#and after i got obsessed with the devil judge i wanted to watch one of ji sung's series.. i feel like heal me kill me wasn't the best choic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ichorai · 3 years ago

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the devil's queen ; k.yr

pairing ; forest queen!yeri x devil!reader (gender-neutral)

summary ; in which the queen of the forest seeks out the devil’s help after accidentally turning her husband to stone.

themes ; fantasy, slight fluff and angst, royalty au, devil au, magic au, forest au (?), forbidden love au

words ; 4.2k

warnings / includes ; devils obv, mentions of divorce and a loveless marriage, uhm yeri turns her husband into stone, one mention of angels, teasing banter, an absurd amount of description because yeri is gorgeous and i can't help myself, both yeri and reader are little shits, kissy kiss kiss at the end </3

a/n ; my first gg fic :D i'm rlly excited for this one !! i'm literally in love with yeri so i'm so happy to finally post this ! thank you to @doievoir for beta reading <3 also thanks to @subways-stuff and @koocycle for being gay with me :(

masterlist. | milestone celebration.

The stone of the balcony’s railing beneath the forest queen’s fingertips was just slightly cold to the touch, mellowed by the night’s sweet breeze. Her face, dappled by the moon’s gentlest luminescence, bore a somber expression, only managing to mask the panic she truly felt by a thread of her being. Pale was her dress, and paler her skin became as she grew clammy with unease. The sheer, opal chiffon of her skirts grazed the balcony floor with faint kisses in accordance to Yeri’s ceaseless fidgeting. And because of her restless movements, the intricate leaf crown propped atop her temple was now slightly askew, placed awkwardly amongst her perfectly-curled tendrils.

From where you were standing, watching the queen, worry etched into her soft features, you almost felt a shred of pity. The keyword being almost. Devils rarely ever felt remorse.

You took this opportunity to look around the queen’s chambers. After all, it wasn’t every day that you’re summoned by a woman of such importance, much less the queen of the forest herself. Gorgeous vines twisted up marble columns, white flowers scattered across the greenery. Every which way you looked, there were at least five potted plants ranging from minuscule succulents to large ferns longer than your own arm span. Even the bed had a canopy of iridescent petals and glossy leaves.

“You must really enjoy nature,” you quipped, taking slight amusement in the way Yeri jumped at the sound of your voice, spinning around with a hand on her chest. “Looks to be bordering on obsession, actually…”

The queen, having come down from her initial shock, looked upon you with a quizzical eyebrow. “I called you to help me, not to make comments on my lifestyle.” She waved her fingers in the air, conjuring a thick vine that wrapped around her waist as if it were a snake. “Besides, I’m the queen of the forest. It would be more bewildering to find my chamber void of natural elements.”

A toothy grin so wide it made you look sinister graced your lips, and you bowed your head slightly. Yeri, much to her dismay, couldn’t tell if the action was genuine or mocking.

“I like that you feel the need to defend yourself against the devil. Makes me feel somewhat of importance,” you uttered the words with a simple-minded hum, eyes glowing with mirth. “Which brings me to ask… why have you called me here?”

The silence was suffocating as she strode up towards you, an almost defiant look glazing over her irises. She was so close that you could detect a hint of her sweet scent; an intoxicating concoction of apricots and grass and the slight tang of the air just before it rained. A tad too refreshing for your taste, but it suited her well.

On the other hand, Yeri found that you were as warm as a walking fireplace, and smelled as if you had doused yourself in cinnamon and musky cologne. Though it wasn’t necessarily an awful aroma, it was most definitely strong and caught her off guard. Who knew the devil would radiate the odor of a popular dessert spice?

Yeri’s steps slowed down once she was just in front of you, near enough that her soft skirts brushed against your dress pants. You noted the way her breathing seemed to hitch, teeth slightly tugging at the plushness of her bottom lip in hesitancy. What was she waiting for?

And with a deep exhale, she reached somewhere behind you with the speed of lightning, as if she wanted to get this over and done with. Her fingers curled tightly around a fistful of white cloth cloaking a large mass, tugging on it with a mild grunt. You spun on your heel with an arched eyebrow, watching with suppressed curiosity.

As you beheld the sight, expression unfaltering, Yeri buried her face in her hands, practically vibrating in stagnant shame. You wondered if she was crying, but found that her face was dry when she pulled herself away from her palms. Either she was trying too hard to feel the comforting weight of sadness, or she was lying to herself about caring.

It was most likely the latter. The thought brought a smile to your face.

A chiseled statue stood in front of the both of you. Opal in color and sculpted with perfect body proportions, your smile melded into an intrigued frown.

“I know,” Yeri whispered without turning back to look at you. “I’m a monster.”

“Don’t call yourself a monster in front of the devil, it’s unbecoming,” you snorted in contempt. Then, you gestured limply towards the statue. “I don’t even know what this is. Did you call me here to show off an artsy escapade of yours? I’ve got far more important things to do, you know.” ‘Important things’ really meant watching two crows fight over a moldy baguette down in the village streets. You might’ve been the devil, but that didn’t necessarily mean you were busy all the time.

Disdain colored her words as she hissed out, “I turned my husband to stone,” rouge laced her cheekbones as she quickly added on, almost an afterthought, “by accident.”

Oh? You clasped your hands together behind you, rocking back and forth on your heels. Now you were starting to see the resemblance, recalling the forest queen’s marriage to a man whose only facial expression seemed to be stoically indifferent. “My, my,” you crooned glibly, “what an interesting turn of events. Are you sure it was an accident?”

The forest queen clearly didn’t take your teasing lightly.

“I didn’t even know I could,” she said in an icy tone, glancing down at her hands, one still fisted in the coversheet. After a moment’s pause, she spoke up again, turning towards you. “But I need him back.”

A guffaw slipped past you as you wrinkled your nose in distaste. “That’s no fun at all. You want me to bring him back? Your moronic oaf of a husband? I’m sure you could find a new one with the snap of a finger. Besides, it’s better to keep him this way. He seems far more intelligent as stone.”

Having said your fill and satisfied with the fuming look Yeri wore, you spun on your heel, about to head out of the castle and run your other devil errands.

A bright flower of consternation unfurled within her ribcage, and the forest queen found herself hurrying forward, curling her fingers around the wrist of the subject of her torment. Almost immediately, she let go, partly from shock at her own actions, but mostly from the fact that your skin was borderline scalding. You are the devil, after all. Yeri should have been more careful.

“Do you forget who I am?” she hissed nonetheless, glowering at your unturned back, her tone swimming in a pool of severity.

At her question, you whirled around to look upon her in bemusement.

“I’m the queen of the forest!”

You nodded just slightly. “So you’ve mentioned.”

Mouth agape and nose twitching slightly in an attempt to contain her umbrage, she whispered out, almost bristling in hostility, “Does that mean nothing to you?”

“Finally catching on, I see.” You flashed her wink, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning forward. “Let me make one thing clear. You may be a queen, but you are not my queen. I haven’t forgotten who you are to the mortals, but I feel you’ve forgotten who I am.”

A genuinely wounded look found its way sprawled across her soft features. She struggled to find her voice for a minute, before turning her head away to gaze upon the moon in shame.

“What can I do to convince you?”

Though the words were quiet, you could still detect the stubborn tenacity interwoven through the question.

Instead of answering her inquiry, you retaliated with one of your own.

“Did you love him?”

Her face snapped back to you, frozen in incredulity. “What?” she asked, furrowing her perfect brows.

“Did you love him?” you repeated, this time rolling your eyes to the leafy canvas obscuring the ceiling. “You need not lie to me. I’ll know.”

With a shred of hesitancy clinging onto her, she uttered lowly, “No. It was a diplomatic marriage… he’s the crown prince of the ice mountains. And I need him back before anybody notices. You understand why I have to have him back, don’t you? This could cause a war.”

“A little foolish of you to ask a devil to prevent a war, don’t you think? We live for chaos,” you susurrated into her ear, circling her like a predator would their prey. Yeri flushed at your words. “Pray tell, why didn’t you ask an angel? Why come to me?”

She drew herself to her full height, almost as if sizing you up. You grinned at that. What an interesting character she was. “I was ashamed of myself. I didn’t want an angel to know of my mistake. Angels judge, and devils are used to despicable acts far worse than what I did. Of course I had to go with the latter.”

It was silent for a moment, the leaves rustling with the cold breeze. “Smart girl,” you hummed, impressed. Yeri cleared her throat, evidently flustered.

With a flick of your hand, the statue’s marble hue slowly faded away, color returning to the forest queen’s husband. A gasp left her throat, and she scurried across the room, almost tripping over the wisps of her skirt in the process. The prince of the ice mountains fell to the floor just as his feet loosened up, and he looked as if he had woken up from a horrid sleep, a dumbfounded expression masking his usually stoic features.

He looks stupid, you thought to yourself as Yeri knelt down beside him. Why would she choose him of all people?

“Have fun being married to somebody you don’t love,” you called out to the couple.

Yeri glanced upwards, a ‘thank you’ just on the tip of her tongue. But when she looked towards where you had been standing, there was nobody there. The wind whistled in your absence, and everything suddenly felt cold.

The forest was quiet as Yeri stormed through. The leaves stopped whispering, the birds halted their chirps, and the rivers grew muted. She was livid, so much so that small wildflowers the color of winter unconsciously sprouted in her furious trail. There were tear tracks forming rivulets down the apples of her cheeks, but they were long dried. She was too angry to cry now.

You danced your fingers along the bark of the branch you were sitting on, swinging your legs in bemusement as you watched the Queen bask in her fury.

Your landing from tree to ground made naught a sound, but Yeri seemed to sense that you were already there, for her shoulders squared and her chin lifted. Perhaps she wanted to look as if she had at least some semblance of her life put together in front of you. You weren’t quite sure why she bothered; you already knew she was in shambles.

Today she wore a plain sage button dress, the fabric flaring softly at her hips and arms. The skirt reached just below her knees; a considerate choice seeing as she was trudging through mud and foliage of all sorts. A white cloth was tied about her temple, keeping gorgeous locks of dark ebony from falling into her tempestuous eyes. She was a stunningly beautiful woman, and seeing her angry conjured a queer elation within you. What’s gotten her so riled up this time?

With outstretched arms, you beamed at her scowl. “Regretting asking me to free your husband from his stony confines? I did warn you against it, did I not?”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Forgive me for choosing not to trust the devil.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you said in a sing-song tone. ��You chose to trust me the moment you asked me to fix your poor husband. What is it you want from me now? Did you call me to turn him back to stone this time?”

An affronted look colored her already-miffed features a twisted hue. She seemed to relax just slightly when she realized that you were just jesting, as you always were.

“He wants me to move out of the forest. Permanently.” She angled her face away from you so you couldn’t see the turmoil raging within her. It was fruitless, because you saw right through her words. “Says the icy mountains are far better than this infernal place.”

The unexpected sensation of your warm hands on Yeri’s shoulders conjured what felt like an inferno raging within her ribcage. The devil was touching her. Why wasn’t she mad about it?

“Divorce him,” you said, almost nonchalantly. “You don’t love him. Why stay married?”

“I told you,” she shot back in exasperation, trying her damned hardest not to look down at your hands encasing her shoulders, just a thin layer of green fabric separating bare skin to skin contact, “for diplomatic-!”

“Oh, screw diplomacy. You don’t even want to go outside of the forest. What’s the point of staying married to him?” Your words were sharp, a dagger of truth cleaving right through her skull. It was a good point you made, and it made the queen furious to know that you’ve got her beat.

Yeri was starting to think that your ability to constantly put a damper on her mood was a mastered talent. Have you had a lot of experience belittling people? She presumed the answer was yes; the devil didn’t belong only to her, this was undeniably so. Sin was an attractive flavor to mankind. Was it greedy to want the raw form of wrongdoing all to herself?

Plunged into a cavern of her own agitation, she didn’t even notice you releasing her to pace circles around the forest queen. “He doesn’t love you either, just so you know,” you whispered from behind, causing her to startle with a wince, “especially not after that rocky stunt you pulled, hm?”

Something akin to amusement danced in Yeri’s gaze as she turned her head to peer at you. It flickered away just as quickly as it came. “You’re mean,” she said dryly.

“I know, it’s kind of my job.” You rocked back and forth on your heels, leaning against the trunk of a large tree. “So why did you call me back?”

Yeri dithered for just a moment. “I don’t have anybody else to talk to.” With such a shameful statement, you were pleasantly surprised to see how she managed to say it in such a leveled tone.

“And so you came to the devil for mild chit chat?”

She bowed her head. “I did, yes. Do you have an issue with that?”

You shook your head with a slight smile. It was a truthful response; you quite enjoyed studying Yeri’s mannerisms and turmoils.

A stoic expression crossed her elegant visage as she nodded at you, and then proceeded to turn away, striding out of the forest with naught another word more, tendrils of hair fluttering airily with each step.

News of the forest queen’s divorce to the prince of the ice mountains spread quicker than a royal archer’s arrow. Some said she did so in a spectacle of dramatic tears and ring-throwing. Others gossipped that she slipped away into the woods with only a mere note to inform the prince of what was going on. And the most popular story going around was Yeri proclaiming the divorce void of any emotion, ignoring the prince when he dropped to his knees and begged her to stay.

Knowing both parties of the couple, you were sure that all three spin-offs were far from the truth.

Your suspicions were confirmed when Yeri called you back again, this time with a hint of a grin tracing her lips, a startling contrast to the previous two times she’s called you over. The duality of this woman, you thought with a shake of your head.

“What is it this time?” you asked with an annoyed facade, though it was clearly only skin-deep, for the curiosity swimming in your irises betrayed your true stand.

The queen in front of you was wearing a dress of black silk, flowing and cinching in all the right places. A white and canary flower hanging loosely from her ear, a vast juxtaposition from the darkness of her ensemble. She was the true epitome of allure.

“Black to look like you’re mourning to the simple-minded common folk,” you observed, “but the daffodil symbolizes a new, hopeful beginning. You’re not at all upset about your divorce.”

The corners of her carmine lips curled upwards. “Smart devil,” she replied, referencing back to when you had called her just the same. Devils weren’t ones to be flustered, but you supposed that was the closest thing to how you were feeling at the moment. Masking was a true talent of yours, however, because Yeri seemed not to notice at all. “I called you because I’m lonely.”

“It’s one thing after another with you, huh?” Your words lacked any bite, and you found yourself chuckling while threading your fingers through your hair. “Looking for an affair the same day you get divorced isn’t usually customary for humans. I’m not complaining, though,” you mumbled with a roguish grin, stepping closer to her and gently running the tips of your fingers against her forearms. You pointedly ignored the way the saccharine apple aroma she practically dripped of made you dizzy.

She drew a mock gasp at what you were insinuating, placing her frigid palms on your shoulders to push you back in a playful manner.

“So is it me you want or would you like me to brainwash someone to come and take pity on you?”

Dark irises rolled the leafy ceiling of her bedroom. “What if I asked you to stay?” Despite you barking out a laugh, she continued on. “I don’t need somebody else.”

Eyes flashing something dangerous, you drew yourself up to full height. “Don’t jest.”

“I’m not jesting.”

You knew she wasn’t, but you took a step backwards anyways. Much to your astonishment, she boldly rivaled that with her own foot propelling her forwards. Closer, ever so close.

“Why do you want to fraternize with the devil?”

“Why do you keep coming back whenever I call you?” she shot back quickly, leaning forward just as your spine brushed against a poster of her canopy bed. “I’m not giving you anything in return.”

The words had you reeling for some sort of witty comeback, but for the first time in your eons of life, a human had you dumbfounded. Why were you coming back?

“I…” you gaped at her earnest countenance. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” she echoed your words, almost smug.

Quiet unease filled the silence between you, and you narrowed your lids into slits. With but a gentle whistle of wind, the devil dissolved into a mass of shadows and glowing clementine-hued embers, leaving the queen alone in her chambers once more.

When the seasons change, it wasn’t a shift that happened overnight, but a feat that came with the patience of moons. Earth took its time in conversion, as did everything else. Time was a universal language everybody understood; unchangeable, solidary in its flow, ruthless and unforgiving.

Devils were no exception.

It took you time to come back to Yeri. You weren’t very sure how long. The stars shifted and the sun dipped past the horizon countless times while you waited for an answer to a question you never had the courage to ask. Quite pathetic of the devil, wasn’t it?

When the forest queen called for you a fourth time, you were tempted to decline.

But you found yourself teleporting without a second thought, materializing in a haze of dull light by the corner of her cavernous chambers.

Yeri watched from across the room. The beige turtleneck she wore clung to her like a second skin, a sheer corset cinched about her waist, embroidered flowers dancing across the fabric. A grey skirt fluttered with the wind that blew through the doorway to the balcony, singing a song of the forest. Golden jewelry dangled from her neck and ears, glinting sweetly in the fading sunlight. Her curled tresses had little wildflowers woven between the strands, rolling over her shoulders in waves. She was beautiful, and she wasn’t yours.

It took her no time to stride forward, bare feet padding silently across the smooth floors towards you. You didn’t move, standing your ground and eyeing her with indifference.

The grazes of her fingers against your blistering hot cheeks shouldn’t have taken you aback. Your pride was wounded the last time you saw her, and all a devil really had was their pride. Should you be mad at this woman for diminishing you down to a mess of discombobulated emotions and lost purpose? A twisted part of you was proud of her for doing so. Besting a devil at their own game wasn’t quite the everyday act.

