one, you hear. you guys?

why don't you ever fucking talk to me? he says, like the words are getting torn out of him. 

who the fuck do you think you’re talking to right now? for a second, you just look at each other. breathing hard. when you finally speak, your voice is quieter. richie, you are the only person i ever fucking talk to. but it doesn’t matter. there’s nothing anyone can do.

i don't believe you.

you don’t know how to get around that. after a beat, you say, okay, what is it, richie. cruel. what is it you're gonna do that's gonna help. you asked me to explain my plan, now it’s your turn. you tell me how you’re gonna help me with this. 

fucking…he looks up for a second, and then back at you. i know what you’re doing. 

you don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing at this point, but the way he’s looking at you is frightening. you could almost believe that he knows. and honestly, you don’t want to find out.

what am i doing, you say.

.

.

.

he turns and walks away, towards the bed. after a second’s hesitation, you follow. he sits down on the bed so he can crank open the window, light up, and smoke out of it. you stay standing. you really don’t know why you haven’t left yet. you were supposed to ages ago.

sit down, he says.

fuck you. 

fucking sit down.

no. 

jesus. he exhales, slow. you can see him settling a little. do you know why carmy was opening the tomato cans?

what is this, storytime?

patiently, he repeats, do you know why carmy was opening the tomato cans.

to make spaghetti.

he points at you. exactly. but the reason he was making spaghetti is cause he’d just gotten mikey’s note. deep breath. this isn’t a story he’s happy to tell you. see, mikey had left him this note on the back of a the spaghetti recipe, but i—i didn’t give it to carmy until there was this day. syd and marcus were gone. shit had gotten bad.

i remember, you murmur.

i was in the front, and i heard people yelling fire, so i came running into the kitchen and carmy was watching it all burn. just standing there. not moving. his eyes were open, but it was like he was asleep. 

and that’s why you gave him the note?

yeah. i know i should’ve done it before. but. 

he looks up at you, and you can see him appealing to you for some kind of mercy. maybe comfort. this is the thing he’s ashamed of. you understand that, you understand him, you understand shame better than anyone else, and there’s a sick comfort in it, knowing he’s that much more like you. at least he was able to change course in the end. you never did.

you don’t tell him that, though, because you’ve realized something else.

this is the thing he’s ashamed of, which makes it usable.

so i’m carmy, in your off-base and condescending metaphor, you say, callous. you're gonna come and save me? you're gonna put the fire out.

his eyes darken. no, you're not carmy.

no?

you're mikey.

fuck you. 

so fucking selfish, he says bitterly. it’s as close to hate as you’ve ever heard from him. but you’ve gone so far, you’re not stopping now.

richie, what the fuck do you want from me?

you know what i want! his voice goes quiet when he adds, did really you think there’s anything that could keep me away from you for five fucking years?

you know what he means.

can’t put words to it, can’t accept it, can’t fucking bear it—won’t—but you do know, you know exactly what he’s trying to say to you, what he’s trying to give.

you don’t deserve it, but it’s not for you anyways, it's for michael. it's all for michael, and it would be beautiful if it wasn't such a fucking waste to love a man when he's dead. richie’s gonna throw everything he has onto the fire in the hope that it will quench the flames. that just makes it his pyre, but he’ll never see it. 

okay, you say. my turn at storytime. 

you sit down next to him on the bed, accept his cigarette. take a drag, then lean on the wide wooden sill as you breathe smoke out into the cold. lull him into it. relax his guard. 

you thought you inherited me, right? you say. conversational. no heat. you were gonna take care of me for him, that was the plan. i’m mikey.

that’s not what i meant.

you have it backwards, is the thing. you can feel yourself sinking into it, talking like you have time, matter of fact, cruelty showing at the edges. like you’re an entirely different person, which is, of course, your goal. michael didn’t give a shit about me. i was just there. i was just a woman who happened to be conveniently close by, and lonely, and he fucked me. and that was fine, that was convenient for me too, but he got worse and it got out of hand. he got hard to be around. i found out he’d started stealing from me, so i broke up with him. he found a way to get back into my apartment anyways, and he guessed the code to my safe and stole pretty much everything. so i told him tina shouldn’t call me for help next time he overdosed. i told him he could finally die, for all i cared. and he did.

you’re looking at the sheets. you’re still able to talk, somehow. you feel numb, detached, like you’re watching yourself say it. 

the only reason you know me is because i felt guilty. i was gonna take care of you for him, that was the plan, but now this is getting out of hand and i’m fucking done with it. so here goes. it wasn’t just money he stole out of my safe. go take a look in the police report. i’d bet my life that there was a sig p365 in his hand when they found him. that was mine. i’m the reason he’s dead. you want to be loyal to someone? be loyal to him.

you crush the cigarette against the fake wood of the headboard. ash falls on his pillow.

playtime’s over. stay the fuck away from me.

this time when you leave, he doesn’t stop you.

.

.

.

on the train, hollowed out and swaying, you are approached by an elderly woman. her eyes are rheumy, concerned.

are you okay? she says. 

hm? 

you’re shaking.

you look down at your hands in your lap. she’s right. 

there’s nothing else to say. 

.

.

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[ next chapter ] [ masterlist ]

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a huge thank you to all readers.

taglist: @garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1, @eternallyvenus, @cerial-junkie, @jackierose902109, @shinebright2000, @scorpiolystoned, @fancyvoidtragedy, @justficsandstuff, @fromirkwood — if anyone else wants to be tagged, let me know.

[thekillingmoonmoon]

guys my age

Pairing: Kishibe x Fem! Reader Warnings: NSFW, age gap (Kishibe is however old he is – 50? Reader is late twenties), smoking, alcohol,  reader goes through a breakup but it’s not a bad one Length: 4k Song: Guys My Age – Hey Violet

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” you read your phone’s screen again and cussed, throwing yourself down on the hotel bed with a thump. “Trouble in paradise?” Kishibe looked over from the windowsill, the smoke swirling around his head in a sunlit halo. “More like, good riddance to bad rubbish,” you groaned, dropping your phone to the mattress beside you. “At least one of my problems has the good grace to sort itself out,” you grumbled, leaning back and pinching the bridge of your nose. “Which one of your problems was it? Rent? The boyfriend? Makima?” you peered at Kishibe from where you lay, squinting at him in confusion. Since when did he care?

“If it was Makima, I think we’d be in a very different position right now,” You answered, gesturing to the rundown hotel you were currently staying in. Kishibe scoffed out a chuckle and took a sip from his flask, offering it to you when you eyed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he drank. You took the flask with thanks and threw it back, relishing the honeyed burn of the whiskey as it spilt down your supple throat. You missed how Kishibe watched you drink, how his dark eyes narrowed when a drop of liquor slipped past your lips and down your chin, trickling in its cinnamon sweetness down your silken neck. You cleared your throat.

 “It’s the boyfriend,” you chuckled drily, “The trash took itself out this time.” Kishibe raised a brow. “Tsunada broke up with you?” once more, you squinted at Kishibe, wondering when he had ever bothered learning the name of the third division hunter you were dating for the last six months. Emphasis on “were”, as the man in question had just broken up with you for being ‘too serious’. “Yep,” You flopped back on the bed, a blood spatter of red and white on the navy sheets.

“You should wash,” Kishibe instructed, and you groaned, wanting to throw yourself on the bed and sleep for the next ten years. But Kishibe had drinking plans, and as his partner, it was expected that you join him. You rolled yourself upward and grabbed your bag from the end of the bed, leaving Kishibe to seat himself on the twin bed on the other side of the room. You threw his towel at him as you closed the bathroom door, muttering about ‘old men getting sick’ and you not wanting to play nursemaid if he got ill from leaving his hair wet. You barely heard his reply but knew it had something to do with what you’d look like in a nurse’s uniform. You flushed at the thought, and slapping your cheeks at your embarrassment, stepped into the shower. The room still smelled of him, of heady musk and light pine, of cinnamon cigarettes and expensive aftershave, and as you breathed him in, you realised how truly fucked you were.

You were in love with Kishibe. Undoubtedly, irrevocably in love.  After three years as his rookie partner, you’d fallen into a neat rhythm with the older man, quickly becoming the most efficient pair of hunters in Public Safety. The rumours swirled in your wake, the young pup to charm the old war dog, the only partner to last through Kishibe’s rough training and still come out of it semi-sane on the other side. Not that you’d claim to be sane. Not after all the things you had seen. Not after falling for a man nearly twice your age and as emotionally unavailable as a stray black cat. Tsunada had been a distraction, as had the three guys before him. All young and bright-eyed boys whose reckless charm and careless caresses had only barely filled the aching gap in your heart, so empty of cynicism and bitter whiskey.  You undid your hair, grimacing at the flicker of dried blood that fell from your tresses. You plunged in to wash your hair, scrubbing your skull so hard, hoping that you could scrub yourself clean of Kishibe.

Today had been another successful hunt, way out in the boondocks of some country town, where a Corruption Devil had settled in. It had taken you more than half a day to get to the town, but less than two hours to get rid of the devil, and now you were stuck halfway home, forced to stay the night in a hotel. It wasn’t the first time you had been forced to share a hotel room with Kishibe, but it was the first time neither had been so mortally wounded to require around-the-clock nursing. You wondered if the same easy silence that filled your sunlit hours would pervade the darkness as well. You hoped it would, and the warm uneasiness that had been building up in your lower stomach over the last year or so would disappear into the night, along with the sounds of Kishibe’s chainsaw snoring.

You shook your hair out, happy only once the water ran clean and stepped out of the shower. You needed a distraction. From your ex-boyfriend. From Kishibe. For whatever feelings you had for Kishibe.  You rinsed yourself off and rummaged in your bag, pulling out a fresh white shirt. You thought to the night of drinking ahead and wondered if Kishibe would let you get some company for yourself this evening. You needed it. Needed the rush of playing cat-and-mouse, of fumbling hands in the dark, of losing yourself in someone else’s body for the first time in months. You left a few buttons undone, showing off a tasteful sliver of cleavage as you huffed and puffed back into your trousers. You did your hair and face, sure to put on a lipstick that screamed ‘fuck me,’ and stepped out of the bathroom.

Kishibe choked on his flask, hacking up what sounded like half a lung when he saw you exit the bathroom.

 “What?” was all you said, raising your eyebrow as the man, “did you forget I was a woman?” Kishibe could only cough in response. You grabbed your jacket,

“Let’s go.”

…

You weren’t drunk enough for this. Not for this drivelling conversation and certainly not for the slimy pickup lines slithering from the hunter across the table. Kishibe was lost in a conversation, nodding and hemming along to whatever was being said by the senior hunters. You needed a smoke. You scrambled to your feet, meeting Kishibe’s eyes as he looked across at your movement. You motioned that you were going for a smoke and he nodded in understanding.

You broke free into the darkness, breathing in the heady scent of wet asphalt and city lights. You rounded a corner into an alley and fiddled around in your jacket pocket, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a light. You flickered the flame to life, thinking of all the times you had lit Kishibe’s smokes, leaning in between gaps in the rain, sharing breaths in the muggy air. Smoke trickled from your mouth in a dark dragon of grey and blue, the clouds catching the reflection of the neon sign of the bar above your head.

 “Hey baby,” came a dark coo, and you tilted your head to peer into the dark.  “Kishibe?” you asked, despite knowing it wasn’t him. You would know his voice anywhere, that deep soft rasp that stirred your lower stomach into a fluttering of iron butterflies. “Aw, darling, you wound me. As if I would ever come close to that gross old bastard.” It was the hunter from before, the one whose pickup lines were worse than any of the drivel Tsunada had fed you. “I’m not interested,” you gave a polite smile and prepared to go back inside. “Really, because you were giving me bedroom eyes back there,” he approached you, coming closer and closer, tainting the air with the bitter tang of beer and old cigarettes  “You made an incorrect assumption then,” you corrected him, straightening out and preparing to throw your cigarette out onto the damp concrete. A pity, you wanted to savour it. He crowded up to you, using his height against you, casting a shadow over your shorter form. You looked up at him, tilting your head and squinting. “Aw, don’t be so frigid, baby,” he leaned his hand above your head, effectively pinning you between the wall and his body. You sighed. You really didn’t want to start a fight, especially not with another hunter. “She isn’t being frigid, boy, she’s being polite,” oh, that smoke-saturated voice soothed you, getting you to drop your guard as you saw Kishibe flicker into view. “Get lost, punk,” he said, motioning for the guy to walk, and the idiot listened, suddenly aware that he was between the two toughest devil hunters in the agency.  Kishibe came to stand beside you, cigarette already clenched between his teeth. You lit up for him, relishing the way he leaned in close, the scent of his aftershave rolling down your spine. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall next to you.

“Did I ever tell you that you have shit taste in men?” he asked, and you snorted. “No, but I believe you,” you answered, shaking your head. “Why do you go for punks like him?” “I don’t know,” you huffed, “their boyish charm,” you lied. Kishibe tsked. "Clearly you need a real man,” he said, and you looked at him out of the corner of your eye. What was he playing at? You shrugged.  “Unfortunately, those are hard to come by, unless you know any takers?” you jibed, a little gutsy, now that you weren’t looking Kishibe in the dark, depthless eyes. “I could name a few,” he grunted, and this time you properly turned and looked at him. He took a step toward you, moving closer than ever before, a mere breath away. He looked down at you, all rippling muscles and rugged scars. “And would your name be on that list?” You closed your eyes as you asked, hating to see the reaction in his eyes. You could feel him, almost sense his body around you, surrounding you. “Well, you’d never have to go out dressed like this again,” a single calloused finger traced the low fit of your shirt, almost brushing your breasts. “Or mess around with those boys again,” he rumbled, his finger trailing up your throat, where he gripped your chin.

“Tell me, princess,” he rumbled, “did that bastard even make you cum?” You were sure he could feel the blush radiating off your cheeks, but you bit your lower lip and shook your head. The noise that left Kishibe’s throat was dark and deep as it vibrated through you, sending shivers down your spine as he leaned down. He was just a whiskey’s breath away, all cinnamon and sinful musk, his dark eyes watching your face as he drew closer.

 “Tell me to stop,” he said, and you threw all caution to the wind. You grabbed his tie and pulled him down, crashing your lips to his, tasting the bitter tang of beer on his lips. For a moment, Kishibe paused, his eyes wide open, before he was kissing you, driving you back into the wall, stealing every gasp of air from your desperate lips.

 “Fuck,” he cursed as he pinned you to the cold bricks behind you, pressing his tongue past your teeth and flooding you with the taste of him. His hands seemed reluctant to touch you, so you grabbed them from the wall behind you and settled his hands on your waist and hips. His thick hands were eager, filling you with warmth as he gripped and groped at your flesh. His hips found yours, pressing you even deeper into the wall, his thigh coming in between your legs to push at the apex of your legs. You whine, feeling him rub his thigh over your needy cunt and his hips stutter against yours.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he gripped your hips, rocking them over his thigh, fucking you on his leg. You moan his name, and he groans, stopping and grabbing your hands as they explore his toned chest.

For a moment you think he wants to stop, that he’s rejecting you, and you feel like you could curl up and disappear, but he reads the bright fear in your eyes and leans in, pressing a single chaste kiss to your swollen lips.

 “Relax doll, I’m only taking you somewhere else,” he rumbled, “somewhere no one can interrupt us.”

You blindly followed him through the dark, stumbling behind him as he makes the short trip back to your dingy hotel room. He held your hand the whole time, large and warm and engulfing yours in its calloused grip. Once in the elevator, he turned to you, dark eyes suddenly serious, despite the hunter’s light that shone deep in their murky depths.

 “This is your last chance, sweetheart,” He stepped closer, crowding you into the corner of the lift, his trench coat shielding you from view, “Tell this dirty old man to stop.”

“Why would I?” you answered, grabbing at the lapels of his jacket, reaching up on your tiptoes to lay a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, where his scar severed his face. He groaned at your featherlight touch, his hand coming up behind your head to meld your lips to his, holding you tight to his body, so that you could feel his muscles ripple against your tender touch. He only tore away when the elevator dinged your sudden arrival and then he was gone again, practically dragging you through the door and pressing you up against the cool wood, his mouth meeting yours once again. He pushed your jacket from your shoulders, gripping your upper arms tight as he laid a trail of sloppy kisses down your jaw. He sucked your skin into his mouth, nipping and suckling at the skin until he was sure he had left his mark on you. You shucked his jacket off as well, throwing the heavy canvas aside and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. He was quick to do the same, exposing your tits to his hungry mouth as he cupped you beneath your bra.

 “Fuck, look at these tits,” he cooed, squeezing and groping at the soft flesh, “So fucking beautiful, better than I ever imagined,” he groaned, biting and teasing your nipple through the fabric of your bra. He scraped his teeth up your chest, slithering his hands down the slope of your stomach until he reached the waistband of your pants. He made quick work of the belt and zipper, sending your pants to your knees as he teased your clit through the fabric. Your hips bucked, unused to any decent touch and you blushed, flushed hot by the sudden attention after being neglected for so long. Kishibe kissed you harshly again, biting your lower lip back with a pop before skimming down your body. He nipped at your stomach, lathing his love over your belly, pulling down your panties. He watched a thin string of your arousal cling to the fabric and he hummed, helping you step out of your clothes. He knelt before you, reverent in his worship, fumbling prayer from his scarred lips as he licked and sucked at the skin around your cunt. He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and sunk his tongue into your cunt, his huge hands engulfing your hips to stop you from bucking onto his face. He licked a slow stripe up your pussy, finding your clit and swirling his tongue around it until you could feel your cunt clench around nothing.

“You’re gonna cum on my face, princess,” Kishibe told you, murmuring into your slick silken skin, “and then you’re gonna cum on my cock, yeah?”, he lapped at you before you could respond, pulling a low keen from your pouty lips before your voice broke into shattered pants. His tongue worked wonders, pressing the hot wet muscle up and into your pussy, effectively fucking you with his tongue. His one hand left your hips, trailing down your thigh and coming up below his chin. The first finger felt like heaven, pushing past your soft velvet walls into your pulsing pussy, reaching, searching until he found the spot that had you shuddering, hips shaking in his grip. He slowly pumped his finger inside you, pushing and pressing as you whined and moaned above him, his mouth never leaving your clit as he traced the kanji of his name over the bundle of nerves. The second finger had your knees buckling, his fingers thicker and heavier than your own, stretching your cunt out to take his cock. He kept sucking at your clit, sending shivers down your spine as he worked you toward climax. His third finger was a surprise, welcomed with a hushed gasp and whimper from your swollen lips as he pushed his knuckles past your puffy folds.

“That’s it, doll,” he encouraged, “take them all.” You could feel pressure pulsing in your lower stomach, sending strawberry starbursts up your spine. You felt dizzy, drowning in the sound of Kishibe lapping and slurping at your cunt. You could feel your climax build, and by the clench of your cunt, Kishibe knew you were close too. He renewed his pumping into your cunt and sucked hard on your clit, tossing you over the edge into a starstruck spiral of static pleasure. He groaned as you came, sucking and lapping up all that seeped from your pretty pussy.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbled, rising from a crouch and kissing you hard. He gripped your hips to his, holding you up against the wall as your knees shook. You tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning at the saccharine tartness as his tongue slipped into your mouth. He stepped back with you stumbling after, holding you upright and pushing you softly down onto the nearest mattress. You bounced on the springy softness, looking up at Kishibe with wide doe-eyes, already fucked out on the orgasm wrought by his tongue and fingers. You stared at him through dreamy eyes, sitting up and reaching for his belt buckle.

 “Easy there, sweetheart,” Kishibe’s hands cover yours, “are you sure you want this?” he asked. You blinked up at him and grabbed his tie, tugging him further down to reach your eye level.

 “I want you, Kishibe,” you soothed, “show me how a real man fucks.” He swore then, unhooking his belt and dropping his pants quickly as he crawled over you on the bed.  You reached down to palm him through his boxers, revelling in the hissed breath that caught low in his throat as you gripped his thick length. He was big, thick and heavy in your hand as you slipped your fingers below his waistband. You smoothed your fingers over his velvet head, smearing pre down his shaft as you pumped him in your hands. He groaned, a restrained grunt spilling past clenched teeth as he moved your hands away and shifted his boxers down and away. You were now bare to each other, your glistening pussy to his twitching length, chest to chest, skin to skin. He leaned down to kiss you again, this time softly as he ran his cock through your soaked folds. You moaned as his cockhead hit your clit, feeling waves of static ripple down your spine. He pressed his cockhead at your entrance.

“You ready, princess?” he gravelled, and you nodded eagerly, your soft silken folds leaving trails of slick on his pulsing skin.

 “Yes,” You panted, “please, Kishibe,” you huffed, the breath pushed from your lungs as he began to ease his cock into your cunt. You groaned at the tight strawberry stretch, sending sparks through your limbs. He filled you slowly, surely, stretching you out until you felt split by his heavy cock.

 “Fuck, doll,” Kishibe paused, slinging your leg up onto his shoulder, “you’re so fucking tight, hah?” He pressed you into the mattress, leaning down and folding you in two as his cock sunk in to the hilt. You gasped, feeling him in the pit of your stomach, twitching in impatience. He paused for a brief moment, as the pair of you caught your breath, you reaching up to him to pull his head down for a kiss, all teeth and tongue and spit as he sucked on your lower lip. He moved languidly, rolling his hips back and out of your plush cunt, and back in with a muted hiss. He set a slow pace, making you feel every inch of him as he ebbed and flowed over your trembling body. His cock reached the deepest part of you, brushing up and over the points that had your eyes rolling back and jaw clenching. You muffled your whines with your hand, reaching up to bite your fist as Kishibe’s hips made contact with yours. He grabbed your wrists and held them above your head.

