#always left behind those poor souls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

auragasmics · 6 months ago

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onlyfans creator!toji meeting fan!reader but getting so drunk off of them that he keeps bringing them back & eventually only makes vids with them… *heh*

CAMERA ROLL LOOKIN’ LIKE ONLY FANS!

synopsis! he knows better than to get involved with fans. But upon meeting you, Toji’s found himself in a world where he can only have you—and you alone.

pairings! fan!fem!reader x onlyfans creator!toji fushiguro

cw!3.5k words, pwp, dubcon(?), consensual filming, pussydrunk!toji, doggy style, mean!toji, cunninlingus

mwuahaha, i loved this thirst sm! i couldn’t stop thinking about it!

have a thirsty thought? read my guidelines and start sending them in!

In truth, Toji knew better. While unspoken and better left assumed, it’s still the number one rule amongst fans and creators alike.

The golden rule of never, ever hooking up with a fan. Toji’s all too aware of this, but he’s no saint to abide by the rules. It didn’t help that it was all his friends were recently raving about, claiming that it would boost views—and sales for those with even the slightest glimmer of naive hope in their eyes.

And when a thought replays like a broken record, it’s only a matter of time before one succumbs to incessant influence—and Toji’s no better. He had it figured out; announce his little plan to all his cock-hungry fans, run their users through an online random generator, and whoever’s name pops up on his screen is his lucky vixen for the night.

But the generator just had to pick you.

He was blind—or better yet, naive, to the possibilities that could arise from his little adventure with danger. It never crosses his mind that maybe he’d regret the choice of taking down a fan—or maybe he’d fall in love with the idea and add it to his usual lineup.

But that didn’t stop him from sending you that message and bringing you into his humble abode of a high-rise apartment. That didn’t stop him from fawning over your pretty face and kind attitude, as if you both had forgotten what was to follow through the night.

He was simply so blind to it all that Toji had written off the slim chance of him getting addicted to you.

Until he was.

Why the memory of Toji slipping just the tip of his cock inside you still lays fresh on his mind and vigorous to his nerves. He remembers how cocky he was, thinking that he’d be the best you ever had, how no one could ever come close to how he imagined fucking you.

But the gummy halo of your cunt enveloped his blushing pink head with a sopping wet kiss, condemning the poor forsaken man down the path of egotistical demise.

Toji, the Toji Fushiguro was victim to a state that he’d never ventured into before; suddenly his mind was shot blank, his eyes threatening to rest into the dark abyss of his skull and the brawny chest he worked so hard for was rigged with shuddering breaths.

Within a matter of minutes, Toji was out of his body, out of control, and without a single means of putting up a fight.

If your pussy claimed his resolve, your body claimed his soul. Every arch, squirm, and jolt gave way to Toji’s heart. He’d even found a serenade within your outpouring moans, every hymn motivating him to his newly found goal. For in that moment, the unmoved Toji was concerned with something he never allowed to faze him—his ability to please.

Toji knew one thing; he utterly had to please you, to bring your mind, body, and spirit to the sheer face of ecstasy. He was always so sure of himself thanks to his past of collaborations, but not a single woman of his past could compare to you. Because, unlike those past collaborations for work purposes, everything that night was genuine.

The way you whimpered whenever he leaned over for a kiss was real, how your hands clung to every inch of his misted skin was bonded behind the truth, down to the orgasm he had no choice but to sit through because of the suffocating clench your walls bestowed around him.

The last thing he remembers from that night is the words he drunkenly allowed to fall from his lips, almost begging you to come back. When waking the next morning and found you gone, Toji realised he had to work to earn both you and your trust.

From that day on, something in Toji has him running ragged on your behalf. All of a sudden, he’s caught up with buying you lingerie he can’t wait to rip off of you, he’s sitting through hours of research to buy the best camera to catch every single moment of filth amidst you two. Why, he’s even gotten into the habit of calling you every morning and every night just to give you a glimpse of the real him.

A month’s swept by since that momentous night, and within those four weeks—Toji’s reserved at least fifteen of those nights just for you and him. Just this week alone, he “needed” you twice, and tonight would make it thrice.

The third time of making you cum off his tongue alone before he had the privilege of fucking you raw beneath the starry sky. And each time he does indulge in you, he can’t silence the raging urge to leave your pussy plump and dribbling with his thick white cum.

But he holds back, it’s already an honor to have you raw and he’d hate for something as minuscule as natural instinct to ruin a good thing.

Though it’s that same natural instinct that had him calling you just under two hours ago—and waiting by the door like a new puppy waiting for its owner to return. His friends call him pussywhipped, so immersed in you these days that it’s all he talks about, his newest tease with a pussy that gets so sloppy for him.

Toji could fight back, but he isn’t one to play delusional. Pussy-whipped, that’s exactly who he is and who he’s become. And somewhere deep, deep down in his subconscious, he’s found satisfaction in that. Just a puppy with a—

“Toji! It’s me!”

The pretty croon of your muffled voice has Toji springing off the black leather couch and onto his feet. He looks down at himself—nothing could be more apparent than opening the door and revealing him to wear nothing but black sweatpants.

It’s too late to apply any effort, Toji thought as he twisted the door handle open, yanking the door to greet you.

“Hey Gorgeous, come in,” he hums, his arm racing to lace around the waist of your black leggings. “Hope you didn’t wait too long~maybe I should give you a key soon…”

Returning his regards, You give in to Toji with a swift embrace, linking around his bare waist. “No, I didn’t wait at all. It was like you were waiting—”

“I see you didn’t bring a bag. Why don’t you stay the night…you never do,” Toji interjects as he leans back to close the door. His eyes fall matched to your own, wide and glimmering but afraid to step any further than what’s been established.

Your shoulders give into a heartless shrug, your chin whipping away from his sight as you utter plainly to Toji.

“Oh, I didn’t think you wanted me to, and I honestly don’t care to sleep over either. But I guess if there’s a next time, I will.”

That’s something you really shouldn’t have said. Toji can’t pinpoint where it hurts, but he knows it does. If there’s a next time? Didn’t his constant calls, random splurge days, and his mere insisting presence give way to his budding sentiments—there’s always going to be a next time.

“C’mon, don’t be like that! I know it takes a lot of effort to leave afterwards. And you don’t even kiss me goodbye…so cold…but I like it.”

You know the strategy by know as his hands work to court your body to his touch. He’s dangerously close to the thick globes of your ass, the tips of his fingers delicately tracing the outline of your thong.

Toji’s smooth, that’s exactly why you followed him in the first place, and it’s what got you laid beneath him that first night all the same. Like the best charades, his suave whims soon grew weary and transparent, but it’s his confidence that keeps you around.

And just how easy it is to tease him.

Taking a finger to Toji’s chest, you decide to spur him on, to paint an image of what lies just beneath your attire. “I’m wearing the set we got last week…in case you’re wondering.”

His once heavy eyelids shoot wide apart, forcing Toji to dumb gawk at you. “The…red one with the…cutouts?”

“Mhm,” you nod coyly, “But the thong is just so thin and so easy to rip too. Guess the quality wasn’t all that good.”

Toji darts his eyes over your face, his sly azure hues taking in your faux act of innocence. He knows it’s all just to tease him, but with the slightest chance that some kind of truth stands behind your words, he can’t forfeit his chances of making an advance.

“Okay, then let’s make a deal. Stay over tonight and tomorrow, we‘ll go out and buy the best lingerie that money can buy. How’s that?”

A sheepish scoff rings from your barred lips as you stroll away from Toji, leaving him to stare at your wading presence. “Let me think about it.”

“Oh, but you won’t have time to think…not after I’m done with you,” he adds with haste behind you.

Your hand settles upon the cold silver door knob of Toji’s bedroom, revealing the sacred altar within a mere glance. Not much has changed since the first night he brought you over—a king size bed that stands in the room’s centre, tall windows with black curtains, a desk in the corner with a computer, and of course, a shelf against the wall that holds Toji’s vast array of sex toys, photos and even a few awards he’s won from the platform.

But as the days passed, the raunchy nature of his bedroom died out when small potted plants replaced the sex toys and trophies. The thick black curtains were traded for white gossamer, and the typical red blanket set was nowhere to be seen in the face of red silk sheets and pillowcases to match.

It’s a heavy claim to say that you’ve played a hand in his transformation, however, considering that you told Toji how nursing plants are a hobby of yours, you prefer more natural light to enter rooms, and that sleeping on silk simply has its benefits—one could safely make that assumption.

All your observations fall short the moment you sit on the edge of the bed, the mattress graciously dipping beneath your curves.

“Yeah, yeah, so what do you have planned for tonight?”

Toji takes his time to reply, setting his heavy hands to brace the waistband of his black sweatpants as he stands before you. “Oh I was thinking maybe some POV shots, I haven’t done those in a long time. Think I should bring them back more often now.”

Musing him, you tilt your head at Toji, a faded smile playing on your lips. “Is that right?

“You know the deal. I’m not gonna start recording until you say so. Why, maybe tonight we don’t even have to get it on film. Can’t we just…fuck around and see where that gets us?”

“That’s a new attitude, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, honest!” Toji flusteredly fumbles out. He didn’t think he’d have to explain it, but some words are better said than just acted upon. And what’s on his chest is heavier than what gravity supplies Mother Earth.

He’s been given the slim window to confess what he wants from you, a question you’ve plagued him with since the second night he called you over.

He sends a hand to the nape of his neck, mindlessly pinching at the sparse hairs as his frazzled brian searches for the best words to explain his story. “ I just…really like having you to myself. A lot, actually. And it has me thinking…would you be open to being my…partner? C-Content wise, of course.”

“Oh…sure, we can do that! I thought you were gonna–oh!”

The brash clash of Toji’s lips steals the very words from your mouth and pins you underneath him. He more than happily donning the lead of setting the rhythm, painting his kiss against your lips as tenderly as he can.

Just like that, Toji’s gotten his burning wish within a matter of seconds—and what’s a better way to celebrate than by making his favorite girl cum all throughout the night?

The excitement has Toji running on salacious fumes, his eager hands surging across your body. First he’s tugging off your brown hoodie, pulling the soft knitted cotton over your head on and off onto the floor.

Your leggings follow swiftly behind that, and before Toji can even breathe, he’s got you pinned under him with the lingerie you’ve hinted at earlier with his sweats and briefs joining the array of discarded clothes.

The very set he plucked out just days before with the lacy red bra that barely leaves anything to imagination. He’s already inclined on tending to your pebbling nipples plowing against the fabric. He’s drawn right back to your lips, using his wandering hands to trek across your physique.

Upon his travels, Toji brushes against the panties you mentioned before, so frail that he could tug on them right now and free you from their rein. Rather, he relies on a mere pinch to inch the seam of your panties to sit within the plushy crease of your thigh.

“Mm, Toji?” you huff out between a kiss, “Let’s start, okay?”

Frantically shaking his head, Toji aimlessly reaches out to prowl along the top of his bedside dresser until he’s met with the familiar structure of his camera.

Slotting himself between your thighs, Toji points the keen lens to capture the timeless scene of him between your legs with a single hand. Clicking the camera on, Toji’s granted a clear sight of your bare pussy caught within the camera’s eye.

“ ‘Kay, camera’s on. Don’t you dare change a thing!

He isn't hesitant to begin, leaving you with a final request to hold your legs back before he’s pressing lazy kisses to the supple mounds of your cunt.

It’s that first breathless gasp of yours that throws Toji down a spiral of his own arousal. He’s already a throbbing mess, dripping all that precum into the silk sheets, but he doesn’t care. Not when his tongue is tasked with the honor of tracing along the pulsing canal of your glossy folds, just for his greedy ambitions pitting him to suck at the swollen pulse.

“Such a pretty pussy, Gorgeous,” he’s mumbling to himself as blown eyes scale up and down the sinful display.

He wants the camera to catch everything—from the way your fat lips split around his worked tongue to the very twitch that rattles your clit. He carefully shadows the camera over your cunt, his thick digits spreading you apart.

“Fuck, look at that, so soft ‘nd smooth…so wet for me too.”

His thumb rests against the cute pink bulb of your clit, the sullied pad sketching slow, tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

“Mmm-oh shit!…Toj—fuck, that’s so good!”

“That’s it, say my name Baby, c’mon!” He cheers along your twitching bulb. His name’s just sitting on the tip of your weak tongue, so desperate to break through the air. As its bearer, Toji’s waiting to hear it, the magic word set to pull him underneath your spell.

His hand’s encroach along your supple sides, softly squeezing at whatever fits within his grip. “I know that look, gonna cum on my tongue just how I like it, right?”

“Mhm,” you frantically affirm with nods, “…it’s right…it’s right there, Toji!”

You don’t have to pay him a teary-eyed glance to know that Toji’s hiding that sinister grin amongst the fat plush of your folds. That same smile that blossoms into a pout as he guides your poor clit to dance with his tongue.

Every which way, he’s swiveling your spry mound, All those lazy flicks, pedaling that soft curve of his slicked muscle around your stiffening bud. He’s even placed his hand right beneath your navel, using a soft grip to pull the stubborn hood of your clit back, leaving you open and raw for his selfish amusement.

Your hands race to tug at the noir crown of Toji’s head, keeping his head still while your trembling hips rock against his lush pout. “Fuh– yesyesyes! Toji please! Please make me cum, ‘m so close!”

Toji’s too far gone to keep up with you, his trained hand trembling to find a steady frame of the homemade film. Your nectar’s seeping into his senses, blinding Toji from the surrounding world.

All he can think about is you, all he can taste is that sweet essence spilling from his lips and down his chin. It’s all just a mess he's made out of both you and himself, but when he finally catches wind of your crashing orgasm, Toji’s beaming with the glow of achievement.

Your thighs snap around his head as the weight of your high wrecks through your body in perilous tremors. Your hips drive up against Toji’s gape, stuffing his mouth full with your cunt once more. His greedy forte settles over you again, suckling the chubby swell of your clit against his hollowed cheeks.

Breaking away from your cunt, Toji pans the camera down to your folds, his fingers gently tapping along your pillowy lips. “That’s my girl! Look so pretty like that, c’mon, we gotta keep you going now. Turn around and give me a nice arch, okay?”

You’re more than willing to comply with Toji’s request, slamming your weak legs shut as he rests on his knees. It takes all the energy ebbing from your body to secure a strong arch, one that has your hips tilted and your ass parading about in the air.

“How’s that, Toji?”

“Just beautiful. Stay still and let me do all that hard work, yeah?” he hums softly.

Toji watches as the lens focuses on the sight between your bodies. His hand braces around his shaft, giving his aching cock one firm squeeze before tapping the head of his cock along your slit.

“I know you can take it, but what do you think?” Toji hints as he gently nudges himself against you.

You look back at Toji with a proud smile, “I can take it!”

“That’s my girl! Just relax and let me…oh..fuck, that’s the good shit!”

By the rushed dip of his hips, Toji’s subdued by the velvety warmth of your walls, the slickened heat coddling his cock with wet kisses. It’s just like he remembers, tight, warm, and carved out to home all the ridges, the veins and the throbbing underside of his length.

“Look at the mess we’re making,” Toji gloats as he shifts the camera around your sputtering pussy, “And I’ve barely even give you those deep strokes you love so much!”

Those very deep strokes that he’s so fond of too. It grants him the very bliss he can’t get with anyone but you. He’s learning all about how sensitive you are, the pace you, how many times you can cum before you’re fucked dumb, all these things Toji’s taken account for.

As for tonight, he just wants you feel good, his precious girl. That’s why he’s so kind to feed your walls short drives of his cock as you adjust to his size. You’re taking him better these days, your pussy greedily nursing all nine inches of Toji’s length.

He’s got such a fat girth too, so thick that you’re left to squirm beneath the burning stretch. It’s pain that gives way to pleasure all too quickly as Toji reels his hips barely a few inches away from you.

“Aww, tell me, baby…You like this dick, don’t you? Like how it stretches this cunt to my size, how I’m always hitting that spot, go on, tell me.”

“Mmm…it’s alright,” you attempt to tease, but the stillness in the air carries about a warning with no way of guaranteeing caution.

Toji fists the fragile trims of your thong in his hand, yanking the fabric taunt in his grasp. “Oh…that’s how we’re gonna play?”

In one harsh tug, he’s dragging you against his burly thighs with nowhere else to run from the brutal onslaught of his crashing hips. All the kindness he had for you runs out, leaving Toji on a hellbent venture of proving his words true. His unruly drive has you thrashing straight into the pillow headfirst, pitting your limp body to rock along to all his ministrations without prevail.

It’s a rolling barrage, one hard drive after the other. The lewd orchestra Toji’s conducting has the clash of skin breaking about the room, using the meld of your voices charred by vengeful bliss as vocals.

But he isn’t lying; even through his rage, Toji’s still tending to you. By sending the thick bulb of his cock to smother your sweet spot in kisses, each one messier than the last, the coil deep within your core bubbles with another budding orgasm. How could something so mean, so harsh, feel so good? So much that your eyes drift back into your head, your and the veil of pleasure dresses your body like the finest silk.

All just because you jokingly bruised Toji’s ego. Either way, the fact remains that he’s thoroughly aggravated, and his angered spiel falls on deaf ears.

“Stop lying to me!” He grunts out with a smirk, “ W-We both know you do! Why else would your pussy get so messy fr’ me? M-Making such a mess on the bed. ‘M splitting her open and you say you–”

“T-Toji wait! O-Okay, okay, I do! “ Your whimpering admittance of defeat breaks into the air, earning nothing more than the chime of Toji kissing his teeth.

“C’mere,” he huffs out, pulling your limp body up against his own. His chest carves out your arch like a sculpture, leaving no crevice nor crease hidden from his frame. The grip he has upon you shifts above to the slacked curve of your jaw, leaving Toji’s thumb to strum along your bottom lip.

His hazy stare catches wind of your misty doe eyes, coaxing a lump to build within Toji’s throat.

As an act of sympathy, litters of kisses melt against your skin, his unruly trail leading him straight to your dribbling lips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Toji whispers against your lips, “Y’know I like you, baby. Don’t go being too mean to me or else someone isn’t cumming tonight.”

“O…okay! I’m sorry Toji, ‘m really sorry!” you sob, your hand racing to brace the thick of his forearm.

Your apology chants in his ear like a mantra, coaxing a crooked grin to shine inside the dark room.

“Now…” Toji giggles, his hazy eyes flickering towards the fixed lens of the camera. “‘m taking a picture for the thumbnail…smile for the camera!”

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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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how do the jjk men treat you when ur on ur period? suguru specifically hehe <3

✰ JJK MEN: WHEN YOU'RE ON YOUR PERIOD ✰

pairing(s): gojo, geto, nanami, choso x afab!reader content: (MDNI 18+ only), nsfw-ish/suggestive, periods, period blood, period products, pet names, lots of fluff! a/n: i hope you like anon!! you have great timing cause i’m getting my period and i also have a uti pray for me besties i need help and antibiotics. left out toji and sukuna cause…. nah LMAO. enjoy, and remember ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED!

✰ GOJO:

Lowkey loves when you’re on your period, but is just barely smart enough to never tell you that.

His favorite part is that you always want more cuddles, which means more cuddles for him.

Thinks period products are really amusing– loves playing with your hot water bottle cause it’s squishy. Finds those ones that look like stuffed animals at the store and brings home like five of them for you.

Will definitely buy you pads/tampons but not without the obligatory “what size is your pussy” text. Won’t buy them until you respond with “extra super pretty” and then sends back this emoji -> 😋.

Highkey likes period sex. Knows it can relieve your cramps and will use that as an excuse at every opportunity if you’ll let him.

Is always on some cheesy ass shit murmuring in your ear about how doing it on your period “bonds your souls”, too.

Constantly offers to get you pregnant so you can avoid your period for the next nine months… he’s only half joking.

Will actually skip work to stay home and cuddle with you if you give him even the slightest inclination that you don’t want him to go.

Watches movies with you and has gotten surprisingly good at rubbing little circles on your tummy that help with cramps.

Keeps the house stocked with candy, but, then again… it’s always stocked with candy.

“Babe. Look what I just found at the store.” You watch with furrowed brows as he sets the bags on your floor. You’re curled on the couch, a blanket tucked up around your neck. He’d made sure to roll you like a burrito before he’d left. He pulls out… a cow? It looks like a stuffed animal, but when he shakes it you hear something sloshing around inside. You raise a brow. “Ummmm–” “It’s one of those hot water bottle thingies! For your cramps!” He tosses the poor cow on the floor and digs around in the bag again. “Oh my god, they had so many. I got the cow, the dolphin–” He tosses a dolphin out of the bag, followed by a puppy, a raccoon, and a cat. “Do you want me to put one in the microwave for you?” He looks far too excited to turn down, even though you just heated up your old hot water bottle minutes ago. You smile and nod. “Yeah, baby. Thanks.”

✰ GETO:

Mans TAKES CARE of you. Like… fully.

Is really sympathetic and gentle when your cramps are killing you– brushing your hair back, rubbing circles on your tummy, letting you put his warm hands wherever it hurts.

Runs you a warm bath and climbs right in with you. Makes you lean back against him while he gives you a massage and works out all the knots in your neck and shoulders.

Buys you period products before your period starts if he remembers. If he doesn’t he’s happy to run down to the store. Doesn’t need to ask which ones you like– he already knows.

Wraps you up in the comfiest blankets and cuddles with you wherever you ask. Gives the best cuddles, too. Rubs your back in a way that has you falling asleep in seconds.

Makes sure you take your meds on time and brings you a glass of water.

Secretly loves period sex. Will never push you for it, but gets super horny at just the thought. Loves the sight of your blood on his dick. Makes him feel possessive of you in a way that’s kind of scary.

“Sugu…” you whine. Your cramps are bad. You’ve been curled in a ball all morning, even with all the meds Suguru has been giving you. “It hurts so bad.” You feel him shifting behind you and then his hands gently prying you to lie on your back. You whimper, the pain spiking again as soon you roll out of the fetal position. His face appears above you, a couple stray strands of black hair tickling your cheeks. His smile is soft, but full of sympathy as he settles over you. “I’m sorry, baby. I wish I could make it go away…” He moves down your body, settling between your thighs and resting his cheek on the plush of your thigh. You sigh when you feel his fingers skate over your tummy, rubbing little circles into the skin that somehow work wonders for the pain. You sigh with relief, a bit of the tension ebbing away. “That feels nice…” Your body relaxes a bit, finally getting a break from the incessant pain. Suguru only smiles, looking up at you through hooded eyes when he presses a kiss just below your belly button. You don’t fail to notice the way his thumb is sliding under the fabric of your panties. “I can think of something that would feel even nicer…”

✰ NANAMI:

Prepares for your period.

Has your cycle marked down on his calendar so he always knows when you’re starting.

Stops by the store a couple of days ahead of time to buy pads/tampons/meds and your favorite snacks.

Runs a bath for you every night and fills it with all of your favorite soaps and scents.

Cooks. Mans knows how to cook and does extra of it when you’re on your period. Will make you nutritious meals and urge you to drink water, but always brings you something sweet if you’re craving it.

Heats up your hot water bottle every thirty minutes without you ever having to ask.

Lays out a fresh change of clothes for you whenever you’re in the shower.

Cuddles you whenever you want, but only after he’s tended to all of your other needs (meds, food, water, etc.).

Will have sex if you want, but will never push you for it. If you just want the relief from your cramps, he’ll just use his fingers to get you off and then pull you back into his arms.

“Time for your bath, sweetheart.” You nearly grumble in protest, but how can you do such a thing when he takes such good care of you? Still, you don’t want to move. Just existing hurts, much less walking to the bathroom. Despite your resistance to saying it aloud, Nanami still seems to understand what you’re thinking. No more than a second later he’s scooping you into his arms and carrying you to the bathroom. “You know you’ll feel better after, love.” You nod weakly against his chest. “Will you get in with me?” He pauses. He’s got dinner to make and he wanted to change the sheets for you… One nuzzle of your face into his neck has him throwing all those plans out the window. “Of course, princess. I’ll get in with you.”

✰ CHOSO:

Is new to this stuff so he lowkey freaks out.

Worries that you’re actually in danger cause… there’s blood???

Chills out eventually, but is still irrationally convinced that you’re injured.

When i tell you this man is at your BECK AND CALL, I mean it. He will do every little thing you ask. Fetches water, food, snacks– whatever you need.

Mans is panicked when he can’t find the candy bar you want at the grocery store.

Happily buys period products for you but has to facetime you cause the poor baby is overwhelmed and confused by all the options.

Is kind of attached to you like glue. Thinks you’re somehow more breakable in this state will hold you in his arms permanently apart from when you need to bathe, eat, or use the bathroom.

Actually freaks when you have a bout of cramps that makes you hiss in pain. Cannot believe you have to do this every month and hates feeling so useless in taking the pain away. Eagerly learns that he can put his warm hands on your tummy and it helps.

Is actually amazed when you tell him that sex helps with the cramps. Worries about hurting you, but is completely down. Mans is definitely not afraid of a little blood lmao.

“Baby… there are so many…” You can’t help but stifle a laugh looking at your boyfriend’s stressed expression through your phone screen. He’d run down to the store to get you some more pads– you just hadn’t anticipated how overwhelming the experience would be for him. “I know, Cho. I’m sorry. Here– back up so I can see the whole aisle.” He does as you ask, flipping the camera around so you can see what he’s looking at. You have to bite your lip this time to keep the laugh in. You’ve never realized just how many options there really are. “The ones toward the bottom right, baby. With the pink box.” The camera shakes a little as he follows your directions, arm sticking out like he’s playing pin the tail on the donkey. “These?” His hand hovers over a box that is pink but not the pink you need. “Down a couple racks.” Finally, his hands close around the right box. “Thank you, baby. I didn’t think about how confusing this would be for you…” The camera flips again and you grin at the soft soft smile on his lips. “Don’t apologize. Want me to grab some candy, too?”

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @enchantedsylveon, @httpstoyosi, @bbyxxm, @6kabuki, @myriliy, @complexivelovely

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writingsofwesteros · 5 months ago

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Could you do a au where Helaena is just being fucked dumb by her knight? Like all the orgasms she never had with aegon she has with her knight?

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

NSFW

Helaena was always a sensitive soul; and that did not stop even now, the knight thought to himself. It was a surprise they had not been caught with the whimpers and mewls of pleasure escaping her pretty mouth so loudly. His larger hands that felt rough against the Princess’ soft skin had his lover whimpering. A shiver running down her spine with ease. “I have missed you.” He whispered into her ear; pressing soft, open mouthed kisses down her neck that had Helaena arching into his touch. She could only whimper his name; those bright eyes of hers in a haze of pleasure as he pushed deeper. Gods, she was still so tight. Aegon had done one thing right it seemed, and stayed away from his wife.

More for him, the Knight thought to himself as Helaena’s soft, creamy pussy clamped down on his fat cock. His mushroom head pushed against her soft spot again and again. “Ah–ah..” His eyes moved towards the door and oh what a sight they would have made if someone was to walk in. Their bare bodies on full display as he pressed deep from behind her; his body pressing down. Helaena always enjoyed feeling weight on her; it was something he learned early on. The idea of her not being able to escape him was something he enjoyed more than he would ever admit. “Please….” The Princess whimpered; gasping in the pillows that her head rested on whilst his movements stayed a deep thrust.

The obscene, wet sounds of their bodies slapping against each other echoed in her royal chambers. A smirk tugged on his lips as Helaena’s begging only resumed; her whines as she rocked back against him. “Sh, shh, I know…” He purred as his larger hands snaked around her stomach and slowly moved to cup her fat, milk filled breast. His thumb brushed over her pebbled, sensitive nipple which had the pretty Princess crying out. “Poor thing, left all alone.” His free hand moved to her slender neck, gently squeezing as he brought Helaena against his chest. Her lips now free to capture after she had hid her face into the pillows and the knight took full advantage.

His tongue pushed in without invitation as Helaena began to melt against his body once more. The intense pleasure tightening in her stomach as his touches drove her wild. Her sweet, leaking nipple was harshly captured between his knuckles as her milk began to drip down her body. Helaena’s eyes squeezed shut as she bounced on his fat cock. The Knight palmed at her breasts, collecting her falling milk on his slender fingers before he soon swiped them against Helaena’s bottom lip. Soon, two of his fingers were pushed inside her hot mouth as she gagged and drooled. His fat cock twitched inside her spasming pussy at the sight of her. He would have her on her knees before the night ended, he was sure of it.

“You always do enjoy something in your mouth.” He taunted her and watched as her cheeks became pink under his words. The sight alone had his dark chuckles in her ear as he matched his fingers to his thrusting. Still, he was a Knight after all and knew how to bring his lovely girl pleasure as his hand slowly moved down her stomach. Helaena gasped; her body shaking as his hand cupped her soaked pussy; his thumb eagerly circling her clit. His fingers were becoming slick as his Princess fell back into the pillows, grabbing at the sheets as he began to push her over the edge. The knight could not help but look down at the erotic display of his fat cock spreading her puffy lips as he rocked his hips with ease.

A ring of cream already formed around his thick length and each stroke had Helaena sobbing out; her wetness gushing down her thighs now as her climax ripped through her. He grunted as her weeping pussy tried to milk him but he only fucked her harder. Helaena’s toes curled as he took no notice of her orgasm. She was always so sensitive and this time was no different as Helaena began to thrash underneath him, trying to escape the pleasure tightly wrapping around her like a snake would do. Alas, her sweet knight was too strong. He only followed her before pushing Helaena into the sheets once more as he raced towards his own release.

He could not help but watch her reactions; she was sculpted by the Gods themselves, the knight was sure of it like nothing he had ever been in his life. She was the mother reborn. His hand reached for her arse; harshly palming and spreading her cheeks as he groaned out her name. “Fuck, that’s it - good girl.” Helaena shivered under his praise as her eyes began to roll. His pretty Princess that the realm thought was so innocent enjoyed it when he filled her sweet pussy and he did just that. Helaena whimpered and rocked against him; a smile coming over her face as his cum flooded her with ease. Her own hand instantly moved between her thighs as she began to collect what was leaking down his length.

Gently, he began to stroke her arms whilst staying inside her. Helaena never enjoyed her knight removing himself, especially so soon after. Soft hums escaped her as she stroked the inches of his cock not burrowed inside her and he could not help the twitching; more cum flooding her. He imagined that is why she did this. “Good girl, so beautiful.” The knight whispered sweet nothings in her ear as Helaena rested her head back down. Her tiredness always came quickly and he could not stop himself from watching her peaceful face. His free hand brushed those bright locks of hers before leaning down and pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek.She nuzzled into his face; their noses brushing together for a moment as those bright eyes of hers locked onto him. He made himself at home in her neck as he reached for the covers; placing them to their chins as Helaena softly began to doze off. Her smile never fully left her face as he cuddled impossibly close from behind. The knight would slip gently away before the sun would rise again.

#helaena targaryen x reader #hotd smut #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #request

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hanibalistic · 2 months ago

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ALIEN OUTREACH PROGRAM | KIM JONGSEOB. HAKU SHOTA.

genre | fluff / found family au, slice of life au

synopsis | when a planet exploded, the government sent two of its surviving residents to live with you .

word count | 11.5k+

warning | mention of violence / unwanted sexual advances (brief; side character)

note | wrote most of this early 2024 and stopped. decided to rush finish it.