Yeri hummed a pleased little sound when you grabbed at her wrist. Not to yank her away, no, but to pull her ever so close, breathing in her earthy scent. The walls of fire you once held up to closely guard your devilish heart, now doused by a simple pale of water. The forest queen did that. And you, quite frankly, were so very afraid of what she’d do with it now that it was hers.

“Took you a while to come back,” she whispered. You looked oh so bewitching in this light, a glimpse of heaven doused with the fits of hell, and Yeri found it hard to concentrate. Especially not with your searing fingers wrapped firmly around her forearm.

“Certainly didn’t take you a while to call,” you snorted, raising a brow at the queen. “You’re a desperate little thing, aren’t you?”

Even the flame-lit candles were envious of her radiance when she smiled, for they flickered and warbled at her mischievous beam. “I’m not ashamed to admit so. You look awful, by the way.”

“That’s a lie,” you teased, so close now that your nose brushed against her cheekbone. If an outsider were to walk in now, they would’ve thought the two of you were two lovers intimately dancing to a ghost’s silent song.

“You’re right. I lied. Thought you might enjoy that since you’re the devil, and all.” The queen looked at you with hooded eyes.

A breathy chuckle slipped past your lips. “I enjoyed that very much, yes.”

“I’m going to do something,” she uttered lowly, vague hesitation weaving through her words, “and you’re going to have to promise not to freak out.”

An off-hand sound of acknowledgement rumbled in your throat as the tip of your mouth quirked upwards. “My queen, I’m the devil. Of course I’m going to freak out. I live for chaos.”

Just as you took your time to come back to her, it took Yeri time to unfurl the folds of her heart, baring herself raw and unshielded. She trusted you with her life, and it was probably the most foolish decision she could ever think to make.

Her lips brushed against your jaw first, tentative and testing. Then the kisses trailed to your cheekbones, over to the lids of your fluttered-shut eyes, down to the bridge of your nose. When she melded her lips over yours, you knew you were done for. It was almost natural, how your arms snaked around her midriff, clutching at the threads of her corset with a yearning you’ve never felt before. The hands that cradled your jaw slid in different directions; one went to clutch at your arm in a fruitless attempt to ground herself, and the other gently scratched at the back of your neck, earning a pleased noise from you.

This was so wrong, and that was why it felt so good. If she was the fruit, you were the parasite. If she was the wine, you were the poison. If she was love, you were hatred.

When she pulled away from you with a dazzling smile reserved just for you, you swore the stars shattered and the moon collapsed and the sky broke into two. For this trembling certainly can’t be coming from you! Devils don’t tremble, for crying out loud!

“You called me your queen,” she observed, amused at your playful narrowing of eyes.

“A devil never lies, my queen,” you jested. The laugh she was about to bark out at your witty jab was stolen away from her as you kissed her once more. “I wouldn’t dare bow to somebody with a soul, yet it seems you’ve given me yours. Just what am I to do with you?”

Your words were paused to press a lasting kiss onto her cheek, right below her wide eyes, nervously awaiting your response. Studying her with mirth dancing in your irises, you crooned in acceptance, fondly nudging your nose against her supple cheek. She was yours, and you were hers. A white rose blooming amidst a tumultuous storm.

“And my, my, what a powerful pair we make, my queen.”

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punemy-spotted · 4 years ago

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The Price You Pay Chapter 4: Breach

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse; Betrayal; Lies; F!Reader’s Age Kind of Finalized; Specific Reference to Age; Blackmail; Crying; Slight Panic Attack; Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Chapter Summary: Even the truth can’t set you free.

Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3

Notes: And we’re back to pain. My outline got derailed for this chapter so bear with me, sometimes revelations need to be hammered in. No smut here for now but I also needed to get this arc finished so I can start on the next.

Also I know I keep jumping forward — I swear I will write about their relationship growing.

Thank you all for reading and commenting! As always, feedback is greatly appreciated, even if you’re yelling at me.

Not beta-read, these sins belong to me and me alone.

All of my work is 18+ Only, Minors DO NOT INTERACT. I do not consent to my work being posted anywhere besides Tumblr or Ao3 and I post my work there myself. Do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content.

The air is…

Shifted.

Shifted enough that the whole office notices, avoids yours, avoids the glare Steve Rogers fires at them the moment they approach the door, avoids your eye. Shifted enough that you miss the before, the pressure of his presence demanding your attention, the smugness in his endless eyes you denied looking at.

Shifted.

Counsel.

What?

We need to talk.

Is that not what you’ve been avoiding doing all morning, Captain?

You swear you can hear his molar crack in the dead silence, but your eyes never flit upwards from the contract you’re poring through, red pen in hand.

Focus.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it, the presence of him, the pressure of him. It’s a job, and he calls on you to do your duty and you do but no one has ever asked you to be kind and no one has ever asked you to smile as you bear it so you don’t.

It’s a job, this life, and this is a part of it.

You. Are a part of it.

Counsel.

It’s a bark, an order, an annoyance and you shouldn’t let his stubborn fury be the thing that derails you. This is your domain. Your palace of glass and steel, remember? New York buzzes behind you and you surge forward on the tightrope of his affections, teetering dangerously close to his temper and always, always daring him to pull you down.

Try it again.

Fine, with a sigh and a setting down of your papers, You’re closer to the door.

And in your defense, he is, seated on your couch as stiff as a board, scrolling through his phone on occasion and — previously, at least — deftly ignoring your inquiries about the status of his office and why he needs to spend his morning in yours.

He fixes you with a look you do not name and proceeds to stand anyways. The door clicks shut and stays that way — both of you have learned.

Do you still talk to him?

Excuse me?

The Senator. Are. You. Still. In. Contact.

He spreads out every word like an accusation and every word turns you a little colder. You’ve been avoiding this. Avoiding him, distracted by work, the both of you but now you are back in each other’s orbits and this…

This cannot be avoided.

I haven’t spoken to him beyond to tell him I returned home safe that night.

Not. For lack of wanting.

If he’s hurt you, just say the words.

There’s nothing you can say.

It’s been a week. Almost two.

He’s been kind, stayed away, kept his distance but that… that will not last. Only as long as whatever conference has his office busy and then you know what comes next and then you know what comes after.

The bruising may have faded but the memories remain, after all.

They always do.

Steve Rogers is not Andy Barber, is not warm-eyed concern or a soft-voiced invitation, is not trying to save you from the horrors you cannot name, is not to be trusted but Andy Barber is also not Steve Rogers, is not exactly the man you expect, is not the answer to your dilemma, is not the devil you know and you…

Are still testing your wings.

Get up.

Get up and walk away from the prison of your desk, see how far you can get before you shackle yourself to your own ambition. Get. Up.

Blue eyes watch you like he’s calculating the next angle of his attack and technically you know that’s exactly the case but let’s pretend a moment he doesn’t have his claws out and you aren’t trapped in a cage for him to batter.

Delude yourself into the power you think you have, and keep him there, across the room where he cannot show you how effortlessly he strips you of it and how deeply you enjoy it.

Don’t.

You may be in bed with the mob but you are not asleep to his crimes and this is just an interim, a plan, a moment.

You stood me up, Counsel. After we made our deal.

It was a week ago and you ever-so-kindly taught me my lesson — don’t wince as you speak, don’t let him know you remember, don’t let him think you actually learned from his hand, hard against your body.

He hasn’t since, after all.

He says your name.

He says your name and your blood runs cold and you freeze by the coffee machine you keep in your office and you turn. Senator Barber is a friend.

A dangerous friend. I won’t even ask if you know his stance on —

On the Syndicate? Oh I know. I know who he shakes hands with.

Then you know why I’m asking.

Are you loyal?

Are you?

Is it loyalty that keeps you here?

Don’t let your hands shake when you look at him. Don’t let him see the slide of your eyes, the glance outside, the wondering how long before your window would be a portal and that tightrope would snap.

You are not a fool.

This. Is not loyalty.

I keep to my ethical duties, Captain.

You’re sleeping with your boss.

Oh that one makes you laugh, sharp and cruel and you do look at him then, fix your eyes onto him and raise an eyebrow and watch. All that power, all that smugness, wrapped up in one body and how does he contain it, do you know?

I believe the actual term is serving at your pleasure.

It’s back to the game, the dance, the ruse, the steps you take around each other, the blades he digs into your chest the reminders he gives you you are a whore you are a whore you are a whore and you lift your chin up, dare him to look at the bruises his lips leave on your skin and ask him in the silence and what will you do about it.

You could hate him. You do, technically. You hate that you could love him in the early hours of the morning, when his eyes seek you out and soften at the reminder you’re still here. You hate that his invasive presence in your office is a shield as much as it is a virus, a comfort in the silence and you hate most of all that the way he looks at you with that open desire women might normally have just dreamed was possible makes you want to return it.

You hate that he is dangerous. That he has bound you to him like this, chained you to the idea of his warmth and that there is a sick sort of safety in the binding.

You hate that he looks at you now with something like hope, with something like obsession, with something like vulnerability and you hate that it strips you of that cold armor as effortlessly as his hands strip you of your resistance.

And he could hate you too, in the whispers he leaves on your shoulders when he thinks you’re asleep. He could hate that you are soft, that you are sweet on his tongue that you…

Are his.

Could hate that he has thought of nothing else but the very theory of your betrayal and you know none of these things but his eyes are not so inscrutable as he thinks and so—

He twists the knife.

I talked to your Judge, by the way.

You did what?

You heard me. Interesting conversation.

Excuse me?

You really sold yourself to me for a lover’s spat, Counsel? I thought you were better than that — woman of the law and all.

A lover’s spat? That’s what he told you?

Just what would you call it, if not that?

He’s daring you, back to somewhere between smug and angry, as if disappointed you made him waste his time and all you can do is feel your heart sinking, feel yourself back in that place again, the decade-long sting of control over your body, the painful reminder of the girl you once were.

Where is he?

Did you think I’d clean up your dirty laundry for you? I’m not a breakup counselor, and you nee—

You left him alive!? The panic in your voice is so palpable it stops him in his tracks all over again, suspicious and surprised and you step back to reach for something — steady yourself steady yourself steady yourself you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe.

I’m not killing your ex-boyfriend without a good reas—

I was nineteen!

The world tilts, shifts, your knees are buckling, that’s tears in your eyes and you.

Are that girl again.

Too small, too scared, too naive to know better, too easy to mold and break and manipulate and you promised you’d never be her again, you promised you’d get her justice and you promised it wouldn’t be like this over and over again, promised he wouldn’t sink his fangs into you a third time.

What? He sounds smaller. Or is it faraway? You are too busy trying to stand, trying to still the shaking of your hands, the cold chill in your veins, too busy feeling your knees surrendering, too busy sliding to the floor and staring blankly into your memory.

Counsel. What. Did. You. Say. He repeats himself, and then he’s crouching before you, holding your chin in his hand and when did you start having tears on your cheeks for him to wipe away?

I was nineteen, you repeat, blank and broken, not seeing his brow furrow, not seeing the regret flash over his expression, I didn’t want it. I never wanted it.

What are you saying, sweetness? How dare he sound so soft? How dare he sound like he actually cares, when he’s the reason you’re here, on this floor, barely resisting your breakdown yet again?

You know better.

I was nineteen, a third time, I needed a job, something to give me experience, and he — he used me. That was my experience.

He’s starting to understand, but it doesn’t matter to you, not when you’re staring too far into the past, into a sneering face and cruel hands.

(I can ruin you or I can help you, Intern, so you make your choice. You need me.)

It never stops. Not after the first time — but you know that.

But you know that. That’s your knife, the one you twist into his chest and the realization sinks in heavy as an anchor, the thing he’s done.

The thing he’s done to you.

So why wait until now?

I would have waited forever.

You hid the letter. Hid it well enough even he wouldn’t have found it rifling through your things. Hid the threat in those typewritten words and the casual signature swept across the stationary, unaffected.

Men like him never face consequences. Only you, only the women they make use of, the ones they turn into commodities for their enjoyment. Who would care if you’d made it public, if you showed the world the kind of man he was — he was appointed for life, he was friends with the Governor, he was powerful and you were never going to be strong enough.

(You wouldn’t want anyone in the District Attorney’s office knowing just the sorts of things you’re willing to do to get your way. I can still help you be an exceptional lawyer, Intern.)

What are you? Ambition and drive and skill but what does it all mean when it can be reduced to plaything and pet project and whore.

I helped him get appointed. He helped me get into law school. Introduced me to… To Andy Barber, who calls you Sunshine and watches out for you and comes to New York despite having no power in the state just to see you again because he worries, because he cares.

You pay.

And sometimes that payment bounces back.

You pay and you pay and you pay and you struggle but what is the culmination of your strife is it the sight of you finally broken on the floor, is it the moment he’s been waiting for, dragged off your pedestal why couldn’t he have left well enough alone didn’t he know the horse was for your protection and not his pride?

No.

They never do.

They never do, do they, always so wrapped up in themselves and even now he kneels in front of you and wipes your tears but he has no words to say to atone for what he’s done and you know he can never.

I need you to leave.

The words come out without your control.

You know what you are. You are fury made flesh and you will not be manipulated again, not by the pressure of his hands on your face, not by the way he almost hugs you, he lied he lied he lied he lied.

Sweetness…

No. You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore.

You could have tolerated it. You could have accepted it you could have let yourself become the prize he took, owned his defeat by defeating you, you might even have enjoyed it but no.

No.

I held up my end of the bargain.

#steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #andy barber x reader #mob!au #political!au #dark!fic #steve rogers smut #andy barber smut #dark!steve rogers #angst #series #mob!steve rogers x reader #i really am gonna die here

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hwapyungah · 3 years ago

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I watched The Guest two times it was so awesome. I loved the trio especially the female lead was so cool in it. And I have no words for the bromance ( or romance maybe* cough) between the two male leads. Is there anyone active in this fandom ? I want to talk about this show with someone but there's barely anyone available. Why The Guest is so underrated I want second season asap😔

this is a legitimate mood, though. laksdjfklajsd the guest is such a good show, but it's also such a niche type of drama that it only attracts a certain audience. which sucks because it totally deserves more attention. between the characters, the story, and the general message it conveys...ugh, i could go on and on

hwa pyung is my comfort character even outside of my obsession with the guest. he and a character from the devil judge are probably the closest things i have to blorbos lol. but legit his little scrappy ass just got cooler and cooler the more trouble he got into. and i absolutely love that gil young couldn't escape him because of said trouble he kept getting into. i also love that she was the one who convinced choi yoon to try and get him out of jail. and it all comes full circle when choi yoon becomes hyper protective of hwa pyung after that.

what i'm getting at with that paragraph is that the best part of the show is the bond between the three of them. like they are all really cold and rigid toward one another at the beginning and it honestly looks like they're never going to get along, but then they wind up getting attached to each other and seeing the person beneath the aggressive demon hunting psychic or the cop who doesn't believe in ghosts or the priest who would just rather work alone, they're inseparable.

honorable mention to the lovely yook gwang too. his and hwa pyung's friendship was top tier, and their scenes were some of my favorites in the entire show.

(also yes definitely romance those two are in love and i refuse to see it any other way)

you can always come to me with whatever feelings you might have about the guest. i'm still obsessed, even if this blog runs slower than it used to. with it being such a small fandom, it's difficult to keep it running at the pace of my other blogs. i do have a couple of fic requests that i'm working on so hopefully there will be updates here soon!

welcome to the fandom, though, and don't let its small size scare you away! there are some truly amazing people here, and even if you gotta dig around a little to find them, they're totally worth it!

#ocn the guest #the guest

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years ago

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I would like a request for Steve Demon, something very dark and hot, thank you! 😈❤️

Hi darling! Thank you for your patience 🙏💖 This story was inspired by Slavic witch legends and VN Demonheart!

Oh, my love, don't forsake me

Pairing: demon!Steve Rogers x witch!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, dark magic, dubcon, witch!Nakia, mentions of violence.

Words: 1670.

___________________

You remembered your first encounter with him well. It had been your first Walpurgis Night when Nakia presented you to a coven: you had been taken through an initiation ritual to become a true witch, and all of you danced and drank and laughed, jumping through grand fire and burning your clothes till you all had been naked, only jewelry - necklaces, earrings and bracelets - left on your bodies.

It was then when demons had arrived, many of them flying directly to their witches and starting dancing with them, picking them up and letting them ride them high up in the sky as if they were horned horses, and you froze on your spot, watching their red bodies glowing.

"You will choose your demon lover today." Nakia whispered to you, smiling to her own mighty demon, his shoulders wide and muscular, his gaunt wings so large he could cover ten people with each. "There are several of those who are free."

"Today?" You asked her nervously, watching those demons without a witch on their backs. "But I thought I would be given time to let them know better."

You knew no one but Nakia, and the thought of choosing your demon right this very moment seemed a bit frightening to you. The witch was choosing her demon lover for eternity - unless both her and him would decide to separate, but it was highly unlikely as the bond they built had always been hard to break. How could you do it without knowing a demon first? Today you could make the worst mistake in your entire life - and afterlife, considering that your soul would travel back to Hell with your demon by your side.

"Don't fret over little things." The witch flashed you a wide smile, her flawless skin glowing softly in the dim light coming from the fire meters away from you. "You will be fine. Look at them! Who is the one you want the most?"

She motioned to the demons flying up in the air, their wings flapping, and you realized you could actually see what was beneath the loincloth of some of them, your face growing unbearably hot. How indecent! Why didn't they wear something more concealing?