 “Let me hear those noises, pretty girl, else I won’t be so gentle,” Kishibe warned, nipping the supple skin of your throat.

 “I never asked you to be gentle,” you pouted and prompted a low groan to trickle from Kishibe’s throat.

 “Why?” he snarled, “You want it rough, doll?” he asked, slamming his hips into you with a sudden rush. You scrambled, fingers white-knuckled as your fisted the sheets above your head, your back arching deep as he pressed the pressure point in your cunt.

 “Yes!” you exclaimed, pressing your tits up into his chest. He gripped your hips, hard enough to leave a mark there come tomorrow, and pulled you onto his cock, stopping slightly before setting off at a brutal pace. The sounds of skin on skin surrounded you, wet and sticky and soaked with sweat as Kishibe pounded mercilessly into your pussy, a string of grunts and growls spilling from his lips to your chest. You mewled, releasing your wrists to sink your fingers deep into the muscles of his back, feeling the muscles shift and ripple beneath your clawing nails. You were sure you drew blood, but couldn’t tell as pressure bloomed deep inside your core, burning through your limbs with the fury of a forest fire. Kishibe could feel you clench around him, so soft and strong as his cock pumped into your plush pussy. He stopped, grabbing you by the back of your knees and pushing your legs to your chest. He pistoned into your cunt with speed, his one hand coming down to rub quick circles around your clit. You quickly drew close to climax, feeling each press of his cock deep in your cunt and every swipe of his thumb sending you closer and closer.

“I’m gonna – “ You panted, “I’m gonna cum!” you breathed, keening as the first shudders of your body shook you to your core.

 “Then cum, sweetheart, cum for me,” he groaned in your ear, increasing pressure on your clit until you were shaking in the cage of his arms, limbs twitching and trembling as he fucked you through your high. His name was the only word to fall from your lips, slurred out slowly as he spilt himself deep into your cunt.

 “Fuck,” he grunted, holding himself over you as his hips stilled against yours. You whined when he pulled out, already missing the warmth of his hale body as he withdrew from you. He stepped into the bathroom briefly, exiting only when he saw you shakily try to get off the bed. He tipped you back onto the mattress, a warm washcloth in hand.

 “Don’t run away so fast,” he scolded, gently, rubbing at your battered thighs and leaking cunt.

 “I’m not running,” you said and he looked at you. He crouched before you and reached up to cup your jaw.

“You can run, I won’t stop you. But know that I’ll be coming for you,” he kissed your cheek, “You’re mine now, princess.”

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I do not own Chainsaw Man, or any of the related characters. Chainsaw Man is created and owned by Tatsuki Fujimoto. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Chainsaw Man belong to Tatsuki Fugimoto. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

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[phoenixyfriend]

I think Modern AUs of Beauty and the Beast need to lean harder on the "since the morning that we came to this poor provincial town" line

Belle came from something that is not a small, economically shaky rural town! There are a few possibilities, but I choose to understand it as Belle being a City Girl, because I think I can make it funny.

This is a City Girl who moved here, and looks Generically Pretty, because she's just Different from the others (that's why she's the most beautiful girl in town). It's not necessarily that she is prettier, but small towns tend to have limited options, and a new look is an interesting one.

She reads so many books because she never got agribusiness classes in high school, so she isn't set up for small town life in terms of actually getting a job locally, and she tends to avoid other people and hide in her books because it's easier than people. Everyone reads into this as her being kind of stuck-up and snotty because she looks down on the locals.

Her dad is some Weird City Man Who Lost His Tenure For Blowing Up The Science Wing, so he's now the eccentric who had to move to Nowhere, Middle Of for the sake of getting away from a whole lot of Crap regarding his reputation.

The local dudes who all peaked in high school are joshing for a chance at Belle, because she's the Hot City Girl. They do all think she's weird as hell because she's got Political Opinions And Uses The Wrong Slang, and are very much of the opinion that there is a certain level of crazy that can be excused by being hot enough.

Cue "Dad gets lost, gotta go find him, agree to stay in the cursed castle because, well, gotta save Dad! And curses are a pretty extenuating circumstance to 'weird guy wants me to stay with him indefinitely,' especially since isn't asking for sex or housework while living with him, so... whatever. I still have a phone and Dad knows to call the cops if I miss a check-in."

Also in regards to the various servants, there are cult rumors. These days, live-in staff are a lot less common. Nobody's seen anyone from The Big House in ages, but the building still accepts food deliveries and puts out trash for collection, so someone must be there, so the only reasonable take on why they're out of contact is cult.

From the perspective of the town... she falls for that weird rich dude who lives in the foothills and has what seems to be a cult, which for the peaked in high school crew is very "Okay. You weren't that hot anyway, bitch."

The 'magic mirror shows that Belle is trapped by a monster' is actually just people going "aw shit, new girl got sucked into the cult, should we go check on her?" Her dad keeps saying that she's fine and hasn't said anything is really wrong, but everyone insists that she's lying because it's all Cult Bullshit.

After that whole mess is over, with the Beast and crew once again human and Belle clearly annoyed and reading the riot act to both the townsfolk and Adam, showing she's not fallen for any brainwash-y bullshit, she was just a pissed-off girl who decided "I can bully him into being a better person," which is probably a bad decision, but she's a grown-ass woman, so...

The cops are no longer trying to kidnap her back from the local rich eccentric (as opposed to the local poor eccentric, of which there are several, including Belle's dad).

The townsfolk decide by and large that this was probably for the best because Belle's apparently broken the cult situation? Somehow? And people from the big house in the hills are finally visiting town and proving they're alive again, so that's good.

It was never a cult, they just couldn't show their faces when the faces were furniture.

This turned into a bit more 'massive misunderstanding' with a heavy dollop of accidental Hallmark movie, but hey, we got there in the end. We all know I love a good genre mashup, and a romcom on one side with a horror on the other is basically how Disney did it, right?

Also I've been bingeing a lot of SNL and the actress I've got in my mind for this is Ego Nwodim.

[mellowwillowy]

Ok so I have a great idea for yulian x reader... So like reader and yulian were rival advocates; like it happened every time by chance (not by chance) that which ever case y/n took he would be in opposite side. And each and every time he creates loopholes and let her win.

Everyone thought they were good friends and like they love to rival with one another, while reader thought of him as a good man and enemy but he .... Yulian was like.... She is my future wife :). But soon she left to abroad and without telling him and he was heart broken.

Later on she returned as a businesswoman which he found out that she left due to family pressure and that her parents who had a family business wanted her to stop her job and inherit the company. And guess what he is not happy but it's ok he would let your company go if you marry him but she denied or something???

So he reached connections and a case was raised that readers company uses illigal drug or something??? And like he was fighting the case. So our over confidant reader thought "oh it's so funny I always won against him so this time too..." But lol she lost and was very sad and broken and shocked.

At that time he came to her and was like... I know your company is good and right ... I want to save your company but as a lawyer I need to support my client.... Only if you sign these marriage contract I would help you.... And our reader didn't read it and signed it.

And lol... Later after she won he was like... Wow my baby is so intelligent now let's marry offically and get you pregnant (I really see him as a family man , and a son who is yandere as his father and is very intelligent and a daughter sweet and dumb like her mother). And you were shocked and he was like ow my poor baby didn't read the contract??? Awww it ok......... You have your lifetime to read it now.. and the said contract paper is framed on the wall of the dining hall.

I really wanted to write a yandere advocate and reader myself but thought people would say I stole it from you so please write it for me 🥺

Yulian is referred to as Adam, GN term

"Marriage? What the fuck are you on, Adam?!"

The man grinned smugly as he leaned himself toward the mahogany table. The drug was magnificent. It tricked you into signing a contract that you couldn't even read properly back then. Alcohol would be the legal reason while the brainwashing drug would be the real answer.

"You have the lifetime to read it dear..." The man scowled at the way he worded the term of endearment. "No, you, have a lifetime to read and regret. But my dearest has a lifetime to spend the rest of their lifetime with me."

You gritted your teeth, almost too hard to the point you felt like you could have just shattered it.

"ADAAAAMMMM, YOU-!"

The man clasped your mouth shut and forced a pill down your throat, it took a few moments before the effects took place. It started out with a buzzing sound that felt like it was cutting your head in half. Unable to withstand it, you clasped your ears and screamed, hoping to somehow make it sound less painful.

Your mouth was dry despite the drool that slipped out of your lip, your knees weak as they were unable to support your weight, and your eyes unable to regain focus. Why are you seeing doubles?

Then silence came. No more of you yelling and trashing around, just pure silence accompanied by the Grandfather's clock ticking. Upon checking the time, he knelt down to your eye level and cupped your cheek in one hand, "What do you say, dear?".

You were in no right state of mind to answer but somehow nodding at his words felt right. He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the edge of your lip, "Let's start it easy. How about you embroider me a handkerchief? I love the pattern that you came up with."

You nodded. Anything just to make him quiet down. Anything just to make the voice in your head stop cursing at him. The more you complied, the quieter the voice got. And the quieter it got, the less painful it'll be for your head to bear.

"I love you, dear." You nodded, it's gotten more quiet now and the idea of starting a family with this man sounded nice. What was his name again?

"Yulian, dear. Call me Yulian."

#reblog and comment are much appreciated ~~

[fantasynsuch]

Adam, wake up. (Adam Stanheight x Reader) P1

This is my first attempt at anything in the Saw fandom, so pls be nice! OFC there's gonna be Gore. Some angst, but will be fluffy in the end.

I wake up to a grim feeling in my stomach. Something felt... off. Adam hadn't messaged me goodnight the last few nights, and that was odd. When we weren't together, he would always wish me a good night: I rarely responded, but he knew you saw them. It was an endearing quality about him, among many others. I loved that about him.

I felt off last night when I didn't hear the ding from AOL, but I fell asleep thinking he possibly forgot. Though the sinking weight in my abdomen tells me otherwise. I slowly raise my body and set in motion your routine, though you couldn't shake the feeling. I kept waiting for a ding: something to indicate he was okay. Something was begging, pleading with me to go to his apartment.

Eventually, the weight couldn't be ignored anymore. Heading out the door, I took one last look at my shit-hole apartment and took off. I happen to live down the same shitty hallway of the same shitty complex: convenient. Banging on the door, I yell, "Adam, let me in. Don't tell me you fell asleep drunk!".

No reply. Even weirder, as he's an incredibly light sleeper. He'd groan and moan about how every bump in the night woke him up all the time to me. He must not be there.

I know what he did for work, so he can't be out this early in morning. Something was wrong.

I grabbed the key he gave me in case of an emergency, and I opened his door. I'd consider this an emergency: he could be dead or who knows what.

When I peered in, it was pitch black. I try to flick the light the switch on, but nothing comes on. The power must be out in his apartment. I reach for the blackout curtain he has up and pull.

When the curtains open, I see what could only be described as a struggle. There's trash everywhere, and all the furniture seems to have been knocked out of place. The only thing that caught my eye above the rest was the creepy ass doll sitting in the middle of the room. It reeked a sinister aura, and if it wasn't for my intense like of Adam, I would have gotten my ass out of there.

But, perhaps to a fault, I did like Adam, so I continued in. I noticed the creepy doll had a flip phone in it's hand and its other hand was closed around something. As I look around, I see Adam's expensive camera broken on the ground. Considering this camera was practically his life life, he has to be in trouble for it to be in pieces. I peer at the phone in the doll's hand: it seems like it's taunting me into trying something. I slowly reach for the phone, scared it may jump at me. When I grab it, the doll begins laughing. I jump about 10 feet in the air, and when it stops, it begins to speak.

"Hello, Adam's friend. I want to play a game." It cackles.

"What the f-" I yell.

"Your dear friend is in a bit of a predicament right now. He has failed my game: but through no fault of his own. He is, simply put, dying, as I speak. I have noticed you are quite close with him." It giggles.

"Where is he?!" I beg. I need Adam.

"I am a fair man, (Y/N). So, I have decided to allow you to play one of my games to save him. Do you value your friend enough to risk life and limb for him? Make your choice." The doll croaks.

The phone I grabbed starts ringing.

I hesitantly flipped the phone open. Unknown number. I shake as I click the answer button.

A strangled gasp - it's the first thing I hear. I hold my breath for a splite second, but then I muster up the courage to speak.

"Who is this? Where's Adam?!" I demand.

Another gasp. This time, the person tries to say something.

They whisper, "H-help me, (Y/N)...".

It's Adam. It has to be Adam. My relief is punctuated by a sound radiating from the speaker. It sounded like a smack and low whispering. The whispers sound demonic.

"A-are you w-willin' to give apart of yourself to save me, (Y/N)?" He whimpers. Whoever was whispering at him was taunting him. Taunting me. He begins to cry out to me over the speaker.

"P-pleas-" He's interrupted by whoever is with him.

"Within the doll's hand is a scalpel. With it, you are to cut the entirety of the pinky of your choosing off within a certain amount of time. If you succeed, you will be rewarded with a clue to your friend's location. If you fail, he will be left here- to rot- and it will be your fault." The other voice speaks up from the phone. I shriek out.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!"

The doll speaks, "Make your choice. Will you save your friend or will you cower at the cost?".

"HELP M-" The line cuts off.

I try to call back, multiple times. I lose track of how many times I redialed, but it doesn't pick up.

When I come to and realize the gravity of the situation, I hear a clicking. An alarm clock that Adam used is counting down- what happens if it reaches 0, I don't want to find out.

I look at the door quickly- I consider running. I consider abandoning my friend. I consider never thinking about him again and keeping my pinky. A million ways of justifying leaving my friend, the man who cares for me when I'm drunk, a man who holds my head when I throw up, a man who buys me groceries with his last 10 dollars when I have nothing left. A man who I argue with more times than I can count.

But I don't run. I can't bring myself to run. I can't abandon my friend.

I look at the clock. 1:34 left. Not alot of time to hype myself to cut off my finger- but enough.

I glance at the doll. Its sinister grin sends shivers down my spine. I don't let me sway my decision.

1:21 left. I take a breath and walk up to the doll. The eyes peer into me.

"D-don't worry Adam." I whisper.

1:15 left. I grab the scalpel. Well, it looks clean enough anyway- at least it's not some rusty bonesaw.

I walk with the scalpel and sit at the table. I breathe and breathe and breathe. I swallow.

0:47 seconds left. I raise the scalpel above my pinky on my left hand. The scalpel seems to get a mind of its own as it falls down. I stop myself. I dance this dance a couple times. I sike myself out, but I realize I'm wasting time.

0:12 seconds left. I cut the my left pinky off. The red from my hand seems to spill everywhere. I'm sure he'll forgive me in the long run. He can't be too mad. I just cut my finger off for him.

I shriek in pain. That was the most pain I have ever felt. I can still feel my pinky, but it isn't there anymore.

I look at the clock while clutching my hand in pain.

0:02 seconds left. I passed.

I begin to feel dizzy, but a quick clicking sound gains my attention.

The dolls chest just opened. There's something paper inside.

I stumble over to the doll and grab it with my least bloody fingers. A map. A map of our town, but on it, a factory was circled.

The doll spoke up: "Congratulations (Y/N). You passed your first test. Continue to the location, and we will test your meddle. Adam awaits." It cackles at me.

I look down at my hand and the map.

"I won't let you down Adam." I tell myself. I hope he knows I won;t abandon him.

I'm coming, Adam.

[iam93percentstardust]

✨new fic for bestie's (@therollingstonys) birthday! ✨ ft omegaverse, past hammer/tony, and my current favorite trope: pop star tony! with a bonus excerpt below :)

can be found here (must have an ao3 account to read)

~

During Steve’s final year at NYU, he finally let his Ma talk him into staying in the dorms instead of using his New Yorker privilege to stay with her. It had turned out to be an absolute mistake. Steve had despised his roommate, who was another alpha like him but apparently hadn’t been taught manners by their parents like Steve had. They were incapable of any volume other than loud even in the middle of the night, always left their room trashed, and brought so many dates back to their dorm room that he had still spent more time back at his Ma’s than he had in his actual dorm. By the end of the year, Steve had been firmly adamant that he would never, not in a million years, ever have a roommate again.

This was, of course, before he’d wound up with his dream job as an animator for Disney, packed himself up and moved to Los Angeles, and discovered that principles were all very well and good but having enough money to eat instead of giving it all to his rent was better.

So now he has Justin.

And while Justin is irritating in ways that have nothing to do with his beta designation—there are already too many tech startups in the world, and Steve doesn’t even know what Justin is doing in L.A. and not, you know, Silicon Valley—and a social climber—if Steve never has to hear one more “that time I met Insert-Celebrity’s-Name-Here” story, it’ll be too soon—and just generally incompetent—they’ve received two noise violations already for explosions that Justin’s “tech” has set off—he isn’t actually that bad of a roommate. Sure, he’s not fantastic, but he doesn’t try to posture with Steve in the apartment (which would be ineffective anyway since Steve is very much an alpha and Justin is, despite his best efforts, very much not), he does generally pick up after himself, and he never brings people back (though Steve isn’t entirely convinced that’s not because he doesn’t want them to see where he actually lives instead of out of any sense of courtesy). Anytime he goes somewhere fancy for a business meeting, he brings back food for Steve, and he even offered Steve the nicer of the two bedrooms because he thought Steve would appreciate the greater amount of natural light (though again, Steve isn’t sure how much of that is altruism and not just that Justin isn’t a morning person).

Truthfully, right up until Justin’s birthday party, Steve might have even said that Justin was a pretty good person.

Up until about a week ago, Justin had been dating… some celebrity omega. Steve is pretty sure that it had come up at some point, and considering his excitement over it, there are probably pap photos of them somewhere, but he tends to tune out all of Justin’s celebrity stories, pretty sure that most of them are fake. There’s only so many times Justin can say that he’d been invited backstage at every Beyoncé concert he’s ever been to before Steve stops believing them. Last week though, Justin’s celebrity boyfriend had broken up with him, citing reasons of Justin being a tool (which, not gonna lie, had made Steve snicker a bit), and he’s been on the warpath ever since.

“Steve! My man! My best friend!” Justin exclaims, leaning up against the doorframe of Steve’s bedroom.

“Nope,” Steve says immediately. It’s not that he has anything against Justin. It’s just that this is the first time he’s been home in forty-eight hours. They’re coming up on the last days before finished scenes need to be turned in, which means that it’s all hands on deck at the studio. Most of the animators who don’t have families have spent the entire time at their desk, and even the ones that do have gone home, given their kids kisses goodnight, and turned right back around. He’s looking forward to sleeping for thirteen straight hours, and Justin’s birthday doesn’t factor even the slightest bit into his plans.

“But you have to come,” Justin whines. “I’ve been telling everyone all about you—” which means he’s been playing up Steve’s job to make him sound like he’s a bigger deal than he is—“and they’re all so excited! Come on, it’s my birthday!”

Steve is, unfortunately, a fundamentally decent person, so he sighs, says goodbye to his thirteen hours of sleep, and goes out to join the party. And despite his exhaustion, it’s not even that bad of a party until someone asks Justin about his celebrity boyfriend—Tony Stark, and how could Steve have forgotten that? Everyone knows who Tony Stark is. He knows who Tony Stark is, and he doesn’t know anyone despite working in the entertainment industry.

“That cheapskate broke up with me,” Justin seethes. “I mentioned it was my birthday once, and he broke up with me instead of spending even a few dollars on a present for me.” Knowing Justin, it was probably more than once and it was probably a completely outrageous present that even the world’s biggest pop star would struggle to afford, because Justin is that kind of irritating, but Steve keeps his mouth shut.

“It’s a shame you don’t have his nudes or something,” the girl who’d brought Tony up says.

Justin blinks at her before a slow smile spreads across his face. “But I do have them. He made me delete them when we broke up but I had a copy saved in a different folder on my phone.”

“Really?” the girl asks interestedly. “You know, he’s never done a nude photoshoot.”

“Yeah, none of his other partners have ever released anything like that,” someone else chimes in. Steve shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t like the direction this is going, but there’s something niggling in the back of his mind, telling him to stick around. “Super weird since he’s dated so many people.”

“You could totally sell them,” the first girl says, warming to her theme. “You’d probably make like a ton of money off of them.”

“I could make some money off of them,” Justin says thoughtfully. “And it would get Hammer Industries’ name out there.”

“But that’s revenge porn.”

[himbos-hotline]

✘ “if I asked, would you stay?”

for Hangmega

no lover leaves the rose garden without blood on their hands

Word count: 1932 words Ship: "Hangman" Adam Page/Kenny Omega Characters: Kenny Omega, "Hangman Adam Page", Doc Sampson, The Ghost of Kota Ibushi Triggers: Blood, Refrences to self harm, Mentions of fire Authors note: I rewatched the contract signing...I had thoughts and blacked out..Enjoy READ ON AO3

Touching blood is meant to bring bad luck and Adam has never believed in that superstition more than what he has right now. Laying in a pool of his own blood, feeling it trickle down his face as Kenny tugs his head back his hair. Adam pushes away the urge to fight, the sound of his boot scraping against the mat is barely audible over Kenny's manic yelling. There's a pressure in the middle of the wound as Kenny digs his nail into it, ring-torn nails tugging the wound open more as he collects Adam's blood against his finger. There's the bitter smell that floods Adam's nostrils as he heaves in a trembling breath as the sound of paper crumpling echoes above him. It takes him a few moments to realize that Kenny is standing over him, signing the contract for their match in Adam's own blood and there's a warmth that's wrapping around his throat.

