#best insoles in the world

[murdereddoubt]

FPinsoles Review

After trying out several different brands and types of insoles, I can confidently say that FP Insoles are the best insoles in the world. Here are a few reasons why:

Firstly, FP Insoles are incredibly comfortable. They are made from high-quality materials that provide excellent cushioning and support to your feet. The insoles are also designed to conform to the shape of your foot, providing a customized fit that feels great no matter how long you're on your feet.

Secondly, FP Insoles are extremely durable. Unlike other insoles that may wear out quickly, FP Insoles are made to last. They are built to withstand heavy use and are resistant to moisture, bacteria, and odors. This means that you can wear them for long periods without worrying about them breaking down or developing an unpleasant smell.

Thirdly, FP Insoles are versatile. They are suitable for use in a wide range of activities, from just regular walking, running and hiking, to cycling and skateboarding. They can also be used in a variety of shoes, including sneakers, boots, and dress shoes.

Fourthly, FP Insoles are customizable. They come in a range of sizes and thicknesses, and you can choose the one that best fits your foot and provides the level of support you need. Additionally, FP Insoles can be trimmed to fit your shoe perfectly, ensuring maximum comfort and support. I haven't tried the gamechanger insoles yet where you can mold them according to the shape of your foot by pre-heating them but that is definitely next on my shopping list.

Finally, FP Insoles take impact like no other as you can see from Joey Brezinski's social media profiles or on FPinsoles social media accounts. On top of that they are affordable, especially during their BOGO(buy one get one) promotions, Black Friday deals, flash sales, etc. Despite their high quality and excellent performance, FP Insoles are priced competitively and are accessible to anyone who needs them.

Below I've compiled a brief summary on perhaps the top 5 insoles in the world:

1. FP Insoles - FP Insoles are designed to provide maximum comfort and support for athletes and anyone who spends a lot of time on their feet. They are made from high-quality materials and feature an anatomical design that conforms to the shape of your foot. FP Insoles are also customizable, allowing you to trim them to fit your shoe perfectly. Pros: Comfortable, supportive, customizable. Cons: None

2. Superfeet - Superfeet insoles are designed to provide extra support and cushioning for your feet. They are made from high-quality materials and come in a range of different styles to suit different foot shapes and shoe types. Pros: Good support and cushioning, different styles available. Cons: Some customers find them too firm or uncomfortable.

3. Powerstep - Powerstep insoles are designed to provide maximum support and cushioning for people with foot pain or foot conditions. They are made from high-quality materials and feature a range of different technologies to support different parts of the foot. Pros: Good support and cushioning, designed for people with foot pain or foot conditions. Cons: Some customers find them too thick or uncomfortable.

4. Sof Sole - Sof Sole insoles are designed to provide extra cushioning and support for athletes and people who spend a lot of time on their feet. They are made from high-quality materials and come in a range of different styles to suit different foot shapes and shoe types. Pros: Good cushioning and support, different styles available. Cons: Some customers find them too thin or not supportive enough.

5. Dr. Scholl's - Dr. Scholl's insoles are designed to provide extra comfort and support for your feet. They are made from high-quality materials and come in a range of different styles to suit different foot shapes and shoe types. Pros: Comfortable, different styles available. Cons: Some customers find them too soft or not supportive enough.

Conclusion:

While there are several good insoles on the market, FP Insoles stands out as the best due to its combination of comfort, support, and customizability. If you're an athlete or someone who spends a lot of time on your feet be it work or play, investing in a pair of FP Insoles is a wise decision. By purchasing FP Insoles through this affiliate link http://fpinsoles.com/?ref=15255, you not only get the best insoles in the world but also support the website.

[jacevelaryonswife]

Supermassive Black Hole

A duo project changes some perceptions about your classmate

pairing: Michael Gavey x fem!reader

warnings: smut, period tipical misoginy (2006 guys), loss of virginity, english is not my first language.

word count: 3,297

ewanverse masterlist

When a firm knock came from the door, a name automatically entered your mind.

Gavey.

Michael Gavey.

You imagined that he would come to your meeting eventually, you actually longed to, although you didn't admit it. That idiot deserved to be put in his proper place — which was necessarily below you.

It had all started when a duo project was designated by draw earlier that day, and for both luck and bad luck your partner was the awkward genius, and difficult to deal with Michael Gavey.

There was no shortage of adjectives to be used for the unstable dirty blonde, which was truly fascinating. He intrigued you with his sharp intellect and his eccentric personality to the same extent that he repelled you with his peculiar and almost aggressive way. He was quite a figure, although you didn't allow yourself to think much about it.

It was also not a mystery that he was a true Norman No Mates, which wasn’t difficult to understand since his social skills were disastrous. The memory of him screaming at Oliver Quick in O Week never left your mind, especially the sudden change of attitude when he lowered his head and responded to the sum that Felix's pet (as your friends called him) made. You watched the whole situation closely, with a lot of curiosity, since your tables were close.

After that, whenever he entered an environment, you wondered what he would do next. You never knew what to expect from Gavey.

He started fervent debates during classes, demonstrating unparalleled intelligence and self-confidence, in addition to a slight arrogance that made him look strangely hot. Obviously a dispute of nervous male egos originated from these discussions, which made you watch with veiled fun and irritation while remaining silent. You admired the way his brain worked for math, but you didn't understand how he could be so bad at dealing with other people.

Because of this, you chose to keep a considerable distance from the horizon of events that involved Michael and his complexity, and for a long time this worked perfectly well. Until that damn moment.

Feeling humiliated by the way that insolent worm acted when trying to take responsibility for the whole activity for yourself, as if you were incompetent and incapable, you immediately confronted him about such behavior when he went to your meeting at the end of the class while you collected your material.

"Excuse me?" You asked.

"I'll finish this by Saturday, no need to worry," he repeated condescendingly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Do you think I won't participate? Or did you just choose to pretend that I don't exist?" You asked with your eyebrows furrowed, posture becoming more imposing.

He remained silent for a short moment, seeming to analyze the situation (or the best answer to it, you couldn't tell). He wasn't used to being so reluctant to say what he thought, so it was a surprise to see him using time to devise something.

"I don't like working in group, I thought it would be faster if I did everything," he looked down quickly, running away from your gaze.

"I also don't like working with other people and I didn't even think about excluding you," you replied.

“Of course you don't.” There it was. The veiled arrogance that you so hated, present in most of your classmates.

Few were your STEM classmates, since your class was mostly composed of resentful boys who did not know how to deal with a woman without seeing her as a less intelligent object. Luckily not everyone was like that and you managed to put together a really cool group.

When all you did was send a cold and angry look, Michael cleared his throat and tried to speak again, but you cut him off impatiently. "When you're less asshole look for me again, I think you have my Myspace."

Who did that little shit think it was to treat you like that? 'Of course you don't' He was so fucking pretentious! And that's because he almost couldn't keep eye contact for a long time.

Pathetic.

That skinny nerd tormented your thoughts for the rest of the afternoon and served as gossip between your friends. Predictable. The way he acted was not very different from what you imagined about his annoying self-sufficiency. And even so, there he was, stopping in front of your door (more nerdy than ever) with his laptop and notebook in hand, wearing a blue button striped shirt, black belt and cream pants. He had a terrible taste in clothes, although they totally reflected his personality, he was curious.

“I'd like to apologize for my behavior earlier, it wasn't cool,” he started as soon as you leaned carelessly against the door.

Interesting.

You considered it for a moment, looking at him before turning his back and clearing the way for him to enter your space. "It wasn't that hard, was it?" You pulled a chair for him and threw yourself dramatically on the bed before sitting down to face him, already well established and looking closely at your figure. "So... I assume you've already thought about the structure of the project."

Of course he had thought.

He opened the laptop and exposed his idea while showing some calculations in his notebook, and you made an effort to pay attention to what was said and what was sketched. Obviously his idea was good, great actually, incredibly structured and cohesive with what the professor wanted. But you also had some ideas and would like them to be taken into account, telling you what you had planned. Surprisingly, he showed to consider your suggestions, even praising them — you knew they were good, but not that his ego allowed you to visualize this. You suggested a division of parts that would be meticulously checked in a future meeting.

"As you have already started, I thought about staying with the second part, what do you think?" You asked.

"It's okay, I intend to finish tomorrow maybe, I'll forward some references by email to you."

“Sure.” It was all very bureaucratic and direct. You sneaked up to look at his laptop screen before looking at what he was typing. "I have some of these books here, but I'll look for the others."

And without realizing it, you got into a big problem.

The freshness that radiated from him flooded your senses gradually, looking too long at his neck and jaw...

He had such beautiful features and aquiline dirty blonde hair that it looked so soft. And those hands... those long fingers... no, no, no and no. You (your body) couldn't be heating up to Michael Gavey.

But it's been a while since some fun... and you were at a suggestive time of the month. Maybe... just maybe... It wasn't a bad idea. As you returned to sitting on the bed, specifically next to where his chair was, you analyzed him as he typed the references in the email. He was not bad looking, no, quite the opposite in fact.

He was handsome, really handsome. And you wanted him. You wanted Michael Gavey.

You wanted to fuck him.

Fuck that attitude.

But how? How would you approach that nervous nerd?

Your mind struggled to develop an effective approach. You didn't want to waste time, not with the heat that spread high between your legs. You just waited for him to send the damn email and close the laptop. "Do you want anything to drink?"

“I'm good. I think we ended up here, I'll try to finish my part quickly," he looked at the notebook that was on the pillow, which you anticipated to pick up and deliver it, standing up in a false farewell.

"Sure," and as soon as Michael got up with the notebook and laptop, you held his arms, gently removing the objects while placing them on your study table. "But I don't think you should go now," you used without a more seductive tone while holding his shoulders.

"What are you doing?" He asked still, tense, looking directly into your eyes.

“Are you dating someone?” You asked softly, getting closer, leaning your breasts against his chest.

"No, I'm not," he answered the obvious, but you wanted to hear the obvious with all the lyrics.

Stretching a short distance from his lips, you asked: "So can I kiss you?"

That same look seen earlier was present again, as if his mind worked hard to find a solution to the problem presented. His mouth opened minimally when he took a deep breath, this time his gaze fell on your lips. "Why do you want to kiss me?"

"Because I fucking want it."

And then you collided your lips with his in a demanding kiss that took a long time to be reciprocated, but when it was... oh boy. Michael held your waist and tried to keep up with your rhythm. He wasn’t so experienced, but his lips were soft and pleasant against yours, kissing you with so much enthusiasm that it made you dizzy.

It made you both dizzy.

He couldn't believe was happening — and that it was happening to you. You... gorgeous, sexy and intelligent. You with a nice and phenomenal ass, who he believed would never look at him twice. You, who kissed him on the tongue and moved his hands to your chest and ass and smoothed the back of his neck and massaged his shoulder. He'd never been kissed like that before. Had never touched a girl like that.

What the fuck was going on?

With the deepening of the kiss you felt a hardness to press against your belly, inhibiting a conscious smile while Michael struggled between apologizing or pretending that it was not happening. Fortunately, you didn't intend to let that be ignored. Your hand slid from the nape of his neck until it reached the increasing bulge, gently squeezing over his pants, making him moan against your lips. You squeezed again before breaking the kiss.

"I don’t wanna just kiss tonight."

Fuck. He couldn't believe what was going on.

He felt that he would cum right there if your hand kept rubbing his cock.

"Are you sure?" He asked uncertainty, still not convinced that you really wanted him that way. It was so fucking sudden, one minute he was collecting his things to leave and the next he was kissing you.

"All the certainty in the world, and you?" You sang against his lips.

"I-" that would be fucking embarrassing, you would laugh at him, "I want to but- I never-"

Oh. It wasn’t different from what you expected.

"It's okay, seriously, there's no reason to worry about it."

“... are you fucking me or something?” He asked weakly, looking at your beautiful face with lust, seriousness and insecurity. You've never seen him so vulnerable.

"Of course not, I want you Michael, I want that, but if you feel you're not comfortable we don't n-"

"I want that."

“Are you sure?”

“I'm fucking sure.”

He felt a chain of confidence run through his body and leaned over to kiss you. You wasted no time unbuttoning his shirt, groping his newly exposed soft torso. Michael almost sighed when receiving your soft touch, pulling the blouse out of your body and coming across exposed and already hardened breasts.

Fuck.

He almost moaned. They were the first tits he saw in person, it was more than exciting. He held them immediately, massaging, squeezing, experiencing...

"Not like that," you held his hands gently.

"Sorry, I never-"

“It's okay.”

Your hands landed on the belt and unbuttoned it, continuing to unbutton the pants that were urgently removed by him while you discarded your own and hovered only in panties, watching him get rid of the shoes as well. Michael had little time to get used to your half-naked figure, since with a mischievous smile, you slowly lowered your panties and left it accumulated on the floor. He felt his neck and face burn and cock pulse with your vision, contemplating for too long.

You touched him over his black underwear, feeling him hard and big, making him moan.

"I won't last long if you keep fucking touching me like that," he took a deep breath, closing his eyes.

"So why haven't you taken that off yet?" You shook his head, teasing him, watching him almost tear off his underwear and show off his cock in all splendor. He was packing, bigger than you expected, all pink, beautiful and anxious. “You have such a nice body,” you kissed him lazily, anticipation thrumming through you.

Michael felt himself in the clouds with your body pressed to his without any layer of fabric, but a big wave of anxiety hit him when you walked away to get a condom before gently guiding him to bed. “Relax, let me take control,” no foreplay would be necessary when you were already wet enough to receive it. "Take a deep breath and calm down, it's quite intense, try to be distracted by something else," you adjusted the condom to its length and saw it almost shake. That boy wouldn't last a minute.

He followed your instructions and concentrated as much as possible not to cum fast, holding firmly on your hips but nothing prepared him for your wet and hot folds.

Fuck, not even the best handjobs compare to your tight pussy going down on his cock. He moaned loudly when you rested against his groin, staring at where your bodies connected.

You bit your lips and closed your eyes, feeling deliciously full. He was bigger than average and had a delicious thickness that you would love to squeeze on your walls just to see him have a spasm, but I knew it would be too much for the beginning.

"When you want me to move, just say it."

Oh no, no! He was sure he would end up there even if you moved. "Don't move yet," he replied quickly, "Fuck," he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

It was terribly satisfying to see him all vulnerable and red, without the usual arrogance and weirdness, and even better to have him inside you (albeit for a short time presumably). He thought about all the things he heard about sex all his life in those long seconds, filtering out what seemed more credible and useful. Think of something less sexy. It was fucking hard.

“Move.”

“Enjoy baby,” you slid gently up, resting your hands on his chest as you started an experimental and slow rhythm. “Mmm.”

So damn good.

Your juices made the movements easy and smooth, leaving him breathless whenever he was balls deep. The friction generated by the constancy of the movements made you two moan and the tightness on your waist increased. He was a fucking vision with disheveled hair, half-open mouth and crooked glasses, all docile while he was fucked dumb. The feeling of power over such an intelligent man was as exciting as sex, causing a presumptuous smile on your lips when you leaned over to kiss his milky neck, rubbing your body against his.

“Are you enjoying it?” You purred against his skin, kissing him superficially on the lips.

He was in the fucking clouds. And you knew that. Little shit.

He wrapped your body to move his hips against yours. He couldn't hold it anymore, he needed to cum. "I won't last long."

“It's okay, baby.”

Your tits jumped when you started riding it hard at a terrifying pace. He closed his eyes and felt his balls weigh every time you sat on his cock, holding your waist, your tits, your ass, everything you could while you allowed it.

"Fuck- I'm-" he moaned loudly and released his load on the condom, feeling a mind-blowing pleasure that paralyzed his senses and one pulled into a supermassive black hole. A thin layer of sweat covered his body, illuminating the reddish tone that covered it.

So beautiful.

Coming out of the top, you lay comfortably next to him, supporting a part of your peso on his chest while watching him struggling to stabilize his breathing. He still couldn't believe that it had finally happened, and especially with a girl like you.

“Are you here?” You asked after a while with a fun smile, although warm between his legs. He didn't know if he was, but he replied with a panting 'yes'. "Well, because we're not done yet."

What?

“What?” He asked.

“Sex is a two-way street baby, and I haven't come yet,” you purred softly against his ear, biting the lobe.

"I don't know when I'm going to get hard again," he confessed. Well, his brain was working again.

"You don't have these long fingers for nothing, Michael, and if you want it again you'll fuck me with them."

As much as he was affected by a sudden one, his sharp senses were awakened in the implication of a next time. He faithfully believed that hard work would lead him to maximum success in his life, he could not imagine otherwise in this situation. "How should I do that?"

You purred, taking his right hand and guiding it to your wet center. "Always start here if you want to make a girl cum," you circled your bud with his fingers, enjoying the delicious feeling, showing him the place before going down to your entrance. "Start with one finger, then add another."

He followed your instructions firmly, sticking a long finger and pumping slowly. "Not so slow," you bit your lower lip, somewhat impatiently waiting for the development of a slow orgasm. You needed to cum hard. Taking his hand, you held your middle finger and attached it to your index finger. “Faster.”

And although inexperienced and a little strong sometimes, his fingers felt fucking good on your walls, reaching the sweet point that made your feet's fingers curl. “Keep going, mm.”

"Can I kiss you?"

“Yes.”

Michael collided his lips on yours in a kiss full of tongue and teeth, staying on top while he fucked you with his fingers. He was hypnotized by the sounds you were making, by the warmth of your body, by the taste of your mouth...

“I'm close!”

You couldn't believe that that sleeky nerd of all people was giving you such pleasure.

Michael got up abruptly and used the hand that held his weight to circle your clitoris, making your eyes close with the construction of an abrasive orgasm. He pumped faster, watching your body squirm and your back arch.

“Michael- I'm gonna-" your whole body trembled when the coil burst and a hot pleasure flooded your senses, holding the sheets and closing your legs with the strong spasms.

It was the hottest thing he'd ever seen in his life. And he did that. He made you cum. Michael was still very stunned with everything that happened, watching your figure before being pulled to lie next to you. You rested your head on his chest with a satisfied and tired smile, giving light kisses on his skin, relaxed with the post-orgasm fog.

“Did you like it?” You asked to break the ice.

"You've already asked better questions," he joked with a hoarse laugh, "Of course I fucking liked it."

“Mmm, I like to make sure,” you replied, facing his beautiful blue eyes behind the slightly blurred lenses.

Having your body so close (and with everything that happened) Michael felt his cock contract and a new electric current run through his body. "So there's going to be a next time?"

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taglists

general: @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @kravitzwhore @partypoison00

ewanverse: @aemonds-fire @partypoison00 @schniiipsel @fan-goddess @arcielee

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thank you smm @solisarium for the help with this ❤️

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. 🔞 Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors:)

Twelve Hours: You have twelve hours to make Jeon Jungkook fall in love with you. He's about to get married. You're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. Long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. Nothing has changed and, yet, everything has. https://www.tumblr.com/whatifyoulivelikethat/658367669822799872/twelve-hours-m-jjk-then

Peppermint Gum: It’s impossible to fall in love when you’re already in love. And Jeon Jungkook was in love. Helplessly. But what could he do? Time passed. The world became tasteless to his eyes. All he could do was hold onto the crisp and intense color of those memories, remember her words, and wonder where she was now. Savor, and burst forth. https://whatifyoulivelikethat.tumblr.com/post/736474916962041856/peppermint-gum-m-jjk-savor

Trouble: Jungkook’s dick is so good and your pussy is so heavenly that faith in humanity is restored. https://www.tumblr.com/runpopduo/742026556605710336

Holidating: In life, there are certain things that go together, two parts that make up a whole. The sun in the sky, grandmothers and cheek kisses, chocolate when you’re sad—and you and Jeon Jungkook.  Best friends since childhood, there’s never been one without the other. You’ve always existed this way, caught in each other’s orbit. Parallel lines that run side by side. But what happens when those lines finally collide? https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/639368154320175104/holidating

Never Let You Go: You do things without thought, making impulse decisions that’d make Freud proud.  Sometimes they pay off, sometimes they don’t. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/635682885375066112/never-let-you-go

Stay Gold: Having a content creator boyfriend is fun. Usually. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/639898894274363392/stay-gold

We Are All Dreamers: Jeon Jungkook is a cocky bastard. Not only does he have the pride and insolence twice the size of his head, but he also has an anger that could open up the door to hell on itself. As he continues to refuse to believe on the soulmate system, he keeps on unknowingly hurting you, punishing you for what the universe has thrown at him in the past. Would he change his ways as he finally meets you? Or would you run away, giving him the exit that he had seemed to desire so greatly? https://yoonia.tumblr.com/post/621994412536414208/we-are-all-dreamers-m

On Mute: You always assumed your handsome coworker was down to fuck anyone in the office except for you. He always assumed you weren’t interested in a guy like him. And both of you were content with never admitting your feelings… until he unknowingly confides in you in the realms of a certain tactical FPS game. https://yoon-kooks.tumblr.com/post/703852451295559680/on-mute-jjk

Bad Boy Good Thing: A series of drabbles where you’re confused and Jungkook’s confusing. https://yoonpobs.tumblr.com/post/650150156327583744/bad-boy-good-thing

Coffee & Cream:  Jungkook isn’t usually a risk taker– in fact, he’s the safest guy in the room. But you’re about to change that https://yoontopia.tumblr.com/post/637794938973732864/coffee-cream-jjk

[homunculus-argument]

I think it's always supremely funny when something has a character who's distinctly more Genre than everyone else in the setting - like everyone else is living in the kind of "everyone shits themselves when they die" kind of miserably drab Game of Thrones kind of low fantasy setting but there's just this one fucking guy on an epic high fantasy quest because he saw a bird do something weird and This Was An Omen That He Must Embark On This Journey, while everyone else is like "dude why do you talk like that."

Even better if it isn't even the same genre as everyone else. Just living in their own world that's clearly internally consistent but incomprehensible to anyone else. Funnier yet, when once it has been firmly established that this dude just lives like this, it's dramatically revealed that there's two of them, literally just one other person who's exactly like this, too.

Like the story is just some normal family slice of life comedy, except one of the dads is just Like That. And then some completely bat shit insane weirdo shows up out of nowhere trying to fight this guy, and the dad just responds in the exact same style of dramatic right back, with no hesitation. Nobody but his wife has any idea what the hell is going on, and she wishes it was not going on. Their kids ask their dad what the hell that was about, who is this guy.

And he just goes "Forgive me for keeping this from you. I can see now that my attempts to keep the shadows of my past a secret from you, in order to protect you, have been foolish. I should have prepared you for this day. The consequences of the failures of my youth. You see, I was not always the man that you know now as your father."

(His wife chimes in from the other room, saying "don't listen to him, kids. He's literally always been like that.")

And this other weird guy barges in like "Brace yourself, villain! I have come for my vengeance! For years I have sought you, tracked you like a beast as you have fled like an animal, but now I have cornered you here. You, traitor who were once my brother, who robbed me of the life that should have been rightfully mine!"