The government sent you two aliens from the alien outreach program you were referred to join by a close friend.

The program was recently created when a nameless planet that was initially suspected to be on its way to collide with the Earth ended up exploding instead. The news of the explosion was broadcast worldwide, but the fact that the surviving residents of the planet landed on Earth as a result of the explosion was kept secret to avoid social panic, hence why the outreach program operated on a 'referral only’ basis.

Each applicant underwent a relatively easy screening process and three rounds of interviews before they were notified through an encrypted text message that they’d been cleared to foster.

You underwent the same process, and in retrospect, you figured the interviews were held for the faculty to access all aspects of your life, beginning from your social circle to the depths of your mental state.

At the end of your onboarding process, you were told that you would be fostering a pair of aliens—a pair of brothers, they suspected. Either way, you were told they were bonded.

You hadn’t minded the responsibility. If anything, you figured the monthly financial compensation could significantly help your appalling rent situation. The cog in the wheel was that they were initially tested to be high-risk-level aliens.

The only reason you could think was behind that outrageous decision was not their trust in your ability to monitor them but rather their disinterest in your livelihood as a struggling new graduate.

You could always leave it to the government to treat poor people like guinea pigs. But, the more you looked at it, Soul and Jongseob didn't seem as dangerous as their profiles stated.

Soul and Jongseob—they didn't come with those names, which hadn’t been a problem during the first few weeks of their stay when the three of you spent most of your time getting acquainted with each other.

You weren’t sure how shaken up they were about their home being destroyed, so besides being cautious of their undisclosed alien abilities, you walked on eggshells around them in consideration for their emotional state.

The two were docile, for the most part, and quiet. When they weren’t whispering among themselves, they were communicating telepathically. Figuratively or literally, you were uncertain. You only knew they were difficult to read without human features. You never knew what they wanted or how they felt about anything outside of observable behaviors, such as their obsession with the television, their likeness for sweets, and their unwillingness to shower.

The program coordinator hasn't given them the green light to go out and explore Earth on their own yet, so before you could figure out how to ideally talk them up in the mandatory monthly progress reports, they've got no choice but to stay home and discover entertainment through unconventional means.

It was the furniture at first. Charred spots on the couch left behind by the apartment’s last tenant, the hinges of the balcony curtain rod torn off, and the worst of it all: shattered pieces of a set of utensils that your deceased mom gave you as a congratulatory gift for moving out, thus taking a big step into adulthood.

That was the first time they’d seen you sob, your body curled up on the floor and your palm stained with blood slit out by the broken glass. They had been unfamiliar with human emotions at that point in their stay. Still, taking a frame out of television shows, they could understand, at the very least, that what you showed was sorrow and heartbreak.

They didn't understand the concept of a mother. After all, they were born through natural phenomena, such as the trickling of water or the imploding of ancient rocks. Your response to their playful mistake was illogical. However, still, it made them fidget and waver wildly to watch tears roll callously into your mouth.

People call it empathy, they thought. Empathy, or love—the inability to see another in pain, the desire to never hurt another. Most humans have it for everyone, but more strongly for those they prioritize.

A few days later, a plate clumsily glued together by gray-colored blobs that looked suspiciously like alien skin greeted you on your nightstand. You never said anything about it, but you put it in your mother’s shrine in the apartment.

Little did you know that sometimes, in an attempt to model your actions, Jongseob and Soul would put pieces of candy next to the plate for her.

After the furniture, they tuned down their drive for curiosity. They played with less significant things, such as your freshly cleaned laundry.

At last, it came down to electronics—the television, the radio, and sometimes your laptop and gaming console. Jongseob geared more toward the console and television, and Soul liked anything that made funny noises.

As they got comfortable around the apartment and started clashing with your lifestyle, it gradually became more annoying to address them with words like 'hey!' and ‘you!' when you needed to scold them about something they've done, so you decided individual names were necessary.

Mercifully abandoning a random name generator online, you told the two aliens to choose how they wanted to be addressed.

Soul had been very excited about picking a name for himself. His outrageous choices reflected his enthusiasm, ranging from food ingredients to fictional character names to literal home appliances.

You've had to—patiently and gently—explain to him for a month the reason why you wouldn't call him Megamind or the literal stove was because they weren't real names (and you didn't want to).

Eventually, you two made a compromise. The initial choice was to have everyone call him by the famous RPG he never played—Dark Souls. He settled on being called Soul.

Jongseob was more direct but still indecisive. He mixed a few celebrity names he heard on TV into different pairs. He handed you a written list—surprisingly!—of names for you to choose.

You didn’t want the responsibility of selecting something as important as a name, so you told him you could put out a pointer finger, and whichever name you ended up pointing at after he moved the paper around would be his name.

After hearing how mundane Jongseob's name sounded, Soul came to you one night and asked that you help him think of a name of a similar caliber. He had requested that you keep this between you both, as he didn't go to Jongseob about it out of embarrassment that his other half would accuse him of being a copycat.

You attempted to deter Soul from such outrageous thoughts. Jongseob was the last person to make unnecessary accusations, after all. But Soul was determined to keep this a secret between you two, so you agreed.

It was proven difficult for him to make up something normal, as he tossed and turned for several nights only to end up knocking on your bedroom door, asking for a second opinion.

You had stayed up with him for a few nights, often laying half-asleep on the couch while he remained silent on the opposite end with pursed lips and intense eyes.

One particular night, though, you decided to turn on the television to keep yourself awake, and the channel was airing a rerun of an old, beloved cartoon.

“Oh gosh, I haven’t watched this in so long,” you exclaimed under your breath as you leaned back, the controller rolling off your thigh. “This was my childhood afterschool show.”

“Woah,” he scooted closer to you, “that’s cool.”

"It is," you muttered, wholly focused on the screen. When a particular ice-powered character appeared, you let out a soft swoon. "Ah, look at him! He's still as cool as ever."

“Who's that?” he whispered.

“His name is Shota. He was my favorite character in the show,” you said, heaving a sigh as rather embarrassing memories flooded before your eyes. “I loved him so much.”

Soul turned to you. The lights flickered in your eyes, not telling him much of what was happening in the episode but enough to let him know that you were paying a lot of attention whenever the character was present.

He noticed now that you've leaned your head on his shoulder, and your eyelids were lowering by the second. The previous attention you spent on the TV screen was replaced quickly by sleepiness under the comfort of Soul's presence.

“You did?”

"Yeah?" you hummed, his sudden question confusing your own emotions for a second. "I mean, yeah. He is really cool and–okay, technically, everyone in animation is good-looking, but he was my type."

"Oh." His voice trailed off into deep thought, but it didn't take him too long to perk up again and say, "I want to be called Shota."

You raised your brows and sat up, leaning back to watch him with amusement. “You like the name, huh?”

“No.” He shook his head. “You like Shota.”

There it was, then. Soul gained a new name that night—Shota.

Being able to call them by name gave them a sense of identity, and you had a drastic development in your connection with them. You thought you’d always received them without judgment, and you did.

Still, once it registered in your normalcy that they’ve got a name, it was as if their existence became more tangible. However, as important as that, the first milestone of your relationship was when they finally took a human form.

Before realizing they could shapeshift, they’ve been stuck in their alien form, which you thought was similar to how movies and video games have always portrayed outer-space species.

You wouldn’t have minded if they stayed in that form until it was time for them to be recalled to the facility they came from, but it seemed they were the ones who got curious about the human body.

You’ve noticed for a while how they would shift parts of their figure according to what they see, sometimes after people on the TV and other times after you.

What you thought would be a slow process turned out to be done and over between you leaving the apartment in the early morning and returning from work in the late afternoon.

Surprisingly, seeing two poorly shaped human boys loitering around in your apartment instead of the usual irregularly shaped creatures was less bewildering than seeing your old sketchbooks scattered everywhere on the floor.

Those were your fallen dreams, a career not pursued in exchange for securing a stable future, which wasn’t all that stable now that you're going through it.

You knew they were bored at home. Still, it was a surprise to see that they'd found the boxes of old things dusted away at the back of your closet—what were they doing rummaging through your clothes, anyway? You’ve got to have a strict talk about boundaries after this.

At least their attention was away from the fabrics in your closet as they pulled out your sketchbooks and decided to change themselves according to the most appealing visual. However, since your old character sketches were amateur and poorly drawn, their shifted bodies looked sloppy and humorously eerie.

Soul wasn't entirely sure what was wrong about it, especially since you couldn’t stop laughing when you saw them, and Jongseob taught him that laughing meant joy.

When you picked up one of the books to flip through them, your smile dimmed, and your eyes focused in a way he had never seen before. Jongseob later told him it may be bitterness, but not the angered kind because your eyes were soft.

Soul didn’t quite understand the distinction; your eyes were almost always soft.

That night was the first time in a long time you picked up a pen and drew something again so you could help them polish their appearances. Through that experience, you learned two things: your drawing skills have massively deteriorated, and aliens were indistinguishable from humans once they took a hyperspecific form, to a point where they bleed the same color.

Both settled on having blond hair, one frizzier than the other. Looking from far away would force you to mistake them as twins, but this was leagues better than communicating with two gooey creatures without solid features or forms.

You stared at the pencil sketches on the pages and back up at them, finding it uncanny how accurate their shapeshifting abilities were. Then you turned to them with furrowed brows.

“Both your hair is a little long,” you muttered.

Tapping the pencil at your chin, you thought about making modifications to what you’ve drawn for them, but when you told yourself to flip the pencil around for the eraser, your hand was unwilling to move.

You have sat on the floor for hours, drawing and erasing, making changes and corrections that suit their liking and help them look natural. You weren’t sure if they got tired from using their powers, but you certainly became exhausted from gripping a pen for so long. You’ve been too used to typing on a keyboard.

“Wait here,” you said, putting the papers and pen on the side.

You returned with a few trinkets in your hand, which you dropped on the floor after you knelt down across from them.

Scooting in front of Jongseob first, you hummed with disregard to his skeptical gaze as you played with the hair clips in your hand by smushing them together.

When you reached a hand out to push his bangs back, he caught a glimpse of the darkened slit still healing on your palm. He ignored it. You pushed at the tips of his locks ghostly with your nails before pressing a palm to his forehead and swiping his bangs up, exposing his forehead.

The boy closed his eyes at the sudden impact, and when the chilly afternoon air hit his skin, he widened his eyes and pursed his lips into a grimace.

Before they took a solid shape, your touch would go through their gooey form and feel indistinguishable from any objects that would poke through them.

This was the first time he’d felt the touch of your hand, and he thought it was as gentle as Soul must have thought your eyes were. Unlike Soul, though, he would never admit that he inwardly shivered in contentment when your palm subconsciously dragged over his head into a stroke.

“This should keep the hair out of your eyes,” you said after clipping his bangs to each side of his face. You leaned back to take a better look at him and nodded in approval despite him looking as if he just snapped out of a trance. “You look great.”

“You drew me well,” he said. “Thank you.”

"You're so formal, Jongseob," you mused, placing your hand against his cheek before pinching it playfully. "But being polite is good. You are most welcome."

Your injured palm touched his skin, the calloused surface dragging a regrettable line over his conscience. He hoped it would heal faster; it was a marker of his mistake, a symbol of your pain.

But, still, you used the same hand to tread over him with kind steps, so most importantly, it was all a sign of your forgiveness. He turned his head away from your pinch, but he didn't let himself swat you away for embarrassing him.

You laughed at his reaction. The sound took root inside him and made a permanent space.

“Now, Soul!” you exclaimed once you pulled away.

The boy remained still when you stood up and got behind him. After bouncing the hair tie against your wrist, you sat on the couch, and then you laid your hands over his head and carefully brushed his hair with your fingers.

You gathered just enough to fill your curled fist, your nails gingerly dragged over the side of his head to separate parts of his bangs, and then you tied it into a short ponytail.

Once you were done, you attempted to stand up to move across him for a review of your handiwork, but Soul suddenly leaned back against your legs, the back of his head hitting your knees when he faced up to look at you.

His hair brushed against your skin like a choppy broom, and then you forgot about the sensation as you met his eyes with a raised brow.

The corner of his lips quivered, and his eyes were round and wide with expectancy. When he realized you let him lay on your knees, his lips pursed into a grin, his knees pulling themselves closer to his chest as his shoulders shrunk with a barely audible laugh.

“What did you do to my hair?” he asked curiously.

“I tied it into a ponytail,” you replied as you angled your torso to look at his face straight, “so they’re not in your face all the time.”

He closed his eyes when you fixed his bangs with your fingertips. Once they were perfectly angled to each side of his temple, you ran your palm flatly down the side of his face, soothing his new hairstyle with a taste of approval.

Soul pressed his lips into a grin; his eyes opened but were barely visible, hidden behind crescent shapes. You bit back a smile; you just now noticed how his features turned out so dainty like a flower learning how to bloom in Spring.

"Hey, look at you," you said in an airy whisper. "How pretty you are.”

He laughed, his voice a weirdly pitched wave released into the air, almost like he was yodeling. Jongseob huffed in disbelief at the unexpected sound; questions, and brotherly mockery trailing out of his mouth, one worse than the last. You turned to bicker with him about saying nicer things, and Soul couldn't sense anything other than your warm hands left sitting by his jaw.

He watched you from your knees. Your chin moved with every word you said, your nails gently scratched his skin between sentences, your legs frozen on the spot to avoid discomforting him.

It was human nature. Everything.

The way your skin flopped, the way you subconsciously reached to touch, the way you put him first. Those traits were possessed by most human beings, but Soul reckoned he admired them more when they were yours.

What was that called? Jongseob taught him so many things; he was always smarter. But Soul couldn't properly receive too much information at once, not at the pace Jongseob could retain them. Was this joy? No. His fingers were itching for you, which was not a criterion for joy.

You looked down at him when you felt his hands grab your shoulders. "What's up, Soul?"

He made unclear noises as he flipped his body over, his chest pressing against your knees. He got on his feet into a crouch and leaned up, his arms circling around your neck into a hug.

You fell back against the couch and froze to register what he did. Before you could figure out he tackled you in a hug, your arms had already gone around his shoulders to press him against you.

“Hey,” you whispered. “What’s going on?”

Soul bit the inside of his cheek when he realized you allowed it. He could feel you so much more properly now, and he responded to the revelation by holding you tighter and burying his chin in his overlapped forearms.

His eyes squeezed to relish in—what was this feeling, again? Joy? He wasn't exactly smiling, though. The way his brows were pulled into a swirly furrow, and his lips were downturned would show that he was sad. But he wasn't. He was happy and tackled you because he wanted to hug you.

"I really like you."

You blinked, your lips gradually pulling into a downward smile. "Where did you learn that from?"

"Hmm." His voice was muffled. He didn't want you to know he learned it from you.

The two got the authorization to leave the apartment after you wrote in the monthly report that they've changed shapes and, more frequently than before, began to express their feelings.

However, they rarely took advantage of the newfound freedom, and you understood why.

They have yet to learn how to get around the area using public transportation. If the metro lines were less complicated than what was currently set in place, they may have an easier time navigating it.

Alas, the metro system remained both a local and a tourist's nightmare. However, even if they knew how to take the bus or the train, they've yet to learn where to go because they've never been outside.

And, last but not least, they didn't have the money to make going out enjoyable.

You have taken them out to different places after determining all the necessary expenses, such as the increased bills and grocery items. You would use whatever was left over from the program funds to take them to weekend hangouts.

There was the outlet where you bought them new clothes and their designated utensil set because they apparently needed their own.

There was the arcade, where you had sworn they used alien means to get all the prizes they did, but you also wouldn't put it past Jongseob to be weirdly good at gauging the space of a claw machine.

Oh, and a science museum, which you didn't think Jongseob was too interested in, but he hadn't complained because Soul was having the time of his life at the exhibitions.

You let them try alcohol by the river at night once. Turned out their bodies automatically eliminated all the intoxicating substances, so they were only tasting the bitterness without getting drunk.

That could be a blessing or a curse; without intoxication, you weren't sure what alcohol is good for.

You ended up dousing yourself with all leftover bottles of beer and entirely blanked out that night. You couldn't remember what happened, so the two made sure they told you the following day about how you were sobbing and throwing up. You cried for your mother, and you told them they were the closest people you've got.

You had woken up with the two on your bed. Jongseob slept with a box of tissue near his hand, always prepared to jolt awake to catch your puke and wipe your mouth of snot. Soul was curled up next to you with puffy and swollen eyes.

Apparently, he wept alongside you because he thought you were in too much pain to even move from the floor, and he didn't know how to help. He had cried so much that he tired himself to sleep, but he kept close to you to make sure your heart was constantly beating.

You haven't drunk much since, knowing how much they hated your drunken state. If you were getting drunk, it was out of obligation, like when you were invited to a business meeting.

You remembered that night well. It was the night you discovered why Jongseob and Soul were considered high-risk.

It wasn't uncommon for interns or someone of a lower rank in the company to be taken advantage of during business meetings.

When a topic could be adequately discussed and solved by presenting a supervisor with ample knowledge, yet the department chose to bring an extra, much younger employer as a companion, it was almost always a perverted decision.

You were no stranger to the problem. You have seen your colleagues be invited to join business meetings like those before, but this was the first time you were called to be in one.

The social hierarchy and the risk of unemployment made it impossible for you to turn down shots pushed your way by the department head from the negotiating company, who your supervisor was trying to rope into a grand business deal.

After a few drinks, you have entirely given up on expecting decency from anyone at the table. At least your supervisor was having a great time. Your words slurring through your unstable body jolts made the negotiation easier, and you unknowingly helped your company seal a deal when you clumsily agreed to have the department head drive you home.

He remarked about your tense knuckles on the drive home, acknowledging your skepticism but not challenging it. You watched the road like a hawk, or as much as you could, with your vision slightly blurred anyway because you wanted to ensure he wouldn't drive you elsewhere. He didn't.

After what felt like years, you arrived at the apartment building and inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for driving me home," you said with a curt bow after you gathered your things from the floor.

"You're welcome," he mused, watching you clumsily loop your forearm over the straps of your bag. He leaned over the passenger seat then, whiffs of alcohol unmistakable in the air. "Hey, I should walk you upstairs. I wanna make sure you get back safely."

"That's not necessary," you said after a low, thoughtful hum. You didn't look at him when you spoke, partly because you were having difficulty focusing on anything other than the acidic taste at the back of your mouth.

"I… I have someone at home. He's going to–um… he's going meet me by the elevator. He'll walk me up."

"Oh? I didn't know you had a boyfriend."

"I don't–" you squeezed your eyes tightly and shook yourself awake–"I mean, yes. I do have a boyfriend. He's coming down to get me.”

The man stared at you silently for an uncomfortable, calculative second. Your head was heavy from his stare, mixed in with the alcohol trying to take over.

You unconsciously licked the corner of your lips when you tried to find something to fill the unease, only to realize that the only way to feel better was to leave his car. You reached for the door handle behind you blindly. Unfortunately, the search for it has given him the time to press the master lock button on his side of the door.

“I should get going," you said after heaving a defeated sigh.

"You don't actually have a boyfriend, do you?" he muttered.

You didn't know how to answer. You didn't, but it was true that there were people at home waiting for your return, both harboring the potential to be mistaken as your boyfriend if seen by an unassuming person.

You were forbidden from coming clean about Soul and Jongseob's identity, but what other reason could there be for you to have two boys sitting in your apartment? You three were orphans, and they're your brothers! Or were you just letting two friends crash at yours? You weren't thinking fast enough to pull a story out of thin air.

"Look, I don't know what made you so scared. I'm not going to ask to go inside your apartment. Trust me. I'm just going to walk you upstairs and make sure you get inside."

"No." You shook your head. Even in mild drunkenness, you could sense that the man had no good intentions. "I can do that myself. Thank you."

You pressed the lock button and pulled the door handle. You hastily flung the car door open, finding it difficult to push it all the way.

Turning around, fully prepared to dash out the second your feet touched the floor, an impending doom dropped on your head when you heard a haphazard opening of a car door behind you.

You clutched your bag to your chest and slid off the passenger seat, borderline hopping out of the car. Your ankle bent, but you recovered reasonably quickly. The next step in your emergency plan was to run for it; you've got your keycard attached to your worker's badge. All you needed to do was open the door and slam it shut behind you.

Spinning away from the car door blocking your path, as you hastily pushed it all the way open, you were immediately met with a playful scream and a pair of hands gripping your shoulders. You inhaled sharply and accidentally swallowed the knot of air.

"You didn't have to make things so difficult,” he said as he shoved you back onto the passenger seat. "Why did you have to go and force me to act so violently? All you had to do was let me walk you home.”

Gurgle of saliva rushed up your throat to drown out your cries for help. The back of your mouth soured with an acidic taste that smelt of the beer you were forced to drink; if only they could burn human skin, you would have spat them out.

The knot of air you just swallowed squeezed through your chest with difficulty, almost as if it wanted to make a home for itself in the middle of your body. It made you choked up. Breathing with your chest became a stagnant process.

There was no security at your building, and you figured the other residents would ignore any noise, given this was no high-class estate and the walls were thin.

Screaming would only make the man angrier and possibly more excited. Instead of your voice, you should use your legs instead. There may not be any final blows, but at least there's a chance to delay what felt like the inevitable.

You kicked your feet blindly, feeling them land on solid ground several times, but not enough to release yourself from his grasp. Eventually, he groaned out loud and dug his nails into your arm, bringing your torso up quickly just to slam you down.

Your back hit the center console, the bottom of your neck scratched past the gear stick, and your head hit a solid surface.

Zaps of painful numbness ran through your body; a consistent ringing traveled to your ears, but you couldn't express it. Tears dripped from your eyes when you started to desperately claw at the hand undoing your belt, but you still couldn't say anything.

You only stared at the lights above you. They were blinding, like the eyes of a God. He was observing your struggle to be free of being violated.

The sound of a zipper reverberated in your head. You've never noticed how loud they were and wondered if you would always hear it after tonight.

Fingers hooked themselves at the waist of your pants, and the next second they were gone. A pained groan traveled through the air with a gentle swoosh of wind. You needed to find out which one came first.

Jongseob hasn't used his powers for a while and has been diligent about controlling them in emergencies where they were prone to slip through his grasp. It had been challenging to learn to live in a world where his powers were destructive only because of how delicate everything else was, but he have managed well so far.

Still, his body was not used to its sudden usage, evidently shown in the way his fingers twitched uncontrollably after he pulled the man off you. A sneer found its way to his lips; how sickening to think that his undoing could be at the hands of a predator.

Rushing over to the car door, he leaned over your body to carefully pull you up. You instinctively flinched at his touch and then calmed down the next second when you realized he was not aggressive.

He reached a hand behind your head, fingers moving about to look for any apparent injuries. When he concluded that there was none, he turned his attention to you.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Jongseob."

You forced your stomach to stop shivering in more oxygen and turned your eyes to stare at his familiar face. Jongseob, with his blond hair curly as ever, stared back at you with soft concern.

You calmed down; it was an instinct learned from caring for them (or your apartment) when they first arrived to live with you.

Reaching up to grasp his wrist, you stopped his hand and hoarsely asked, "Why are you down here?"

"I heard your tears fall," he said, his fingers leaning out to wipe the tears from your cheek despite your soft protest.

"From all the way up?"

"The air shifts when that happens. I'm sensitive to you–" he looked away sheepishly and quickly shrugged–"these things. I'm sensitive to these things in general."

Jongseob was vigilant. His home planet blew up, and he has a brother much clumsier than himself. His vigilance and maturity were set in place for both of them, especially as they were thrown into an unfamiliar place.

You understood. You’ve never spoken about it in great detail, only ever making small spaces to praise him for his emotional intelligence.

There had been an irk in his intuition before he rushed downstairs. The television sounded of static, the uncomfortable stick of your couch, his inability to progress in the game he was playing—everything gradually added to the unknown irritation he felt beneath his skin until, finally, a shatter of glass.

It was a hallucination, but when he turned toward the kitchen, he realized the air was painted the same color as the first time you broke down in front of him.

Something was wrong. He knew he would figure it out because he was sensitive to you. The sound of your emotions has long taken root and bloomed in Jongseob's consciousness, a garden of his own making, and now he could pinpoint you from a mere drop in the air.

You couldn't find flaws in his response. There never was any; the caliber of aliens remained unknown to you the past months. But he's here, and you felt safer than ever, so you let your guard down and breathed out a whimper when speaking his name.

It rolled off your tongue like a snowboarder outrunning an avalanche—suffocating, afraid, and desperate. Incoherent explanations followed after, an attempt to clear your name, to prove to someone that you didn’t cause this.

Jongseob's heart squirmed in discomfort at the sight.

He looked at his hand, fingers that learned dexterity, connected to his hands and arms that could do many things. He could press buttons on a gaming console, use chopsticks for food, and hold multiple recycle bags for groceries.

He remembered the day they changed into human beings, how the first thing Soul did after growing himself a pair of arms and a body that could feel was to hug you both.

You offered to hug him that night after Soul pulled away. He had refused it, and you joked about how he was too cool for a little hug. Perhaps he thought so subconsciously, but he always knew he wasn't big on physical affection. Its notion gave him goosebumps. The unapologetic, unconcealed display of affection freaked him out.

He liked to be subtle and unnoticed, like tending to the garden in his mind where the most delicate and beautiful things bloomed in your stead, like keeping you constant in his mind, like remembering that there's love there.

"Come here," he whispered, extending his arms to your back and bringing you to him. "It's okay. I believe you.”

You thought he smelled like jasmine or whatever petal scent there was. Jongseob shivered ticklishly when you buried your nose in his shoulder to sniff it. He didn't put together that no matter how much he hid it, the garden seeps out because the truth cannot be concealed nor omitted.

He wished he could hug you for the first time under better circumstances, but you and he knew he wouldn't have agreed to it if it wasn't an emergency. It was brief but much needed.

When you voluntarily removed yourself, he glanced down at your pants to find that your belt was undone, your button was gone from its spot, and your underwear peeked from the zipper forced open. His jaw locked, and his eyes hallowed out.

It checked out with your rambles. Everything you said makes sense.

A sudden feeling penetrated his insides after the conclusion was made. He found it hard to breathe at the terrifying presence of a particular, bloodthirsty desperation. He suppressed an exhausted exhale and ignored the thirst for harm.

“Let’s go home,” he muttered as he slowly helped you to your feet. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

You listened to him, pushing yourself off the passenger's seat while he reached to the floor for your thrown bag. He wore it on one shoulder, fixing the strap before reaching for your hand.

After slamming the car door shut, he brought you with him over the front of the car. His footsteps were quiet, borderline silent, leaving only your shoes' clumsy scratches on the floor. You only felt faint traces of heat from the car's headlights as he covered most of it by standing on your side.

You arched your neck up to look at his downturned lips, his hair covering his eyes even though you've repeatedly told him to keep them out. You would scold him again when you had time, knowing he'd wear the same indifference on his face.

It felt like nagging a child sometimes; you've heard adult men generally tend to behave the same way.

“I was using the hair clips you got me. I took them off to come down here,” Jongseob said, not sparing you a glance. “You could have gotten me normal ones.”

“The Powerpuff Girls are cute,” you said. “You’re exactly like Blossom.”

“Please don’t speak nonsense.”

He squeezed your hand, making you chuckle. When you bumped your head to your side, you hit his shoulder. He didn't used to be so tall, and he didn't used to be so big. You suddenly felt small beside him, in a way that rained disaster, in an unexpectedly romantic way, and you were thinking about him as if he were human again.

"Shit, no way. You do have a boyfriend, then?”

Jongseob turned around, stepping forward to keep you behind him on the way. You peeked over his arm, a distasteful sneer twitching on your face.

You both faced the man just now getting on his feet. Jongseob inwardly hummed, acknowledging that his throw had likely done a number on the man's body. He hadn't meant to react so harshly, but he also didn't care that it ended up hurting someone a great deal.

“He looks a bit young, intern.”

“I’m twenty.”

"Good grief, he can't even drink yet!" The man laughed like he was choking on the air. "Does he know what he's doing?"

Jongseob rolled his eyes.

He knew this type of person: the kind who’s all bark and no bite. At least in front of nonchalance, they have no bite in them. Their only perk was that they knew how to pick their battles.

The man clearly noticed early on that he was not superior in physical strength. Therefore, choosing a fistfight would be a solution out of his league. That left him with one thing: trash talk. A lot of it, from your taste in men to his made-up flaws.

It was fine, though. Jongseob was a sensible person, and violence is never sensible.

"Hey, you could have tried me out if he hadn't come here. I would have changed your stubborn mind."

Violence is almost never sensible.

“Wait here," he muttered monotonously as he turned to you. He brought your hands up to your cheek and pressed his palm over them so you looked at him. “It'll look scary, but I promise nothing will happen to you."

“What?” you breathed out, your eyes trailing after his back. “Jongseob?”

It took a moment, but it was all you could see once you noticed it.

The green from the leaves, the brown from the tree trunks, the orange and white of apartment and street lights, the silver of the man’s car, the gray of concrete walls, the burgundy of the brick floor, the pink and yellow of flowers, the black of tires, the blue of the sky, the light of the stars and moon, the white of the man’s shirt, the milk of his skin—the colors were being drained from everything, making it look like a frame out of a film noir.

Your hands trembled as your eyes pinned themselves at the approaching sky. It couldn’t be the alcohol forcing an illusion before your eyes as you felt yourself remarkably awake and clear-minded from the adrenaline. The sky was approaching! It felt closer. You couldn’t be mistaken. After all, it wasn’t everything you got to see a colorless world, and you’ve barely recovered from panic.

Lowering your head, you turned to the trees surrounding the apartment buildings and furrowed your brows. The leaves were falling one by one gradually, and scrapes of tree trunks were being peeled off its body. The tires of cars were deflating, the flowers were lowering, and the sound of once-stable structures cracking became more audible. Everything was falling apart; everything was dying.

Everything but you, your bag, and your clothes. Nothing happened to you, just as Jongseob promised you.

“Jongseob–“

You were abruptly cut off by the sound of a horrible coughing fit that bordered on a choke. Eyes widened, and your feet quickly brought you to stand behind the alien. He stared silently at the man who left nail marks on your shoulders, who was currently doubled over on the floor, heaving for oxygen.

The colors were drained from him entirely, and his skin began to melt from his head. Clumps and clumps of fat liquid dripped down his eyes in a honey-like texture and then down his mouth, filling it up to stop him from gasping for air.

A buzzing noise sounded from his completely enclosed body, like a train screeching to an emergency stop. No air went in or left his body. He was a box sealed shut and thrown in fire to be melted into its original form—a clump of cells. He was going to die.

Jongseob was going to kill him. As much as you felt the action was justified, a bigger picture was already painted that you must carefully analyze before prioritizing your vengeance.

It would be easier to explain the death of one man rather than the death of a plot of land. The desiccating of your surroundings cannot be explained by anything other than the doing of a supernatural. In this case, it would be Jongseob, and the program coordinator would jump through no hurdles to figure that out.