There's almost something possessive about it, Adam thinks later on while he's laying down, getting his head stitched up in medical long after everyone had left the show. He stares up at the patterned ceiling of the medical room and smiles to himself, letting the sighs slip out as Doctor Sampson pulls the needle through his forehead again and again. Kenny had signed their fight in Adams' own blood, tying him to him. The title technically, in Adam's foggy half broken brain, is theirs; the match is going to be one built on red blood cells and the decaying roses that still sit in Adam's kitchen back home.

The last stitch is sliced through Adam's forehead and he blinks his eyes open, staring up at the doctor as he runs more tests; he shines a light into Adam's eyes and smiles when the younger man doesn't flinch away. "It doesn't seem that you have a concussion. Is there anyone who can keep an eye on you tonight, just in case?" Doc Sampson asks, rolling his gloves into one another before tossing them into the trash bin beside the medical table. He stares at Adam from the corner of his eyes, squinting slightly at the younger man's silence.

Adam swallows a little, shifting himself into a sitting position, wincing slightly as the world shifts a little in front of his eyes. He pauses and when the doctor presses a hand against his thigh, Adam quickly paints a face of lighthearted shyness, pretending that the doctor's concern was the first sweet thing Adam can remember. He shifts his legs, pressing the heels of his boots against the stained linoleum floor before smiling. "I'll be okay." There's an aura of confidence in his voice, the flash of foolish bravery in his eyes. "It's not the first time Kenny's made me bleed."

The doctor presses his lips together, hand leaving Adam's thigh quick enough that Adam almost misses the gentle touch. "I want you to stay here until the arena closes, so we can monitor you." He slowly moves Adam into sitting down again, resting his hands against his shoulder. "I have to quickly restock but stay here."

Adam does nothing but nod and lay himself back down on the medical gurney, eyes closed. He's not sure how long he spends on his back, just breathing and breathing but the overhead light flickers off and Adam can almost feel his brain edging on sleep. He takes a soft breath and lets his head roll to the side. He borders on sleep until there's the sound of footsteps and the door to the medical room being shoved open.  

The light flicks on at the movement, making Adams eyes burn behind his closed eyelids. He grumbles a little, nose wrinkling before he blinks his eyes slowly open, staring face to face with his reflection, twisted and stained, in Kenny's aviators. For a few seconds, Adam tries to find Kenny's eyes behind the dark plastic but all he finds is empty pits. "Take a picture it'll last longer." Kenny complains as Adam sits up, stepping away when his boots settle against the stained linoleum.

"Shove off." Is what Adam says, dropping his gaze to Kenny's shoes because Kenny told him to stop looking and Adam has always been one to follow whatever Kenny says. "Why are ya here? I didn't hurt you" Adam feels like there should be anger on his tongue and something burning, bright and scaling in his eyes, but there isn't. He stares down at the floor, tracing the patterns in the marbled tiles until he feels Kenny press his nail into the fat of his bottom lip, and Adam's sure he can taste the pain in his mouth; he rolls it between his teeth and swallows obediently.

"Does it matter?" Kenny whispers, running his thumb slowly across the dents in Adam's lips. He smirks a little when Adam raises his eyebrows, pupils pin-pricks against the woodlands of his eyes and when Kenny feels his tongue dart out against the calloused pad of his thumb he cant help the chuckle that slips past his lips. "You're still covered in blood."

"When have you cared about that?" Adam asks, lips feather soft against Kenny's thumb, he stares at his reflection again in the dark plastic of Kenny's glasses and frowns at him. He's so pathetic crawling back to Kenny to let the man who buried him alive hold him, picking dirt out of his hair as his fingers press against decaying skin. He flinches when Kenny chuckles, dropping his hand back to his side and Adam, even though he doesn't want to, falls into Kennys gravitational pull and tilts his face forwards and almost like Kenny is emitting electricity, it burns Adam's cheeks.

Kenny doesn't say anything about Adam following him, elbows now resting against the faded knees of his jeans and the half-lidded eyes that now follow, trying to track kennys eyes as he stares at Adam. He simply watches and tilts his head slightly watching as Adam twists his body, fighting back against some invisible force thats tangled its way around his throat. He listens to Adam dry heave, spit drizzling down his chin and into the gap between his legs.

"You're pathetic aren't you." Kenny doesn't ask it like a question. He looks at Adam flopping back against the wall, staring up at Kenny with a furiousness that almost makes him smile, Adams green eyes sparkling as it catches the bright glow of the overhead light. "A poor, pathetic cowboy with nobody who loves him anymore..."

Adam opens his mouth, wiping his chin before closing it. Kenny was right; Adam wakes up in strange hotel rooms with nobody beside him. It's always just him and the reflection of the moon in a shattered glass, the distant sting of fresh cuts on his hips and the foggy memories of Kenny's hands against his throat, pressing down against his chest. "Love? You're one to speak 'bout love." Adam keeps his voice low, eyes never leaving the pout on Kenny's bottom lip and the taste of hatred growing at the back of his throat.

"Has Kota called recently?"

Even his name feels golden when Adam spits onto the floor in front of kenny. Kota glows like the early morning sun and Kennys fingers itch to reach out and cradle his name close; to burn himself alive but he doesn't. Kenny simply stands there, lips puckered in annoyance and watches Kota burn himself alive, becoming nothing but the embers of a man plagued with injuries. There's silence between the two of them; Kennys lips twisted in disgust and Adam staring at him, waiting for him to do something. But he doesn't.

Kenny doesn't hit Adam, he doesn't yell at him or snap at him. He simply stares him down, shrinking him down until Adam is a blurred smudge against the medical bench, a smoke stained wall in the house fire that is Kenny Omega.

“If I asked, would you stay?”

Adam doesn't know why he asks. He doesn't look at Kenny when the question whistles past his teeth, simply a whisper that could very nearly float past Kenny's ears. Kenny huffs out a laugh; a sound that's cold and disgusted. He wraps his hand into Adam's hair and tugs back, picking at the stitches again until red blood flows slowly down Adam's forehead, twisting its way down his fluttering eyelashes and trailing pathetically down the racing pulsepoint of Adam's neck.

Kenny laughs as Adam squirms, there's the echo of skin hitting Adam's jawbone and something deep in his brain cracks like a buckshot echoing around his head. Adam's body goes limp and his jaw opens again. Kenny pushes their foreheads together, lips brushing against Adams.

Kisses stain Adams lips like raspberry juice and greedily Adam licks into Kennys mouth, moaning as his hands tug backward, tipping his head into Kenny's. Kenny's kisses burn like the open wound in his head, like the fresh skin of a razor across his wrist, the bitterness of the first taste of whiskey down his throat, the timeliness of birdsong out in the forest. Kenny's kisses burn Adam alive and he walks barefooted into the hellfire that is loving Kenny Omega; an Orpheas walking into the underworld, looking over his shoulder for the Euridice that never existed in the first place.

Kenny pulls away, leaving Adam emotionally soft and pathetically hard. He stares down at him in all his bloody submissive glory and his hands trail down Adam's neck, squeezing against his throat until Adam is whimpering for breath, clinging to Kenny for dear life.

"Not if you were the last person on Earth."

He drops his hands, licks Adam's blood off the tips of fingers and smirks. "Matt was right yknow? You really are the next great wrestling tragedy. Bleeding out all by yourself. Even your blood tastes like failure."

Adam stares at the door long after Kenny has left. Doc Sampson washes the blood away and sends Adam on his way. The hotel is quiet by the time he returns to his room. He stares into the mirror, presses his fingers into the bruise around his eye and chuckles, lowly at first like someone far away had told a joke that Adam didn't really get at first but it builds until his fingers grip, white knuckled and shaking at the bathroom counter; tears twist down Adams face as he laughs, the anger turning into something painful. He lays a hand against his chest, slicing his ribs open until there's a perfect hole for cupid's arrow; blood twists around his fingers, dried under his nails and Adam holds his hands up to the lights, knees collapsing to the floor.

Blood. Red and dark. The life force of man is trapped under Adam Pages's nails as he sobs into the sticky air of late night heat. Under his nails, it glows like lava.

It glows like Kenny.

Adam glows like Kenny.

Adam burns alive like Kenny Omega; two falling angels, laughing at each others pain as they fall to Earth. 

And oh, how Adam sobs as he paints his angel wings in blood and the sharp end of a blunt razor, laying on the bathroom floor, twisting his fingers through his own blood. 

Touching blood is meant to bring bad luck but no lover leaves the rose garden without blood on their fingers, balling under their nails. No lover is left unwounded. 

No cupid arrow to the chest comes without headache. Love is pain and touching blood is bad luck. 

And Adam Page is filled with both. 

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

@smallestsnarkestgirl @skyqueen3 @josiewrites @itsnoosetome @jacedoe

@golden-disaster @sincyrlee @glitchaxolol @daddywrasslin @bikenny

@katries @thegizardofmars @motorcitygem @miru-has-thoughts @powderflower

@miserablecreachur @afterdarkprincess @mobiblackout @pinksuperkliq @harvey-dent

@thekadster

[sande5098]

Hello! Could you write Ava Bekker x Fem reader is could literally be anything with fluff smut and angst.:D

In the Aftermaths

Requested: Yes, by anon

Description: Ava's death ate you up and spat you back out

ships: Ava Bekker x Fem. Reader

Warnings: suicide, mental illness, distress, (If you're struggling with your mental health, please talk to someone in order to get the proper help you need).

Word count: 800

----

The call that came from Mrs Goodwin as soon as you heard about Ava was definitely the start of the end of it all. You'd done so much for her, to help her get better. You had known exactly why she had murdered herself, although it didn't make it any easier for you. When the funeral came around, not even Connor Rhodes was there, or hardly anyone from med, Adam, Kim and Kevin were there to accompany you. You knew that it was mostly because they felt bad for you but you couldn't bring yourself to care, not now, not anymore.

Weeks after the funeral, you found yourself still not back at work. The team dropped by every so often, tried to get you to come back to work or go out for drinks but you wouldn't hear of it. Instead you stayed in bed, crying. You had found Ava's diary it had the most awful of things in it, but it also talked about how much she wanted to be with Connor. Y/n knew that Ava had an unhealthy obsession with the man, probably loving him more than she did her, which was true by the way. She had also found that in her diary. It was that moment that she broke, she couldn't keep anything of Ava's anymore.

----

"911, what's the emergency?"

"Hi, I uhh think that there's been a break in in my neighbours apartment?"

"Alright, and what's the address."

"Apartment 33C on -----" (A/N: Make up your own street name. I live in NI and have no clue of US street names)

"Do you know if the homeowners home?"

"I would assume so, she's hardly left after her partner died about a month ago."

"Alright, we have units dispatched to the address"

----

"Units in the 21st and citywide, we have reports of a possible robbery at apartment 33c on -----" It was Kim who picked up the radio to reply, immediately recognising the home address. "5021 Eddie and 5021 Ida responding, be advised plain clothes officers responding."

Kim gave Adam an apprehensive look as the started the car to Y/n's apartment. "Should we loop in the others?" Adam kept staring at the road, unresponsive for a minute before finally saying no. Kim nodded and stared out the road, it wasn't long to get to Y/n's apartment and as soon as they did they could hear the commotion from outside, glass and ceramic shattering. Adam nodded to Kim as they went inside and up the flights of stairs, ushering civilians back into their homes.

Once they reached her apartment door, they knocked... no answer though it did go silent. "Y/n, It's Adam and Kim. We were called to come check up on you. Let us in please." Adam shouted in at her, another crash came from inside and that was the last straw, Kim kicked the door down and cautiously walked into the room, both of them had their guns drew. What was once a clean and homely apartment had been well and truly trashed "Y/n? are you here?" Kim asked.

"Here" a shaky voice called from behind the sofa. Kim looked back at Adam and put her weapon away before rushing to her friends side, spitting on shattered and cracked glass on her way over. "Hey N/n, what happened sweetheart?" Kim asked as she grabbed Y/n's hands, they were covered in blood, but the rest of her looked fine.

"I...I She... She never loved me Kim, she didn't love me!" Y/n practically shouted and Kim immediately pulled her in for a tight hug, tears streaming down the broken girl's face, "She never loved me and I thought she did. I'm so fucking stupid." "Y/n shhhh please, It's okay, she'd not here anymore. You can get over her, we'll be here to help you, right Adam?" "uhh yeah of course, we'll always be here for you hon."

Adam was observing the room, It was clear that Y/n must've had some sort of mental break. But who could blame her, she had lost the love of her life only to find out that the woman she loved with all of her heart never really loved her in the first place. "I don't think I can do this anymore," Y/n cried. Adam was the first to react, "No don't say that Y/n, ever. Come on, let's get you out of here."

[lamentingocean]

▪︎MONGRANG X JAHA▪︎

- Return of the Crazy Demon-

-Dystopian Post Apocalyptic Wasteland Edition-

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

Warning: murders, call of duty ass battles, survival, and genuine tension of one's safety, and slight relationship break, clashes against one's forces, delicious angst, flirting, kinda slow burn.

(Got the idea from a same ambience I listened to while I fell asleep)

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

the society is broken and in danger of extinction all in one day, only one incident or the decision of a person can cost the systematic lives of a million people like Adam and eve as the first humans on the earth to make a decision full of hungry greed to cost most of humanity's flaws and suffering.

supplies and water are scarcely limited, the air is radioactive and toxic to the human body enough to make you wheeze and cough all the way to death due to minutes of being in that environment without the use of a important gas mask, societal changes is something most can't handle or survive, some can adapt right in and some can't live without their families or friends in a society in which trust and love is a gambling dice roll. Win some or you lose some, die to a gunshot to the chest, or devote your life in survival and love to the ones you hold dear. But these two individuals adapted from the moment humanity had depopulated and lived in danger constantly.

mongrang and jaha were two mafia company assassins. each of them are skilled gunslingers, mastery of hand to hand combat, and survival expertise. their companies were enemies, two sides of the same coin, waging war is something they did for years and years until one had to win both the battle and the war.

jaha is much more skilled in combat due to his brute strength, while mongrang matches him in strength but can't match up to his reflexes, one time: jaha actually took down a enemy mafia marriage in the middle of a wedding venue, he broke in, decimated every single one of the groom's bodyguards and murdered them both. taking a sip of their raspberry wine before the last one was brutally mutilated with his bare hands. while mongrang was at a sex club, at his usual personality, and was attracted to a beautiful big booty woman. He stared at them in his disguise before he did his job. killing the leader like he's only a pebble, a pawn, an ant, and a sex driven vile man only capable of seeing pussy and fucking bitches onto his sheets that been washed over and over by how much bodily pleasure essence had spilled over and over like a broken record.

before society changed, life was always controlled by someone or something no matter how free we were or how safe we were from the dangers of the higher-ups, the richer class whom only see the pebbles like us as disposable, only as a peice of trash that's thrown in the garbage, it's always the same. we live by processed food and snacks while they live off ingredients and gourmet foods made by the freshest meats and vegetables. unfair, truly unfair. no matter what. we are always controlled, and we fans of the wealthy do nothing to stop it.

dystopia isn't just a fictional concept in a book or a concept art in a fictional universe made by a intellectual but it's real life, and it's a business tactic, it's a way to earn more money out of control out of the innocent, its dangerous, addictively captivating to the powerful, destructive, and risky. the one key to the end of society just by the cause of greed and a hunger for power. The mere flavor and taste of power to those bastards is like the most delicious dessert in the entire world to them that they never tried in a lifetime, the one key named the "world ender" unlock the door to see a lifetime of money and achievement by the idea of never caring about the people you control, and then..

Every action is your fault. The door shuts, and everything collapses, leaving a handful of survivors to figure out the new age of life.

bunkers are valuable on all fronts, can not be disposed of, and can murder someone to get one in a world either if it's killed or be killed, pick one to end your life or continue this worthless chapter.

Jaha had a bunker at the deep bottom of the mountain outside of the city, his home, and where his companions like hongshin and seongtae can hang out, laugh, and play cards during these tough times, they got a whole stack of food, cans of food and soup, and medical supplies just in case,

mongrang has a home at the top of the abandoned ceo company.

right in one of the conference room where his home resides in.

Stacks of food as a stolen large desk, a pink shelf out of a teenage girl's room. a hand-made mattress, some entertainment such as chess and darts. very lonely environment in the dark brown and black radioactive peppered sky with the windows shut and the doors closed. He sighed as he basked in the dangerous beauty of an apocalypse, basking in the old and grimy flavor of 2000s year old vegetable soup as it fills the tongue with its old nourishing flavor of metal, tomatoes, beets, carrots, and potatoes.

the sounds of footsteps was behind him in the depths of the dark office halls.

a unknown hand that looks like a woman slipped a note under mongrang's door, a stamp of a death mask on it, a warning sight of mongrang's remaining and surviving mafia company owners to continue to kill and kill during these hard times, the constant drama of these forces are like two sisters in a big family fighting over the TV remote to watch either frozen or Shrek. the decision has to be one.

he picked it up in confusion, looked at the halls to see who this individual was but she or he...was gone like a flash of lightning in a dark stormy night, the letter was met with red paint signifying the lust for blood as the cursive went from up to down to all the details of the mission he's about to be assigned to it, it struck him curious for the reward of completion. is it money? is it hot girls from the wild who have been fished out of the dangers of the city to become a hot badass? is it an immense amount of food and water? the mention of jaha's mafia company at the bottom of the paper made it much more irritatingly difficult for the path to completion at the finish line for reward.

"he might be there." he thought over and over.

he ripped the papers to tiny pieces on the dirty floor, making mental notes of the job.

Going to the next door office where his weaponry supplement is.

Pump shotgun, a assault rifle, sniper, revolver, machine gun, smg, knife, blade, sitting there like a snack, picked out like an obedient weapon to use, his hands grasped the tip of both the blade made by the blacksmith: sword demon of his company headquarters and a ordinary sniper.

two of them latched onto his back as his gas mask covered his entire face.

the halls were dark and dirty as he left his small home.

black mold growing on the walls, plantation taking in effect at the first floor building.

he dropped down to the elevator by foot with no damage. legs not even broken like infinite level durability. the main lobby was ruined, stacks of paper on the floor, furniture ripped up into peices, dead bodies on the floor. they look new like someone had been here before, pink mold, and a deadly scent of decomposition and rotting intestinal organs, covering his nose in the horrible odor, his blade ready to strike at anybody just in case. makes him wonder if the ignorance of humanity is our downfall to a catastrophic event such as this to decimate a million people out of authority and control for others. he walked into the deserted war and murder infested streets, abandoned cars, every building in ruin except for the company called "home." Nobody was alive or out there yelling for help in the radioactive mist.

The memory was vast. He can recall it happening before all this apocalyptic chaos began, people screaming in terror, shots fired into the flesh of the innocent, everyone hiding, trembling, trying to figure out what's going on by relying on this dystopia government as the key to fix everything that's happening but no. the complete opposite. it opened the door to oblivion to half of the undeserving-of-death human souls in these used-to-be-active with joy streets, and now it's all gone like a blink of an eye waking up from a nostalgic dream and seeing the nightmare before you. the memory had him stand, staring into the toxic mist, staring into nothingness as the memories continued to flicker.

the government's false salvation in protecting their people, the mindless and brainwashed trust of those who believe their mouths full of lies directly on the TV, major alerts and emergencies across the city, and a witnessed murder of a reporter by a million people which tied to this chaos. it pains the heart of his soul, a man who used to be blinded by lust. Sir mongrang is now paralyzed with the harsh truth that comes before his eyes, accepting the horrible fate of those who been brainwashed.

hell or heaven. pick one for how much wrong you did in your life.

actually. you don't have a choice. your wrongdoings in this world are a setup for giving you immense eternal torture. the torture was the army, lit fire onto everybody for not abiding by the rule to praise these governors, thinking they are God but is only a rich and intelligent human pebble of trash loving the suffering and the mindless desperate praise of the brainwash they caused. it's all so sickening enough to make him throw up. but he held it in, like a barrage of emotions filling his throat and mind of someone he can and can't handle. it's like a poisonous fluid made to crush your heart into pieces out of the truth. but despite all of that...

the mission is more important than staring into space by the memories of that horrible doomsday. his footsteps echoed in the empty streets, the sound of gunshots in the air, mongrang's sniper in his hand. The mission area will soon commence the abundant masquerade of endless murder and mutilation of each other. it's an abandoned neighborhood with a couple of survivors that doesn't have long yet to live. The neighborhood is initially used as a battleground for our wars and our deathmatches, usually being active for its normality in catching bodies. It's miles and miles away. a long walk back to his home and a long walk to the battleground where his enemy fights and killed in such a blood spreading Japanese dance with a storyline only for destorying his enemies, a paradoxical intricate well written hand made storyline by a individual possessed with a emotion called "madness" so very amusing..