And without skipping a beat the dad turns to him like "You fool! Still you are blinded by your own insolent pride! It was not I who schemed or sought your downfall, but it was your own arrogance that brought you down!" And their battle continues while this guy's family calmly watches from the side.

And the mom explains that yeah, they used to know each other in college. Both of them were already like that when they met, and they were best buds at the time, almost all the way through. No, they didn't start fighting over her. Nobody else but them even knows what this beef is about. And all the while this background story is being explained, they're watching two middle-aged dudes engaged in combat with shitty mall katanas in a grocery store parking lot.

[yawnderu]

Daddy's girl - Vladimir Makarov x Reader

The daddy issues are hitting hard today. ^_^

CW: face slapping, death threats, degrading words, hurt/comfort... as comforting a terrorist can be. Reader isn't Makarov's daughter.

''You didn't come to my graduation.'' You stumble into his office without knocking, the liquid courage in your blood giving you the guts you never even knew you had.

''My little princess.'' His tone is full of sarcasm, brown eyes sizing you up as he looks up from the paperwork sprawled on his desk. He tilts his head slightly as you say nothing.

''How kind of you to grace me with your presence. Of course, I wasn't able to attend your graduation... I have important duties as a leader.'' He was making a show out of it, voice dripping pure disdain as he got up from his chair, walking over to you with his hands clasped behind his back. Your silence makes the corners of his mouth tilt up.

''Besides, I've never been much of a family man.'' Despite knowing better, the alcohol is poisoning your brain, taking full control of your tongue.

''Go fuck yourself.'' The words are spoken with pure hatred, years of suppressed words due to only being acknowledged with condescending words finally coming out.

''I'm shocked, my dear.'' There's a smirk on his face at your bold words, clearly amused by your courage. Oh, how his hands are aching to hurt.

''You know better than to speak to me like that. Maybe I should teach you a lesson in respect again.'' He leans down slightly, one hand firmly holding your jaw as he stares down at you with cold, piercing eyes. You hold your ground, arms crossed over your chest while you stare up at him stubbornly. In the past, you'd be begging and trying to run away, yet you stand tall and proud in pure defiance. Just this once.

''I've given you everything you could ever want, and this is the thanks I get for it?'' He's looming over you like a predator ready to pounce on its prey, eyes burning with resentment and anger you have seen many times before.

''You are nothing without me.'' With a swift, jerky motion, the hand grasping your jaw lets go just to reach out and slap you across the face, the sound of his hand connecting with your skin echoing throughout the room. Your eyes close out of reflex, trying your best not to fall down despite how dizzy the hard slap and the alcohol are making you. You take a few seconds to recover, looking up at him with nothing but disdain, mirroring his own expression.

''You've given me everything but your love.'' Makarov's expression hardens even further, disgust mixing in with the anger.

''Love? What do you know about love? You're a naive little girl who has never in her life faced the reality of this world. You think I'm so cruel, so heartless, but I've made more sacrifices than you could ever imagine.'' His Russian accent got more prominent the more annoyed he got, making his words sound even harsher. He grabbed you by the arm, spinning you around and forcing you to face the window that looked out into the city skyline.

''Your mother's love didn't stop her from dying when she gave birth to you. You're lucky I took you under my wing and gave you a life of luxury.'' You scoffed at his comment, staying quiet for now as you held back tears.

''I tolerated your insolence because I thought that with time, you'd respect me... I see now that I failed to raise you properly.'' He pulled out his revolver, pressing the muzzle against your temple. There was barely any emotion in his face, simply cold, calculated indifference.

''That can be fixed easily.'' He presses the gun harder against your head, and all you can do is hold back tears. You bite the inside of your cheek softly, waiting for a ''bang'' that doesn't come yet.

''Go ahead, pap.'' Your stubborn mouth lashes out before you can even think about it, trying your best to give him a smile despite the way your eyes are burning with tears.

''Free me from this life of death and war you gave me.'' Makarov frowns, finger tensing on the trigger as he looks down at you. He would never admit it, but the unexpected response caught him off-guard.

''I've been too soft on you.'' He pulls back the hammer, metal clicking loudly.

''Quite the opposite, but whatever.'' There was an icy calm in his gaze as he looked down at the younger girl.

''Do you know what your problem is? You're ungrateful. More stubborn than a mule and twice as bratty. All you've ever done is take, take, take.'' His finger tightens on the trigger, patience wearing thin by the second. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes, to see the tears finally roll down her cheeks, to hear her beg for her life, yet she wasn't giving him the satisfaction.

''That's my problem?'' You ask sarcastically, turning your head slightly to look up at him, gun now held against your forehead as you lean closer to him, challenging him even further. ''I've done nothing but dedicating my time and life to you and the Inner Circle.''

Makarov takes a step back, lowering his gun by his side before almost hesitantly putting it back in its holster. He looks you up and down with pure disdain, blood boiling inside his throbbing veins.

''It's your attitude that irks me, not whatever you think you've done for me and the Inner Circle. You're underserving of the respect that comes with your position, ungrateful for the life I've given you, you're living proof of all my failures. Do you understand, child?'' He lets go of your arm, hand twitching to get the gun back, but he ignores it for now. He sighs heavily, walking over to his desk and pulling a bottle of vodka out of a drawer, gloved hands opening the bottle and taking a long, long swig. He's way too sober to deal with you.

''Why are you even drunk at 9:00AM?'' He asks softly, trying his best not to grow gray hairs at the stress your mere presence causes him.

''I've been up all night. Graduation party with some friends and the after.'' You speak just as softly, looking out the window for a while before finally turning back to him, hands clasped behind your back politely, a fake, calm expression on your face despite the turmoil in your head. He simply nods his head, elbows leaning on the lavish desk while taking another swig of the vodka.

''No chaser?'' You try to bring some humor to the situation, all anger gone as you now simply try to please him, ignoring your own emotional needs like usual. To your surprise, he lets out a soft amused chuckle.

''No chaser.'' He confirms, taking a deep breath before pulling two glasses out, filling them up before holding one your way.

''You better not disappoint me.'' The words lack their usual venom, though he's still clearly not happy with you. He knocks back his glass, filling it again without waiting for you. You hesitantly reach for the glass, holding your breath as you knock it back as well, making a face once the alcohol burns your throat and warms up your stomach.

''Ugh.'' Is all you can say, sitting in a chair in front of his desk as he fills up your glass again.

''Come on, try not to embarrass yourself.'' He's not being hostile for once. He almost sounds teasing as he says that, keeping eye contact while he takes his shot without even grimacing or making a face, clearly handling alcohol much better than you.

''You're trying to get me drunk for fun.'' Yet you still grab the glass and knock it back, making another face of pure disgust at the burn of pure vodka he seems to be drinking so easily.

''It certainly looks like it's working.'' He says with a small teasing tone, gesturing towards your slightly unfocused gaze.

''It is.'' Your voice is slightly slurred, the mix of the alcohol you drank earlier, the hard liquor and the lack of sleep hitting you like a fucking train, making you more tired by the second. You rest your head on the desk, eyes closing as you hear Makarov let out an amused chuckle as he gets up from his chair.

''Come here.'' He speaks with surprising softness, and you can feel him lifting you up with care, bringing your barely conscious body to his much bigger chair as he sits down, holding you close on his lap. One of his hands is on your lower back, safely securing your body, while the other one is running up and down the length of your hair.

''Get some sleep.'' He whispers softly and he doesn't have to repeat himself twice. Before you're fully gone, you can feel his lips plant a small kiss on the top of your head. Just this once, he'll allow himself to be weak.

[seospicybin]

DON'T THEY KNOW IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD?

PART I

Lee know x reader. (s,a)

Chapters: Part II

Synopsis: Making a contact with an ancient object, you meet a demon who takes form of the man you desired and forces you to commit terrible acts to stop the world from ending. (14k words)

Author's note: I indulge myself with a spooky fic and demon Minho in it. Read with cautions and enjoy x

Based on an episode of Black Mirror. Content warnings: Violence, gore, mentions of abuse, assaults and graphic imagery. Reader's discretion is advised!

"Carving is easy. You just go down to the skin and stop." - Michelangelo

-

Oh, no! You're doing it again.

When you think you're talking in your head, you're actually talking loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. It's even worse that your voice is echoing in the big chamber of the empty gallery.

They seem to not care about it or pretend to because Kim has just walked in to check everyone's work. She's your friend from art school turns an art dealer and she has a way to control everyone around her.

"I told you to let us do it for you," she says, clicking her tongue at you and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

The gallery is having some of your pieces of art displayed for the exhibition tonight and you want to make sure that they're presented the way you envisioned it.

You carefully step down the ladder and stand next to Kim, looking at the sculpture you made of a man holding an arrow with an apple stuck at the end of the arrow.

You hear Kim dreamily sigh then look at you, "You're going to sell..." She pauses to emphasize the word she's going to say next, "Big!"

Money isn't the reason why you create these sculptures but you need it in order to keep being able to do this. You have no idea how expensive a block of stone is!

The reason why you made these sculptures is because this is what you love doing: envision your imagination onto a block of stone and you carve it to bring it to life.

Why did you choose stone as the medium? Because they're durable, stubborn yet resilient. It takes time to create one sculpture but once you've seen the result, you forget about the hard work behind it.

Kim puts her hand on your shoulder and snaps you out of your reverie, "Stop worrying about your sculptures," she says.

She turns you around to force you to face her and puts her other hand on your shoulder, "Go home. Get dressed. Put some color on those cheeks. Have a pre-party with a glass of wine or two."

Dressing up sounds like a lot of work, you'd rather stay in your dungarees and striped top, "Can I just wear these?"

It's like she has just heard someone dies, Kim's hand flies to her temple and screws her eyes shut for a second, "Trust me when I say that the people coming tonight wouldn't expect the artist behind these magnificent sculptures to look like Chucky," she says with a sneering smile.

She squeezes your shoulder and tilts her head to the side, "And that's me putting it the nicest way possible because you're my friend."

It's still a mystery how you ended up friends with someone like Kim, she's the opposite of what you are, an extrovert, a tolerable narcissist, she likes attention and is forthright to the point it's borderline insolent. You're so used to her audacious way of treating you and the blunt words that come out of her red-lipped mouth.

She's been like this even before you met her and you are the friend who likes to suffer in silence, you think that's why you became friends. Nevertheless, Kim treats you better than she treats anyone else for that matter.

That explains why the gallery staff are so afraid of her. It's always best to get out of her way unless she wants you to be there. You pick up your bag from the floor along with your jacket.

"I'll go then," you meekly say.

She grabs your elbow before leaving, "Go home," she says with a glare.

"Home. Not your studio," she says again, making it clear to you.

She knows you well enough to know that you like spending your days in your studio instead of your apartment. You sling the strap of your bag on one shoulder, "Go home. Get dressed. Come to the exhibition late," you repeat the things she wanted you to do.

Kim smiles and gently cups your cheek, "Good girl. Now go!"

Once you get home though, you spend hours just sitting in the emptiness that lingers in your apartment that is too big for one person to live in it.

This is why you prefer to stay in your studio, you like to keep your head occupied rather than being alone with your thoughts like this.

And your thoughts, they're mostly of unkind things and...

Your phone rings from inside your bag and steers your mind back to your head. Without having to look at it, you can tell who it is. There are no other people who call you daily except, well, if it's an emergency call.

"Are you getting ready yet?" Kim goes straight to the point.

"Uh... yeah, I just showered, I—" you jolt awake from lying down on the sofa.

"I'm having problems picking what to wear," you add a laugh in the hope of sounding convincing.

There's a wave of laughter from her end of the phone call before Kim talks to the phone, "Stop joking. Do you like it?"

You get completely confused because she suddenly compliments herself out of the blue, "Huh? What?"

You can hear her dramatic, low sigh and you can imagine her subtle eye roll as she's doing it, "The dress. The one I hung in your closet," she tells you.

You quietly trudge your way to the closet and open it to find the said dress.

"Yes, it's beautiful!" You hurriedly say, not wanting to let her get suspicious as she waits for a response.

"Aren't you lucky to have me as your friend?" she exclaims, sounding so confident with her words.

"I am the luckiest," you tell her as you observe the dress and already regretting hastily approving the dress as you notice it has a plunging neckline.

"I know," she brags and her smirk flashes through your head.

In the background, you hear something is calling her and Kim answers with a shout, "I'm coming."

She dramatically sighs before talking to you, "Work is calling. I'll see you tonight, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, see you tonight!" You're more than relieved to end the phone call with her.

It's too early to celebrate as she hasn't ended the call yet and she always ends the call first. You have an inkling that she'll call your name.

Indeed, she is.

"Hey, don't forget to take your meds, okay?" She says.

That's probably the only yet the most endearing thing she does to you and what makes her your friend.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," you tell her.

It's time to fully assess the dress and you're in awe of how much skin you'll show if you're wearing this. Of course, you have the option not to wear but it all comes down to wearing the dress or facing Kim's wrath.

The former seems to be the safer choice and also because you're not a confrontational person, you like to avoid conflict.

Not wearing the dress means you're going straight into conflict and you don't want that.

With a defeated spirit, you put the dress on even though you have no idea how to move in such a tight dress. You summon up your below-average make-up skill for tonight and put some colors on you.

Not forgetting Kim's words, you take your medicine and wash it down with a long gulp of water. You give yourself a few minutes as you wait for the medicine to work while you sit on the couch holding a glass of water in both hands, staring out at the view from your apartment.

Kim insisted you take this apartment when you're okay with living in the studio. Not only that it's too expensive of a place to live on your own but a big place only makes you inexplicably lonely.

However, after seeing the view from up here, you feel like you're not part of this world in the most humbling way. Seeing the city and the buildings look like pieces of block makes you realize that they don't matter that much. They're all just... material things.

You sigh as you get hit by a wave of melancholia and you take it that the medicine is working.

-

Uncomfortable walking out of your apartment in your dress, you put on a coat as you leave the apartment with the sounds of your heels clicking against the floor.

The owner of the building passed away yesterday, there are so many guests visiting the penthouse where he lived. The first elevator that arrives on your floor is crowded so you skip on getting on that one. You patiently wait for the next one to arrive while clutching your purse in front of you.

A minute later, the other elevator arrives and the doors slide open, you see there's someone else inside. You believe he's been from the penthouse from how he dressed in all black.

You look down to avoid eye contact and step inside, standing at the back of the limited space while trying not to look at the man's face on the reflection from the mirror that walled the elevator.

Arrived in the main lobby, the elevator dings open and the man doesn't waste time but walks out with hands shoved inside his coat pocket.

You fix your coat before stepping out and you feel your feet kicking on something, it's clattering across the floor. You bend down to pick it up, something that you guess is a pocket watch.

Your first thought is that it belongs to the man and you look around to see if he's still around to give it to him, but he's nowhere. It's as if he's gone with the wind.

"Miss, your driver has been waiting outside!" The concierge informs you from behind his desk the second he sees you.

"Yes. I'm coming!" You hurriedly shove the pocket watch inside your purse.

As Kim instructed, you come late to the exhibition and it's already filled with people dressed so impeccably for the occasion. You take a deep breath before entering the scene that is the least you wanted to be.

You take your coat off and hand it to the girl handling the coat check, along with your purse. You feel naked even though you're not, but it's not just the dress, being in the crowd is not your forte.

The first thing to do in a situation like this is to find Kim. You avoid making contact with everyone you're walking past as you look for her in the crowd. It's not hard to spot her when she's always the center of attention anywhere she is.

"There she is!" She gasps the moment she sees you're coming her way.

She puts away her champagne flute and walks up to you, embracing you like the trophy you are, "My rising star!"

Kim puts her hand on the small of your back and smiles brightly while discreetly judging your look.

"Isn't she amazing?" She brags you off to the group of people she's talking to.

You can only sheepishly smile next to her and avoid everyone's eyes.

"She is the artist behind those magnificent sculptures," she adds with that saccharine smile of hers.

They're starting to throw praises at you and you can hear all of them talking at once, making you more uncomfortable staying in there.

You take a step back but Kim's hand does not allow you to escape, she glances at you and takes the cue.

"Excuse us," Kim says to everyone, "Enjoy the exhibition!"

Kim steers you away and pulls you aside, before you can comment on her choice of dress, she snatches the chance from you.

"You could've picked nicker shoes," she whispers through her gritted teeth at you.

You automatically look down to see your heeled shoes which you think match the dress you're wearing.

"I–I think it's—"

She cuts through your words, not giving you a chance to explain. She grabs you by the elbow, "We have no time to change it," she says, then steers you somewhere.

As Kim continues to brag you around like you're the art piece instead of the artist, you start to get that feeling that she's using you.

As a matter of fact, she used you to propel her career as an art dealer. Ever since you agreed to let her sell your art for you, her career took off.

You're more than happy to be of help but she does everything extra and she's been taking you to meet a lot of people that their faces started to blur and it's getting overwhelming that you need to get out of it.

"I'll just—" You barely finish your sentence when you walk away and find somewhere to gain some composure.

You keep walking until you find the restroom and push yourself inside, lock yourself in one of the stalls just sit on the toilet, and just breathe.

You hear the ruckus outside the stall and someone probably needs to use the toilet, you reluctantly get up to start heading outside.

The plan to leave unnoticed comes to a failure when Kim is already there right outside the restroom, "Where have you been?"

You take a deep breath to calm yourself and try to explain, "Kim, I don't think I can do this anymore. I—"

Then again, she never let you finish your sentence, "One more. I need you to meet your new potential buyer."

You grip the side of your dress and you feel like tearing it apart, "No, Kim. You know how I do with people, I don't— I just want to go home," you desperately tell her just to let you go when you're an adult and can do whatever you want.

Kim lets out an exaggerated huff and sends her fringe flying off her forehead, crossing her arms in front of her and you know what's coming for you.

"You think I'm doing this for me?" She asks.

Actually, yes. The initial plan is to sell your art but in the end, she makes it all about her.

"I'm doing it for you!" She says, turning it all on to you. She always finds a way to turn it all on to you, making you feel guilty and defeated.

Talking back to her means that you're saying yes to war and you don't want to fight a losing fight. You fist the fabric of your dress trying to suppress the anger brewing inside you.

"Just one more person," you meekly say.

Her face softens at the sign that you're once again giving her the power, "That's right. Just one more and I'll let you go."

You finally let go of your dress and you wipe your sweaty palm down the back of your dress as she guides you back to the gallery.

"All you have to do is stand next to me, smiling and explaining your art to people," Kim instructed like that wasn't what you've been doing all night.

Except that she forgot that you need to fake all of that.

Kim takes you to one of your sculpture displays and three people in suits have been waiting, talking with drinks in their hands.

"Hello, gentlemen," Kim says with an extra polite voice that makes you shudder at how fake she sounded.

"Heard you're looking for the amazing artist behind these beautiful sculptures?" She continues, presenting you like you're the one who's about to get sold, not the sculpture.

One of the three seems to be the one in charge with a stance that oozes confidence and power, a smirk that only someone who grew up with a silver spoon stuck to his mouth can master. He looks years older than you but his face shows no fine lines but that's just because he never had to frown in his life.

"I adore your art so much," he praises with a teeth-baring smile.

Kim turns at you and introduces him, "This is Nicholas de Ville from the de Ville family."

The way she enunciated his last name only means that this person holds importance and she expects you to impress him.

He holds his hand out next with an expensive, shining wristwatch decorated his wrist, "I'm Nicholas de Ville. You can call me Nick."

He may seem nice and polite because all privileged people learn manners but they only apply that lesson in real life occasionally.

You take his hand or else Kim will force you to do it. You shake his hand for a while and accidentally meet his gaze as you try to take your hand back.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. de Ville!" You say as politely as you can.

"Nick, please!" He insists with a smile.

"And the pleasure is all mine." He adds with a smile that says so many things and they send a chill down your spine.

Kim lets go of her hand and lightly touches you on your arm, "Mr. de Ville wants to know more about your sculptures so..." she quietly pushes you his way.

Nick courteously laughs and says, "Would you be kind enough to give me the tour?"

You consider it for a moment but seeing Kim's glare, you know you have no option.

"Yes, sure, I would love to," you answer with a strained smile.

"Great! Please, lead the way!" Nick says.

When you think the other two are coming with you, it's just you and Nick, walking through your sculptures and you explain each one without trying to bore him like Kim has taught you a few times.

"... it's inspired by the Greek mythology. The apple in the arrow means that when it comes to love, we know no rules, we follow our desires—"

Nick is too busy looking at you instead of looking at the sculpture you're tirelessly explaining to him. Guessing that he isn't interested, you stop talking altogether.

"I'm sorry if I'm rambling," you sheepishly say to him and keep looking at the sculpture.

"No, no, that's okay," Nick says with a smile and takes a stand close to you, also looking at the sculpture.

"Your art is as beautiful as you," he says.

You're getting uncomfortable at how close he is with his elbow brushing yours. You nervously swallow air and lowly mutter, "Thank you."

Nick takes it the wrong way. He takes it that you're replying to his flirtation when you thought he was earnestly complimenting you, he starts to place his hand on your shoulder.

You reflexively shrug his hand away but that only sends his hand down to your back where he can touch your exposed skin. As his fingers make contact with your skin, you take a step back until his hand drops.

"I'm sorry," you regret apologizing for something that you didn't do wrong.

He looks at you as if he didn't just do something wrong or touch you without your consent. You feel repulsed by yourself and take another step back, "I'm sorry, I just need to—"

You keep walking away, away and never looking back.

-

The musty smell and dust that hang in the air welcome you to the studio.

You take your dress off the first thing you do when you get there and put on any clothes you can find in the dresser, a black T-shirt and worn-out jeans.

You put your earrings inside your purse and the pocket watch you collected earlier spills out of it, falling onto the couch.

You're intrigued to see inside the locket to get a hint on who the owner is, you're trying so hard to open it with the strength you have but it won't budge.

Exhausted from trying to open the antique-looking object, you give up and walk over to the sculpture you're working on. You put the pocket watch down on the table next to your carving tools, then pick up a chisel and a hammer.

For every hit of the hammer, you feel like unleashing something that makes you feel lighter and lighter and makes you hit the chisel harder and harder.

You eventually get exhausted and take a step back, leaning against the table while looking at the unshapen block of stone in front of you.

You grope around for a bottle of water and take a sip, putting it down as you wipe your mouth after. Your fingers nudge something as you place your hand on the table, it's the pocket watch blinking under the fluorescent light.

It seems to be calling for you, inviting you to try and uncover the mystery inside.

Looking at the small chisel next to it, you decide to give it another try by prying it open with the chisel. You slip the sharp end in the crack and use your strength to push it open only for the chisel to slide to the slide, cutting the side of your finger.

You drop the pocket watch as blood drops from the wound onto the table. It's not the first time you injured yourself, you know what to do. You go to the bathroom, wash your finger under the running water then grab your first aid kit from the drawer.

After tending to your small injury, you decide to not continue working when you're angry. You take another sip of water and lie down on the couch.