Suppose it got out that he killed someone. In that case, separation becomes inevitable, and you’ve gotten so used to having those two around that you couldn’t fathom living in a soundless apartment ever again.

The consequences of killing the man outweigh the disappointment of not.

“Hey–no. Jongseob, no. Stop it. Stop it now,” you demanded as you rushed to stand before you. You grabbed his hand and pushed it down, squeezing it with all the strength you could muster. “You will not kill anyone tonight.”

He peered down at you, no light flooding his eyes despite recognizing your face. “He was disrespectful to you.”

“He was, and that’s terrible,” you admitted. “But there are other ways to handle this. If everyone killed each other for being horrible, we’d not have the world we do today.”

He blinked, seemingly thinking through the points you presented. But then he shrugged. “I’m not everyone, am I?”

“You–“

You poked your tongue to the inside of your cheek, not surprised by his defiance but very much annoyed. Between him and Soul, he was always the one who talked back more.

For a time, you chalked it up to him being innocently curious about the human world, but after a while, you realized he was just bratty. If you kept that personality trait in every monthly report, you were sure he would have been called back for a mental evaluation or something along those lines.

But being a tattle-tale was not necessary. You knew how to snap him out of it.

“I said–“ your words flew through gritted teeth, and you shot a hand up to pinch his ear so you could pull him to your face level–“we are not killing anyone tonight!”

He stumbled at the harsh yank, redness flaring up at the spot you were squeezing. His hand let go of the tension building up through using his power, immediately returning the colors back to their original place.

Helpless whines sounded from his mouth as he bent his waist to accommodate your halfhearted corporal punishment. Still, he did not attempt to push you away.

“Okay! Okay! Calm down!” he yelled.

“Calm down?”

“No–I mean, yes! Yes, calm down, but not like that!” he exclaimed. “Stop pulling my ear!”

You squeezed your eyes in contemplation before letting go. Your short bicker gave the release of Jongseob’s power enough time to gather itself on the fallen man’s face and patch him together. He stood up and tripped on air but caught himself before his face could kiss the ground and bolted for his car.

Jongseob reflectively grabbed your arm and stepped closer to you, staring as the car engine started and the man drove away without another word.

His chest heaved up through a large inhale. He noticed the way his arm had been trembling since you forced him to stop using his power. He wasn’t afraid, only unfamiliar with something he used to hold so dear to himself.

His power has always been offensive, but not to the degree it showed on Earth. It wasn’t used to kill his peers, and it definitely was not used to pull the cosmos to him.

That discrepancy shook him as much as when he thoughtlessly maxed out his strength after not using it for so long. The muscle strain reminded him of how careless he was and caught him off guard.

He didn't like it. He was supposed to be good at controlling his given ability. He was supposed to be good at controlling his actions. He was supposed to be sensible.

“Are you okay?

He slowly turned to you. Your face came into view under the flicking street light like the moon inched closer to Earth when he pulled it down to protect you. He couldn't tell if his eyes or heart saw you more because they both jolted in your presence.

Curling his fingers around the strap of your bag, he stepped forward to close the unnecessary gap between you both. He tried to peek over his frizzy bangs to no avail, so he ducked and lightly swayed his head to move them out of the way. He tilted his head lower to your level and looked through his lashes, his brows raised.

“Are you?” he asked.

You closed your parted lips and averted your eyes. The invisible outline of the man’s car remained vivid when you glanced at the empty spot. Once you turned back to Jongseob, knowing what he could do to people and how willing he was to do it, the illusion released its tight grasp on you.

You didn’t forget—you couldn’t forget, that even in such an ordinary world, even if all you’d ever do in life was work and play, even when it came to the least threatening harm, Jongseob would never have you anywhere near it.

“You saved me,” you said. “Thank you.”

“But are you okay?”

You smiled as you reached up to rub his ear softly between your fingers. “I’m sorry for pinching your ear.”

“[Name],” he started, but when you began to frantically squeeze his earlobe, he groaned and pulled your hand away. “Okay! Okay! I won’t ask anymore!”

He brushed his hands on his shirt when you finally let him go, a permanent scoff hanging on his cutely puckered lips. Rolling his eyes when he saw your smile, he huffed a sigh before adding, "When we go back, and Soul asks you about the marks on your shoulders, tell him something happened at work. I don't want him to freak out."

Soul and his power were interlinked. They come hand in hand, particularly his own greatly conveniences Soul's. While he absorbs colors, Soul absorbs monochrome.

Once Jongseob finishes sucking up all the colors around him, he leaves behind a grayscale perfect for Soul to use. That's how they're linked with each other, like two halves of a whole.

The one difference was that Soul had a problem being in control when his power was utilized, while Jongseob knew what he was doing. When Jongseob hurts someone, it is always because he wants to, and he could be easily stopped with persuasion. Soul was different.

Given that nature is that he turns into something that isn't himself, he would also not think and act like himself. Jongseob didn't want anything more to happen tonight.

“Oh,” you nodded, “I was going to lie anyway.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, then a beat later, almost inaudibly, “for everything, actually.”

He wanted to say everything he did was for you, to let you know that he will continue to do everything for you. But, despite all his talent in thought articulation, he was too timid and shy to express sentiment, so he kept his mouth shut.

Crossing his arms, he recalled the moment he noticed you in the passenger seat, with trembling limbs and an unopened mouth. He fixed his jaw and hid his hands from the colorful world, as he felt rather afraid of the truth—the existence of his devotion to you and the responsibility it spawns.

That kind of devotion causes a strain on both parties and cannot be undone. That kind of devotion, in his willingness to drag a carcass to your feet, is a self-inflicted curse. That kind of devotion, a synonym for love, an antonym of honor, is a burden. Jongseob trapped it behind his lips and prayed to God that he relearned how to restrain it in his hands by a mere cross of his arms.

Pray to God—he licked his lower lip as the lines of your face redraw themselves in his replaying memory—look at them and pray.

You taught them to get groceries when you were away at work.

They always did well with helping out around the house; you never knew or asked whether any alien abilities were included.

Jongseob was excellent at ensuring every surface was wiped clean. Soul always knew where everything was after he put them somewhere.

Grocery shopping was included among household responsibilities. Besides the constant sneaking of junk food, they ensured they got everything you requested.

They have frequented the market so much that the elders who ran most stores could recognize their faces and orders. After giving it a few more weeks, Jongseob and Soul were, unfortunately and hilariously, roped into the pile of gossip that never ceases to circulate the shops.

Apparently, they both live with you! But which one of them is your boyfriend?

"What's a boyfriend?" Soul asked in response to the question.

The shopping bag in his hand crinkled when he squeezed the handle. His round eyes followed the fruit stand owner as she moved around to get him what he needed: apples, oranges, bananas, and whatnot.

As she brushed past Soul to get to the box of apples, she spared him a glance and rolled her eyes, mistaking his genuine ignorance as him dodging the question. She picked up a few apples, examining each one with ease before reaching an empty hand out to Soul, beckoning for his shopping bag.

"You know what a boyfriend is,” she said. “Why are you acting coy? Are you the boyfriend?”

Soul pursed his lips together into a helpless frown. He didn't know what 'coy' meant either.

The grandma dumped the apples she chose in the bag and briefly looked up as she prepared to march toward the oranges. When she noticed the clueless expression on Soul's face, she paused with squinted eyes, and then an enthusiastic gasp jumped out of her mouth.

"Oh my! The other blond boy is the boyfriend, then? But you're in love with them?" she assumed, her fingers waving and pointing accusingly at Soul. "Or is it Jongseob you're in love with? I always thought you two were brothers, but I guess I was wrong!"

"We're very close, so we're basically brothers," he clarified. "But we don't have–um. Our mom and dad don't exist."

She looked away from the box of orange, one of them still ripe in her hand. “For how long?”

“Since we’re born.”

"Oh, poor dear." She walked away from the box of oranges to give Soul a pat on the shoulder. She stopped at the front of the display and began sifting through the boxes and randomly grabbing more than he had asked for. "Dead parents and a failed romance. Living with the couple, no less!"

Soul has not a lick of an idea what she was talking about. He would repeat his question about what a boyfriend was, but the old lady's eager rambles made it impossible for him to fit his voice in the air, so he focused on listening.

Beginning with her stories about her old romance and her detailed recollection of her past loves, he realized she, surprisingly, has a lot of wisdom to offer.

Here was what Soul gathered from the nosy grandma about a boyfriend: a boyfriend is and does many things.

A boyfriend waits for you to get off school or work, wants to spend a lot of time with you, never keeps secrets from you, thinks about you all the time, hangs out with you when he has free time, takes care of you when you are sick, loves to hug and touch you, never yells at you, and puts you above himself.

Usually, he lets Jongseob do the listening and summarizing, so he was very proud of himself when he independently came to this grand conclusion: "[Name], I am your boyfriend."

"Oh my god–" Jongseob looked away from the TV at Soul, who randomly announced the statement by the kitchen door as you cut up some apples. He slapped a hand to his forehead. "Soul, I already told you we're not their boyfriend!"

After pushing all the apple slices onto a plate, you dropped the knife in the sink. Swiftly opening a drawer to pick out a small plastic tube, you slammed it shut with a swing of your hips and turned around to lean against the cabinet.

You shook the tube, the toothpicks inside making a sandy noise with each shake, and you looked out the kitchen door behind Soul's shoulder at Jongseob, who still had his head in his hands. But the peek of his snaggletooth told you he was failing to suppress a smile.

"Who told you that, Soul?” you asked.

"The grandma at the fruit stall told me about her old boyfriends," Soul answered.

“Really? All of a sudden?” you mused. “What started that conversation?”

Soul followed you out of the kitchen after you stuck three toothpicks on three random apple slices and slammed the tube on the countertop. He blindly turned the lights off and closed the door on the way, hurrying up to sit on the floor by your feet as you placed the plate of apples on the coffee table.

Jongseob scooted closer to the edge of the couch and reached over for a slice, popping it in his mouth and starting to answer before he finished chewing.

"They were asking which of us is your boyfriend at the market today," Jongseob said.

“Which one? Not even if one of you were?” you snorted.

“They’re very determined that one of us is dating you.”

“Oh, I know what dating means!” Soul perked up. “I learned it in a drama.”

You looked down in disbelief and nudged him with your feet. “You learned dating but not what boyfriend means?”

Jongseob let out a giggle. He slid off his seat and brought his knees to his chest to fit in the space between the couch and the table. You brought your legs up when he moved closer to the middle to be next to Soul.

Out of habitual playfulness, you reached down to do a series of aggressive actions, from ruffling his hair to squeezing his cheeks. Jongseob protested, leaning away from your attacking hands as his arms flew up to swat you away like a fly.

“You never do this to Soul!” he exclaimed.

“Well, yeah,” you responded mindlessly as you let him go. “He’s nice. He just lets me.”

Soul grinned from ear to ear when you touched his face. Your touch was soft, like it always was, shifting from his jaw to his cheeks to his hair. He never got enough of the sensation of human touch, no matter how trivial.

Looping an arm around an old man at a crosswalk, picking up a kindergartener after they tripped from running around, Jongseob’s hands going through his hair to tie a ponytail for him, your fingers dabbing gently on his face with skincare products—it’s warm, fleetingly so, and human, which lasts.

Jongseob feigned a puking noise after watching you mess around with Soul’s facial features for a few seconds. He got up from the floor and headed to the kitchen to find a drink.

You ignored his distaste, drowning Soul with your immediate attention. He grinned at you, his side bang falling to the back of his ears. What a sight of sore eyes, with his eyes so round and wide, his smile so genuine and willing. He looked at you like you were the only person he wanted to see and spoke like it was his first time using his voice. You cooed to yourself, to the void: look how pretty he is!

“Hello,” you whispered with your palms on his face, gently pushing his cheeks together to bring him to you, “Shota.”

“Hello,” he returned in a volume that mirrored yours, “I bought the fruit myself today.”

“Yeah, I know,” you beamed.

“[Name],” he reached up for your face to urge you close so nobody else would hear, “am I really not your boyfriend?”

You laughed from your throat, but the noise huffed out through your nose rather than your pursed lips. Shota squinted his eyes at the warm air and frowned. You kept laughing at the topic, both you and Jongseob, but he was hung up about it.

The old lady at the fruit store mentioned a list of criteria for being a boyfriend, and he believed he checked off everything on the list!

He spends his entire day waiting for you to come home from work, and after you do, he’d spend the rest of the day with you. Jongseob does the same, but Shota has never kept any secrets from you, mainly because he’s got none, but that still counts toward a check off the box!

He cared for you when you got drunk, even though Jongseob did most of the cleaning and handled your personal hygiene. However, Shota lets you hug him, so he has the upper hand that round!

“It’s complicated,” you said. “You’ve watched dramas, right? Have you noticed that although two characters love each other, they’re not considered together?”

“No,” he shook his head, “they’re together to me.”

“Well–“ you rolled your eyes up–“yeah, okay. I suppose that’s fair.”

Looking back down at him, you rubbed his cheeks with your thumb and shook your head in disagreement. “It’s still more complicated than you think.”

Shota’s bottom lip couldn’t help but jut out when he gradually pulled the corner of his lips into an upsetting frown.

The idea plagued his mind since he was first introduced to it at the market, and too much time and effort was put into giddying himself over this. The disappointment of his fantasy—you agreeing that he is your boyfriend—falling off was immeasurable.

“What are you two whispering about?” Jongseob interrupted once he returned. He looked between you and Soul, and then he frowned. “Are you still on the boyfriend thing?”

“Yeah,” Soul dragged out with a brief wave of his hand. “You won’t let me be your boyfriend because we’re supposed to be like brothers, and now [Name] won’t let me be their boyfriend because it’s too complicated!”

“You told him it’s too complicated?” Jongseob questioned, putting his elbow on the edge of the couch when he turned around to raise a brow at you.

Your eye twitched at his judgemental tone, and you almost lunged to tackle him to the floor. “It is complicated!”

Jongseob pulled a face.

One of the things that inconvenienced his technical way of processing information was relationship problems, particularly the fact that everyone around him loved to create issues that shouldn’t be there.

He understood that certain situations reveal emotions that could be difficult to ignore, but he didn’t see a reason for ignorance when one could face them straightforwardly.

People tip-toe across the winded roads too much for the sake of empathy despite it not being due, and then responses like ‘it’s too complicated’ spawn when it’s fundamentally incorrect to say so.

“How?” he questioned. “Do you like Soul?”

“I like the both of you,” you said.

“I know.” He nodded. “But do you like him?”

You smirked awkwardly. “No.”

“Then it’s not complicated,” Jongseob said with a clap. He turned to Soul, whose eyes had been darting between you two during your brief conversation, and he shrugged. “You can’t be [Name]’s boyfriend because they’re not in love with you. That’s it.”

“Woah! Why did you suddenly switch the wording?”

“Why not? It doesn’t make a difference,” he said. “Are you in love with Soul?”

“No.”

“I’m in love with you, though.”

You shook your head and patted Soul’s shoulder. “No, you’re not.”

“Ahm, we don’t–haha, we don’t know about that,” Jongseob mused between forced chuckles as he nodded at the floor.

His eyes widened briefly as a calculated thought about Soul’s untainted feelings for you flickered through his mind. When he looked up and saw your deadpan, he pulled his lips into a thin line, stretching it into an ugly smile that made his upcoming words sound flat and borderline incoherent.

“Do you remember what happened a few months ago because of the evaluation?”

It was a month after Jongseob saved you at the bottom of the apartment estate. You had decided to omit that detail from the monthly report; you told yourself it wasn’t necessary because it wasn’t an extraordinary development about Jongseob but rather an incident that happened to you.

However, deep down, you knew you kept it a secret because you were afraid the program coordinator would find issues with what happened and separate you two.

A few weeks after you turned in the monthly evaluation, a detailed post about a freak accident where a boy who choked a man through telekinesis was posted on one of the most popular social media forums.

Nobody believed in the post; most comments redirected the author to a sub-forum where people post fantasy stories they’ve written, but it was how your program coordinator found out what happened. Within five days of that post, you received an email about a temporary separation.

They gave you a week to pack their things and prepare them for leaving your care.

Jongseob hadn’t said anything when you sat them down to tell them that they would be relocated to another home indefinitely. You didn’t think Soul really understood what happened until the time of departure. Either that, or he hadn’t felt the effect of separation until the moment it was happening, as it took multiple staff members to successfully release his grip from your arm.

But what you hadn’t shown them were the scars on your forearm, all of them scratched into a bloody storm by the unassuming Shota, who, in a state of panic, had unknowingly sucked up the monochromes around him and begun the initial phase of transformation.

His sharp, blade-like nails dug into your forearm through your sweater, forcefully grounding himself by your side when he was asked to get inside the van. But you didn’t say anything other than words of reassurance. With a hand on the side of his head, all you had told him was that you’d see him again soon.

His nails dragged several lines down your skin when he was pulled off of you. You didn’t react to it, only pressing a palm to the wounds and shoving the pain to the back of your head.

If you let it be known that he hurt you, there’s no way they’d be allowed back in your house. You thought he knew, though. You believed Shota knew what he did because he stopped struggling and went to sit next to Jongseob in the van after making eye contact with you.

You three weren’t kept apart for too long, surprisingly. The worst they did was give you a slap on the wrist and a warning to not hide information from them again.

“It’s a normal reaction to being taken from his home,” you said. “I think he missed the normalcy more than he missed me.”

“You’re wrong.” Jongseob crawled over to Soul and beckoned for his attention with a finger snap. “Do you remember when we left home for a few weeks? Why did you throw a tantrum when they came to get us?”

“Huh?” Soul faintly puckered his lips in thought. Once recognition hit, he opened his mouth in realization and nodded. “Ah! That time! I–“ he tilted his head with soft inhales–“did I throw a tantrum?”

“You did,” Jongseob reached up to grab your arm and gestured to the scars, “there’s literally proof.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose,” Soul argued. “I was distraught, I didn’t want to leave [Name].”

“Case in point. See?” Jongseob dropped your arm on the couch with a triumphant shrug. “I told you.”

“That doesn’t prove anything,” you said. “Families do that with each other, too.”

“Is that what we are?” Jongseob asked, raising his brows. “We’re a family now?”

“Not legally. I would have to adopt you two,” you said. “But then you would be my son, which is weird.”

“We could be your brothers.”

“I want to be your boyfriend,” Soul chimed in. When you chuckled through a tight-lipped frown, he sighed. “Okay, brother is fine.”

“Good,” Jongseob hummed dismissively before returning his attention to you. “Is there a way for us to legally become siblings, though?”

It wasn’t something you thought about. The significant details of the outreach program were not known to its participants. They let you know before you signed the contract that it was a program to help assimilate aliens to the human world, and you didn’t doubt that to be the case.

However, calculating the money the government was spending on the participants just for them to foster aliens—it didn’t make sense.

The foster system for human children was severely underfunded, yet the one for space creatures wasn’t. If you had to guess, it was because there’s a catch to alien assimilation, especially when they’re bonded with a person from Earth.

At the end of the day, you’ve no idea if Jongseob and Soul would be allowed to stay with you for a long time.

“I don’t think we can,” you replied, leaning forward and rolling your eyes. “But who knows? Maybe they’re secretly writing a new constitution for alien residents on Earth, but we definitely won’t legally become a family anytime soon. It’s okay, though. We can do it in theory!”

“What does that even mean?” Jongseob snickered. “In theory?”

“I’ll show you at some point,” you said sheepishly. “I just have to give someone a heads-up first.”

The mausoleum was quiet. You didn’t think you’d ever seen it crowded before.

Carefully putting the flower into the compartment, your eyes brushed past your mother’s picture, and you relaxed.

“Hey, Mom. It’s been a while.”

You didn’t make a habit of visiting frequently, so whenever you did, you’ve got a lot of say. Your busy work life, social life, and almost nonexistent love life. The good and the bad. The embarrassing and the ugly. The fact that there were few people around made it easier to ramble to a picture, and sometimes, you wondered if the ones in her neighbor compartments were listening too.

You didn’t speak in detail about the alien outreach program you joined, partly because it was still confidential to the general public, but you told her about the ‘twins.’

“I’ll bring them over when I get the chance,” you said. “I’ll see you later then.”

Reaching out for the compartment door, you prepared to close it when you suddenly jumped in realization.

“I almost forgot,” you laughed. “This is for you.”

Letting go of the door handle, you reached for your bag and pulled something out. You waved it about and gently blew on it before stacking it neatly next to the flower you bought.

It was a polaroid of you three.

#jongseob x reader #jongseob imagines #jongseob fluff #soul x reader #soul imagines #p1harmony scenarios #p1harmony fluff #piwon imagines #piwon x reader #piwon fluff #piwon fanfic

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liveontelevision · 5 months ago

Text

Sweet Radio Demon Alastor x Reader

As promised, here she is -

It's inspired by Living Tombstone's song Alastor's Game!

CW: Reader is a cannibal and it's a p big part of the story so mentions and details of cannibalistic intent and murder

♡♡♡

Some people just don't belong in Hell. The structure of divine judgment must be rigged, punishing any poor soul who commits sin without realizing it. Those individuals don't belong.

Then there are those who do. Those who realize there's an afterlife and instantly come to terms with their placement. That's when all the Oh, I'm definitely going to Hell for this jokes start to bite back.

It's always easier for those who choose to be sinners to adapt to Hell's settings. The job market for porn stars and actors is extensive, and protection is almost guaranteed despite the souls owed or deals made.

But, what interested you the most, you depraved sinner you, was the loveliness of Cannibal Town. Not only was it the nicest part of Pentagram City, but you felt right at home considering your appetite when you were living.

It was immense. Some kind of craving that you could never satisfy, no matter how many callers you invited into your home and how many of them never left. You got creative, playing with recipes, spices, and cooking methods, but it was never, never, enough.

Sometimes, you'd wonder how you got to this point. You were a normal enough kid, went to school, had a nuclear home life, and you were comfortable financially, the works.

You remember it feeling like a stomach ache.

A stomach ache that brought you to tears and kept you from school some days. You almost assumed it was something every child went through until you learned what subdued the pain.

Meat.

It was the solution. You ate like a carnivore at first, then the food became increasingly rare as you aged up. Until you stumbled upon some strange forums online (There's something online for everyone, I suppose). You gave in to the cryptid suggestions. You tried rodents at first, only after thorough mental and food preparation, but fuck did it do the job. It made your body shutter and your mind hazy, momentarily melting any thoughts of guilt you might still have.

As time went on, you grew hungrier. Animals weren't cutting it.. but maybe he could.

You found him online, chatted for a while over some messenger, then discovered how much of a dirtbag he truly was. That seemed to disarm you from the whole idea.

Poor thing.

Maybe if he was kind enough, he would have been spared.

You invited him over.

As you watch him approach your door, you tussle your hair, and adjust your clothes that leave little to the imagination. With a continuous, you can do this, you can do this, you're drawn to the knocking of the door.

"Damn, babe, if I knew you actually looked like this, I would've come over sooner." He props his arm on the doorframe as he speaks.

Is.. is that supposed to be a compliment?

Your eye only twitches a bit before you cover your expression with a cute giggle. Holding your hands behind your back, you lean forward.

"Not too bad yourself, big guy. How's a movie sound?"

One thing leads to another, you're seated on your couch, and his hands are immediately on you. For someone who acts so big and tough, his touch is awkward and uncomfortable. Like he doesn't know what he's doing.. probably because he doesn't know what he's doing.

The inexperience helps.

You didn't take into account how large he was. Assuming this would go as planned, you'd be set for weeks, but the actual action of getting him down still worries you.

You're barely an hour into the movie, which you can hardly remember, before his sloppy lips are on yours, which you respond to with a grimace. He doesn't seem to take into account your reactions, grunting against your very unresponsive lips.

Disgusting.

Pig.

He places a large hand on your waist, pulling you roughly to him.

Strong.

Muscular.

You need more. You need to evaluate your prey. You place your hand on his wrist, delicately running your fingers up the entirety of his forearm, tracing and digging into each vein and muscle you can find. That continues up to his chest. Before long, you find yourself straddling him, his wide hips forcing your legs apart a decent amount. Despite his build, his composure clearly shows he's nearly at your mercy. While you're running your hands along his body continuously, occasionally kissing him or letting out fake moans to his ear, you're feeling his ever-growing length pressing into your leg.

You'd be disgusted by the sensation if you weren't planning your next move internally.

You hid weapons everywhere. If you remember correctly, there should be a knife sitting in the crevice between the couch’s armrest and the side table. You just have to reach -

"Take this off." You command with a breathy voice, tugging at his t-shirt that had some unknown stain on it. You almost regret putting so much effort into your appearance.

Oh, well. You're taking notes in the back of your mind for any future endeavors.

You guide his desperate hands to pull the shirt over his head. In one movement, you drop the shirt and take the hidden knife into your hand. You hadn't realized until just now, but -

You're shaking.

You let out a deep breath. With your arms reaching over the arm of the couch, you're essentially caging him in. Nothing looks suspicious yet. Not to him, at least.

You lean in to give him one final kiss. You aren't exactly sure why. It's not doing anything for you. Maybe some sort of sympathy is crossing your mind?

… You'll have to work on that.

You pull away slowly, giving yourself time to examine the state he's in. His eyes are glazed over, his breath shallow.

Now.

Do it now.

You're ready. You've studied anatomy, disarmed yourself to the idea, and prepared for the worst.

You have to do it now.

You straighten your back, the knife now visible to him. He doesn't seem to notice at first until your arms are in the air, hoping to find some momentum in the stab. With your eyes still open, you find the spot where it should end this without too much pain for either party. You dive as fast as you can, but you made a fatal error.

You shut your eyes.

The moment was immediately silenced by the tension of his hand fisting the blade of the knife. He caught it. He stopped it just before it could pierce his chest, only bleeding from his palm. You both sit silently, in disbelief, perhaps.

A silent curse slips from your lips, and that seems to snap him back to this failure of a hook-up.

"You fucking psychopath!" He screeches. He stands, effectively throwing you off his lap as he does so. The action forces a small yelp out of you, and your grip on the knife is immediately taken from you. You stare up at him from the ground.

The tables seem to have turned. He's looking down at you, stumbling and struggling to find his grounding, all the while holding the knife. Despite this, despite his large build and his newfound advantage, he bolts for the door.

Was this better than him attacking you? Will he go to the police? You almost hope he's fragile enough to not admit he was attacked by a frail creature, or that he'll use this as a story to brag to his friends over, I escaped a psycho bitch last night.

You start cursing again. They become more frantic and louder as you follow him out. You watch him stumble off your patio and back to his car. You manage to find reality when a previous thought hits you.

You hid weapons everywhere.

A shotgun sits by your front door. It wasn't the most hidden, but in your defense, it was dark enough outside that it went unnoticed. And you're in a rural enough area that some wouldn't bat an eye at the sight of it.

With shaky hands, you pick it up, already loaded, and aim it at him. He's already in the driver's seat, but you're too exposed to let him just drive off at this point.

You didn't really know much about guns. But in an emergency such as this, it seemed like it would come in handy. So when you took your shot, you never considered the consequences of shooting bullets at a running car, especially with your poor aim.

You come to moments later, fire and pieces of metal surround you. You try to take in your surroundings, but your ears are ringing, and your senses are overwhelmed by the severe burns covering most of your body. You manage to find your home, still mostly intact. The car, on the other hand, is completely decimated.

In the corner of your eye, you think you can spot some resemblance of your date sprawled along the asphalt. With a heavy breath, which you consider might be your last, you let your head drop onto the pavement.

"My my, what a predicament you've got yourself into!"

A voice?

It echoes through your head. You can still only see the crackling of the fire surrounding you, and your ears still ring, but the voice seems clear as day. There's a bit of a static to it, but still it's clearnes startles you. You attempt to respond through the pain.

"W-Who-"

"Save your strength, my dear. I'll be quick since it seems you won't be with us much longer." The voice says. You can hear footsteps, a clear clicking of heels that echo in this ethereal space you find yourself. You struggle to lift your head, only catching a glimpse of the stranger kneeling in front of you.

"I'll clean up this little mess of yours, and we can discuss my repayment once you're in less of a.. scorched state. Deal?"

How could you consider the consequences? Or even comprehend his words while you’re like this? You aren't sure what he means, and you have no time to question. Your consciousness seems to be honing in on the burns.

You let out a horrific scream, clutching your arms, only intensifies the pain. If you could see the stranger, you'd see a disturbingly unphased smile.

"Help me - H-Help me! Please!" You beg and cry out, finally reaching out your hand to him.

"So? Do we have a deal?"

"Deal - Deal! Fuck- I-It hurts..!" You sob, biting your blood-dampened lip to prevent any more screams.

He takes your hand, gripping onto the raw skin of your burns. Your next scream comes out silently. You feel your vision blur before your body finally comes to terms with its seemingly sealed fate.

You shoot up from your bed, your face running with tears. They feel cool, running down your heated cheeks. You quickly wipe your face, leaving a wet smudge of makeup and sweat across your fingers.

Right.. make-up from the date.

You scan your bed, no man in sight. It’s a relief to wake up in your bed alone. Shifting out from under the covers, you look to your hands, waving them in front of your eyes and running your hands across your own skin.

Smooth.

Maybe even softer than you remember previously.

Some sort of calming amenity seems to be sweeping over your body. With glazed eyes, you examine your body that should be severely burned, yet you feel nothing.

Still, in a state of shock, you rise and wrap yourself in your blanket before leaving your bedroom looking a mess. You roam your home, looking around with still-damp eyes. You feel like a tourist. Like none of this is yours.

Not anymore.

You find yourself standing by your front door, opening it without hesitation. It's a clear sunny day. The grass is just as green, if not greener, and there were flowers there that you don't recall ever planting.

Suddenly, your bare feet against the heated pavement sends a slight panic through you, as the more gruesome details of the previous night conjured in your mind.

That's why nothing looks right. You were sure your porch was blackened by the fire. The grass was a flame, and there was a car - and that man and the voice -

You approach where his car was parked, only to find a torn-up strip of rubber, assumingly from its tire.

"What the.." unable to even complete a thought, a familiar voice only brings up more questions.

"Ah, my apologies! I assure you it is quite out of character for me to miss a spot." You see a disturbingly tall figure come from behind, swooping down to pick up the rubber scrap. He examines it within his red talons, turning it back and forth. You stand dumbfounded, but he goes on anyway.

"So, what exactly caused your date to ..implode? Was he not to your liking? Too handsy? Too-"

...

You're too tired for this.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, turning on your heels and letting the blanket drag across the rugged pavement behind you as you head back inside. You almost expect some sort of resistance from him, a qwip on how rude it is to walk off in the middle of a conversation, but there is none. Maybe you just imagined that little interaction. Maybe there wasn't really anyone there, and you're still tired or still sleeping.

You open the door, and that same bright smile greets you from inside your own home.

That seems to wake you up.

Your wide eyes scan his face, then peek inside your home behind him. You turn back around to see where he previously was, and obviously there's no sign of his travels. You slowly turn back.