"Because they are showing new witches what they got to offer." Your mentor laughed at your bemused expression, and you chuckled, thinking how you were standing naked in front of them with just a think golden necklace on, the only valuable jewelry you had. "Don't be shy, dear. Look, look at them! Ask me if you see someone attractive, and I will tell you everything I know."

Oh dear, it was probably the most embarrassing thing you had ever done, but you couldn't miss your only opportunity to know more about your future lover. Besides, you didn’t become a witch to spend your days caring about morals and decency, did you? You were going to sin till the very end of your life, and today could be a nice starting point. In the end, a physical body and all its parts were nothing to be ashamed of.

Watching several men, their skin scarlet, floating above the grand fire and laughing along the other couples, you tried focusing on those who you thought looked the strongest and sheepishly whispering to Nakia. You felt a little distressed her own lover had to wait for you, but the demon only grinned at you, baring his pearly white teeth, and bowed his head a little, visibly agreeing to wait longer. Maybe they weren’t all as scary as you imagined? You certainly hoped so, pointing to several demons and asking your mentor about them.

“This one? This is Tony, he’s a clever but vicious sort.”

“Aren’t they all?”

Turning her face to you, Nakia gently caressed your head as if you were her child. “No, darling. Not to us. But you are right, I doubt Tony would be the right choice for you. Maybe young Peter? It is his first Walpurgis Night, but he’s of age. Or Brock, that demon over there? Oh no, look at this ruthless barbarian...”

However, before you had time to look at the man she had pointing at, another demon suddenly crossed your way, and you stilled when he looked directly at you, his large crimson wings blocking the view for both Nakia and you. He stood out from the crowd with his glowing golden hair and immense wings that were bigger than even Nakia’s lover, and you frown when the demon landed on his goat hooves, aggressively ripping his loincloth away and baring his flesh in front of you. Your face grew hot at his shameless display, and searched for your mentor’s hand, clutching it in yours like a child, truly. What was that? Did you make the demon upset? Had you broken some rule you didn’t know about?

Nervously glancing at Nakia’s lover you saw him distressed, too, but he didn’t move further to protect you, standing on his place. Was it because there was no true danger or because he simply couldn’t protect his witch against the monster in front of you?

“Who is he?” Your whisper was barely audible as you trembled, clinging to Nakia, and she wrapped her warm arm around your shoulders, leaning closer to your ear.

“Steven of Triskelion. Do not be scared, my darling, he isn’t here to hurt you. I wonder why he’s courting you so... passionately, though.”

“Courting me?”

“Oh yes, my dear. Look at him, putting himself on display like that for a young witch. His desire for you must be strong.”

Softly waving at her lover and seeing him relaxing, Nakia gently pushed you in front, encouraging you to come closer to the demon whose gaze was so intense you were worried he would make a hole in you. Oh, you needed to talk to him. Probably. You weren’t sure, but by the look on the witch’s face you guessed the demon in front of you wasn’t necessarily a bad choice. Judging by his enormous form and his thick, veiny cock in between his muscled legs, maybe he really weren’t.

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious in front of him, you tried smiling and prevent yourself from covering your body with your hands - he had just shown himself completely naked to you, and it would be disrespectful of you to do otherwise. You certainly didn’t want to upset a demon like him.

“Hello, Sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.” You said politely, hoping he wouldn’t mind the way you talked to him. Should you bow to him? Offer him your hand? Kiss his cheek? No, no, you wouldn’t dare.

For a second you thought he was going to hit you, but you knew a demon would never do that to a witch, especially with a whole coven present. They’d ban him from ever pairing with any of them, stripping him of a possibly ally and lover. Only the most insane demons would try doing something as reckless and disrespectful, but they weren’t allowed to Walpurgis Night celebrations. Thank... Devil?

The demon suddenly chuckled, baring his sharp fangs, “You don’t have to be so polite with me, little witch. I am sorry for intimidating you for it was not my intention. Come closer.”

Liar! He loved the effect he had on you, you didn’t have to get inside his horned head to see it. Was he of patronizing kind? Maybe. It wasn’t the worst one among demons straight from Hell, and you smiled at him, putting your arm in his as he drew you closer to him, his other arm softly cupping your chin. His crimson body was radiating heat, and you enjoyed it when demon made you lean onto his wide chest. Despite being somewhat shy about the whole encounter, you were starting to warming up, demon’s touch having a strange effect on you.

“Allow me to give you this.” The man murmured into your ear, and you felt the heaviness of a string of pearls on your neck, touching it with your fingers and watching the demon with wide eyes.

Of course, you have heard of witches receiving gifts from their demonic lovers, but Steve was still a stranger to you. Was it right to accept something so expensive from him? While you tried looking for Nakia to ask her advice, the demon wrapped his large gaunt wings around you two, preventing you from searching for your friend, and forcefully turned your face to him, claiming your lips as if he wanted to devour you. You had no time to react before his huge tongue got inside your mouth, his clawed hand running up your rib cage and cupping your breasts as you whimpered against him, his body blazing hot. He didn’t give you a second to get accustomed to the kiss before spreading his wings and flapping them as he unceremoniously grabbed you by the hips and flew up, taking you with him. You let out a little mewl, clinging to Steve for life. What was he doing?!

“Don’t be scared, kitten. I’m not asking you to ride on my back just yet.” The demon’s voice was soft, but you could see his grin getting wider, and a part of you was nervous at his somewhat aggressive courting. “But wouldn’t you like it? I can be a powerful ally for a witch and a gentle lover for an innocent kitten like you.”

“Be careful, dear. Steve became bitter after his witch has left him to return to God,” Nakia’s voice said in your head, and you frowned, knowing the demon most certainly heard her, too.

She left him for God? What, how was this even possible?

Demon’s grin turned wicked as he kissed your forehead, getting higher and higher as other demons and witches danced below you. “It’s true, darling. That’s why after you choose me to be your lover I will carve your heart out of your chest and keep it with me.”

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Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @ximebebx @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @iheartsebandchris @lovelydarkdaydream @soleil-dor @illyrianprincess

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #yandere #captain america #requests #mcu #mcu fanfiction

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kikyan · 4 years ago

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Yandere Soul Eater Headcanons

These are my interpretations of his persona and none of these are 100% accurate. I don't condone any of these actions in real life and all of this is purely fictional.

Yandere Server

Black Star

I probably am gonna butcher all three but here we go! I’ve only seen the anime so I’ll be going off of that instead of the manga. When we meet Black Star we see a loud boy, a VERY loud person with a ‘radiant’ personality. He holds himself to a high degree and is a very funny person with an outgoing personality. Tsubaki is someone who can match with his soul wavelength because she is a very understanding and patient girl. Off the bat I think that his yandere type would be possessive, clingy, and manipulative.

Let me start at the beginning. It was revealed that his parents were assassins, he never met them but somehow their reputation followed him. People judged him a lot despite him not being like his parents, wrongfully judged but he tries hard not to show it. I think that his personality ties in with that, he wants to alert attention to himself to show that he is his own person.

Clingy. He is a very clingy person because his personality is in a sense, seeking attention. The first person he would seek attention from would be his S/O. He would always direct himself when he completed an accomplishment. Turn to his S/O and ask for their praise, when he gets it he simply turns to say “Well I’m Black Star after all!” He will constantly want his S/O’s attention in anything and everything he does. He’s about to fight someone? You’re coming to watch. He wants to show up whenever he wants. He’ll leave his own home and show up at his S/O’s home through the window because he’s built differently.

Possessive. His S/O is his. Simple as that. He wants their attention 25/8 on him only, if his S/O is talking to someone else. No they aren’t. They aren’t. They simply can’t. Would call out to his S/O and grab them, hold them, put his arm around them, just assert dominance on them because that’s HIS S/O. It would get to the point where he would be over their house or would suggest them moving in with them.

Manipulative. He would be manipulative. If his S/O would be upset about anything he will hype them up. He wouldn’t put them down, but he would question them. “ Well I guess you don’t want Black Star as your boyfriend.” Something like that. He wouldn’t be the biggest with manipulation, but he would drop subtle hints or maybe stop going over making their S/O question what is going on. Make it seem as if it’s their fault he is acting this way, their fault that this happened, etc.

I don’t really see him as a dangerous yandere, but there is a slight chance that he may say some things that don’t sound the nicest at times. He could unintentionally say things he doesn’t mean, his S/O feels upset and then he may not apologize because he doesn’t understand what he said was wrong. It would take Tsubaki and the others to point out what he said was wrong, which would lead to him apologizing and feeling bad. Offering out to do something for his S/O because he is Black Star, he always makes up for mistakes.

Soul “Eater” Evans

When I first started Soul Eater, I immediately looked at this man and said "He cute asf <3" and I still stand by that. Throughout the series you can see him two sides of him you can see a very laid back individual or a sacrificial individual who needs to do everything himself (let me explain)

During the entire show he holds the 'cool' title and wants to be a laid back character who's morals aren't as laid back so he will step in when things aren't 'cool'. It doesn't take much to make him fall in love with his S/O just with enough interaction. With this relationship it's the most normal set up, you're a chill person and we've been friends, wanna go out? As a yandere? This is a tough one because it depends on the side that we're looking at. He, as himself, will do everything to make a normal relationship because I naturally see him as a little possessive guy. If we talk about after the black blood and dark thoughts, along with the little devil corrupting him, he would be a bit more cruel and sadistic in his ways to ensure his S/O will stay with him. With that I think of these, Possessive and Overprotective. Under the black blood's influence? Manipulative, Clingy, Sadistic.

Possessive. I see him being like this naturally, it's just you're his S/O and he wants to make sure people know that. Will walk close to you and if people get too close, he'll get closer till they get the idea. It's just something simple, has an arm around you constantly. Someone is talking to you? He is about to slide in there and wrap around you, inviting himself into the conversation. Sometimes it can get a little too overbearing but crack a joke here and there and it's all good.

Overprotective. He has Maka as his meister, but the cool thing about Soul is that he can turn his arm into a blade so he doesn't need Maka in some cases. No matter what you are, he'll always feel the need to protect you and take care of you. You could be dealing with things on your own but here comes Soul ready to help you. I see him either letting you deal with it while commenting, “Yeah, my S/O is a badass” or the one who thinks “ A cool boyfriend always helps out.” Towards the end of it, it seems a lot more overbearing. With the whole Kishin incident happening, he would be very overprotective to the point where he would request to be in the same group as you when you go scouting or after the Kishin. After the Kishin incident, he can’t help but fear something similar happening and wanting to be more overprotective.

After getting the black blood, you can see that he wants to do the most he can to take care of Maka and ensure nothing bad happens to her. Slowly going insane with the suggestions that the demon gives him. I remember that one episode in the anime where Stein placed them in a room with a scent that makes them reveal their true feelings. Soul wants to protect Maka and Maka wants to protect Soul. Soul wants to be the weapon that he is and protect Maka, even prepared to lay down his life for her whereas Maka wants to protect Soul and avoid him getting hurt. He gets the black blood and the demon starts to exploit his wish by trying to let him lower his guard and taking over him. With everything going on, I can see his S/O siding with Maka and wanting to protect Soul. If he is like this with Maka, imagine him with his S/O. Wanting to protect his S/O is his number one priority, but to what extent?

Manipulative. He would be manipulative with his S/O. He would guilt trip them in some cases if they chose to deny hanging out with him or being a little busy. I think he would gaslight them into thinking that they need him to protect them. They need him, because without him they would be in trouble or maybe even lose their life. If I’m being honest, all he wants is a normal relationship with his S/O but he is very protective over them and will do everything he can to take care of them.

Sadistic, but not by choice. This is a bit of a stretch, but I think he can. Of course under the influence of the Black Blood he would consider hurting his S/O to ensure that they are safe and sound. Breaking a limb or knocking them out to ensure that they can’t move. They need him and if they can’t see that, he needs to show them.

I know that these are confusing and probably won’t make sense, but I think that after everything that happened in that show, he would be horrified if he couldn’t protect his S/O and live up to the ideology that he is a cool person. He would not only break down and lose it, doing what he can to make his S/O trust, believe, love, and depend on him. He would be clingy and if these ever got to be too much, he would turn to them for help. He tries so hard to be the ‘cool’ guy that sometimes he neglects his own feelings. Overall, he would be a dangerous yandere. If I could give a rating, I would say a 4 or a 5/10. He would slowly lose his sanity for his S/O.

Death The Kid

Kid. I would say that he is a complex character but at the same time, not really. When it comes to Kid, I think he would be lowkey kinda scared for a romantic relationship because those require patience which a lot of people lose when it comes to him. Instead of laid back he is those people who go all out in relationships because they want everything to be perfect. With that in mind, I think he would be obsessive, lowkey possessive, and manipulative.

Obsessive. He wants everything to be perfect but it can only be perfect if he knows how to properly plan things without thinking of the what ifs. One way to avoid that is to know everything about your S/O. He would stop to memorize your entire schedule, what you enjoy eating, how much you eat, how much you sleep, your favorite sleeping position, do you sleep with a plushie, etc. Man is OBSESSED with his S/O. Honestly, it’s those thoughts that consume him in the worst ways and worst times. Fighting a Kishin? ‘ What if they don’t like the way that I wrote my name on the group project sheet?’ Like no, you plague his mind 25/8. It would get to the point where he starts to get so obsessed with their life that he might ‘suggest’ or even take it upon himself to ‘help’ you do something in a particular style. Maybe a bit overcontrolling.

Possessive. For starters, his S/O is someone who took patience with him. Liked his antics and understood his way of being. Never shamed him because in all honesty, I’m going to get real for a second. Kid has OCD, with symmetry and while some people find his antics funny and cute because they are portrayed that way, in a realistic setting this is the harsh reality. People with major OCD can’t do things they want to do without it taking an extreme, I don’t think I have OCD but I’ll give examples from what I’ve learned. People who don’t feel clean enough will often wash their hands, shower, or groom themselves very often. We know that while hygiene is very good, it’s very bad for the skin when it’s excessive. People would wash their hands frequently to the point their skin is raw from scrubbing or dry from the lack of moisture being trapped in the skin. Where something they did doesn’t feel right to the point they do it over and over again until it does. It’s something that can take time away from people, so while it’s portrayed to be funny in Soul Eater, it would be a real thing for Kid. His S/O would not judge him, would understand him, be patient with him, and genuinely care for him. People like that are very hard to find in the most extreme cases, of course I’m not shaming people who don’t want to be by someone's side like that because at the end of the day, you have no obligation to be there, but for Kid? His S/O would be there for him. Again, his S/O means the world to Kid because it’s someone who wants him for himself and for everything. He would not hesitate to dirty someone’s reputation or his own hands to ensure that his S/O stays with him. He isn’t playing games, he would proudly show them off because he loves them very much.

Manipulative. Kid is very smart and while knowing everything about his S/O, he can direct his or his S/O’s act to go into his favor. With this in mind, he can do a lot of damage. He would be in pain constantly but he wouldn’t be above making his S/O feel bad or doubt themselves if he has to. He would see that his S/O would feel bad when Kid goes into his mood where he feels like trash. He sees that makes his S/O lean more to him. If he wants their attention or time with them, he would pull that card to get his S/O with him.

Kid isn’t a dangerous yandere who means physical harm, but mentally yeah. He can be dangerous, he is literally the Grim Reapers son, he has so much power but he can be so vulnerable. Physically? He can deal a lot of damage, but mentally? He can deal more. Think of it like this, it’s the fear that this man can inflict pain. It’s the fact that this man who is strong, is being vulnerable in front of you, to you. It’s the fact that he knows certain things about, it’s that fact that his man makes it seem like you’re responsible and that he needs you. It’s the fact that this man could do something and it would be all your fault, doesn’t matter if you know, it’s the fact that everyone will believe that you’re the cause of whatever Kid did. He is the son of the Grim Reaper, he was raised and taught well but you? No, you weren’t.

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numbernope · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on the new rebelde series on netlfix

I admit that yeaaaaars ago I loved the rebelde (2004 version), I watched it every day after school

So even before watching I knew that the nostalgia won't let me love it the same way

But I'm surprised because it wasn't that bad xD

I mean it was bad, it's a cliche series for teens, but still

( spoilers ahead, I think

Also, trigger warning- grooming mentioned)

First of all, I didn't like the school set

Second why is there only one person looking after the kids at night? I MEAN CELINA YOU WERE A STUDENT THERE

You can't trust those kids xD

And lastly- the main kidsss

Jana? Ok, this one will be controversial but the most boring character, kinda Mary Sue stereotype (although the actress is very pretty and sings good). Honestly I was afraid that they will make her a Mia copy, they didn't (thank you netlfix). So, 2/10 (also, she outed Luka? That's....horrible, we don't stan)

Esteban- my pure baby boy, he deserves everything even though he has zero brain cells- it must be the colucci gene XD ofc the suspense of his mother was predictable but well, could be worse. I love his bromance with Dixon, his obsession with Luka xD cute kid, must protecc. Angelic voice, pretty face, what else could I want Overall, 10/10

MJ- she sings great, and the actress is so pretty! But I didn't like her swaying from boy to boy, first Esteban, then Dixon and Sebas... I mean, I understand! Completely

But didn't like that :( and I felt really bad for her in the last episode but...meh 3/10

Dixon- he reminded me of Giovanni with his hair and attitude but he's so puure when gio was an asshole most of the time. Great friend, I'd love to have a Dixon in my life. His rapping was good, I think- I don't really listen to rap? So I'm not sure, but it sounded awesome! 8/10 because I'm an old witch and his pants were horrible in my eyes

Andi- the skilsss, the hair *.* The everything (honestly, her clothes were the best to me, even tho I wouldn't wear them). The relationship with Emilia was adorable, the last episode *chef's kiss*. I'd say, for me she's 6/10

Luka- ok, this one is my second favourite. A bitchy sassy colucci with brain! I mean, he uses it very rarely but still. Daddy issues the size of America and those sad eyes- I see a lot of Diego in him! Don't let me start on his voice, because I won't stop and it's getting late, I need to finish it and go to sleep xD I Hope when we see him in the second season he'll be coming back from vacation with his cousin Mia and he'll show us that he can be a good person, not only a good actor ^^ the only thing I hate about him are his clothes, but I must be too old to understand the fashion of today's youth... (And I'm only 23 xD) because of his clothes he's 12/10

Emilia- bi bitch with a great voice- I love her. I didn't like her mean girl attitude in the first episode but well, I change my mind a lot. Her hair is majestic- I know what I will do with mine, the next time I'll need a change, so overall 9/10

And finally

Sebas- THE DEVIL, THE BITCH BOY, THE WORST CUTIE EVER, he's such an asshole, I just can't hate him. Mommy issues, he was groomed(?!?!?! He was 18 but let's face it, the 'relationship' surely started before that, I think he would be around 15/16 and that's sick) Noone really likes him because of him- and the list goes on and on why I should hate him but I don't. That last scene in the finale, I was crying with him... I can't rate him fairly though, so he's a caramel popcorn out of McDonald's ice-cream with caramel *.* We can't forget that he's a bad person but...