With the quiet that hangs in the room, you slowly drift into sleep.

-

SEVEN DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD.

The darkness greets you even though you have opened your eyes.

Pretty sure you kept one of the lights on when you went to sleep but it's all dark now in the room, you can't see anything but lights that shine through the cracks of the blinds.

You slowly get up from the couch to turn the light on, carefully walking to where the switch is, and once you flip it, lights flood the room.

The first thing you see is the pocket watch that is now open, you walk over to the table and pick it up to see inside that it's just a normal watch but it doesn't have numbers on it like all watches have.

You close it and see that your blood tainted the lid, this time, you can easily open it without a hassle.

"Hello!" A voice says.

Surprised to hear a voice coming from it, you drop it back onto the table. A moment later, you laugh it off, thinking that you misheard it considering that you just woke up from sleep.

With hesitancy, you pick the pocket watch again and look at it. Your thumb wipes the glass cover of the watch.

"Hi, Hello, I'm Minho. I'm a demon. You anointed this talisman with your blood so now we're bound together and—"

It speaks again and in response, you hurl it across the room until it hits the wall and drops onto the floor. You stand there, frozen on your feet, and wonder...

"Look, I've got a whole introductory speech here," the voice says again, coming from the part of the room where the pocket watch is.

For protection, you stand behind the open bathroom door and look at the pocket watch talking like a lunatic you are.

"We got to work together," it says.

You whimper hearing the voice again and you know that it's real, you're not making this up.

"Can you pick me up? Just pick me up. Come on, pick me up! Please?" It demands.

You take cautious steps to get to where the pocket watch lies on the floor.

"That's it, come on. Come on. I won't bite, I promise. Come on," it says as if it could see that you're coming to pick it up.

You swallow air and slowly bend down to pick it up from the floor, holding the pocket watch in your hand.

"As I was saying, you anointed the talisman and the rules are you've got to carry out three human sacrifices over the next seven days or else the world is going to end," it speaks again.

That's a lot of information to take in, not to mention that you're already having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that the pocket watch is talking to you.

"W-what?" You breathlessly say.

"If you want me to help you, you need to permit me entry."

Entry? That sounds like a bad idea. You just stand there and look at the pocket watch.

"Do you permit me entry? Yes or no?" It asks.

You shake your head and convince yourself that maybe it is not real.

"You have to say yes. Just say the word yes."

This is not real, you tell yourself out loud.

"Or let's do this, if you say yes, I'll... I'll stop, okay? I'll go away. You'll never hear from me again like this didn't happen." It persuades.

This is not real, this is not real, you chant in your head.

"Just say yes. Say it! Say it. Say it. Say it," it chants louder and it starts to fill your head, endlessly echoing.

You want it to stop so you impulsively say, "Yes."

The chants stop and the light flickers off, filling the room with darkness again. You whimper in fear as the pocket watch starts ticking in your hand.

You hear something deeply breathing a few feet from behind you. Curious, you spin around on your feet to see what it is, but you can't see it as it's lurking in the dark

However, you feel good about not being able to see it as fear creeping up inside you. You walk backward until you hit the wall behind you.

"Hey, come on, what's the matter?" The thing says as he takes a step forward, revealing his form to you.

The first thing you can make out the shape of that thing is two long horns on his head and two red eyes.

"All right. I lied about going away," he says in a deep, growling voice.

"My regular appearance is a bit too much for this realm."

He takes a step back and disappears in the dark. After a while, he takes another step to the front and has already taken a different shape. He looks normal now, as in looking like a human and not just any human, he looks like...

"I peered into your soul and apparently, this is a physical look you find appealing so..." he says with his arms spread out and a proud grin on his face.

"I don't know. Let me have a look!" He walks over to the mirror hung on the wall next to you.

He looks just like the sculpture you made, he has a sharp nose, chiseled jaws, and a hair color as intense as red roses go. You feel a mix of fear, awe, and confusion inside and it's getting overwhelming.

He leans close to the mirror and fixes his hair, "Wow!"

He seems impressed by how he looks, "Okay, isn't it what you want?" He turns to you.

Not getting an answer from you, he smiles, then says, "Uh... I mean, I can work with this."

You can only whimper with your mouth parted open, having a hard time wrapping your head around this situation. If it's happening or not, is he real or not, did you take your meds or not?

"You have to calm down so we can talk. Just talk to me!" Minho says, noticing that you're in a state of panic.

For a split second, you see his eyes flash like those belonging to feline creatures, gleaming like two marbles in the dark. You can feel cold sweat on your back as you slump down against the wall until you're sitting down on the floor.

He squats down in front of you and reaches for your head but you're quick to dodge away from it.

"You know, we have got to work together," he assures you.

It's not fair that he has a face that came from your imagination, it gives you a sense of familiarity that lures you to give in. However, you're not sure if you should be giving in to him.

You bang the back of your head to the wall, close your eyes, and repeatedly chant like it's a mantra, "You're not real. You're not real. You're not real."

But that is not enough to expel him. You open your eyes and still find him there. hand and a grin.

"Like I said, we have got to work together," he tells you again.

To give you the space to gather your thoughts, he walks around the studio while talking, "You marked the talisman. I don't make the rules."

With the lights turning back on, your eyes can easily follow his figure going around the room and looking at the sculpture you're working on.

His fingers slowly graze the rough surface of the carved stone and then he turns his head at you.

"Basically, we need to deliver three human sacrifices by next Friday or else it's..." he informs you again as if you haven't heard him the first time, "burning skies time."

You can feel anxiety rising inside you and your throat is closing up, making it harder for you to breathe.

"I sense you need convincing. Uh..." Minho walks up to you again and offers his hands to you.

You look at his hands for a moment before letting him help you to get up from the floor. You imagine your hands reaching for fragments of your imagination but instead of that, you feel his warm skin and firm grip as he hoists you up until you're standing on your feet.

If he's not real then how can you hold him?

He looks at you for a second to make sure you're okay then nods, "Let me show you how this will play out, alright? What will happen if we don't succeed," he says.

He walks to stand behind you and puts a hand in front of your eyes, "You ready?" He asks, his hot breath fans your neck as he speaks.

You're not sure what he's asking you to get ready for. You're not even sure if you're living the reality right now.

"Ready?" He asks again and once again his breath tickles your ear.

"3, 2, 1!"

As if you're being transported to another time and place, you open your eyes to see fire. It's the studio but it is on fire.

"This is what we're dealing with!" Minho says but you can't see him anywhere.

Fire is everywhere and you can feel the heat of it burning your skin and thick smoke filling your lungs that you start coughing, retching for air.

"Scorching wall of flame. It's agonizing death for all and so on," he continues.

You're flailing around to get air, walking to the window to open it only to find it hot to touch and you see that the whole city burns with you. You hear people screaming and sirens blaring everywhere but anywhere you look, it's just blazing fire.

You get away from the window until your back hits the table behind you and snaps you back to reality. Your head turns to the side and see Minho there, leaning against the table next to you.

"See, burning people they smell like... a burnt slice of meat on a griddle. It's better if you dissociate from it," he coyly says.

The images are so vivid that you feel the need to escape it, run away from here and so you do. You make a run to the door and he's already standing there next to it.

"If we're being honest, I don't want the apocalypse to come about any more than you do," he says.

You turn the knob and open it, running through the hall that leads to the exit door. Yet Minho is already there too.

"So let's stop it happening, you and me, mmh?" He says to you.

"All we have to do is deliver three sacrifices in seven days," he pops at the end of the hall.

You yank the door open and find him standing outside the door.

"It's only three killings," he says with a malicious laugh.

You rush to climb down the steps trying to escape what you know is like trying to get out of your head, it's inescapable.

"Animals don't count. You have to do humans," Minho informs at the base of the stairs.

You hurriedly unlock the iron gate and pull it open, running into the street in the middle of the night but of course, he's already there too.

"We can do like one kill a day but I'm good with one kill in two days and—"

You decide to go the other way from where Minho is standing and just aimlessly walking to avoid him. You know the neighborhood but not as good as when it's at night.

You walk down the stairs that lead to the riverbank, feeling more afraid of Minho instead of being mugged at night.

"That is fewer people than die falling off ladders in the same time period," Minho magically appears on the stairs, leaning against the railing.

"You'd be less lethal than a ladder," he adds with a sly smirk.

Your eyes are watery either from the cold wind or the anxiety taking over you. You sniffle before talking to him, "If I talk to you, you're real so I'm not going—"

You walk away before you can finish your sentence and walk along the riverbank, hugging yourself.

"Well, we started conversing already so that ship has sailed."

You can't believe that he's still following you when he knows exactly why you are trying to get away.

"No, it hasn't," you persist when you know he's right.

"Oh, oh yes it has," he talks back with a mocking tone.

You stop on your track and grunt in frustration, bending down to pick whatever is close to you.

Minho stops walking as well and says, "Don't worry. We're a team. I'm on your side, you know?"

He takes a step forward and keeps talking, ignoring that he's the reason why you're so frustrated.

"Let's just get kill number one under your belt, mmh?" He says in a softer tone.

You turn at him, your finger pointing right at his sharp nose and sternly tell him, "You can stop it because I am not killing anyone!"

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down and try to face him again, "You're not real so I don't why you keep talking to me," you snarl.

Minho coyly smiles at you and calmly responds, "That's what I'm here for. Moral support!"

He takes even a closer step to you and lowers his voice, "So, just hold on to that rock and hit someone with it!"

You get confused by what he said, "What rock?"

He eyes your hand on your side, "The one in your hand, love!" He answers.

You don't even realize you've been holding it until he pointed it out. The moment you know, you can feel its weight in your hand.

You gasp in surprise and glare at Minho, "I'm not doing what you say."

You hear footsteps coming from under the bridge and turn around to see a middle-aged man, "Are you alright, Miss?"

But Minho sees it as an opportunity, he stands and looms behind you, whispering evil things into your head.

"Mmmh... yeah," he hums in victory.

"He's perfect. No witnesses. Talk about beginner's luck," he whispers to you so close that it feels like he's living inside your head.

You feel his hand resting on your shoulder as he further persuades you, "Just one quick pop to the head and you're done."

For a second, you wanted to do what he said just so he could stop bothering you. However, the conscience in you is talking you out of it.

You walk toward the man and try to seek help from him, "Please, make him stop!" You say, gesturing to Minho who's standing right next to you.

The man looks confused by what you said and asks, "Make who stop?"

Disoriented by what's real or not, you keep looking back at Minho, then at the man, getting pushed to where you hit your limit.

The man walks up to you, feeling more concerned for you that he asks again, "Is everything alright?"

The relentless demon he is, Minho stands close next to you and whispers, "Would it help if I told you I can see into this man's soul and he absolutely deserves to die?"

This time you know it's his way to get what he wants, to get you to do the deed. You look away and hastily shout, "Shut up!"

Yet Minho keeps talking about the man as he's giving you a stare, one that you're way too familiar with, and convinces you that he thinks you're crazy.

"He has a wife and a daughter, you want to know what he does to them?" Minho's words hold intense hatred in them like you can feel the bitterness of it on your tongue.

You look at him to see if he's just tricking you to kill the man, "Don't trust me? Well, get a load of this!"

Minho covers your eyes with his hand again and this time, images of the man abusing his wife and daughter over and over again that you can't bear to watch anymore.

He snaps you back to reality again and says, "You'll save them both from years of pain, shame, and guilt."

Fueled by the rage from what you've seen through Minho's vision, you launch yourself at the man and hit him hard on the head, sending him tumbling to the side and into the river.

You stand there watching his body sinking into the water until the air stops bubbling to the surface of water and that's when you're certain that he's dead.

The man is dead.

Despite the shock, you manage to walk away while still carrying the rock in your hand, and once you realize you've been holding to it long enough. You throw it into the river then break into a run back to the studio.

You vomit everything into the toilet bowl once you're back in the studio, retching nothing but saliva and air.

Minho is standing at the doorway of the bathroom as he says, "It takes some used to but a couple more of that and I'll be out of your hair," he says.

You flush the toilet and sit on the bathroom floor, looking at him with teary eyes and the shock that hasn't left your body yet.

He pulls out the pocket watch and shows you that the Roman number written inside has gone one line, "See? One line has gone which means one sacrifice registered. Two to go."

You get up from the floor and drag yourself to the couch, feeling so drained by whatever has driven you to do unimaginable things, one that you thought you'd never done in your life.

-

Morning has passed but you can't find the energy to live for the day.

You're lying down on the couch watching the sky turn brighter with every hour passed. It hasn't sunk in yet what you did last night. It feels like a dream but at the same time, you can still feel the weight of the rock in your hand.

Minho has been quiet but you know he's lurking in the room and he decides to interfere by standing in front of you.

He tips his head to the side and asks, "How long are you going to stay like this?"

He then sits on the other end of the couch and says, "Well, you have to, at least, do whatever it is you do as a sculptor. You can't have people getting suspicious."

How come he takes it lightly? How did he get so calm after telling you to kill a man and watch you doing it?

"Fucking shut up!" You shout at him.

Talking to him makes everything unbearably real and it makes you recollect what happened last night. The guilt, the disgust you feel for yourself, the blood on your hands, you can see everything now under the daylight.

"I killed a man," you croak, saying it hurts that tears start to crawl out of you.

"I've killed someone," you meekly say with a tear rolling down from the corner of your eyes.

"Yeah, but that was hours ago," Minho nonchalantly says.

"I keep feeling the crack of his skull on the rock," you pause to sniffle and turn to look at Minho, "I did that."

But he wouldn't get what you feel because he's not a human in the first place. Minho is a demon.

"It's your fault. You're not even—" You stop talking because it's no use to talk to an entity that knows no compassion.

You brush your hair to the back and deeply sigh. Turning your head at Minho again to ask, "Why is this happening to me?"

You use the heel of your hand to press on your eye to stop crying, "I'm not a bad person."

"No, no, no," Minho quickly denies.

He moves to stand behind the couch and leans close to you, "It wouldn't work if you were. It has to be someone corruptible," he explains.

Your forehead wrinkles and forms a questioning look on your face, trying to make sense of what he said.

"If you think about it, what's happening here, it reflects really well on your character," he says with a smile.

What he said only assures you that you are a bad person. What you did is the reflection of what you truly are, a bad person.

You nod and wipe your wet cheek with the back of your hand. You get up to sit on the couch and grab your purse, rummaging inside to pull out your phone.

"What are you doing?" Minho asks with a panicked voice.

You dial the police line on your phone and show it to him, "Calling the police."

He jolts on his feet and sits next to you on the couch as you hit the call button.

"But why?" He asks.

You can hear the dialing tone ringing so close to your ear, "So they'll arrest me," you simply answer.

Minho nervously chuckles, "Then you won't be able to do the other sacrifices," he reminds you to rethink your choices.

"Good!" You shortly respond, trying to stay in your right mind this time.

"Then the Apocalypse will happen and billions will die. I know, I know, I get it. You don't want blood on your hand but if it saves billions..." He's babbling, desperately trying to stop you from turning yourself in.

The way he puts it that way, he makes you choose the lesser between the two evils. 

"Hello, police department, may I help you?" The operator speaks on the phone.

Kill three people who deserve it or save billions of innocent people?

You find yourself hanging up the call and putting your phone away, once again failing to do the right thing.

"See? You're a good person!" Minho says as he exhales in relief.

To be honest, you don't know what's good or bad, right or wrong anymore. It's one big blur to you.

You feel frustrated once again, you feel like a failure but on the bigger picture, you're trying to stop the world from ending.

But can you really save everyone?

-

You can't wait to dwell on everything in the comfort of your apartment. Before you can do all that, you need to set boundaries with him. You face him and look him right in the eyes, "I have six days to kill two more so please, give me a break for now."

Minho gets quiet for a moment before nodding in agreement, "That's fair."

Feeling the need to wash yourself from whatever it is clinging to your body, you get a shower and take your meds to help you decompress while sitting on the end of your bed in your bathrobe.

"I don't know why you take those pills," Minho says as he enters your room.

You quietly sigh at him and say, "Can you at least give me a few minutes until it's working?"

"Want to wash it down with wine?" He offers, showing the bottle of red in his hand.

You shake your head, "I can't drink alcohol after taking antidepressants," you answer, not sure why bother answering him.

"That sucks!" He says and puts the wine bottle down on top of your dresser, "I was thinking we could celebrate our first kill."

You feel a little faint at the mention of the word kill and celebrate being put in one sentence. You climb onto the bed and pull your duvet, "I need to rest."

Minho appears at the end of your bed, looking down at you with his dark, wide eyes, "That's right. We have a lot to do tomorrow."

"Can you turn the lights out for me?"

"Certainly."

The room turns dark but you get a newfound comfort in it.

"Goodnight," Minho's voice caresses your ears like a spring breeze.

You don't want to get used to this but you feel inexplicably at ease that there's someone else with you in this vast emptiness.

"Goodnight, Minho."

-

SIX DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

You jolt awake to the sounds of your phone ringing on your bedside table and you know who it is without having to look at the contact name. Your fingers are tapping the phone screen as you squint your eyes to make sure you hit the accept call button.

"Yeah?" You ask as you put the phone on the side of your face while you're lying on your side with your eyes closed.

"You're still sleeping?" Kim asks, noticing the sleep in your voice.

"Mm-mmh," you hum in answer.

"You know what time it is?"

"I don't know. Nine or ten?" You wildly guess by how badly you want to go back to sleep.

You hear her sighing from the other line of the call, "It's almost 2 in the afternoon," she says.

You force your eyes to open to check the time yourself and see that it is indeed two in the afternoon.

"Oh?" You innocently gasp.

Realizing that may piss her off, you hurried to shift the conversation elsewhere, "Yeah, uh... why are you calling again?"

You fear that she's going to be mad about you abruptly leaving the exhibition or worse if she knew about Nick. You hold your breath, anticipating her answer.

"Oh, yes, I have good news," she says with a smile that you can feel from your end of the line.

"You sold four sculptures, darling!" She squeals.

That's exciting news but you don't have it in you to participate in that excitement, yet you feel relieved you can properly breathe at ease.

"That's... That's great!" You meekly say while raking your hair to the back with your fingers.

"I've been calling you since yesterday, you know that?"

"Oh? I, uhm..." You take a moment to think of an answer.

Summoned a demon? Found out that you have seven days to the end of the world? Killed someone to stop it?

"I needed—"

"Never mind!" She rudely cuts you off, "Guessing from how tired you sounded, you must be going straight back to work, huh?"

The sculpture is still a chunk of unshapen stone but yeah, you worked on it just a bit. Well, a work is a work.

"Yeah, I-I did," you sputter your answer yet thankful that all of her guesses are off the mark.

"I'll come with the paperwork tomorrow. For now, you can rest now or work some more, knock yourself out," she says, couldn't care less about what you're doing now that you've made money and she got to feed on a few percent of it.

"Thanks, Kim!" You say, because it's better to always be on her good side.

"Oh, come on! We both working hard," she kindly refuses but you know she feels entitled to this.

"Let's have a dinner to celebrate," she suggests.

"Yeah, yeah," you half-heartedly answer.

"Talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye!"

You don't even bother to say it back knowing that she'll hang up right after she said her bye. Since you've woken up already, you sit up on the bed and pull your knees up, hugging your feet as you gather your thoughts.

In your peripheral vision, you see a flash of red from the doorway of your room. You turn to look and see Minho standing with the side of his body leaning against the doorframe.

The all-black outfit he's wearing makes his honey skin glow and his hair look like a blazing fire under the sunlight. He smiles once he notices your eyes are on him.

"Morning, sunshine!" He sweetly greets you with a smile that is a little unsettling but a whole lot attractive.

He crosses his arms in front of him, exposing the veins coiling his forearms, "Oh, wait, it's way past noon," he says with a grin.

Looking at him only reminds you of the responsibility you're carrying on your shoulders: saving billions of people from being incinerated.

"Are you always like this or...?" Minho asks, breaking the silence that hung in the room as you think of the dire situation you're in.

Minho approaches you and stands at the end of the bed, "You can't stay in all day. We only have five and a half days left," he reminds you of the time-sensitive quest you're in.

The only way to save those billions is by killing three people. That's the only thing on the pro list, there are just too many cons, mainly on the killing part. The only good thing that comes out of it so far is that you only need to do two more killings.

God! What have you become?

"What should I do?" You hopelessly ask him even though it's a bad idea to ask a demon such a question.

"Just carry on as usual so the people around you don't get spooked," he answers.

It's you and him, him and you, there's no one else you can seek help from.

Minho is right. You can't just sit here and watch the day goes by or else the thing you've done would come to a waste.

You slowly scoot over to sit on the edge of the bed and rub the sleep of your eyes, not ready to face the day when you know you only have six days left to stop the end of the world.

"And while we're going on about the day we can decide who to kill next," Minho adds.

The devilish grin looks beautiful on his sculpted face but everything he says sending a chill down your spine.

-

"Oh, an old lady!" Minho exclaims as an elderly lady enters the elevator.

You silently watch as he scoots closer to her and smells her head, "She smells like... oh! She's sweet."

You silently groan in the corner watching what he's doing.

He places his hand on the lady's shoulder and says, "She can't stop thinking about the end though. She can't wait for it to come."

He looks at you with that wild grin plastered on his face, "You'd be doing her a favor."

You lightly shake your head at him to make him stop playing around the poor lady but he doesn't get the clues.

"She dreams of death. Even now—"

"Shut up!" You say through your gritted teeth.

The old lady turns to look at you, "What is it, my dear?"

You quickly put on a smile for her, "Oh, nothing," you politely say.

Minho walks up to stand next to you again and whispers in your ear, "Just do it. No one will miss her."

"Shut up!" You whisper back while throwing daggers with your eyes at him.

"She's nearly dead already!"

Thankfully, the elevator dings open and shoots his idea down as you step out of the elevator.

"We need to start to pick someone!" He persists as he follows you walking in the lobby.

Minho is such a nuisance.

It's hard to ignore him when he keeps talking, making remarks about everyone he sees, and constantly around you the whole time.

It's when you're working on your sculpture that you get to immerse yourself in your work and disassociate from reality.

All you hear is the slamming sound of your hammer on the chisel and pieces of stone falling onto the floor. Looking down at the mess you made, you spot one particular piece of stone lying close to your feet. You stare at it for too long you get the recollection of that night.

The weight of the rock in your hand, how you bashed someone's head with it, and the splashing sound of the man falling into the water, all of that vividly playing in the back of your head.

You stagger backward and drop your chisel onto the floor, the clattering sound echoing in the spacious studio.

"I've been meaning to tell you this," Minho appears from behind the sculpture, startling you.

"We should order food," he suggests.

You put away your hammer and take off your mask, walking to the mini fridge to get a bottle of water.

"You're a demon. You feed on..." You think for a moment to finish your sentence as you unscrew the cap of the bottle.

He snatches the flyer stuck to the fridge door and asks, "Pizza?"

You close the fridge and walk over to the couch, plopping yourself down before chugging some water into your system.