The mile felt agonizing, like it took a million years. Step by step to this worthless mission, the only purpose of completion is the reward out of it. But it comes to realization that not everything you do requires a reward at the end of it. The way of life is such a well written type of book in the minds of all of the population of humanity on earth, like an archive of lessons to follow if you want to survive and life. read every single document and note, and then you'll get your wish forward to the depths of what it's like to win. Surely, the cost of living is the most valuable out of any item in the world.

he finally arrived. His enemy company had already arrived to cause the most havoc out of anybody, and each of them had a japanese word spelled "death" on the top of their gas masks, mongrang broke into a small apartment building northwest near the area, stepped up to see a broken window and pointed his sniper to the targets ahead. the guns already blitze ablaze in the mist, reloading with each proficient shot, spilling the blood out of a caught body. the mist makes it harder to see, mongrang caught 8 bodies in the midst of their company wars, one individual in the ferocious, destructive battleground moved like a navy aircraft mastering sonic boom, moved like a agile snake. mongrang aimed his sniper at this individual, widening his eye in shock to see 5 of his company men get killed with ease.

The last enemy was at ground, hiding behind a car to hit his shot against this individual, mongrang went back to the first floor building to switch to his assault rifle. This individual sped fast, knowing both of them are in the vicinity. he lit bullets onto them, dropping death.

one survivor of his company stepped back in horror.

this individual's blade raised up to strike, He lunged forward and counter-attacked with his sniper, asking the survivor to run away. And so they did, leaving them both to scrape their weapons against each other with a surge of strength. the full appearance of this unknown specimen is none other than his worst enemy, the one who put laxatives in his beer at a bar before this apocalypse began, the one who embarrassed him all over social media by taking photos of his shit covered white pants, the one and only jaha Lee. he sheathed his blade out of his sniper. beyond the gas mask sees a face of recognition.

"the...sex demon?"

"It's me, so what? You put some of my company men down to slush. I never expected you to be this powerful during this apocalypse. did you train extra to try and get a little sick pleasure out of killing my men?"

" ..."

the silence remains crushing between the two of them.

"Sick pleasure? I'm doing my job to survive. what are you doing? huddling in an abandoned company building. while you seem to be so against me. how about you kill me and end this self-righteous conflict once and for all?"

he has always been the one to make crazy decisions, but seriously?

"Are you serious-"

"Do it if you're so desperate to live without a homicidal maniac like me to hunt you down like wolve towards its prey. That's what you think of me, right? just a psychopathic usurper?"

"I didn't ask to kill you. I wanted the job done as much as you do. walking here is a bitch."

"Ok. if you want to survive. Then better do what you're told to do. not act out of recklessness and greediness out of a reward for sniping many of my men."

This man is telling me stuff i already know.

"How did you know that?"

"mongrang, pay attention to the speed of your shots. You were too quick with one man after another. That tells me you wanted the job to be done as quickly as possible. Fire your shots carefully like it's a piece of art on a board ready to be shown at a competition. Not just do it because you want to go back home to your big booty woman pictures."

"so what...?"

"Train a little more. we're both powerful and highly dangerous individuals in this ruined, cannot-be-rebuilt society. I expect you to be as equally powerful as me in combat but it looks like I was wrong."

I pointed my finger to his chest as my voice has hints of irriation behind my gas mask.

"wrong? Oh so you think your better than me?"

"arrogance and narcissism is weakness. I didn't say I was better. I expect more of a challenge between you and me, mongrang. take that as you will. the dangers of the world is the definition of change in a person. For example. a girl I know. her name is hongshin. a bubbly cat-like personality before the apocalypse came and purged us all like a bunch of ants to gasoline and fire to a person who really HATES bugs. after the apocalypse set the society to a life of kill or be killed, she's much more serious and has the need to steal things if any food store is available in this destroyed city, like a monster in combat because she would rather brutalize her enemies with proficiency and in a solid motion than rather stick to aggressive uneven combat. she's an example of you. arrogant and cocky. but grew out of it over time. you haven't. suck it up."

he turned his back away from me, keeping his blood oozing blade at his hand as his words struck me like a slap to the face.

He disappeared into the brown mist. I can't deny it. It's the truth, but I want to deny every word since this bastard basically judged the way I shoot. I didn't fill my mind about it since that's the last thing I need to be worried about. I'm starving. I looked at the grocery store, but half of the food was probably mold and covered in disgusting flies, maggots, and a whole bunch of shit. I decided "ahh fuck it" and headed towards it.

the doors were shut, but some of the windows were broken enough for me to climb inside. the smell is horrible, like an odor of someone's shit molding in the toilet after they been shot in the middle of doomsday. I heard some voices in the back of the shelves.

it's jaha but with a woman. is that the woman he mentioned before? Hongshin? either way.. I need a casket or a bag to fit all of my items. just in case. the cans of food in the aisle are fresh, with tomato soup, vegetable soup, clam chowder, cheesy macaroni soup, chef boyardee, cups of Ramen and macaroni but sadly electricity in this city is out, gone like a broken barbie audio doll. I take all the remaining items and put them into my basket. I see some chocolates and chips on the floor at some of the other aisles, I taken one basket out of the floor to fill up more of my food stocks, the bags of chips were poured onto my basket like a waterfall. one basket full of nourishing, filling food, and one was just processed snacks. I think that's all for now. I don't have to pay for it, which is a good thing. I head out back to my "home," but it's only an abandoned company owned by a ceo from the death.

I keep seeing ghosts and spooky paranormal sightings every time I find the bathroom or go down to the basement to take a shower since a lot of people must have die in the horrible doomsday set up by a egotistical mass murderer such as the mayor or the president controlled by this cryptic, vastly relying on the mouths of lies by the rich to save their butts by a army that might be used for pointing the assault rifles not to the main enemy but to us. it's like pouring acid onto your mouth as you're forced to feel every single inch of the burning pain at seeing how beautiful and stank the sin of lies are, especially when it's knowledgeable that it's a ordinary sin to commit. but you have to be skilled at it. that's how you deceive and manipulate.

I arrived at the company lobby, that same rotting corpse scent, continuing to purge my nose with its horrid odor every time I step in and step out. I make my way to the staircases. some of them are falling off their hinges, but he's all the way at the top. You might as well hereby declare the "Acrobatic Fanaticism" challenge! when he has to jump like a monkey to access the place he wants to access without losing the stuff he got, and it's truly successful, the challenge is complete. at the top level was a bin full of broken hearts at his front door.

he set his food baskets down to read the note at the side of the bin, taking off his gas mask.

it said, and I quoted:

"Thank you for completion! Your remarkable and formidable gunsmanship is always 10/ 10 when we come to analyze the bodies at the scene. as a reward for your hard work.. but before i say what it is. Your sniper shots hit them directly in the head. WOW! thats not anything special by the way.~ just so im clear, here is fresh bread and woman soap bars, big booty magazines and pictures of old 1990s models and some money to help yourself to our blacksmith/ our weaponry shop all the way at the company and a legal contract displaying your existence as being a pawn to us. Have a great apocalyptic day!

-Signed Sournan Mafia Company Maiden-

utterly despising, the gift is pretty solid since those bastards don't give me what I need to survive. what I'm the most mad about this entire gift is the no DEODORANT. Don't want to smell like sweaty balls and old blood at the time. but...this really is the best they can give me. in this day and age when survival is key and murder is a must. I must be grateful for the things I get. I set my baskets down to place them at my food shelves and the chips all in the corner for me to eat as a midnight snack. I changed into my usual clothes to get ready for tomorrow because these fuckers love overworking the hell out of me. I lay down in the mattress.

taking my mind off everything that's been going on. I been thinking about what jaha said before the mission came to a close, on repeat and repeat for the last 5 minutes of laying in this poorly constructed mattress out of killing sheep and taking their fuzzy adorable skin to worth my while to actually sleep comfortably than rather sleep on this dirty office floor. it's minecraft people. Enough jokes. his words are cutting me like a knife. I was too focused on this piece of shit of a reward that I hit my shots too quickly, and now he's mad. it's like...he predicted the moment i rushed into that battleground to get the job done only to come to the most out of pocket shit known to mankind.

I can't stand him. That crazy bastard is known for never making sense because his madness is controlling him like a day to day ordinary virus, but he's philosophical and intelligent at the same time, ruthless and monstrous in war like a calculated formidable and territorial creature out to seek their prey, his words keep cutting me like getting your throat slit open over and over and still isn't dead yet but you forgot your immortal. he wants.. a challenge from me. instead of being the sloppy uncultured and untalented combatants that he hates with every fiber. to be a real opponent to him instead of beating the life out of my men. like it's opening a doorway to the truest of rivalry between us. I admire his boldness and his determination to seek a challenge beyond the depths of this poisonous, deadly mist.

I imagine both of us fighting like dogs in the middle of the street, slicing the meat off each other's bones, leaving bruises and open wounds on each single part, squirting out oozes of blood out of our constantly gushing human body as we fight for our individual territories upon this empty land, pointless conflict and illusion to claim and never receive out of violence or misery of others since that's all we know how to do, the conflict between me and him is like a seeping hatred, a tedious concept of both of us in a freezing ocean-shore, protecting the ones we hold dear as we're both in agony, in conviction, and in unease of our motives to either kill or spare. All so tiring in a society full of fight and kill.

either it ends forever by your decision, or it dont.

I stare at my hand conflicted, questioning the concept of "conflict." Is it a virus? Is it addictive? Is it natural for humans to be so against each other as if we all aren't the same? is it built just for one's own demise in self-destruction? is it systematic? Is it any truth as to why conflict is such a necessary motivation to accomplish with each other? this all points to jaha. all of this pent-up confusion about the existence of wars and endless suffering of humans.. points directly to his face beyond that insufferable gas mask. This can't be on my mind for the entirety of the night since it can drive you crazy by unanswered questions.

my eyes slowly fluttered close, entering the dreamworld. the VHS tape of the mind that creates homemade movies for you to pass them time, some of them may be weird, confusing, or possibly alerting. some of them may kill you or terrify you for the future ahead. Keep it mind as you will.

The next morning.

the appalling murky toxic mist made its rise, fluttering my eyes open to the scene of that same apocalyptic abandoned, purged city. my brown hair is unsightly, uneven, and too knotty to be brushed. I reached an old scrunchy in the corner and tied my hair. I was brushing the dirt off my face before I saw another letter at my door.

Picking it up to see what my next mission is for today. it quoted:

"Target an enemy crime group northwest of the city ruins. their influence upon our headquarters is mass murder, theft, assassination attempt at our boss, and hate crimes by putting up a war flag on our front doors, including some broken windows and injury battered ragdolls replicating us. deal with them asap but with that same accurate precision. Your reward is pre-determined by the time you get there to kill those fuckers. Our enemy will interfere with the mission as well so don't fuck up mongrang. Counting on you to stay alive."

-Sign Sword Demon- Number 1 Sword wielding badass."

Sword demon? He doesn't write letters, so if he's writing to me about this, then this has to be serious.

I slammed the note onto the floor to put my bulletproof bodysuit on with a menacing fur coat. I decided to use my blade for today instead of using my guns to kill. I slid my hands to its metal depths, cradling the handle and admiring it as a whole. to see how many bodies I would catch by sticking it inside the target's flesh. I'll bring extra knives to ensure more pain, hear their shrill screaming of pain, and hear their agonizing groans and shouts of pure affliction by my hand. it's euphoric. As I ponder out of my ways to think of eliminating the enemies off the face of the earth.

I still need to focus. My gas mask was hanging at the side of my food shelf. I tied it all around the back of my neck to put it on. Usually, the concept of gas masks is supposed to protect you from any kind of radiation, but the way they designed it is so uncomfortable. I try to get used to it every time I wear it to go back to the grocery store or to find handy items to use for my own personal benefits. Either way, it doesn't matter.

I walk out into the halls, quiet and deserted. No human life in plain sight.

landed down to the main lobby out of the elevator successfully. I see more bodies than usual in the lobby. I don't even know who's doing this.

I forgot to say something about this company. Before the end of the world came into motion. some snobby ceo installed an underground bunker to stock drugs and other illegal material, items, and junk to make more of that rich finances. Unfortunately, the government shut down their deeds, forcing them to throw all the illegal substances into the deep black numbing ocean. The company ceo itself got assassinated by some russians as a missionary determination to get that money out of their safe or pockets. so after all of these unnecessarily morbid dramatizations. some intelligent vegetarians who took pride in farming took the company to be a food production system. That same basement may be discovered soon enough if it's people out there with the intent to take it all for themselves, such a rare specimen in a apocalypse is one to be fought for no matter what. I haven't found where it is yet, but maybe that's the reason why people keep coming here but ended up dropping deceased by something or someone.

nevertheless. this must be done. He said northwest, right? I sprinted all the way to the location. but wait.. if the enemy is going to interfere, then does that mean help? who is the enemy? Is it jaha? Is it hongshin? unanswered questions have enough raw potential to put me in a mental asylum for a week or more.

I finally appeared at the side of a broken debris to hide. the crime group was inside. smoking cigarettes and eating microwaved hot pockets as their gaurds observed every part of the city in their gaze, I proceeded with caution, hiding behind rocks closest to their hang out, My initial question is: "How do they have electricity? every spark of power in this city is disintegrated." Are they working for someone to keep this kind of stuff? as I overthink rapidly.

An entity bolts directly in front of the hideout and executes the gaurds effortless. it's HIM.

jaha. that reckless shithole-

the crime group shrieked their ambush. flinching me to look what's about to happen.

calling in a collection of men with multiple hand-held nukes, machine guns, and poison bombs. they all pointed it at jaha, ready to launch their assault on the mad demon.

it all lit fire, I watch as jaha evade and evade each of them to get closer to the targets ahead. Once he's looming over them like a blood driven predator, raising his blade and piercing each of them with a ticket to the afterlife, releasing a bloodcurdling scream as he continues to handle them like a bitter inhumane entity. some of them were still alive, so I decided to take a chance to catch a body. But something else happened.

I noticed a tank behind me.

the leader of the crime group is inside the tank as I hear a cruel laughter out of its hole. he also noticed and yelled, "Watch out!"

I jumped out of the way. it's cannon is lighting bright red to fire bullets at both of us.

I didn't know what to do. Was I going to die? a human can get fucking crushed by the mere weight of a tank.

It fires all over me, bracing for my demise. but I felt hands onto my back and knees. this man saved me from its onslaught. but at the cost of jaha's arms and shoulders getting shot as he sprinted away like the flash. I witnessed his pain seeping out of his nochalant facade as he got far away from that thing by hiding inside of a small gas station.

"Hah..ngh.."

the sweat dripped off his forehead as he ripped off the gas mask.

"Are you ok..? I have a bit of experience in the medical profession. I can get the bullets of your system."

"Yeah.. hurry up and do it.. I got a job to do.."

"Sit right here.."

"Your lap..?"

he sighed in pain and vexation, hesitating.

"It's the only thing I can do. Don't be stubborn."

"Fine.."

he sat himself onto my lap, asking:

"How deep is the bullets..?"

"not...deep..you can..fish it out with ease.."

I rummage through my bag to take out a forceps bullet extractor and got it out of a medical store just for my own safety in getting shot by some delinquents, bandages, and patches to seal the wound closed.

as jaha's body tensed, ready for the pain in fishing out the bullets inside him. I reached into his flesh, searching for it. He winced and held his grunts of pain.

"How many bullets are in your arms?"

"3..or more.."

i found it, the metal bullet sliding out of his blood dribbling flesh as i patched it with some healing ointment. I threw it on the ground as I went to his other shoulder. has 2 shots on his shoulder and...don't know how many in his arms.

"Did it hit any fatal parts?"

"My arms..? no..it didn't.. I can move them..o-once you done..get this over with.."

the second bullet wasn't that hard to find. Throwing it on the floor once more, I applied the ointment and applied the patch.

"What's so important about yours, huh? do you have to eliminate the same crime group for a pre determined trashy reward?"

"Shut your mouth. do your NGH- job.."

sliding it out of his flesh out of his arm. I realized he has more than 3. he has 7.

"your such a reckless asshole. Why did you save me out of that shitty situation?"

"I felt like it.. had no reason.. you know this.."

"we're enemies. You should've let me die if you had the chance."

this is going to take all day. His wounds are already bleeding immensely as I try to find the bullet in his upper arm.

"die..? N-no no no no..I wasn't going to let you die by giving me a challenge first..gotta rival with the one you have.."

"Are you delirious by the bleeding?"

"I require a challenge. I won't let some bullshit..t-tank take you from me..I need you to prove my strength as not always being on top of the leaderboard..you match me.."

"I'm aware. Keep quiet. this is going to take long, so just enjoy the painful ride idiot."

I'm at the second bullet. But as I did. He passed out on me. Laying his head on my shoulder as I tried to render him conscious and he is, breathing in and out at a normal pace with exhausted eyeballs. Truly, two sides of the same coin, we both work under a company that doesn't care for our own mental health or our wellbeing. He mentioned that he needed a challenge, but.. does that mean he's sick of being tired of being a physically and spiritually powerful individual to level up to everybody instantly with no cheats? Well..the jade of heaven in him is a cheat code, but do I train to fulfill his boredem..? He's my enemy. This is odd. I continued tending to his wounds as I got 4 bullets out. I got 3 more left. This reckless dim-witted idiot.. always puts himself into trouble without a reason. I shouldn't complain since it's basically my fault that he got hurt.

I suddenly felt guilt. his affliction by my actions is something I needed to be paid for, but I can't just go ahead and leave the city ruins just to figure out what what we should do. the situation is vastly disordered, to say the least. If the entirety of the city ruins is out of power, then how or where did they get such a valuable piece of technology such as light. are they working for someone or something? Are they beings with malicious intent to plot the objective to decimate, not just my company but jaha's as well? is conflict between our collective groups, the only thing we need to do to assert power over each other when something is clearly wrong here.

I have no choice. I'm on my last bullet, and it's at his lower left arm. directly near his palm. as soon as I'm done.

I'm picking him up and getting him out of the city by foot. our companies are going to deem us as missing, thus enabling a search and rescue party out of our respective parts to plan in this doubtful war between a measly crime group with explosive weaponry more advanced than ours. right when I patched his wounds up, I lift him up to my shoulder, put on his and my gas mask and sprinted out of the scene before more catastrophic bloodshed occurs into the streets of the empty city ruins. I suddenly recall something i remembered sleeping 3 years ago. an empty beach with a haunted airbnb outside of the city.

that's my only conventional option to seek out of danger.

-Timeskip-

I set my stuff down on the dirty crimson slatted carpet after showering in that wasted space.

I collect a can of tomato soup and heat it up under the fire, boiling nicely as I continue to overthink about the possibility of another powerful threat looming over us criminal corporations well enough but why was we both chose to annihilate them? Why was we sent on the same mission at the same time to go after a bunch of low-life weaklings? It's a bunch of suspicions on this case that I can't even figure out the pieces yet to place it all for it to make sense. None of it makes ANY sense. Our way of making things work in this collapsing society is pretending like it's the 1700s when blacksmiths used to create their weapons with raw materials. or when we scavenge for leftover material from the city when we slowly ran out.

I don't know if it's the same case for jaha. Because the way he operates is an orchestration of predictability and danger drooling out of his person, so that means I can't tell what he's doing at all. but.. as I ate my tomato soup, he still hasn't awakened from his unconscious slumber, I kept an eye on him all the steps I took to get us to safety as soon as possible, the virtue of our well being is the only thing that matters.

as I stare at his slumber, his gas mask on the floor, patches all over his arms, and locks of black hair messy. I can not admit and admire anything about him since we're two sides of the same coin, the ying and the yang, the god and the devil so against each other out of a stupid reason for wage and slaughter all by the name of our horrible companies, every letter is get reminds me of a basic japanese work office as a 60 year old man. this is the embodiment of my company and his company as a two peice. it fills my stomach with dread and enraged anger that I'm basically controlled by those ungrateful bastard. that my existence can be disposable to them. it might come a day when my knives graze the flesh of jaha Lee. an enemy I do not want to kill.

I can grab my knife right here and stab him right here and right now, but I don't have the guts to do it. I can't do it. No matter how hard I try.. no matter how many times I was forced to kill a man like him, targeted for mass murder, and an master combatant, I could not seem to push past my boundaries screaming at me to kill him but I can. physically, can't. Even though i remain in hostility towards his presence.. i feel a lingering emotion inside me, unexplainable. It's just there.

stabbing my heart with something.- I held my chest with my eyes widening in this newfound emotion. I begun to-

I glance at him, stirring away as his body moves in motion. scruffing his hair as he surveyed the entire area to figure out where we're at. Blinking his eyes open and closed to properly see the scene of my dinner beyond the comforting fire with firey wood.

"where..did you take us..?"

"Old airbnb. I stayed in here years ago so I can give you the tour..it's really held up even as an abandoned house, no plantation, specks of black mold, still water and a odor. your welcome..-"

"What about our companies?"

I held a heated up can of soup to him. giving him a clean spoon as he lubed it up, smelling the delicious scent as he clearly looks hungry at the face of the boiling vegetable broth ready to be scavenged.

"Eat. You need your energy back."

"You still haven't answer my question?"

"They deemed us as missing. They held a rescue party at the both of us due to our status in never coming back to each of our individual company grounds at the scene of the attack. some homeless civilians who resigned from my company told me when I looked for wood..for some reason..the woman seemed..truamatized..almost broken by the past experiences of my company which is weird. so.. I'm starting to question everything."

"everything..?"

he took a long sip of the soup, pondering to my conflicted words.