"May I speak now?" His voice is laced with a radio filter, and it hits your ears in the strangest way. The reality of the situation turns your exhaustion into apprehension, yet you nod your head anyway.

"I may have caught you in the midst of your disarray, but I must admit, I'm curious about what led to it." He steps aside and gestures for you to come inside. To your own house.

"H-He got the upper hand is all." You decide not to comment, moving inside sluggishly. As far as you know, this strange being has no idea of the sins you've committed. You quickly fib.

"He attacked me, actually."

"Oh, how devastating!" He lets out a saddened sigh, a hand over his heart with fake sympathy. "Now, was that before or after you attempted to drive a knife through his chest?"

With a defeated groan, you flop onto the couch.

"What are you? A sleep paralysis demon? A.. nightmare? Am I still asleep?" You grumble, running the possibilities out loud and not expecting a true answer. You actually hoped that it would all go away. That this voice in your head, this hallucination, is just that.

In your head.

"Ooh, I like the sound of that.. A nightmare~ has a nice ring to it wouldn't you say?" He stands in front of you, his hands folded formally behind his back.

"Now. Enough with the compliments. What truly happened, my dear?” When his voice suddenly turns sympathetic, you find yourself actually in need of someone to vent to.

“Well, since you're clearly just a nightmare - or.. something - ” You sit up, take in a deep breath, and with its release, you reveal yourself.

All of you.

Every single animal you've killed to curb your pain, what seems to work and what doesn't, and the previous nights failure. You talk about the number of friends and family you've scared off throughout the years, everything.

“I.. was gonna eat.. him…” You squeak out your final sentence. You've never really said it out loud before. And never in front of someone else. It made your own blood run cold. Not the thought of the act itself, but just sharing it aloud. your eyes stay fixed on your fidgeting hands in your lap when a loud cackle interrupts your anxiousness.

“My word, aren’t you just the cutest basket case? You're lucky to be dealing with a demon of similar tastes.” He hisses his final words, all with a sly smile. He sounds prideful in his admission. His words seem like they're meant to disarm you, and even though he essentially admitted to being a cannibalistic demon, it works.

“Well.. since we have sooo much in common-” Your voice drags, the notion of being similar to this demon feeling strange to mention out loud, “-would you.. help me? With all this..?”

Expecting another laugh, maybe some more teasing, you're met with a confusing expression. His smile is still there, unmoving, but you catch the smallest twinkle in his eye. He stands and faces away. The hope of finding an outlet for your cannibalistic intent starts to dwindle.

Your misplaced disappointment is overtaken by the flickering of lights and the soft tunes of a radio nearby, one that you recognized but were sure had been broken for decades. He turns his head unnaturally, looking over his shoulder to meet you with blackened eyes.

“I would be absolutely delighted.”

“Lucky for you, some of your late-night delivery seemed to withstand the flames!”

You follow that transatlantic accent to your kitchen, unamused by his continuous puns and casual speech. This big scary demon friend of yours presents a commically large plate, with a very familiar carcass sitting atop.

He did nothing to make it look any less disturbing than it truly was. the skin was nearly burned off, the smell was just awful, and the shirt was somehow still recognizable through it all.

You cover your mouth in response. The fact that it doesn't smell much different than some of the other carnivorous meals you’ve prepared nauseates you more than the sight of the corpse itself.

“Quite a specimen, very good choice! But, you needed tips, correct?”

All you can think of to respond is a simple nod of your head.

“Then let's get started!” With a snap of his clawed fingers, a sleek black apron covers his suit.

The next few hours were grueling, but.. fun? If you're allowed to call it that. You were given multiple pointers, and sure, they were all quite helpful, but they were in excruciating detail. What certain parts of the body you should pick or avoid was one thing, but discussing what wine pairs with what organs? It's not a conversation you ever thought you'd have.

By the time the meal looks normal, all decorated with spices in a baking pan and in the oven, you instinctively go to do dishes. As you fill the sink and start bringing things over, a little creature has you nearly tripping. You look down, seeing a strange little stitched doll carrying most of the dishes to the sink. No matter how strange it looked, you respond with a curious hum, fully desensitized to it at this point.

“Huh..” is all you can say. You take any remaining dishes and follow suit, plopping it all into the water. The little doll seems to be tugging at your leg when you try to walk off. It's holding its arms up to you, letting out little murmurs that sound restrained by the stitches across its mouth. You hesitate at first, but scoop it up in your arms and place it aside the sink. And it gets to work scrubbing away.

“Damn, you're cute, and you clean? Can I keep you?” You ask it quietly, giving it a quick pat on the head. It seems to smile.

“Quite a delightful little thing, one of my better creations, I must admit.” The response from him seems to scare the poor thing straight. It immediately lowers its head and focuses on cleaning. You scoff at the interaction between the two. if his own toy is scared of him, should you be as well? “That being said, I simply can not part with it. My apologies.”

“Oh, I was kidding. Mostly.” You reply quietly. You hear the first chuckle from him that seems genuine. No ill intent, just a joyous response to your little quip. It felt kinda.. Nice.

“So, Mr. Scary Demon Man-” You clear your throat before you speak. “-why are you here, exactly? did I do something to summon you? Or-” He cocks his head to the side at the title, a little twitch to his eye.

“Not at all, my dear. I simply wanted to help you in your little endeavors, from one cannibal to another, Haha!” His tone goes back to that of a salesman. Like he’s trying to convince you he’s something he’s not.

“Well.. thank you, I guess. I don't really understand why you’d want to help me without wanting something in return, though. You don't seem like-”

“-A charitable man? I suppose that’s fair.” He doesn’t give you a chance to reply. “If you’re so desperate to return the favor, why don’t we strike a deal? Just a little one. Between friends.”

You weren’t stupid. His words made it clear that this was his intention from the moment he chose to save your life. You shrunk a bit.

“Sure, between friends.” You let out a sigh, your somewhat chipper attitude immediately fading. He takes no time to be empathetic.

“Good! Now, you seem to have an eye for food. This meal was ideal considering your poor execution.” You can’t stop your eyes from rolling. “And you can’t get meals quite like this where I’m from. How about you keep providing, with my assistance, and I’ll make sure it’s prepared to the best of my abilities. In exchange for all my hard and generous work, I get half the spoils! Seems far more favorable on your end, but I’m feeling rather generous today.”

Where he’s from? You want to question it. You want to know more about him, you want to know -

“What’s your name?” Your sudden questioning leaves him speechless for a moment, but he’s quick to recover his charming smile. “You never told me.”

“Well, considering you won’t need my name if you don’t agree to this little game, how about I throw that in as well? You provide the living flesh, and I’ll handle the rest. And, you’ll get my name.” He stands before you, a bit too close for your comfort, as he reaches his hand out to you. “Call it a deal?”

An ominous green glow surrounds the two of you. It sends some kind of wind through your clothes and hair. His hand is especially bright, and his eyes go back to that frightening black that you experienced previously.

At the end of the day, if this is what you have to do to stifle those damned pains, it doesn't seem all that bad. You extend your hand, instinctively flinching at the seemingly impending danger. But that still doesn't stop you.

“O-Okay.. Deal.” With the touch of his palm against yours, the glow flashes, forcing your body to tense and your eyes to squeeze shut. It only lasts for a moment, though. When you open your eyes, you first examine your connected hands. His hand is huge compared to yours. From this proximity, you can truly take in how unnaturally tall he is.

Attempting to tug your hand back, his grip tightens, forcing your hand to his lips for a quick kiss to your knuckles. An outdated and surprisingly intimate action leaves you a bit flustered.

“My name is Alastor. It’s been a pleasure, my dear~”

And so, your transactional deal went on, right until your demise. You used a similar tactic to bring more meals to your doorstep, finding a handful of poor saps online. You weren’t exactly sure what he meant when he offered his assistance, but when the time came, a strength took over your body that you never experienced before. There were no more shaky hands or sympathy. Your aim was always true, and it was just so easy. Any impending dangers or possible retaliations were alerted to you by a subtle whisper, a voice, coming from just behind you. It was startling at first, but quickly became a comfort.

When it came to preparing the food, which Alastor said he’d handle, you’d essentially leave your victim's remains in the kitchen and would come back to a meal ready for the oven. Sometimes, you’d leave the body as is, limp on the couch, or sprawled on the floor, only when you were too exhausted to deal with the clean-up. On nights like that, you’d wake up to a completed meal the next morning. You liked to picture him going through your home, rolling up his sleeves and wearing that apron, cleaning things up, and cooking in your kitchen how he did that first night.

That being said, you didn't normally see his physical form. There was the lent strength and whispers during your hunts, but other than that, contact seemed to nearly cease. Why was that upsetting you? You cursed yourself for being too much of a romantic - for making this seem like anything more than a delusion you conjured up to make this whole action easier for you.

And that pain? That constant hunger that was never sufficed nearly went away. In fact, you’ve never felt fuller.

He did return on especially rare occasions. You never complained, and you attempted to hide your excitement when you'd catch him lurking in the corner of your eye.

Sometimes, it was to cook for you again. Despite the deal being in full swing, you would ask him to show you some of the recipes. Normally, it would just appear, looking delicious and homemade as always, yet you still pestered him to show you how to prepare some things. He always acted burdened by it, but seeing him cooking felt.. Domestic. Like, when he was cooking, he was truly in his element. It made it easy to forget what he was, which you found yourself questioning less and less. It simply didn't matter anymore.

One particular visit was late into the night. He actually woke you up from the racket, which had never happened before. Stumbling out of your bed, expecting to see police raiding your home or something worse, you’re instead met with a swaying radio demon and a shattered vase. Whenever he was around, soft music would play from your busted radio, a contrasting notion to the fumbling man in front of you now.

“Alastor?” You call out, a wave of relief hitting you and bringing the baseball bat from your hands to the floor. “What the hell are you doing? It’s like.. three in the morning..” The realization of the time makes the previous adrenaline seep out of you.

“Ha-ha! Isn’t that an interesting concept? The Devil’s Hour. Throw some religious implications, and it drives people mad! In reality, it’s just when your feeble body is at its most vulnerable.” He rambles on, spilling the drink from his bottle as he exaggerates his actions. He walks to you as he goes on, his body still swaying. “When your little fragile human heart reaches its lowest speed. When waking you would cause.. distress.” He goes on, his words suddenly sounding melancholic.

“Your breathing is erratic.” He adds, staring intensely at your heaving chest. “And you are hot to the touch-” The back of his claws trace the apple of your cheek, where even you can feel the heat radiating from your skin. Because his voice has no filter. You’ve never heard it like that before. You’ve never heard him sound so human.

His hand traces down your face to press against your chest. He’s feeling your heart. And it’s beating erratically.

“Your heart is fast. Are you distressed?” He leans in closer, to the point where you can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Do I make you distressed?”

In a flustered panic, you push him away. His closeness, his touch, it all threw you off guard.

“N-no, I’m just tired. You woke me up in the middle of the night, asshole.” You cross your arms over your chest, watching him laugh and struggle to find his bearings after being shoved. With a groan, you pull him by his slender arm over to the couch. He sits down with a thud, and you sit a careful distance next to him.

“That is what is so refreshing about you, my dear.” He lets out a dreamy sigh, and you pull the whiskey from his hand before he can break anything else. “Why - you have no idea who you’re dealing with, I could be a powerful demon overlord,” He slurs his words. “But, to you, I’m just your sweet radio demon~” He sings out.

Alastor leans into you, uncharacteristically tapping your nose. You swat his hand away, forcing another loud chuckle from him. He stays leaning forward, even seated beside you, he towers over you. Your wide eyes meet his.

“Even your eyes show no sign of fear. How curious.” You stay like this a little longer. His breath still reeks of expensive whiskey, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes from him. You’re terribly focused on keeping your distance, but he doesn't seem to have the same concern.

With a sly smile, he removes his coat and flips to his back, laying his head in your lap. With his long legs crossed over each other and hanging very much off the couch, you’re almost nervous to touch him. He wasn’t especially touchy, only doing so when necessary; fingers brushing against fingers, a hand on the shoulder for a mere second- why can you remember each moment so vividly? Why is it so fresh in your mind?

“Alastor, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at home? or.. wherever you are when you're not here?” That’s still something you’ve questioned. You weren’t one to pester him so insistently, wery on losing the good thing you have going on.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure! Be careful with your alcohol, my dear! Ha-haa!” He slurs out with a grin. “I suppose.. I prefer to be here.”

“What? Why? If you’re some powerful overlord, don’t you have somewhere better to be getting sloshed?” You scoff, keeping your eyes away from his head that was still perched comfortably in your lap. He seems to even nuzzle into your thighs a bit, and it only flushes you more. You take an unpermitted swig of his confiscated drink.

“Hm! Well, I can’t exactly get meat this fresh in Hell-” He taps his chin in thought to your rhetorical question that clearly went right over his head. “-besides! It’s not nearly as nice without you.” He sounds so matter of fact, so sure of his words. You hold your breath, suddenly reliving every moment together before this.

You’d chat and joke around in the kitchen, but you’ve really learned more about him than you thought. How he sews together those strange little creatures. And he seems so proud of them, despite their clear fear of his presence. You noticed he always puts some sort of spice in the meals he cooks, and that even if it's too much, you eat it anyway. How he simply hates getting dirty despite his occupation. He rolls up his sleeves, has that dumb apron, and uses those little toys of his to keep clean.

You loved it.

You’ve done nothing but enjoy every moment with him. You don’t need to know what he is to know that.

Wait, did he say Hell?

“You’re from Hell? There’s a Hell??” With a more shocked exclamation than feared, you finally look down at him. He’s too far gone, humming along to the music, he barely hears your questions. With a clearly defeated sigh, you brush his hair from his face. He winces from the action, his smile wavering but not breaking under your touch.

“Ah, I wish I knew how you survive this cozy little life.” His voice is quiet and mumbled.

You.

I can live this way because of you.

He manages to finish off the bottle with one more swig - when did he take that back?

Your thoughts begin to wander, absent-mindedly twirling strands of hair through your fingers, raking your fingers down his scalp, only to startle yourself with the sensation of animalistic ears. And they’re twitching. Whether it be your reaction or his, it seems to force a little yelp from you, so you reel your hand away.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you, darling.. Could you - or.. You can.. Continue. If you’d like.” His voice had dropped that strange filter again. You feel woozy. That whiskey you had shared, maybe it was strong. Or.. it was the middle of the night, you were sure you were just tired. You spiraled to come up with any reasonable excuse other than developing feelings for a Hellbound demon. You wonder if you-

Oh, you’re definitely going to Hell.

But, could it be something to look forward to?

Your intimate thoughts cloud your mind, leaving your hand mindlessly petting a literal demon. Your fingers combed through his hair, delicately clawing up the ears and pinching the softness at the tip of each one. Despite your thorough and elaborate massage, your mind has wandered to how a relationship with a possible hallucination of a demon would work out. But that's ridiculous, isn’t it?

“Alastor, can I ask you-” your words are brought to a halt and your eyes drop. A quiet hum of satisfaction, leaving a barely conscious radio demon, who’s head still sat in your lap. With a curse under your breath you decide you're trapped.

There was absolutely no chance of escape. What, were you supposed to wake him? What if you upset a powerful overlord demon, or whatever he claimed to be? Albeit uncomfortable, you force yourself to sleep. Enjoy it while you can, who knows if it's even real?

You didn't see him for awhile after that.

Alastor was a poinient man. He never missed a pick up before. So when you realized the meat you've portioned off for him was still sitting in your fridge, you start to worry. You're not exactly sure why, you’ve pushed any and every intimate thought from your mind.

This is purely transactional.

Even though his portion had gone untouched for a few days.. A few weeks, if you really think about it, you already had a date set with another victim.

It went on as usual. A dumb hunk of meat thinks he’s all that until you’re straddling him. You decide to stick to what you know works; a knife to the heart.

You mapped exactly where to plant it, as he fiddles with your top, and with a raised arm, you go to claim your next victim.

There was no warning.

There was supposed to be a warning.

The next thing you know, you're pinned to the floor, your wrist being gripped so tightly you have no other option than to scream and lose your grip on the knife.

Your date took no time. No hesitation.

The last thing you see is the opposing view. A stranger straddling your body with a knife held high above his head.

It seems so quiet.

And it's awful.

Where was the warning?

If anything, you should've at least heard Alastor's voice telling you how to avoid this. You always do. A slight pang of worry hits you, but it's quickly overtaken by anger.

With a final yelp that's fueled with frustration, hurt, and a broken heart, you met your demise quickly and alone.

By the time you've come to, you're surrounded by a handful of black eyed children. You immediately scramble backward, hitting your back against a brick wall. You’d notice your surroundings if these little scavengers werent eyeing you with an innocent curioustity. You let out a hiss, holding a hand over your eye. A streak of blackened blood comes from it, your palm thoroughly stained with it.

“You must be new~”

“You’re very handsome!”

“How did you die?”

A bombard of tiny voices and questions go straight over your head, a ringing in your ears forcing your mind to go hazy.

“Alright, give ‘em some space, kids!” A sweet voice seems to bring you back. You look down to your seated body. Your skin is a deathly gray, and your top is stained with your own blood. It’s still red. “Don’t overwhelm the poor thing, I’m sure they’re quite shaken!”

Your eyes then trace up the silhouette of a vintage looking entourage, then to a sharp-toothed smile. The woman stands before you, a hand held out to you.

Her eyes are just as black and her skin is just as pale as those children that now whisper and giggle to eachother nearby.

It didn’t take you long to realize your misfortune.

You died.

You’re upset sure, but you find that you’re mostly angry. None of this wouldve happened if you- if he-

“Come on, cutie! Let’s get you cleaned up.” Her considerate smile clears your mind almost immediately. You don’t hesitate accepting her assistance.

“He was supposed to help me. He said he would be there for me! I died because of him..!”

A strained smile and a quick nod is the only response you get to your angered rambling. The kind face that scooped you off the streets was Rosie, one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, who just so happens to own most the souls in Cannibal town.

Lucky you.

She did exactly as she said, having her fun and playing a bit of dress up with you. It wasn't exactly your style, but there were more concerning things when it came to your appearance. Your eyes were just as black as Rosie’s. As those children who have been following you around.. In fact, most residents of cannibal town had this feature.

You really are in Hell.

Right where you belong.

Right along side people who are just like you. It almost felt.. Comfortable.

You confided in her, going on and on about some jerk of a demon who broke a promise that cost you your life. How he had been helping you in fights, saved your life a number of times, taught you how to cook, showed up drunk to simply sit in your lap, then just fucking disapeared when you needed him most. Your face was turning red, from anger or the way you gushed about him, Rosie couldn’t quite decipher.

What wasn’t comfortable was the period clothing you were put in. But according to Rosie, it’s Perfect! What a doll!

“Is Alastor. The radio demon?” She completes your sentence with a sigh, standing to tower over you and placing a hand on your shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, hun, but no one’s seen him in quite a while.. If i’m being entirely honest with you, he’s a dear friend of mine.” You instantly tense at her words. You just went on a rant about how shitty he was, only to find out he’s disapeared with no explanation. Maybe it was a good reason. A good enough reason to leverage your own life? You aren’t sure.

“I have to find him!” You finally say, as if a lightbulb switched in your head. He seemed so unattainable all these years, but now? You’re in his house. “Miss Rosie! Can you help me? His name-”

“I can’t say he didn’t wrong you, but he’s a man of his word, hun.. If he’s not holding up his promises, then he might be in some real trouble.. ” You hear her voice crack, yet she doesn't let her smile drop.

Another factor to consider that Alastor might have bitten more than he can chew, yet she still sympathises with you. You nearly knock the wind out of her with your arms encircling her small waist. Your head rests just at her chest. You can’t see her face, but her arms are around you almost instantly.

As you got settled in town, you did actually use the skills that Alastor had taught you throughout your lifetime. You understood why he made your previous deal. Demon flesh was just fine, but you really needed to spice it up to be anything special. And even then, it still couldn't compare to fresh, living, meat.

You started off just making and baking your own food. Then, when one cannibalistic child asked to try some, they told their friends, who told others.

After a while, you were cooking for half the town. You had a line every morning out of your own home. Once Rosie took notice, it was time for you to make a deal.

“Why can’t I sign a contract with you? You’ve done so much for me, I trust you with my soul.” You had taken Rosie out for dinner, where you planned to discuss a potential deal. Even with you barely being in Hell for a year, you heard plenty about Extermination Day, contracts, dealing in souls, all of it. You did your research. You talked to some of the townsfolks and saw no real downside in giving your soul away. Your proposal seems to surprise her, though.

“You still have your soul? Didn’t you make a deal with Alastor?” She asks, quieting her voice when she says his name, as if just the sound of it would make you upset. It only makes your eye twitch, though, just at the thought of the whole ordeal.

“I did, but he didn't say anything about my soul.. Was he.. Supposed to take it?” You question.

“Well.. he’s made deals like that before, favors for favors, right?” You nod. “But to go all the way to Earth just for some food? That’s.. Not like him…” Rosie seems to be lost in thought, trying to piece together his intentions. You clear your throat, and attempt to calmly bring her back. You slide a tupperware container of lady fingers you had made just before this.

“I want a restaurant, Rosie. I’ve been keeping an eye on that abandoned shop in the town square. I can feed everyone in town if you’ll let me. And.. protection, of course. Would that work?”

She opens the box with a sparkle in her black eyes, almost immediately popping one of the delicate treats to her lips. With a hum of satisfaction and a snap of her fingers, the glowing golden paper floats in front of your eyes.

“It’s a deal, darling!”

You could barely call it a restaurant at first, but you were elated. Rosie granted you some extra hands to make deliveries and assist in the kitchen. Everything seemed to be going your way. Your first extermination day went by quickly. For some reason, angels weren’t destroying everything in town. And you and your little shop were both safe, untouched, really.

You had a steady job, loving customers, and a residency near the center of town. You were almost surprised how having a shared interest, in eating human flesh, can bring people together. And after just a few years, you had a community.

You had a family.

Something you never really though you’d have, in life or death; A home.

Things were going so well. This was supposed to be your happy ending. It had been a few years since you had signed the contract, and you still feel satisfied with your decision. You could really be yourself here.

In Cannibal Town.

In Hell.

It made you laugh sometimes, how much joy the underworld brought you.

On a say that seemed like any other, you had sold out your stock for the day early, and went on to send the rest of yout employees home, when you heard a ruckus near the gazebo.

The screech of a microphone, and a very distant agitated Susan, is all you can truly hear from where you are. You drop everything to join the crowd.

It was the princess of Hell.. You weren’t one to keep up with politics or media, there was no need for you. You entertained yourself plenty just by residing in town. But, you managed to hear her blow up before being dragged away. A tall, rugged figure takes their place, ready to entertain the crowd while the Princess gathered herself.

“Come one, come all! While our little princess is collecting herself, who would appreciate a quick song, hm?”

“There is no fucking way..” You mutter to no one but yourself.

Alastor.

He holds his hand up to his ear, waiting patiently for the adoring crowd to praise his presence before he went on. You knew Rosie was a friend of his, he was a cannibal afterall, but for the entire town to love him just as much? Including Susan?

It’s absurd.

He went on to perform some showtune, one that sounded familiar to you. The crowd excitedly surrounds the pavilion, dragging you nearly to the front. You held a look of disgust. A look of betrayal.

You didnt want to see him, you told yourself. Things were perfect as is, you felt no need to repair a relationship with your imaginary friend you conjured up while alive.

Although, you never thought you had to. He had been gone for years, he nearly became just a passing thought.

An unreasonable part of you stayed put. A part of you wants him to see you and recognize you, to remember what he had forgotten. You stood with your arms crossed, your heart beating rapidly just at the sight of him.

He looks entirely the same, completely unphased. You’ve changed so much visually, and you’re happier now. Bolder. You’re not shying down now.

He catches your eyes.

The music screeches to a halt, sounding like a record player needle dragging across the disc. You’re holding back a smile, almost proud that you were able to stop him in his tracks. This had to be the first time he’s thought of you in over seven years.

And stops singing.

Lucky for him, the princess is finally ready to make her own point. You stick around, not exactly paying attention to her lyrics. You keep your face of disdain strong, stepping away and flinching at any advance Alastor would make to reel in the crowd. He seems to distract himself just fine until Charlie whisks away the crowd. Again, you're firmly planted in your spot.

Alastor turns to you, much more apparent of who he’s dealing with now that you stand alone from the crowd. His ears are flat against his head, and his smile is turned at the corners. His eyes seem to dart back and forth as if he’s deciding whether or not to stay. To be with you.

Oh, he’s nervous.

You’ve never seen him nervous before. It feels good. You’re making the almighty Radio Demon nervous. You smile just slightly. But not a smile between old friends, but a smile in response to his realization that he fucked up.

Despite your delay, Alastor continues on with the rest of the parade. Your body immediately lost all tension once he leaves.

“Well, well! I knew I recognized that menu. I was ready to tear apart some poor sinner for using my recipes.” A familiar, antagonizing voice echoes throughout your little empty shop.

You turn on your heels, almost startled by the sudden intrusion.

Almost.

But, you'd be lying if you said you weren't hoping for it.

Just a little.

Of course, he'd come back. Maybe to make another lowly deal. Or to get you to do more menial tasks for him, to flaunt his power and authority.

“Yeah, well.. when you've been left for dead, and all you have is your skills, you do what you have to, to survive.” You snap, turning your back to him to continue wiping off an already spotless counter. “Plus, it never hurts to marginalize.”

“I've actually tried some of your food here.. Hm! And I hadn't the slightest idea who prepared such a meal. You've gotten better, I'll give you that! Such a small world.” He says with a nostalgic sigh. You can hear his heels clicking throughout the empty store, circling the room before eventually approaching you.

How can he speak to you like you were still.. aquitanced?

“I hope whatever kept you busy these seven years was worth my life.” You mutter. You weren't sure if you wanted him to hear that or not. Maybe if he did, he'd finally apologize or-

“Oh, it was! A nice little sabbatical is exactly what I needed.” You quickly turn to see him polishing his claws against his coat and smiling quite brightly. “I will say it is a pleasure to be meeting you here! I'm glad you settled in so easily.”

“You killed me, Alastor! You were supposed to keep me safe.. and now I'm dead! Because you disappeared without a word!” You start to scold him, finally hitting a breaking point. All he does is scoff at you.

“Oh please, I didn't even take your soul. And it's not like you'd end up anywhere else if you were to perish later on.” He speaks so casually about it all.

But, you were ready to cry. To kick and scream at his arrogance.

The feeling of sharp fingers engulfing your shoulders leaves you suddenly tense and puts your murderous thoughts on hold. He's vanished from in front of you and now looms over you, his eyes meeting yours from over your shoulder.

“Plus, you seem to be quite happy here! Why don't we just call it even then, hm?”

He can not be serious.

You pull away from him, the tears welling in your eyes finally letting loose.

“Alastor, stop!” You yelp, turning to face him. “That’s.. so unfair! You broke a promise! And you-” you hold your finger out to scold him even more, but you feel your body simply going slack. “-you hurt me.. I just.. thought that after all that time, after that night, you'd care a little more..” You look up to him, in the hopes of being met with some sort of sympathy. But his unnatural smile goes unwavering. You rub your arm awkwardly, losing your confidence as your words turn more vulnerable without your realizing.

“Oh, I can feel your pain, not to worry dear. I truly meant no harm when I couldn't hold up my end of the deal.” He's smiling and drawing out his words, only setting off a sense of unease within you. You finally let out a shaky sigh.

“With everything you've done for me.. I thought that.. you might've liked being around me…” You let out, your voice running slightly ragged from the previous shouts. “I thought we were having a good time! Then after all this?” You grow an uncertain smile.

A previous sight that made you giddy before only brings you dread now. His ears are flat, his eyes struggle to meet yours. He's losing his composure.

“I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted it to happen.” You laugh through your words, your hands raking through your hair in a stressed manner. In your little pits of passion, you don't get the chance to see his wavering smile, the grimace on his face, any of it. When your words are met with silence, though, that's when you finally look up to him.

He's nervous, again.

“Oh.. my-” your sentence barely starts before he attempts to cover his slip up.

“Now let's calm down, I really didn't mean for- I didn't intend-”

“Isn’t there rules to this? Were you ever allowed to meddle with my life in the first place - let alone - be on Earth??”

“-God! You killed me on purpose?? Just so I could come down here to do your bitch work?” You snap, your laugh becomes delirious and your tears betray the anger you're meant to be showing.

He’s scrambling for a witty reply, his expression finally showing his true intentions for the first time in a long while. He’s speechless.

“I’m such an idiot.. Of course, you never cared. Bastard.” You mumble your words to the room, losing any fear of him hearing your insults.

Your vulnerability sends a strange shiver down his spine. One he’s never felt before, one that makes his chest ache and his muscles tense.

“Well - Now, let's just talk for a moment before you-” Alastor extends his hand out to your turned back, but it never reaches you. A delicate grip takes his wrist, bringing him to a full stop. He stops, unnaturally snapping his neck to see who would dare disrupt the Radio Demon himself.

His ears flatten against his head, and with a sudden disbelief in what he’s seeing, his eyes return to their normal crimson.

Rosie towers over his hunched form, her eyes stern.

♡♡♡

“Al, sweetheart, you gotta go. You're disturbing my client.”

I love when Alastor fucks up and found out

THIS IS A TWO PARTER I PROMISE

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hongjoongscafe · 30 days ago

Text

Bloody Love.

Chapter: X-Rose-

♠︎Pairing: yandere!king!jungkookxoc(coronis)

♠︎Genre: angst, smut, yandere, gore, dark romance, horror, creepy (dark fantasy).

♠︎Summary: "you happen to be in a world where wrong is right and right is wrong."

♠︎Word count: 6k+ 👀

♠︎Warning: ghosts, manipulation (it is kind of a positive one here so🐒)

♠︎Note: lemme know if you wanna be added to the permanent or specific taglist!

♠︎Masterpost

♠︎Serieslist.

Ring… the ring of promise was a tricky piece of ornament. For one it was love, peace, destiny. For others, it was a burden, slavery, anguish.

The faithful oaths, the ones that made life full of colour, hope, and laughter, made the weight of the ring feathery light. Those rings were the honour of love, the reminder of a family at the house that made it home, a lover who kissed his beloved or his wife with love.

The deceiving oaths, the ones that break your soul and crush it under the weight of the ring. The reminder of the unspeakable. It feels like you have been sold to serve the aristocrats who abuse you for their luxury.

Coronis’s finger tingled, her cheeks, her neck… they all tingled as the heat of His fingers lingered on her. The bloody necklace because of which she was brought here was around her neck again, burning her skin.

Thinking back at the time, she wondered if she had never removed the damn thing, would she have been saved?

She would have been back at the village, with her little family. Just existing. Poor Circe, she had always been Coronis’s closest. Her little eyes were most likely waiting for her older sister to come back and pick her up and tell her how everything was fine. She wanted that to be true. She wanted to hear that that was what was going to happen.

The palace was enormous, but her little shack was what gave her peace. This was a prison but that was home.