Idk 192828/10

I like bad boys, don't judge me

I think I got all of them?

I could write about Celina- but we all love her

Pilar- the same Pilar she always was, (where's Tomas?? Where's grandpa gandia?)

That ... secretary? I won't waste words, I kinda hate predators :/

Whats your opinion?? Let's talk about it bc my friends don't watch it and I don't have anyone to vent to T.T

#rebelde #rebelde netflix #spoilers #Rebelde spoilers

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streets-in-paradise · 3 years ago

Text

The Good Guy

American Horror Story:Hotel, Chucky and Supernatural crossover fanfiction - Part 2

Masterlist

Word Count 8.719

Characters (main): Andy Barclay, Cassandra/ Val ( AHS Hotel OC), James Patrick March. The Countess ( mentioned), Chucky (mentioned). There is also a short contextual appearance of Donovan and Iris.

Warnings: This includes references to some of the fictionalized versions of real life serial killers that this season of AHS portrayed in Devil’s Night. None of them show up as characters, but their passing by the hotel is mentioned.

Relationships: Platonical: James and Cassandra’s bond as father and daughter. Initial hints of development for her friendship with Andy.

Romantical: James March x Elizabeth “The Countess” (James’s one sided obsession with her), Donovan x The Countess, Donovan x Cassandra ( mentions to a past of unrequired love on her part.)

Summary: Andy follows the trail of Chucky to Los Angeles, dragged there by the news of mysterious deaths happening around the production of a horror movie. The search takes him to the Hotel Cortez, where he checks in following the stay of potential victims of the killer doll.

There he will find himself unwittingly trapped between the opposed interests of the hotel’s owner and his daughter in a new game being played over his free will.

Notes: In this I’m picking up the original concept for the first Child’s Play film regarding the doubts about Andy’s innocence and I made a little reference to the origins of Chucky’s full name.

Also, I’m in the process of rewatching Hotel. The last time i watched it was like in 2018, so I apologise in advance for any mistakes regarding details of the season’s plot. I do remembered the greek mythology references that James did on his speech in Devil’s Night and that was a great inspiration for this, March loving classic literature feels canon to me.

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @losersclubisms ( I don’t know if you would want to be tagged, but i’m showing you this like a child who shows an ugly draw with excitement lol)

Hotel Cortez - 2004

Cassandra wasn't able to think of anything else because guilt wouldn't let her. That sharp feeling in her chest that she thought forgotten was striking again. An emotion meant for children in the world she lived in, if there was such a thing as childhood for any kid in that place. Growing up was embracing apathy, resigning to the triumph of evil. After all, who was she to expect otherwise? From all the macabre things populating that hotel, her existence was one of the most unholy. Like her brother, she could be judged as an abomination, an infernal experiment who shouldn't have existed. Many times she has heard that from the spirits of dead hunters who rejected her post mortem help, some of them after getting themselves killed for ignoring her advice.

Bartholomew didn't count with her same luck because he came before her, at a time where their parents weren't fully aware of the infinitive possibilities in the world of the occult. Death showed James the way, but it took decades for him to realize the unlimited potential of his power on that limited territorial space. He was a gatekeeper for Hell, everything he would desire would be granted as long as he would fulfill his task... and what he once wanted was another child. A girl, since he and his wife already had a boy. A princess for his castle, a little thing to play family with from time to time on the sporadic dinner visits of the Countess to him, a bridge between them to keep her close.

Self awareness wasn't his strength and he liked to face his eternal life as a ghost under the delusion of having a happy marriage with a vampire woman who actually despised him, but who also happened to love collecting children to satisfy the maternal desires in her. Hell granted his wish and he got her, a daughter given to him without conception. A witch, her special nature making her irresistible for the mother to grow fond of due to the peculiarity she represented among her children. Their marriage was broken beyond repair, but sharing her gave James an illusion of improvement that was close to happiness.

Despite everything, Cassandra still loved her family and that was the most twisted aspect of her situation. The differences in her nature were the primary factor creating a distance between their ways and hers. Living there was hard for someone with her gifts, it implied a sharper perception of the darkness surrounding them. She learned to block to some extent the suffering of the prisoner spirits only after years of hard work with a very powerful witch that was consulted to help her talents flourish. However, that differential sensitivity experimented during a good chunk of her life setted a precedent in her personality. For as much as she would wish to block it as well, she developed empathy.

Then more than ever, it was biting her in the ass.

The Cortez was receiving a new special guest, another unlucky bastard who checked in without knowing that he would be selected to become James' new project. His obsession continued after death and his primary hobby was manipulating chosen targets into the making of a serial killer capable of following his legacy and finishing his unconcluded work. He never pushed it on her, he didn’t feel like doing it because her existence fulfilled a different need. Besides, getting to see the development of her particular talents was enough to make him proud of her as a parent.

Over the years, Cassandra observed many individuals come and go from the cursed corridor leading to room 64, most of them not remarkable enough to reach fame because only the worst of the worst would hit the headlines. With her name as fate, she pointlessly tried to warn many of them about the manipulations they would be being submitted to, as she also would do later for their victims about to be killed when there was no more hope on that front. Her words would inevitably fall on deaf ears and she would remain as a powerless observant of people running with excitement to their own demises. James liked to see it as a game to play with her, a way of bonding. In his point of view, it was a strategic game of influence. His lovely girl represented good while he was evil, both playing for the souls of selected mortals like a delightfully offensive biblical parody. He loved it, the minor challenge created by her irruptions made things more exciting. Being the caring father he considered himself to be, he was always there to comfort her on each defeat. The results were mostly in his favor, victories for her were extremely rare.

Two years before, after the death of Aileen Wournos, she decided to drop it out of inconmensurable hopelessness. That woman wasn’t one of the persons she tried to warn, she was too little at the time of her stay. However, perhaps because she was the only woman in that elite group of killers and she had vague memories about her that were rather depressing, her case had an emotional impact on her.

The warnings to the living stopped, she began to focus more in blocking the mourning spirits instead of helping. After two full years of staying at margin she believed herself ready to embrace apathy, to become careless once and for all.

Until he checked in to wake her up of her delusion.

The new guest was a sweet,shy man named Andy. They were around the same age, both being in their early twenties, and she felt an immediate connection with him.

Unfortunately, James picked him for himself on the spot.

A short peek into the room confirmed for him that he arrived armed to the teeth. The lack of any magical protection tokens disqualified him as a hunter, so he guessed that the young man was a killer of his own kind preparing his spree. James was very excited, but his daughter disagreed with the choice regardless of the evidence. Andy was quiet and sometimes even a bit awkward, but he wasn't Jeffrey Dahmer.

There was no depravity on him, no repression of obscure desires of a similar kind. He was sad, living in fear, and his darkness was closer to a depressing paranoia. Her readings of him pointed him as the survivor of some tragedy and her personal guess was locating it in his childhood. He had the blatant lack of security of someone who never got to feel sheltered and safe, who never got to be a child.

In the course of his days there, she began to become obsessed with him. He was a good person, a kind man in an unbearable amount of emotional pain that he wouldn't or couldn't share with anybody. Imagining what her father would make of him became intolerable to her and she was feeling the inmintent urge of protecting him.

Guilt and a tenue light of renovated hopes forced her back on the game. She liked Andy with his sweet awkwardness and his kindness making her feel good in his company at every little meeting they would get.

Even if he wouldn't listen, she was going to warn him.

It was past midnight, the worst hour of the place was getting closer and she had to find him before some horrible vision could disturb him. On the search she accidentally stumbled across Donovan. A mistake of the rush, since she usually tried to avoid him as much as possible because she didn't want more troubles. Things weren't at their best with her mother and it was partially because of him.

She wished he could just pretend he didn’t catch her, but he wasn’t going to let things go that way.

“ For how long are you going to keep ignoring me? It’s getting boring, Cass.“ He commented, cutting her any route of escape for that talk as he began to walk beside her.

" I have time to get over it, but that doesn't mean that I'm forgiving you. " She replicated, forcing eye contact for an instant just to prove that she was perfectly able to stare back at him." You humiliated me. "

His expression had a certain amount of disbelief.

" It was a natural reaction, I was surprised." He excused himself. " I'm curious... Did you really think that you could have had a chance with me? Did I actually break your heart, is that why you ignore me? "

" You are still alive because I allowed it, dad wanted you dead. " She clarified, reconquering her pride. " I told him that it would be pointless. You aren't worth the pain, you are already dead and ready to stay here for an eternity. Turning you into a ghost only changes your species, but you would be the same asshole."

" Are you a daddy's girl now? Is that why you changed me for that loser?” Donovan teased, mocking her weird obsession with Andy. " It's so sad, you must be so full of spite to do that. I don't want to give you hopes for saying this, but you are too pretty for him. You will never be The Countess, but that doesn't have to push you into looking so beneath your league. "

Cassandra didn’t care to dissimulate her annoyance and proceeded to cut him off.

" You are ríght, I will never be her. I found you interesting because I used to think that you were something more than a vain,entitled manchild. She knows who you are and wants you like that." She snarked back with satisfaction. " ... Goodnight, happy hunt. Take care of those fangs and try not to stink of blood afterwards. "

She was going to follow her intended path, but one last snark of his stopped her tracks.

" You say that I'm the manchild, but he is the one who came here to pick up his toys. "

" What the hell are you talking about?"

" Your good guy is too messed up in the head. " He explained, almost laughing at his own punchline. " I catched him stalking those guys from the studio like a total creep. What's your deal with him? Did you have a massive standard drop after I rejected you? It's frankly offensive to see you moving on from me to that freak. March's newest creep, seriously? And he is not even cute, you could have replaced me with someone who fills my shoes. "

" I don't owe you any explanations. If you think that the only reason someone can have to care for anyone else is that, then that is your problem and I'm the one who should feel sorry for you. It's not my fault if she taught you that when she rescued you.” Cassandra concluded, letting go for the first time an impression of a point that she knew that could hurt him. " I do think that Andy is cute, by the way. He may not be a model looking dude like you, but he doesn't need it. He has his own thing going on, very cute."

" He is a ridículous nutjob. Hasn't he told you yet that killer doll bullshit he has been saying to everyone? "

He didn’t, but she had already heard commentaries about it coming from the ones who got to hear him. She even catched him once talking about it with Liz at the bar and switching the topic the moment they saw her. Knowing that it bothered her, Liz tried to cheer her up that time claiming that he wasn’t comfortable with telling her about it because she must have been the only person in the hotel whose opinion he cared about enough to worry about sounding crazy.

" The guys he creeped? He told them that Chucky was going to kill them because of some movie their studio was making. By the way: Chucky is a doll.” Donovan continued, understanding her silence as a need for context explanation.” He asked every single alive and dead person of the staff if they may have seen it, he even came to me doing warnings of the great danger he thinks we are all facing. The stupid asshole thinks that the doll is doing the killing here!!!"

Strong chuckles coming out of him forced the telling to be interrupted for an instant.

" ... A freaking doll!! It's hilarious, we all should thank March for picking one of the funny weirdos this time. "

She didn't find it funny.

" You are a vampire, I'm a witch, we live among an infestation of ghosts, we are ruled by one and do I have to mention the Addiction Demon? How can anything sound crazy to you? " She complained. " Andy is a mortal trying to make sense with this cursed place, he will evocate for it the craziest things. Don't be a dick just because I don't find reasons to be skeptical. Many forms of magic use dolls, voodoo being the most known of the list."

" C'mon, nobody can take him seriously! Can you imagine it? Chucky, a little doll with his little feet and tiny hands chasing someone down the hallway? Holding a knife? Strangling someone? It's a fucking joke. "

“ What is your explanation then?”

" He has been killing for years, but he isn’t conscious of it and March is going to wake him up. I wouldn't grow fond of him if I were you. "

It was a warning out of kindness, his way of proposing a truce, but Cassandra prefered to believe in her own self imagined theory. It was easier for her to imagine Andy as the víctim of some voodoo curse than thinking that he could be yet another serial killer with an alter ego symbolizing childhood. Chucky the doll couldn’t be another Pogo the clown, there had to be another explanation.

The descriptions that Donovan made didn't disencourage her. Killer doll thing aside, Andy's heroic behavior was indisputable. His first instinct to the perceptions of the paranormal activity surrounding them was wanting to help people, warning them of the danger. Reckless, but incredibly kind hearted. That was who Andy was, a clumsy but well intentioned guy whose will to help could often surpass his preservation instinct.

A genuinely good person, the rare kind that was worth fighting for.

After a moderately desperate search, she found him in the corridor that led to his room and he was a mess. Sat on the floor with his back against the door, he was crying out of impotence and confusion.

" No,no,no.." She rushed to comfort him, sitting beside him and not minding for anything else. " Darling, what's wrong?"

Andy replied without daring to look at her.

" It doesn't matter, you wouldn't believe me. No one does. "

The resignation in his tone as he tried to control the sobbing in her presence hitted her hard. She had been there before.

" Don't say that, lovely. I will, if you tell me. I promise. "

The softness of her voice and the real caring that was easily perceptible in her were tempting him to do it, but he was afraid of being open and honest with her.

" You will leave if i tell you, it wouldn't be the first time that happens. "

He still refused to look at her and she began to stroke his hair in a calming way.

" What if I tell you that I can see things that most people can't?" She wondered in an affirmation, with sweet excitement. " I have been called crazy before, I can tell many things that you wouldn't believe. "

Andy remained silent for an instant before feeling the courage to talk.

" I heard screams, followed the sound and there was this man... He was stabbed everywhere, bleeding out in front of me and then .. he was gone. "

The disturbed emotions dificulted the telling, but she had a vague idea of what he saw. An echo, ghost trapped in the infinite repetition of the moment of death. The description made her think that he could be one of the main sacrifices of Devil's Night. Dying in such horrible and confusing circumstances often turned them into the most confused spirits of the place.

"People always come to die here, that's not something we can stop. This place can not be destroyed,only closed, but a power greater than us needs it open. The man you saw could have died years ago. " She tried to explain to him without alarming him even more. " Most hotels are haunted in some way. Some more, some less. I have struggled with horrible visions my whole life. It ruined my childhood. "

Andy dared to shyly look at her and she smiled for him. It was her way to show him that she was fine.

That time, he was who felt called out in her sayings.

" Do you believe in ghosts?" He asked, a vague startpoint to check if the feeling that he was getting from her was correct.

" Of course, there are good ghosts and bad ones. Spirits used to be people, their world is as diverse and complex as humanity."

" How about when a serial killer dies?"

The opportune question was on point for the warnings that she initially intended to give him. She felt as if he would have read her mind and replied with clear thoughts she had about her father and his friends, the merryly cursed group that Andy was about to be guided into joining.

" The ones bringing death to others are usually the most terrified about their own deaths. It's tables turning, karma or whatever. The only thing that scares them more than death is the police arriving."

He let go a little chuckle, cute despite the context. It was like both knew more about the topic than what they were willing to confess to each other.

" So, you believe that those can choose to stay because they like to keep hurting people. "

" Because they are scared. " She corrected him. " Even the most disorganized are creatures of habit, but death shakes everything they knew before. It equates them with their victims, reminds them that they are human. Plenty of serial killers enjoy believing themselves above the rest of humankind, they think that they are stronger because they dared to break the barriers that civilized morals establish for what is human. Death leaves them in the same hopeless condition of the people they killed, strips them from clinging to that delusion. It's the moment of truth and not all of them can take it. "

He was watching and listening to her in awe. With each answer he felt a bit closer to his first chance of being understood without proof. His hopes were being nurtured as hers.

" Are you a medium, a True Crime researcher or what?"

" Neither of both things,something in the middle. I know way too much about dead seríal killers to not be called crazy. " She pointed out, teasing her own confession. " Also about a few who are still alive, but we are occupying ourselves with the dead ones now.. Dead serial killers and their smart haunting mechanisms to avoid facing their final judgements."

" Like, for instance... Possessing a doll ?" He asked what he meant as an affirmation, excitement changing his semblant to the possibility of finding someone who could believe in him. " Do you think that can be a thing?"