" Yeah. why exactly were we both elected for a mission to kill a small criminal group? what was the point? how do they have any type of power? How do they have such high power weapons without any use of mechanical materials as their group hideout looks like shit. So I began to think of the possibilities that their hands on heavy weapons might be a problem, so what is going on..?"

" I might have some information about that.."

"You do?"

Jaha pointed one finger up at me to keep my mouth shut as he continued to eat like a food deprived glutton. But aye..he was asleep for hours so I can't blame him whatsoever.

"I overheard some of our top operators of intel talk about a plan to regain a position of power. To give purpose to the city by giving it civilization and power. I don't know much about the information to annihilate the crime group. But..it must be a coincidence."

"Huh.. I heard the same thing when I was getting a newly constructed blade... are we .. hearing the same thing?"

"Probably."

he distinguished the soup in an instant. Every inch of it is completely gone.

"Should we consider that as an initiative in mind or just keep it silent in general?"

"... silent. can't discover our position to discover their reasons for that. Even the most strongest has their reasons for their intentions. dark or not."

"How's your wounds?"

"Sore. but I can still fight."

"Ooh? one is bleeding on your shoulder. shit. I guess I didn't seal it right.."

"I'm fine."

I grab another one of these patches from my bag and went closer onto him, my body close to pressing against his as I lightly touched some of his metallic blood to see he didn't lose much.

he stayed silent most of the time, but I felt his heart pumping as I apply the new patch onto his shoulder.

"you good now."

"Is there a shower somewhere?"

"Yeah. Third door on the left. The patches are waterproof, so you don't need to worry about them falling off like children's stickers."

"Understood."

I watch as his locks fall down all the way to his back, leaving a black oasis of beauty, eyeballing it in smitten beauty. He shut the bathroom door, leaving me alone in the empty living room.

I continued to think about him as the rain of hot water started to echo out of the bathroom. like he gave me a curse, a fond purgatory of what's right and what's wrong in this wasted up relationship, two enemies who tried so hard to strategically plan each other's descent to hell by orders of the higher ups, but i feel infatuated, obsessed, in control of one's authority gleefully. but I can't. We can't. we're either forced to betray or hurt each other for the sake of our company's satisfied murder pact, their sick grins as we stick our blades and knives onto each other's fresh flesh. But I still can't do it.

I feel stuck, conflicted, and full of thoughts.

tied between the evil and uncaring nochalance of our companies by having their strongest men to fight each other over and over as they drink their most expensive wine, biting their cotton candy grapes and fresh fruit as they see our demise as their own sickening twisted entertainment. I'm worried jaha might know this, too. knows he might be also under authority but doesn't care and does his job like a mindless puppet. this has been his..- no. Our fate from the moment we agreed to their contract after analyzing our combat data for the application to apply for these companies. if we ever decided to disband our loyalty to these companies, then we'll be gunshot at a split of a second. as humans. Our safety is a top priority since our lives are to be cherished because we only live once after all.

But our lives is easily being taken advantage.

I can't stand for that devilish shit, but I can't do anything about it since my life is at their hands.

I heard him turn off the shower, getting dressed.

I continue to look at the bathroom door, having a brawl to this lingering obsession inside me, clawing its way outside my flesh as it begs to be let out of its cage. my problem is him. he's my enemy and my nemesis, but yet I feel no bloodlust for his death. I could've just latched onto his naked, muscular body and slit his throat, but something in me drove me not to do it, not to hurt him, not to do anything else to him other than to tend to his wounds and help him survive in this empty city reeking of no civilization.

I watch him open the door to new fresh smelling suits for battle, just in case. All in grey or black, he sat down near me in the middle of the vibrant fire, almost like he wanted to say something to me but couldn't spit it out. as he remained silent.

I gaze into his deep red eyes, glancing down at the burning fire, ambient and morbidly addictive for these deep eyes to glow at the ones who see him as a pawn, as a puppet, as a goody too shoes for never touching the innocent, and as a psychotic asshole. he's spacing out into the depths of the light red firey holes.

"jaha."

"What do you want?"

my blue eyes shine in the smooth ambient mood of the fire.

"It seemed like you wanted to say something to me. so say it. whatever it is. I will understand. no matter what-"

"Don't act like some kind of therapist"

"You sure as hell need one. You're usually so blunt. What's going on?"

he looked at the fire as he seemed shocked about his thought process in each of the situations. OUR situation.

"What if that same criminal group were out to kill us just for us to never figure out the truth, or they have the keys to the truth of their motives to regain power? surely the reasons why we were both sent on a mission to assassinate and end their group once and for all for a vast reason that's classified. we're seen as puppets. if we dig even a small paper full of words that can fulfill the peices to the puzzle then a bullet will be the end of us."

"Understood. but as enemies. this motive might cause us to go against each other like we always do, forcing us to kill the innocent as part of their plan. we don't even know what their plan is. or what they are trying to do while they succeed in gaining this position of power, but it isn't up to us. It's up to them. they are the ones in authority. It freaks me out. I know. either or.. we're strong enough to battle and win even the most toughest of this city physically."

I clip on my gas mask as he puts on his. He's quiet about my words, but I feel a sense of acknowledgment inside him, the gust of the feeling of empowerment and a lingering anger to be used as a pawn to many of these mafia company owning murderers who see the chaos as nothing but a circus for their own lively twisted joy.

I picked up my blade as he picked up his revolver, caressing the handle in a smooth motion.

"where are we going?" I ask.

"..to get a treat."

"WHERE- oh..nevermind. I know a large gas station nearby but why..? A treat?"

"Shhh.. I need one. I'm in the mood for smores. I never tried one before."

"While we're on the RUN?"

he walked to the middle of the street, gesturing me to follow him.

"Definitely."

"You're insane. why would you feel the need to eat some fucking smores in a apocalypse?"

"Hmm. Many people said it was delicious, so I decided to go get the ingredients and bite into one once we go back."

We see the large gas station in the misty horizon.

"You didn't bother to eat one before the apocalypse happened?"

"No. Dumb-ass."

we climbed into the window only to see a food stock at the side of the store like someone had been here to shelter for the rest of the week. and most of them are fresh at that. None of them were growing moldy from the looks of it.

"Why didn't I bother..it's heavenly in here."

"hm..let's see."

jaha ravages through the food stock to see fresh cans of chicken broth, cream of mushroom soup, garlic butter crackers, full bags of candies and treats, and pot pies.

Lastly was the smores he wanted to make. the marshmallows, the chocolate, the Graham crackers. All we need is a smooth fire to heal it up into a decadent appetizing treat, I watch him and our surroundings to make sure nobody recognizes our appearance only for us to turn us back to our respective individual head quarters.

"You got what you need?" I ask with caution.

"Yeah. while we have the free will to do what we want to do without some sons of bitches controlling our lives. I figured to eat something I haven't eaten before. while it lasts."

"...noble."

he stood up with the stuff, we climbed out the window to see that same empty street and gas station parking lot, nobody else is here but I have a strong gut feeling that something isn't right here.

"Put the stuff in my bag. take out your gun just in case."

"Alright."

he put every item in my bag and took out his gun.

"We can go. I just wanted to make sure we have protection."

"We can crush skulls. We'll be fine."

"Maybe YOU did. Not me."

our steps were like a path to dangerous unpredictability. You must always trust your gut, so I assume that someone or something may be watching us or assassinating us with the most stealth. we arrived in the airbnb with no problems except the sounds of wolfs howling and the toxic mist breezing aggressively across the burnt decayed trees.

"a-alright. Oh, the fire hasn't gone out yet." he spoke.

"You were tense throughout our entire walk back."

"And you weren't just telling me to whip out my gun for nobody?"

"Trust your gut. that's the reason why."

jaha rummaged into the stuff of my bag to get out of the stuff. me and him took off our gas masks.

"Understood. You want some?"

"...sure. i...haven't tried any too."

"..."

he opened all the packs for him to set up the smores, but first: heat up the marshmallows first.

"You decided to argue with me about getting smores in the middle of an apocalypse, but you haven't tried some TOO??"

"Yes. I apologize. I figured your curiosity in desserts is unnecessary in a situation like this. usually eating desserts in a post apocalyptic world is the last thing on our minds."

I watch as he heats up two marshmallows beneath the comforting, warm fire, basking in its withering breezing flaming tips beyond his red eyes as I wait beside the dirty couch for its oozing burnt goodness to seep out.

" it always good to explore things you never did before while it lasts. it's no smores in hell so."

"definitely is not. that fire can burn skeletons from beyond that hellish flames we're destined to arrive to, only to suffer..come on. we both do atrocities by killing thousands and doing mass destruction."

he set up the finishing product by combining the chocolate, the graham crackers, and the marshmallows all in two irresistible luscious treats.

"It's done. yours is right at the end of the table."

"hm.."

I pick it up with two of my palms to see the chocolate melting out of the heat of the marshmallow. I felt scared about the taste, but gotta do what you gotta do. I took a bite, my eyes widened at the taste, delicate burst of scrumptious combinations. I couldn't stop biting into it. it's a addictive explosive. it's apparently a socializing type of snack to make, but I don't think I care. This shit is good on it's own.

"The fuck mongrang." jaha stared at me.

"Sorry, I'm just... Korean BBQ is overrated enough, and i can understand that since it's quite delicious, this needs to be more popular. It's only used at camping events and crap."

"I give it.. 6/10."

"6..? Why?"

he took the last bite, licking the chocolate marks off his finger.

"Could be better if it's Carmel chocolate or chocolate with a richer flavor than others. Dark, white, raspberry, and strawberry could go better with this."

"Agreed."

I kept watching him lick the last of the chocolate off his fingers like an incompetent, inconsiderate pervert. Some part of me is screaming at my desires to tell him to suck me off, but I kept forgetting he's my enemy, the one with hidden intentions about me. and that's dangerous.

"We both have a long day tomorrow. so you might as well rest. So do i."

"important day..?",

"We can't stay missing forever. we need to go back to our headquarters tomorrow which means..we have to go our separate ways."

"Oh..alright.."

he took one last look in his dark red eyes at me before turning around to lay down, drifting off to sleep with his back turned away from me, like none of our time together as enemies with a hint of friendship and trust is all for naught. the truth is.. I feel like my soul doesn't want to be separated from him. Something in me is wanting to be pulled back in him like a lusty seduction. hopefully, he'll express his gratitude for my help in tending to his wounds, giving him food, and spending time with him even if we have the malicious intent to kill each other.

I turn away from him, laying down at my side of the living room, watching the soaring, deep sea create soothing waves to fit the midnight ambiance or the full moon. Its immense neverending beauty pulls me deeper to a relaxing slumber, but all of this isn't enough to make me end the war between my aggravating conflicted thoughts about jaha. a enigmatic figure.

My enemy. I can't seem to stay away from. no matter how hard I try. I drowse to sleep.

It continues by the time our range of view flutter open to that same repetitive mist.

it's in the afternoon, me and jaha stealthily made our way back to our companies across the city ruins as our worries about that same criminal group are out to manslaughter many of us, we don't know if they'll show up in a corner and hit us with a deadly rain of bullets with that same FUCKING tank that nearly ended my life before this man saved me.

But we stopped on our tracks. Jaha stepped back as he stared at me but at this tension. his voice spoke in that stoicism.

"....thanks for saving me and taking care of me. I appreciate it. But..don't forget we're still enemies. two sides of the same coin, and two powerful individuals incapable of building friendship or kindness by our surge of bloodlust for each other, even as we're standing in the middle of this empty street right now. I still want to stab you for refusing to give a proper challenge. So the next time I see you again. be stronger, be more resilient, and have that growing determination to beat the shit out of me since I have acceptance in defeat."

"Hm. I do have a lot of bloodlust for your demise. But..for now. This isn't a proper goodbye. It's rather until next time we see each other ripping off flesh and breaking necks from the men of our own companies. I'll eventually fulfill your request to give you a challenge if I have time.~"

I felt a stinging pain in my person as he waited for more response from me. I...don't want him to go, I want to stay with him more, I want to see him more and figure him out his mysterious madness driven personality and personal life I know nothing about but I want to keep digging to find more about his unknown complexity I can't understand, but I can't and it's slowly tearing me apart. It's tearing me down agonizingly. I gulp up all my frustrations and inner pain to spit out more of my words.

"..until next time."

"Yes. sex demon."

I watch with my pain increasing to a dangerous point as he bolts out of my presence to go back to his company, and now.. he's gone. gone away from my life for a short while, long while, I don't know how long, but it's all for certain that our relationship is growing at a slow rate. In a good way, I feel like i understand a little bit about him even though his complexity and his unpredictability get people's minds boggled. It's best to hope for the best between me and him. even if our scum companies force us to break if it grows at a rapid pace. I blink my eyes open and closed to leech off the surging stress from my mind.

I walk back to my company grounds. noticed my guns aren't functioning correctly every time i get a shot, I open the main lobby doors to see some of my family members crafting their own specialty gun, eat, shit, or relax inside the depths of the building, I saw the sword demon inside the blacksmith, sparks of fire shaving off the blades he's creating.

"Master?"

"You're alive. Huh? I was beginning to think you had an early grave. what happened during the mission? Why were you missing?"

"..."

Should I bring up the situation between me and jaha or just lie to him and get myself killed? None of these options are safe.

"I-"

"If you lie to me, then I will whoop your stupid ass. I was worried for your safety. tell me what happened truthfully."

no way to get out of the situation, so I decided to tell him everything as he's fixing my blade.

"So..want the short version or the long version?"

"Long. Since I was initially your cause for most of your combative and gunslinger training. You shouldn't excuse yourself for backing out of a fight of what sort. my influence taught you to be precise and focused. So..what happened?"

"Promise you won't say anything about it to anyone?"

"Just say it."

I gulped up my anxiety to tell the entire story.

"Our enemy company, which is shiguan Company, sent their most formidable assassin to take down the criminal group we were also targeting for their crimes. So it's like a weird collaboration between our company and there's to take down the same measly group for whatever reason. jaha unfortunately got attacked by a tank led by the group, so we had to run away from whatever weaponry they held to kill us. I tended to his bullet wounds, fed, and took care of him in a random beach house airbnb. That's all."

"...a tank? But how? NONE of us aren't even close to gaining that type of firepower/ bullet power. And our scarce access to technology in this city is nothing but charging a phone or turning on a light. so how do they.."

the situation continues to be as annoying as a damn ill mannered child in a sugar rush in a little kid's birthday party that isn't there's to begin with, i can understand his frustrated confusion, bubbling into more thoughts and thoughts to their unknown, and dangerously mysterious access to that kind of exclusive high power products only the government or forces powerful enough to kill a thousand. Let alone have the willpower to possibly take over a corporation by endless, greed controlled bloodlust. I think that's the case but my explanation goes further than just a few words.

"isn't the case. They actually had technology. When we're talking technology, then it's phones, computers, laptops, and tracking devices. These people had working microwaves, lights, and all types of shit. I was even confused about how they obtain that when every single part of ours is just scarce, easily broken, and needed for consistent management and maintenance at all times in order to keep ourselves going."

"hm..interesting. and did you get any Intel out of your mission. same as...jaha?"

"No information about him. yet. But.."

my eyes looked down, living in a virtue between conflicted emotions about that man. Even if I should tell a beautiful lie to my master, i shouldn't.

"But what?"

"...nothing. what has our Intel team did in terms of the criminal group?"

"they got no important intel and information regarding their actions and wearabouts. The only thing we truly got out of those bastards is the consistent and vile mass murder of any remaining civilians in the city ruins. but.. I think we might have a lead to everything they have been given to be this powerful. that's what the boss said, but they haven't gotten anything yet."

"Any new missions today?"

he handed me a small note written in cursive, it's a SOS letter.

"Some woman with two children is southwest of the city ruins. I went to forge and searched for some metal around the streets there until I saw them in a parking lot, hungry and shivering in the cold with their gas masks ripped up into peices. I asked them if they're ok and if they needed anything.

They needed food and water. they were ravenous, ill, injuried, and terrifyingly parched. So.. I need you to go to a store and get them some food so that this apocalyptic chaos won't be the last thing to see before they reach their descent. she wrote this letter just in case. In the last thread of hope that anybody would save her from her and her children's cold and morbid misery."

I inspected the note. It wrote:

"My name is Lydia. my husband currently died a dreadful death, we ran and ran to a safe location until a tank came at our way towards safety. we tried to run, but the attacks were too much, as soon we looked back. He sacrificed himself for me by getting crushed by its weight, having his crimson liquid seep out its wheels. I never looked back at the horror. we luckily found an abandoned underground parking lot in the southwest. ever since he died so horribly. I cried and cried, my tears came out like an ocean at all the times my children went to sleep. If someone is out there, a good soul will end my pain. food and water are all I need. I will express my gratitude to you. please.."

"crushed? That goddamn.."

"Go ahead. I'll reward you for this instead of sex magazines."

"Hm."

I step out into the hallway, my hatred for this group growing more and growing like a blazing, enraged greek god, I flip back on my gas mask to leave the doors of the headquarters, banging open the doors out. how dare this group.. damaging jaha's body is enough already to make me burn up in internal fire, but murdering an innocent husband out of bloodlust? their motives continue to be a trivial dice roll in an adult board game. They either did it to spike fear and anger into us, or they did it for the love of descending in a normal human life. As I walk down the dark, dim streets of the afternoon misty depressing sky, mind racing with vengeance and sorrow for this woman's change in her life.

I see a small grocery store in the southwest. It's timid, small, and can only fit a minimum thousand items in there. But better take your chance, I walk in, the broken intercom start talking convoluted mess of my body motion. it's a whole bunch of junk in here, but it's mildly a jackpot in here. I take multiple plastic bags and fit every single food item in these. cans of soup, snacks, bars of soap and skincare, blankets, pillows, and portable mattresses. my hands are full with every single one of these items for this small family, as I walk out the door, unable to pick up my gun for self defense because of all these products, I felt bad for the family, at the husband, and at the unfortunate lives of the withered, lost, and barely subsisting human beings trying their diligence to find food and live for themselves. he mentioned an abandoned parking lot, right?

I heard raspy whimpering at the bottom of this one. it's the exact parking lot he mentioned.

I step down and down to see chaos. I look to the side of my eye to see a terrified woman with children fast asleep. The look in her eyes is terror.

"You're Lydia right?"

"y-yes.."

"Don't be afraid. I'm not a part of that vile, criminally psychotic group. I brought you a lot of food and supplies for survival. I got your note from my..company."

"Company..?"

her eyes widened in even more terror at the mere mention of my company. I think she knows who I am. her arm raised up in defense against me as I loomed over her with only a look of sympathy and understanding.

"...yes. I'm part of a mafia assassination company. I'm not your enemy. I came here to help you, to get you out of this continuous pain you're in. stuck in this city ruins with nobody and nothing. I brought you this stuff for a major reason. I sympathize with you and your children, this apocalyptic world we live in prevents them from growing up into normal lives. it isn't fair for selfish rich government ceos and presidential leaders to sacrifice a city for the sake of that cash. I want to help you. Let me help you..please? You don't have to be afraid."

I reach out to her, hoping she'll understand me. and she did. her hand was trembling of fear and the shivering cold.

"t-thank you."

"I brought you bars of soap, stacks of food and cans of soup, blankets, pillows, and portable mattresses. The instructions are in the back of the box, skincare, and snacks. I recommend remaining here for the time being so that danger doesn't lurk. but..for protection for you and your children. do you have training in gunsmanship?"

she huddled in the warmth of the blanket before answering my question.

"My father taught me how to shoot before he died from cancer. so I have a little experience."

I slid my revolver directly to her on the floor. with a bullet box fully in stock.

"Take it. Self-defense is key in this world now. in order to protect yourself and your children. This is what you need. There are enough bullets in there to kill multiple. Feel free to reload if you want. but the tactic is to do it quickly as possible so you aren't vulnerable to any position for the enemy to shoot you back. Understand?"

nodding frantically. She took it almost as if she's desperate to protect the only family she had left.

"You don't need to thank me.. the acts of sympathize and passion in saving another life in this world is nothing but a show for people to analyze your weaknesses. Remember that. You're strong enough to live for your kids after your husband died a horrible death. You're still living. and yes. That's good. Continue to live."

"Thank you..w-what is your name..?"

"Mongrang. make sure to-"

the loud footsteps from the halls came drastically in an unexpected remark. It sounds like 5 people are approaching the parking lot by aggression. I told the mother to hide behind the pillar before these five people busted in.

jaha got thrown back onto the floor, injuried in the arm before I could even mentally comprehend what's happening here. I watched as he held his bleeding arm.

"jaha!"

I look back to see the boss of my enemy mafia company.

"You."

Ignoring me in a rude manner, he held his knife up at jaha's chin, yelling and spitting angry nonsense directly at his stoic seriousness. he said nothing as he put pressure onto his wound to stop the bleeding.

"what the FUCK is wrong with you?! you went out with this sex crazed bitch without doing the mission I assigned you to do, protected him, and was gone for 2 days with the person we told you to kill over AND OVER! you should have let him die! the tank was nearly going to kill his stupid ass so why did you even - this is ridiculous."

jaha went closer to his face, not caring about the knife at all.

"Of course. I felt the need to protect him. why do you care if i die or not? The higher ups like yourself always treat their workers like a disposable pawn anyway. So I died right here, then what would you do? cry in sorrow or nonchalantly walk out like you rich fucks always do?"

"It was never intended to dissappear for two days with your nemesis. you were supposed to kill the criminal group. not eat smores with this porn magazine addicted fuck."