Oh, Nori, she thought. She never got to talk to her and tell her how wrong she was. Out of every person, Nori was the only one who made her screaming mind shut. Her soft touches against Coronis's skin, her tiny pecks… everything about her was perfect.

The desperate look when Coronis talked to her was heartbreaking—the way she forgave her in a breath.

Just one more night, that's all Her Highness wanted with Nori, where they could desperately engulf each other in their arms and touch, and make love all night. Just somewhere she could be herself and leave the pain behind. Somewhere she could dump all her obligations and responsibilities away.

She wanted to feel like a woman she never was. But with Nori, she was that. More than ever, she realized how much that one girl affected her life and gave her so much without even realising it.

Love, she gave her love.

Then her heart dropped into her stomach as the face of Nori flashed in front of her eyes from the time when He took Coronis by her hair. Nori was confused but more so betrayed.

The hurt in her eyes was fierce.

Coronis rubbed her eyes vigorously to remove the vision from her brain. Everything was already enough. Now thinking about how she hurt an innocent wasn't going to change anything. She had no way to go back and tell her. So she could only proceed in her life and pray for Nori to find someone who could love and cherish her like no tomorrow.

She was interrupted as the heavy door to her chamber opened. Turning around, she saw the guard- Jimin standing there. She sat up straight on her bed.

“Your Highness,” He bowed. “The Lord has commanded me to make you acquainted with the palace,” he informed. “And I am obligated to look after you till the sixth night.”

“Oh…” she said, knowing nothing about how to act in the royal palace. Ana did say that she would guide her around and teach her the etiquette necessary for a Queen-to-be before she left.

“I’ll guide you to the gardens,” he said as he stepped aside, gesturing her to follow him out.

“Right away?” she asked, eyes wide in surprise at the sudden need to get acquainted with the palace.

Jimin looked at her, “Pardon me, Your Highness, if I could, I would rather you rest however it is the perplexity of the concern. The Lord has demanded that you should be well-versed with the gardens as Your Highness might need it this instant.”

Hesitantly, she stood up and followed him. Anything against the orders of His Majesty was only going to put her in danger along with the helper who was ordered so. “It is fine. I do wish to get away for a while…” she said leaving the fact that she was feeling asphyxiated by the stiffness in her chamber. If she did stay there for more, she might indeed end up losing her consciousness.

The long hallways opened up to the thorny gardens, distinct from the one at the entrance of the palace. She noticed that it was at the back of the main palace and other structures were standing tall, not connected by any means. It was all beautiful to look at. The top of older towers next to each structure was covered by the thick mist, only the dark shadow could be seen through the blur.

The palace was what she thought the death house would look like. All grim and ruined. How many screams and blood trails did this hell-bound face throughout agonising time? She thought.

In front of her, there was an endless sea of dead ground, covered in dying shrubs. The chilling winds threaded through her long luscious hair. She could faintly hear the whispers again although it was harder to make what they were trying to tell her.

“Your Highness,” Jimin called. “This way,” he gestured towards the right corridor from the door. She followed the guard and passed many more who bowed their heads for her. Every single soul in the palace was now aware of their, His and Her Highness’, engagement.

Would they have respected her if she was here as a commoner and not their Highness’ love interest? Presumably not. Why would these rotting men care for that? The men in the shackle would have used her and discarded her long ago.

She looked at Jimin’s back. Only he was different, carrying fear in his tiny eyes and secrets in his shivering chest. She wondered if he would reveal them to her. Thinking about her thoughts, she scoffed. Everyone here was His loyal. No one. No one would betray him under His nose.

Jimin opened another door that led to the garden which was closed from all four sides. There were doors but not a single body guarding them, maybe it was guarded by the souls...

The garden was still large. The faded trails between the beds of dead black and red roses led to a bench and a tiny crumbling table between the flowers by the old fountain that had no water in it.

The flowers needed love. They were dried, empty and deprived of love. Coronis’s aching instinct wanted to replenish the garden. It seemed like once, this place had that love and care it needed to thrive.

“His Highness has gifted you this precious garden in hopes that you will bring back life to these dead hopes,” Coronis looked at the guards’ distant eyes.

She inhaled the stale scent of the roses as she took in the beauty of the ruin. “Bring back to life?” she slowly asked. “Did this place have any life before?”

He did not say anything. she, again, looked at him. The pain was shining in the guard’s eyes and delicate face. Maybe the once-forgotten memory pained him. He lowered his head, “Forgive me, Your Highness.” before Coronis could ask why, Jimin straightened up and turned around, “Please make yourself cosy, Your Highness. This garden is all yours now.” he then bowed and left her alone, closing the door behind him.

Nothing in this palace was remotely relaxing. Every edge of this folly buzzed with the fear of the unknown. Had she known that day that just getting her calf back for the meadows would cost her whole life, she would never have gone out or at least worn her cloak to hide her troubled head.

But now she was here, in the palace of the devil, waiting to get tied with the devil himself.

Sighing, she carefully stepped down the steps and slowly walked towards the table. Her benign fingertips brushed the delicate, withered petals of the roses. The thorns scratched her tips as she walked through them. The red against her porcelain skin was a contrast.

Upon reaching the table, she saw a pair of scissors, a big pretty black, dusty vase with some dead roses in it and some still on the table. ‘Why would anyone leave them half done?’ she thought as she picked the dusty roses off the table. They have been there a long time. Why haven’t the rain washed them away? Another question invaded her mind. The palace was as if it had a mind of its own. It seemed that it worked on its own laws, separated from the rest of the realm.

This garden was stuck in time.

This palace was guarded by the spirits, she could believe that now, especially after the encounter with spirits in the hallway a few moments ago when she was being taken for the gathering for the announcement of the marriage in the Lord's court.

The marriage…

Coronis felt weak in her knees and dropped on the chair that was already out of its resting place. The marriage was in just six nights. She was fated to be His Queen. She felt like the end of her life was laughing at her.

His Highness was a man of a wicked character. She found Him disconnected. He was a man of impulse and did what his stone heart demanded even though it was wrong-headed.

He was packed with secrets. There was much more to him than just his surface. His cruelty had an origin.

When Coronis was little, she was aware that the King, His Highness’ father, was a man perceived by the black spirits. His soul was black and when he died, the black soul flew in the sky like a rag and busted away. Finishing him and passing the curse.

Nobody knew how he passed away. The secret was buried in the palace she was sitting in. The legends said that the King’s own flesh would finish his throne. But the throne was still intact. Could it mean that His Highness ended His father's life?

Though it was an enticing question, the present was more dreadful. The King was dead. Coronis wasn’t. She needed to find a way to survive this tarnishing life before it gave up upon her. Glancing around the garden, she thought maybe she could indeed bring back life to this beauty.

She sighed and stood up, her knees were shaky but she roamed around, taking in every small detail of the surroundings.

As she was walking around the fountain she saw a red peaking out. When she got closer she saw a book lying there, covered in a dense layer of dirt. However, it seemed like it had been touched as there were faint streaks of fingers running down the book. But who would have touched the book? It is quite prevalent that this place has been opened now after who knows when. Maids were not allowed considering the dusty, dirty being of the garden. It wasn’t maintained. And thinking about a moment back when she entered the place, the only foot marks were by the door. Not this far.

Slowly she bent down and picked up the book. With the inside of her gown, wiped the dirt away as best as could from the velvety lining. She opened the book; on the first page, in beautiful handwriting was written “Dear Moon”. The ink was black but there were splotches of red painting it. As if it were dried blood spots. Coronis’s shaky fingers turned the page but before she could see what was written in the book, her fingers felt a piercing pain of burn making her drop the book on the ground.

Before she could react any further, on the dirty ground next to the book, in an elegant writing, it scribbled “Not Yet, Dear…”

Coronis’s scream stuck in her throat, she abruptly backed away and ran out of the garden, the thorns of the roses scratched much harshly, her skirt stuck between them, tearing it ever so lightly.

Panting, she managed to knock on the door, “Open the door, please!” she banged. “Please open the door! I wish to go back to the chambers!”

In an instant, Jimin opened the door for her. “Your Highness,” he bowed and led her to her chamber in the deafening silence. He wanted to ask what happened but he knew what conceivably must have happened. He could hear Her Highness sniffling behind him as she followed him like a wet puppy.

“Soon it will be dinner assemblage… His Highness expects you to attend it. He is organising a feast in respect of the marriage and he wishes Queen-to-be’s presence, diligently.” Jimin reports her.

…

The ballroom was filled with the scent of the delicious feast, packed with people. They all carried themselves like they owned the world which they did. They are the bloodhounds that rule over the realm. They may not be as powerful as His Highness himself but they were no less guilty in making this murderous realm.

Their hands were caked with the blood of millions and millions from the past. Their eyes were dead, no emotions reflected in them… just dead of the night sky. They were just puppets, in the end. But they were on the other side of the puppet world. These men taught their people how to be like them; the dangerous killers of humanity and dignity.

Coronis felt suffocated among them. She didnt belong there. She was an outdated lowlife in their eyes but they couldn't voice it out to His Highness. They preferred to be on the good side of the Master. They witnessed Amos’s dismissal. His screams, they could still hear them.

Amos was marched around in the palace for all the guards and ministers and maids to see what would happen if they even peaked at Her Highness. She was unattainable. They all were lowlifes in front of Coronis. This is what His Highness wanted to pass to everyone in this feast.

However, Coronis couldn’t find Him. Everybody bowed to her, the maids paid their courtesy to the Queen-to-be.

Some maids tried to win her over by offering some tidbits and drinks to her. But Coronis didn’t pay them any mind. She was escorted down here by Ana. Jimin was not there either. Even though Ana was there with her, she did not feel protected. She wished Jimin had been there by her side with his soft yet protective aura.

It was all a display of regard. The moment they turned around, they whispered among themselves, mocking her. She could hear but what stand did she have? She was just a girl. A captive of their Highness that He will use and throw away like a broken toy down the bridge where they threw the rest who were dead or half dead.

She felt like a prey in the grounds of predators. It was the reality but now it was dawning on her. There were most likely a handful of people who wanted revenge or wanted to kill the Master but they might take it through her. Who knows what goes on behind the closed doors of these sinister ministers?

She didn't need to think more. The ballroom on the opposite side opened and there stepped in the Great Lord himself. He was a handsome man. Coronis knew it but more so now when He came in dressed in His official attire. He wore His heavily jewelled crown with pride, His ears were decorated with long earrings, and His fingers were looped with rings but the ring on His ring finger of His left hand outshined the rest. He was dressed in a white blouse with huge necklaces lacing down the front; black silk-patterned pants hugged His thighs and ended under His leather boots. His cloak was of maroon velvet with black fur around it. It was long enough to trail behind Him.

His face… Coronis had to suck in a deep breath. He was breathtakingly handsome. His eyes were shadowed by the black kohl. His pretty lips were tinted with natural red. His jaw was sharp, and cheeks defined. His long, thick neck disappeared under the neck of his blouse.

His luscious hair was left open down to his narrow hips. The curtains of His shorter hair framed around his face. They looked soft and shiny. She wouldn’t have minded running her fingers through his mane if he were…

Her thoughts halted when the eyes of His Highness found her. Then she realised that they had all bowed down to give Him the courtesy. Quickly, she, too, bowed her head and waited.

The heavy boots thudded across the ground and stopped right by her toes. His Highness drank the beauty of His beloved. She was a good girl for bowing. He saw how her eyes ranked up and down His body. He could feel the heat of her eyes on His body, making His cock twitch in His pants. But he needed to wait for her to be ready before He could do anything. In the end, the fruit of patience is always sweet.

Coronis was wearing the gown that He had given Ana for Her Highness. A tiny smirk grew on his face. She looked immaculate in it. It fit her like a glove. The blouse of the gown hugged her perky breasts and pumped them up. The shoulders of her gown draped down her arms, beautifully. The skirt was long and a train followed her. It was black lace over the dark maroon velvet, it was flowy and not stiff. The bony necklace rested prettily just below the hollow of her neck.

Her hair was tied in a messy bun on top of her head, with pretty twists in the front. A piece of jewellery decorated them. He pinched her chin gently and raised her face, her eyes glancing into his cold ones.

“Oh, my dear Little Birdy…” His Highness purred with tenderness. Her smoky eyes, similar to His were beautiful with a pair of shaky black pupils. Her cheeks were tinted with blush and her lips dark maroon. They looked pretty against her porcelain skin. Her soft hair brushed against her cheeks. “Exquisite, you, my love, are exquisite…” His eyes were dazed as He gapped, hypnotised by her.

His large, warm hands cupped her face. His thumb rubbed tiny circles on her cheeks. She was home to him. His heart cracked as He felt warm. He wanted her to see what leverage she held over Him. She had become His strongest strength and the weakest weakness within a few weeks.

“My pretty, pretty Birdy…” He whispered. “The mere idea of you fills me with the desperate need to touch you, ravage you, eat you out in front of everyone just to claim you as mine and then fucking kill them all for seeing you,” He hummed, His hands lowering on her neck.

She was frozen under his warm touch. Unwantingly, her heart started to beat faster and her body flushed with heat. There was a throbbing in her ears and between her thighs. She hated that He was unresistible. But she kept herself at bay.

“Tell me, Little Birdy,” He purred. “Do you like the gown I got for your pretty body?”

She bit her lip, to keep her scared whimper in and nodded her head, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. Her pulse was throbbing against His palm.

“Words,” He bellowed.

“Yes, Your Highness,” she whimpered. “I- I like the gown that you got for me,” she barely said.

He hummed with joy. “As you should! Have you even seen yourself tonight?”

“No, Your Highness,” she shook her head. Looking at herself was the last thing she had in her mind when she was going to get married to her doom in just six nights.

His big hands enveloped her small one in His and took her to the wall that was decorated with gold, and glass. She followed Him with her head lowered. Upon reaching, He made her stand in front of Him and raised her head with his two fingers under her chin.

She slowly opened her eyes and glanced at the glass between the clean gold plates. A gasp left her mouth upon seeing herself in the glass piece. It was as if she was looking into the eyes of some elite lady who was seasoned to be a Queen by birth.

Coronis couldn’t believe what she was looking at. The reflection in the glass was- was resplendent; so sublime.

She never thought she could be so charming ever. Her natural beauty was breathtaking already and with the right care and proper feed, she was splendid. She hasn’t seen herself in a reflection in a long time. Even the fountain in the gardens was dried up, with not a drop of water.

Her mouth remained ajar. She felt a spark of confidence coursing through her veins. Her body shook not with fear but with the suffocation of the feeling that she had never seen herself like this before. All this time everyone told her that she was fabulous. Nori once told her that once she (Coronis) would see for what she truly was, then she would realise what power she held over the minds.

Coronis’s beauty was hypnotic. It was a means of manipulation and she never realized it.

“Look at yourself and tell me you see the most enchanting woman in this world,” He lowered his face to her ear and whispered. “Tell me you see what I am seeing.” He nuzzled his nose in her silky hair, sniffing her sweet scent. “Tell me what you see, my Little Birdy…”

Her mind was running fast, not registering what was happening. But she nodded, “I see… myself,” she muttered to Him. “I see myself. I look— I look good…”

His Highness chuckled, His warm breath hitting her ear. “Just good, My love? I say you are not even real,” He straightened up and held her by her shoulders. “I see everything. I know everything. Nothing goes past me,” He began. “Your pretty face screams your inferiority but you do not realise that you are superior to all these jesters here. You do not realize your worth. It is not only the beauty of yours but your little nature of being,” He rested his chin on top of her head and whispered, “You are more than what you see yourself for, Coro…”

The way He called her name sent a shiver down her spine. But it also scared her how much He was correct. All this time she considered herself as a lowlife but they were truly beneath her feet. She was better than any of them combined.

“Do you know what power you possess?” she shook her head no as He chuckled, “You will soon find out. You are more than what you let yourself take praise for. You, my Little Birdy, are more than what you realize…” He moved back a bit, giving her a space. “Now I enjoin you to turn around and walk right before me with your pretty head held high up. Be the Queen you deserve to be. Show them your authority. Do not bow down in front of any of them. They are beneath you… if not because of me then let it be because of your kindness and love. You have something they don’t– love and kindness… and the power!”

Coronis looked at the glass. There was a new fire burning in her eyes against all present there. At that moment, what His Highness was expressing was getting into her head, rightfully so. She looked at both of them standing. She noticed how they were dressed similarly. Smoky eyes, black and maroon attire, the burning eyes with superiority. The only thing she was missing was her crown.

She felt as if she was above them all but He was still above her. She could see it in the way His menacing eyes were gleaming in the burnt yellow glow of the mashals and candles. But He wanted her to hold more than them but a bit less than what He had.

“Didn't you hear, Little Birdy? Turn around and show these lowlives what you are,” He pressed.

Taking in a deep breath, Coronis straightened up. She raised her chin and broadened her body. “Now you will command them and start the feist. Make them pay respect to you the way they pay me. You have gained more control than them.”

With a nod, she turned around towards the crowd where they were still in a bow. Not a single tsk was heard. If a pin dropped, it could be heard. The orchestra was paused too as they bowed. Everything was paused, waiting for a command so that they could finally become the beasts and get drunk and tear through the roasted pigs.

His Highness looked from where they were standing. Jimin who was asked to accompany His Highness bowed down as the Queen-to-be passed him, with her giving him a tiny nod. She walked with her newfound spirit, her head held higher than the sky. Her hips moved swiftly with each step. Her demeanour made His Highness want to devour her right away. She was the only woman who made Him wait and crazy. He was not mad. He loved what she brought with her.

From the nearby tray, she picked up the goblet filled with red wine and climbed the stairs of the podium.

She glanced at Him once more before she began in a loud, confident voice, “I will become your Queen in less than six nights. You shall respect me like so,” she spat. “One more word uttered in disrespect of me will be your nightmare. This feist is for me and I will fucking rule over you. You will bow down to me, and beg for my mercy every day. My command shall be your duty from now on. If I say the day is night, then the day is night! Am I clear?!” she was a whole new being on the podium.

The people looked up with wide eyes at her. They frantically looked between her and His Highness. But He just smirked and stood pridefully.

That night, she didn’t only become their Queen but His pride as well.

“I said, AM I CLEAR?” she roared.

The people snapped out of their shock and complied.

“LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!”

…

The night was long. But still not enough to stop the storm inside His Highness.

He was still wide awake. It was closer to the morning, and raining and yet He was still cooped in His bochord. His cloak was gone, the crown was resting in its place, and the blouse was undone but draped over His broad shoulders. The adrenaline of the feist died down as soon as His Little Birdy was escorted back to her chambers.

After a few glasses of the wine she let herself feel breezy. Her cheeks were twice as red. She was magnetic. He made sure that she was by His side. Not behind but right next to Him. He wanted them to see how He saw her. She was braver than most of his ministers and officials. The way she demanded respect made His heart swell.

His Highness never wanted to marry anyone. He never wanted any woman to be important to him after Her but Coronis was… she was…

There was no word yet discovered for what she was.

His Highness was reading a book that She used to read. There were many lines that She had drawn under the words which She thought were moving. It was an epic. Like any other epic, they were fighting over a girl. They were killing and killing, only for one girl.

But there was more to it. In the book, the hero was a typical heroic man. He saved the girl and gave her a beautiful life away from the eyes of the hateful world. However, the villain was left alone, deprived of any love and care.

Not long after, the girl left the hero and ran away with someone else. It wasn’t the hero or the villain. The girl just couldn’t live with a man who was more worried about who was looking at her than the relationship they had built. She had left everything behind for the hero but the hero was fixated on the fact that someone else might take her.

The girl didn’t like it, she felt as if she was just living there with a strange man and then she left with a man who loved her and wasn’t fixated on the idea of having her but was truly in love with her and not like a price but luck.

His Highness always found this book to be fascinating. He never truly understood it but knew why She read it all the time. She was, just like the girl in the book, suffocated in the ordeal.

The train of His thoughts halted as a faint piano started to hum through the door of the bochord. He frowned and got up from His seat. Opening the door, He followed the sound of the music. He walked down the corridor towards the open space on His floor where the piano was.

As He rounded the pillar, He saw Coronis’s dark hair glowing under the candles. She was hunched over the piano while sitting on the stool and playing a sullen tune. Something in His heart stirred. The piano and the rain made His throat fill up to the brim. Her fingers danced across the keys as the sadness poured out of the big instrument.

Closing His eyes, He leaned His back against the pillar and let Himself get drowned in the tunes of His beloved.

With each passing moment, the grief through the tunes grew stronger and stronger. They forced the rain outside to match the thunder of her feelings. The ruthless winds grew stronger as if they were in grief with the Queen. The windows shuddered and banged under their pressure and the lightning bolted. But nothing stopped Coronis. She let herself go through the music.

His Highness opened His eyes to look at her. She was still unaware of his presence. He now noticed a crow sitting on the piano, looking intensely towards Him. it was as if that thing was trying to protect Coronis.

His Highness just kept peering at them in silence.

Her tunes slowed down as her shoulders shivered. The cold wind from the storm made her locks wave around her, gracefully. He could now see the wetness down her soft cheeks.

Finally moving from where He was standing, He gently touched her shoulders and rubbed her arms to give her some warmth from His palms. Coronis froze under His touch.

“Don’t stop, my Little Birdy,” He whispered. “Keep dancing your fingers across the keys, my Love.”

She obediently followed His words and resumed her tunes. The warmth of His palms warmed her. His presence was heavy behind her. His figure was towering over her, looking intently at the way she was playing the piano.

“I feel like you will be the reason for my death,” He muttered in her ear. “I am incapable of feeling but you, my Little Birdy, make me feel more than I can ever imagine.”

Coronis didn’t say anything but kept playing the keys. Her heart was heavy and needed to let it out. The confidence wore her down like a curse. She realized she could win over anybody but not Him. He was still her captor. She was still away from her family and Nori.

While she was here being gifted lavish gowns and being fed delicious foods, they were back at the shack. They were still fighting day and night for everything. Circe must have been a mess.

Coronis wanted to shut her mind now. It was too much guilt to carry for her. She let herself focus on the notes and played the piano.

“I am aware of the fact that you are not fond of me,” His Highness said. “But I will make you love me soon,” he kissed the top of her head. Her tears slipped down her cheeks far more furiously as a painful sob pulled out of her chest.

Coro was by the window of her shack by the moment Coronis returned from the feast. Coronis quickly opened the window after Ana left her alone after helping her change into her white nightgown.

The crow flew in and landed in her extended arm. “Coro, what are you doing here,” she whispered, feeling too many things at once as she saw him after so long. Only Coro could visit her like this. “Oh, what is this?” she questioned as she saw something stuck on his feathery back.

Letting the crow rest on the table, she removed the bag from his back and opened it. She gasped as she saw a tiny book inside it. She pulled it out and with it, a tiny ink pot with a feather was there.

Turning the the book open she saw the first page written in her father’s handwriting. Her eyes filled with tears as she traced the letters with her shaky fingers and started to read–

‘My beautiful girl, Coronis. It is your father. Upon returning, I couldn’t take the fact that you were gone. Everyone is devastated. The home doesn’t feel like home anymore. I do not think getting you married would have worked for any of us either. We can’t live without you. No one has smiled since you have left. No one wants to talk either.

I get it now why your mother was always so attached to you. You are different, Coro. No wonder why His Highness took you for himself. We were made aware today by the guard that you were getting married to His Highness in six nights.

We don’t know how we feel but you will become the Queen. We can only hope that you are being treated like one. My princess deserved good things but fell into this. I am sending you this notebook so you can write down what you can’t say out loud to anyone. Hide it smartly, yeah?

It will be alright, okay? Do not fear anyone. You are stronger than them. And do not worry about any of us. We are fine and getting by. Onyx was missing you so was Martha. Circe has been a good girl. She hasn’t created any trouble since you left. She said she made a promise to you to be a good girl for you. She is being a good girl, she wanted me to let you know.

If you can, write back to us… tell us how you are, okay?

Much love, princess.’

That event left her vulnerable and sensitive. She turned to the piano that was here. If only she could go and meet her parents once.

“Little Birdy?” she was snapped back by the raspy voice of the King. “have you heard about the legends regarding the one and only in this world?”

“No…” she whispered.

“You should,” He hummed against her cheek. His warm lips brushed against her cheek ever so lightly yet making her flinch away.

intrigued by the great legends of this realm, she asked, “W-what does it say?” she whimpered when He tightened the hold on her arms and let go.

Without waiting He turned around and unhurriedly stepped away. She kept glancing at Him. He was intimidating as He was walking away. His long hair brushed against His hips and flew with the wind around Him. before disappearing in the corridor, He halted and turned His face slightly so could only see His law and cheek. He inhaled and finally spoke–

“The lone will birth, carry the black of the vault. The ember will come back to life. The omen will attune. The lone would behold and no one shall rebel…”

…..

Sanaa's note:

The behaviour of all the characters is visualized.

Taglist:

@veneziamadness @cheline @sansmilkbread @jayb17 @constantlydelulusional @8tinytings @tea4sykes @chimmisbae @demonshauntingthedoves

@darkuni63 @mageprincess7 @whipwhoops @ackercute @ane102 @kimseokjinsmirror1233 @unhingedgf @jungkooks21 @namjoonscrabjuice @yluv-damara-13 @jksgirlhere @lavenderymoons @passionandsuga @posionapple24 @blueberry711 @shawtylilsalty @gukiebaby @vantelover07 @douknowbts @andioppsworld @xicanacorpse @ttanniett @koohrs @crazy-eight17 @jesshujk @sadxaries @fantasticwarl @catlove83 @iveivory @lippynabiii @igotnojamsz @deadgolgibody @jjk174 @captainengineer-trixie @shakespeare-in-the-park7 @kosmosjkookie @junecat18 @missmunchkin @kookies-n-spice

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mareastrorum · 6 months ago

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An incredible amount of the Downfall discourse comes off as people trying to game the trolley problem instead of recognizing that there simply isn’t a right answer.

Everyone fucked up. This was a horrible situation that might have been prevented with more time, communication, empathy, all sorts of corrections. But it’s the trolley problem: what we have is a bunch of gods on one set of tracks and a far larger number of mortals on the other, and ultimately, the gods switched the track to kill mortals.

It wasn’t right. Of course, we could justify it—I’m a lawyer, and I could justify anything. That doesn’t change that it isn’t moral, good, or right.

“But the gods couldn’t kill their family.” Did we not watch C2, filled with shitty genetic families and centered around a group of found family idiots? Family only means what you want it to. Of course the gods could have killed their family. Half of them even wanted to! But the PCs chose not to.

“But the gods are gods, of course they should win.” Maybe it’s the grew-up-a-poor-minority-and-climbed-the-social-ladder in me, but I don’t see the virtue in an argument that those born into power deserve to make decisions about those who weren’t. One of the gods was already replaced by a mortal. Aeorians came up with methods to repel, suppress, contain, and kill gods. Seats of power change, and power doesn’t make someone right. It’s been incredibly surreal to see how many people think this is an acceptable argument.

“But if the gods die, they really die, and mortal souls are immortal.” While we know souls are immortal, the actual experience of the afterlife is a mystery. Is what Deanna described how it always is, or just in the particular plane where her soul ended up? Is it really immortality if the sense of self is lost and that soul is separated from all they loved in life? Similarly, we don’t know what typically happens when gods die because there isn’t a normal way for it to happen. Why were some gods’ names forgotten but they are remembered by the silhouette left behind? Why are other gods remembered like Ethedok and Vordo? We don’t know. Why are we belittling the fact that mortal death is an end while also arguing that it’s horrible how divine death is an end? They’re both ends! That’s a terrible thing to force on someone. It’s wrong.

The point of Downfall is that it was wrong to destroy Aeor. The Prime Deities thought so themselves. Of all the wrong choices, that was what they chose in the moment. They didn’t succeed because they were right; they were simply more powerful and outsmarted their opponents.

Downfall is a wonderful example of a story where the protagonists are not heroes. Bask in the mistakes and failures. Cry. Mourn. It’s a tragedy that every key character contributed to. It didn’t have to end this way. There’s blood on everyone’s hands. They’re all monsters. They’re all people. They were all trying to save something. No one realized they were in a corner until there was no way out but through.

The only correct argument about a moral high ground in this kind of story is that someone survived to stand over the corpses.

#critical role #critical role spoilers #downfall #Aeor #I also realize that it was silaha that made the choice in the moment #but several primes had voiced they would do the same #or took actions demonstrating that intent #and the betrayers wanted to kill the city and the primes #this is also just one more city out of an untold number that met a similar fate #and those other cities didn’t have god-killing machines #so I feel comfortable saying the gods collectively in this circumstance

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bunji-enthusiast · 7 months ago

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Short but ended up spicy, be warned

Gallagher is naturally warm, he is literally a walking heater. This officer doesn’t go wrong in wanting cuddles, which in turn you would receive so many of them if you’re in a relationship with this man. He feels lucky to find peace in you alone, away from the rustling and bustling noises that is Penacony. Bloodhound officer be damned, he’ll spend as much time with you as possible (Much to the disgruntled Sunday and other officers alike).

Gallagher loves to surprise you from behind with a hug, one large arm coming up to enrapture you in his hold and the other staying steady on your waist. Being quiet, especially when he has to deal with miscreants and criminals running amok is a force of habit to him, so he may as well use it to his advantage when it comes to you. Only he would be sweeter compared to his treatment of those bastards–Sunday too cough cough–Gallagher sometimes does question how’d he get so lucky with a fun-loving person as you.

Gallagher is unsure if you actually do love him, considering; his personality, line of work, and his scars. All at once, it feels rather unnerving to him at times. But he doesn’t doubt it, telling himself to not fuss over such a silly subject, it was you alone that had proven many times over that you had simply loved him. No more, no less – the subject had no need to be so complicated. But he felt himself dead, liar to your own face. That was the upending truth.

Gallagher could allow himself to play the fool a little longer, letting himself indulge in the sweet tastes that you had. Delving into your cunt, always lapping out at each and every last drop that spilled from your warmth, he simply couldn’t get enough. Even with your shaky legs, your hand pulling at his ruffled brown hair and begging him to stop. Gallagher had never stopped, ensuring to fully make a mess out of you just on his tongue alone. He takes a lot of pride in doing so, partially in part to taking priority on your pleasure over his own.

Gallagher can be one hell of a skillful man, even if he appears to not look that away to the eyes of the few. His hands are always moving and creating, mixing drinks to the voices of the poor souls finding heaven in the dreamscape of Penacony. An old dog wonders how he got here, how he left himself here and wondering how you stayed. However long you may stray, Gallagher will personally make sure you enjoyed every taste left in your mouth to the fullest.

#ミ★ ser’s thoughts #hsr gallagher #gallagher x reader #gallagher honkai star rail #gallagher hsr #headcanon #just headcanons #my thoughts turned so… agh #I’m coping shut up

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ladykailitha · 18 days ago

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A Love For Christmas Part 8

And here we are! The last chapter! Thank you to everyone who liked and comment on this wonderful story. I had a blast trying to make it as a Hallmark Christmas-y as possible!

Steve gets what he always wanted for Christmas, people who love him!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

It had been six weeks since I sent my little elf off into the big wide world and I was anxious to see how they were doing.