" ... Or possessing entire buildings, like this hotel. " She added, fearing afterwards for the awkward switch. " ... But yeah, dolls too. Why not? The dark spirit can be a minimalist. "

At that point, everything encouraged him to continue.

" Do you believe in magic? Not card tricks, witchcraft. "

" Yes, I do. " The witch innocently confirmed, still not ready to come out to him as what she was. " Do you want to know something more? I believe that there is a fascinating and dangerous correlation between serial killers and magic. "

" No way!!! Really? " He exclaimed with evident enthusiasm. " Please, explain it."

"The majority don't accomplish shit, but lots of them fantasize about controlling some form of mystical power. I guess it is part of their delusion of being exceptional. There are tons of examples: Richard Ramírez and his obsession with satanism, Jeffrey Dahmer and the zombies. He used the means of a mad scientist, but the ends were essentially magical. What he would have needed to fulfill his twisted dream was some good old voodoo or greek necromancy. Things would have been far worse then. It's terrifying, thinking about what a maniac can do with the ríght book. “

" It’s horrible. " Andy followed her, the validation obtained on their talk was priceless. It was more than what he ever expected.

" Did you come across one, Andy? A maniac who found the ríght book? Is that what you hope to find here? "

He gave her an avoidant reply,

" What do you know about voodoo?"

" Not much, but I can start researching for you."

They remained silent, subtly staring at each other before bursting into laughter. Incontrolable chuckles shared in the non addressed happiness of being listened to. Out of sudden, Cassandra huged Andy as if they would have known each other for a lifetime. He didn't see it coming, but allowed it because it felt nice.

The support of a stranger who wouldn't have any reasons to believe them was precisely what both weren't expecting to find on each other. His truth isolated him from anyone new he would try to approach, while she remained somewhat in service of the hotel because she could only share hers with the perpetual residents.

Where else would she feel understood, if the only life she knew was there? Who would want to be with her, if the only connections she had could be counted among the obscure creatures of the hotel? She believed for so long that there was nothing left for her outside, only loneliness and eventual death by the hands of some hunter that would get to her with ease without the dark protection of the Cortez over her. The moments of connection felt with someone from the outside were enough to reanimate the questioning, to make her doubt everything.

The exactitude she had in the following of his trail of thoughts weirded Andy a little bit, but he was more amazed than scared. He had spoken with tons of other unaware people before, but that never happened. She proved not only to be willing to believe him, but also formulated a correct theory by herself. Was she more aware than what he believed her to be or simply crazier than average? In any way, he was feeling grateful for the non asked support found so atypically.

The blissful moment ended with an interruption.

" Get up, sunshine. You have work to do, if you still want it. Room 37." Iris told the girl, ignoring the context with certain disgust.

Cassandra stared back at her to show that she understood the true meaning of her ask.

After that, her attention was back on Andy.

" I loved to have this talk with you. " She softly told him. " Not many people would bother to listen to me, my ideas are too strange for most. They don't get that living here for so long is what shapes them. Experience teaches you to keep an open mind everyday if you live here long enough. "

Andy gave her an awkward smile while he clumsily stood up at the same time she did.

" Rich people are too skeptical, I guess. " Was all he could manage to answer. " It was great, thank you..."

" ... Cassandra. " She finished, reminding him of her name because he was getting nervous. Probably ashamed while watched over by Iris, who seemed to be surveilling their interaction with tattling interest. " You are welcome, Andy. Sweet dreams, you need to rest. If someone or something bothers you let me know. Don't be afraid of coming to me. It doesn't matter how crazy it would sound to you, I will believe you. "

He avoided her glance before replying.

" ... I will. Thank you, Cassandra. "

She gave him a kiss on the cheek as part of her goodbye before following the very impatient woman. Andy watched her from afar, still struggling to process what happened, and returned to his room.

What he found there almost ruined his mood because of the off putting weirdness. There was a man in front of his improvised desk, sitting on his chair and reading all his gathered information about Chucky. Notes,newspaper articles from past murders and the current ones he was trying to connect to him, some very few police reports he accomplished to get. He was calmly revisiting everything as if he intended to do the work for him, like if they were in some sort of partnership.

They had met before, a very polite man of high status who used to frequently stumble across him. They would even involve in some talking every time because he was just that much friendly and eccentric.

He had no idea how the man of strange accent and vintage clothes entered his room.

" Andrew!!" He saluted him with his usual formal cordiality, abandoning his readings. " I took some liberties to check on your efficiently cataloged work. I hope you don't mind my intromission, dear boy."

"... I would like to know who gave you my key."

The recrimination didn't bother him in the slightest.

" Nonsensical details distracting you from the truly important matters. " He simply replicated. " I must say I found this fascinating except for just one aspect: the signature. It's bizarre, reputation damaging. We will have to start working on finding something better for you, more frightening and mature than those hideous dolls. It was understandable for your developmental years, but It isn't functional anymore."

"... That is private, you weren't supposed to read it. " Andy complained, trying to dissimulate his annoyance and the lack of understanding he had over most things coming out of him.

" Is this Charles Lee Ray your lifetime's inspiration? You seem quite obsessed with him." He casually wondered. " The Lakeshore Strangler was frankly mediocre. Over the same decade he was completely outshined by the Night Stalker. I understand that he operated in your home city, but he is unworthy of your devotion. There are greater things in your future, you will triumph where he failed!"

Andy couldn't or didn't want to understand what he meant, so he limitated que to thank what he interpreted as aware encouragement.

" Taking him down is all I have wanted since I was six. " He explained as part of his attempt to make him head out of the room. " I appreciate your good intentions, Mr March, but I don't feel comfortable allowing others to get involved. I work alone."

His listener interpreted his words equally wrong.

" Only six years old.... Astonishingly young!!” James commented, marveled. " You are a prodigy, It would be my pleasure to guide you in a complete exploration of your potential."

He almost forgot how fed up with that place he was. All Andy needed to do was wait until Chucky would show up to kill the guests from the studio that intended to make a movie about him, but it was taking more time than all the previous deaths surrounding the production.

No signs of him, but an imminent feeling of constant danger caused by the impression of being surveilled. Chucky could be everywhere or nowhere and he had no way to know. Despite what Cassandra told him about the shade of a man he tried to help, the stabwounds said otherwise to him. She may have seen a lot of ghosts, but she didn't know Chucky like he did. The thought of his very much hated old plastic buddy coming to get her became unbearable to him.

" If you want to help me, keep an eye on Cassandra. The Countess doesn't seem that worried about her daughter, but if you are an old time resident, she must trust you." He asked, unaware of being talking with her father. " Keep her safe, it wouldn't look good if I do it. I would come to her as a stalker and she wouldn't trust me anymore. Make sure she is okay, it is important. She has been so sweet to me, if anything happens to her..."

" That girl is the light in my eyes, I love her as much as I love her mother. " March clarified, slightly pleased to hear him praise her. " Count with it, there is no need for your heroism. Not at least in the current sense of the word. "

Andy was feeling progressively more confused.

" I'm not a hero. "

" Yet, you are not, but you will be." James introduced another one of his philosophical rambles about literarian iconography. " Do you know what being a hero used to mean before cristian knights and saints co-opted that term? ... Exceptional, remarkable, a conception disprovisted of any moral valoration. A hero used to be anyone who dared to perform acts beyond mortality. A man beyond humanity, not a holy man.”

" I appreciate whatever you think you are doing, but I don't care. "

" I'm trying to teach you a valuable lesson. " March insisted. " Think, for instance, of the classical heroes. Each one of them formed a reputation through certain abilities and an específic code of conduct that implied the committing of inhumane crimes. Achilles was the fastest and most brutal, known for the horrendous malice of his vengeance over the corpse of Hector. Odysseus was the most intelligent, his mind plannified the prolific genocide of the trojans. Heracles was the strongest, but he was also known for being the murderer of his entire family. Then we have the House of Atreus: child sacrifices, antropofagy, incest and parricide."

" I don't see your point, sorry. " Andy cutted him off, visibly tired and confused.

" Villains were an invention of cristians, being a hero used to mean becoming able to perform acts against nature. Exceed the limits of humanity and be worshiped or feared in the memory of the people. To leave your mark in history, become a legend. " James concluded the explanation. " You are not like everyone else, Andrew. Your exceptionality isolates you because you are not meant to belong among them. Fame, glory and immortality is what awaits those who are brave enough to leave humanity behind. "

The intricate speeches weren't feeling good to him, he got the sense that something was wrong. Even if the girl didn't get to make her warning, she helped him to spot a manipulation tactic. March was repeating what Cassandra said about the hopes and fears of serial killers. Andy didn't guess ríght away to be in the presence of one, but the resonation of words kept him alert. He understood vaguely that she was subtly warning him not to trust in that man.

He believed in her. If Iris wouldn't have pulled her away, she may have seen it herself.

She headed to do what she was told to, but she would have prefered to receive the news from Liz. Talking in the way with Donovan's mother was awkward, especially because she had her own interpretation of what she saw.

" You have been very busy with that boy lately. " She pretended very badly to comment casually. " It's a good move. Dono will value what you had if he sees you with someone else. It's a shame that you two aren't close anymore, you were his best friend here."

Cassandra avoided answering in order to watch over her own energies for the tasks she had to do.

Unfortunately, Iris saw it as encouragement to keep insisting. Using a particularly complicit tone in that next try.

" I know how you feel for him. The Countess is just using him, but you love him. Maybe he would miss your love if we make him believe that someone else has it. "

The young witch was trying hard to keep the emotional balance, but the woman made her too angry.

" Of course, it was you !!! Who else would be eating his brain with that crap?? Stop, Iris. I'm not spending time with Andy to make Donovan jealous."

...But it would be a good idea if you would, a mother knows. He will make it look like he doesn't care, but he will be upset. "

" You don't do what he did to me to someone you care about. “ She tried to explain to her. “He was in all his ríght to reject me when he found out, but he chose to do it in the cruelest and most humilliating way. Whatever I thought I felt, he killed it. That compulsive need to prove his loyalty to my mother was more important to him than showing basic care for me at the time of breaking my heart. "

" I'm sure he didn't mean it, maybe he wasn't thinking about it. "

" You don't understand. I never expected him to reciprocate, I knew he would never be mine and I was fine with being his friend. All I would have expected of him when finding out my feelings was a softer reaction. I wanted him to let me know of the obvious without hurting me: a shoulder to cry on, a nice speech saying that he didn't feel the same but still loved me as a friend... Anything but what he actually did. He laughed at me, Iris, and the entire hotel found out. I felt like the most worthless piece of trash, I don't know what would have been of me if it wasn't for Liz."

" Where was your mother in all of this?"

" That is not the point. I was so wrecked that I ended up listening romantical advice from dad... Do you know how terrible his advice is? He tries so hard and i love him, but he thinks that murder is a viable solution for everything. "

" Thank God that you don't follow his criteria. " Iris commented, with relief. " Isn't he...?"

" Planning the murder of Donovan? " The girl followed her. " Nah, we got a better idea. I will be practicing my most witchy cackle for when mom would eventually dump him. When he will be destroyed by the heartbreak I will get my revenge. Dad called it ‘ the way of Paris and Oenone’. The question may be how many decades it will take, so we started making bets. "

" That heartless bitch is unbelievable... What kind of mother chooses her vanity over the happiness of her child?" Iris kept ranting, deviating the conversation into her object of hate. " It even feels like she enjoys having won the competition against her twenty years old daughter. "

" It was never a competition because I never tried to compare myself with her. " Cassandra clarified. " Stop excusing him. We all know that she is a bit of a bitch who loves to generate irresponsible emotional dependency on others, but Donovan had the choice of not being a jackass. Trying to manipulate me against my mother as if I wouldn't know who she is will not help you. "

" I want to help because I believe he is too blind to see that he could be happier with you."

" You are deceiving yourself because you think that Donovan could fall for me and the effect of what you perceive as my good influence over him would help your cause. " Cassandra cutted her off. " You blame my mother for your problems, you think that if we get together he is going to suddenly see you as the best mother on earth. That is not going to happen, don't force it because you are making things worse. "

" I want the best for both of you. You are a sweet girl who has loved him for years, such a devoted daughter to your mother and that bitch abuses of the gift that you are. "

" Iris, I'm not what Donovan wants. In any case, I'm the daughter in law that you want. " She kindly tried to explain to her. " It's flattering, it shows that you appreciate me in some way, but it's going to lead nowhere. Please, just... Stop. "

In a more sensitive approach to what would correspond to Iris’ intrusive attitude, Cassandra finished the clarification by holding her hand in a calming way. Her intention was to show her that, even when she sounded angry, she was able to understand the root of her frustrations and wasn’t truly upset with her. All she needed was for her to see that her attempts of helping were creating more damage, she didn't want to make her feel bad about the unresolved tensions with her son.

After that, the girl proceeded to make her point.

“ Andy has only one picture on his nightstand and it is of his mom, Miss Evers saw it and asked him about it. You should have seen how radiantly happy she was when she came to tell me her findings.“ She commented pretending the same casual approach Iris faked with her but making it on purpose for her to notice the irony. “ From what I could figure out from her, his mother raised him alone. She must have faced the struggles you had in your time. This boy’s childhood wasn’t easy, something or someone back then broke him in a way I can't still deduce. He still loves his momma and doesn't blame her for the tragedies in his life.”

Iris wasn’t adding any remarks, imagining the blatant adoration the maid ghost must have imprinted in the tale. In life she had been another lonely mother in a judgemental time, but her luck was worse than hers because she was doomed to eternally mourn a lost child who was killed by a sadistic kidnapper. If the implications of the anecdote were right, talking with that boy must have been a sweet comfort for her as the troubled soul she was.

“ I tell you this not because I want to guilt trip you, but to help you see why Andy matters so much to me. “ The girl concluded. “ He is a good guy, I can’t give up and let my father destroy all the goodness in him. “

They reached the hallway leading to her destination in peaceful silence, no more words were needed in order to find a mutual understandment. Only while standing in front of the indicated door Iris spoke again in a reminder for her to be careful in the approach of the matter that needed her. It was a moderate spiritual cleanse of the room after a murder, something she would do because purification rituals were impossible to practice there. Her attempt of making a kind reception for new ghosts, to help them come out of their initial lethargy in a less violent awakening under her guidance.

After that, she was ready to spend the night awake digging in her humbly self built magical library trying to find the right reference to put together the puzzle that Andy brought her with his question. Voodoo and dolls were the main clues, but she was a bit lost about the part including the serial killer ghost. The only use of dolls in voodoo that she was aware of wasn’t fitting with the vague description she got from him. It would make sense as a method to kill victims without leaving evidence, but she never heard of techniques for doll possession in the soul transferring sense. That was more proper of a haunting, an inaccurate word that could be somewhat used to describe how James stayed in the hotel after his suicide. There were many non specified details that wouldn’t allow her a clear comprehension of the case: In which degree was the possession manifesting? Was the doll a conduct like Annabelle,the possessed Raggedy Ann doll once claimed to be the tool of a demon? Was he an animated object providing a lifeful body for his occupant, what in the slang of exorcists would be called a ‘vessel’? Turning a lifeless object into one would surely require particular magical assistance to work while regular hauntings didn’t take more than anger or confusion. The ‘how?’ in that theory was the part driving her insane.

Answers weren’t easy to find, but she wasn’t giving up. With the puzzle solved Andy would have no option but to share the whole truth and then he would connect some missing dots for her. They needed to get there and she needed to put in the effort if she wanted to make him trust her for real, because he wasn’t going to raise his walls easily. The creativity to come up with a solution was there, but trying to find anything useful was a nightmare. All she had about voodoo were vague references in texts that weren’t about the topic. From all the infinite forms of magic that she could be reading about, Andy asked her about one of the most hermetic circles of witchcraft existing in the country. Even satanism was easier to research without access to the right people. She was getting frustrated and unexpected intromission made it worse.

Her father, deck of cards in hand, appeared as if he would be inviting her to give up.

“ Your disturbed humor is making me sad.” James commented, concern in his voice and a genuinely loveful tone. “ Don’t waste more of your time, my dear. There will always be another one for you to claim and this amount of involvement you are delivering is hurting us both. We can play plenty of other games together: Chess, cards … Would you join me for a hand? “

She raised her head, abandoning her reading to stare at him with annoyed disbelief.

“ I’m not in the mood for cards, dad. This isn’t a game anymore. Not for me, at least.” Was her strongly determined reply. “ He will never be yours, I’m not going to allow it. I will get him out of here even if that means I will have to carry him out myself.”

James was mixing the cards with a playful attitude while standing close to her desk. He wanted to make her feel better, prepare her for what he saw as a crushing defeat with possibilities of getting her hurted. She let it get personal to a dangerous limit, her care for that boy wasn’t a simple humanistic reaction.

Emotional attachment, a terrible mistake.

“ Something has changed in you. I’m not blind to your misadventures, but never before you reached such desperation to protect any of my chosen ones. There is no amusement for me in your pain and you shouldn’t be suffering for this young lad. He may be gifted, but he is unworthy of you. Your fates will never tangle: Andrew is a nobody and you are my daughter. From darkness you were made for me to become my joy and I'm not willing to let him steal you away from me.”

It shouldn’t have surprised her to find out that he reached the same conclusion Iris did, because as a parent he adored her in an overwhelming way.

“ I’m not in love with Andy… What the hell is wrong with everybody here?”

The answer seemed plausible to him.

“ I’m dead, darling. Not stupid.” He added, with skepticism. “ I can feel it crushing your heart. It may not be the love meant for lovers, but you love him and that is a problem.”