"hmph."

before he could spit some more, I held my pump shotgun directly behind his fat forehead, his men aimed their assault rifles at me to cease my violence. I scowled at his attitude.

"Maybe consider the inveitable suicide mission dealing with that group before you talk to your strongest assassin like this. you rich slobs always seem entitled to think your fragile control over anybody is getting them to submit to you. jaha is powerful, but he can't fight against a tank. that's the issue here."

"I wasn't talking to you."

"Face me."

as he did, he tried to stab my chest with his flimsy knife, but I caught his hand and twisted it, causing him to let out a groan of pain. his men still aimed at me.

"First of all. that group has some kind of secret organizations that get the most weaponry out of any company or production industry in this city, if we're able to reveal the secrets to their strengths, then this issue wouldn't escalate so badly would it? You know.. I almost seem bad for you. Are you really that unintelligent enough to blame it all on your strongest assassin because they don't have the infinite level durability enough to stand through a TANK? we were both going to die if he didn't act quickly. He saved my life."

"He should have let you die-"

"And if I died. would the bloodlust and bloodshed of our company's wars ever end? if I ever died, then you wouldn't stop to consider the drastic urgency of my own to wage war and destruction against you for murdering me? every time we fight. You get some sadistic kick out of it. Every time we fight. you want us to kill each other like a bunch of feral animals deprived of meat. You don't care about the safety of jaha. You only care about money. and you need a man worth dying for if it benefits your pockets."

no more words was said from his mouth, which means i was right about everything i just said to his face. utterly pathetic. usually when a person stops talking and all that remains is silence out of your words. one point for being intelligent enough to figure it out like a children's book, I glanced back at jaha to check if he's ok and his expression was a change to his usual demeanor. his eyes shined in astonishment and surprise at my declaration of my concern for his safety. openly stunned by my words of basically saying I care about his wellbeing. as I was only paying attention to jaha's unexpected demeanor. the man continues to have his emotional bursts of hellfire.

His reaction merely shows his closed-minded attitude, accusing me of being wrong about the entire thing as he doesn't care whether or not we die or go in this very parking lot. he barks like a feral inconsiderate dog as he issued his men to circle around me, pointing the tips of their assault rifles at the skin of my body. right as I'm immobilized is the correct moment for him to continue barking with a strong surge of stupidity.

"Your death is the main objective to giving us more of an advantage in this useless self righteous war, your marksmanship is incredible, your hand to hand combat is legendary and formidable, your speed matches that of a superhuman and yet you expect me to believe jaha did or didn't care about saving your life by thinking of how much your company rely so much onto your mere abilities!?"

"And yet you don't have the willpower to have your men obliterate my human body right here and right now to end your problems against me and my company. If you're so desperate for my demise, then do it."

before he snapped his fingers for the men to kill me, the men suddenly splattered blood from all over their bodies, and they had been sliced to peices. I glance back at jaha, and he's gone. he appeared right in front of me with his blade full of crimson liquid, his eyes open back up at his enraged mien. The thought of jaha killing his own forces drives him with the intent to take so many lives out of that same hatred.

"What the hell is going on with you? What is-"

"Shut the fuck up. you're driven with the intent to kill my/ our enemy by committing heinous crimes such as torture and rape by proxy, yes. but I CHOSE to save him. my only reason isn't for naught. Because I crave a challenge from him, to finally be seen as a person that can match up to my strengths instead of being supremely dangerous enough to never be beaten. and that's mongrang unintentionally. every since we looked at each other when our blades were at the tips of our fingers and our palms at our necks just because of someone else's sickening authority."

this pathetic excuse of a human being growled in irritability.

"You agreed to the contract to join my forces. It's no way to turn back. So I give you two choices. go ahead and kill mongrang right here or regret ever murdering my men by inflicting torture upon you back at the company. everything you have is gone. If you refuse to kill HIM, then it's your decision. But you'll regret it."

"You can't give me that "torture if that contract has an option to quit the company altogether. this had always been your issue. to throw away the ones you trust most by your own selfishness. "

he scoffed fowl as jaha ripped off his company ID card with his bare hands.

"...suit yourself."

he stepped out of the parking lot, leaving jaha, mongrang, and lydia to remain in the soundless, water dripping, dull, impassive parking lot.

"You actually did it."

"Was sick of dealing with his shit. knowing him, he'll probably try to bribe me back. I just gave him a disadvantage myself by quitting, better yet... might kill me or you."

"You ok?"

"Yeah..let's just go."

I pointed one finger to get him to stop walking, I handed lydia a location of the nearest gas stations and my home just in case she needed any leftover weapons for protection. revolver, pump, machine gun, assault rifle, smg, dual pistols. anything she wants, she'll get. I stood up and waved her goodbye. her smile was full of hope instead of that looming despair she had minutes ago. we stepped out of the parking lot and into the eerie empty street.

"You know..."

"What is it, jaha?"

"When you declared that you cared for me right in front of his face back there. I felt something weird inside me. like a bunch of butterflies or small miniature bombs exploding in my heart as soon as I heard your voice so full of devotion to taking care of me when we got attacked, your mouth wasn't full of disgusting lies, it was the beautiful truth, your mouth spilled the truth when I was expecting a sticky tongue full of beautiful, manipulative lies. unexpected of you as the sex demon to put devotion and diligence for your enemy's wellbeing."

my heart pulsed at the soft-spoken words of the mad demon.

"Of course. you saved me from descent. and now I have helped you out of pain. but.. unexpected of you. as a mass murderer. To speak such sentimental words. even as one person who would go lengths just to kill a person in the method you desire."

"accurate. But I'm sane enough to decide what's right and what's wrong poopypants."

"you...have nowhere else to go. Do you?"

he just realized by the look of his eyes. I grasped his wrist and pulled him closer to my face, full of concern about his safety.

"Fuck. my bunker.."

"Here. stay at my place for a little while. Don't try to argue with me because I'm not letting you roam the streets on your own. I'm very aware you're physically powerful, but I need no more truama from the tanks, ok?"

"Fine."

we stride back to my home with a crushing sense of voidless silence as we walk back. I went closer to his palm intentionally to collide mine with his as a sense of contentment in our growing relationship from enemies to possibly friends with benefits and boundaries needed to follow. His fingers hesitated at first to collaborate together with my heated fingers, I didn't expect him to approve of my actions since it's his choice and I would support him of any choice he makes, and so he did, he slowly grappled mine in a tight but soothing squeeze. his palm has a bit of hardness to it, and his knuckles feel like anicent unbreakable stones in a spooky medieval cave with such a terrible history, that just shows the length of his mere physical strength by just a slick slide of his bones.

we got back to my home, the rope to lift up to the highest floor is still available to use.

"come up here."

he followed me to go up, and the bottom dissipated into mere black darkness. I wonder how I live with constant danger at my back meat. Lifting myself up with ease, I catch jaha's hand to finally introduce him to my home in the top level, multiple offices are either my food supplement, weapon storage, clothing and self care or just sleep when the days of fighting is temporarily pushed back so I can relax and sleep all day in this apocalyptic world.

"this is it?"

"Mhm. where I bathe is the downstairs level which isnt far. the bathroom downstairs is in the third door on the left in the hallway."

"Thanks. I just need a shower.."

I almost spoke the words I didn't want to say to him, I wanted to say, "Can I shower with you?" But of course, he wouldn't approve. He disappeared to the next bottom level right underneath my home. as I kept reminiscing, thinking, and pondering about jaha's current situation. isn't he going to be targeted for betrayal against his own? Isn't he going to be at war with his own forces? Isn't it implied any higher rank assassin or soldier who quits the company may receive a life full of hell?

I'm so concerned about him that it's not even funny. This is supposed to be the crazy demon. the lost loyal and trustworthy companion and murderer of their respective forces to win or lost, much more of a bet of 75% percent chance of winning by just including his combative training itself to peer at the pure glory of his hands soaked of that crimson liquid, the pure ecstacy of taming a intelligent beast by your authority. it's a addictive substance used to boost ego by the strength you were given to tame both me and him. jaha just broke out of his cage, but at what cost? what is it to him to go and roam free with no trouble to confront him about it?

I'll do whatever it takes to protect him from the dangers of his own forces for quitting onto an impulsive , sadistic, greed driven shit turd, I'll take a bullet to the chest to give him the opportunity to live and go, but why? Is my devotion or this burning fire of desirable love in me driving me to take eternal torture and truamatic insanity off another being's work just for him to go and live? is this war really needed if two of their most strongest are starting to become much more than bloodthirsty enemies? don't they understand the cost of trading many of their men to their descent out of pettiness, the dumbest thing ever? Or is it so much for a person putting laxatives onto my drink at a bar three years ago for me to be so devoted to enabling protection against their life?

he doesn't need protection. He can hold his own, so why am I such a...douchebag. for some reason, I began to feel the addictive sin of lust for him, the need to shove this man in a wall and brush my lips against his. if..he feels the same way. this isn't actual love. It's lust. lust is an emotion of both love and despairful pain. you can either do it and take the chances to go for it or feel the rejection. but still.. I can't. It's up to my company to decide whether he lives or dies. it's the same as his own subordinates.

as I snapped out of my delusional haven, he lifted back up with water dripped down his forehead with a clean towel across his neck, he sat down and pulled his hair" p to tie it into a bun. using my scrunchy to do it, I started to think of strangs of his black hair swirling around my scrunchy mixing with my own by the time I look at it to brush mine. I never examined his dampened hair before, but I wish to see it in my own eyes if he ever considered his choice for my hunger to show with a man like him. but too much intimacy means easier breakage in relationships. Putting too much trust is the greatest despair in betrayal.

"a...bun..?"

"Yeah."

we sat across from each other. he seemed to be waiting for my response.

"hm?"

" I know you got questions. So ask it."

"hm..."

His face had a hint of curiosity for a moment before his usual stoic demeanor returns to mask his actual beauty in his person.

"What's it's like to live in this society in your perspective?"

" ..as a assasin-"

"You're no longer an assassin. express your experience as a normal human being now. Let yourself be vulnerable for a moment. As your enemy. I won't be the type to kill you right here. But I'll be the type of person to protect you. I don't care if my company points the guns at you out of superstition or suspicion of your involvement around my personal life in these halls called my "home." I'll protect you in any way I can. even if a bullet goes directly into my flesh fatally. Understood."

"Yeah, so can I finish?"

his eyes widened slightly in a tiny bit of appreciation to my devotion to a person I'm supposed to kill but dimmed down to the dirty carpet to explain his own personal life before he quit.

"Life before I quit was easy, living in a bunker regarding my safety of living in the world is much easier to just relax and lower my gaurd in my home underground, while my occupation of assassinating your men out of a little bit of cash or small rewards that doesn't benefit myself is like giving 10 cent to a child only to get candy for delivering a forgotten mail to a neighbor but isn't enough to get you a handful. usually, I don't say anything about the rewards I get outside of the bunker. They only get protein powder products and drinks, philosophy, and martial arts books to me. nothing else besides that. so.. I feel much more..freed, content, safe, no longer do I have to sit and kill anything and everyone just for my completions to be neglected for."

"I see.."

"hench why I'm the most strongest. It's up to me to fulfill the boss's most darkest desires. A personal mission or an intel mission to be as stealthy as I possibly can to your company or any rival companies's plan to eradicate. so if I see to it that your company plans a mass assault if I didn't quit. Then it's predictable. Easy to anticipate. not only is intel important, but it can also be a weapon. the virtue of strength and intelligence in a person comes from teachings and from within...if your gifted."

his eyes showed everything there was to know, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. But I feel like it's something there. Something lurking inside of them that needs to be brought out. and I'm afraid of that. I shouldn't pay attention to his intention, but it's something. a full-blown mystery i have to be the one to figure out.

"Does your boss.. I don't know, uh. interfere with business of yours."

"He somehow managed to figure out my past occupation of being the mad demon, my title in china before I moved to america. Right, he decided to completely decimate my companies of trading and production for a shitty deal. I had to give up the name of the "mad demon" because he threatened to murder my daughter if I didn't accept the deal to work with him under my archives regarding my combat prowess. And currently. I don't know where she is. I'm praying to some of our gods in hopes that she's safe."

"You have a daughter?"

he reached into his pockets to pull out a half burnt picture of his daughter.

"I do. Her name is yoran. I adopted her 3 months before the apocalypse started. she clunged to me right as the dystopian society we lived in got worse and worse to the point of this much destruction. but since he nearly killed my daughter as I accepted the deal. he also took her without elaborating where she was. even if I completed a mission when my kill count is nearly hundreds, then he still won't give me an ANSWER."

"I see..so you been through a lot. I liked the name "mad demon," so it's a shame."

resting his head on his legs, he still held up yoran's picture between his fingers as I analyzed the story behind it, she's in a amusement park with a big soft loaf of cotton candy on her small fingers, a smile full of joy as jaha is holding her right hand.

"she's adorable.."

"I don't know if she has a foster parent somewhere to take care of her. Or if she's just living on her own with no protection. but.. I still have a glimmer of hope left inside me. if I ever see her again, then I'm killing everybody who kept her hostage."

I took the paper from him to study the picture more.

"Your the only person taking care of her?"

"Yes. so?"

" If it's any glimpse or sighting of her appearance in the public. Then, if you'll agree.. how about we take care of her together?"

he snatched it away from me.

"do you even know how to take care of children?"

"Do you have the mental capability to take care of her? hench, why you're the mad demon?"

"....fine. I'll agree to take care of her along with you in the future. If we're lucky enough to get her back. he keeps gatkeeping her current conditions/ wearabouts. that irritates me the most about this job. now that I've quit. I can't have any intel about her."

"damn it."

he looked back to the black sky, gazing at the full moon.

"Sometimes I wonder if society can ever be built back up again. I wonder if you and me..are just pawns. just human pieces of shit dying together by the hands of our own. even if our relationship continues to expand. This is something that's forcing our hands to do."

"Jaha, you don't have to kill me if you don't want to, no matter what.. we are no longer bloodthirsty and hate driven enemies, but we're rather two individuals growing to learn each other's boundaries and perspectives of our own. If our companies self-destruct upon each other's useless kiddy wars, then that's not our problem if we live to see the end of their unfortunate tale. All that matters is us. I don't care if our worth in this world is nothing but to focus on living for also nothing. all it matters is us."

I raise my hand to his own in hesitation, hoping he would take it if he must or not. Something about this demon I long for is like a addictive pull to the depths of forbidden love. This forbidden love has delicious and tangy notes of toxicity, hatred, compassion, protection, mental strength, and rivalry. the rivalry of this relationship has no choice but to be thrown into the abyss, going deeper into the forgotten sea. he didn't take my hand, and I can respect that.

I pull back to sit beside him to look at the dark, despondent sky.

"This reality is never going to end."

"It sure isn't. newcomers better adapt to the radiation. but jaha."

"What?"

I leaned closer to his face.

"Do you trust me?"

" Hell no. what kind of question is tha-"

I grab him by the legs and lift him up to my shoulder, walking to the bed. I can feel his anger radiating off his warm body and I'm all for it, this is my time to be a smug little cunt just to tame him a little bit and knows what it's like to rest with someone for the first time.

"YOU FUCKER. LET GO-"

I rest him down softly as I laid right next to him.

"What's the reason for this."

"To annoy you. And to.. keep you warm from the coldness of this apocalypse. knitting a blanket out of desperation for warmth is a prime example even if I pricked my fingers multiple times and drew blood since I was never taught knitting. Will you...allow me to hold you? whatever decision you made is something I'll support."

I can sense his hostile conflict beyond my words. To be in the arms of his own nemesis? a dangerous move? But gleefully. he quickly gained his composure and agreed to let me hold up away from the freezing breeze of the city ruins. I guess the only option is to let me since I have nothing else to lay in to sleep or stay in comfort, I held his waist and his back, soothingly toasty in his tepid skin, I rest myself onto him as soon as I found jaha fast asleep onto the pleasant heat I carry. I scoffed softly at his exhaustion that I decided to sleep with his presence at my hand.

Dozing off into the gloomy dark sky. I find myself trapped in that same purgatory of infatuation, obsession, and love for this concept of danger I'm holding within my very arms, that same desire holding back and striking me down when the time is right to pour out all my remaining wishes to him if he..feels the same way. it's predetermined if his decision to fulfill my desires is a rejection or a yes of his own, just mincing its way out of his crazed, driven mind, but I shouldn't. I can't. not when he's so far into the abyss of danger so deep into the grounds of a bullet piercing through his crimson flesh, his veins, and his bones.

Fatal, unable to be saved out, redemption, heaven, and hell. two powerful men destined to go to the scorching hot depths of the torturous dark flames with a path of forbidden love and pain along that path to walk through, the needles of that pain piercing through your bare feet with his hand guiding me through the stinging sensation. Is it even worth it to see him as a person I trust and care for? I'm doubting my declaration. but why should I doubt it? is my sense of trust in one individual dissipating by the minute I shut my eyes and doze off into the dream world. Does he devote his trust to me, too? or is his unpredictability supremely wicked enough to purge our relationship with the poisonous, disgusting taste of despair and anguish. I won't let it force feed me that slop. I love him. I'll just simply hope my kindness to him eventually has him noticing the signs of love within me. no matter how much I hate him with his skill of drugging me with shit substances, i won't be able to lift myself off the seat with.

the hazy misty sunset of the radioactive wasteland rose up to set its brightness to my home. jaha isn't on the bed, but I smelt something delicious swarming around the hairs of my nose. I blink three times to set my sights of a small blanket beneath some light wood and a fire with some chicken cooking at the top of the heated blaze.

"What..- how in the hell did you get chicken..?"

"Did some scavenging. found a barn with a couple of chickens inside 15 minutes near the company and took one of them. I made you a plate. It has no seasoning but this is the best we can get. Made sure not to overcook."

"...wasn't you a waitress in a diner before you fell into madness and killed a bunch of people? a errand boy, to be precise."

he examined my face, spelled with mischief before he scoffed at me.

"I was. but being an errand boy teaches you one thing about society. people are never pleased, you can give them a piece of your soul or human brain and they still won't be grateful for your work. best to stick it to yourself instead of relying on others. all I did was to have an offer to sing a song to a rich but beautiful girl, but all I got was people spatting hatred at me while that same girl looked down on me like a bug. it isn't my problem anymore so it no longer matters."

"I see..and did she have any remorse or sympathy?"

"Of course. My feelings for her have vanished intentionally since the situation fucked me up a little bit once she apologized for everything. she didn't know I offered to sing for her instead of trying to "have sex with her" while somehow..she believed their lies instead of the last remaining innocence of my ragged, saddened words to defend something I couldn't fix while I was getting beaten. that's the entire story."

He offered three freshly cooked chicken wings to me as he gazes into the fire.

"You were accused of that? being written by lies for something you didn't do?"

"Yeah. I guess they couldn't accept anything between the relationship of a mere commoner serving people in a diner and a rich, ridiculously beautiful, wealthy woman, so these men were jealous and decided to tell lies out of the original truth. Most people would assume this is the origin of my insanity but it's much more to it as they think."

this isn't the origin of his insanity, but then again. his backstory is a lot to be investigated since my knowledge of his past is something I know nothing about, I take a large bite of the chicken wing before I can speak more.

"What's your origin?"

"The only thing I can share is my parents. they both died while I was a child. and I have no picture, archive, or photo of them holding me as a baby or even a growing child. only the memories I have of them. it doesn't hurt me. but it's sad in a way. The Lee family name.."

"..understood-"

"Aren't you part of the richer class mongrang?"

his crimson, carmine eyes observed my reaction. How did he know that? That I'm in the mong family? The richest class of the chinese public.

"Yes I am."

"Hm..interesting. so I have a quick question. If a kind-hearted commoner serving you.. was in love with your woman? what would you do? tell him to back off? Tell him that she's taken? tell him something unexpectedly offensive? tell me to serve me and my girl and stop being a pussy thirsty slob?"

"Me personally. I'd go for a more positive approach thank you. I don't see why this is relevant."

honestly, the fact that his eyes are still locked on me is telling me to just give him my true designated answer, I finish the last bite of the chicken wings before setting the bones on the napkin.

"Alright then. what's your approach?"

"Would tell the commo- waitress. yeah, waitress to politely say, "She's in a relationship with me. I'm so sorry. But you had your chance" and give him a small tip. that's the only thing I want to do. I mean.. if he's obsessive or can't accept rejection, then I might as well beat his ass in front of everyone for messing with the one I love. it's either protection or politeness or rejection. easy."

"and here I am simply expecting you to have multiple other phone numbers of women you found on timber because you have no ounce of loyalty in you. you would or wouldn't mind if your girlfriend found the waitress attractive unintentionally while your ordering your food."

"What is this about."

his sense of curiosity and irriation about my occupation of being rich class is visible and obvious from the start of his dead blank gaze, seeing his hunger for my answer. I'm clearly confused and aggravated by his assumption of my old ways. how I used to use and have sex with beautiful women by deceiving them by my mere manly beauty. he clearly wants to investigate me in the form of a question game. smart bastard.

"Nothing. I'm just not very sure you would beat the shit out of a waitress for lusting over your girlfriend. I'm pretty sure you would let her get his number while you have multiple behind her back."