They had been sending progress reports on their person they chosen to help bring to the joy of Christmas. They had originally chosen a battered and worn down secretary, but when she unexpectedly passed away, they were forced to change tack and instead began to focus on the son of the business owner.

The young man had had a rash of bad Christmases and didn’t believe in the holiday anymore. The elf had been working tirelessly to help the poor man out and they had done a stellar job.

I walked up to their stall at the Christmas market and asked for a cup of hot chocolate.

“Santa!” they cried cheerfully and then covered their mouth with a blush.

“It’s alright,” I told them. “There are enough people around that any old man with a white beard might be mistaken for the jolly, old soul.” I winked.

They grinned back.

“He has really turned around and loves Christmas now,” they said proudly. “I did it!”

“You most certainly did.” I pull out a small box and hand it to them. “This is for that young man. So if you could find away to get it to him, I’d appreciate it.”

Their eyes went wide and their smile was incandescent. “You trust me to deliver a present for you?”

I nod.

They clutch to their chest and then salute.

I laugh. It’s good to see them so happy.

“Come on, Stevie!” Eddie implored. “You can’t leave Hawkins without seeing the Christmas Market! It’s what the town is known for.”

Steve shook his head. “The last time I went to one of those things it was held together by duck tape and Elmer’s glue. It had three shops and shopping mall Santa who was more drunk than he was jolly, and my best friend left me stranded there to go make out with his girlfriend when he saw what a disaster it was.”

“Holy shit,” Eddie huffed, eyes wide. “You are Christmas cursed!”

Steve waved his arm in front of him. “See? And that wasn’t even the worst of it.”

“What could be worse then that?” Eddie asked cocking his head to the side.

“My dad couldn’t pick me out for three hours,” Steve huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “So I was wandering around looking for something to do and somehow got roped into being Santa for two of those hours while their paid Santa slept off his booze.” He threw his arms in the air. “I didn’t even get paid. I was told I was ‘volunteering’ and that my payment was the joy on the little tykes’ faces.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly. “Babe, now you have to come to ours. It is so not like that. At all.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie said with a fond, dimpled smile. “I promise.”

Eddie drove Steve’s car because he wanted Steve’ to be blindfolded but didn’t want to take his van. It was having issues and Eddie had to wait until after they tallied up all the money from their close to Christmas sales before he could get it fixed.

Finally they came to a stop and Eddie hurried around to the passenger side door and opened it for Steve. He carefully guided him out of the car and toward the entrance, making sure the car was locked behind them.

Then Eddie removed the blindfold.

There was a huge sign welcoming them the Christmas Market in red, green, and white. The entrance was framed by two massive Nutcrackers. Beyond the entrance were shops and booths galore. People dressed as elves and old-timey carolers wandered around, cheerfully singing Christmas songs.

It was what Steve always imagined what the North Pole must have looked like.

“Eddie...” he breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

Eddie grinned back at him. “Just wait until you see what’s inside.”

So they walked in and immediately Steve was struck by the sounds, sights, and smells of Christmas. It was bright and cheerful, but with a homey atmosphere that Steve had never experienced before in his life.

Suddenly he was tugging on Eddie’s wrist and dragging him over to the carolers dressed up as though they walked out of the pages of Dickens novel.

Eddie laughed.

They had bought cookies from the German shop and chocolates from the Swiss shop.

Then Robin came bounding up to them. “You made it!”

Steve wrapped his arms around her and swung her around. “This is amazing!”

“Is it just?” she cried happily. “Come on, you have to come with me to the beverage booth. There is a pretty girl there and I need you to make sure she’s not some angel or something, she so gorgeous!”

Eddie and Steve laughed, but followed her to the beverage booth. Sure enough there were a pretty red-headed girl with bright green eyes and sweet smile.

“She’s so your type!” Steve said bumping her shoulder with his.

“Shut up!”

Steve walked up to the booth. “Two hot chocolates please.”

Her name tag read: Chrissy. Perfect.

Once Chrissy handed over the two cups in beautifully decorated red styrofoam cups, Steve smiled brightly at her. “And your number for my friend?” He jerked his head to where Eddie and Robin were standing.

“I guess that depends which one it’s for?” Chrissy said with a wink.

Steve grinned. “The pretty blonde.”

Chrissy looked back over at them and then nodded with satisfactory smile. She pulled out a pen and wrote her number on a napkin, handing it to Steve.

“I’d say to tell her I get off at seven,” Chrissy said with a smile, “but I think she knows that.”

Steve laughed and walked back over.

“They’re so perfect together,” Robin said with a sigh. “Just look at them. So pretty and sporty. Just think of the babies they’d have.”

Eddie frowned. He hadn’t liked the way she kept looking over here at them when she was supposedly supposed to be working.

Then Steve came up to them with a big grin. He handed the hot chocolate to Eddie. “A hot chocolate for the handsome gentleman.” Then he handed the napkin to Robin. “And the pretty girl’s number for Robin. She gets off at seven and likes to watch the carolers.”

Eddie and Robin shared a shocked glance.

“You asked her out for me?” Robin asked in amazement.

“Sure,” Steve said brightly. “Everyone deserves a little Hallmark cheesiness for Christmas.” Then he winked at Eddie, who turned as bright red as the cup in his hand.

Far too soon the place was closing up, Robin and Chrissy had long since gone home together and it was just Eddie and Steve under the glistening stars.

“Thanks for making Christmas special this year,” Steve murmured as they got into the car.

“It’s not over with yet,” Eddie said, slipping into the passenger seat. “There’s still Christmas chaos with everyone. There’s going to be lots of food courtesy of Claudia with no orange to be found,” he started ticking off on his fingers, “Joyce and Hopper are bringing the drinks, everyone is bringing presents. You don’t have to buy something for anyone, your presence will be the gift. But I, uh. I got you something.”

Steve lit up and dared to glance over at him. “I got you something too. I really hope you like it.”

Eddie’s answering grin was enough to keep Steve warm all the way back to Indy.

He called his parents to tell them he was moving out of Indy which was met with the same disdain he had gotten from them his whole life.

“You’ll regret that,” Mrs. Harrington sniffed. “He might be pretty now, but once you run out of money, he’ll do the same.”

“Think about what you’re doing, Steven,” Mr. Harrington grumbled. “You know you’re not smart, you’re only importance is as my son and if you walk away from that no one will even look at you twice.”

“Seriously, Steven,” Mrs. Harrington continued, “there is no amount sex that will make being with someone like that palpable. There were several young ladies at the party who would have been willing to put up with your flaws for the amount of money you make. They were just frightened off by that riffraff you brought with you.”

“There are plenty of opportunities in the company,” Mr. Harrington huffed. “You just need to put your back into it.”

Steve burst out laughing. “We both know that the junior partner was going to Tommy or Billy. It was never going to be me. I hate what we do. I always have. But I’m tired of wasting my life for a job I never wanted. I have a lot of money saved up, I’m not going for some guy. I’m going because that person looked at my unhappy life and showed me it didn’t have to be that way.”

“If you walk away from this,” Mr. Harrington growled, “you’ll never see another cent from us.”

“We’ll never see or speak to you either,” Mrs. Harrington twittered. “Is that really what you want?”

Steve let out a happy little sigh. “Oh god, yes.” Then he hung up and blocked both of their numbers.

He felt free for the first time in his life.

Steve pulled into driveway of the Munsons’ house. It was small and homey and gave off a warmth that all the other houses he had been to did. Nothing like his bland apartment or the Macy’s catelogue worthy house he grew up in.

He grabbed the red velvet bag he brought just for tonight and made his way to the door. He knocked and instantly it opened up to Eddie in a Santa hat.

“Stevie!” Eddie cried, big grin on his face. “You made it.” Then he spotted the bag and his eyes went wide. “And with gifts, too. You are a very welcome sight!” He stepped back to let Steve in.

Steve slipped past him, so close that their chests brushed against each other and Steve felt a spike of warm lance through his chest and settle down into his belly.

He sat down next to the tree and suddenly Joyce was at his side with a steaming mug of Jim’s apple cider.

“It’s a good thing Jim doesn’t like orange in this otherwise we would have had troubles,” she said handing him the mug.

Steve blushed. “Oh I checked before I poured myself some. I’m aware that most recipes call for it and was very happy to find out it didn’t. Didn’t need it either.”

“I’m glad you’re here, Steve,” Joyce said with a smile.

“Me too.”

Then it was time for presents and Steve got to play Santa. Not everyone got a present from everyone else, but everyone had a stack of presents so no one felt left out.

But every time someone opened a present from Steve they would gasp and say that was just what they always wanted.

Finally when Eddie opened up a black wooden dice box complete with sparkling red dice, did anyone ask the question.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “It’s beautiful, but how did you know?”

Steve shrugged. “Robin helped me pick out gifts from everyone.”

Dustin tilted his head to the side. “But how would she know? She’s only been here since November.”

Steve mirrored his expression and blinked. “Huh. It just always felt like she’d always been here, you know?”

Everyone agreed that it felt that way to them too, and everyone moved on. Then it was time for Steve to open his.

He got warm woolly socks from Robin, hand-stitched pillows from Dustin and Claudia. Dustin picked out the colors and material and Claudia sewed them. A box of Eggo’s from Ellie. A nice hat and scarf from Eddie and a few things from everyone else.

“Hey Steve,” Robin said, “I think one of your presents dropped.” She indicated under his chair with her chin.

Steve looked down between his legs and sure enough, there was a small present took behind one of his legs. “Oh thanks!”

He picked it up and unwrapped it. It was a necklace box, the kind his dad would buy his mom when he cheated on her. On top was a note and when he read it, tears streamed down his face as he pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle his cries.

Eddie came over and sat down in the chair next to his. “Hey, you okay?”

Steve handed him the note to read as he opened up the box with that little sproing and snap that jewelry boxes have.

“Dear Stevie,

I’m sorry I’m fifteen years late, but it took me a while to find the perfect match. Take a chance and I think you’ll find I’m right.

xxSanta”

“What’s this about?” Eddie asked lifting the note.

“When I was eleven I wrote to Santa begging him to send me someone who would love me unconditionally and would never leave me. Not like my parents who more concerned with appearances then the health of their own son.” Steve shook his head. “When nothing came under the tree that Christmas, I stopped believing in him.”

He lifted the necklace. It was red guitar pick on a black leather cord and he frowned at it in confusion.

“Holy shit! That’s mine!” Eddie gasped. “I thought I lost it that day our at the Sinclair farm when I rescued the horses. It must have fallen off then.” He reached out to rub the surface of the pick between his finger and thumb. “I thought it was gone for sure.”

Steve put the necklace around Eddie’s neck and used it pull this beautiful man to him. Then he sealed their lips with a kiss.

“You did a good job, Robin,” I said, appearing next to her as she watched Eddie and Steve whisper their ‘I love you’s. He bumped her shoulder with his. “And yes you can stay here. You’re happier here than you ever were in the North Pole. You found your people.”

Robin blushed a bright pink. “Thanks, boss. I thought for sure the job was sunk when Dolores passed away, but I think he had more influence on this sweet little group then she would have.”

“I think if there is a God,” I said warmly, “I think he was looking out for our Stevie, too.”

“What will happened to Steve now?” she asked fondly.

I chuckled. “He’ll move out here to Hawkins and go to school at the state school, get a degree in doing something he loves and continue to deepen the connections he made here over the last month.”

Robin nodded. She looked up at Santa and he appeared younger than when she saw him at the Christmas Market.

“The more Christmas spirit there is,” I explained to her unasked question, “the younger I appear. It’s nice to be able to straighten my spine, it’s been awhile.”

“Does that mean Mrs. Claus also gets young and hot, too?” Robin asked with a grin.

I laughed my jolly ole laugh. “Too bad you won’t be heading back to the North Pole with me to find out.”

“Rude.”

“I punished Myrtle, by the way,” I told her. “The elf who sabotaged your sleigh.”

Robin cocked her head to the side. “Yeah?”

“I told her that I was taking her with me on my around the world trip,” I explained.

“That doesn’t sound like much of a punishment,” Robin huffed, crossing her arms with a pout. “That’s like the dream come true of every elf in the workshop.”

I tucked my thumbs in my belt loop and rocked back on my heels with a grin. “As reindeer scooper.”

Robin blinked for a moment as she took in what he just said, then she threw her head back and laughed.

“Merry Christmas, Robin,” I said kissing the top of her head.

Merry Christmas, indeed, she thought with a smile.

Tag List: COMPLETED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @steddieislife @tartarusknight @themoonagainstmers

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #asks #ladykailtiha writes #hallmark christmas au #businessman steve harrington #christmas tree farmer eddie munson

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inferno-0 · 9 months ago

Text

Frame

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You just need the shots.

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Sorry for the English.

Titans have always defeated their enemies. For millennia, if not more, they have fought for balance and peace on this planet. They were all strong in their own way. Even those same pests had some potential, but decided to go the other way, with poor results in the process. Victory has always been on the side of good. It had to be. Any way. Especially for creatures like Kaiju, who are truly majestic.

They had their own zest, and maybe even several.

Some people liked them

And some preferred to run far away, the main thing was not to look at them and save their lives. But that's what life is for, to preserve it and make that remnant richer than being eaten or trampled by the Titan. But do the Titans really need to do anything to humans? Their work is done.

There was no enemy and there was no point in doing anything else.

It's just people who are like that. Their size was really poorly chosen by nature and therefore you have to somehow survive and turn on instincts for advancement.

It's no one's fault that half of humanity actively avoids all these Kaiju.

It's just a smart decision of nature, or maybe fate itself, that gave all these Titans the ability.

The ability that people liked, who are not afraid of them and consider them something beautiful and attractive.

Especially you. A simple girl, an ordinary resident in the city,

Just a creature with a destiny to follow.

But this fate was difficult and you didn't know what to do and how to decide.

For some reason, your ego can't get enough of all these shots from the news on TV. You've always wanted something more, and you didn't know what it was. Even photographs that were accidentally photographed by people were kept for themselves. Everything that had to do with the Titans, you put aside for yourself. All the information that kept you afloat was yours.

You were obsessed.

Especially from the moment He arrived.

You've seen this fight and watched it several times. The Lizard fought other Titans unknown to you. You couldn't find an animal that matched these looks, but they all looked mysterious and beautiful in their own way. But there was a bad intention behind this beauty. You have heard and understood that these two Titans were parasites. That is why the one who fell into your soul mercilessly destroyed them. The one you've always liked and the one that sticks in your head to this day.

It's been many years since you've seen it. You didn't know where he was going or what he was doing. But perhaps he, like all animals, slept somewhere and accumulated strength for the next fight.

You've always been following the information about this Titan. Especially when he came back a couple of years later.

You've seen this fierce battle once again. But it's more terrible with the enemy. Their struggle was serious and decided the future fate of the planet. Two alphas and two kings.

But you've always been in favor of the former, and for good reason.

He won again and left again. And you were left sitting in your room and looking at the photos, which were added a few years later. And again. Struggle.

No matter how many years pass, no matter how many times you learn everything in your life. Your brain couldn't get it out of your head. So much time has passed, and you're still into it. Any ordinary person would call you crazy and frivolous, a person with a childish imagination and inspiration in the next book with Dinosaurs.

Or maybe it was.

For these people.

For you, this was the first step to destiny. Yes, it all started with simple reptiles and dinosaurs, and then the Titans, which seductively torment your soul. But you don't mind. You just need to shorten the distance to them.

And to him.

The one that ate up your brain and all the unnecessary thoughts every day.

You couldn't help but think about him. For you, it has become something ordinary.

It's already familiar.

A habit that only gives you a step forward.

And off you went.

The next struggle that was in front of your eyes. The Four Titans. Two by two, and Odin died. You didn't understand how you managed to survive in such a deadly situation. Buildings collapsed step by step, you desperately ran where your feet led. Where my instinct led me. The loud screams of people, the growls coming from somewhere above, made you close your eyes and ears and squeeze into yourself like a child in a corner.

It wasn't like what you saw on TV.

It was scarier.

It was worse.

But for some reason, you didn't run where the rest of the people who were saving themselves were running. You ran to him.

To Godzilla.

Its spikes were visible between the buildings and you took advantage of this by speeding up your run. The closer you were, the scarier it became from the size you gradually notice in front of you. You knew you could die, but you went anyway.

You've been dreaming for so long and couldn't miss this moment.

You don't care if you're going to die.

It's like someone steps on you.

You want and move forward, crawling through broken roofs and structures. Yes, it was difficult, but you walked.

They were practically near you, but not yet completely. They won't see you. Much less will He see.

A couple of meters left. You've already noticed the big ape that was called Kong. You recalled the struggle that took place a few years ago. It was him. The only thing that distinguished him from that image was a large and yellow metal glove, which seemed to increase his strength.

But it doesn't matter, what matters is that the one you admired, or even loved, has also become different. You walked to the last tall building that could withstand such storms and looked up.

Your favorite.

A creature that has sunk into your little heart from the very beginning. That has become something mundane in your head. He was in front of you. The changes that touched him excited your mind even more. His breath was pink, and his spikes became sharper and more curved. The legs have clearly become longer.

So beautiful and so attractive.

You watched in amazement as the Titan shot its beam into the sky, pulling apart the cold clouds, letting the sun into the world. It was perfect. It was so beautiful that we didn't notice how we pulled out the phone for another photo. This picture will be truly sensational. The most beloved in my entire life.

A smile immediately enveloped your face, you slowly picked up your phone and looked across the screen at Godzilla, who was unaware of anything. But he's unlikely to notice.

The finger cautiously approached the mug through which your life would sing again for a few days.

Squinting your eyes, you gasped for air.

"Click"

"Oops" You pursed your lips into a thin line and carefully moved the lens away from you. Okay, that wasn't the plan. It was ridiculous. A failure and a mistake that will probably ruin your life right now.

Reaching for your pocket, you put your phone back in and took a step back.

I don't think the sound reached them because of the difference in size, you just need to quietly step back from this fuss.

Slowly turning your back on the Titans, you took another step away from them. The quieter the step, the stronger the crunch of stones under your feet, which was a problem.

"Everything is fine. All.. Good.." You could barely hold back a sigh.

"Everything is wonderful..."

A huge shadow immediately loomed over you, right over your pathetic body. Your shoulders stiffened. You remembered how you came here without fear, but with a suspicion of death.

And here she comes.

That is, He came.

Warm air enveloped your shoulders. A rhythmic growl followed you, as if interested. You didn't dare turn your head, but you can't run away either.

Two options and two different answers.

How could you not hear this colossus approaching you?

Absurdly.

You swallowed, praying you wouldn't be in any danger. Just like yard dogs, they will smell it and move on. But not everyone does that.

Making a different decision, you jerked away from the Titan, jumping off a collapsed chunk of the building until you stopped again with a furious scream at your back. Out of your fear, another one sounded, but this time another, more rude. And it didn't seem to be aimed at you.

With tension, you turned all the way.

The two Titans growled at each other as if to say something, but it was not yet known what it was. Very strange. But you silently thanked the monkey for not letting you offend, to put it mildly.

You looked at the two kaiju one more time before pulling out your phone again.

Turning on the camera and adjusting the lens, you pointed your gadget at one cute Titan on the left. You didn't notice it right away, but when you caught your eye, you decided to take a picture and capture it as a complement to your passions.

Squinting your eyes and adjusting for an angle, you finally clicked.

"Click"

"Damn" You banged your head on the screen, bumping your forehead right at that button, where there was another click in the direction of the Titan. "What's the matter... "

The three of them stared at you.

The three mighty Titans fell abruptly silent. The one in white was just looking at you curiously, bowing his head slightly while the other two looked at each other. Although Godzilla still had a quiet growl in the direction of Kong, who just turned away with a frown, not wanting to start a fight again.

Now you're in their sight.

Here it is, embarrassment in front of an idol.

You raised your eyebrows, looking back. If you say something, they are unlikely to understand.

Lifting the camera again, you brought your finger closer to the button once more.

"Click"

With a shake in your hands, you brought the screen closer to you, staring at the photo in the hope that the second attempt would not come. You breathed a sigh of relief. All three of them looked at you peacefully, without screaming and without anything that could ruin the shot. Even Godzilla silently stared at you, even though it was scary. But you didn't mind.

All that's left to do is reach out, poke your hand on that muzzle, and feel the texture of the scales.

But it will only be in dreams.

So far.

And now.. Enjoy a bunch of beautiful Titans that flaunt in your lens. After all, it's not for nothing that you stepped on that very step as a child.

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#godzilla #godzilla x kong: the new empire #godzillaxreader #godzilla monsterverse #x reader #king kong #King kong x reader #Shimo #Shimo x reader #Titans x reader #Kaiju #I'm a walking delirium #I just love the Titans

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oceandolores · 3 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 17

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If he's a serial killer, then what's the worst That could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"

summary: joel went back to town for help

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 17

masterlist!

previous | chapter 16

next | chapter 18

Joel sat in the dimly lit truck, gripping the steering wheel as his mind raced. Every passing motel sign felt like a twisted beacon of hope, and yet, nothing—just more dead ends.

He couldn’t stop.

The thought of you out there, taken, in some nightmare he couldn't quite piece together, was enough to drive him insane. He didn't know who this man was, didn't know his name, but Joel remembered the handwriting—he'd seen it in guest books at motels, on receipts left behind, under fake names, always a step ahead.

He slammed his fist into the dashboard, frustration bubbling inside him, pulling him under like a riptide.

The FBI was after him, every second ticking down like a clock he couldn't stop. Joel had become the face of a crime he didn't commit, and now the world believed he was the monster. His brother Tommy had no idea about the depth of this nightmare, and Joel wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep that secret.

Ellie kept calling, desperate to find him, but he couldn’t answer her. He couldn’t risk it—not when the only thing that mattered now was finding you. The guilt gnawed at him like a relentless beast. He couldn’t protect you. He had failed. But he wouldn't let it end here.

Hotel after hotel, state after state—the same fluorescent vacancy signs blinking back at him, taunting him like the glow of distant stars that could never be reached.

He had been here with you, in these places, laughing in the safety of their anonymity. But now, those memories had turned to ash in his hands. Every room felt hollow, stripped of meaning, just like the heart inside his chest.

The guest books were all the same—fake names, neat handwriting, the kind that made Joel’s skin crawl with recognition. The bastard was mocking him, leaving a breadcrumb trail that twisted and turned like a sick game of cat and mouse.

And Joel, in his desperation, was losing—losing time, losing you.

Two weeks had passed since you were taken, and each second since felt like it carved another piece from his soul. His temper flared now—small arguments turning into wild eruptions with motel clerks who wouldn’t let him see the guest books.

More than once, his hand found itself tangled in the collar of some poor receptionist’s shirt, his voice hoarse, demanding, begging for information. Every time, he had to stop himself, had to remember that he was a fugitive. That the world had turned against him.

Disguises, fake hats, beards—he did what he could to move undetected. But he couldn’t hide from himself. The nightmares came every night, slithering into his dreams like poison, filling him with scenes of you screaming, of blood, of hands he couldn’t reach.

He drowned it out the only way he knew how—pills, whiskey, whatever he could find. His body was exhausted, his mind unraveling thread by thread, as the days bled into each other.

And then the questions started, sharp and relentless, piercing his already fraying sanity. What if you weren’t taken? What if you had seen the news about him? What if you knew everything—Ben, Jamie, the blood on his hands—and you ran? Fled from him, from the monster he had become.

His heart clenched at the thought, a black hole opening in his chest. No. He couldn’t believe that. You wouldn’t. But the thought twisted inside him, planting seeds of doubt he couldn’t shake.

Was it safe to go back? Could he risk returning to town, even in secret, just to see Tommy? To beg for help? But would you be there? What if you were hiding from him? The questions swarmed like locusts in his mind, buzzing louder and louder until he couldn’t think. He had to go back.

***

Ellie slammed her fists on the table, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. “Tell me where the fuck he is, Tommy. I need to see him.”

Tommy leaned back in his chair, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. His hands rubbed his temples as he tried to keep his composure. “Ellie, I don’t know where he is.”

“You lied!” Ellie snapped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “He’s out there, hunted, I need to find him!”

“I said I don’t know, Ellie!” Tommy barked back, his voice strained with frustration. “We were supposed to meet in Miami, before all this shit happened. But now? I don’t know where the hell he is.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Ellie’s voice trembled with anger and fear, her fists clenched tight at her sides. “You know something. You have to.”

“Ellie, stop!” Tommy’s voice cracked, the weight of the argument pressing hard against him. His eyes were bloodshot, tired, and filled with a desperation he hadn’t shown before. He looked away, unable to meet her gaze.

Maria stepped in between them, her voice a soft but firm plea for calm. “Both of you, stop. This isn’t helping. We need to think straight about this.”

Silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken fears. Ellie turned away, frustrated, pacing the living room like a caged animal. She had been staying with Tommy and Maria since Joel had vanished, their home feeling more like a prison with each passing day.

That night, the house was quiet. Tommy and Maria were asleep, their babyboy, Luke, stirring occasionally in his crib. But Maria heard something.

A noise—a creak in the floorboards that didn’t belong. She slipped out of bed, moving with the cautious grace of a mother on high alert. She headed to the kitchen to prepare formula for Luke, but then… she heard it again.

Her heart raced, fear crawling up her spine. Was it a burglar? An intruder? She called out for Tommy, but no answer. Grabbing Tommy’s golf club, Maria moved carefully down the hallway, her knuckles white around the handle.

And then a hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream.

“Shh.”

She froze.

The hand let go, and she spun around, her heart pounding in her chest. “Joel?!”

Joel’s face was gaunt, shadowed by exhaustion, his eyes sunken deep into his skull. He held his hands up, trying to calm her, but Maria’s body shook with shock and fear.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she hissed, backing away slowly, the club still in her grip. The news reports about Joel raced through her mind—murder, fugitives, everything. She had seen him as family once, but now… she wasn’t sure.

“Maria, please,” Joel whispered, desperation seeping into his voice. “I need to talk to Tommy.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Maria’s voice was small now, shaking. “I—" she looked down the hall toward the bedrooms, fear clutching her chest.

“I didn’t do it,” Joel said, stepping closer, his voice low, almost pleading. “I didn’t kill the Gibsons. I swear it.”

Maria swallowed hard, her eyes wide with disbelief. “But you killed the pastor. And the boy.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes flickering with a storm of emotions. “I had to. I had to get rid of them to protect her.”

Maria took another step back, her body trembling. Joel could see the fear in her eyes—she was afraid of him now, the weight of his actions hanging between them like a noose.

“Please, Maria,” Joel whispered. “I need to talk to Tommy.”

Tommy awoke to the sound of Maria’s voice, low and strained. He stumbled out of bed, heading toward the kitchen, his heart sinking when he saw who was there.

“Joel? What the fuck are you doing here?”

Joel’s head snapped up, his face a mask of desperation and grief. “Tommy… I need your help. She’s gone.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, gone?”

Joel’s voice broke as he stepped forward, his hands trembling. “She’s been taken. I—I don’t know what to do.”

Tommy stared at his brother, his eyes wide with disbelief. Joel stood before him like a ghost—hollow, ragged, a shadow of the man he once knew. His face was drawn, eyes sunken with sleepless nights and too much whiskey.

His clothes hung off him, sweat-stained and worn, like they had been clinging to him for days. Tommy could hardly recognize the man in front of him. His brother was now a broken mess, standing on the edge of a cliff with nowhere to go but down.

“Come on,” Tommy muttered, glancing back at Maria, who was still clutching Luke protectively. “Let’s talk somewhere else.”

Maria nodded nervously, holding Luke tighter against her chest, and Tommy led Joel into the living room, the air thick with tension. Once they were alone, Tommy turned to face his brother, his voice barely above a whisper, but filled with restrained fury.

“What the fuck, Joel? What have you done?”

Joel’s hands shook as he rubbed his face, his mind racing, searching for words that made sense. But nothing about this made sense anymore. “I didn’t… I didn’t kill the Gibsons. Tommy, I swear to God—someone’s trying to trap me.”

Tommy’s heart raced, every fiber of him wanting to believe his brother, but the weight of everything he’d heard pressed against his chest like a stone. “Trap you? You expect me to believe that? You fucking killed the pastor, Joel! You killed the boy!”

Joel flinched as if Tommy’s words were a physical blow, his shoulders slumping under the guilt he carried like a cross. He looked down at the floor, his voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice, Tommy. I had to protect her.”

Tommy's stomach churned as he stared at Joel, disgust twisting in his gut. “You had to? Had to what? What the fuck does that mean?” He felt betrayed, a deep wound splitting his chest open. “You lied to me, Joel. You lied to me.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and he lifted his gaze, his eyes bloodshot and full of desperation. “I did it for her. I had to get rid of them to keep her safe.”

Tommy’s head pounded, his world spinning. “Keep her safe? You think killing people is keeping her safe?” His voice rose, barely contained, anger flooding his veins like wildfire.

“The fucking FBI is after you, Joel! Do you understand that? The FBI!” He was yelling now, his words slamming into the walls of the room, reverberating like a storm.

Joel clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "I know that! You think I don’t know how bad it is? I didn’t want this, Tommy, but I’m trying—”

“Trying?!” Tommy cut him off, his voice laced with venom. “You fucking murdered people! And you’re telling me you’re trying?” His hands trembled as he stepped closer, his eyes burning with a mix of rage and sorrow.

Joel’s eyes were hollow, filled with an ocean of guilt he could no longer drown. He took a breath, but it came out ragged, as if the very act of breathing was becoming too much to bear.

“I know… I know I fucked up, Tommy.” His voice wavered, soft, broken. “But I need your help. I need to find her.”

Tommy’s heart twisted painfully. He could see the desperation in Joel’s eyes—the same eyes that had always watched out for him, always protected him.

But now, those eyes were clouded with something darker, something Tommy couldn’t reach. “You lost her?” Tommy’s voice was quiet now, raw with disbelief. “What do you mean you lost her?”

Joel’s hand pressed against his forehead as if he could somehow hold his mind together through sheer willpower. “She was taken. Two weeks ago. I don’t know where she is, and I’ve searched everywhere. I’m losing my mind, Tommy, and I need you to help me find her.”

Tommy stepped back, his hand running through his hair as the gravity of Joel’s words hit him. He had never seen his brother like this—not since Sarah, not since Jane. Back then, Joel had crumbled, but this... this was something worse.

The cracks were deeper now, like his soul was unraveling before Tommy's eyes, and every piece that fell apart took something vital with it. Tommy’s anger began to ebb, replaced by a gnawing worry.

“Joel…” Tommy’s voice softened, heavy with concern. “Tell me everything. What happened?"

Joel sat down heavily, his hands trembling as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a crumpled letter. His fingers, stiff and rough with callouses, were unsteady as he handed it to Tommy.

“This man… he’s been followin’ us. Watchin’ her. I didn’t notice at first, didn’t see it until it was too late.” His voice broke, thick with guilt. "I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve protected her better."