"You need to eat so you can—"

"Kill?" You finish his sentence.

Minho scrunches his nose and sits on the armrest of the couch next to you, "I was about to say think but yeah, that too," he says.

You untie your pinafore and throw it aside, he isn't wrong to say that you need to eat. What's the point of saving the world if you're going to die of starvation?

You let out a sigh and grab the flyer from his hand, typing the numbers on your phone screen.

"Cheese pizza, please? With a lot of pepperoni!"

How can you believe that he's a demon when his choice of pizza topping is like a toddler's?

-

"Good evening, Miss!" The concierge greets you as he sees you enter the door.

"Hi," you greet back, impatiently wanting to get back to your apartment to dwell on your fate again.

"Miss Kim came by and dropped something for you," he informs, taking out a big envelope from your mailing box.

There's a faint sound coming from the small TV tuned to a news broadcast when you come to the desk to collect it.

"Here it is, Miss," he slides the big brown envelope across the shiny surface of the desk. There's a note on top of it which you immediately recognize as Kim's.

You open to do a quick check on what's inside when you hear a glimpse of the news from the TV.

"...man found dead in the river has been identified as Ben Watson, a financial officer of a bank company, leaving a wife and a seven-year-old daughter who has been notified about his tragic death..."

You glance at the small screen and see the photograph of the man you killed that night. You can't possibly be wrong about this when you remember the horror on his face as you lifted the rock before swinging it hard to his head.

"Is there anything wrong, Miss?" The concierge asks.

You snap yourself out of your daze and put the envelope close to your chest as if someone about to steal it from you.

"No, no," your voice is quivering in panic at the sight of the man you killed.

"Thank you," you abruptly the conversation with gratitude and walking fast to the elevator.

The warm water doesn't work to calm you down when you're tainted inside. You feel filthy, inside and out. You feel sick seeing your reflection in the mirror.

You've been holding your medicine in your hand but you need something stronger, you ditch the pill and run to the kitchen.

You pull out the wine you have in the kitchen cabinet and drink it straight from the bottle, chugging it like it's water. You gasp when you stop drinking, taking the bottle with you as you sit on the sofa while you're still in your bathrobe.

"This is how you're going to end the day?" Minho asks, taking the bottle of wine from you to take a sip.

"Can you stop talking about killing for just—" You choke on air as anger bubbles up inside you.

Minho holds his hands up in defeat and leans back on the sofa next to you, "I'm just saying..." he meekly says.

The silence only resides for a minute until he speaks again, "Look, the earlier you get it done—" he stops talking when you shoot him a glare.

You take the bottle of wine from him and take a long gulp, a drop of wine escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

You aggressively wipe it with the sleeve of your bathrobe and recline on the sofa, looking out at the city lights that look like pinpricks in the dark of the night.

"I'm crazy..." you sadly remark.

Those words remind you of a sobering fact that what people think of you: crazy.

Ever since you were still an art student, people often found you talking to yourself in class, always in your little world with your imaginary friend. That leads you to this solitary life because normal people avoid crazy.

"People are right about me. I'm crazy," you state again, and saying it out loud makes your heart aches.

Minho turns his head and looks at you with his dark eyes that weirdly provide you warmth, "You're not crazy."

But why would a normal person kill a person because a demon told him to? You don't even know if he's real and not a product of your imagination.

"I'm a murderer..." you say with a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart.

He scoots closer until he sits close next to you, his shoulder bumps with yours on the big sofa that could fit five people. He looks at you and gently says, "Yeah, but not a crazy one."

Minho has a way of looking at bad things positively. You chuckle at the irony of his words. You can't tell if you should be happy that you're not crazy or sad that you're indeed a murderer.

He slumps down on the sofa to be on the same level as you, also turning his head to look at the view, "Want to know something?"

Instead of answering, you take a sip of the wine. You know he'll keep talking even if you refuse him.

"This is actually my first assignment," he shares.

He drops his hand on the space on the sofa, merely inches away from yours, "It's more of an initiation, sort of earning my wings."

You look at him and get a little taken aback by the proximity you can see yourself in his eyes. You almost forget what you were trying to say to him, "What are you trying to say?"

You look away because he looks exactly like the one you envisioned on your sculpture, divinely beautiful that it's hard to comprehend.

"I'm saying that I'm new to this too," he answers.

Again, you can't tell if you should be happy or sad to know that. Strangely though, you find comfort in his words.

You look at his hand splayed so close to yours and it evokes the curiosity in you that needs to be fed. You gently flip over his hand and gently slip your fingers on the spaces between his fingers, you can feel the warmth and the roughness of his finger pads on each finger.

Minho is real, he's real, you perpetually assure yourself.

You glance at him and he's looking at you, your eyes meet in a tender gaze.

"Are you real, Minho?"

You're aware of how much that question weighs. If the answer is no, you know the insurmountable pain you brought onto yourself.

He slowly blinks and you can see his dark lashes fanning out so beautifully. His crimson-red lips open and says, "I'm as real as you want me to be."

Words aren't enough to convince you. With the despair filling your heart, you lean in and innocently put your lips on his. It's a kiss that feels more than just a physical act, one that you didn't know you needed.

After getting the reassurance that you need, you pull away. However, the hand lingering on your jaw tells otherwise. He touches your face with just his fingertips yet it's enough to send a tingle inside.

Slowly, he leans in to kiss your closed eyelids ever so softly and before you know it, he brings your face closer to place a tender kiss on your lips. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel the warmth no one has ever given you.

-

FIVE DAYS TO THE END OF THE WORLD

"You wake up early!" Minho says as you dress up to get ready for the day.

You ignore his words, continue collecting your things around the room, and put them into your bag.

"Are you trying to match your clothes with me?" He says, looking at your all-black outfit while sitting on the headrest of the sofa.

This morning, you woke up on the sofa still in your bathrobe and a blanket covered your body. The first thing you remember is you kissed him last night and somehow, it convinces you to keep going with the quest.

However, you still feel conflicted with what you do. You need to make sure of one thing.

"How about this handsome fucker?" Minho asks, pointing to the other person riding the elevator with you.

The man looks indeed handsome, he dressed so impeccably when it's only ten in the morning. He catches you looking and smiles at you.

You politely smile back and look away only to face Minho who's standing on the other corner of the elevator.

"He'll be losing his hair at the age of 32 and spends the next 29 years taking it out on his wife," he whispers even though no one can hear him but you.

The taxi ride to the hospital only takes fifteen minutes and you know where to go right away from the array of flower arrangements outside the separate building from the main hospital.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I'm thinking?" Minho asks in a concerned voice.

You wish to be able to shut him up for a few minutes until you can find what you're looking for. The hall is packed with people in black attire to what you can safely assume are the guests of the mourning family on the two funeral services being held by two different families.

You read the sign that leads to the Watson family yet pretend to be the one visiting the other family. Before you can sneak into their funeral service, you see someone taking the daughter outside.

"This is a bad idea!" Minho panickly says.

It's kind of alarming to hear because it's the first time he sounded genuinely concerned. You follow where the little girl is being taken and turns out, she's being taken to the park outside, probably to avoid her feeling overwhelmed.

"You're not a relative. People will get suspicious of you!" Minho nervously whispers.

You come over to the two men chatting and kindly ask for a cigarette even though you don't smoke. You stand at the other side of the door and take a drag of the smoke to be seen convincing.

"I know you're worried..." Minho sighs.

He stands next to you with his head hovering close to your ear. He takes a breath before talking, "She's not in mourning. She's not not mourning," he says as you both quietly watch the girl sitting on the bench and drinking a juice box.

"Happy that it's finished but sad that he's dead. But it has finished!" He emphasizes the last word.

You take another drag and accidentally do it excessively, sending you into a coughing fit.

"You spared her another five years of it. A lifetime of therapy," Minho explains, "a lifetime!"

You look at him to see if he meant what he said. He's a demon after all, the vision he forced you to see could be misleading, a trick to make you do what he says.

He looks back at you and smiles, "She's a mom at 29. A nan at 57," he shares.

See? He knows how to comfort you even though you don't ask for it. You give up on pretending to smoke and stab the cigarette butts onto the big ashtray. You shove your hands into the pocket of your jacket and start walking away to the parking lot.

"Why are you telling me this?" You curiously ask.

He nonchalantly shrugs as he walks next to you, "I just thought you'd like to know."

-

"Did you see that?" Minho shouts as he leisurely watches TV with his feet up on the couch.

You pretend not to hear him and continue sculpting, hitting the hammer harder, louder to drown out his voice. As if he read your mind, he appears behind you and places both of his hands on your shoulders.

"You should see this!" He insists, steering your body and making you watch the TV.

It's a broadcast of night news about climate change and he magically changes the channel to show news about nuclear testing.

"It's manifesting. Do you understand?"

Minho keeps switching the channel to show you every bad there is happening in the world, everything that shows the sign that the world is close to ending.

You lightly shrug him off and say, "We got this kind of news a few years ago but—"

Minho holds you by the shoulders and shakes you awake, "This is real. We don't have much time and you're the only one who can stop it!" He reminds you of the harsh truth.

Somehow that only makes you question why you have to be the one to bear such responsibility. Billions of people on earth and they chose you?

"I'm not ready yet. I'm—"

"Don't you want to see that little girl live her peaceful future?" Minho asks.

This is where you know he's being the demon he is, using your weakness to his advantage and making you give in to the temptation.

It's not so much a temptation when you have no other options, it's killing or being engulfed in flames on Friday. You muster up your courage and think of something to do.

The first killing was what Minho said it was: a beginner's luck, the man happened to be there and an abusive bastard, even in his grave, he shall not rest in peace.

This time, you plan to do it meticulously and without mistakes. You walk to the kitchen and pull open the drawer, taking out a knife you occasionally use to cut your sandwiches.

Minho shakes his head in disapproval of your choice of weapon, "You're not a knife person," he concludes.

You look at him, demanding an explanation behind that haste conclusion.

"It's messy. You could hurt yourself," he explains.

That sounds right. You put the knife back into the drawer and look around the studio to find potential killing weapons.

Minho leans into your side and whispers, "Let's choose something that is more you!"

You look at him and see that he's eyeing the table full of your sculpting tools.

You pick up the medium chisel and show it to him to seek his approval. You meet another disapproval as he strongly shakes his head.

"It's too specific. They'll know it's you. You're the only sculptor living in the area," he gives you an insight into how the devil's mind works.

You must admit that he just saved you from making a mistake. You pick another weapon that you're familiar with but also gives you the upper hand to do the killing. You pick up the hammer and turn around to show him.

A smile rises on his face as he nods in approval, "That's you! You're a basher!"

You bring the hammer close and observe it, it feels good around your hand since it's a tool that you work with most of your life.

"You've had the practice now. It'll be easier this time," Minho says with a sinister smile.

You want to believe his words so much but the nerves get to you. Your breathing becomes erratic once you realize what you're going to do with the hammer.

Minho puts his hand on the small of your back and holds you steady, "Liquor courage! That's what you need! Booze!" He suggests.

"I don't keep any alcohol in the studio," you meekly say.

Considering that sculpting involves a lot of sharp objects, it's wise to not keep anything that would dull your focus.

"Also, I just took an antidepressant an hour ago," you inform him.

"Oh, shit!" He curses and leans his body to the back, against the table.

Minho crosses his arms in front of him, then rubs his chin as he thinks of something. He then leers at you with a smirk dancing on his face, "Well, do you want a drink?"

-

There's a bar a few blocks away from your studio.

You got here in need of liquid courage and there's plenty of them here. You plan to only consume enough alcohol just to calm the nerves but not too much to lose your focus.

It gets you anxious to step into a new environment. You decide to go straight to order drinks.

"Whiskey, please?" You say to the bartender with a handlebar mustache.

Bartenders tend to remember the faces they have seen and yours must not have registered into his memory bank. He puts away the cloth he's holding.

"You want ice with it?" He asks.

"I'll have it dry," you answer since you came here for the alcohol, not for refreshment.

"Easy, love. We have work to do," Minho reminds as he props a hand against the countertop.

Knowing that one drink wouldn't be enough and you don't want to bother the bartender again for a drink, you decide to double.

"Make that two, please!" You hurriedly say before the bartender starts making your order.

"You don't have to get one for me," Minho grins at you.

The bartender takes another glass with him to finally fill them with your choice of potion.

"I didn't," you whisper back at him.

You immediately pay for it and bring your drinks with you to the empty spot in the corner of the bar, hidden behind the pool table.

You slowly sip your drink and feel it running through your system, stripping a layer of senses off of you, making you less aware of your surroundings.

"Okay, you see anyone tasty?" Minho asks as he sits next to you.

He cranes his neck looking for the next human sacrifice among the people who are enjoying their concoctions. His finger points to the guy with a beanie and drinking a pint of beer.

"Oh, that one perfect!" He exclaims.

He stacks his hands on top of the table and leans forward as he further speaks, "Burglaries. Mostly target the elderly. What do you reckon?" He turns to you for opinions.

The alcohol is not quite there yet so you take a longer sip. You feel the alcohol burns your throat and you wince from the bitter aftertaste.

"No?" He asks as he looks at you.

You know he's asking about the human sacrifice, not the alcohol but the answer is the same, "No."

Minho moves on. His eyes are pacing around the room to study people and check their backgrounds with his evil power.

He taps your shoulder as he finds his next candidate, "See that girl with the pints?"

You can easily spot the girl with curly hair, carrying two pints of beer in her hands.

Minho leans in close to your ear to give his intel, "She went on holiday when she was 12 years old and saw her sister drown in a swimming pool."

He suddenly lowers his voice as he tells you the rest of the story, "She could have pulled her out but she just stood there and watched."

Maybe it's true that people are the scariest.

They may look ordinary and good and all yet inside, lies this darkness that they buried deep inside them. If Minho hadn't told you, you would have taken her as a pretty girl with a nice smile and nothing more.

Minho pulls at the sleeve of your shirt and points to another guy, talking to his friend by the pool table. You're about to wave him off again until the guy turns his head and you know who it is.

"How about him? He likes to secretly film girls by drug them and once he—"

"Sent a girl into overdose," you finish his sentence.

Everyone knows who Tim Shaw other than a student in our faculty and more importantly, people know what he likes to do to innocent girls yet no one dares to make him take responsibility for what he did.

Until one night, he drugged a girl and left her on the cold floor of a club, unconscious. There's no evidence that he drugged her or it was he drugged, ended up with him getting dropped off of all charges.

You have one more drink to finish and you gulp it in one go, wanting to use this opportunity to get back for what he did to that poor, innocent girl.

Minho triumphantly smiles, knowing that you have set a target on Tim's head.

"I think we have a contender," he concludes.

-

Tim is exiting the bar and you take it as an advantage.

You don't need to lure him out, you wait a minute before you follow him outside to not seem conspicuous. Once you're outside, you look side to side to see where Tim is going.

"Perfect location. No witnesses," Minho answers as you both find him turning to the back of the bar.

Tim seems to hear your rushed footsteps and turns around to see you. He seems to be taken aback and you doubt that he'll recognize you. Being crazy has its advantages, you're off the asshole's radar.

You nervously laugh as he looks at you. You quickly think of something to say, "Oh, my God! It's really you, Tim!" You say with fake enthusiasm.

"I'm sorry but who..." he gets all defensive.

"I'm—" You don't know how to explain yourself other than 'the insane one from art school'.

"Oh, wait, you're that girl, the sculptor, the... uh," he brakes before he can say the infamous title of yours.

"The freaky one?" You playfully say.

He bursts into laughter and nods, "Hey, don't get me wrong. I like freaky," he says.

Minho points to the carts of empty bottles and gestures for you to use them instead of the hammer inside your bag that weighs your shoulder the longer you're carrying it.

"I was just getting a drink but it doesn't feel good drinking alone," you lie even though that's how you prefer to enjoy your poison.

"Yeah, I bet," he says with a grin that showcases his whitened teeth and malicious intent.

"How about drinking at my place?" He offers.

"Home turf. Even better," Minho comments, appearing behind you.

You don't want to seem desperate to be with Tim because honestly, you're just stalling to find the perfect opportunity to kill him. It's time to put what you learned from Kim into practice.

"I, uhm..." you rub the back of your neck and shyly smile at him, "I don't think that's..."

As you pretend to consider his offer, he's secretly checking you out. His eyes travel up and down your body, you bet he thinks of lewd things even though you're dressed like a bible salesman with the same outfit you wore to the funeral service.

He takes a step forward and smiles at you, "I live not far from here. You can easily crawl back here if you think I'm a bad drinking partner," he seduces.

Tim must have thought you were as gullible as the other. Oh, he has no idea the surprise you have for him!

"If you don't mind, yeah," you say with a low giggle.

"Okay," he says with a triumphant smile.

His house is indeed only two blocks away from the bar and he keeps boasting about how he owns a house from his inheritance and the rising price of property these days.

"Please, come in!" He lets you into his house.

You step on a crumpled beer can as you enter the living room and are horrified at the amount of trash littering the place.

"A few friends and I watched a football match last night," he concisely explains.

He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the coat rack, "How about we drink in my room?"

You uneasily glance at Minho and he nods. You look back at Tim then put on a fake smile for him, "Yes."

He leads the way up the stairs and you follow him, climbing the steps with the hammer getting heavier and heavier inside your bag.

Tim turns around and sees you being hesitant, "There's no need to be shy now," he says with a lopsided grin.

You respond with a smile, keeping your head tilted up, and continue climbing up the stairs.

"Now!" Minho orders.

"Hit him with the hammer now!" He says again so close to your ear.

Your head snaps in his direction and hisses through your gritted teeth, "Shut the fuck up!"

Tim catches you talking and looks over his shoulder, "What's that?"

"Can't wait to see the bedroom!" You lie and add a giggle to sound convincing.

He smirks at you before pushing the door to his bedroom, "Come on in!"

His room is less messy than his living room in which he helplessly tries to make it seem tidy by flattening the pile of his duvet.

"You can sit down here," he says, patting the space next to him on the bed.

"You're not really going to have sex with him, are you?" Minho asks as he quietly watches you from across the bed.

A deadly glare is enough to answer him and he immediately refrains from pressuring you.

"I was just checking," he adds.

It's when you're in his bedroom that you start to fear Tim, not when you know what he is capable of. But at the same time, it fuels your hate fire, it reminds you of the reason why you need to eliminate scum like him.

"You keep your alcohol in your room?" You ask.

It's obvious that he took you here for different intention. He's taking you here for the sole reason that is to ruin your life.

"Oh, yeah, the drinks," he smacks his lips together and awkwardly paces in the room.

He reaches for the portable speaker on top of his dresser and turns it on, "You can wait for the drinks while listening to music," he says.

You nod, "That sounds nice!"

He gets out of his bedroom and heads back downstairs. While he's doing what you believe is spiking your drink with substance, you think of a plan on how you're going to kill him.

First, you take the hammer out of your bag and practice your swing. You get panicked with each second passed and haven't found a way to catch him off guard.

The footsteps on the stairs signal you that he's on his way here. You decide to do the classic way by hiding in the back of the door, planning to strike him from behind.

You see his figure entering the room, carrying two glasses of drinks in his hands, "It's your lucky day because I found a bottle of—"

Without thinking, you swing your hammer hard and hit him right on the side of the head. It's a weak blow and you can see that from how he's staggering backward, still conscious.

There's no turning back now that you have done it. You come charging at him, attacking him while he's still disoriented from the first blow.

He collapses onto the bed and not giving him time to recover, you keep hitting his head with the hammer with blood splattering the bed and wall with every swing of the hammer going onto his head.

You whimper as blood gets on your face and see that Tim is lying cold on the bed, dead. However, you land another blow just to make sure you've done it and leave no room for mistakes.

"You're good, you're good," Minho says from across the room.

That's when you stop and take a step back. It feels like your soul has left your body, you suddenly feel drained and the hammer drops onto the floor.

You look at the mess you made, the bloody mess and dead body, your life that is once far from all of it. Your throat suddenly closes up and you find it hard to breathe.

After a moment, Minho gets to your side to say, "You can't have that lying around," he's eyeing the bloody hammer lying on the floor.

With your mouth gaping for air, you bend down to pick it up and shove it back into your bag.

"Cleans anything you touched," Minho instructed.

You take a handkerchief from inside your jacket and use it to wipe surfaces you probably made contact with even though you're sure there aren't any.

You leave the bedroom after wiping the handle of the door and make a turn to the stairs when you hear the front door creak open.

You peek from the top of the stairs and someone is turning the lights in the kitchen.

"Get out before he sees you," Minho whispers.

It's bad when he needs to whisper like that even though no one can hear or see him, but you. The adrenaline is still pumping and you make the most of it by bracing yourself to make a run down the stairs and to the front door that is only a few meters away.

You take a deep breath before quietly descending the stairs without making any noise. You can feel your heart beating in your ear yet you keep going as the door is only a reach away.

You successfully land on the base of the stairs when your bag accidentally hits a flower pot, sending it breaking into pieces on the floor.

"Tim?" The man calls.

He looks at you with confusion drawn on his face, "Who are you?"

It's too late for you to break into a run as he sees your face and officially makes him an eyewitness. You can't leave an eyewitness, at least, not until you've done all three human sacrifices.

Is it necessary to kill him though?

You can think and consider as much as you want but it all comes down to the one question: kill or end the world?

-

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[sadesluvr]

Dirty Little Secret

Even with a roster of sexual partners, Derek Danforth keeps coming back to you.

(Derek Danforth x GN! Reader)

A/N: I conjured this idea basically the moment Wallace started laying into Derek lmfao. You don’t have to have watched The Beekeeper to understand this (It’s chaotic and generic, but I had fun!) - Just know Derek is a coke and vape addicted, multi-millionaire crypto-selling playboy scammer who’s also the son of a president?😭 

The place mentioned in this fic (‘The Warehouse’) is fictional and not featured in the movie!

Word count: 1.3K

Tags: SMUT / Gender Neutral Reader / Drug usage (Cocaine) / WARNING: READER DOES A HIT OF COCAINE / Oral sex, M receiving / Degradation / Dirty talk / Implications of cheating / A little angsty, if you squint / This is just Reader giving Derek a blowjob so Minors DNI

‘Need u. Meet me at The Warehouse’

You needn’t check the message twice to know who it was. 

There was only one person in your life who spoke to you like this; who disappeared on most weekdays, only to show up on weekends between the hours of midnight to 5AM without a care in the world. The man’s name was Derek Danforth, a guy who ‘just happened’ to be the son of now President, Jessica Danforth.

You hadn’t met him through any lavish political gala, nor from a meet-and-greet after an inspiring TED Talk - no, he’d chosen the oh-so classy way to slide into your DM’s on Instagram. You’d come to know that fast and sleazy was Derek’s brand.

At first you’d thought it was a scam, not wanting to believe that a millionaire would even bother to speak to you, but a quick $100 transfer into your linked account had told you otherwise.

‘Think I’m real now?’ He’d messaged back, and it was from there that he’d sent a valet to your place for what was supposed to be a hookup.