There were no secrets between them, not at least on her part. She didn’t mind being honest about her feelings and thoughts about him in the way she interpreted those.

“ He listens to me, no matter how crazy I sound to all the other outsiders. I feel that Andy understands me in ways no one else ever did. I want to find out, but everytime i’m close to do it, it slips away from me.”

He was smiling at her, as if the reasons given were very typical of her and he was happy to have got at least one guess of parent right.

“ … Cassandra, my splendid princess. “ He praised her, the adoration in his voice was comforting to some extent. “ When your mother agreed with me in the discussion of the name we were going to give you, we never imagined you were going to embrace it so foundly. All I wanted was to name you after a mystical lady from classic literature to honor your exceptional nature. “

“... The argument was between three final options: Medea,Cassandra or Morgana.” She completed the rest of a story she heard him tell thousands of times.” Mom chose Cassandra because, despite it being Greek in origin, it sounded Italian to her. “

“ Mortals will hear only what they are ready for, you are cursing yourself assuming that obligation. “ He followed her, using the metaphor with her name to make a point. “ Not that you aren’t radiant enough for a god to curse you out of unrequired feelings. “

The obvious joke made her chuckle.

“ Stop it, dad !” She playfully thanked him while trying to get serious again. “ You would understand why I do it if you could feel things in the way I do. Do you think about how much time of training I needed to be able to sleep without depending on mom’s special blessing? You know it well, when I was a kid she had to sedate me with her charm so I could find peace at night. It isn’t easy for me, papa. Even now, things don’t get better. The very same people who ignore me in life come back begging for my help in death and they are very loud.”

“ Rowena is a special guest always welcomed here, we can request her help again.“

“ I can’t control my compulsion to warn the living because I am emotionally affected by the pain of the dead. “ She insisted, trying pointlessly to explain herself. “ She helped in everything she could, but she can’t fix the way I feel. I don’t need you to understand it, i know you can’t but i love you anyways. The thing is that, for some reason I don't know, Andy gets it. “

Listening to her with attentive carefulness made him feel reassured in the imperious need of disappointing her. It needed to be done, regardless of the outcome of the game. In the best case for him, the man would come out as a killer by himself and she would be devastated. In the worst, if she was ríght and the darkness in him wasn't enough to be turned into pure evilness, he could be giving her a hopeful purpose to abandon the hotel.

He would kill him before letting that happen. If what his princess wanted was a new friend, he would give her one to keep forever.

Still uncertain about having to get that far, he proceeded to make the calculated entrance to disappointing her of him.

" Andrew is obsessed with the Lakeshore Strangler, a non-transcendental name operating in his home city when he was a kid. It is a long date issue, the origins are placed past his sixth birthday. It can't be a coincidence and I have reasons to believe that he already has some victims on his count. It wouldn't be the first time that happens, many of my associates don't come here to commit their first murder. For instance, Jeffrey did his first experiment long before our meeting. "

The comparison made her incredibly angry. The rage in her eyes indicated to him that the comment crossed the line.

" I knew that you were going to do this!! Is it because of the shyness and military background? Stop projecting crap on him, Andy is not who you think he is. He is not some awkward pervert like Dahmer and Chucky isn't like Gacy's Pogo. Call me naive, call me crazy ... I don't mind it, I believe in him. "

Rushing to rectify the verbal mistake, James still kept the same intentionality.

" Fair enough, my dear. I may have chosen an imprecise example for my statement, but that doesn't exonerate Andrew from all he has been hiding from you. "

He handed her a piece of paper conveniently stolen from the room in his late night visit to the fed up man. It was a news article about a supposedly accidental massacre that happened at Kent Academy, a military school. Despite it was declared an accident, the facts implied massive red flags for a shooter.

" Most of the deceased were in his class. " Her father explained to her while the girl read in avid shock." Doesn't that remind you of someone?"

Cassandra didn't reply, she didn't want to remember that boy.

" If that ghost deceived you once... Why wouldn't this lad?" James insisted in an ambivalent tone inviting doubt. " You need to be protected from your kindness. It is my responsibility as your father to save you the suffering. "

She couldn't speak because she couldn't think her words right. Thoughts were getting blurry as tears started to flow.

James pretended to close the issue summarizing his interpretation for her, not wishing to upset her more.

" Mr Barclay has a peculiarity absent in all of my previous attempts. He is a guideless killer who proved himself willing to continue the work of someone else. A mediocre inspiration, but one he follows with obsession... Charles Lee Ray, that petty burglar of Chicago. He would have had better luck following Charles Manson, at least he was one of my students."

The out of place joke awakened her of her own desperation induced lethargy.

" CHARLIE!!! A six years old would have called him Charlie!!" She screamed to herself, looking legitimately crazy at the moment of the epiphany. " If the doll would be a representation of Charles that little Andy imagined as his killer menthor, he would be a Charlie, not a Chucky. No kid would think of naming a Charles Chucky before Charlie. Manson is the most famous Charles and those who wish to nickname him call him Charlie. CHUCKY IS A SELF GIVEN NICKNAME THAT THE FUCKING BASTARD USES TO DIFFERENCIATE HIMSELF FROM MANSON!!! "

Her hopes were unbreakable. Her father was astonished to see her finding one new stretched reason to believe in that stranger.

" Watch your language. It's not proper of a lady to swear like that. " He reprimanded her before going back to his point." I fail to see how a nomenclature difference can be enough justification for you... Cassandra, you are making yourself blind to everything but what your visions of him dictate. "

She stared deeply into his eyes after cleaning her face. Her eyes had the challenging fire of someone who would be ready to die defending their truth.

" I believe in Andy because he believes in me. "

There was nothing that could be done, his daughter was determined to insist in that stance.

" If that is your verdict, then I can't save you the pain. " He concluded. " The least you can do for me is postpone this vain search for explanations until tomorrow, since I already gave you a name to start over from a different angle. Isn't that more than what you have obtained so far?"

She knew he was ríght and she didn't mind admitting it.

" Ask Miss Evers to make us some coffee and we can go to your room. I'm not tired enough to not play cards with my father."

" Splendid !!" He exclaimed, showing a happy enthusiasm that he typically reserved only for her and her mother.

They made him happy, but the young witch wasn't fully aware of how important her company was for him. It was her reason for existence, or at least one of the main ones he found to wish for her. He only had one night per month to be with his wife, but his daughter was available anytime he required it. Keeping her was a priority, even if it would imply the sacrifice of his new pawn.

His guilt or innocence on past crimes mattered very little. His only options would be learning to kill for him or perish on the negatory to make sure that Cassandra wouldn't follow him out.

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folkloreguk · 3 years ago

Text

❥ My Sweet Evil Heart (C.Chanhee)

A/N: I wrote this as part of an angel/demon collab for The Boyz! You can find the masterlist HERE. This was really fun to write and I got to live out my alternate universe dream in which I'm a detective...I hope you like it, I'm always welcome to any form of feedback!

genre: demon!Chanhee, detective!reader, angst, fluff, reader is constantly sleep deprived, Chanhee is the sweetest demon ever

synopsis: You, a highly respected detective in your department, are investigating a case of a very strange demon who seems hesitant to do evil...but can you trust someone who is supposed to be the personification of wickedness?

words: ~ 10.6k

Have you ever met someone deeply unhappy? Someone who seems to, at all times, be fighting a war inside of themselves? Have you ever felt empathy for somebody, even though they tested you, over and over, as if the worst part inside of them was trying to make them lose you on purpose? Did you hold on and never stop believing in them? Or did you say something to drive them away, making them think they would only hurt you in the process of you trying to make them see clearer?

This is the story of a demon, whose every cell demurred at his evil nature. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves and start with the basics.

Being one of the head detectives at the local police station was not an easy-going, nor an amusing job. Whilst working on serious cases, lacking proper sleep was not an uncommon occurrence for you, and in some instances, self-care came up short until the mystery had been solved and the guilty ones were locked away. Every case pulled you in and swallowed you whole, keeping you deeply invested for days and nights until your brain felt like it had turned to mush and your body worked on autopilot, until you functioned a little like a highly intelligent zombie. And yet, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else in your life. The thrill was close to an obsession, and seeing justice being served thanks to your work was more addicting than any drug could ever be to you.

Most crimes in your world were committed by demons, of course. They were your worst enemies, the monsters you saw in your nightmares and the reason you never strolled down a street without a gun by your hip. It wasn’t forbidden for them to walk the earth, so long as they kept to themselves. Their evil nature made it almost impossible for them to uphold these terms, though. You wished you could lock them all away in some putrid prison cell, or better yet, send them back to where they crawled out from originally. But the law couldn’t convict beings before they had done anything wrong. So, it was on you to make sure you kept an eye on the sinister beings, figure out what they were up to and stop them before they could actually hurt somebody. Like that morning, when you were called to a liquor store to investigate a break-in.

“My name is Y/F/N Y/L/N, I am the lead investigator,” you greeted the store owner with a handshake upon arrival. “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

“I came here this morning at around 7 to open up the store. When I got out of my car, I saw the broken glass of the window,” he explained.

“What was taken from inside the store?” you inquired further.

“That’s the weird thing. Nothing is missing from inside,” he said.

“We might just be dealing with vandalism,” you thought out loud. “Do you have security cameras?”

He did, and so you went along with him to the back of the store. It was true, the interior of the shop seemed completely untouched. You suspected whoever had done this had never even intentioned on entering. There was a college campus not too far from the store, and you recalled countless times you had witnessed careless vandalism done by some intoxicated students during a Friday night. It was a very human-like crime. Demons weren’t known to do things by halves. Their crimes were usually the go-big-or-go-home-type of crimes. But then, when you watched the security footage, you were stunned.

At precisely 3:29 am, a dark figure appeared in front of the window. They lifted their arms, swinging a baseball bat against the glass. And against your speculation, they did climb through the hole in the window. With no mask or disguise whatsoever, the demon man looked right into the camera in the corner of the room. The abyss of darkness in his pitch black eyes was unmistakable. He looked around, as if he was debating on whether he should have done more, but then, to your utter confusion, spun around on his heel and climbed right back out the window.

You assured the store owner you would be looking into this case. With nothing left to do, you headed back to the police station. You had taken the security footage with you, and the moment you arrived in your office, you played it on your computer screen. Over and over - only puzzling you more, with each rerun you saw. You worried this might only be a warning. Not seldom had you been a witness to demons playing with their prey, feeding off the fear of innocent souls. Was this one indulging in one of those little twisted games? Right away, you uploaded the demon’s face onto the database for criminals, even if vandalism didn’t compare to the serious allegations that stood against other faces on that list. While you turned your attention to other cases, his features wouldn’t leave your mind. Even when you left your office at night, he was still the most prominent person in your memory.

By the time you began your walk to your home, the sun had disappeared. You couldn’t help it, even if technically you could finish work earlier, your desire to solve your assigned cases was always higher. Had you just walked home at 5 pm, you were sure to end up on your computer at home, researching and digging around on the web to discover possible clues. This way, at least you had all resources you would need at your office at the police station.

Now, in the dark, the streets were rather abandoned, most shops had already closed, and the moon dimly cast light through the clouds. Those conditions were what made it a breeze for you to notice your shadow. The figure had been following you for 5 minutes now. Judging by how carelessly loud their steps sounded and by their not-so subtle choices of hiding spots, you could tell this wasn’t something they had practice in. Purposely, you didn’t turn around, so they wouldn’t realize you had caught on to them a while ago. Instead, only a minute or so from your home, you took a turn left into an abandoned alleyway. Your hand was on the gun in your belt.

Just as you had stepped into the alley, you turned. He was right behind you. With dark orbs glaring and teeth snarling he came at you, knife in hand. Your eyes widened – you recalled his face vividly – as you took in the situation in the blink of an eye. After all, you had watched the security tape of him breaking into the liquor store countless times only hours ago. But you had the upper hand from the very moment you had spun around. His build wasn’t particularly strong, but you knew you should never underestimate demons. You grabbed his shoulders and along with him, your body crashed against the red brick wall to your left. He struggled against your grip, but his determined and feisty expression was the by far the most intimidating part about him. His face was inches from yours but looking into the sort of darkness that were demon’s eyes did nothing to you. Your hand was around his wrist with the knife – which he was aggressively trying to bring down on you – but only at first.

Because suddenly, something uncommon occurred. So uncommon, in fact, that not a single cell in your body could believe it. He willingly dropped the blade. It hit the asphalt, the metallic sound echoing in your ears. He relaxed his arm in your iron grip. Demons never gave up. They fought until you had forcefully brought them to the ground or done worse to them. Their ironic god-complex and evilness didn’t allow them to step away from a fight – until this one had come along, apparently. And then, as if his behavior hadn’t already stunned you enough, he did the unthinkable.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Without a doubt you thought you had misheard him. Swiftly, you pulled your gun out of your belt and pointed it at his face. One thing you knew. You weren’t going to play along in his little games. In panic, he rose his hands, showing defeat.

“Quit playing games, devil’s son,” you hissed. “What is it you’re trying to achieve here? You’re sorry? For what?”

He was hesitant. With every second, your curiosity only grew. Either, he was a skilled actor or…you had no idea what else it could’ve been about him.

“I almost killed you. That’s what I’m sorry for,” he said. “Does that get me a prison sentence?”

Your eye twitched because this didn’t seem right at all.

“You broke into a shop and attacked me, but then stopped out of your free will,” you assessed the situation. “You’ll most likely get away with a fine and your name in our register.”

If you had been awaiting an evil grin or any sort of enjoyment in his face, you’d be waiting endlessly. If anything, he seemed to be…disappointed?

“But you’re a cop, right?” he said. “You can lock me up, can’t you?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said? You won’t be locked up if you don’t commit a crime severe enough. As much as I hate it, considering you demons are running free, it’s the law,” you said.

“You don’t get it,” he said. And he was right, you really had no idea. “I should be locked up. You need to get me to jail before I hurt somebody.”

His face was dead serious, but you didn’t want to believe a single word. How could you, when your daily life consisted of hunting down his kind, because all they brought upon the earth was chaos and death?

“Give me one good reason why I should believe you,” you said, unimpressed.

“I will tell you anything you want to hear,” he said. “If you bring me to a police station. You guys have these lie detectors, don’t you? I will take a test if that’s what it takes for you to believe me.”

So, that was how half an hour later you still hadn’t returned at home, but rather found yourself back at the police station. Almost everyone had gone home by now, so you took the liberty to choose the biggest interrogation room available. A few minutes and he was sitting in front of you, hands in handcuffs and his body connected to the lie detector.

“Okay, here’s how this works. I’ll start by asking some simple questions, and then we’ll get to the bottom of whatever your intentions are,” you explained.

“Alright. Go ahead,” he said. This was your first time seeing a demon take this sort of test. Usually, you couldn’t be bothered because you knew all they did was lie whilst smiling you in the face.

“What’s your name?”

“Choi Chanhee.”

“Where were you born?”

“In hell.”

“Did you break into a liquor store last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you intend on killing me tonight?”

“…Yes.”

“Is that your definite answer?”

“…No.”

“How come both of your last two answers are lies?” you asked. “You didn’t intend on killing me, but yes is your definite answer?”

“I can’t stop the evil in me but I’m trying,” he said. You were stunned. The answer was the most truthful of them all.

“What do you mean?” you asked.

“I was never like the others since I came to earth. I’ve never felt a rush like they do, causing mischief and hurting humans. I don’t belong. It’s as if there was a demon inside of me, but it’s not controlling all of me, do you understand?” he said.

“I’m not sure, but go on,” you said.

“I don’t want to hurt anybody or destroy things. But on some days, I’m walking down the street and my body starts following the devil’s orders instead. I usually snap out of it quickly and stop myself. That’s why you’re still alive,” he explained.

“You’re telling me you’re some sort of good demon?” you asked. “Why don’t you go back to hell, if you’re struggling so much on earth?”

“I hate it there,” he said. “And either way, I’m banned from there forever.”

Your head raised as you stared at him.

“Banned?” you asked.

“I stopped a bunch of demons from killing a woman once,” he said. “Safe to say they weren’t happy to hear that, back at home. I couldn’t go back, even if I wanted to.”

“Can you tell me the name of the woman?” you asked. And he did. All this time, he really had been telling the truth. When you searched up the woman’s name in the computer, it only confirmed your suspicion. She really had been under attack when an unidentified person had interrupted and saved her life.

“I can tell you names of demons,” he said. “If you do me the favor of locking me up, I can sell out everyone I know about.”

You massaged the sides of your head and sighed. This guy really was one of a kind.

“I already told you, I can’t put you in jail for something you didn’t do,” you said. “That’s against the law, and then it’ll be me who ends up behind bars instead of you. I’ll have to let you go.”

“What if I mess up?” he said. The amounts of firsts you were experiencing in the timespan of an hour were giving you a headache. Never had you felt compassion for a demon before. But you were only human, and when you noticed the genuine concern and insecurity in his soft voice, you couldn’t stop yourself.

“How long have you been on earth for?” you asked.

“I don’t know, a few years, I guess?” he said.

“And in those few years, which of your deeds would you rate the most criminal out of all?” you asked. Any other demon would have been able to give you multiple answers, one more vicious than the other. He, on the other hand, took his time and even when he answered, he didn’t sound at all sure.

“I’ve broken into a house before, destroyed a car window and one time I stole a dog,” he confessed with his head tilted towards the floor.

“What happened to the dog?”

“I…gave it back,” he said. A laughter erupted from your throat against your will. In a friendly manner, you pat his shoulder before retrieving the keys to his handcuffs.