"What is your PROBLEM. First of all. before this apocalypse began, I enjoyed the sick and gaping pleasure of pampering dick starved woman for my own personal ego/ gain, and I'm not proud of that. the entire situation got me insecure about my natural beauty and the fact that you're assuming all my past mistakes pisses me off. now that I've changed. I don't want to relive that again."

he was wordless for a moment before speaking with a hint of solemnity in his deep voice.

"You was insecure?"

"I was. I still am. that side of myself is something I'm so desperate to forget. how I was a player, breaking the hearts of these women and taking the virginity of many just to text another woman the next day. lewd messages, arguments, lust, desires, faces of despair and hurt..I was even happy about the catastrophic event that took place in our city because of my reputation and its all going to dissappear eventually due to all the murders. I was to forget about it."

I ran my hands through my silky brown locks out of the rampage of memories, replaying in my head continuously. jaha kept his mouth as he warms his body up in the fire, I noticed he shot glances at me every 10 seconds like he wanted me forget about everything he said. maybe a shower could pass the time since I'm starting to stink, but after everything that's happened. am I just supposed to heal everybody I hurt in a snap of a finger? Am I supposed to be this rich and attractive chocolate colored haired beauty taking the clits of woman and just rubbing them to every single hairy woman I know that's only good for sex? Am I just ready to move on? or do I need to do an apology tour? I'm terrible for that. and the old saying of the book is:

"You can never escape the past, only how it shapes you."

i-..that shouldn't be the only thing I focused on but it's so hard-

while I walked to the broken elevator, jaha bellowed to me: "Come here!"

I raised my brows in confusion to his sudden request, so I came back only to be met with a warm but firm hug from the maddening, captivating jaha Lee himself. This is a rare sighting from this man. to give a hug to his one true enemy? What is this about? At all of this. this hug shoved me so far to the nearest wall just for his palms to squeeze me gently.

"Wait. What are you-"

"I simply...apologize for my accusations. I never expected you to change after all this time since you always were the same since the day we met eyes. but now that I've seen a different side of you. Something inside of me grows more and more aggressive to break out and express what it is to you. It's pulling out of intestines and breaking out feral. and now..my neverending hatred for you seems to have an end. I no longer hate you. I trust you. I know I never apologize, but this time, I will."

his finger graze my chest, sliding up and down as an attempt to calm me down, he feel my rapidly thumping heart because of his body heat pressing against him in this hug. I almost see aroused, simmering with more lust than before when he kept me at arm's length just so our relationship could be the same to the people of our companies, as soon as I raised my arm to touch his waist then he backed up immediately.

"don't think our rivalry is going to end. I still need a challenge from you."

"...understood."

he walked back to the fire, warming his body up in the ground of my home. Damn I lose my chance..it isn't so bad to grow closer since I do want to be closer than ever before. I don't want to be at arm's length. I want to be at an inch near him. To touch, to grasp, to caress, to cradle. this is the beginning of something I'm afraid of. the beginning of forbidden love as I fell for him first. the time we ate smores, the time I healed his wounds by taking the bullet shards off his flesh. it's a continuous painful torture. and I can't escape it until all the desire in me had broken its way out of me. All the locks onto the door keeping this feral desire are shut, and it remains shut until i have the authority to find every single key, put it in the lockhole, and let it out. I still can't.

I kept my obsessive, pain filled gaze at his closed, relaxed eyes for a minute. every fiber in me is screaming in lustful agony. Every single cell in me is circulating and gushing, pumping speedily just so I can get what I want with no boundaries or obstacles in my way. of course, the path to getting what I truly need is a dangerous one. my breath is ragged. and my lips are quivering before I look back to the elevator to drop down to the shower rooms.

Walking in the downstairs hall, I find the shower rooms, and yet it comes back. jaha's strong manly aura remaining in the walls of the dripping wet washroom, undressing myself beginning to grow more lustful to alluring, resonating, and vibrant ripe manly scent coating my leftover soap bars as I turn on the water to drown myself in the hot water. it pours into the skin of my naked body as my mind is consumed by him. the idealistic standard of a man obsessed with one another - actually, it isn't a standard. It's a neverending poison corrupting your parts, not physically but mentally and psychologically. it continues to take the damage even if you don't feel it at times to someone who seems emotionless with you every time you're with them. It began to grow worse and worse.

Nothing in my authority has the ability to raise my nail and stop this poison with a cure. The cure is fulfilling my desires without reason or any thought, which is dangerous to do at any point in time or place. this is becoming hazardous. the dripping water sliding down my skin is making me think of his fingers sliding down. to the abyss of pure sexual tension. I cant..this is like experiencing rabies. my shower time was supposed to be longer than 45 minutes but I been in here for an hour.

Still gazing at the surging, bursting waters of the shower head. I slowly look down to my crotch, lips quivering and eyes in horror and desire for what I'm about to touch. my twitching member between my legs as my hand moved on its own, stroking the tip slowly as I felt controlled by a puppeteer, guiding my limbs to move and walk by their nimble fingers By an electric shock of pleasure. I bounce my head up and let out a soft moan. this is why I said this is hazardous. this is my rival. the person I should desire with hatred instead of this raging, furious lust exploding inside my fragile heart. But something in me can't. can't hate him,desire to kill him, can't do anything to harm him. this is too strong. This is too powerful, I can't handle this, and this is the only way.

my tip is pouring out a whitish grayish subtance as it's nonstop twitching uncontrollably every gesture and stroke I make to give into the pleasure to please myself over somebody else. Is this the sin of lust? Something I never truly embodied within my spirit, Something that is considering to be addictive at first but horribly painful in the end. mongrang. What the absolute living fuck are you doing to yourself right now?

I bite my lips in ecstacy. doing more than just stroking the tip. My trembling hands moved up and down upon my shaft, giving into the lust with a strong ripple of embarrassment and terror for my own actions. I can't control. My member swells within my hands but turns out: every memory I try to think of inside my head is only blocked with thoughts about jaha's mere aural presence. full of stoicism and confidence, full of menace and badassery, full of strength, intelligence,and superhuman abilities, full of love and compassion for the people he saves in the lower class, full of sass and personality, full of humor and different levels of mistreat. This is insane. it doesn't feel right, but it does feel right.

My hand moved faster, my mouth intentionally letting out a symphony of soft moans and ragged gasps, pants, and whimpers, my mind whirring his beauty, his personality, his strength, his intelligence, his battle iq, EVERYTHING.

eyes rolling back drowning in the sultry rush of emotions. I feel it coming out in bursts. some form of an incoming climax of a bomb exploding right near you right before it exploded. I saw a note slip under the door, snapping me out of it instantly. i quickly turned off the shower and dressed myself before opening the note. I think about what I was doing, and then I felt guilty about it. nearly embarrassed. I should never share this with anyone. EVER.

I read the note, and it's written by the sword demon.

"mongrang. I have to notify you about this. But your enemy's company set some of our industry, production companies on fire. So, in case of that incident recently, we're starting an early war, and preparations are in due time. it starts next month, so it's best to train yourself while you still can. our men had to collaborate with some military forces, and our individual elite men had to be trained extra for the damage caused. best to upgrade your weapons while you still can since our production in metal and resources have been cut off completely. your still one to that mission right?

To target their most strongest? Time is up. you have to kill him either in the last day of this mouth or kill him in less than two weeks, or else you'll be in for a lot of trouble. refrain from sharing your personal data with him. getting...smores won't exactly be ideal. Good luck.

P.S. Our secretive investigation of that criminal group is ongoing, but the results haven't come in yet to their wearabouts since their initial headquarters have been left emptied.

-Sword Demon."

I clenched the note in disbelief. his enemy's company has been plotting war crimes against mine? But what about our relationship? What about our recent declaration and trust between this friendship is lost pieces of a discontinued puzzle? And yet.. It's a mix between never caring about the consequences of caring for my long-lived nemesis and caring about the consequences of my own life, including his to be exact.

the bottom of the note said: "Go to the middle of a city ruins to face the challenge and defeat the enemy."

I got into my normal clothes before going up to the higher level of the building to meet jaha once again, closed eyes as he observed the abandoned broken structures and the barely visible sun. god, he looks so goddamn beautiful. I suddenly just remembered the horrid crap I did earlier in the middle of the shower. am I supposed to approach him normally after that just happened? It's my fault since I acted upon my own desires for longing.

I sat behind him, reluctantly ignoring my thoughts. warming my hands in the fire as I watch his relaxation to the apocalyptic atmosphere, silence is deafening and noiseless. only the sounds of our soft breathing fill it with meaning instead of meaningless. I want to conversant. Before it lasts as our relationship might break while nobody is at fault for breaking the glass picture of a married couple. never point the fingers at anybody for something that is or isn't by control or by authority if the married couple wanted to keep the picture there for pride of their successful relationship dispite the worldwide bullshit of whores.

"are you ok?'

"Yeah. reminiscing."

"About?" I answer in curiosity.

"...mind your business."

I start to subject that feeling in me as some kind of assumption. a superstitious accusation of what he's thinking about. he's being secretive, but I can't force him to share anything about his personal life or even his occupation. hungry curiousity can be a blessing and a curse, but since he quit his mafia company. He shouldn't have anything to worry about other than the point of survival.

"mongrang."

"?"

"I sensed a presence here. did someone give you a note. If so.. what did it say?" He commented while turning his back to warm himself up in the shower.

"..."

I shouldn't tell him. but why does he want to know that?

"it just said..a upgrade onto our company."

"...I see."

I inspected his mild disbelief at my lie filled words. My questions for him are something I can't hold in for much longer.

"Do you feel anything for me?"

"What kind of fucking question is that-"

" I need the truth."

I sense his irritation as I forced his hand to tell the truth. but within that irration. it's growing and resonating like a blooming flower.

" I do. I do..are you happy? I feel something every time I see you. I won't disclose it yet since it's struck behind me, whipping me out of pain but..desire."

"You want me to share something I believe will have you baffled and possibly...aroused."

"Ok? say it."

It took all my courage to say what I think im going to say.

"I touched myself over you. eariler in the shower. I felt...so much. It's unbelievable how much lust I felt..over you. but.. good thing I got interrupted because I would've been seeing sparkles in my vision right now if I ever... didn't stop myself from finishing what I was doing to myself. You control me. and it's dangerous to feel this way about you even if we have to kill each other. It's truly terrifying to be harboring so much lust over a man I'm supposed to hate..i-isnt that just..odd? Jaha Lee.

the man that I used to oh so hate because of your crazy bullshit with shit drugs.

The man who gave it the all to murder my forces.

The man who matches me alike in terms of power.

The man I long for, instead of hate.

the man who I saw again and again for so long out of bloodlust or anger. that all changed.."

I didn't expect his reaction, but he seemed almost... shocked? his facial expression spelling his desire for me as well but is too stubborn to show his beautiful face to me. I waited for his response. Just like an obedient lovesick fool would do.

"That's honestly surprising to me for the sex demon to be so infatuated for a man like me..but your fucking insane for touching yourself. I won't complain but geez."

"Sorry.. I got too carried away on my own desires."

"It's fine."

jaha snapped the fire away with a mere hand gesture, leaving only the light dirty brown misty sky to be the only source in the room. But why did he put out the fire? he studied my reactions with a smile? Is he pampering me? This man I used to hate so much with every rapid beat of my heart with the disgusting and uncomfortable feelings of surging and gushing hatred inside this beating heart is now replaced with a pounding of longing, mixed conflict between our occupation requirements, and the final feeling is pure NEED.

overly dramatic enough, he still kept observing me, hawking at me like a bird before the atmospheric tension changed to something.. more sensual. maybe this is it. maybe this is something I craved from him. maybe he desires me, too. almost like he kept it inside him for so long enough to be psychologically and physically damaging. It damaged me to the point of touching myself out of it. It's damaging him in ways that can not be described. His ways of dealing with it are unknown, but I have yet to know in due time that I can see it in his gaze. and so my heart continues to pound.

He went closer, keeping his gaze into my eyes.

I felt everything that I tried so hard to hide. I'm afraid to say it but I'm in love.

his hands lightly touched my flushed cheeks. no words were spoken. actions speak louder than words, and jaha did that mere definition of that infamous old saying, I felt his hot breath near my lips as he moved closer to pressing his body against mine on the wall. I felt so...madly obsessed. so brainwashed, so in love, insanely and mentally crazed. it can not be helped. my body kept screaming for him, my mind scrambled into pieces, my eyes telling everything I was afraid to say as he held me onto the wall, trapping me, forcing me to face what I want all along, forcing me to entwine.

And so the final act began by his hand, his lips pressed against mine roughly, smearing his chapped lips onto mine in that aggression I love so much every time we fought, that one time 5 years ago in a nightclub when we fought in the middle of a casino private game room, I slammed him down into the bar and pinned his wrists to the woody table before stabbing me in the arm to get me off. this is exactly that reference to this kiss. he slowly entered his tongue inside my mouth, and I let him give full access just to take me to the edge and beyond.

I held my own in this aggression. His slight grunts make me crave for him more and more. I grab his hips roughly and pulled him more to the warmth of my body, I finally got what I wanted, but at what cost? the consequences of our occupations are going to get us both killed if our lust for each other's presence. But if jaha is by my side, then I won't have anything to lose. our tongues slither like snakes to taste each other's flavors as I open back up my eyes to see the saliva pooling down to his neck all the way to his collarbone. I push even harder, deepening this rough kiss by taking his authority away from this. I switch the sides to push jaha in the wall.

handling his wrists. his grunt of disapproval rattled in my mouth as I felt his hands trembling by my authority in this, by my domination, secretly enjoying it as my tongue continued to taste everything. this desire... this tension filling our senses subconsciously tells me jaha had been feeling this way, for I don't know how long? it's funny. I thought I was the only one. this attractive bastard kept it in like a person keeping in their intrusive thoughts.

I left his lips with a soft wet pop. we both sucked our air back in because we were breathless. jaha wiped his mouth, covering his entire face except his eyes scowling at me.

"What the fuck..."

"You didn't like it when I get all dominant since you're so used to being top."

I grasped his wrists more tightly at this. this fucker didn't seem that mad but at the same time he did.

"..."

"So do like it.~

"I didn't say that."

"I have a question. what is our relationship now? change of topic?"

I stared back into his eyes, wondering about our relationship. The worry complained in the back of my head, and they won't shut the fuck up. They keep knocking at the back of my head, being like an annoying little kid wanting extra candy late at night in a Halloween night, this shouldn't be intent since the raging desire in me had burnt down to merely a small flame but I have to ask out of my own curiosity.

"What is this? is this a hate-love relationship? we tried to end each other in our past, humiliate and destroy each other at any chance we get by hatred or by command of our own. you hated me more than ever. why did you suddenly change your idea towards me despite our rivalry."

" I knew you had a change of heart when you saved me. you didn't have any intention of killing me as i dissected every single point of your actions by contributing to my health and well-being. I analyzed you as far as I can do, and now I see your confliction of our company's war threats is going to jeopardize our relationship as we're supposedly to be enemies. I contribute to nobody. The only reason why I quit is to live for jaha Lee. even if this society of ours makes our existence meaningless, then it's worth living as long as you survive to live for yourself."

that powerful statement shook me to the bone as his expression was genuine, but doesn't he consider our relationship as I'm the only one in here that's still in a fugitive company out to get him?

"What are you going to do if my company tries to.."

"Take me on. I'll die trying."

"You shouldn't regard your safety like that. you haven't answered my questions whether if we're lust driven enemies." I breathe those words near his neck as I place light kisses on his rough skin.

"I say I'd love you, and I hate you. you feel the same, too. when we used to argue so much about diarrhea and how I publicly humiliated you in front of a girl that you've liked~ Your reactions were mildy hilarious."

"You find my suffering entertainment?" I continue to place small wet kisses onto his neck.

"Yeah. so it's both. it's a toxic mix with a hint of sweetness in its flavor. that sweetness is your comfort in finding my intent mysterious but uncaring since lust consumed you so much." I heard him sigh at my kisses as I lifted my head up to gaze at him at that same lustful intent.

"fuck I love it when you sway individuals with your words of surprising intellect. don't you understand my hatred for you is slowly dissolving into meaningless pieces of paper as I'm supposed to pick back up all the pieces and keep it? How am I supposed to hate you if I can bring myself to do it?"

"change of heart to me, you could've left me to die at that moment of spitfire by that horrendous tank but no. You chose to save me by healing me after I saved you back."

I'm persistent in giving him that desire, but his sights and his grunts at my light kisses fulfill me enough.

"Exactly. I was there. You also had that drive to save me, didn't you?"

"...no. simply felt like it."

"In that case..do you enjoy it when I kiss you..?~"

his entire demeanor changed from the moment that spat out of my seductive tone, my grip on his wrist shut tightly so he wouldn't push me off just to deny this all. defiant madman.

"hm. Yeah. I won't lie since that's clearly what you hate."

"You know everything I hate about you. Including your lies. such an analytical bastard you are. Case in point.~"

"Are you trying to have sex with me? i can literally feel it. Just a question. "

my smirk grew wider at his question.

"Maybe I am. Do you want to take that chance?"

"Hm. No. so how you proclaim this lust you feel?"

"What are you talking about?" he caught my hand slipping down to his lower body as he didn't seem to care.

"Isn't it all the time or sometimes? some parts of your energy every time you are around my presence is just either enforced self-control or just a facade to you. I wondered why or how this happened."

"Came..out of nowhere..that's my honesty. it hit me straight in the face and left a permanent mark. I wonder why also..why I just.."

he pushed my hand out of his bare skin.

"Calm down. we can't. Not for right now. we got jobs so we must rest."

He stepped away from me just to lay on my bed. My hesitation to grab him more and feel his warmth is making my fingers twitch erratically, my self control is slowly coming back as I started to realize the gravity of our relationship. he came to a point when I lust for him and he lust for me too dispite the fact that we can't be together whatsoever. I breathed in and out slowly as I looked at him on the shoulder to see his gaze at the full moonlight behind that mist.

I stare right back at the beauty of the full moon shining upon the despair ridden, abandoned, purged city ruins, same as my window laminating at my floor. I feel completed, but not yet filled with that same completion. with love. There's sacrifice. with love, it's imperfection of two, with love, you have to do the right thing for the one you're obsessed with. but the truth hurts. this isn't love. its lust. And lust is a dangerous addictive sin cursing humanity with its joyous ecstacy. my actions of falling in love with this man is all desire and not real, raw love out of me. but isn't that not surprising?

My former life before the apocalypse was to mess with women's emotions about love and lust before breaking their hearts peice by peice as their tears represent every part of hurt they feel, I still can't forgive myself for that. but for jaha. It's different. he's full of honesty and lies, speaking the truth even if men have a hatred for straightforwardness. I also wonder everything I did for him. I question everything.

terrible fucking habit, I slowly walked to the bed, laying beside him. I noticed he's distant, trying to regard our enemies to lovers/ lovers with the fine print contract problems by turning his back to the lust we felt earlier, that's understandable. I won't blame him since this is also consuming the depths of my small pinkish whitish brain. While this situation is blocking our path to entwining with each other's boundaries and consent. I still want him as badly as I want things to go back to normal. I slowly reach out to his waist and squeeze him even though he's fast asleep. I close my eyes, squeezing him like he's the one thing that's important in my entire life. something surprising happened.

his hand squeezed mine.

Further proof, he feels my presence beyond his maddening dreams of probably murder and war. I blink my eyes open and closed before falling right to sleep, exactly like a baby sleeping on his/her mother's warmth, jaha is my warmth. I love him. More than anything. love him more than I loved any slut choosing me to fuck their holes like a obedient man whore. a playboy.

more than my parents, more than I value my entire life, goodnight jaha Lee.

-short timeskip- ( next morning, basically)

I stirred awake to see jaha out of bed. I watched him pull on his gas mask, wearing the same clothes last night, just to go somewhere unannounced as I was asleep. his hands raised up to press his fingers to the handle of his gun, reloading it with fresh bullets. I forgot how perceptive he is by noticing me staring at him like he has eyes in the back of his head, gazing at me in the shoulder by those attractive bulbs.

"where are you going?"

"to check on lydia. can't have a single mother with children survive temporarily in this society."

"Be safe ok?"

I watch as his hair poofing out of his gas mask sway in a mixed rhythm along with his hips, each step he took drives himself further and further away from me. He's detached as always as he didn't say anything to me back, dropping down to the first level out of my home while I'm left with burning curiosity to what he's about to do with lydia. In the time being: I should search for some food near the company or get those chickens from a farm he mentioned by nourishing myself a better meal rather than consuming processed cancer infused foods.

I clip on my gas mask and leave.

-Jaha's Pov-

should I tell him the truth? this is utterly vile. the company boss instructed me to grow closer closer to mongrang and then backstab him by jabbing the knife to the core of his human body and then looking at him directly in his pain filled eyes as I twist it. bringing him more agony than before his departure to the netherworld. by our growth of turning from two bloodhungry enemies loathing each other's mere existence and concept to lovers. ish. this is supposed to be my mission even if I quit my respective mafia facility. if I do kill him. my company would have an advantage. I don't want to do this. but I have to. he's trusting me more and more to the point of more pain at fulfilling this. I'm being honest. His self hatred of his past is something I can respect. I can remember his actions fondly.

we were blazing hatred and conflict at each other once our mission to be in the same mansion for 1 week is pure torture. one night. he brought a girl over to the mansion, and he did this on purpose purely because he was next door. He had sex with the bitch. fucking her so hard enough to scream his name at the top of his lungs. but the fact that he hates himself for doing something like that is unexpected but valid. any man would be arrogant enough to excuse their actions by their physical appearance or just make up a stupid excuse but he was honest.