He’d fucked you so good that night; the feel of his fingers gripping your ass as he pounded into you from behind still etched into your skin. He’d left marks; from marks sourced from his rabid teeth on your neck, to marks from the metal of his rings that had dug tiny scratches into your flesh.  He hadn’t shut up the entire time, grunting and groaning in your ear about how much of a dirty slut you were, and how good your tight hole felt against his cock. He’d probably said that to all the people he’d fucked.

Still, it got to you, and apparently to him also. What started as an unsuspecting DM turned into full contact, with 3AM calls and erotic FaceTime sessions. Derek was often high off of coke, or drunk, or somewhere in between, all whilst puffing on his vape, huffing the thick white air like a dragon. Fitting, because he was dangerous.

And you’d been pulled into his shiny lair once again.

The Warehouse, or what you liked to aptly dub the ‘Whorehouse’ was an underground club, apparently run by Derek’s dealer. Yes, Derek hadn’t even had the courtesy to take you to one of his many properties to do his business, deciding that a sweaty basement would be best for you.

At least you could somehow remain anonymous.

“Knees, now. I want a blowjob,” Derek said in his usual dismissive tone as he slumped on a red couch before leaning forward and sprinkling a white powder on the table. You rolled your eyes as he snorted it, watching as he ran a hand through his mullet, absorbing the endorphins into his bloodstream.

He looked up at you with furrowed brows. He wasn’t one used to dealing with insolence.

“I don’t have all day.”

“Jeez, a ‘hey’ would be nice,” you grumbled. “I had to work overtime, I barely even got settled at home —“

“So? I don’t fucking care,” he scoffed. “There’s a couch, you can settle here.”

You knew damn well there wasn’t going to be any ‘settling’. And as much as you hated it, you loved it. 

Derek spread his legs expectedly as you dived between them, struggling with his zipper to take out his hard cock. It didn’t matter if he was average sized - he'd more than proved himself to know how to use it. Still, it never got lost on you as to how thick he was, the filling sensation of his cock in your mouth for the first time becoming one of your favourites. 

He was already leaking precum, and you wasted no time in licking the fluids up before moving down to the rest of his length, with your hand planted firmly on the base of his cock. You started off with slow, but deliberate motions, desperate to feel his girth in every crevice of your mouth, motivated by the male’s drawn out moans. His head was flung back against the top of the couch, arms spread as he basically gave himself up to you - one of the rare times he would only surrender.

Until he got impatient and placed his hands on the back of your neck, grip firm as he began to drag your head up and down his length, demanding you increase the pace. Pools of spit began to build up inside of your mouth as he did, accommodating to the sudden force. Every time you retracted from his length, the pink flesh began to glimmer; shine, even, as you serviced it. To some, it was a taboo and demeaning act, but to Derek, it was the ultimate act of your submission and devotion to him. To this day, even a year on from your first encounter, you couldn’t understand why he kept coming back to you.

“Fuck,” he drawled, clenching his teeth down on his bottom as he heaved. “You’re so fucking good at this - It’s like you were just made for my cock…”

The statement caused your stomach to backflip, only encouraging you to take him deeper. His thick head was now inches away from the back of your throat, threatening to make you gag. Unfathomably, you seemed tempted to take that risk, but Derek intervened.

“Here,” he said flatly as he gently pushed you off of him, leaning down towards the table. “Try this,” 

He rolls up a fifty and guides your head along the white powder. Your nose tingles and your heart clenches a little, but there’s no immediate effect.

“It’ll take a while, but trust me, you’ll fucking feel it,” Derek smirks, drawing you from your thoughts. “Good thing we’ve got all night,”

It wasn’t long before you were back on his cock, vessel gripped firmly in your hand as you began to stroke him up and down, in tandem with the movements of your neck. 

“You’ve never had blow like this before,” he laughs, hands frantic as they gripped at his thighs, trying to hold them still. “Then again, you’ve never had a dick like this before either, hm? Don’t you have a boyfriend to go home to? Poor guy. I must have you whipped…”

Desperate to respond, you popped his cock out of your mouth, but he held up a hand to 

silence you. 

“I really don’t need to fucking hear it,” he chuckled. “You’re such a slut, you know that? You suck my dick, moan like a bitch, and keep coming back for more, but here you are arguing with me…I’m beginning to think you like this little relationship of ours,”

Who was he kidding? You both knew the truth.

You hummed, and Derek ran his tongue over his teeth, his bouncing leg beginning to quicken. His hands found your head, gripping the back of your neck as his cock began to twitch, vein throbbing against the flat of your tongue. He was always his most animalistic in the heat of the moment; and even though you enjoyed the culmination of your hard work, it was also the time where he spouted things, words and phrases that you knew were nothing but bullshit, and yet clouded your eyes with hope.

“Moan for me,” he grunted, pupils blown as they focused on the pornographic display below him. “Tell me that I’m the best you’ve ever had,”

You let out a whine, and he hummed.

“Worship me,” he continued. “Show me how much you love me…Fuck – Open your mouth…!”

Swiftly, Derek removed his aching member from your mouth, eyes wide as he watched a bridge of saliva form from your raw lips to his skin. With a few slick pumps, his fell half lidded as he came over your face, streaks of white fluid coating your cheeks and lips, with some even falling in your lashes and dripping onto your nose. He convulsed, as if he were temporarily losing grip on his sanity and panted as he tried for air. He ran his hands across his beard before he cupped your cheek, an indiscernible look in his eye before he patted it.

“Clean yourself up. I want you nice and fresh for round two.”

It pained you that you were so enthusiastic to oblige.

[bosbas]

Chapter 6: in a world of boys he's a gentleman

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, Eloise being the best, Colin finally having brain cell(s), but then very quickly losing aforementioned brain cells

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

May 30, 1816 – One week has passed since the unfortunate revelation of Lord Barlow’s true nature, and Lady Y/N Montclair has yet to make an appearance at a ball. Could it be that the Duke’s betrayal has left her too disillusioned? Perhaps the eligible gentlemen of London have failed to meet her exacting standards. One can't help but wonder if Lady Y/N be present at tonight’s ball, where the ton's most eligible bachelors will undoubtedly be vying for her attention now that she is decidedly searching for a new suitor. Who among them shall be lucky enough to capture her attention? This author does not know, but hopefully, this evening reveals more of Lady Montclair’s intentions.

Colin was grinding his teeth, his right eye twitching slightly as he glared at Eloise, with whom he had been arguing for the better part of the last hour. 

“It’s not like I haven’t tried to be agreeable! She’s just impossible,” he ground out.

Colin was about finished with having to face criticism from his sister when you were the one who had ignored his attempt at a truce.

“It certainly doesn’t help that you rile her up every single time you see her. She’s trying to find a husband, mind you!” Eloise shouted back. 

She had grown quite close to you in the past weeks, and she knew the kind of pressure you were under tonight. It was your first ball after finding out the Duke had sneaked away from the Bridgerton ball with Miss Barrington, and your full focus would be on finding a new suitor. Eloise generally preferred to stay out of your neverending conflict with Colin, but she knew he would never understand what you were going through. The very least she could do was ensure that he acted decently toward you, though it seemed like even that would prove a challenge. 

“Exactly! I was the one who wanted to warn her about Lord Barlow’s betrayal, and now she thinks I’m the one who gave him access to our courtyard,” snapped Colin. 

He couldn’t believe Eloise. How could she not see that you were one of the most infuriating, unpleasant, and insolent people in the ton? Why was she so intent on defending you? Colin was irritated beyond belief, and he wanted nothing more than to never speak with you again after the horse races. You had promptly ignored him after accusing him of orchestrating Lord Barlow and Miss Barrington’s escapade, and he spent the rest of the afternoon angrily stealing glances at you as you chatted pleasantly with his sister. 

And to learn that you still wanted to find a husband? You could become a spinster, for all he cared. And he didn’t. He didn’t care. About you or about Lord Barlow, or frankly, about anything that had transpired since the Bridgerton ball. All he knew was that tonight, he would be forced to watch you bat your eyelashes and giggle softly as you talked to countless men when all he got from you were angry stares and sarcastic laughs. 

“She’s the one who doesn’t want to be on good terms with me,” he added stubbornly, crossing his arms. 

Eloise let out an exasperated groan and rolled her eyes. “Colin! Can you not find it in yourself to set aside your dislike for her and understand that she is an unmarried lady who just lost a titled man she was practically guaranteed to marry? She is in a precarious situation, not to mention feeling heartbroken and betrayed.”

In truth, Colin thought, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t even begin to. He had never faced that kind of pressure before, certainly not about something as trivial as marriage, and suddenly he felt guilty for wanting to spend the entire evening tormenting you so he could avoid watching you amass suitors. 

Sensing that her words had struck a nerve, Eloise took advantage of her brother’s waning resolve. “You are Colin Bridgerton, Mayfair’s sweetheart! I don’t understand why you can’t act that way with her.”

“She doesn’t want that! She doesn’t want me!” Colin yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he screwed his eyes shut in frustration. 

But Eloise didn’t let up. “I’ll wager she wants that tonight. You don’t need to kiss the ground she walks on. Just be civil and refrain from any ungentlemanly conduct. It’s her first ball since the Lord Barlow scandal, and she doesn’t need to look bad in front of a crowd of eligible bachelors.”

“I don’t ever do it on purpose!” he defended. 

“You could’ve fooled me,” scoffed Eloise. Then, softening her tone, she added, “Just tonight. Please.”

“Fine,” he relented. 

If it was so important to Eloise, he would do it. He supposed he would want someone to do that to Eloise if she was ever in your same position. But he was already dreading the night. He had never particularly enjoyed balls, and he knew tonight would be especially dreadful. Usually, your arguments provided prime entertainment, and if he wasn’t allowed to fight with you tonight, he would just have to endure the monotony of the ballroom without any respite. 

---

You drew in a sharp breath as you entered the ballroom, looking around at the crowd nervously. Charlotte placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and led you toward the back of the room. Had she chosen to go to the furthest place from the entrance simply to torture you? You were nervous enough as it was; you didn’t need the added anxiety of having everyone’s eyes on you as you walked through the crowd. 

You had opted for an elegant white gown tonight. Well, your mother had suggested it and you had inevitably agreed to wear it. 

“It’s meant to look like a wedding dress!” she had exclaimed earlier. “It shows you’re still in the marriage mart despite everything that’s happened, and you’ll have gentlemen queuing up to dance with you.”

Whatever the reasoning behind the gown, you had to admit that it was beautiful. It accentuated your figure, and you could already feel plenty of keen eyes on you and more than a few furtive whispers. Though you couldn’t make out exactly what people were saying, you were sure you heard your name mentioned several times. However, you smiled gracefully at everyone anyway, wanting to avoid being seen as a complete laughingstock after losing Arthur. The Duke, you corrected yourself. He was no longer Arthur to you.

“Y/N,” you heard Eloise’s excited voice beside you.

You turned to see her smiling face and squeezed Charlotte’s hand to let her know she could go on without you. 

“Hello, El,” you greeted, smiling wide. 

“The balls have been torture without you! I’m so glad you’re finally here,” she gushed, taking your hand and leading you to a less crowded part of the ballroom. 

You relaxed slightly. At least one person here didn’t hate you. But perhaps she was the only one. As you kept speaking with Eloise, you realized that not a single bachelor had come to ask you for a dance. Usually, you had to reject quite a few gentlemen within the first few minutes of being at a ball, but your dance card remained empty tonight. 

Swallowing nervously, you looked around the room and assessed the gravity of your situation. Plenty of people were staring at you, but no one had moved toward you. Were they waiting for someone else to walk up to you? Did they not want to be the first to dance with you? Or did this mean that Lord Barlow’s actions had well and truly ruined you? Feeling the familiar beginnings of tears forming in your eyes, you quickly started to panic. What would your parents say? 

You were trying to focus on Eloise’s words, but all you could hear was your rapid heartbeat, and you were surprised people around you couldn’t hear it, too. Your stomach flipped uncomfortably as you realized that you might have truly fallen out of favor with the ton. The thought made you feel sick. This wasn’t how you wanted the season to go. How you needed it to go. 

Just as you were ready to bolt outside in search of fresh air, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Your stomach clenched, and for a fleeting moment, you hoped it was Colin Bridgerton. As much as you weren’t looking forward to the inevitable antagonism you would face from him, and as much as you knew that he wasn’t interested in anything from you other than an argument, the thought of engaging with someone of the opposite gender provided a fleeting sense of relief. Anything to momentarily divert your thoughts from the Duke's betrayal and the disheartening realization of your diminished standing in society. Although knowing Colin, he would probably bring up the subject just to spite you. 

However, as you turned around, you came face to face with your brother. A tiny rush of disappointment coursed through you, and you crinkled your face in confusion. It was a disconcerting realization, indeed, to find yourself yearning for the company of Colin Bridgerton, the very individual you despised most in the ton.

Leaning down close to you, Louis asked lowly, “Ça va?” (Are you alright?).

“Louis,” you rolled your eyes and nodded, trying to convince him­–and yourself–that you were fine. “Ça va” (I’m alright). 

“Excuse me just a moment,” spoke Eloise as she looked between you and your brother. She squeezed your hand and turned around, leaving you with Louis.

You cringed, internally hearing your parents scolding you for speaking French around her. But Louis, unphased by Eloise’s exit, spoke again. “Non, j’suis serieux. On peut y aller,” he insisted (No, I’m serious. We can leave). 

It was nice of him to check up on you. But it only left you feeling worse, a sobering reminder that your situation was dire enough that your brother was actually being sweet to you.

As much as you would have liked to, you knew you couldn’t leave the ball. It would only make it worse to flee now. Your parents had already allowed you a weeklong break from social events, and they would be most displeased to find out that you were giving up so soon after your re-entry into society.

So, you steeled yourself, forcing yourself to keep your tone light. “Leave the ball? For me or for you?” you asked Louis, poking him teasingly.

He relaxed upon hearing your light tone, letting out a breath as he smiled down at you. Your parents had asked him to be especially careful with you tonight, and he was left with sickening worry. You were his little sister, and as much as you had your differences, he still thought himself in charge, at least partially, of your wellbeing. 

The worst part was that he knew exactly the kind of man Andrew Barlow was, and he was beside himself with guilt that he had even let the man near you. But you seemed to be getting through it, he noted, relieved. 

Colin was rooted to the spot across the ballroom, staring at you as you engaged in easy conversation with your brother. How you could be so disagreeable toward him, and completely pleasant with everyone else was absolutely beyond him. 

But what really caught his attention tonight was your attire. You were wearing a white gown, and he briefly wondered if that was what your wedding dress would have looked like. He couldn’t help it; you looked positively stunning, and he was angry because he knew if he even attempted to talk to you, you would most likely bite his head off. 

Colin jumped as he felt a tap on his shoulder, slightly embarrassed at having been discovered staring at you. He turned around to face his mother and Eloise smiling far too innocently for his liking.

“Colin, go dance with Y/N, please.”

“Can’t Benedict do it?” Colin pleaded. He would do anything not to have to speak with you right this moment. It was far better to look at you from a distance, where he could pretend you didn’t completely despise him. 

“He’s dancing with Penelope Featherington at the moment, so no. Colin, it’s one dance!” Violet responded, exasperated.

“It’s not like she won’t have anyone else asking her,” grumbled Colin unhappily. Though, come to think of it, he hadn’t actually seen anyone ask you for a dance tonight. 

“Colin,” Eloise pleaded. “If they see you dancing with her, they’ll be more inclined to speak with her.”

Remembering his conversation with his sister from earlier, Colin accepted defeat, mumbling a low “just this once.”

He found himself growing increasingly nervous as he made his way over to you, and he clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. What had gotten into him? This was merely a dance like any other. He’d done it many times before, and he could do it with you. 

He cleared his throat as he reached your side, drawing you out of your conversation with Louis. 

“Not you, too,” you sighed upon seeing him. “I’ve had enough of a difficult time today without your input.”

Colin was momentarily unable to speak, though he quickly recovered. At this point, he didn’t know why kept being so surprised that you thought so lowly of him. 

He was not like the rest of the cruel members of the ton, he thought defiantly. And he would show you just how unlike them he was. This was the real Colin Bridgerton, not the insecure, combative version of him that seemed to slip out whenever you were near.

“A dance, Lady Montclair. I came to ask for a dance,” he said patiently, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t act like you’ve got a full dance card,” he rolled his eyes. Alright, maybe he couldn’t completely shake his hostile demeanor.

"Mr. Bridgerton, that is-” 

“Please.” 

“Why?” came your indignant response. 

“We can say we’re both doing it for Eloise if that will make you feel better,” he said, eyebrows raised. 

Unsure, you turned to look at Louis beside you, who gave you an unimpressed look and gently nudged you in Colin’s direction. 

“Fine,” you huffed.

He let out a breath and reached for your dance card. “Thank you.”

Suddenly, Colin became hyperaware of his surroundings. Every sensation was heightened, and it was almost too much for him to hold your hand as he led you toward the dance floor. He had never had this much physical contact with you, bar the times you had not-so-accidentally stepped on his foot, and he was struggling to maintain his composure.

Your hand felt so delicate in his, and he was actively resisting the urge to interlock your fingers with his. Where had that come from? Why was it that he could never get a grip when he was around you?

Colin was forced back to the present moment as you reached the dance floor, and he carefully set one hand on your waist and used the other to hold your hand, getting into position before the music started playing. 

His stomach was in about a thousand knots, and he awkwardly shifted his hand placement, unsure about whether he was making too much physical contact with you. With the way you looked tonight, Colin would have been happy to keep his hands on you all night, but he was sure you did not share the sentiment, and the last thing he wanted was to inadvertently make you uncomfortable. If he was going to make you upset, he would much rather have done it on purpose and off the dance floor. But that’s not what Eloise has asked of him, so he settled for gingerly holding your waist, his fingers carefully touching the smooth fabric of your dress.

Much to his chagrin, Colin stumbled slightly as the music started in an attempt to begin dancing with you. This was not at all how the most charming member of the ton was supposed to act, he scolded himself, cringing. Perhaps it was a good thing you had never agreed to dance with him before this, and that he never got the chance to properly pursue you as a suitor. If merely a turn about the dance floor with you had him feeling so out of sorts, he couldn’t even imagine what kissing you must have felt like. 

Except now he was imagining what kissing you would feel like. His gaze suddenly fixated on your lips, and he wondered why he had never noticed how inviting they looked. It would be so easy to simply lean down, ever so slightly, and touch his lips to yours. Perhaps it would cause a scandal, given that you were in the middle of a ball, but he rather thought it would be worth it. Just a few- 

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Bridgerton” your sharp voice cut through his musings. 

Colin blinked, brought back to the present moment in an instant. It appeared that, in his rather improper daydream, his hold on your waist had tightened considerably. Irritation bubbled up inside of him as he softened his grip. It seemed that nothing had changed between the two of you, after all. His attempts at playing nice had been, as per usual, futile.

“I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the concept of dancing, Lady Montclair, but it necessitates at least some level of physical contact,” he snapped, glaring but still unable to look away from your lips. 

Unfortunately, his words were punctuated by another stumble as he fought to stay upright and keep moving to the music, and he had to hold onto you to avoid toppling over. 

“What is the matter with you?” you hissed. “Did you never learn how to dance?” 

Colin looked down at you, grimacing and expecting to find the furious glare on your face he so often received. But your eyes were elsewhere. They were skittishly looking around the room, and your mouth was settling into a deeper and deeper frown. 

He noticed you anxiously chewing on your lip, your hand slightly shaky in his, though you were doing well to hide it. He felt like an idiot. Of course you were uneasy. It was your first dance trying to find a new suitor, and he was making you look like a fool in the middle of the dance floor. Colin felt his own anxiety melt away, replaced by a strange protectiveness he wasn’t sure he was familiar with.

“Just look at me,” he whispered as he twirled you.

You were too anxious to do anything but follow his instructions, and your eyes shifted to him instantly. He looked concerned, and you wondered whether it was concern for you or because he had almost fallen face-first in the middle of the dance floor. Either way, you were grateful you had something to focus on that wasn’t the constant obvious stares you were getting from everyone around you.

But, as Colin twirled you once again, you made eye contact with a man you had danced with on a few occasions. Before you could smile politely, he turned away to whisper something to the person beside him, and your face fell. As you returned to face Colin, you couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to see who would be the next person to prove that you were ruined.

You felt a squeeze at your waist, and your eyes came back to Colin’s.

“They don’t matter. Pretend it’s just me and you,” he said softly, reeling you in effortlessly. “Well, perhaps your sister as well, just in case you attempt to murder me.”

You couldn’t help it, you let out a soft giggle and bit your lip to keep from bursting into laughter. And though you were still surrounded by people surely itching to see you stumble and fall, you felt the rest of the ballroom fading away. As long as you kept looking at Colin, and he kept looking at you, there was nothing that could distract you. 

“I haven’t been in England that long, but I’m fairly certain murder is illegal here,” you quipped, smiling warmly at Colin for what was probably the first time.

“I’m fairly certain it’s illegal in every place I’ve been to, but I’m not so sure that would stop you,” he said back, a positively rakish smile on his face. But you were far too distracted by his mention of his travels to notice.

“You’ve traveled? Eloise hasn’t mentioned much,” you said curiously. 

“I’ve mostly traveled by myself,” he explained, now completely composed, previous stress forgotten, and finding himself enjoying your company. “My family doesn’t have the same penchant for adventure as me, so I usually set off on my own.”

You hummed thoughtfully. This, you hadn’t expected. Now you knew that you and Colin shared a love for travel, and it was a very unpleasant feeling, indeed. You had spent so long trying to distance yourself from him, and it was slightly disconcerting to know that the two of you had something in common. Especially something so embedded in who you were.

“Where was the last place you went to?”

“Greece,” he answered, smiling down at you. “I came back just before the season started. My mother was quite upset with me when she saw my tan.”

You laughed, perfectly picturing Violet’s hand over her chest as she saw her son after spending weeks in the sun. “You’re mad! If I had your kind of freedom, I certainly would not have stayed in England for as long as you have. Why haven’t you left since?”

“I- I’m not sure,” Colin answered. Why had he stayed so long? Usually, he liked to travel during the summer months, but he had stayed put so far and had no upcoming travel plans. “I suppose I am enjoying the season this year.” Was he really, though?

But you had already moved on to your next question. “The language is quite challenging, no? Did you learn at all? How long were you in Greece?”

Colin could have kissed you then and there. His family rarely showed interest in his travels, seldom responding to his letters, and once back in the ton, no one else bothered to inquire about his time abroad. Thus, he found himself pleasantly surprised by your curiosity, even if it was you—of all people—who displayed it.

As your conversation unfolded, Colin realized he was thoroughly enjoying himself. The effortless banter, combined with the tingling sensation that coursed through him whenever your hand grazed his neck, made him feel as though he were soaring high above the ballroom floor.