“Trust me, you’ll be just fine out there,” you said. “Whatever it is you’re doing to stop yourself from being evil, it’s working. I will let you go now."

Even though he wasn’t happy with your answer, he knew he had no choice but to comply. As you walked him through the hallways towards the exit of the station, you could only think of one thing: your beloved bed. Not only your body but especially your brain was drained from energy. You desperately needed a refill by getting a good night’s sleep.

“You’re the first person who’s been really kind to me,” he said, as you held the door open for him. The night air was cool, and you quickly zipped up your jacket to your chin.

“You gave me no reason not to be,” you replied.

“I almost stabbed you,” he said, bluntly.

“Almost.”

“For most people, me being a demon is reason enough to loathe me.”

“Well I guess I’m not most people,” you said. His smile was gentle, but his black eyes would always give him away. “I’ll be here at the station every day, if you have any concerns or need somebody to consult. But right now, all I want is my bed.”

“I understand,” he replied. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

“Good night,” you said, before you parted ways. Once more, you journeyed home. He remained on your mind until the moment you slipped off to dreamland that night.

The days passed without a trace of him. You followed your routine, but one thing you couldn’t help. You simply had to tell every person who worked with you about the changed demon you had met. No one really wanted to believe you. It was kind of understandable. Some thought you were testing their skills, seeing if they could figure out you were lying. Others went as far as to suspect your lack of sleep had given you hallucinations. But you didn’t let it go. And after all, you were a highly respected member of the police force. Some said they wanted to meet this demon gentleman, as they had renamed him.

But then you were called to a brand new homicide investigation and all of the jokes at the station were blown away by the intensity and buzz the case brought with it. You had a murder to solve. There was no place for sweet demon men in any part of your brain. Not for now. And as always, you slipped into old habits – staying up all night, living on coffee and quick meals – the toxic behavior was almost inescapable. Your fellow detectives tried their best to keep you healthy and most importantly, sane. They took you with them to get salad for lunch, invited you over for game nights (a futile attempt at giving you a break) and told you to go to sleep on time. After all, they needed your brain to function at full capacity for the case. You knew people were relying on your knowledge, and you weren’t doubting your capabilities. But a highly intelligent zombie was still a zombie. And so it happened that one Thursday night your boss sent you home. Not because you weren’t doing a good job – rather for of the opposite reason.

“You are allowed back at the station when you’ve caught a full night’s sleep. Do what it takes to take care of yourself,” your boss had said. Her tone displayed as much strictness as her eyes showed concern. Truth be told, you were too exhausted to even argue against her order. That’s when you knew. You really needed a rest. You dragged your body home.

“Hello sweetheart,” you greeted your pet bird, who chirped excitedly when you set foot into your apartment. “Guess what. I’m home early.”

As much as you wanted to drop into a slumber right away, your stomach growled. And you weren’t in the mood to wake up half-starved. As you prepared some left-overs from the fridge, you heard your bird call from the living room. “Peek-a-boo!” he sang. It caught your attention. He only played this game with you – when you were outside in your small garden and he was watching you through the window. So who exactly was he talking to, now?

You picked up a knife, because as a detective it was practically your job to be paranoid, and tiptoed into the living room. It would be harder for an intruder to spot you in the dark, so you pushed the light switch. Slowly, you advanced to the window and gently pulled the curtains aside. A shiver ran down your spine when you saw the figure standing between the trees. They didn’t seem to be hiding, if anything they were lazily resting their back against the garden fence. Maybe they weren’t aware you were watching them. Bold of them to assume they could intimidate you by acting so nonchalant. You cracked the window open slightly.

“If you don’t leave my property within the next ten seconds, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing,” you announced. The figure flinched. The moment he stepped into the moonlight and raised his arms, you remembered his face.

“Choi Chanhee?” You opened the terrasse door and stepped outside.

“Are you going to hurt me?” he asked, eyes glued to the knife in your hands. Quickly, you lowered your hand.

“What are you doing here?” you asked instead of answering his question.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted.

“And so you thought creeping around in a police woman’s backyard was an appropriate thing to do? Wait…have you been stalking me?” you asked. You should have cut back on the sharp tone, but you felt half-asleep and this was the last thing you needed. Plus, the immanent realization hit you, that you had not noticed him at all. You had been so caught up in your work that you had not recognized a demon lingering around your home address, watching you. It hurt your pride a little – and could have ended very differently, had it been a more malovent demon than the one standing in front of you. This one looked terrified, kneading his hands nervously.

“I thought you wouldn’t be upset with me…that maybe you would understand. Because you’ve been the only one who’s listened to me. I’m just trying to find a purpose,” he said, “And my head tells me you’re the right direction.”

Demons. They’ve always had a fondness for the dramatic. But his words tore at your heart strings. His behavior resembled a child who had done wrong and was in the process of being scolded.

“Do you have no home?” you asked, softening your voice.

“I’ve lived with other demons. But they don’t want me there, anymore,” he said. For obvious reasons, you thought. Your head was racing. There was no way you could leave him standing there in the cold. But letting a demon into your home sounded like you must have had a death wish. It’s not like you didn’t have enough space, though. With an extra guest bedroom that nobody had ever used before, he would be just fine. There was no excuse. You cursed your parents for making you get a bigger apartment “In case you got married and had children soon.” You never know what could happen, they had said. And how wrong they had been, but how right they had been on that last part.

“Would you say you’re a tidy person?” you asked. A gigantic yawn came over you, and once again your stomach grumbled.

“What? I mean…I think so?” he said.

“Are you hungry?” You were in disbelief. Maybe it was the zombie in you that had a heart so soft, it took pity on a demon.

“I’m starving,” he said.

And that was how you came to have dinner with a demon. Spoiler alert: It wouldn’t be the last time. You ate quietly, trying hard to fight tiredness but it was no use. Afterwards, you showed him the room he could stay in.

“How do I make this up to you?” he asked.

“We’ll think about that another time, alright?” you said, “I need to sleep now. I’ve got an unsolved murder case waiting on me tomorrow.”

That night, you locked your bedroom door and slept with your gun on your nightstand. Just in case. Even though you were almost fully convinced the demon in the bedroom across the hall was more harmless than a five-year-old, he was still a demon.

When you woke up and saw your boss’ message on your phone, you couldn’t believe it. She wanted you to stay at home for the day. Apparently, you needed the rest and she had no interest in getting into trouble for overworking you (which she obviously wasn’t, you were the one doing this to yourself). When you walked down the stairs, you had almost forgotten about the previous night. It felt a little like it had all just been one wild fever dream – that was, until you spotted the demon sitting on your sofa, your pet bird on his shoulder.

“I let him out, I hope that was okay,” he said. You were dumbfounded. “Listen, I just wanted to say…thank you. Tell me whatever you need me to do and I’ll get it done for you.”

You wanted to go to work. But you knew he would be no help making that possible. Your mind was already wandering off to your case, the tips of your fingers burning with anticipation to search the internet for clues. Your grumbling belly interrupted your eagerness.

“Um…you could go to the grocery store for me?” you asked.

You went back to work the next day. Unsure of what to do, you decided to keep your demon housemate a secret for now. The other detectives would have probably written you off as insane, and you needed them to take you seriously. To be fair, maybe you were a little crazy. But he had been really good on the first day. Only one incident, which involved him dropping an egg on the kitchen floor, stood out to you. Of course, that could happen to anyone. But any other person would not have apologized in the way that he did. Normal people wouldn’t have acted so guilty, had it been an accident. But as long as his malice remained to that extent, you could live with it. You almost laughed at the idea of him purposely watching the egg roll off the counter and not doing anything.

He sure was strange. But little did you know, his egg-dropping shananigans were only the beginning of his uncontrollable little pranks he would pull on you.

Once he let your bird fly out the window. When you came home you discovered him outside, talking to your bird, begging him to come back inside. Little did he know, all it took was a whistle and a few treats and you had him sitting on your shoulder, ready to go back inside. One night you returned home to find him staring at the ceiling in the dining room, a kitchen towel in his hand. When you asked him what he was trying to achieve there, he told you there was a mosquito sitting above him.

“So, why don’t you kill it?” you asked. He looked shocked.

“Kill it?” he asked, “We should probably just shoo it outside.”

That’s when you knew. Choi Chanhee wouldn’t hurt a fly. Literally. All those times you had worried about leaving him home alone with your bird vanished in an instant as you laughed.

“You’re right. Killing is one of the worst sins. But sometimes, especially when it comes to mosquitoes, you don’t need to worry about any consequences. If anything, I’ll be grateful,” you assured him.

Another instance made you think maybe you had been too quick to judge him as harmless. When you walked into your bathroom in the morning, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you almost jumped out of your skin. A red substance stuck to your mirror in what seemed to be random shapes. On impulse, you called his name. On second look, you realized what he had done. The red was merely ketchup, and the random shapes weren’t so random, but they spelled “meeting at 2 pm”. When Chanhee appeared in the doorframe, he already wore his sorry expression.

“What did you think you were doing here?” you said. “You know where the post-it notes are!”

“I- He- The demon in me wanted to scare you…I’m so sorry,” he said. It was difficult to be mad at him when he was so sweet. You had, after all, told him to remind you of your meeting you had that day. He was so easy to forgive, too. Whenever he went to buy groceries, he returned with a bouquet of flowers, and after he had figured out your favorite candy, he made sure you never ran out of your supply. You liked being alone, but suddenly it felt nice to have someone waiting for you at home. A warm sensation filled your heart whenever he asked you about your day during dinner.

Even if after dinner you had to argue with him as if he was your son, because the demon in him had decided to take on the form of a teenage boy who was too lazy to take out the trash. You were still seated at the table, rolling your eyes at the demon’s horrible attempt at being evil.

“Don’t make me ask you one more time,” you threatened him, although you didn’t know what you would have done had he continued to argue against you. Only when he reached for the knife that he had already put down tidily on his plate, your eyes widened. His knuckles were white around the metal and you leaned back instinctively. Your gun was still in your belt – you had sat down for dinner straight after returning home – but you didn’t want to use it. Not on him.

“Chanhee,” you spoke in a calm tone. His face was unreadable. He wasn’t making eye contact. Instead, his gaze was glued onto the blade in his hand, staring blankly. His eyes blinked, almost robotically. Something changed in his demeanor then. There was a tremble in the hand that was clutching the knife. It grew more uneasy by each passing moment. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you kept your eyes trained on him, trusting your reflexes.

“Fine,” he suddenly said in a grumpy tone. Then he dropped the knife. The metallic sound rang in your ears for seconds afterward. You let out the breath you didn’t know you had been holding on to, as you watched him get up and retrieve the full trash bag from under the sink. You had been sleeping with your bedroom door unlocked for weeks. Even though it pained you, that night you locked your door again.

At 3:28 am you awoke to the sound of breaking glass. You allowed yourself to yawn and rub the sleep out of your eyes for just a moment, then you were on your feet. Gun in hand, you opened your door. Across the hall, the door to Chanhee’s room stood ajar. Light came from downstairs.

“Chanhee?” you called quietly. No answer. But your ears picked up shuffling and the sound of shards of glass being moved around. You approached slowly, trying not to give yourself away. Then you heard the quiet sobs. Your arm with the gun dropped to your side when you stepped into the kitchen.

He was sitting on the floor like he was one of the shattered pieces of glass himself. When he saw you, he flinched and tried to dry away his tears. But it was no use. They kept coming, and you had already seen them either way.

“I dropped it on purpose,” he said, referring to the broken glass. Another sob went through his body, making your chest ache at the sight of him. “I’m sorry.”

“I have nine more of those. It’s alright,” you assured him. Gently, you sat down by his side. You put your arms around his hunched frame. He stiffened at first but calmed his muscles after a moment and let you hold him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” you said. Whatever it was that was hurting him so much, you’d be here to fight it off for him.

“I can’t stop the evil in me,” he cried. His weeps seeped through your skin and tugged at your organs. It felt like a thousand tiny, sharp needles in your heart.

“It’s a part of you. It’ll never fully go away. But look at you, you’re doing such a good job holding it inside of you,” you whispered. He shuddered.

“I tried to kill you,” he stated. “I don’t deserve you. You’re so kind. You do all this for me, and I tried to kill you.”

“But you didn’t,” you said. “And that’s what counts. We all have urges inside of us…but it’s what we end up doing that truly counts and makes us who we are.”

“But it’s so hard,” he cried. His face was in the crook of your neck as he sniffled. The small teardrops that touched your skin felt like ice. “And all I do is bother you. I’m an inconvenience. Why don’t you just lock me up with the other demons? Why give me another chance every time I mess up?”

You couldn’t believe he would hate himself so much. Chanhee had more compassion than a lot of the humans you knew had. Some days he sat and pet your bird for hours just because it made him happy, he always had money on him to give to the homeless people in front of the grocery store and he almost cried thinking he forgot to pay for an item at the store (which you had obviously paid for).

“How could you even compare yourself to other demons?” you said. “If you want, I will take you in to work with me sometime. Then you’ll see the atrocities others commit. Even among humans, you’d still be sorted into the best of the best. I believe in you and that you will do good.”

He only sobbed harder at what you had said, and you felt the need to pull him in just a little tighter. You softly rocked your bodies in an attempt to calm him down.

“I would fall apart without you.” Between the hiccups and tears his words sounded like a broken confession, but that’s why they hit so hard.

“You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you,” you whispered, lips right by his ear. Your hands were in his hair, stroking his head as if you could pour all your emotions into this one gesture. What else could you do to show him you would never abandon him the way his demon people had? And it seemed to do the trick. His fists that had been clutching your shirt loosened up and his sorrowful crying turned into mellow breathing on your skin.

“Aren’t you sleepy?” you asked. “Let’s get you back to sleep. Tomorrow things will be better.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well for three days,” he said. “But I need to clean this up first.”

He let go of you and started to pick up shards of glass. There was still a haggard expression on him, and his cheeks were painted red and tear stained. And yet he was determined.

“Let me do this,” you said, touching his arm. “You can’t even keep your eyes open. Go to bed, Chanhee.”

This time, he didn’t argue. But his good behavior didn’t stop the apologetic, almost battered look at you. He knew you would be by his side no matter what – but what he needed most was his own forgiveness. And you could tell by the way he spoke about himself that it would take a while until he was ready to accept himself as he was.

You heard his heavy steps on the stairs as he walked to his room. Quickly, you gathered the biggest shards of glass and then used a hand brush to collect the tiny pieces. This wasn’t what you had signed up for when you had taken him in. You thought you’d have to argue with him daily and that you’d miss having your personal space and privacy. You knew it would be new, living with another person after living alone for so long. But nothing could have prepared you for the way Chanhee had swept you off your feet with his adorable charms. You didn’t need to fake excitement when you came home to him, nor did you ever have to force yourself to tell him about your day or have any conversation with him, for that matter. He was truly enchanting with the way he made you care so much. Especially when you had assumed all demons were your sworn enemies.

When you finally dragged your tired body upstairs, you softly pushed open the door to his room, only to see him lying wide awake.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked. “Even though you’re so exhausted?”

“No,” he spoke. Even his voice made no attempt at hiding the sleepiness. His look was pleading. “Can you please stay with me…just for a little while?”

There was no way you could say no to his lovely gaze and messy hair and outstretched arms. So, you crawled in next to him under the covers. Your faces were inches apart. The last time you had been looking into a demon’s eyes this close-up he had been lying face-up and dead on the side of a road. Those eyes had been lifeless, and yet you felt like they had still held so much ferociousness, even in death. Now you only saw concern and genuine care in the black orbs across from you. You admired his softly sculpted face. It was one that seemed like it would much rather belong to an angel.

“You’ve been working so much,” he whispered. “You must be much more tired than me.”

“I’m used to it,” you said, “I enjoy my work because I’m doing it to help others.”

“You’re a good person,” he stated. There was something in his voice you couldn’t make out. Regret? Admiration?Maybe it was both.

“So are you, Chanhee,” you said. Without second thought, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his cheek. He didn’t flinch nor pull away. Instead, his pretty lips curled into a smile as he closed his eyes, ready to finally drift off to dreamland.

From that night on he seemed to improve a little, day by day. No more breaking things or having to argue about simple house chores. It occurred to you almost as if he had turned into something more human – so much that you dared to take him to work with you. People there had found the idea of your new demon friend strange, and you were sure some would take more than a little convincing to let down their guard around him. You couldn’t blame them for the prejudices – you had once been the same, after all. But Chanhee was okay with it, even when you had explained to him that some people might hate him, just because of his black eyes and what they meant to people. He had lived years of receiving that sort of treatment. Nonetheless, it pained you to think about how used he was to it. It took bravery and thick skin to walk into a police station the way he did that day. He was fascinated, looking behind the scenes. Perhaps you found it amusing how alarmed everyone was when they first laid eyes on him at the station. His ability to turn around their views of his species within twenty seconds or less was nothing but astonishing. He very willingly took it upon himself to walk down to the nearest coffee shop and order ten cups, also earning him the sympathy from the last few sceptics. When you were deep in conversation with another detective, discussing the possible whereabouts of a highly wanted demon, Chanhee suddenly interrupted you.

“I know an underground club where they like to go after…committing crimes,” he said. “Every demon in this city knows about it.”

At that moment you realized his full potential and what good he could really do. That was, if he was ready to sacrifice his people. But he just had – without even blinking. He could be an immense help to you.

“Young man I can see you have a bright future, should you ever decide to join the police force,” said your boss from across the room. Seemed like she had the same idea as you. Chanhee only smiled shyly but couldn’t hide the glint of pride in his eyes.