I walk to the back of the company, seeing a gaurd holding the door open for me.

I walk in to see the boss, a smug look as I sit down.

"You noticed the letter I sent you, hm? some of my reporters had informed me you and mongrang had been sleeping together before she slipped the note under the door. care to tell me why you quit only to be with the enemy? Did you forget about your mission?"

"I never forgot about the mission. my purpose of quitting is to live for myself. this is my life, so if I chose to sleep with the person I USED to hate, then so be it. Our relationship grew enough to render us lovers. you told me to go along with the mission whether I quit or stay."

his breath grew ragged, holding in his rage as much as he can.

"Yes, I did. news flash. I don't care about your ridiculously boring maddening life. your refusal to deal the damage to their most formidable is much irritating to see. if you even taste the sickening flavor of despair and remorse for sticking the knife out of his flesh once the damage is done. suck it up. the reward out of the hurtful damage is an advantage and winning out of cheating. people are stupid when they care about someone. Just like your being stupid."

"Did I ever agree to the terms of this mission."

"You don't have the authority to argue. yes. You agreed to the terms, and now you have to suffer the consequences of being with the person you eventually have to betray for us to strike and kill everyone of their forces with ease."

I chew on the pen, staring at his faltering smile as he expects his words to bust through me and hit me out of fear but I feel nothing.

"Hehe.. let me ask you one question. if I ever considered killing him. would you believe his death is ever going to bring mongrang's company down the drain? do you think they completely rely on his abilities to win these wars? consider observing their increase in weaponry and their strategy to decimate your facility in a flash. the enemy can be stupid at first but can get increasingly more intelligent as you observe their behavior in leadership."

"Don't see how any of this is relative to our priorities to destory and take control."

the stimulating odor of this man's cigarette huffed out of his breath in a small visible smoke.

"Did you ever think about the entirety of this?"

"Your saying?"

"Don't you think mongrang is assigned the same mission to secretly stab me in the back out of selfish reasons and kill me just to benefit this sickening company?"

"...."

"So.~"

his realization is hilarious.

"That means we'll kill each other..dispite the forbidden love we harbor as a way to create more despair in the relationship by grabbing our pocket knives and going inside the meaty flesh of our backs. Due to the frustrating term to inflict more pain onto each other by lust and hatred... this is all orchestrated by you, isn't it?"

that cigarette stinking up his breath fell out of his mouth onto the hard wooden table, sizzling by the bud. he knew I was right about that. two individuals made to kill each other from the start without the pathetic realization that this causes both ends between our companies. it's humans on a leash, and the one who's controlling the leash is the gods themselves since they have the authority to let us out our animalistic cages/ leash to let us fight to survive by gifted intelligence.

"Surprising? figured this out from the start. this is suicide for ours. pairing two powerful fugitives to kill each other but failed to realize the cost of sending us both to slit each other's throats. this is also about you. If I didn't quit, then you'll use me. and they'll use him."

"Then why are you choosing to stay with him if you know about all of this nonsense. are you that I'm love with him and his ecstacy as the sex demon to be feeling the sharp cuts of despair when you two end each other's lives?"

"You forgot we're controlled."

"Controlled? Ah-"

I pick up the cigarette's bud, sticking its sizzling dissipating bud on his forehead.

"Yes. You corporate sloths use and use those you see who are important to your work, take and take when it's nothing left to take, kill who you want to kill, and steal who or what you want to steal. we are the mere definition of that. even if we don't want to kill each other, then it's not a choice we get to decide. such gods to control someone's choices, decisions, and entire goals of a human life. This is what's wrong with the world. so much..abusive authority."

"Then answer my question, jaha. are you in love with him?"

he looked slightly intimidated as I glanced down at him at the question, flicking the cigarette off his forehead to the place of his lap.

"I am. subconsciously. are you going to use that information to build yourself a plan? here's the thing you son of a bitch."

my finger dragged through his face to open up his eye socket, his red pumping veins and black pupils looking directly at me in shock.

"we'll survive. and watch the two burn down each other's forces, companions, units, and buildings with a big bag of popcorn at our hands, ravaging the buttery sensation and the crunch as I consider letting mongrang live. in hopes of our fate not being destined for demise. far enough ft a pathetic albano monkey like you to see my future as disposable only because you think your existence is god. your NOTHING without this wealth. kiss my ass goodbye as I'll be the one to spit on your grave."

"You absolute...what side are you on? Mongrang's side or my side?"

I open his socket harder just to bask in the concept of our eyes basically being windows to the souls.

"I'm at nobody's side. I'm living for myself."

"mongra-"

"He can be my side at any time. I'll leave it to his own decision."

I let go of his socket and started to step out of the vicinity. his pleading voice stopped me on the tracks.

"Wait. If you'll agree to join my company again and help me destory the enemy, then you're gifted a million dollars. It's how much you want/ how much you need. please.."

" I don't care about money. I'm better off learning more and more how to survive in this damaged society than rather be wealthy. oh and..one more thing."

"what?"

he flinched as my whole demeanor changed from calm to menacing, filled with murderous intent. gripping my fist so hard, blood started seeping out of my fingers.

"where is yoran?"

"...if you really want the answer. she's in another city in a small orphanage, being taken care of. her health is 100%, and her mental state is good. no psychological effects from the apocalypse/ doomsday had been detected. don't worry about her. I'll give you her location of the city if you'll work for me."

" desperate. thanks for the updates."

I left, walking back into the street. Only to see mongrang at the side of the street carrying bags of food and a handful of dead chicken.

-Back to mongrang's original pov-

I heard everything. he didn't even consider my name to live this life with him. why hasn't he killed me yet since our influence on each other's toxic love is inflicting the behavior of his actions. I'm not mad, but I'm rather confused. The point of jaha's intentions is to let my presence around his life as he wants to live on his own. so he's basically letting ourselves free to stick to our devoid soulless survival life during this forbidden love of ours.

"...what are you doing here?"

"I thought you were checking on lydia."

"I lied. I been invited to a meeting with the boss."

his hands clamp at the core of my mouth underneath the gas mask and push me to a storage room of an abandoned food production facility to keep our personal information quiet. the black moldy spots and a rotting scent of trash and expired milk.

"You had a meeting. How did you get it?"

"It was in the middle of the night. while we were asleep. I heard a note slip under your door, so that's how I came here in the first place."

"I have a lot of questions of this entire ordeal."

my voice spoke, a hint of pain in its tone.

" it seems like you don't care about me. after all the times we spent on each other's wellbeing. worrying about our safety in living in this horrible destroyed society of ours just for you to stick it to my decision to live the rest of my life with you as you never seemed to think about it yourself.."

"I never said I didn't care. I didn't want to be the one to control your own decisions and goals in your mind since we're both humans. We have intentions to live or intentions not to live in this depressive post apocalypse. if you assume I don't think about all the times we've cared for each other despite our past encounters in two different demeanors completely opposite of our assumptions to each other, then you're wrong. I don't just want to live for myself since that's my intention after this civil war between two humans that are the same. I want to live for a purpose."

"Oh ok so this idealistic purpose and need to live at our point is just a young asian man roaming around this dead city that's used to be mafia alone..? No food, no water, no home, no family, no daughter? Is that your intention to do after you took the chance to kill a person who actually loves you for who you are!?"

his breath hitches at my words, his stoicism slowly crumbling.

"If we're able to escape the uncontrollable addiction of greed and horror of abusive authority in this destroyed society by taking both of us to the depths of hell whom blades stabbed each other intentionally but unintentionally by the hands of these vile assholes. I do expect myself to be alone. I can accept my life as having subordinates and companions. but this is life or death. we still don't have a choice. not while you're still my enemy.

not while I have nothing. no units, no forces. No, anything after I quit. Even while I'm stuck with trying to survive along with you. I still don't have a choice. This isn't forbidden love. it's love with obstacles, paths full of pain and anguish, and our divided forces."

"If you want to take my life, then do it. fulfill yourself with it. embrace the mere fact that you've just killed someone who is in love with you. who wants to be with you, who wants to explore intimacy and boundaries with you. love can be at the deepest darkest places of this planet but yet can't find the small speck of the love you want in that darkness. I just want you."

my eyes softening up to make it clear I'm genuine.

"We cant..I can't. Can you see that? life or death isn't a multiple choice test in school. it's a choice depending on the lives of your loved ones or your own family? why do you think we both haven't killed each other yet? we're so... wrapped up in our own emotions, too blind to know this can't work. no matter how hard you try to push me to fall more and more down to the abyss, awaiting danger. we're so caught up onto our feelings, our hearts, everything. yet it still can't work."

" I'll find a way to make it work myself. because I'm not going outside into the world without the mad demon whom I am in love with, to guide me through the path of no more mind numbling murdering of people and repetitive life cycles. I'll be a reckless bastard if the only chance I get out of feeling true love is bullshitery and divided hatred. Even if our divided companies I don't care for fall in destruction. then I still want you."

"We can't. Are you understanding or not?"

My hands hesitated before deciding to grasp my hands to his.

" I understand well. control is temporary, it's trivial, it's destructive and devastating for the innocent and the lower class of society, it's beautifully joyous to those who want that control to make people bow to their mere grasp. this control we both go through as not just similar enemies. But it is destorying the foundation of our relationship as I desire to progress it to a higher level than before. understand our strength as being our single individual weapon used for the purpose of crushing them."

"You forget our companies have a entire army."

"When was the last time you killed hundreds, jaha?"

"a short while ago."

my eyes full of determination and affection, grasping his hands slightly tighter as I believe this to be real and I want it to happen. the foundational system of love's cycle upon humanity's behavior gives a feeling of stupidity upon just...throwing a limb for the person you love dearest in your entire life.

"Maybe we have a chance. I'm giving us an opportunity to strike back upon these rich and powerful mafia assassination companies, seeing us as rare diamonds out of an underground cave just to throw us at war, expecting us to be invincible at the horrors of the apocalyptic battle field. Just so our relationship can expand more. grow more, develop more. I hate to admit it despite the fact you gave me a horrible, agonizing case of diarrhea years ago in front of the girls I was PRETENDING to like. But..I'm hopelessly and utterly in love with you. so much, in fact. just like we expressed our desire back at my home. But I'll keep it real. I want to be with you. I want all of you. I want every single inch of you. personality wise, body wise, appearance wise, intelligence wise, cunning and intimidating wise. All of the FUCKING wise.

The reason I initiated the plan to destroy our own is because im so sick was tired of having to deal with this constant drama, wars, and bloodshed, so sick of being unable to get closer to you as soon as the rush of these emotions first began."

he was shocked at first when I confessed to him, he nodded in acceptance of my love and to my plan.

"Love you too.. I approve of the plan."

"..never thought this would happen to us. but..you stay safe. I got to go back to my company for any updates on the civil war problem."

"Alright."

I slowly stepped back, hesitantly, giving a jaha a small affectionate smile before leaving to the direction of my company, I could feel his eyes still staring back at me. and it isn't worry or indifference. it's actual compassion in that expression. I can sense it. I was so blunt to be confessing my desire to him like this, but this is finally the climax. the explosion in my soul when I'm openly done hiding my own emotions away from him, even though he's a asshole to many, and an icy mass murderer with strength unmatched to most that's what is attractive about him. His flaws don't bother me one bit. all I want is him.

I step back into the company lobby, seeing the sword demon consult to a charcoal battered blacksmith with multiple handmade guns and weapons onto his hand.

"Aye."

"Your back. Where have you been?"

"...taking care of Lydia. what's going on in the company?"

he eyed at the blacksmith, signaling him to leave, and so he did. Getting back to work.

"we're setting up preparations for the civil war. our blacksmiths are putting in work to create the blueprints to what perspective our master wants us to use while fighting in the middle of battle. so most of us are occupied at the moment. anything about their most powerful assassin as in intel? I heard one of our city Intel reporters saw you and jaha spend more time together than usual. Is that true?"

"no."

"Can you prove it?"

My hand slowly balled into a fist. God, why do I have to hide my relationship with him like I'm hiding my boyfriend away from a homophobic Christian family? I don't want to lie, but I have to. I spoke with a slightly ragged voice:

"I've been helping him go back to his company since the mist makes it harder to see. and also the direction to his individual company is like a maze around the city ruins. So."

"...fine. make sure to upgrade your fighting equipment before you do anything else. Oh and boss has a another mission for you."

I sighed in irritation.

"What's the mission..?"

"He needs you to go outside of the city ruins. like into the wilderness to gain intel on current plant/ food life regarding resources from outside the apocalypse. the point of the mission is to camp and see your experience in survival and food nourishment. Including the information given back to us. go ahead and upgrade. I got to talk to the boss. I'll give you a discount."

"Thanks man."

I walk into the heat, the burning smell of melting iron and metal, watching the sword demon go to the direction of the boss's office. I place my weapons and my guns down on the blacksmith desk before having the curiosity to see why he's visiting him. I walk to the office, making sure nobody is around to see me pouncing around private conversations. I press my ear on the door to hear their voices. I overheard:

"He always lies to me straight to face. mongrang is clearly in love with our enemy, the one who's much more of a dangerous liability to your forces than we thought were true, the one who's strength in inhuman. I thought you were better than to send him constantly on missions instead of having him train better to give us a victory..! The intel reports says right on the dot that they're much more of a love grown relationship than we anticipated. Should we just call quits?"

"Calling quits because of a gay love relationship or is it just your own worries in your own subordinate being hurt and broken by asking him to kill the man he loves? Aren't you the one who asked him to hurry up and kill him before the civil wars come into play? You always don't make sense. I don't even bother asking a mere blacksmith to know any better than common sense."

his voice rose slightly louder at his boss.

Yes. But-"

"Then it's no point trying to work out personal issues created by two beings we control. they can hurt each other and suffer the same despair by a sacrifice, but it's always pain in the depths of love. by our authority resides pain in their love. I don't care if mongrang is so deep in this love that he'll kill himself if he even was to actually kill jaha by his hands. all it matters is that we WIN."

his cigarette lifted off his mouth, letting out a breath of smoke.

"You and...him..are brothers, are you? You and our main enemy? The man who issued his own forces to kill hundreds to thousands of our units, including jaha and his destructive capabilities in combat and melee weaponry? The intel on your backstory is hidden deep beneath the stairs of our secretive archive, stored in a cabinet of the boss's personal information regarding your parents and relatives. your...his brother. you're our enemy's sibling.."

"And why did you feel the need to look into the archived without permission?"

his charred, thin lips took the cigarette to the tip of his mouth once again, exhaling a cloud of cancer.

"I needed the reasoning why you're doing all of this. Were you two corporate billionaires made to rivalry with each other due to family favoritism and abuse? Is it a possible truama? is it an insecurity to be born with a secondary brother possibly taking away the empire you were destined to obtain from the start of your first cry? All the evidence to prove your blood related family had been demolished. almost like you burned it. The only thing that is left is "two siblings" at the side of the paper and information your family had done before the apocalypse. Mass murder, torture, cartel, mafia, drugs.."

"It will be better to shut your mouth then rather dig deeper into my origin story. What I want is a flawless victory in this civil war. a clash between the ying and the yang. two opposites. I don't care if mongrang's despair for killing the one he loves is jeopardizing his work and his life as a whole. this victory is ours. If you have anything to say, then you can leave. The preparations are nearly complete. until then..do your job."

he sighed in resignation. leaving the office.

I hide behind the door, but he doesn't seem to notice me. But..are you kidding me? brothers? despair? Flawless victory? so this entire fight we have been having for years is nothing more than a pointless sibling rivalry over unknown reasons?

[velsfaestories]

Gateway

The first time was an accident. I stumbled into an alley and subsequently through a doorway to a place so fantastical that the urge to do it again has brought me here. A barely used dock in a town I’m not familiar with.

There’s a boat with a destroyed sail. Mast, broken in half. Another boat is half sunken. Or maybe just tilted that way. Not an ounce of sunlight reaching the area. Just fog, spoiled fish, and salt. The dock itself is weathered. Holes eating their way through the wood. Barnacles latched to the underside and barely hanging on limbs. It’s still early, but there’s plenty here to look at. Such as the fading gray buildings behind me. Their filth covered windows. A partially open truck garage. Since wretching isn’t an option I move away from it.

Yellow-green pools from the wall in front of me. Spilling over knocked-over trash, bones, the carcass of some animal, and broken glass. It’s not really a liquid or a solid. Though it looks that way. More of a gas moving the way jelly would if given a little bit more of a liquid consistency. Stepping through reveals a forest made of trees with fluorescent leaves and bark that shifts the way mood rings do.

A strand of hair breaks free from my ponytail. Sticking to my face as the wind picks up. Stirring up any debris I’d not noticed before. Trash from a time when this place was lively. Wrapping around mud-stained boots and sun-soaked legs. My teeth make an effort to embed in my right cheek. Checking every spot with any amount of darkness. Is this really a good idea? Who’s to say that the information that man gave you is accurate? Who’s to say it’s not some kind of trap? 

The nerves in my spine dance with an urgency I’ve never felt. Shadows claw at my heart, while little daggers poke at my skin from beneath the surface. Every muscle tensing up as I search for what could have every brain signal telling me to run. As if I’m not already anxious about being here.

There’s a coolness against my cheek from my head whipping around. An item I nearly forgot I had. Given to me the first time I did this. Wrapped in pure silver is a sizeable amethyst stone holding what looks like a leaf inside of it. I can never tell.

“Don’t lose it. It’s the only way to get here.”

He’d been so adamant. To the point of not giving me room to argue with him about how I managed to find my way in without it. Since then this is what I do. Search the globe for little spots of magic that open up into spaces only written about. Places where time is of no consequence to its natives. If only to see the face that brought me so much joy in a matter of seconds.

It spills from one of the many garages. A purplish-yellow. Devouring the room it’s occupying. Garage door rattles as it turns to ash. The aura of dead fish is gone. Replaced by something sweet. A floral kind of sweet. Despite the lurch in my stomach, I step through.

Heat radiates from the earring. Scorching skin. How many times before I remember to cover my cheek? It stops when the color fades. Dropping me into a field of flowers. Actually, a forest. Plants shaped like ordinary roses, tulips, and other such flowers. All of them are taller than me. Taller than normal trees. Everywhere there are dark purples, yellows, blues, greens, and pinks. They even move freely. Some leaning down and opening over my head. Light engulfs me and then fades.

“There you are.”

“Pretty sure I was gonna have to jump in the water.”

His smile is all I need. All teeth. Honey eyes glow orange in the fading daylight. A halo around the top of his head thanks to the many jewels embedded in his crown. Amethyst light exactly the same as the jewel hanging from my ear. Oh. Right.

Have you ever heard a heart shatter? It sprinkles itself around like broken glass. Although, it looks more like pixie dust. How could you? The path before me isn’t nearly as lively as the flowers above. Brown, shriveling debris. Nature that’s died. Some of it melting into the ground. Creating mold and mildew of a vomitous variant. Orange sunlight overtaking death and decay in a forgotten world.

[pancakehouse]

20 for the siken game because it’s a classic and I love it <3

omg babe it IS a classic it is insane it makes me SICK it should be illegal!!!

20. you’re in a car with a beautiful boy and you're trying not to tell him that you love him.

The car is burning. It’s an old, rickety thing; a relic of Remus’s dad or his dad’s dad or maybe it’s just an oddly shaped hunk of metal that Remus is attempting to drive them around in through sheer force of will. Sirius is really not sure he’d notice either way. 

Point is, the air conditioning is broken and the windows are broken and each of these things are conspiring together to turn Remus’s cheeks a lovely pink color and slick his skin with a glistening layer of sweat. Sirius isn’t sure why he finds this so horribly distracting, except it’s definitely due to the warm flush he’s now imagining beneath his lips, and the water droplets pooled in collarbones he increasingly - over the past months, years, forever - wants to impale his brain on. 

Or something. 

“Where are we even going?” he asks, yet again. He sticks his feet on the dash, grins wickedly at Remus’s pointed look and wrinkled nose. “You seem lost.”

“I am not lost.” Remus flicks the blinker on. He checks over his shoulder once, twice, before carefully changing lanes. “We’re just taking the scenic route.” 

They’ve passed this street three times in the last half hour. It’s got a chain coffee shop with two trash bins on the pavement. Overflowing. There’s graffiti of spray-painted genitals on a fire hydrant, and a shiny billboard for one of those new/old superhero movies. (The ones with the guys and the outfits and all the Americans.) (Yeah. One of those.)

“Oh, well, it's gorgeous,” Sirius drawls. He looks at Remus; his quirked lips, curved dimple, sweaty fucking cheeks. His bobbing Adam's apple. His bony fingers and golden curls and ugly brown jumper.

And the words are right fucking there. They sit on Sirius's tongue like an ice cube, burning, burning, such a sweet relief to know this (remus, you lovely boy. you and your crooked scars…with all of my crooked heart. that's the saying, isn't it? because, i do, i do. with every torn bit of it.) before they melt down his throat into nothing.

Remus glances over. He frowns, brow quirked, and Sirius aches and aches all the way to his toes. He could do it. Right here. Fingers wrenched through flesh, he could drag the confession right back up, and spill it all over the seats.

Say it here. In front of the patchy lawns and tilted signposts and the man with the cape and his fist raised in the air. Instead, he looks away. Out the window. Feet on the dashboard. Says, too softly, "Just gorgeous."