What if you had said yes that night at the Danbury ball? What if you had accepted his invitation to dance? Would it have felt as remarkable, as natural as this moment? Or was the allure of having you in his arms heightened simply because you had already rejected him?

Colin supposed he might have fallen for you that very night at the Danbury ball, had the circumstances been different. He could have seen himself, in a fit of romantic fervor, asking for your hand in marriage mere days afterward. Perhaps, then, it was lucky that you seemed to have an instant disdain for him. It likely spared him from acting the fool. Though truth be told, he often found himself behaving quite foolishly in your presence regardless.

As the dance ended, Colin found himself yearning to continue speaking with you. He grabbed your hand in his, feeling much more composed this time, and led you away from the dance floor. But he barely had time to turn back around to face you and continue your conversation before a trio of suitors came up and asked you to dance. Before he knew it, you were being swept away once more, this time on the arm of someone else. 

Colin congratulated himself on a job well done as he made his way back to where Eloise stood, deftly declining a gentleman's offer to dance. It was a triumph, he thought, that Colin had gone more than five minutes without arguing with you, and you had even laughed at something he said! It felt far better than whatever hostile rapport the two of you usually had.

“Thank you,” Eloise smiled gratefully at her brother. “Now, was that so difficult?” she added in a teasing tone. 

“I will have you know that yes, it was,” answered Colin stubbornly, but he knew he was lying even before the words came out of his mouth. Gliding across the dance floor with you in his arms had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Even now, as you twirled gracefully in the arms of another, Colin found himself not seething with jealousy as he might have expected, but rather in a state of awe. There was something enchanting about the sight of you, and he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Then, unexpectedly, your eyes met his over the shoulder of your current dance partner, and you bestowed upon him a heart-stopping smile, silently mouthing a 'thank you'. Colin had to feign a cough to cover up the giggle he had just let out. A giggle? From Colin Bridgerton, certified rake? What on Earth were you doing to him?

—

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[lirational]

Xeno Witch

Fantasy AU Path to Nowhere

Witch!000 x Reader

A/N: Zero, Zero, you can call her Zero, white hair, cat ears, hiding in your wifi~ :D no beta we die like my soul

Warnings: Porn with a fumbled plot, dubious consent, general yandere shenanigans.

—

The orbs spun around the three-layered ring in mesmerizing, unchanging patterns, the small object heavy in your palm. Its pink glow gave a speck of light in this dark tower, where not even the light followed the rules of physics. Instead, it comverged around one figure, the lights itself moving like it was trying to dispel the darkness her presence provides.

No, it would be more accurate to say that the lights looked like as if they were commanded to highlight her presence instead of this tower’s structure.

“Well?” The witch asked, her tone playful. “All you need to do is swallow. Just a little ‘gulp!’, and you get what you want. Easy, right?”

Flagrant anticipation and mischief twinkle in her mismatched eyes, the tiny, almost weightless rings representing a contract. You were always told to be a good person, to live a good life and stay away from the darkness of the world, yet here you are now, facing one of the very things the world has told you to stay away from.

But, the light has rejected you, and now, you were desperate, angry, vengeful. Your heart a maelstorm that threatens to consume any sense of self-preservation.

Though hesitation colored some of your senses in a foreboding red tint, what you could feel coursing through your body was anticipation.

It was a chance, after all, to get what you want.

“What is your price, witch? What do you demand of me in return?”

You tried to load your voice with conviction. After all, such was expected in the bizarre book you had consulted for the ritual to call her, yet, your voice shook, the feeling of sheer power infused in the very air itself serving as a warning that made you falter.

“Insolent voyager! Are thee making light of the everlasting covenant?”

Seeing you flinch, the witch’s tone softened, glee replacing her pretend anger.

“Come on now, I was just teasing you, are you always this easy to tease? You’re just like a little fawn!” She whistled. “Witch is a little distant, how about you call me Zero? Come on, say it, ze~ ro!”

“O-okay, Zero.”

Well, any attempt to load your voice with authority as the book said has completely failed now.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, swallow it!” Zero floated around you, moving fast enough to breath warm air onto your ears, causing them to heat up. “Do you prefer something more verbose? Ah, ahem, don’t you loath the fate you were forced to tread and feel vengeful to upend the world?”

Her arms snaked on your chest and stomach.

“Then make an everlasting covenant with me...”

With the promise of change, you brought the rings past your lips, her whispers a temptation full of sin.

“… and alter your own fate.”

Power, along with something else, foreign and invasive, spread and took root in the essence of your very being, a breaching presence that could be felt down from the tips of your fingers to the tips of your toes. You couldn’t help but squirm, the oddity of it all too overwhelming to truly comprehend—

Then it stopped, leaving you feeling bereft and cheated.

The nagging sense of missing something important, missing a comprehension that lies beyond a thick veil, remained for quite a while.

“Our covenant has been sealed! With that, let’s return back to your world~“

Only upon looking back did you realize that Zero did not answer the most important question.

—

The incessant beep of an alarm clock spurred you back to the waking world.

Sunlight had started to slip through the blinds, a silent confirmation that, indeed, night has given way to another day. Even though your body felt leaden, frozen in time, cursed to not feel anything resembling restfulness, you shook the fatigue the best you could and forced yourself to roll to the side, then, as your vision started to focus—

“Hey!”

The all-too familiar voice that plagued your dreams greeted you. As your vision snapped into focus, your eyes met the red-yellow ones of the witch who haunted your sleeping hours.

“Zero?!”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten,” she pouted. “Now that you accepted the contract, I’ll be sticking with you until I get your wishes!”

“Please don’t, I can’t afford to lose this job!” You reply, almost automatically, too panicked for your liking.

Zero didn’t seem to register your refusal. Rather, she seemed even more amused, her lips curling into a smile. “Oh come on, I want to see things! I want to eat snacks, watch the stars, read the new comic books. I won’t drag you down, I promise!”

She took your hand, pale fingers interlocking with yours in such a slow, tender gesture. Her thumb found your ring finger and brushed the base, coaxing a small ring with one loop to appear. The ring glowed in the same pink as the one you saw in your dreams, light particles revolving around it in a slow dance, merging and shifting and chasing each other. If there were any doubts of the encounter being nothing but a dream, the tender gesture would have dispelled it completely.

“After all, you, the one bound by our everlasting covenant, are the only one who can see me.”

Zero released your hand in a slow motion, fingers brushing onto yours for a few seconds too long, before her attention went to something else.

Oh, right, you have work to do.

Ignoring the ever-curious Zero, you bolted away to make yourself presentable, while the witch eyed your things with interest. She was especially interested at your snack stash, something about the sight of a powerful, wish-granting being from another world being so enamoured about something so ordinary bringing a chuckle to you.

Such was the start of your life with the witch from another dimension, yet, the mundanity only made the dark of your life all that much more stark.

For, as even the fools would have guessed. the first wish Zero granted you was one of revenge.

It was something you had long tucked back in your mind, placed inside a box labelled ‘repression’, taped up, and stored deep where no one should be able to reach, placed under myriad layers of irrelevant memories and kept out of reach from the light of your conscious thoughts. At least until the dam burst as you were forced to face the memory again. Looking back, it was almost childish, something about how a minor feud between competing businesses that spiralled into insanity that claimed the lives of people you knew, until you were forced to grovel as those you formerly considered friendly rivals showed their true colors.

For all these years, you endured the harsh, unfair treatment from them, forced to endure endless additional work until you snapped under the weight of unresolved anger and spite.

More than everything else, though, it was a careless wish, made as one of those former friends attempted to drag you away to parts unknown against your will.

“I wish all of you were fucking dead.”

At that moment, you spotted her black dress at the periphery of your sight, and then, she was in front of you. Even the world had stopped moving, bathed in a blue, criss-crossing grid lines except for the two of you. Depsite the outrageous nature of the request, Zero seemed unperturbed. Rather, she regarded you with a curious look.

“So, these were the ones who made you call for me. Boring people, if you ask me.”

You raise your eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

“Let’s see… these people were going to live unremarkable, mundane lives, and that shouldn’t be too hard…”

Realization hit you then, the fog of anger parting to give way for you to remember the witch’s sheer power.

“Zero, wait, this isn’t a good—“

She seemed to not perceive your presence, rather, she was focused on tinkering with something in front of her. Panels full of thousands of ever-scrolling lines, each with symbols more complicated than the last, enough to make your head pound from within when you stare for too long. Around her, cards wrapped in light of multiple colors rotate and wrap around each other in a mesmerizing display, a sight that Zero seemed to be unaware of - or perhaps, she did not deem it worth paying any mind.

“Done!”

With a flourish, she turned around to look at you, the panels disappearing as the lights shot away in multiple directions before dispersing. As time started to march once again, the person that was harassing you were contorted into painful, impossible shapes, expression frozen in horror without being able to speak as his own body started to break down, turning into—

You didn’t want to look, but out of the corner of your eyes, you saw a dark, yawning void where he was standing not even moments ago, swallowing every trace of him.

“Finished! They’re dead, well, it’s more like they don’t exist,” Zero winked at you. However, it registered as terrifying more than anything else. “Can we get something? I saw that shop selling ice cream so thick that don’t don’t melt even under the sun! Can we try?”

“But—“

“Come on, don’t focus on such boring things! I granted your wish,” she pouted. “This really reminds me of that comic I’ve seen once… Someone made a contract with an evil demon, and in the last part I saw, the villain actually made a cult…”

In contrast to your horrified expression, Zero didn’t seem to mind what she just did, and just rambled on. Just like a cat, Zero marches on her own beat, and your last attempt of protesting were shushed with a pale, slender finger on your lips. Her finger were cold, freezing your lips into silence and compliance, and there, the realization truly slammed itself onto your psyche.

This was a contract where you left the cost section blank, free for the witch to fill as she pleases.

From her smile as she took your hand and walked out of your workplace, it was easy to assume that she, indeed, were aware since the beginning.

That day, the ice cream Zero made you buy alongside her tasted overly sweet.

Perhaps a reminder of the impossible, costly saccharine deal you were sucked into, or proof that Zero was trying to anchor her presence even on one of your most basic senses.

—

The second wish Zero granted you were one without forethought.

With you, she has learned a lot, from simple pop-culture, to the minutiae of life, at least something that cannot be gleaned from being an observer. Though she seemed to like the sound of her own voice, she seemed to adore yours more, at least equal to her obsession with trying new foods if her demands after assisting you were anything to go by. When she asked you for something spicy for a challenge she saw on the internet, her expression twisted into something that must be seen to be believed.

In that moment, you forgot that you were dealing with a powerful witch from another dimension, and not a clueless friend whom you were stuck with.

Your conscious mind, your logical thoughts, all realized that letting your guard down near her would be a mistake, one that you may have to pay dearly for, yet even with constant reminders, it was difficult to stand guarded against her. She was eccentric, even the small kindnesses she did for your sake, such as preparing some food in the morning before you wake and in the evening, or even cleaning up the house with a thought, it was all colored in her character.

From how she made a pancake that started out completely sweet and end up savory with a swallow, to how she turned the apartment walls into edible candy for two days.

(You try not to think of the price you will have to pay when it is time to tally the costs.)

She became a constant presence, and sometimes, when she was away to do her own thing, a sentimental part of you missed her. She was fond of touching you, her cold digits lingering a few seconds too long, the sensation of her touches remaining fresh in your memory for a few hours even after she left.

No one remembered the family you killed. In this altered, unnatural reality, there was no feud that turned deadly, all traces of the ones you bore hatred and swore vengeance to falling into the void and replaced with you. Their wealth, their position, it all fell into the palm of your hand with such a simple command.

Though the question remained. What is the cost of having such a powerful being at your disposal?

A question that were always deflected by a smile and a freezing finger on your lips, scattering your thoughts away until she has long left into another tangent you could not hope to interrupt.

Your reminiscing were interrupted with a familiar rhythmic knocks on your door, proven to be nothing more than a formality not a few moments later, as Zero— the witch walked in from a torn void in reality, one that was definitely not there a few seconds ago.

“(Name)~” Zero called out, her voice sing-song and relaxed. “Heey~ Voyager~ Darling~ the audience is getting bored of you spacing out!”

As panic spurred you to stand up, Zero still looked relaxed, mismatched eyes staring upwards, her gaze directed to a distance so far, far away you could not fathom what she was getting at.

Wait, that wasn’t important. Was there someone here?

“Relax, the gods can’t hurt you! Well, they don’t get to do that as long as I’m here,” Zero flicked your forehead, your expression changing from panic to bewilderment. “C’mon, I heard someone is selling limited version ice cream made from black licorice! I want some!”

“Later, Zero, I’m not really feeling it,” you closed your eyes, your tone conveying exhaustion. “How about you go by yourself?”

“Nope! Come on, don’t be such a stick in the mud,” Zero remained unperturbed, taking your hand and pulling your arm. The sight would have been rather adorable, were your relationship were anything but based off a transaction with an unknown price.

“You already know everything there is to see around here, Zero. You can go by yourself. Sometimes, I wish you know how much you can be a pain—“

You clamped your mouth. Shit. Though you attempted to backtrack, you saw the witch’s expression has already soured, an uncharacteristic scowl highlighting her darkened gaze shadowed by her hair. In that moment, the room seemed to chill into a freezing stillness, even the lights around starting to fade until there was only you and her in the room.

“Zero, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—“

“I see,” Zero only responded, her tone stabbing and cold. “If that is what you desire, my voyager, there is nothing I could do.”

Your tongue felt ice-cold, lips frozen into a frown, unable to make a single sound. Meanwhile, your body refused to obey your commands, and you could only watch as Zero took her hand on yours, fingers hovering on the ring finger where the mark of the contract was, brushing the base of the finger with a movement so tender that still managed to chill you down to the farthest nerves. She lifted your hand and made you watch, watch as another loop started to appear above the first one, each passing moment of the new loop growing brighter feeding the pit of dread that has long formed within your stomach.

“Though, you might want to remember that I will collect what I’m owed, and you should watch your tongue from here on out.”

She placed down the hand bearing the mark of your contract and lifted her other hand, brushing her thumb past your lips, and then, the freezing cold of your tongue was replaced with a searing heat, drowning, breaking, overwriting every other sensation with an unrelenting sensation akin to thousands of heated needles piercing all conceivable surface. It hurts, it hurts, and you swore you tasted iron, without the warm feeling of blood that would accompany it—

Then, it stopped. Zero was no longer there, and everything was fine. You ran to the closest mirror, and a quick check revealed that everything was fine. It was such a tempting lure to think that everything was fine.

Only for the illusion to shatter as the image of a stylized clock face branded your tongue, bearing the myriad colors you’ve come to associate with Zero’s presence.

However, no matter how much you called for her, there was no answer.

—

It was on the cusp of true relief, just when you let yourself truly return to normalcy, that Zero granted your third wish.

You cannot miss what you never had, at least this way, there was no deluding yourself that there was something more behind the transactional nature of your connection. With time, with space, and without Zero shadowing you with her constant presence, it was easier to look at everything with a more objective angle. For the first few days, weeks, you watched your back and surroundings with the paranoia of a fugitive, even tried to make a wish, all without any effects, without her answering your call.

The human mind was not made to handle a nigh constant sense of danger, and with time, you allowed yourself to truly relax. The ring was still there whenever you focused on your ring finger, while the clock that branded your tongue has faded without leaving any traces.

Though you knew what she was capable of, a part of you longed to dismiss the sight that day as nothing but a mere figment of your imagination, an eerily vivid hallucination that had you hearing the sound of ticking for the first few days whenever you so much as closed your eyes.

Even that has disappeared with time, leaving only your not-so infaillible memory of the event.

With what you got from the contract, you have moved far away to restart your life, to a place less crowded, with less modern facilities, just enough to live without too much discomfort. With time, you allowed yourself to feel again, to heal, to dismiss everything from the fateful day piece by piece.

Maybe, the rings would drag you down to be tortured by her for all eternity, just like in one of those stories written by the superstitious.

Months would pass by, before you allowed yourself to be vulnerable around someone. There was someone who offered you help when you were finding your footing here, and they had remained a constant presence, owing to the close distance of your living places and the ease they talk to you with. A wonderful friend that you fantasized, no, hoped one day would become something more.

It was juvenile, a crush on the level of a child who had just learned what romantic love was, but there should be no harm to entertain such a little fantasy in the comfort and privacy of your thoughts.

“I wish they would give their heart to me.”

When the air started to hang heavy with thick, inky darkness, panic gripped your lungs.

Too late. Right when you felt her presence, your body had escaped your control, a doll with enough strength to stand, yet helpless to resist while Zero held your hand. Her pale hand took the hand bearing your contract mark, the other resting on your shoulder, putting you into a kneeling position with a firm yet gentle touch. Her eyes twinkle with amusement and glee, and the undercurrent of something more, something sickeningly sweet and sinister.

“Finally, I almost tried to make bets with the gods on how long until you end up with me again.”

The hand on your shoulder moved to your face, cupping your cheek while her thumb grazed your lips. With her command, you opened your mouth, revealing that the dreadful seal placed upon it has changed, the clock hands had moved ever closer to the middle of the day - or perhaps night, if the dark all around the owner of the mark could be taken as a hint.

“They were waiting for this moment, after all.”

Zero didn’t seem angry - rather, her voice was gentle and soothing. Perhaps it was your eyes, your pleading gaze, your struggle to move, but she seemed to read your intentions.

“Of course, there is no need for regrets, my voyager. After all, this ending has been written ever since we made the contract, even if there are some snags around the way~“

You try to plead, to reason, but what was there to say? It was pointless, she would grant the wish you so thoughtlessly spoke of, and from the looks of her expression, you would come to regret every second of what you were given. It only took a second for her to stop tinkering with whatever it was she altered to grant what you desired, yet to you, it took an eternity, locked to watch as she nudged the first domino that would seal your fate.

“Enjoy your wish, dear voyager~”

Just like before, she disappeared right after. Leaving no chances to ask questions, no chances to plead and regret.

You look at your reflection in the mirror.

The hour hand of the clock branded to your tongue was one hour away from midnight.

—

It took the span of a few weeks to discover what she meant.

Since that day, something deep within you were screaming, pleading, even at times forcing you to flee, turning into nightmarish scenarios that haunted your dreams and plagued your waking hours. A primal fear, unknown whether it was from you or from the manipulations of the witch, made you all too aware, of how the smiles from your friend start to veer into a devouring, smothering affection, until this affection you once so treasured and desired turned into a suffocating leash.

Paranoia crept upon your life once more, as you start to lock doors behind you, start to sense what may not be present in moving shadows, start to see and feel and suffocate with each passing moment of this too-long, drawn out punishment. Even in your downtime, nothing went truly right, for you had to keep your guard up.

At least, it was the most apt description, for you were chained in the most nightmarish instant just before the other shoe dropped.

No matter the pleas you shouted to the void, the witch only smiled, as if your suffering was nothing so dangerous. Even as everything started to crumble around you, from odd incidents of things breaking, chunks of buildings almost crushing you into a nasty pile of meat, vehicles veering just a little too close for comfort, reducing you to hope for a mild scare at the comfort of home.

Until the metaphorical shoe finally dropped.

It dropped in such a bitter show of cruelty, too, as it was the first night you could sleep a little better since the wish tumbled from your lips as a herald to the descent of your life into disaster once more.

There was the sound of breaking, and with no fanfare, as you felt the touch of cold metal on your bare skin, everything stilled, colors fading into muted greys all over. From a strange, geometric void, Zero stepped out, the edges of her movements causing chunks of reality itself to crumble into multicolored fragments and disperse away as ashen dust.

“Hello again, voyager,” she smiled, warm and inviting, despite the circumstances. “Have you forgotten? It is time for me to collect.”

You looked around and saw that the cold metal was a knife, belonging to the special friend that was both your savior and your nightmare within a span of time too dizzying, too quick to truly reconcile with yourself. They have been frozen mid-stab, crazed smile locked on their visage.

“After all, don’t you ask for their heart? You are one demanding voyager.”

It would not take a genius to figure out her intention. But you talk back, anyway. Out of futile hope, or out of curiosity that needed confirmation.

“Not like this. You warped their love.”

“Our sacred bond would not allow such a trickery, dear voyager,” Zero answered, voice sing-song as she glances at the person frozen in place just before they struck the killing blow. “As you wished, I gave you their whole heart. Never did I say that I would give them yours.”

Zero grasped your fingers, letting you watch as the third ring appeared above the second, shining with the color you’ve come to associate with the weight of dread pooling deep within. Deep down, you knew, it was the final seal that signified your end. Your limbs felt heavy, but this time, you were not frozen, rather, everything felt heavy beyond compare, as if you were pinned down and prevented to move.

Darkness started to open up beneath you, square by square, reality first crumbling into multicolored cubes before dispersing into ashen dust leading you to your destined abyss.

“Don’t you know that when you alter your fate and others, the world will eventually take notice?”

Zero didn’t seem concerned, rather, she watched as the void beneath you grew larger. “A human who wishes to alter fate will also alter the fate of others, and it’s a matter of time until the world itself—“

She cups your face, her hold tender. In this proximity, there was only you and her, as you drown into her gaze.

“—declares you an error.”

She captured your lips, and together, the two of you fell into the void.

You were drowning, lungs and mind filled with information a human shouldn’t be able to grasp, yet, when you reach out to touch and focus on one, everything eluded your grasp the way floating particles would elude a drop of soap. An eternity, a moment, passing as you attempt to focus and anchor yourself to something, only for everything to slip between your fingers as Zero tightened her hold on you.

“Mine, my voyager, finally mine to cherish,” she stared at you as she guided you to a gentle descent, your peripheral vision registering the familiar walls of the tower you once visited in your dreams. You were only given enough time to take a breath, before her lips took yours again, her tongue tangling upon yours as she tasted you. She tasted of strawberry, of sweet treats and refreshing cold, and she only allowed you release when your breath were truly, completely stolen, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before Zero licked it with a swipe of her tongue. Her manipulations suspended you in the air, your form propped by her powers, soft to your skin yet with the appearance of hardened light.

“Finally mine to take, another error born from fates too far altered. Don’t you know? Many desired your downfall, too, as they took vicarious pleasure from your situation.”

Your clothes disintegrated into nothing, disappearing the same way the gaps in reality did. “Don’t you hear them? They await your arrival here with anticipation. Give yourself to me, give me your heart, for the gods have declared you their favored, and now, you have nothing left.”

Her kisses trail down, bruises marking where her lips touch, her teeth grazing your skin. Though the tower shook, the coldness of the outside void rattling the walls, you felt nothing but rising warmth, radiating from your belly and spreading until it reached the tips of your fingers, your skin responding to Zero’s touches and gentle kisses. Her hold on your waist was possessive, her knee gently pressing between your legs until heat pooled and dripped onto her immaculate dress. She didn’t seem to mind, as her kisses reached your chest, sucking one more mark before her attention went to your lips once more.

Two of her fingers pressed down on your lips, past your teeth, her gaze a silent order.

There was nothing more to lose, nothing more to hold on. Some details of your life has been shrouded in thick smoke, the tightening of your chest a punishment should you try to reach beyond.