Tommy took the letter, unfolding it carefully, the paper soft with wear, the ink smudged from being handled so many times. As he read, the air in the room seemed to thicken, pressing in around him as the words sank into his chest like stones. The man’s words were obsessive, possessive. A predator circling his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“How the hell did you not notice you were bein’ followed?” Tommy’s voice was a low hiss, disbelief and frustration swirling in his mind. “How could you let this happen?”

Joel’s head dropped into his hands, his fingers gripping his hair tightly as if trying to hold himself together by sheer force. “I don’t know, Tommy. I don’t fucking know. I was tryin’—God, I was tryin’ to protect her, but I didn’t see him… didn’t know.” His voice cracked, and the weight of his own failure bore down on him, suffocating him.

“I can’t get them outta my head. The pastor, the boy… I see their faces every time I close my eyes. I did what I had to, but it’s like their ghosts are hauntin’ me. And now she’s gone, and I—"

Tommy's jaw tightened. Joel wasn’t just running from the law. He was running from himself, from the blood on his hands. The guilt was eating him alive, and now, with you gone, it was suffocating him. Tommy didn’t know if his brother could survive this one.

“We can’t go to the cops, Joel,” Tommy muttered, shaking his head. “They’re after you. You step one foot outside, and they’ll hunt you down. You’re a fugitive.”

Joel's eyes, red-rimmed and hollow, locked onto Tommy’s. "I don't care about me," he rasped. “I just need to find her. I can't lose her, Tommy. Not her too. If I lose her…” His voice faltered, and for a moment, he looked utterly broken.

“I can’t go through that pain again. I can't. It’ll kill me.” His voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please, Tommy. Please help me.”

Tommy’s heart twisted. Joel had been strong his entire life, but this—this wasn’t strength. This was a man drowning, clutching at anything to keep himself from slipping under.

Before Tommy could say a word, the sound of footsteps echoed softly behind them. They both turned, and there she was.

“Joel?” Ellie stood in the doorway, her voice quiet but full of confusion. Her eyes were wide, full of questions she didn’t even know how to ask yet.

Ellie stood in the doorway, her small frame tense with confusion and concern, her eyes wide and full of unspoken questions that seemed to hang heavy in the air.

For a moment, neither Tommy nor Joel moved—until Ellie broke the silence, rushing forward and wrapping her arms around Joel. The reunion was wordless, raw, and desperate.

She was mad—furious, even—but beneath the anger was relief, deep and overwhelming. She clung to him like a lifeline, her face buried against his chest, and Joel felt the knot in his heart loosen, the guilt he had been carrying since the day he left her finally beginning to lift.

“Ellie…” His voice was rough, laden with everything he couldn’t say. His arms came around her, pulling her close as he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. She was here. Safe. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm so fuckin' sorry."

Ellie pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his face. “What the fuck, Joel?" Her voice cracked, caught between anger and the ache of missing him. "I thought something happened to you. I thought you were dead."

Joel closed his eyes for a moment, fighting back the wave of guilt that surged through him. He swallowed hard, the weight of what he had done pressing against his chest.

"I miss you every day. But I—" His voice faltered, thick with regret. "I'm sorry, kid. I'm sorry I left you.

Ellie’s gaze softened, and the anger seemed to drain out of her. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice quieter now, softer.

She hesitated, looking around the room as if searching for something. "Where is she?"

Joel’s heart sank, and he looked away, his jaw tightening. “She’s gone,” he whispered, the words like knives in his throat. “Someone took her.”

“What?” Ellie blinked in shock, her brows furrowing. "But… who? Her parents are dead. Joel—" She paused, her voice lowering. "Did you… did you kill them? Did you kill her parents?"

“No!" Joel's voice was sharp, defensive. "I didn’t kill her parents, Ellie. But I—" He hesitated, his throat tightening.

"You killed Ben and Jamie." Ellie said bluntly. There was a brief, Ellie stared at him, her expression unreadable for a moment, before she exhaled sharply.

“You had to,” she said, her tone flat but understanding. "You did what you had to do." Her words were blunt, as if she'd already accepted the brutal reality they lived in.

“They fucking deserved it.”

Joel nodded, the relief almost too much to bear. He’d been so afraid of losing her too, afraid she would look at him differently. But Ellie, somehow, understood. She always had.

Tommy finally spoke, stepping forward. "You can’t stay here, Joel. The cops are lookin’ for you. The FBI is breathin' down our necks. You stay here, and they’ll catch you. Worse than that, they’ll lock you up for life—if they don’t kill you first.”

“I know,” Joel muttered, his voice low, thick with frustration and dread. “I gotta find her. I have to.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed, his mind working through the possibilities. “But we gotta be smart about it. No cops. I’ll handle the heat here, keep 'em off your trail, but you—” He pointed at Joel. “You need to figure out who the fuck took her. Any clues? Anythin’ at all?”

Joel’s head spun, trying to piece together the broken fragments of memory. Then, like a flash, it came to him—Chicago. The man, the one who had been following them.

He had seen him, once, back when you had met the man. "Chicago,"

"She tole me about him, I--I don't remember his name, I was too mad at her for talking to people," Joel murmured, his brow furrowing as the memory sharpened. "I gotta go back there."

Ellie, who had been standing quietly, suddenly cut in, her voice determined. “I’m coming with you.”

“No," Joel shook his head, his voice firm. “It’s too dangerous, Ellie. I can’t drag you into this.”

Tommy backed him up immediately. “He’s right, kid. You’re stayin’ here, with me and Maria. We’ll keep you safe.”

Ellie’s eyes flared with frustration, her voice sharp as she threw back Joel’s words. “Like hell I’m staying here, Joel! She’s my friend too! You think I’m just gonna sit around while you go off, risking your life? No fucking way. I’m coming with you. I don’t care what you say!”

Joel’s heart clenched at the fire in her, the same fierce, stubborn defiance that once belonged to Sarah. For a moment, the air between them crackled with tension, like the calm before a storm.

“You stay here, Ellie,” Joel said again, his tone cold, trying to distance himself from the heat of the moment. "You can’t come with me."

Ellie shook her head, her jaw tightening. “No, Joel! I’m not letting you—"

“Ellie!” Joel interrupted, his voice growing sharper. “Ellie, stay here! You need to listen to me.”

She was relentless, her words flying out faster than he could rein her in, her emotions flooding over her like a wave. "I’m not a kid anymore that you can just leave behind! I come with you!”

“Ellie. Ellie!” Joel’s voice started to crack under the weight of it, but she wouldn’t stop.

"Ellie! ELLIE, LISTEN TO ME!"

His shout echoed through the room like a gunshot, halting everything in its tracks. Even Tommy flinched. Ellie froze, her wide eyes finally settling on Joel’s face, the sheer force of his voice cutting through her resolve.

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, and suffocating, like the air had been knocked from the room. Ellie’s breath hitched, her defiance faltering as she saw the raw fear in Joel’s eyes—the kind of fear she hadn’t seen since the days they fought to survive together.

Joel exhaled, his voice softer now but broken, each word trembling on the edge of his guilt and his need to protect her.

“I can’t risk you, Ellie. Not you. You stay here, with Tommy and Maria. I need you to be safe, I need you to be somewhere I know you won’t get hurt. If anything happens to you, I... I can't forgive myself. I can't lose you too, not after everything.” His words faltered, but they were laced with the kind of agony that made Ellie’s heart twist.

He took a step forward, his rough hand reaching out, but Ellie pulled back slightly, her face hardening again, though there was now a flicker of something else—something like fear.

"Tommy," Joel turned to his brother, his voice quieter now, as if every word was scraping at his throat, "keep her safe. If I... if I don’t make it back—”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Ellie’s voice was sharp again, her hands curling into fists. “You are coming back, Joel. Don’t give me this bullshit! You always come back to me!”

Joel looked at her, his expression full of something heavy and unspeakable. He took another step closer, and this time, when he reached for her, Ellie didn’t pull away.

“Listen to me, kiddo.” His voice was rough but tender, the words thick with a sorrow that Ellie had never heard before.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leavin’ you, for not bein’ the dad you needed. I know I’ve failed you in a lot of ways. But if something happens to me… if I don’t come back, you need to promise me somethin'. Don’t... don’t blame yourself. Don’t blame anyone. You need to keep going."

Ellie’s throat tightened, her breath coming out shaky. She shook her head. “No. No. You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to leave me.”

“I don’t want to leave you, Ellie,” Joel said, his voice cracking like a dam under too much pressure. “But this man—he’s dangerous. And I... I have to protect her. I have to protect you. And if I don’t—if I can’t, I need you to live. I need you to keep going.”

Ellie’s hands clenched tighter, and she felt the weight of his words pressing down on her chest. Her vision blurred, her heart hammering against her ribs. "You don’t get to do this," she whispered, her voice breaking. "You come back. You have to come back."

Joel cupped her face in his calloused hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears she didn’t realize had fallen. “I’ll try, kiddo. I swear. But if I don’t…” His voice broke completely, filled with the raw pain of a man who had lost too much. "If I don’t make it... I need you to be okay.”

The room felt suffocating, the gravity of the moment pulling them both into an abyss of uncertainty, where words like “promise” and “safe” were fragile, almost meaningless.

Ellie pressed her forehead against his chest, her fists clenching his shirt as if holding him tighter could stop the inevitable. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please don’t go.”

"Don't leave me, Joel."

Joel’s heart shattered into pieces in that moment, but he couldn’t show it. He couldn’t let her see just how terrified he was, how the thought of leaving her again felt like a death sentence. “I'm sorry,”

Her tears soaked into his shirt, silent but heavy, each drop a reminder of how much he had already failed her—and how much more he stood to lose.

Joel swallowed thickly, his grip on her tightening for a moment longer before he finally let go, stepping back. “I love you, kiddo. More than you’ll ever know.”

Ellie’s breath hitched, and she looked up at him, her eyes full of the kind of fear Joel wished he could take away. But he couldn’t. He could only hope that this wasn’t goodbye.

***

You don’t know where you are anymore. The days and nights blur together in the darkness, the air thick with the stench of rot and decay. It’s been weeks—maybe more, maybe less. Time doesn’t exist here. All you know is the basement—the cold, damp stone pressing into your skin, the stinging scent of mold in your nose, and the unbearable silence, only broken by the occasional scrape of his footsteps above. Negan.

He’s the one who took you.

You barely knew him, barely interacted with him. So why you? Why now? What had you ever done to catch his attention? The questions buzz around in your head like a swarm of wasps, painful and without answers.

The walls seem to close in on you, the darkness thickening with every second. And then you remember—Negan had come to your house once, a visitor to your father. He was "Mr. Smith," you remember his last name.

But you didn’t think anything of it then. Just another face, another stranger. But since that moment, he had been watching you.

Negan had stalked your every move, following you through the shadows like a predator sizing up its prey.

When he visits, he talks. Always talks. As if the sound of his own voice fills the silence. "You and that ol' man of yours... too busy wrapped up in your own little world, huh?" He chuckles, the sound rough and mocking. “Joel’s a damn fool. Thinkin’ he could protect you, thinkin’ he could keep you safe. Hell, he’s worse than I thought, fallin’ for a broken little thing like you.”

His words cut like shards of glass, and each time you hear them, they reopen wounds you’ve tried to keep hidden deep inside.

Negan paces the room, his boots echoing in the small space. “Joel thinks he’s clever, doesn’t he? Killin’ Ben and Jamie to keep you all for himself.” He laughs, dark and low, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the basement. “He’s too damn stupid to see what’s right in front of him. Me.”

The way he says it, the way his eyes linger on you, makes your skin crawl.

“He let his guard down,” Negan continues, crouching beside you. “And when he finally let you out of his sight? Well, sweetheart, that just made things a hell of a lot easier for me.”

You want to scream, to lash out, but you’ve barely eaten in days, and your body feels too weak to even stand. The cold stone beneath you feels like a cage, holding you captive as much as Negan’s gaze does.

“What do you want from me?” you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath.

Negan tilts his head, a cruel smile pulling at his lips. “Want? Sweetheart, I don’t want anything from you.” He leans in, close enough that you can smell the stale scent of smoke and leather clinging to him. “I just want you. That’s it. You’re mine now.”

The bile rises in your throat at the possessiveness in his voice, the certainty in his eyes.

For the past few weeks, he’s tried to feed you, bringing down food that you refused to touch. You’d rather starve than accept anything from him. Negan would sigh and shake his head, annoyed but patient. "You need to eat, darling. Can’t have you wastin’ away on me."

His words feel wrong, as if there's something hidden beneath them, something dark that you can’t quite put your finger on. There's always a certain gleam in his eyes when he brings the food—like he’s savoring a secret that only he knows.

And then there’s the smell.

That unbearable, suffocating stench that lingers in the corners of the basement. It smells like death. Like something rotting. But when you ask him about it, Negan just laughs. "Basements get like that," he says with a shrug, but the way he says it, so casual, so dismissive—it only makes you more certain that something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

Sometimes, when the hunger gnaws at your insides, you almost consider taking a bite, but something deep inside you tells you not to trust it. Not to trust him. You’d rather die here, in the dark, than give him what he wants.

Negan crouches in front of you now, holding out a plate of food, his voice deceptively gentle. “You need to eat, darling. Can’t have you all weak and broken. I like my girls strong. Healthy.”

His words send a chill down your spine, and though you don’t know why yet, you can feel it—the creeping horror hiding just beneath the surface. There’s something wrong with the food, with him. Something monstrous, lurking in the shadows of his every word.

But what?

You swallow hard, shaking your head again, refusing the meal he offers. Negan’s smile tightens, but he doesn’t push. He never pushes. Not yet, anyway. Instead, he rises to his feet, looking down at you with that same dark amusement, like he’s playing a game only he knows the rules to.

“You’ll come around, sweetheart. One way or another.”

As he leaves, you’re left in the dark, your mind spinning, haunted by the rotting smell and the quiet, nagging fear that whatever is happening here is far worse than you could ever imagine.

The cold seeps into your bones, chilling you from the inside out, but it’s not just the temperature. It’s the gnawing fear, the isolation, the uncertainty of what lies ahead.

You can’t stop thinking about Joel. Where is he? Is he safe? Are the cops after him like Negan hinted? The thought tightens in your chest, like a vice slowly crushing your heart. You can barely believe that Joel—your Joel—killed Ben and Jamie. But as much as it shocks you, a part of you understands. He did it to protect you, didn’t he? The idea brings a strange comfort, a warmth amid the cold. Joel, with his strong hands and quiet resolve, would do anything to keep you safe. You liked that. You needed that.

But then, guilt slithers in, twisting and coiling itself around your thoughts. He did it because of you. Because you’re the one who caused all this. Joel shouldn’t have to bear the weight of it all. He can’t be the one to carry the consequences of what’s happened. You wonder if you’ve become a burden, dragging him into this nightmare where death and destruction seem to follow you both like shadows.

You think about the way he used to look at you, the way his rough exterior would soften just for you. His voice, gravelly but so full of warmth, whispers in your memory. You miss him, desperately. His touch, his scent, the quiet strength of his presence. It’s like a piece of you has been torn away, leaving you raw and bleeding, open to every cruel word Negan speaks, every cold gust of air in this filthy basement.

At night, when the world is silent and the shadows stretch long, you imagine Joel’s arms around you, holding you close like he did so many times before. You imagine his breath against your ear, telling you everything would be alright. You wish it were true. You wish Joel were here, with his fierce protectiveness and the way he could shield you from the world, even when it seemed like everything was falling apart.

But you are alone. Alone in the dark with nothing but the echo of your thoughts and the suffocating weight of fear. You’re terrified—terrified to death, even. And it feels like no one will ever find you, like no one will ever know the hell you’re living in. The walls around you seem to close in, and the only thing that keeps you from falling apart is the image of Joel’s face in your mind, his voice a faint whisper in the endless night.

Still, the fear gnaws at you, a ravenous beast. It claws at your insides, making it hard to breathe. You are alone, helpless, and trapped. And yet, in the deepest part of you, there's still a small flicker of hope. It burns for Joel. For the possibility that he’s out there, somewhere, fighting to find you. Because if anyone could save you, it would be him.

Days blurred together in a hazy fog of fear and despair. You knew it was days because each morning, Negan would rouse you from the dark depths of sleep with a cold, menacing presence. He brought food—always meat, always raw and dripping with something that made your stomach churn. You could tell he could cook; the way he handled the food had a practiced ease, but you wanted nothing to do with it. Your heart raced as you shrank away, clutching your knees to your chest, desperate to be invisible.

Today, something shifted in him. His patience seemed to fray like an old rope, unraveling under the weight of his anger. “You can’t keep like this! You need to fucking eat!” he shouted, his voice reverberating in the tight confines of the basement like a thunderclap. The plate of meat he hurled at you missed, clattering harmlessly to the floor as you recoiled, your hands shaking, your body trembling with fear.

Negan had always been rough but strangely composed, treating you with a twisted kind of care. But now, his anger was a raging storm, and you were caught in its eye. He lunged forward, grabbing your face with a grip that felt like iron, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Why don’t you fucking eat, huh?” The fury in his eyes burned, igniting a primal terror deep within you.

“Please, don’t hurt me! Don’t please!” You cried, the words spilling from your lips like a desperate prayer. But his grip only tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he leaned closer, his breath hot and heavy. “I need you to fucking eat!” The implication hung in the air, a dark cloud cloaked in menace, hinting at the horror that lay beneath his twisted motivations.

Then, with a sudden violent yank, he lifted you effortlessly and tossed you onto the lone mattress in the corner of the basement—the only semblance of comfort in this hellish nightmare. It was stained and worn, a grim reminder of all the other girls who had suffered here, and the air was thick with the stench of decay and desperation. “You need to be taught a lesson, huh?” he snarled, looming over you. “You want me to teach you to be obedient? Why don’t you fucking listen to me?”

Your heart raced as dread enveloped you like a suffocating shroud. You could feel the cold, hard reality of your situation settle over you, a weight that threatened to crush your spirit. “Please, don’t hurt me!” you whimpered, the words spilling out like blood from an open wound.

But Negan’s rage boiled over. He pinned you down, his strength overpowering you, leaving you helpless beneath him. A flash of pain erupted as his fist connected with your side, the blow landing like a hammer against glass, shattering the last remnants of your hope. “You should be grateful you’re still alive for weeks!” he growled, his voice a low, menacing growl. “Usually, the other girls only last a few days!”

Each word was a dagger, slicing into you, twisting deeper until you felt like you were drowning in despair. The room spun, and for a moment, you were lost in the chaos—a captive in a horror movie where the monster was all too real. You could see the flickering shadows dancing across the walls, and for a moment, you imagined they were the spirits of all the girls who had come before you, trapped in this wretched place, their cries echoing in your ears.

Every punch, every insult, was a cruel reminder of your fragility, a stark contrast to the flicker of resilience still fighting within you. You thought of Joel, of the warmth of his embrace and the strength of his spirit. You were more than this dark, stinking basement; you were more than Negan’s plaything. But as the blows rained down, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever see the light again, or if you were destined to fade into the shadows like the countless others before you.

In the depths of your despair, you turned inward, seeking solace in the silent echoes of your own heart. You prayed to God, your words tumbling forth like leaves in a tempest, pleading for this torment to cease. “Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, “make it stop.”

But even as you cried out, questions fluttered in your mind like lost sparrows seeking refuge in a storm. Why did this always happen to you? Why were you cursed to walk the valley of shadows, where joy seemed as elusive as a wisp of smoke? It felt as if you were trapped in a parable, a cautionary tale whispered through the ages, where the faithful suffered and the wicked thrived.

You thought of the heavens above, imagined them as vast and endless, a tapestry of stars woven with threads of hope. Yet here you were, a solitary figure lost in the darkness, drowning in a sea of sorrow, with the light of those distant stars barely flickering in your heart. Was this your cross to bear? A burden too heavy for a soul so young?

As Negan’s fists rained down, each blow felt like the hammer of judgment, and your spirit ached under the weight of your own unworthiness. You longed to rise like a phoenix from the ashes, to break free from the chains of misery that bound you, but the flames of suffering held you fast. The biblical tales of resilience echoed in your mind, but you struggled to see yourself as part of those stories—would you ever find your own promised land?

“Am I not worthy of grace?” you questioned the heavens, your heart breaking under the pressure of your own doubts. The walls of the basement closed in around you, suffocating you with their cold embrace, and you felt as if you were wandering in the wilderness, lost and alone, with only the faint whispers of angels to guide you. Would there be a miracle that pulled you from this abyss? Would there be a shepherd to lead you back to the light?

But with each passing moment, the weight of your prayers felt heavier, like a stone cast into a bottomless well. You wondered if your cries reached the throne of heaven, or if they were swallowed by the darkness that surrounded you. “Why, Lord?” you pleaded, your voice cracking under the strain of your emotion. “When will my soul find peace? Why must I suffer while others walk free?”

In that moment, as the pain throbbed through you like a pulsing heartbeat, you realized that perhaps your suffering was not in vain. Maybe the storm would pass, and in its wake, you would emerge transformed, a testament to resilience and strength. Perhaps you were not merely a victim, but a warrior cloaked in shadows, fighting for your own light.

And so, with every ragged breath, you held onto that flicker of hope, whispering your prayers into the void, trusting that somewhere beyond this darkness, there lay a promise of redemption—a divine plan waiting to be unveiled, just beyond the horizon of your pain.

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venerawrites · 1 month ago

Note

Ooh my goodness I saw your post about Sasuke bringing back his S/O from the dead and the brainrot worms just immediately clocked in 😵‍💫 Please please give us a short fic about it! Specifically with the side effects//struggles of bringing someone back from the dead like memory loss, struggle to speak bc of either the previously mentioned memory loss or simple damage to their vocal cords (Ooor I mean, if you wanna go deep into angst bringing out the fact cognitive abilities being damaged at least for a while and the amount of pain they'd feel so they're dependent on him is also fair game)

Another fact that is just VERY angst filled is if they're brought back against their will but unless Sasuke let them go they're stuck there forever

I'll leave it up to you to decide how you wanna go about it though! thank u for your absolute god-like work as always! muah! 😚

author's note: Our brainrot worms must be in sync because the moment I saw your request, this fic basically 'wrote itself'! Thank you so much for the idea and I really hope I did your request justice! <3 <3

warnings: Sasuke is a bit yandere and maybe ooc, but isn't he always? ; death; revival; blood

Wanna know a secret?

People used to say that there was a never chance for me. That with everything that happened - the massacre, the lies, the hatred - I was always bound to become a monster. Poor little boy that witnessed the slaughter of his own family and spend years chasing the shadow of his brother, while slowly drowning in his own self-pity and anger.

But the truth is that it wasn't Itachi or Konoha that made me that way.

It was you.

You, who broke through the walls I've been building for years, leaving me raw and exposed. You, who believed that I could've been... should've been different. You gave me hope, you made me believe that maybe, just maybe, there is a chance for me.

For us.

And suddenly you left me. All alone, like I always have been.

I know you are not going to like what I am about to do. If you were here, you would tell me that this isn't the way. That I am not the person I was before that I am making a mistake by trying to bring you back. You would look at me with those innocent eyes of yours, before lacing your fingers with mine and tell me that I have to let you go.

But you are not here, are you?

Not yet, at least.

And you know I can't let you go. Not now, not ever.

If the cost of having you in my arms again is my soul, I would pay it. If it means burning the world and the heavens, then so be it. I will destroy it all - time, death and everything that separates us - till nothing remains but you and me.

. . .

"-Edu Tensei is the only way-"

The cold edge of Sasuke's blade pressing against his throat was enough of unspoken warning for the white-haired male to know this was not the right answer to the demand he had just received. Closing his eyes, he tried to steady his breathing without letting his composure crack.

This was far from the first time he found himself on the receiving end of Sasuke's anger. Yet this time it felt... different.

Kabuto has spend enough years with the Uchiha to understand how he worked. Despite his cold and stoic demeanor, he had always possessed a dangerously short fuse. The slightest provocation, especially if it was connected to his past, was enough to ignite an inferno of rage. The Yakushi man has observed his evolution firsthand - from a grumpy boy hungry for revenge to a deadly shinobi, who kept swinging back and forth on the edge of his crumbling sanity.

The ninja that stood before him was a version of Sasuke that he has never seen before. There was no fire behind his gaze, only empty, glowing voids, so cold that Kabuto couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine. Unlike the last time he saw him during the war, he looked cold, calculated and controlled.

Too controlled for the white-haired man's liking.

"Sasuke, you have to understand there are limits-"

"I understand more than you think", Sasuke interrupted, his right eye glowing with the Sharingan, while his left one remained hidden, "If Edo Tensei is your only answer, then I have no use of you. You are wasting my time."

The blade was lifted only for a second from Kabuto's throat before it flew toward his Adam's apple. He felt the cold tip slicing his skin, a few drops of warm crimson red blood falling on the floor.

"Wait!", Kabuto blurted out, his head falling back against the wall in a desperate attempt to create some distance between his body and the sword.

Sasuke's hand immediately stopped, but the cold metal did not move away from the cut it has created. Instead, it stayed in place, getting painted in red, while Sasuke his head in a silent command for Kabuto to speak.

"There may be another way...", the Yakushi gulped, his voice barely above a whisper. The Uchiha leaned forward, his only visible eye narrowing just the slightest as he studied the older man's face.

Looking at him almost two years after their last battle, Sasuke felt the bitter taste of anger and desperation mixing in his mouth. How could Kabuto, of all people, be the only person who could help him bring you back? The idea of having his sleazy hands touching your body, experimenting on it... The mere image of him being close to you made him naseous.

Yet he was the one who came here and demanded help. Much to his displeasure, he had no one else to turn to. Orochimaru had left the village, but even if he was here, it was the case that his student has surpassed him long time ago.

"I am giving you ten seconds to explain, before I slash your throat and hang you on this wall to bleed out."

The threat was clear and final, making Kabuto nod his head in a weak agreement. Once the blade was removed from his throat, his fingers immediately moved to touch the cut from which there were still dripping red drops. He pressed his hand against his neck in an attempt to stop the bleeding, while his mind rushed through different possibilities of how to handle the situation.

On one hand, just like Sasuke, he was pardoned for his crimes and was given a second chance to rebuild his life in Konoha. He was a carer in the local orphanage and for the first time since he could remember, he felt somewhat... satisfied. It wasn't his dream job, but it was a job and it was the first step to clearing his image.

On the other hand, he was wise enough not to underestimate the things an Uchiha is ready to do, especially in the name of love.

"It is not a technique I've ever tried before...", Kabuto finally said, his fingers tightening around his throat, "It is a theory I was working on right before the war started. It goes beyond a simple reanimation and unlike Edo Tensei, it does not have any limitation. Once they are back... they will be fully back."

"Fully back...", Sasuke repeated, testing the words on his tongue. The snake-like man in front of him nodded his head, his free hand lifting up to fix the glasses on the tip of his nose.

"With their own will, thoughts and emotions", Kabuto confirmed, one of his eyebrows raising just the slightest, "It will be as if their death never happened. But.."

"But what?", he snapped through gritted teeth. Of course, nothing was ever simple or straightforward with the white-haired shinobi. For all the knowledge and skills he had, he never made anything easy, even when he was serving other people in the past. And while he successfully managed to convince Konoha he has changed, Sasuke had enough experience living and training with him to know the truth.

A snake will always be a snake.

And the mere fact he didn't seem to even try to convince him not to meddle with the world of the dead, was enough of a sigh that his heart remain to be just as dark as it was in the past.

"Like I said, this technique works only in theory", Kabuto said slowly, his gaze moving between the two different eyes of the Uchiha in front of him, "The person that comes back may not... be the one they were before. It may also have consequences not only on them, but on everything and everyone around. Disturbing the natural flow of life like this-"

Sasuke clicked his tongue, his mouth twisting into a displeased frown.

"I didn't come to you to listen to half-hearted warnings and lectures on balance of nature", he snapped impatiently, "Do it or I will find someone else who will - and you know well enough what that means for you."

Almost as if to prove the seriousness behind his threat, the blade pressed itself against Kabuto's throat once again, before moving to the side, successfully cutting a fine line against all four knuckles of the his fingers that were still pressed against his first wound. The man let out a loud hiss, his hand jerking away instinctively.

"I will need time to prepare", he muttered, his jaw clenching in a weak attempt to try and keep his mind away from the stinging pain, "Two days at least."

Sasuke let out a small 'hm' sound, his brain processing the proposed timeline. Every ticking moment without you already felt like a whole eternity passing. Two days was too much, especially since it involved the risk of Kabuto deciding to share his demand with other people. Not that he didn't plan to deal with Konoha soon enough for what they did, but now, for the first time, there was another priority other than revenge - and that was you.

"You have one", he said with finality, before turning around and starting to walk away.

One day. Even for a man who was used to deal with challenging situations and impossible deadlines, this was hard to achieve. Kabuto watched the Uchiha's retreating figure, his chest and head both feeling heavy with the realisation of what he is about to do.

. . .

ii.

From a far, you looked peacefully asleep. The moonlight that managed to find its way into the room was reflecting through the glass that covered your body, pale highlights dancing across your face and chest. Your fingers were crossed on top of your chest and for a second, Kabuto could swear he could see it moving up and down, as if you were breathing.

He blinked once. Then twice. Yet the illusion did not repeat itself.

He made a few cautious steps toward the see-through casket in the centre on the small hall, his eyes narrowing as he got a better view of your body. Your flawless skin, your carefully combed hair, your neat kimono - Sasuke's determination to bring you back the way he remembered you was clear in every detail. Kabuto had no idea how the dark-haired male did it, or even from where he got such precise knowledge about body preservation, but the sight in front of him was a pure imitation of life.

Almost flawless.

"Is that your work?", he quietly asked, his voice ringing with notes of both admiration and wariness. He kept his distance, his eyes scanning every inch of visible skin, searching for any signs of mistakes in the Uchiha's method. There were none. No signs of decomposing, decay or any imperfections. Putting aside the fact that your skin looked paler than it should be, the sight in front of him was a perfect replica of you, completely untouched by time.

Faint footsteps sounded behind him and he turned his head only to see Sasuke approaching the casket from the other side. He didn't pay any attention to Kabuto, as his gaze was focused on you, his lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes traced every line of your peaceful expression, before his only hand lifted and placed itself on top of the cold glass, right above your face. His fingers twitched, slowly dragging themselves down, as if he was trying to reach out and cradle your cheek.

"It is", he finally responded, his voice unusually calm and almost... soft? Kabuto looked at him with unease, before he moved his attention back to you.

If he was scared of Sasuke yesterday when he had his blade pressed against his throat, he was both terrified and baffled now. It was no secret the Uchiha harboured deep feelings for you - he had met you right before the war and since then he always tried his best to keep you away from harm, even during the times he was one of the most wanted criminals by every Hidden Village. You had been his pillar of support and light through the darkest times of his lives - from his pursuit of revenge on his brother to the brutal realisation of all the lies he has been told through the years. Even during the war, his main motivation was not so much to prove himself as capable leader for Konoha, than keep you save.

Ironically, he actually succeeded. He managed to keep you sheltered from all the horrors and blood the ninja world had to offer. Shortly after he was pardoned, he brought you back to his home village, much to the surprise of all of his fellow shinobi. He never introduced you as officially 'his', but everyone knew you were holding a great significance for him. You were not only his save haven, you were everything - his home, his purpose, his future...