The following days you instantly made arrangements to get Chanhee an interview with the head of the station. He had been scared, at first.

“What if the other people there hate me?” he suspected.

“They might make assumptions about you in their heads, you know, because you’re a demon. They only know demons to be evil. But the moment they realize how good of a person you are, I promise they’ll change their mind,” you said. “You’ll be precious to us, and if you want to do good, the police is where you can be the most helpful. You’ll change lives, maybe even save people.”

“Yes, I want to help,” he said. “I’m done with my kind.”

“I’ll talk to my boss tomorrow,” you assured him. “If you’re too anxious to come in to the station, maybe she’ll allow you to work from home, from my office here. This is just a try, okay? If you really enjoy this work, you’ll have to learn and earn your badge.”

The way he looked at you filled you with so much pride. He seemed to have found some hope. Like he could finally spend his time in a productive and truly good manner. You couldn’t wait to see how he would do.

A tiring day and many discussions with higher-ups at workplace later, you returned at your home, late at always. Your fingers tingled with excitement and you wanted to yell for Chanhee the moment you walked through your door. You had managed to score an internship for him at your station. He was allowed to start as early as the following week. As you walked up the stairs, following the shuffling noise you heard, you imagined his face when you told him the news. You knew he’d be ecstatic. His smile would make you so happy, and you almost grinned at the mere thought of it. The noises were coming out of your office.

“Hi, Chanhee. Guess what my boss-,” you started. Then you fell speechless. Paper was scattered all over the floor. Drawers stood wide open. The orderly sorted piles of case files you had been working on were dispersed into every corner of the small room. Photos and pieces of paper were falling out of the folders. And in midst of it all stood Chanhee.

“Y/N- I’m so-,” he said, helpless.

“Don’t,” you said. Every ounce of excitement was gone from your voice, replaced by an ice cold tone you didn’t know you had in you. He flinched, but you couldn’t keep in what you had to say. “You’re impossible. I can’t fucking believe this! These are real cases, Chanhee! I’m trying to save real people here! This isn’t some broken mirror or a spilled cup of water. I can look past a shattered glass, but this is too much…I honestly thought you were getting better…”

Somewhere you knew you were being too harsh. But your job was your entire reason for existing. This was your life mission, laid out in front of you as if a hurricane had rampaged through the room. It would take days for you to rearrange the files. You weren’t even sure if you’d be able to find the correct places for each piece of paper.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking because he was about to cry.

“I don’t want to see you right now. Please get out. I need to clean this up and you can’t help me with this,” you said, trying hard not to scream out of frustration. Your eyes were already scanning the floor. You had no idea where to even start. With low-hanging shoulders and teary eyes that were threatening to spill over, Chanhee slipped past you. He granted you one more look before he scurried out of the office like a frightened animal.

Even though your stomach was grumbling from starvation and you could barely stay awake – as always – you needed to get some of the cleaning done. Now. Or you would go insane. Plus, you needed time away from Chanhee. While you collected the paper from every inch of the wooden floor, guilt slowly started to nag at you. You had never raised your voice at him to this extent. And he was sensitive. It wasn’t his fault, that’s what you always told him when he blamed himself for messing things up. He knew that. You cursed at yourself. How could you be so impulsive? All too well you knew how he felt about his demon half. You were supposed to be there for him, to tell him he was doing a good job and to make sure he didn’t beat himself up. Now you had achieved the complete opposite. A dull ache in your chest accompanied your hungry stomach.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. In a haze, you stepped down the stairs and to the door. You needed to apologize to Chanhee. When you opened the door, a delivery girl from your favorite restaurant stood there, handing you an order. You were puzzled.

“Already payed for,” she checked with a beaming smile, “Enjoy your meal!”

“Thank you,” you said, voice numb. Before you knew it, she had turned on her heel and was on the way back to the car.

“Chanhee! Your food is here,” you shouted, assuming he was the one who had made the order. You got no answer. When you set the bag down on the kitchen table, you saw a note, addressed to you.

Y/N,

Words can’t express how sorry I am about what I’ve done. All my life I only wanted someone to love me. In you, I thought I might have found what I had been searching for all this time. But I messed up. I always do. I drove you away from what we had. I’ve wondered why I always end up disappointing people. Now I know it’s because it’s the only thing I’m truly good at. You deserve someone you can trust blindly, someone who will walk through fire for you, someone who will take a bullet for you. I can’t give you that. I can’t even trust myself. Thank you for giving me a home and for being the most generous person I have ever met. You will always be in my sweet evil heart. Don’t worry about me too much. I will find my way and you will find yours. Who knows, our paths may cross again. I ordered your favorite food. I know you’re always starving when you get home from work. Enjoy it and don’t let it go cold. Make sure you get enough sleep tonight, and don’t forget to take your water bottle with you tomorrow, you left it here this morning.

I’ll hold you in my happiest thoughts forever,

Chanhee

You only snapped out of your motionless state when one single tear dropped down your cheek and onto the note. A heavy blanket of sorrow and regret sunk into your whole body. The emotions seeped through your skin and before you knew it, you were a sobbing mess on the kitchen floor. You wanted to take him in your arms and tell him you forgave him. Hell, you had forgiven him minutes after you had yelled at him. You should have gone to him then. Had you only apologized quickly enough, perhaps he’d still be here. Then he’d be eating dinner with you, and although you’d be frustrated, you both wouldn’t be alone.

Your tears fell into your food while you ate it, unable to control your sadness and frustration you had against yourself. They mixed with the shower water as you stood in silence under the hot stream, overthinking everything. Your pillow was wet from the crying as you struggled to fall asleep. Like a broken-hearted zombie you trudged across the hall and into his room. Chanhee’s covers still smelled like him and you hugged them tightly, as if you could hold a piece of him and bring him back that way. But there was nothing you could have done. He had left, and it was alone your fault.

The next day passed like a vivid fever dream. While you were sat in your meeting, you couldn’t possibly focus on the case your team was discussing. Instead, you pondered whether your makeup was able to conceal your puffy face and the dark circles under your eyes. If it was obvious, at least people didn’t seem to point it out. Maybe they were so used to seeing you tired that it would take a lot more than some tiredness and lack of concentration to arise concern. It was the first time in years you really wanted to go home after work. In fact, you couldn’t stand the laughter and good mood at the police station for one more second. All you wanted to do was scream and cry, and seeing people joke around without any idea about your feelings only intensified your desire. Of course, you could have confided in somebody. But you were afraid they would tell you Serves you right or I told you. You don’t think you’d be able to handle those blatant assumptions and the mocking.

Your plan for the night was set: You’d sit in the bathtub for half an hour, then you’d wrap yourself into a human burrito in a blanket and fill your brain with some brutal movie that would make your life seem like it was mere child’s play. But as most things in your life lately, nothing went as planned. Because after only five minutes in the hot tub, your phone rang on the other side of the room. The first time you ignored it. You really tried. But then it rang again, and you looked up to see the caller ID. It was your boss.

You groaned and quickly stood up, not giving up on the prospects of a peaceful night just yet. But then you heard her message – a break-in at a bank, one dead bank employee, five hostages, a possible shoot out. They were calling for back up. And when there was a chance to throw bad guys behind bars, the most inviting bath or an exciting movie suddenly turned dull.

Not fifteen minutes later you had jumped out the bath, gotten dressed in your uniform, taken your gun and ammunition, and were pulling up at the scene your boss had ordered you to. The bank was in the city center, close to the main square. The police team was stationed in a side street. Some of the team had already been sent to the front of the bank, where the police was attempting to make contact with the robbers.

“They’re holding four hostages in the back of the bank. One of them is at the front, right by the glass doors for us to see. The robbers have guns to their heads. If we come closer, they’ll shoot them,” your colleague informed you.

“Demons?” you asked. Against your will, Chanhee appeared in your mind. You wondered how he was doing. Was he hiding out in somebody else’s garden right now? Had he found a bed to sleep in? Then you quickly shook your head. This was not the time for heavy emotions of any kind.

“Yes. Five of them,” your colleague added. You huffed.

“What do they want us to do? Are they demanding anything?” you asked.

“They want us to let them leave with the money,” she said. You grinned bitterly and nodded.

“What about the back entrance?” you asked. You knew the layout of this bank and had been there multiple times in the past.

“That’s our route. Besides the one at the front, the other demons are inside the bank. The entrance isn’t guarded. A team of four will go to the back and try to sneak up on them. When we have a clear line of fire on all the robbers, we’ll take them out at the same time,” she explained.

“Alright,” you nodded, fixing your bulletproof vest around your upper body. You were ready for this. To others, missions like these would have been nerve-wrecking, and you would have been lying if you said you were completely calm. But the adrenaline was already rushing through your body, and fear was something you hadn’t felt since your very first operation.

“All ready?” your colleague asked the other two members of the team who would go into the bank. You received nods and professional expressions. You had all trained together and were used to functioning like one unit. Sticking close together, you rounded the bank, using a side street so the demons wouldn’t see you approaching. In your ear, the voice of your boss was giving orders and checking in on you. The street was dark and devoid of any life except for your team. Multiple of the surrounding streets had been evacuated and shut off to the public. The scene had something straight out of a heist movie. Except this time, the robbers weren’t going to pull of the perfect theft and get away. You would make sure of it.

“We’re almost there,” you said. “Twenty meters to the entrance. Awaiting permission to go inside.”

“You have permission,” your boss spoke over your earpiece. One last look at your teammates, and you were on the move. Sneaking inside soundlessly was easy. The backrooms were all empty. As you passed abandoned offices, you saw knocked over office equipment and paper scattered on the floors. Lamps had been left on and you heard the faint buzzing of a running computer that was most certainly unoccupied. Moving swiftly, you walked along the corridors, guns pointed ahead at all times. Your teamwork was untouchable. One of you made sure the path was clear, then the rest followed.

“You are one room away from the entry hall,” your boss said.

“Understood,” you answered and slowed down your steps. A cat wouldn’t have been able to walk more silently than you did. Now your ears picked up voices. Somebody was crying. There was shuffling of feet on marble.

“Shut up!” a male voice yelled. The crying faded out into muteness. In the dark, you could make out figures. A few countertops and a good distance separated you and your team from the demons and the hostages. You nodded to your colleagues and they understood. The four of you parted ways, moving into the room and taking shelter behind the bank counters. Once again, you checked the situation. Close to you, four hostages sat on the floor. A woman was still crying, and you could tell she was struggling to keep herself quiet. Around them, four demons stood, dressed in black. Their ski masks kept their faces hidden, but their body languages told you enough. They were not to be messed with. By the far entrance, the fifth demon was positioned with the remaining hostage, and you could spot the police cars outside in the town square. From behind your hiding spots, each of your teammates had a clear line of fire on the demons. The fifth one would be taken out from police outside the bank. You were just about to send a signal to your boss to let her know you were in position. Suddenly, the scraping of feet on the floor alarmed you.

“What was that?” one of the demons barked. The noise had come from your colleague beside you, who was now flinching. You had no time to think. No time to complain about her mistake. If you didn’t act now, they were going to close in on you.

You jumped up, pointing your gun at the closest demon. Right away, the remaining demons had their guns aimed at the hostages’ heads. Your colleagues had done as you, guns held towards the demons. Now you got a proper look at them. They were towering over the hostages, who were crouched on the floor in intimidation. The one in front of you only chuckled. Humans didn’t laugh like this. It was pure malice and recklessness displayed in front of you.

“I thought we told you to stay away,” he began. The only thing you could truly note about him was his mouth. The rest was covered by his mask and where the white of eyes should have been, two orbs of darkness sat, eying you like prey.

“Let the hostages go and we won’t shoot you,” you ordered, with a surprisingly calm voice.

“And why would we do that when we can just kill them?” he asked. His gaze momentarily focused on his fellow demons, as if he was a stand-up comedian and he had just delivered the funniest punch line.

“You will die if you harm even one of the hostages,” you stated.

“Oh, is that so? Humans never learn, do they?” he said. This monster was completely insane. And suicidal too, it seemed. “Go on, shoot.”

First, you thought he was urging your team to shoot. Then you realized, he was looking at the demon closest to you. The very demon you had your gun pointed at. He was asking the other demon to shoot at the hostages. You were preparing to pull the trigger.

But then your mind started racing. You stared at him intensely as your heartbeat quickened uncontrollably in your chest. The dark eyes. The soft lips. His skinny frame and gentle hands. You knew exactly who this demon was. You’d be able to pick him out of any crowd. What the hell was he doing here?

“Shoot!” the bigger demon shouted again, but Chanhee didn’t budge.

“I told you he was goddamn useless,” one of the others said. “Get rid of him.”

“You don’t deserve any of this money,” the bigger demon snarled, and his hand went to his belt. You knew there were human lives on the line. What you were about to do could be considered not only stupid, but wildly imprudent. Emotions were supposed to be left out of police operations. But how could you not have been blind with shock? You were going to let your heart control your body over your mind, and if it was deadly so be it. The bigger demon was now raising his arm at Chanhee.

Before you knew it, you had jumped out from behind the counter. You mirrored the demon’s actions and you pointed at him, pulling the trigger. At the same time, his gun went off. Just in time, you had pushed your body between the two demons.

“Y/N!” Chanhee shouted.

The bullet hit your shoulder and you fell backwards. Burning heat spread through your insides as you stumbled and reached for anything, anyone to hold on to. You could only think of Chanhee, and how your bullet had pierced through the big demon’s skull perfectly. Then, your colleagues opened the gunfire. The shots sounded almost muffled through the intense amount of adrenaline in your blood and the initial effect of being hit. Your body fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and a wave of agony spread through you. You grimaced at the excruciating pain, hands grasping at your shoulder. All you could see was white, before you sank onto your back and the world went dark.

~approximately 18 months later~

“Y/N,” Chanhee said, for the sixth time within the last ten minutes. You pressed your phone harder against your ear, holding it up with your shoulder. Your hands were too busy writing a police report on your laptop.

“Chanhee, I promise I’m writing the last few sentences already,” you assured him. He liked it when you came home early, leaving enough time to relax on the couch with him, instead of falling into bed like a corpse. Today, he was especially insistent, urging you to stay on the phone with him until you had finally packed up your things and left the police department. You guessed he was just trying to make sure you couldn’t stop somewhere along the way and start working on something new. And maybe that fear wasn’t so far off the truth.

“I’m done,” you said. “Status report: I’m switching off the laptop. Now I’m taking my bag. I’m getting up. I’m locking my office behind me. I’ll be home in twenty minutes or less.”

His laughter on the other side of the line made you smile. You couldn’t wait to see his face and get to hug him.

“Alright. I can’t wait,” he said. “I’ll see you.”

The walk home was calm. A soft breeze went through your hair and in the distance, you heard sirens of an ambulance. Promptly you were catapulted back to your memories and into the vehicle after you had been shot. Going in and out of consciousness, you kept repeating one name: Chanhee. When you woke up in the hospital bed, you half-expected him to be sitting there, waiting for you to wake up. But of course that was not the case. He had committed a crime – or at least tried to commit one. The prosecution was in his favor. They acknowledged his compliance with the police and his hesitation to hurt the hostage. Plus, he sold out the other demons and showed no resistance at any point. His regret and sorrow was apparent, nonetheless his mistake caused him 11 months in prison – by far less than the other robbers got.

People had called you insane for standing by him. Others thought you brave and newspapers named him the first good demon in the world. Every week you visited him in prison, often more than once. You made the most of your short time to talk, and with your kindest words you let him know that you were still here for him. Every visit you learned a bit more about how he had ended up in that bank.

After he had walked out on you, he had nowhere to go. So, after strolling the street mazes for days he found himself in the very demon night club he had once warned you about. Most unsavory figures twisted his mind into thinking doing good was no use. They made him believe he would never be able to escape the demon in him, and he might as well embrace the malice. They more or less pulled him along to the robbery, while he overthought the whole thing. It hurt you, seeing him cry as he recounted how scared he was when he saw the hostages. Some of them ended up injured, but all survived. You knew he would have never forgiven himself, had one of them died.

The day you picked him up from prison was a day you’d never forget. Holding each other in your arms felt so right, and you had missed it tremendously. His months at the prison hadn’t been easy, but you made sure he felt loved and cared for when he finally returned. He almost refused to believe that you would open your doors to him again. It was no question to you. You’d always be here for him. Even when he insisted you keep your office at home locked at all times. You trusted him almost a hundred percent by now. His demon only came out rarely, especially in times of stress or intense negative emotions. But you only treated him with kindness, and he gave back just as much of it.

“Chanhee I’m home!” you shouted as you entered your home.

“I’m up here,” he spoke. You ran up the stairs, excited to see him. Your eyes fell onto the open door of your office. For a moment, your heartbeat quickened as you approached it. You must have forgotten to lock the door that morning. Slowly, you pushed it open.

“Hello,” he grinned. You only chuckled as you watched him, sitting by your desk, a book in his hands. “I hope you don’t mind me being in here. This chair is so comfortable.”

“It’s all good,” you said. “Do you know what day it is today?”

“Umm…Friday?” he asked.

“It’s been exactly two years since you first started living here,” you said. “I think we should get some take out and celebrate, what do you say?”

“I can’t believe it’s been two years,” he said. “I’d love that. And you know what? I think I’m ready to start the internship at the police station.”

You smiled proudly. He had put his book down and was getting up.

“You’re going to do good things,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. He finally had found his place. His home. And you were never going to give up on him.

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