With that, you obeyed, wrapping your lips and tongue around her cold fingers.

From the approving quirk of her lips, it was clear that Zero, too, was aware of your predicament.

You sucked, wetting the two fingers, the intensifying, occassional press on her knee to your core becoming your encouragement. It was not enough, never enough, and the fire of desire within your belly only abated for a moment, just enough for you to chase the promise of release, only for you to he left bereft unless you continued. Only when the cold of her fingers were replaced with warmth did she pull her fingers out, one hand keeping your thighs parted despite how the odd, binding lights had already kept you in the best position.

Just when you were starting to think that she would leave you bereft and suspended like this, Zero pushed her fingers in. Even with the slick, you felt full, so full, thighs quivering in an attempt to close itself, to stave a little off the addicting, poisoning pleasure that Zero was feeding deep into the ravenous fire of your thirst. Her movements were experimental, but not inefficient, observing with glee as she found your weak spot and curled her fingers to press on it, drawing a pleased mewl that painted your cheeks in a rosy crimson and burned your ears.

“You can take it, don’t you? They made you strong, they made you able to withstand, for they would, too.” She whispered with a groan, the facade of her dignified witch crumbling long ago. Her hair has curtained your body, not even allowing your peripheral vision to lack her presence, her fingers driving you up to the precipice of release just before she relaxed her movements. “Come on, say my name, I’ll reward you~”

For the second time this day, you obey, and your vision exploded in stars of pleasure as her name fell from your lips in an endless repetition, the witch licking her lips at the sight of you coming undone. She did not release her grip, her gaze shifted somewhere, to something you could not reach, without relenting her hold on you.

“Are you all still not satisfied?”

Her smile turned predatory, a promise of pain and something else.

“Then, follow your desire, call for me, and perhaps, you too, could arrive in this place without the need of a proxy.”

Zero’s attention shifted back to her prey, entangled and basking in each other’s presence and passion.

Until time itself lost all meaning.

[samkerrworshipper]

Hi how have you been?💗 Would you maybe consider writing some angst for Alexia/Barcelona x reader where like maps and Ingrid start start to notice reader getting thinner and eating less but Alexia is so wrapped up in media and stuff that she doesn’t notice until reader faints at training. Then Mapi shouts at alexia and there’s some angst but it has a softer ending? ❤️

i remember everything.

alexia putellas x reader

warnings: eating disorders, pain n angst with a softer ending.

“Ale we’re losing her.”

Alexia hated a lot of things, winter, bad drivers, the colour orange, the Spanish federation, France, patchy makeup and cherry flavoured candy. The thing at the very top of her list though, was people telling her what to do. Alexia was the best player in the world, she was a force to be reckoned with, she did not need people telling her what to do with her life or relationships.

“Maria, she’s my fucking fiance, I would know if something was wrong with her, this is none of your business.”

Alexia was typing furiously at her phone, something that she seemed to always be doing lately. If you were lucky enough to catch her time for a few minutes, chances were her attention would end up being caught by replying to some email or text from her agent and manager. It was never ending, and anybody who had been a part of Alexia’s life before and after her had seen just how much her life had changed in the past two years. In this instance, Mapi and Alexia were out for drinks, trying to catch up but it was proving to be impossible with most of Alexia’s attention on whatever it was she was replying to this time.

“This is what I’m talking about, you don’t have enough time to talk face to face with your best friend, how does that prove to me that you have enough time to look out for your girlfriend?”

Alexia’s eyes rose from her phone, her fingers pausing.

“Maps, I know my fiance, I’d know if she had a eating disorder, I’d know if she was struggling, I lie in bed with her every night, I wake up with her every morning, I train with her everyday, I know her.”

Mapi’s eyebrow rose up at her forehead, it was weird for Alexia to meet her gaze, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“When was the last time she was sick? When was the last time she burnt something in your kitchen? When was the last time your dog ran away? You wouldn’t know because every time those things have happened in the last few months she’s called me, because you’ve been out of town. You're busy, we all understand it, not everybody can be La Reina, not everyone is you, but not everybody is your fiance. Her smile that normally lights up the room, it’s not there anymore, nothing about her is the same anymore, and I’ll be damned if she dies on your watch because you are being too insolent to acknowledge it.”

Mapi stood up from her seat at the bar, downing the rest of her dirty martini and giving Alexia a final parting frown.

“Go home to your fiance and actually look at her, eye to eye, lover to lover, and try and tell yourself that she is fine.”

Mapi exited the bar, disgruntled by her failed attempt at an intervention with Alexia, the slightly older woman simply didn’t want to listen to her and what was Mapi supposed to do about that? Alexia was stubborn and bullheaded, but she was like Mapi’s sister, she was Mapi’s blood, more than anybody else. Mapi had no idea where she’d be without Alexia, possibly dead in a ditch somewhere. Alexia had been the fristr person to haul her out of bed on a bad day, drag her out of clubs when she was so drunk she couldn’t see straight, Alexia was tough love, she forced Mapi to live until Mapi herself wanted to live. Mapi was more than grateful, but she also wasn’t going to let the love of Alexia’s life slowly kill herself because Alexia was too consumed with her own career to even realise.

The drive home for Alexia was slow and stressful in a way she’d never experienced. Alexia in her heart wanted to believe Mapi was wrong, because how could she be right? Alexia saw you everyday, she knew you better than anybody else, and she hadn’t noticed any of the things that Mapi had been talking about.

When Alexia does get home it’s to a silent house with no lights on, something thats fairly regular for her, considering the abnormal hours she normally egts home at. She leaves her keys and coat at the front door, reaches down to pet Nala who she must have woken up because the fluff ball has major bedhead. Alexia pours herself a glass of water from the tap before cautiously making her way into your bedroom. When she does finally make it to the door it’s hanging open, you sat on the bed, the lamp being the only source of lighting whilst you read from underneath it. You look so peaceful, so perfect, that Alexia considers leaving, sleeping on the couch. But she’s too angry, too consumed with her feelings, too emotional to take into account how much her actions affect you. She figures that in the last few months she’s probably drifted from you more than she's come close, which is probably concerning considering that the months leading up to a wedding you are supposed to be in premarital bliss.

“You didn’t have to wait up.”

Alexia’s voice is even, she moves into your shared wardrobe, pulling off her slacks and crop top and searching for a pair of her pyjamas.

“How was your day?”

You sound so hopeful, so curious. This is the only time of day msot weeks that you get to talk to Alexia and when it’s not too late you try your hardest to stay awake, hopeful tat maybe this time Alexia will return your eagerness.

“Fine.”

Alexia finally finds her pyjama shirt and shorts and changes into them quickly before moving back inot the bedroom.

“O-kay, how are you, how was Mapi?”

There’s so much hope in your voice, something that Alexia hates. She lets her eyes roam your body quickly, discreetly, not in a way that would make you think she was trying to start anything. She doesn’t see anything different. She doesn’t notice the fact that you no longer wear short sleeves or cropped shirts anymore. She doesn’t notice that your ribs now jut out from your skin, instead of being covered by a healthy amount of skin and fat, how could she? She doesn’t notice the patches across your scalp that are now missing hair, she doesn’t know that you no longer get your period, she doesn’t notice that your nails are now brittle and crusty, something that you’ve come to hate about yourself, just another dot point on the list of things that you detest about your body.

“Good.”

Alexia’s one word answer hurt your soul, more than Alexia ever had.

“If you don’t want to talk you can just say that.”

Alexia doesn’t slip under the covers like she’d planned to, instead her jaw clenches and hardens, a defence mechanism of hers that you’d never manage to crack.

“What are you talking about, we’re talking, I’m just tired.”

Your face falls at her snap, your eyes falling back to your book and marking your page before dropping it down on your bedside table, a little huff leaving your lips as your eyes drift upwards to meet Alexias.

“Alright, you must be absolutely exhausted every single time we talk then.”

It’s bold, especially considering that Alexia seems to be in a completely rotten mood, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because this is all she does and your becoming sick of it.

“Oh my god, I don’t come home every night just for you to make it seem like I’m a shitty girlfriend.”

It’s so Alexia, so Alexia to always somehow make herself the victim, somehow make it you who is the one in the wrong.

“Are you joking? You didn’t agree to come home to our house?”

Alexia moves herself further away from the bed, to the very edge, her eyes and jaw just as stubborn as each other.

“What do you want me to say? I’m tired, I want to sleep, not listen to you whine about whatever your fucking whining about, I’ve been in interviews all day and all I wanted to do was come home and sleep.”

Alexia was always in interviews, always doing something that was your fault, it wasn’t your responsibility to sort out her calendar, or to make her less of a good football player, it just happened to be the way the cookie crumbled.

“Okay, I’m sorry, I just had a really fucking bad qweek and I wanted to talk to you about it, because your supposed to be the fucking person I can talk to, but it’s fine, we can talk tomorrow, or next week, or next year, whenever your not tired.”

Alexia exhales, Mapi’s voice plays through her head, this is her in, this is her opportunity to not be such a fucking jackass.

“No, tell me about it.”

Anything you wanted to say, you swallow, it’s a hard job, but your suddenly so scared of Alexia, so scared that she’ll see you the same way you do, she’s never around to reassure you that you’re enough for her, and you honestly don’t feel like you are anymore.

“It’s fine, honestly sleep.”

You peel back the covers beside you, but Alexia stays still on the other end of the bed, just looking at you.

“You obviously want me to ask about it or you never would have brought it up.”

Alexia knows that it’s a dickhead move, but she’s at her wits end, she’s tired and your beginning to piss her off.

“Why do you make it seem like talking to me is a chore?”

Alexia has a schedule, and she figures sometimes talking with you is a chore, because Alexia doesn’t have time, some days talking to you is just another box for her to tick.

“How many times do I have to say that I’m fucking tired before you udnerstand?”

Alexia’s tone is so harsh, so angry, a tone she long ago promised herself she’d never use with you, ever. But right now every single rule she has for herself is being broken and when tears spring to the corners of your eyes she can’t help but feel guilty.

“If you’re so tired, go to sleep, I’ve told you that already, you’re starting an argument for no reason.”

Alexia cocks her head, trying to absorb what you’ve just said to her.

“Yeah, okay, whatever, I don’t want you fucking talking to me for the rest of the night though.”

Alexia never used to swear around you, or at you, but the part of her that was once so sweet and gentle with you is now gone, long forgotten under the facade that has become La Reina.

“Okay, I love you.”

It’s Alexia’s last chance, her last opportunity for redemption. You give her a few seconds, and when you get nothing in return your heart shatters.

“Please say it back Ale.”

Alexia’s face is emotionless, absolutely devoid of anything that made Alexia, Alexia. It reminds you as to why you are so scared to let people in, because of the damage they can do and the damage they can find. Alexia no longer seems concerned about any of those things, only concerned about herself.

“Alexia.”

She slips under the covers beside you, but her body and face is stock still, so stubborn, so hurt, so fucked up. It’s the final straw for you.

You pull the sheets away from your body, wrenching yourself up and out of the covers, tears streaming down your face as you rush into your wardrobe, pulling out whatever clothes are within arms reach and stuffing them into a bag.

When you emerge Alexia is looking equal parts concerned and shocked.

“Where the fuck are you going?”

In the moment, all you want is to be loved, feel loved, and it’s clear Alexia isn’t prepared to do any of those things.

“You need rest, I don't think either of us are going to get it whilst the other is in the house, I’m going to stay with Mapi for a few nights. When your ready to love me I’ll be there.”

With that you leave the bedroom, pick up your keys and drive into the darkness of the middle of the night, tears flowing freely down your face as the bleary night lights of Barcelona pass by.

It took every single bit of energy left in you to make it up the stairs of Mapi and Ingrid’s house, your knuckles pounding against their door until it swung open, to reveal Mapi and Ingrid, both looking like they’d just crawled out of bed and equally as shocked as each other.

It was then that you broke down, fat, big tears streaming down your face and sobs falling easily from your lips.

“I love her.”

There’s a silence so loud between the three of us as Mapi pulls you into a hug, Ingrid closing the door behind you and the two of them helping you into their house, pulling you into their bed and bringing you into a big hug. All you can do is focus on your breathing, in out, in out. Your hands tears at the broken skin and nails, you can’t manage to meet either of the womens eyes as you cry in their arms, they don’t seem to mind, they only tighten their grip on you.

“It’s okay hermosa, we’ve got you, we won't let go.”

You can’t do much more than cry, you're grieving your life, grieving your lover, grieving everything that you’d just lost in a matter of minutes. Your hearts torn to shreds, undecided about whether or not to let Alexia hold onto a breaking thread and risk the plummet. She’s given you absolutely nothing, no hope, no faith, no love and yet there she goes. She’s let you go. You're only feeling some of it, you know that there is going to be a day, not far away, where you're going to have to see her at training, laughing and smiling with your teammates, people who she’s loving through everything. You're losing her. You lost a version of her that was once so caring, who gave the warmest hugs. You’ve lost your 2 am conversations and your forever and always. You lost the person you’d promised you’d stay around till the very end with, if she hadn’t pushed you away, if she hadn't just loved you none of it would have happened. Alexia Putellas Segura was never yours to have though it seemed, she was for everyone else, the fans, the club, the country. Alexia Putellas was a thought, not a person.

There was a reason why you didn’t eat anymore, you’d become obsessed with trying to be perfect for Alexia, she hung out with models and super stars on the weekends, and yet you were just you. You were so unworthy of her love and attention that you couldn’t really blame her for falling out of love with you.

“She doesn’t love me, she never has.”

Maria hates it when those words leave your mouth, because it couldn’t be further from the truth, Alexia is just shit at showing you it. She knows that her bestfriend loves you more than anybody else in the world, that she would give up everything to be there for you, she just hasn’t noticed that you’ve needed that.

You sniffle into Ingrid’s chest, your fingers tapping against her thigh and your legs shaking from underneath you. You’ve never felt heartbroken before, Alexia has been your day one, and now it feels like you're just done, like everything the two of you have ever worked for together is just completely done.

“She loves you more than you know hermana, but she doesn’t deserve you if she’s going to continue to hurt you.”

Now that Mapi has you in her arms, she can feel just how much smaller you are, how much you���ve shrunken and how emaciated you are. She internally curses Alexia and her stubbornness, the world is so loud that Alexia Putellas has become deaf to your needs, to your happiness. Sometimes her best friend is one of the most impressive people she’s ever met and sometimes she’s just stupid, stupid for letting the love of her life feel so worthless and stupid for letting you walk out the door, something that could be the stupidest decision of her life.

You're positively exhausted, and it doesn’t take much of Ingrid’s back rubs and comforting Norwegian words that you don’t understand for you to be lulled into a painful sleep.

As soon as the two are certain your asleep the move you into the middle of the bed, Mapi looking over the top of you concernedly at Ingrid.

“She needs helps.”

Ingrid can’t find any part of her brain that disagrees with her other half.

“She needs Alexia to take her foot out of her ass and be present.”

Mapi nods her head, her eyes falling to your own face, even in your sleep you lok disturbed, your eyebrows knitted across your skin and a deep frown on your lips.

“Si, well if Alexia won’t then we have to, she needs to know she’s loved. She’s lost so much weight elksling, she hasn’t been eating or looking after herself.”

Ingrid nods, equally worried as her girlfriend about the health of their bestfriend.

“Get some sleep, we’ll figure it out in the morning.

When the two women wake to find you missing from their bed, it takes a search of their apartment to find you deep asleep in their spare room, neither of them question it. They make you breakfast, you don’t eat it, insisting that you're feeling nauseous. When they try to talk about Alexia you shut them down, you’ve created a mental fortress, one that Alexia and your health and emotions aren’t apart of. They invite you to stay with them for the foreseeable future, and you can’t find any reason to say no.

The following days leading up to the first pre-season training are all the same, you hardly sleep every night, sitting up late out on their porch and waking up at the crack of dawn. Mapi knows that your health is teetering dangerously, you hardly eat, you only leave the house to workout, you are a skeleton of a human being. Mapi doesn’t know what to do, you don’t care about anything anymore, or maybe you care so much that it’s all being numbed out.

It’s the first training session when everything turns to shit. She’d found you balling your eyes out in a change room cubicle beforehand, as soon as you’d spotted Mapi you’d pulled yourself together, terrified of being vulnerable in front of her. It only got worse though when you stepped out of the tunnel and onto the field, to be faced with Alexia, standing casually on the field, chatting with a few of your teammates. Your heart plummeted at the sight of her, the woman that you’d made so tired, so unhappy, laughing and messing about with your teammates. You pushed Mapi away when she tried to comfort you, walking straight to the sideline of the pitch to start your warm up. You made it through half of it, your body hurt though, in a way that it never had before. You only made it through one of your sprints before you were face planting into the turf, your whole body completely done. Your bones sunk into the grass, your body just giving up.

It was Mapi who made it to you first, flipping you over, her eyes searching your unconscious face. She knew this was going to happen, knew it was only so long before your body stopped letting you overwork it.

“Alexia.”

Mapi screamed at the top of her lungs, desperate to draw anyone's attention, specifically your fiance, or ex fiance. Everyone turned to face the two of you, Mapi knelt down on the turf, rocking your body back and forth as she tried her very hardest to awaken you, a task that was proving to be unsuccessful. The whole team rushed forward, Alexia at the front of the pack, collapsing beside Mapi on the ruf, taking your head in her hands and shaking it furiously.

“Someone get a medic, y/n, come on, wake up for me, get up.”

There was more emotion in Alexia’s voice than Mapi had heard in months. Mapi hated that it took you passing out for Alexia to care, and suddenly her protective older sister instinct kicked in, pushing Alexia away from you, taking her hands and distaching them from your unconscious body.

“Get the fuck away from her? She has to be unconscious for you to give a fuck? This is your fault, you let it get this bad, if you actually loved her you would have realised ages ago, but you don’t do you? You don’t love her like she deserves, you only love her when it’s convenient for you?”

The words bring tears to Alexia’s eyes, Mapi’s words awaken something in her, a realisation that she’s right, Alexia has given a blind eye to you and now you were seriously hurt because of it. She scrambled away from your body, suddenly overly aware of just how much she’d hurt you. She pushed herself out from the group, running away from all of them, running away from you, running away from her problems, running away from her life that she’d fucked up so badly.

One of the girls had called 112, clawing Mapi away from your unresponsive body as the medics tended to you, plastering a oxygen mask on your face that was far too big, sitting wrongly on your bony face. They loaded you up onto a stretcher, your cold body attached to more cords than you had extremities.

Mapi managed to fit herself into the ambulance with you, clutching your hand the whole drive to the hospital, praying to herself to let you be okay, to let everything work itself out.

When you woke up it was painful. Your eyes blinked furiously as they tried to focus on anything besides the infuriating white light that was clouding your vision. It took a few seconds for your senses to kick in, but once they did it only hurt more. The sound of constant beeping, movement and noise pollution crowding you ears. It was then that you spotted Mapi and Ingrid at your bedside, your eyes darting furiously between the two as the blood rushed to your ears to protect you from the overstimulating noise that was crowding your brain.

Mapi stood up, her hand intertwining with yours. She was trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear anything, your ears making you practically deaf. Mapi held your hand and it seemed to be enough, enough to tell you that everything was okay, or as okay as it could be. Slowly your anxiety slipped out from under you, and your hearing came back, allowing you to focus on what Mapi was saying to you.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s all okay, your okay, take some deep breaths for me.”

Your eyes darted to the IV’s and cords that were connected to you, the feeding tube that went through your nose and down your throat, the oxygen cannula that also rested on your nose, the countless IV’s that were connected to your arm, making it far harder to move your arm at all.

“What happened?”

Your words were choken, your throat dry from lack of liquids. Mapi solved this problem, reaching to your bedside and lifting a glass of water to your lips, you took tentative sips, the water soothing your dry throat.

“You passed at training, malnutrition and dehydration. The doctors think that you’ve been struggling with anorexia for a little while, that you haven’t been eating properly.”

Suddenly everything stopped for you, the words leaving Maria’s mouth making you gulp on nothingness. It felt like you were being choked, big imaginary hands wrapping around your throat, preventing you from saying anything in your defence. It felt like your organs were all eating each other up in your stomach, a uneven discomfort spreading across your torso.

“Nobody is judging you, you’ve been through a really tough time, what matters most now is getting you back to being healthy and happy. Barca is in full support of what you want to do, you have lots of options, inpatient, out patient, moving in with Ingrid and I fully.”

You didn’t want any of those things, you wanted Alexia and it hurt for you to admit that.

“I want Ale.”

Maria frowned at your words, she was still furious with Alexia.

“I don’t think that's a good idea, you deserve better then her hermosa.”

It hurt you to hear Mapi regard Alexia so lowly, when a few weeks ago Alexia had been her best friend in the entire world.

“I want to see Alexia, I know she’s here, let me see her.”

Ingrid stood up, walking out the door of your room and out into the waiting room, retrieving a particularly heart broken blonde from the room and dragging her into your room.

The way your face lit up when you saw Alexia made Mapi feel sick, she wasn’t going to let Alexia hurt you again like she had.

Alexia’s cheeks were tearstained, her eyes distant as they met yours. It hurt her in ways she could never explain, seeing you looking so lifeless in a hospital bed, you were conscious, but all life had been drained from your body, you truly looked like a skeleton.

“Mapi, give me and Alexia a minute will you?”

Mapi looked like she was about to argue, but Ingrid’s hand on her wrist, tugging her out of the room was enough of a distraction, the Norwegian woman closing the door behind the two of them.

“I’m so sorry, I was such a bad girlfriend-.”

You stopped Alexia grovelling by lifting your hand.

“You fucked up, you hurt me more than I’ve ever been hurt before. It fucking sucked Alexia, never seeing you and when I did see you, you were always on the phone or tired or not in the mood. I understand that you are very busy, and that you can’t control your schedule, I’m not having a go at you for that, you are allowed to be tired. I’m pissed off because I was struggling, really fucking struggling and all you gave a shit about was yourself, you don’t understand how stressful it is to explain what’s going on in your head when you don’t even understand it yourself. You are supposed to be my person, the person I can ask and tell anything and you didn’t want to be that and I detested you for that. I can’t do it anymore, I can’t spend everyday hating you, because this is what it does to me. I can’t live without you, but I also can’t live beside a version of you that doesn’t love me like I deserve. I want to try us, I want to try again, because if I stand even a chance at keeping myself alive and being happy whilst doing it, it’s going to be in your arms, but I need you to understand that, I need you to understand that you need to be here for me, regardless of what’s going on in your life. You know I’m proud of you, I’m your biggest supporter, so right now I need you to be that for me.”

Alexia nodded like a goldfish at you, more tears flowing freely down her face.

“How bad is it?”

You bit down on your lip, everything that made Alexia, La Reina was gone, all of her barrier broken down, so that the only person standing in front of you was your Ale, the Ale you loved so very much.