All till the day some Leaf ninjas took you away.

It was Sasuke's fault, really. He knew that the past could not be erased, yet he foolishly believed he may be given the chance to start anew. The wounds he had inflicted to both the village and the people there were wide open and despite the years and his actions during the war, they never truly healed. Beneath the surface of the reluctant acceptance he had received by all the villagers, there was mistrust that changed his whole life in just a few seconds.

He remembered the event quite vividly, despite his attempts to erase it from his mind. Every waking moment it haunted him like a nightmare, clutching its claws into his body and soul and refusing to let go...

You laughing in the kitchen, while he watched you with admiration from the kitchen table, his fingers nervously playing with the small ring box in his pocket.

The two shadows which crossed across the wall almost too fast for him to react.

Sounds of broken glass. Table and chairs thrown to the side.

The sound of his name leaving your lips before you threw yourself behind his body, a chocked out gasp leaving your lips once the sword meant for him pierced your chest.

The way his heart stopped inside his chest, his hand moving almost automatically as he brought the last remaining intruder down before he collapsed next to your body.

Your lifeless eyes, who continued to stare at him, a small tear escaping from one corner and landing in his trembling palm.

Kabuto watched as Sasuke shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. The Uchiha casted one last glance to you, before he clenched his jaw and stepped away from the casket. His steps were rushed and urgent, showing his desperation to pull away from the the memory of that day and his failure to keep you safe.

Silence filled the room and for a while the snake-like man could not hear anything but his own breathing. While not one famous for showing sympathy, there was the tiniest spark of pity inside his eyes as he watched the broken man before him. It was then he understood it didn't matter what he said or how much he warned him about the potential risks involved.

Sasuke Uchiha, the man who was always been swaying on the delicate edge between reasonableness and insanity, has officially lost himself to the latter.

All because of you.

"We need a sacrifice", Kabuto finally said, his body moving toward the small table in the corner, where he left his bag earlier, "A life for a life. You did an outstanding job with preserving their body, but again I cannot guarantee what the side effects may be-"

"You will have your sacrifice by the end of the night", Sasuke interrupted, his usual cold and collected composure back in place. Before the white-haired shinobi could say anything else, he was left alone with the chilling feeling of two cold eyes staring right at his back.

. . .

iii.

The first thing you felt was the cold.

Not just in the air around you - it was inside your skin, creeping its way through your veins. The feeling was if you were being chewed alive, yet once you tried to open your mouth, you found unable to move. Your limbs felt heavy, the muscles - unable to respond. Your mind was slowly crawling its way out of the dizziness, yet your body refused to respond.

Then, you heard it - the faint sound of something moving on top of you and then a muffled voice saying something. You tried to focus on it, forcing your senses to sharpen. The words started to sound clearer and clearer till eventually your brain grasped them.

"Open your eyes."

The words echoed around you, ringing inside your head as you tried your best to do as told. The coldness inside of you felt like a heavy anchor which kept pulling you down while you desperately tried to break through the surface. The voice kept repeating the same thing over and over, becoming louder and clearer.

Suddenly, almost as if a bolt of electricity ran through your spine, your body jolted, your chest raising high in the air as you gasped for air. Your lungs felt like they were on fire as they expanded, the painful sensation spreading through your chest as you chocked in the mix of a saliva and cold air.

Something warm pressed against your cheek and it took you a good minute to realise it was someone's hand. Your eyelids, despite still feeling like stones on your face, fluttered open only to be met with a piercing and blinding white light coming from somewhere above you. Everything felt so distant and muted, as if you were waking up from a dream that has lasted all eternity.

The hand on your face moved, its touch gentle as you felt it cupping your jaw. You blinked rapidly against the harsh brightness, the world around you slowly emerging out of blurriness as a face came into focus above you.

A man. Tall, with sharp features and straight black locks reaching his shoulders. Only one of his eyes was visible, black like onyx and staring at you intensively. He had a few days stubble covering his chin and cheeks, while dark bags decorated the area under his eyes.

Who the hell was that?

And why was he looking at you like that?

You tried to open your mouth, but no sound came out as all you could do is let out a quiet gasp. The man's expression shifted slightly, a spark of concern flashing though his tired face. His fingers moved down from your chin, across one of your arms, before taking your hand in his. The longer he remained touching you, the more panicked your attempts to breathe became.

"It's alright", he murmured softly, his dark brows furrowing as he watched you struggle beneath him, "Just focus on breathing. Everything is alright."

Everything, however, was not alright.

Sasuke watched you eyes flicking between him and your surroundings, the feeling of panic evident in the way your chest rose and fell erratically. He could feel your fingers tensing under his while you slowly started to get control of your limbs, achieving nothing more but a few stirs. The expression on your face, however, was what hurt the most - it was one of pure fear and terror, almost like the day they took you away from him.

"Shh, stay calm", he whispered, yet his words seemed to have the opposite effect as he noticed your weak attempt to squirm away. His jaw clenched as he watched you struggling to come back fully to your senses.

Something was wrong. Something was horribly wrong.

Of course, Kabuto has warned him that there will be side effects. That you may be disorientated at first and have problem with moving on your own. He expected you not to remember certain things, like the day you were killed of even some minor events from your life. What he didn't predict, however, was the possibility that you may not remember anything, including him.

His hand withdrew from yours and he casted a fiery glare at Kabuto who was sitting in the corner of the room, rapidly writing something on a piece of paper.

"You said you could bring them FULLY back."

The white-haired ninja did not look up immediately, instead focusing in finishing the report he had started once he saw the first signs of life appearing. In any other event he would probably give more of his energy in addressing the Uchiha's rising anger, however now he felt like he was the one with an advantage. Sasuke may be one of the strongest shinobi alive, but he had nothing on Kabuto's knowledge and skills, especially when it came to the delicate science of reanimation. His experience as the best student of Orochimaru and the man who managed to perfect jutsus like Edu Tensei gave him a dangerous sense of confidence, even in the face of a heartbroken lover who was ready to do anything to bring their soulmate back.

"I did", Kabuto said at last, his voice unusually calm as he attached the pen to the top of the paper before putting it away, "I also told you there will be side effects and you need to be patient. Not that it has ever been your strong suit..."

Sasuke let out a small scoff, his lips curling in disdain as he got to his feet and starting walking toward the other man. The urge to trap him in a genjutsu and force him to experience every single horror he had ever inflicted on other people was growing like a wildfire inside of his chest. Perhaps it was even a fitting punishment for a monster like him, way more deserving to be trapped in a cycle of his own sins than allowed to live peacefully working in an orphanage.

The Uchiha stopped a mere foot from the desk, his fist clenching by his side in an attempt to stop himself for reaching out and doing something he may regret later.

"Fix it."

Kabuto lazily lifted his eyes, one if his eyebrows rising slightly above his glasses.

"Fix it?", he repeated unimpressed, "You speak as if I am a handyman fixing an object. This is a human we are speaking about--"

The words seemed to strike a cord and Sasuke's hand shot forward, slamming onto the desk right next to Kabuto's head. His breathing was sharp and uneven, his anger radiating from every fiber of his being.

"You don't get to act all high and mighty, Kabuto. We have been knowing each other a little too long and a little too well for you to pretend that you can actually consider a person as anything other than an experiment."

Kabuto froze, his eyes instinctively shifting toward you and meeting your gaze. From where you were laying, the scene looked almost like a distorted dream. You heard voices, yet you couldn't understand what were they saying. The fear continued to run inside your veins like a paralyzing venom, leaving you completely helpless in the company of these two unknown men.

The truth was that Kabuto did not care about Sasuke. In fact, given everything he has done, it served him more than right to lose you and rot in guilt and grief all his life. But Kabuto had to agree that he had a right - maybe he was not the best person to be giving him a lecture of the difference between an 'object' and a 'human'. After all, in his eyes they were all the same.

But not you.

You were special. Different. You were not just a mere experiment, far from it actually. You were the culmination of everything he had worked for, the result of years spend in studying, experimenting, theorizing and manipulating. You were the proof he achieved what every great scientist had longed for - a way to cheat death. Completely.

Of course, he wouldn't leave the job half done. Not when he was so close to perfecting his greatest achievement. In his mind, he couldn't even think of the last time he felt so excited and so... alive. Whatever reservations he had because of Sasuke or his recent pardon by Konoha were now forgotten. Instead, all he could see was you. Breathing, blinking, looking around. Your existence defied nature and he felt a strange satisfaction knowing he had achieved what everyone else, even Orochimaru, deemed impossible. It was all way too different from any type of reanimation he tried before.

"The connection between their body and soul is still fragile", Kabuto finally muttered, his golden eyes still locked with yours. Slowly, he stood up from his seat, moving around the dark-haired Uchiha as he approached you. His steps were quiet and measured, as if he was trying not to scare you even more. Tilting his head to the side, he found himself in a strange trance.

"It's a delicate balance, the one of life and death. It can easily tip, especially when one lack patience and appreciation of this beautiful process. I told you this is not just attaching a soul to a vessel, it's about understanding and repairing the bond that connects them. It's about creating a..."

He knelt beside you, his face just centimeters from yours. Edu Tensei has always given these void and empty black eyes to the subjects it revived, an ugly imperfection that reminded that they were not truly alive. But yours... They were just like they were supposed to be when you were alive. Despite being unfocused, there was a spark of life in them.

"... miracle."

As Kabuto finished his sentence he reached out to touch your face, before his wrist was harshly grabbed by Sasuke.

"Don't touch them!"

The air in the room seemed to suddenly grow tenser as you watched the two men hovering above you. Any trace of softness that Kabuto's expression held till now disappeared as he furrowed his brows, his snake-like gaze turning toward Sasuke.

"I fear your demand may be unreasonable, Uchiha. I can't help them, if I am- "

"Your job is to figure out a way to fix your failure and finish the job I asked you to do", Sasuke interrupted impatiently, his grip tightening, "You can do that from your desk."

Kabuto tilted his head, his jaw clenching as he held his ground in the little staring contest he found himself in. After a minute, he roughly pulled his hand, before taking a step back.

"Very well then."

Without another word, he returned to his desk and started to gather the scattered tools he had left in a disarray earlier. He could feel two pairs of eyes burning at the back of his neck, but he refused to acknowledge any of them.

'Such a strong body, yet such a foolish mind', he thought as he put everything in one corner and then simply turned around toward the door. Once again, Sasuke has proved himself incapable of understanding, let alone appreciating, the power of science and what one can achieve with it. Instead he remained a big strong brute, driven by impulse and incapable to open his mind to all the wonders in his world.

As he stepped out of the room, Kabuto glanced back one last time over his shoulder, his golden eyes focusing on yours. He gave you a small smile, almost a friendly one, before shutting the door behind him.

. . .

iv.

The following weeks were like an eternal nightmare, from which neither of you could wake up.

Every day blended into the next, leaving nothing behind by growing frustration and thinning remains of patience. Time felt frozen in this place, as if all three of you were trapped in a constant loop.

For you, the world was a blur - everything was new, yet somewhat familiar. Even the small things, such as walking or playing with your hands, felt foreign and out of place. It was almost like you got into a foreign body and you were left with no choice but to learn how to work with it. It took a full week for you to gain full control over your body, but when you did, it still felt like an insignificant progress.

And what if you could walk, run and do everything you were doing before when your mind remained a dark fog with no clear direction or sense of self? Fractured images kept flashing before your eyes every now and again, leaving you more and more confused. Some felt like memories - stuff that actually has happened once upon a time - but some felt like nothing more than a dream your brain has created in attempt to escape the boringness.

On the other hand, Sasuke was always around. He slept in one room with you, he took you out so you can breathe some fresh air during the day, he brought you food, books and random trinkets to entertain yourself. He rarely kept his distance, and even when he was, you could feel his watchful gaze on the back of your head.

At first, he terrified you. His energy was dark, even sinister in a way. Yet you couldn't help but feel a strange feeling of a familiarity. Sometimes, when you thought he was not looking, you glanced at his profile, studying his face and trying to put the puzzle pieces together of who is he to you. He was a cold man, rarely talking or even responding when you asked him questions, yet he always hovered protectively over you.

And then there was Kabuto. A total opposite of Sasuke.

He was nice - always gently smiling at you, asking if you are okay. There was always a strange softness in his eyes, one that you wouldn't expect from a man with snake-like features like himself. Sometimes he would catch you by yourself and he would make the time to sit down and chat. Most of the time it was about mundane things - the weather, random interesting facts and when he was in a good mood, stories from his past. It took a while for you to be able to reply given your throat burned like an inferno every time you tried to produce any sound during the first week, but slowly you started to respond. At first it was by short words such as "yes", "no" and "do/don't", but soon you started to form full sentences till you relaxed enough to even laugh at some of his silly jokes.

Yet, despite his gentleness and understanding, your inner instinct was screaming at you to be careful. You couldn't tell exactly what, but something with him was ... off. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on you too long for your liking or the way his smiling mask quickly shifted into something more sinister when he thought you were not paying attention, but something was making your skin crawl every time he was near you and Sasuke was not.

"What is the relationship between you and Kabuto? Are you... friends?", you asked one night, breaking the peaceful silence that had settle between you and Sasuke. He was sitting on the opposite chair of you, calmly reading a scroll while your attention was focused on the playful dance of the flames in the fireplace.

Sasuke didn't look up immediately, instead using the extra minute to gather his thoughts before he lifted his eyes toward you. His expression remained blank, as it always was around you, but you could see the slightest tension of his shoulder muscles.

"Allies", the answer felt somewhat dishonest as he remained staring at you, "For now."

Picking the strands of the soft rug under your fingers, you searched his face, expecting him to provide a further explanation. Like always, such explanation never came. Instead, his focus returned to the scroll in his hands, his eyes dancing across the piece of paper as he pretended to be very invested in what was written in it.

"But you don't trust him, do you?"

The man snorted at your assumption and you immediately took it as confirmation of what you have suspected. The two have never outright fought in front of you, but there was always a certain tension in the room when both of them were in it. Sasuke always seemed to move closer to you when Kabuto was nearby, his lonely hand resting on the hilt of his sword, ready to react at any given moment.

"Trustworthiness and usefulness usually do not go hand in hand", he said finally, his eyes boring into yours as he started to carefully roll the scroll. You kept your gaze locked with his, unsure what he meant by his answer. It was clear that the the 'usefulness' was somehow connected to you but you still couldn't make a real sense of it. No matter how many times you asked either Sasuke or Kabuto why were you being kept here and why you were subject to so many tests and 'treatments', you were always met with the same answer : "Don't worry about it, it will all come back to you."

"What happens when he is no longer useful?", you asked as you watched him get up from his chair and walk over to the small bed in the corner of the room. While his constant presence around you bothered you at first, you appreciated that he kept some form of distance unlike Kabuto who often was too close to you for your comfort.

For a moment, you thought Sasuke would ignore your question entirely as he just started arranging his blankets and pillow, not showing any interest toward your questioning.

"Then he will be dealt with."

Deep inside you knew that his words should make you feel uncomfortable, worried even. Kabuto has always been kind to you, and it sometimes even felt like he cared for you, in his own strange way. If it wasn't for him, you may still be laying on that cold metal table you woke up on, unable to move or speak.

Yet you couldn't ignore the feeling deep inside your gut that there was a reason for Sasuke's warning. You felt guilty questioning the white-haired male's intentions, but you couldn't shake the feeling he was looking at you as an object opposed to a human. He has been very open to you - he had told you up quite a lot about his own past, including his experiments with people - but instead of appreciating his honesty, you found yourself fearing him. Perhaps this is why you found yourself trying to stay attached to Sasuke's side more often.

Or maybe it was because of these damn flashing images that keep popping in your mind.

Recently they have been coming more and more often. Sometimes they came and went so quickly, it was impossible to catch them. Other times, the lingered, dragging you into a world of unfamiliar faces, places and events. Every time you tried to make sense of them, put them in some kind of order in your mind, they kept blending, creating an even thicker fog of confusion in your head.

You never told Sasuke or Kabuto about it. With so much conflicting emotions and hidden motives, it was hard to tell which one you could trust and which one you could not. One thing you knew for sure - none of the two men were entirely honest. Sasuke, with his cold and collected behaviour, was surely knowing way more than he was letting on about who you were and how did you end up in this labyrinth of broken memories and sense of self. The kind gestures of Kabuto, on the other hand, felt almost disturbing as his eyes followed you like a pray around the hideout.

You were trapped in a rabbit hole of questions, falling deeper and deeper every time a new face or place popped in your mind. The only certainty you had that in this place you had only person you could trust - you. And you had to do everything in your power to get yourself out.

. . .

One moment you were gazing at an old photograph, your brows crunched in confusion, the next one you were on your knees, your hand muffling the loud sobs that threatened to leave your lips.

The image you held in your hands was not one you've seen for the first time. In fact, you have seen it countless of times during your stay here. You have found it accidentally under Sasuke's pillow one day when you were cleaning around the room and while you never asked him about it, you periodically reached out for it, studying it. You were in the middle of it - lips stretched in a wide grin and eyes closed, while a small key was dangling from your pointing finger. Right behind you was Sasuke - his hair just a little bit shorter than now, showing his mismatching eyes who looked directly down at you. His lips were curved into a soft smile, while hand gripped the side of your stomach.

You had reached the conclusion that you and Sasuke were in some form of relationship a long time ago. Were you simply lovers or something more serious? Were you married? Did you had kids? You didn't know, but you were sure the little glances that he threw your way now and the way he was constantly hovering over you was not things a casual boyfriend would do. So it wasn't the image of you two that triggered this intense reaction in you.

It was the window behind you in the photograph.

The small wooden kitchen window, to which you have not paid any mind till now, but now you couldn't look away from it. The same window you were facing while you were putting away the dishes the day you...

died.

Your knees buckled after you as suddenly you were hit with ton of forgotten memories. One after the other, they kept filling your brain with a rapid speed, making you grip your head with both hands in attempt to stop it all.

Inaho Village. Your parents and brother. Bloodshed.

Growing up with your grandma. Healing lessons. Fire.

Sasuke. Sneaking around before the war.

Moving in together after the war. Konoha.

Death.

You were supposed to be dead.

The sudden realisation made your head spin and you fell on your bottom, your eyes filling with tears. The memories kept coming, your tears kept flowing and you could swear time froze.

For how long have you been sitting on this cold, bare floor? It may be a minute, it may be an hour. Or even two.

The sound of a door opening caught your attention and you lifted red, puffy eyes only to meet the shocked ones of your lover.

"Sasuke, what have you done?"

cc artwork: Leo Pold

#sasuke x reader #sasuke imagine #sasuke fanfic #naruto imagines #naruto headcanons #naruto fanfiction #naruto requests #sasuke angst

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cannibalisation · 2 months ago

Text

lady grinning soul

sirius black/reader (no gendered pronouns, mentions of reader having 🍒)

shocking your friends, you bite the bullet and book a tattoo appointment with a new artist, turns out you have a lot more in common than thought before. or, you and tattooist!sirius bond over your shared love for David Bowie. (2.6k)

caution. modern au, tattoo needles, blood, slight nudity(?), i’ve never been tattooed before so the procedure might be inaccurate, reader is down bad for a man they just meet, pretty unprofessional work environment, crack ending.

i’m new to the marauders fandom and have limited knowledge, sorry for any character inaccuracies.

IT’S exceedingly rare for you to shoot from the hip.

More often than not, the bullets stay lodged in the barrel of your metaphorical gun (in other words, your prefrontal cortex), where it’s safe and close to you.

Most of your close companions would consider you to be a level-headed individual, not the kind of person to go to when it comes to profound decisions.

Lily Evans knew this well, so it’s safe to assume that she was dumbfounded when you shared thoughts with her about your pivotal choice to get new ink.

“You’re cheating on McKinnon? She’s never going to forgive you.” She verbalised with an airy voice.

It was a joke; you weren’t cheating on Marlene—she’s done most of your tattoos, and she would forgive you. At least you think she would.

You snort at Lily’s statement, trying to focus on the tweezer in your hand and her russet-coloured eyebrows.

She sits on the small stool of her vanity, and you lean over her. It’s a position too close for comfort, but over the years you’ve known Lily, its no dilemma for either of you.

“If she hadn’t gone on that so-called platonic girls trip with that Meadowes girl, I wouldn’t have to cheat on her, and it’s not even cheating!”

The corner of Lily’s mouth had curled up at your comment on the topic, and you mirrored it. She eyes you playfully in silent agreement.

Marlene did try and write off this weekend getaway as a friendly affair between her and Dorcas, but you could see past her act effortlessly. She hadn’t been subtle, not when her eyes had lit up so brightly when she heard the doorbell ring.

Leaning back from where you were hunched over the red-headed girl, you try to assess your work done on her eyebrows.

As usual, they’re plucked to perfection. You smile and throw the tweezer aside; it clatters against the other beauty products situated on the surface of your vanity. Lily flinches at the noise and lightly punches your arm in retaliation with a shallow laugh.

“Where have you booked it? Is it local?” Lily questions, trailing after you as you walk away.

“A parlour in the city; wonder if Marl knows them.” You reply as you stride into the kitchen. Flicking on the kettle, you begin to prepare a cup of tea. Turning back to where Lily stands behind you, you shake the box of teabags in offering. She nods and moves to sit on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Is it not like, sacrilege? What if they’re tattooist arch-enemies or something?”

“Then perhaps I’ll be the tattooed Judas.” It was a poor attempt at a joke on your part, but fortunately it lands and Lily lets out a snicker.

You ponder the thought for a moment while waiting on the kettle to boil. Is a fresh set of ink a symbol for the thirty pieces of silver? Is Marlene saintlike, and is it even worth betraying her? She’s always been a good friend, and you’d feel terrible if she actually was heartbroken over your actions.

As if she had a second sense for sniffing out negative reasoning, Lily sounds out a low whistle to gain your attention. It works, and you turn to look at her.

Her head is tilted to the left slightly, curls brushing against the countertop. She always had an unnatural ability for reading your body language like a book, now even more so. A small smile graces her features, one of tenderness she only sets aside for those closest to her—and probably stray cats.

“It’ll be fine; you can always hide it from her.” She murmurs, as if it were a secret.

“I’m getting it done on my ribs.”

Lily grimaces, and you don’t know if it’s out of the idea of the pain or how quickly her secretive plan was soiled.

A bell chime makes a racket when you open the front door of the tattoo parlour.

You wince at the noise and slowly close the door behind you. Inside the shop is an interior similar to what you had already imagined.

Tawny-coloured bricks line the back wall; it reminds you of Lily’s hair.

Framed pictures of artworks and musicians decorate the brickwork; you take note of the recurring portraits of your favourite classic rock stars, maybe this place won’t be too bad; maybe you were stressing for nothing.

There are five sets of tattoo stations, with one of them being occupied. A burly man lies against the leather of the chair as another, much slimmer man has a tattoo gun to his bicep. The man has deeply contorted facial features, most likely due to the pain.

It’s laughable, almost, seeing such a stout individual in such a situation.

You are broken out of your stupor by a figure that appears before you. Another man, with wide brown eyes hidden behind crimson-coloured glasses, stands in front of you. He has a bright-eyed look, one you recognise as the typical customer-service guise. Taking a brief moment, you admire the dark ink that lines his brown skin.

“Afternoon love, Did you have an appointment for today, or are you a walk-in?” He questioned, voice orotund to ensure you had heard him over the buzz of the tattoo gun in the corner of the room. He presses his upper body against the front desk to lean over it and grab a spiralled notebook.

You assume it’s a booking schedule, as Marlene has something similar in her flat, so you offer your name. He flips through the book before he lands on one page. He nods to himself and lets out a small noise of recognition.

“Well, it looks like you’re with Sirius today; I’ll go fetch him for you. Please make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to the small shag settee behind you before walking into a back room hidden behind a beaded curtain. You do as he says and perch yourself down on the crimson-coloured couch.

Toying at the textured fabric you sit upon, you return to admiring the decor of the shop. One poster in particular catches your eye.

A grayscale portrait of David Bowie sits behind a sky blue frame and sea foam glass. The blackened scratching of an autograph leaves you feeling a slight sense of jealousy.

A loud brush of the beaded curtains interrupts the fresh grudge you had formed on whoever it is that got a signed picture of the Goblin King.

Graced with the presence of yet another man, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the matter. Maybe you should’ve stuck with Marlene. This one’s just as pretty as the original guy you spoke to— alabaster skin and cropped jet black hair. He smiles softly when you stand to meet him halfway.

“Hi. You’re my canvas today?”

You nod, and he motions for you to follow him to a tattoo station. This man, Sirius, you recall, dons a frayed shirt with imagery of a black metal band you hardly recognise and navy blue wide leg jeans. He has two different coloured Converse shoes on; is it a fashion statement, or did he seem to displace the other half to both pairs? From what you can see when you walk behind him, his forearms are patterned with cluttered designs of tattoos.

You settle onto the tattoo bench as Sirius prepares his equipment.

He’s practically hovering over you now, eyeing the length of your body. Your face grows warm, and you pray that he can’t feel the heat. It’s clear he does though; a hint of a smile crawls up on his features. He really was quite pretty.

“Alright,” he says, “what are we doing today?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly set on a particular subject; I was hoping you might have some designs you’ve been wanting to try out.”

Sirius smiles much more softly now. He looks alluring like this. The sterile lighting would do nothing to help the beauty of others, but for some reason he looks otherworldly.

“Stunning, I can work with that.” You could too if he asked for it. “Is there a position in particular you were leaning towards?” He asks while pulling a beige Manila sleeve. You nod and gesture in the general direction of your upper rib cage. His face contorts as if he were experiencing the soon-to-come pain.

You spend the next few minutes with your head leaning awfully close to Sirius’ shoulder. Finally, you land on a particular design that you like the concept of and ask him to tweak some parts of the composition.

Having already been subjected to being a canvas for Marlene, you are already familiar with the spouts of pain experienced when being tattooed.

There are enough sweets and sugary drinks stuffed into the pocket of your bag to last you days; you can only hope that Sirius has the peace of mind to go easy on you. Spending the next several hours whining into his ear in pain seems less than charming.

“Cool. You can take your shirt off now.”

Just as you expected, he did not go easy on you. Fortunately, it had taken less than half an hour to finalise the exact location and composition of the piece. Normally, it would take yourself and Marlene several days to even figure out a basic idea. Perhaps it was the air of succour that Sirius gave off, or maybe you had just wanted to make an impression on him.

Either way, you find yourself with your back flat against the chair as Sirius holds the tattoo gun to your flesh. The pain is strong on the surface of your rib cage, and the buzz of the tattoo gun makes it feel like your ribs are rattling against one another.

Sirius has been heartwarmingly kind throughout this exchange, taking the time often to ask if you had wanted any other snacks to eat at or if you needed to take a break when he notices the contort of pain in your face. But obviously these are just standard business qualities; it’s best not to assume otherwise. The faint brush of his hand against your shin or the hushed praises under his breath are just common practices, right?

Bravely, you choose to ignore these thoughts that occupy your mind and instead focus on studying the dark lines embellished on Sirius’ forearms.

A mixture of bright and monochrome ink circulates his veins and stretch marks. It evokes an image of a summer’s breath of wind. Flower petals and leaves curling in the breeze.

A series of gentle pats against your shoulder rids you of your state of languor. He has terribly soft hands, yet callouses run deep all the same. You wonder what it would be like to hold his in your own.

“I think I’ll turn you over now. Just to make the tattooing a bit easier for you.” He began, urging you with a gentle tug on your bicep. “Is that alright, love?” You nod and string out a grumble of agreements.

He has you embraced a lot closely now that your on your side. His unoccupied hand grabs a flurry of paper towels from the dispenser behind you. He rests them and his hand between the juncture of hip and upper thigh. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume the new blush of red that he dawns on his face was derived from such proximity.

The insistent buzz of the tattoo gun continues, and you try to centre your mind on the noise. With your eyes closed, you cannot see the serpentine path formed by coffee brown eyes. As Sirius watches you, a lump forms in his throat.

It’s laughably notable that this is unprofessional, the way he’s been acting for the last several hours. Sirius is surprised that Remus hasn’t said anything to him as he types away on the front desk computer; has he even noticed? The all but necessary intimacy between the two of you was stark. If James was still clocked in, he’d be having a field day.

Your body language isn’t telling him that you’re uncomfortable, and he most definitely hasn’t pushed at any clear boundaries. He sees the way your chest rises and falls. You look content almost, which is odd given the fact that he is currently holding several needles in your skin.

Something catches Sirius’ eye, something he recognises all too well. He draws a sharp breath, and you flinch.

“Hey, we have matching tats!” He marvelled. With a flutter of blinks, you hum in question, clearly shocked by the sudden volume of his voice.

Sirius turns the tattoo gun off and moves it to the small side table to the right of you. He pulls up the fabric of his weathered shirt and points at a specific work on his lower stomach. It’s then that you make the connection and try not to redden at the reveal of his lean form, like a Victorian gentleman would at the slip of an ankle.

Nestled upon his waist is a red lightning bolt with blue shadowing. Aladdin Sane, 1973, David Bowie.

You have a matching David Bowie tattoo with one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen.

You’re spiralling now; is the autographed photo his? Was he truly blessed with the presence of a musical genius before he passed on? You don’t know if you should break down in tears or kiss him.

The tattoo you have is much smaller and located on the side of your left breast. Normally it’s quite hard to see, hidden beneath your underclothes or your arm. It was one of your first, a drunken decision but you don’t regret it. Lily had cringed when you first showed it to her, criticising the rash, permanent commitment.

The following weekend, she did the same thing in an almost blackout haze. A set of lily flower petals rests on her shoulder.

“You a Bowie fan? What’s your top song?” The presence of Sirius once again breaks you out of your thoughts; he’s really good at that.

“Uh, probably The Prettiest Star.”

“Yeah. That’s a good one.”

The smile on his face is a coy one; you can’t help but feel left out of an untold joke. Sirius says nothing and returns to working on your skin. In your mind, you pray to whoever’s listening (hopefully Bowie) that this tattoo won’t take much longer. You are unsure of how much more you can take of this determined teasing.

Another hour passes before you’re finally done. Plastic wrapped like leftovers and a decent sum drained from your bank account. Safe to assume that leftovers are all you’ll be eating for the time being.

Sirius hands you a receipt and bids you a flirty goodbye. Breathless, you exit the parlour, though not before becoming flustered at the wink he gives you as you walk out the door.

You turn the crumpled invoice in your hand and stifle a shout of elation. A phone number, his personal one, you hope. Beside it is a scribbled sentence that reads: Text me and i’ll tell you all about my favourite songs. - S.

When you finally limp your way up the stairs to your flat, you are faced with the one thing you feared. Lily sits tense on the living room couch, with Marlene right beside her.

The red-headed girl turns to look at you with a frightened expression, she knows. You mentally brace yourself and tiptoe over to the two. Gazing meekly at the subject of your fears, her face is unreadable. Your breath turns heavy.

“So..” she starts, “You’re having an affair?”

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