“It’s not good, I haven’t been looking after myself in a long while, Anorexia they say. They want me to go into outpatient or inpatient, or move in with Mapi. I don’t want to do any of those things, I just want to be with you, happy with you, with you there to look out for me, I just need you to commit to that for me.”

Alexia nodded quickly, her head shaking furiously as her blonde hair swished back and forth beside her head.

“Please, if you’ll have me. I’ll take time off, whatever you need, I’m here for it all, I’ll spend everyday for the rest of our lives making it up to you, I promise, please just let me love you.”

You patted down on the space beside you on the bed and Alexia hesitantly sat down on the space, hovering on the bed, making sure she wasn’t touching you, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable. You were starved though, starved of everything that you’d been missing the last few weeks, you reached out for her, pulling her to sit beside you on the bed, your head coming to rest against her stiff form. It took a few seconds to get her to relax, but when she did she lifted her hands up to your thin hair, carding her fingers gentle through it, trying her hardest not to notice the amount of hair that was falling out as a result of your health problems.

“I love you Ale.”

Alexia was so focused on you, that she didn’t even really hear the words.

“Ale, say it back.”

Your stern tone seemed to awaken her, she pointed her head down to yours, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and murmuring,

“I love you mi amor, more than you will ever know,”

It calmed your soul, a part of your heart that you didn’t know existed finally resting, enough to let you slowly drift off on Alexia’s chest, allowing you to sleep better than you had in months. Alexia found herself following you, the sight of you finally relaxed making her so much more content.

That was how Mapi and Ingrid found the two of you, sound asleep on your hospital bed. Mapi was a little bit annoyed at how easily you’d forgiven Alexia, but she couldn’t find it to be mad at the Catalan for very long, approving of how happy you looked at rest in her arms.

[jessamine-rose]

⋆˚♱ଘ Phantom Pain ଓ♱˚⋆

When I wrote the first fic of my Yandere Church AU, I never expected it to expand into a whole series. Now it’s time for Cartaphilus! Dainsleif x Yandere! Demon! Reader………and yes, Dain is the darling in this fic ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

I hope y’all enjoy their twisted story and the cameos to my previous fics!! Special thanks to my beta-reader @diodellet, @brynn-lear who helped me with Dain’s characterization, and all of my mutuals who listened to my brainrot~

Tw:: YANDERE, psychological trauma, blood, graphic violence, death, stalking, dubcon, noncon, mention of nsfw, MDNI, please take note of all of these warnings

Notes:: Female reader, FICTIONAL depictions of religion, inspired by Cartaphilus from The Ancient Magus’ Bride, I’m sorry Dain (*´꒳`*)

♡ 7.3k words under the cut ♡

♡ Among God’s creations, His favorite is granted a special fate. Though all lives end in death, only humanity is blessed with salvation and afterlife. Those who live righteously may thus ascend to Heaven, whereas sinners are condemned to eternal suffering in Hell. There is, however, one exception—a fragment of humanity whose sins may never be forgiven.

♡ Legends speak of Khaenri’ah, the nation of sinners. Once the pride of humankind, its citizens challenged God through their creations in alchemy and technology—and the entire nation was subsequently destroyed in a sea of flames. In the wake of the Cataclysm, pollen from the Tree of Life rained down upon the survivors, afflicting them with their final punishment, immortality.

♡ Since then, Khaenri’ahns have roamed the mortal plane in a perpetual state of living. Denied a place in Heaven and Hell, they are cursed to live forever no matter what harm befalls their body and psyche. Due to their wicked reputation, they must also live in fear of their once-fellow humans, lest they face persecution. For this reason, eternity differs among Khaenri’ahns.

♡ After the Cataclysm, the survivors scattered across Teyvat. Many established secret communities to preserve their culture and find solace in companionship. Others settled in foreign nations, periodically assuming new identities to evade suspicion. And a few became travelers, moving from place to place with no home to call their own.

♡ One such traveler is Dainsleif. After failing to prevent the destruction of his nation, he began an endless journey around Teyvat. His initial goal was to protect his fellow survivors and seek a cure for their curse. But as Khaenri’ah faded from memory, so did its people. Many succumbed to pain, madness, violence—and despite his best efforts, Dainsleif was unable to save any of them. In the perpetual meantime of a cruel eternity, all he could do was travel onwards, clinging to a thread of hope.

♡ That all changes when he wanders into the ruins of an ancient temple, 300 years after the Cataclysm. Had he known it was a place of worship, Dainsleif would have camped outside. But the structure is abandoned, inconspicuous, a perfect shelter against the ongoing storm. So he goes inside, lighting the way with his Khaenri’ahn sorcery. And only when he meets you does he realize he’d set foot in unholy ground.

♡ A pattern glows on the floor—a summoning circle he’d unknowingly stepped into, concealed with splatters of dried blood. From it, a winged figure emerges in a burst of light and slams him against the cracked tiles. Dizzily, he registers a strong hand pressing down on his neck, an aura of overwhelming divinity, a brilliant glare that strikes fear into his very soul.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Ah, let’s see. Just when I thought this place had succumbed to the elements, who has the insolence to summon me?”

In your divine presence, Dainsleif can only look up and take in your inhuman features. Sharp talons. Four wings with silvery black-and-gray feathers, resembling an eagle’s plumage. A single horn jutting from the left side of your head. Eyes as bright as miniature suns.

A demon. How in the world did he summon a demon?

He glances at the sigil etched on the floor. From what he knows of these rituals, they are only successful if specific instructions are followed and the demon’s true name is uttered. Was it because he used Khaenri’ahn sorcery within the summoning circle?

He meets your gaze. “I never intended—”

Your eyes widen. “Oh?”

Still gripping his neck, you lift him up and brush the loose strands of hair away from his face. The action uncovers his eyes, bright blue with pupils shaped like four-pointed stars.

“A Khaenri’ahn?”

At this point, Dainsleif doesn’t know what to do. He struggles in your grasp, only to stop when your talons dig into his skin. Your gaze remains locked onto his.

Slowly, your lips curve into a fanged smile.

“And such a pretty one at that.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Somehow, Dainsleif’s curse has saved him from your wrath. Still, he remains vigilant as you put him down and demand to hear his life story—why, when you have already glimpsed his soul? Reluctantly, he tells you everything from his previous life to the circumstances that brought him to your temple. Once he is finished, you allow him to stay in your temple until the storm ends.

♡ As you move, he notices a trio of jagged scars on your body—one on each shoulder, another one between your first pair of wings. He makes no mention of it, however, and instead asks for your identity. In response to that, you give him an enigmatic smile, whisper your true name, and promptly disappear. The only proof of your encounter is the dark bruise around Dainsleif’s neck.

♡ He doesn’t sleep well. At the crack of dawn, he gets up and does a quick exploration of the temple ruins. From the looks of it, it could be thousands of years old. There are sculpted images of suns, beasts, and paradises. The bloodstained floor implies a violent end for the previous intruders—or was it from your official summoning rituals? At any rate, one thing is clear: You are a powerful demon, one who was previously worshiped as a false god.

♡ He leaves after sunrise, relieved to have survived the ordeal…only for your paths to cross a few days later. And the week after that. Again and again. Most of the time, you appear out of nowhere, invisible to everyone except for Dainsleif. Other times, your presence manifests in a stray feather, inhuman shadows, the persistent feeling that he is being watched.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Oh, hello, Dain. Did you enjoy your drink?”

“...What have you done?”

In the dark alley, your bloody visage is a terrifying sight. A human is passed out at your feet, their arm covered in deep scratches and blackened veins.

Dainsleif takes a step back. That person…isn’t that the drunkard who tried to start a fight with him at the tavern?

A sinister smile appears on your face. “Don’t worry, I just cast a little curse on them.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ He doesn’t know what to make of his situation. In Khaenri’ah, demons were perceived as wicked creatures that lead humanity down the path of sin. You have yet to harm him, unless your plan is to lull him into a false sense of security first. It would certainly explain your frequent visits, your honeyed words, your cheerful demeanor around him.

♡ During your encounters, he asks you questions. As it turns out, it is difficult to find information on you. Humans usually refer to a specific demon by their title, so your true name is only useful when he is addressing you. You don’t reveal much about yourself, apart from the fact that your current role in Hell is torturing the souls of deceased sinners.

♡ The answer is found in the Sumeru Akademiya. The House of Daena has a forbidden archive that includes grimoires, research on spiritual beings, as well as related literature. It doesn’t take long for him to find the hidden room. As he examines the bookshelves, he notices a few written records of Khaenri’ah, all of which depict his people in a negative light.

♡ He begins with a book about the celestial hierarchy. According to the writer, there are nine ranks of angels and only the Second Order, the Cherubim, have two pairs of eagle wings. They also have four heads—human, lion, ox, eagle…and in the accompanying illustration, the animal heads are located in the exact same place as your scars.

♡ Next is the grimoire of Il Dottore. He flips through the section dedicated to demons, skimming the notes and sigils. There is the Puppeteer, the Fair Lady, the Seeker of Forbidden Knowledge whom Dottore formed a pact with, and so on. Finally, he comes across a familiar sigil.

The Beheaded Cherub

-True name: ______

-Created in the ███ Era, fell from grace in the ██████ Era

-Basic status: 1 head (human), 1 set of fangs (lion), 1 horn (ox), 2 pairs of wings and 10 talons (harpy eagle)

-One of the most powerful demons in Hell by virtue of her previous rank and her prominence in human cognizance. She was once venerated as a false god by the Temple of Light.

-Prior to her descent, she was called “the Beast of Beatitude.” █████ says her divine punishment was the loss of her animal heads and the development of her beastly traits.

-A unique specimen. It is a pity that I could not obtain a sample of her. If we meet again, more insight can be gained into the mental faculties of a fallen Cherub.

♡ The next page has an illustration drawn from memory. It’s you. An ornate choker protects your neck, and your expression is one of wrath. There is also a report of Dottore’s encounter with you: He’d trapped the Puppeteer via exorcism and obtained one of his wings. Before he could do worse, you suddenly appeared and rescued Scaramouche. Dottore theorized that you left without attacking him because you saw the Cherub’s skeleton in his laboratory.

♡ That book leads Dainsleif down a rabbit hole of texts. Historical records of the Temple of Light. Literary depictions of “the Beheaded Cherub.” The sketchbook of an artist whose muses were demons. Reports of mysterious curses that manifested in pain and disfigurement. All of those sources point to you.

♡ Well, one thing is clear: He is doomed. It’s bad enough that he is dealing with a spiritual being, what more a powerful one. It is at this moment that he senses your presence behind him.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“Hello, Dain. I see you’ve figured out who I am.”

This time, he doesn’t look at you. “You never told me of your appetite for humans. Just how many were sacrificed for the Temple of Light’s offerings?”

Silence. Dainsleif continues to face the desk, closing the book in his hands.

Finally, you answer him. “That was not my command. The Temple of Light was founded by one of my earliest humans. Most of their beliefs and rituals were his own ideas, believe it or not.”

“And where is he now? Is he one of those sinners that you are so fond of torturing?”

He can imagine the sight behind him: You, in all of your demonic glory, casting large shadows against the walls. It is easy to reconcile your image with your sinister depictions.

“No,” you reply. “Once a human dies, all of their pacts are broken. As such, I have no reason to maintain ties with my former humans, especially the one who gave me such a wretched title. I let my coworkers handle their punishments.”

“And do you intend to make a deal with me as well?”

It is the only rational explanation he can think of.

“Wrong again. As a matter of fact, demons cannot form pacts with Khaenri’ahns, hence our indifference to your kind. What use is there for a soul that will never enter Hell?”

Dainsleif glances at the Lesser Key of Deshret. According to that source, most humans sought you out for the purpose of cursing their enemies.

He turns around. “Let me ask you this. Why are you following me?”

In the candlelight, your gaze has never looked more intense. “Is it not enough to say that I am mesmerized by you?”

The look he gives you is one of pure doubt.

You stand in front of him, touching his half-mask.

“I saw it all, Dainsleif,” you tell him, “when I looked into your soul. Your righteousness as the Twilight Sword, your perseverance after the Cataclysm, the hope you’ve clung to for all these centuries…I find it all so fascinating.”

He pulls away, glaring. “Is that all? A mere sense of curiosity?”

You smile at him. “Well, there is also your beauty. When I look at you, I can almost understand why humanity is the only creation which God deemed perfect.”

“Your flattery is as banal as it is unwarranted,” he scoffs. Stepping aside, he tidies up the desk and returns the books to their shelves. “I have never received the favor of God in the past. I don't see any reason I would need yours now or in the future, either.”

That is when you burst into laughter.

“Are you sure about that? Believe me, Dain, I have a lot to offer.”

As you push him against the wall, your expression becomes deathly serious.

“Two centuries ago,” you whisper, “a Khaenri’ahn was burned at the stake in Fontaine. She survived, of course, but was left with scars that will never heal. Another one encountered the wrong group of heretics and, to this day, his body is being used for their rituals.”

“I…” Dread pools up in his stomach. Does he know those individuals?

“And just last year, I heard the Church of Snezhnaya discovered a community of Khaenri’ahns and buried everyone alive. They’re all trapped underground, barely conscious. But even if they are freed, I doubt their bodies could still function after being deprived of nutrients for so long.”

Snezhnaya…are you talking about the one led by Pierro?

“Oh, and how could I forget?” You lean closer, your eyes reflecting Dainsleif’s agonized face. “Long before the Cataclysm, the Tree of Life disappeared from the human realm. Nobody, not even the angels, knows if it still exists. What more for the Khaenri’ahns who dedicated their eternity to searching for it?”

No.

If the Tree of Life is gone…

Does that mean there is truly no way to break the curse?

At this point, Dainsleif is trembling. “______, please tell me you are—mph!”

There is nothing gentle about your kiss. The back of his head hits the wall, and his mask falls to the floor. When he tries to resist, you capture his wrists in an iron grip.

It’s too much. Panicking, he resorts to his Khaenri’ahn sorcery but the galaxy-like aura is easily extinguished by your radiant light. You spread your wings, caging him in silvery feathers. Sharp fangs graze his bottom lip. He can’t do anything. He has to call for help—

Footsteps echo outside the room.

Just as quickly as the idea comes to mind, Dainsleif falls silent. What is he thinking? What if the scholar sees his cursed marks and realizes he is a Khaenri’ahn?

He stays still, praying the door remains locked. When the footsteps recede, he slumps against the wall.

His relief isn’t lost on you. Pulling away, you trace the blue veins and black marks on his face. A sinful smile plays on your lips.

“Do you understand, darling? No one, not even God, will save you.”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ After that revelation, Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat. But he does so aimlessly, in your company. There are attempts to ward you off—religious objects, carefully-worded negotiations, a few hours spent inside a church—but all end in your amused reactions. It becomes routine for you to meet him every few days, providing Mora for his expenses and information on the places he visits.

♡ Your threats are no laughing matter. Thankfully, your violence never exceeds the severity of your first meeting. A strong grip on his hand. Talons playfully tracing his cursed marks. There is that time you swooped in, picked him up, and threatened to drop him off a cliff for trying to hide from you…then you later brushed it off as an empty threat.

♡ You’re also very affectionate, if such a word can be used to describe a demon. At one point, you begin leaving gifts for him—a new cloak, bejeweled hairpins, gems in the same shade of blue as his eyes. He tries to decline your gifts on the basis of practicality but you’re difficult to persuade. Moreover, he keeps finding your stray feathers on his clothes.

♡ Then there is the matter of your physical intimacy. By now, Dainsleif is used to your kisses and cuddles. The worst part is when your hands wander, when you defile his body after sundown, when his resistance crumbles into moans and tears. Those nights always end in his skin tainted with love bites, teeth marks, light scratches. Thankfully, you are unable to brand him with your sigil though that doesn’t stop you from longingly biting the back of his neck.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“______, that’s enough.”

“Hmm?” You press another kiss to his shoulder. “What did you say?”

He gives you a tired look. “I need to sleep.”

Just how unending is a demon’s stamina? It’s past midnight, and he doubts he will be able to leave the bed later. Perhaps he can ask the innkeeper for an extension.

“All right.” You pull the blankets over the two of you. Then you wrap your arms around him, keeping him close. “I’ll give you enough Mora for a week’s stay.”

He lies on his side, staring at the wall. “You don’t have to.”

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep. In a few minutes, your grip loosens and all Dainsleif can hear is his own breathing. Carefully, he turns over to face you.

…He never knows how to deal with you after your depravity has been exhausted. You’re always gentle as you clean him up and cuddle him in bed. When you sleep, you are no different from a corpse. No sounds, no movements, a neutral expression on your face.

Sighing, he shifts to a more comfortable position and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up, you are gone. Your side of the bed is still warm.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ A few years later, you decide to accompany Dainsleif in a different form. It all starts when he meets a fellow traveler in Mondstadt. They’d camped in the same forest and it was hard to ignore them, especially when they asked for his help. In the end, Dainsleif relented and they explored the forest together. He thought it would be safe since you never visit him on Sundays.

♡ He leaves the forest the next morning, after agreeing to lunch at a nearby tavern. But when he arrives, he finds his acquaintance being restrained and dragged into a medical vehicle. They are absolutely feral, but most alarming are the wounds on their face. Before they pass out, Dainsleif makes eye contact with them and notices an indigo glint in their eyes.

♡ A waiter fills him in on what happened: His acquaintance suddenly went mad, made a mess in the tavern, and ran straight into a mirror. When Dainsleif visits them at the clinic, they are visibly disoriented, claiming they didn’t know what came over them. They are escorted home a few days later, their face covered in scars, and Dainsleif never sees them again.

♡ The next day, he is strolling around Mondstadt City when a familiar pair of arms wraps around him. He muffles a gasp and turns around to give you a subtle glare—have you forgotten that he is in public?—only to stop when he sees you. Your demonic features are gone, and you are wearing traveler’s attire. Moreover, the surrounding humans can also see you.

˖⋆‧˚✦

“So, darling, do you like my human guise?”

The smile hasn’t left your face. It’s natural, considering the fact that Dainsleif is the one holding your hand and leading you to a secluded spot.

He lets go of you. “What are you planning now?”

You frown, placing the same hand over your chest. “I just wanted to spend more time with you. It’s no fun when you ignore me in the presence of humans.”

“______.” Your name leaves his lips in an exasperated voice. “How can I be sure that you won’t draw more attention to me?”

“Hey, have more faith in me,” you pout. In this form, you look significantly less imposing. “I’ve used this guise many times in the past. And isn’t it easier for you to interact with me this way, rather than pretend I’m not right in front of you?”

It’s not like any amount of persuasion would work on you.

He sighs. “Well, that’s as good a reason as any. Follow me, then.”

With that, the two of you return to the Market District. Dainsleif orders two chicken-mushroom skewers, not missing the way your eyes sparkle when he asks you if you want anything else.

A few feet away, a Mondstadter casts a flirtatious glance at him. But before they can approach him, you wrap your arm around his waist and scare them off with a fervent glare.

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Your human guise brings about more changes in Dainsleif’s journey, from couple promos to less strangers bothering him. At times, you break away from him to pet wild animals or purchase items for yourself. In those moments, he can’t help but watch you from a distance. Your face is capable of many expressions, he observes, some of which are actually quite nice to look at.

♡ You also continue to share valuable information with him. Once, Dainsleif picks up a book entitled Molten Moment. In the foreword, the author claimed that it was based on the life of a demon they’d formed a pact with. Not only did you confirm the truth to their story, you also stop at a certain chapter. In it, the protagonist spoke to a Power whose true name was of Khaenri’ahn origin.

♡ That is how Dainsleif learns there are angels who look like Khaenri’ahns. They have the same starry eyes and facial features as his people, though God stopped creating them a long time ago. Many of them became demons for opposing the Cataclysm out of personal attachment to Khaenri’ah. And those who remained as angels rarely use their human guise in the present.

♡ And when Dainsleif asks about the Power featured in the book, you give him a sad smile. Then you say something about a fight you lost, sparring sessions, and regular conversations. In the present, however, your encounters with Il Capitano are only a painful reminder that you are “no longer at full strength.”

♡ You also explain that unlike angels, demons typically aren’t close with one another. Though you do mention a pair of younger demons that you took in after their descent. There is a soft look in your eyes every time you talk about Scaramouche and Pantalone, and you like to buy souvenirs for them. In times like this, Dainsleif is reminded of the family he lost, the home he can never return to.

˖⋆‧˚✦

Bright. It’s too bright.

Dainsleif looks up. The sky is crimson, reflecting the sea of flames consuming his homeland.

Beneath him, the ground shatters into fragments. Screams of terror echo in the distance. All around him, he is greeted with chaos and destruction.

Where is Halfdan? What happened to the Royal Guards? How many more people are going to meet their end?

Suddenly, a ray of light shines upon his nation, so bright that it hurts his eyes. What are those particles raining down from the sky?

It burns.

He falls to his knees, coughing. Something is wrong. His body…he raises his right hand and watches in horror as the skin becomes corrupted.

Amidst his pain, all he can think of are the people he failed to protect.

-

“Dain? Dain, wake up!”

The holy light disappears.

Blearily, Dainsleif opens his eyes to darkness. A hand is on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

“What…?”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Your face comes into view. Gently, you pull him into a sitting position and rub soothing circles on his back. “It was just a dream.”

Another nightmare.

He glances at the window. The night sky is cloudy.

“Take deep breaths,” you continue. Your eyes, shining with a soft radiance, are the only source of light in the room. The tip of your wing brushes against his cheek—was he crying in his sleep?

For once, Dainsleif doesn’t back away from your touch. He leans against you, trying to steady himself, his gaze still fixed on the starless sky.

Hesitantly, you ask, “It was about the Cataclysm, wasn’t it? Do you want to talk about it?”

“...There is no need,” he mumbles. “My dreams are a rarity. I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Don’t apologize. It’s fine.”

He draws back, taking note of your worried expression. “Did I startle you?”

“Ah, not really,” you reply. Strands of hair are tangled around your horn, and you comb them out with your fingers. “....Though if I’m going to be honest, a part of me was curious.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

Your wings twitch. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just…I’ve always wondered what a nightmare feels like, since I am incapable of dreaming.”

“I see…is that a common trait amongst demons?”

You shake your head. “No. In fact, it’s one of the first abilities a demon gains after their descent. But in the millennia since I’ve been cast out of Heaven, I haven’t had a single dream.”

His gaze drifts to your scars. “Does it have something to do with your divine punishment?”

As soon as you look away, he realizes it was a correct guess.

“Say, darling,” you mutter. “Can you stand the sight of your cursed marks?”

He looks at his right hand. “At one point, I stopped dwelling on it.”

“Well, at least those marks are easy to cover up.”

This time, Dainsleif is the one staring at you.

This isn’t his first time seeing cracks in your demeanor. He has noticed many over the years, from the occasional headache to your wistful gaze directed at eagles flying overhead. Once, you suddenly flinched and touched one of your scars, only to brush it off when he asked about it.

Even if you take pride in your demonic visage, it doesn’t erase the scars of your past.

“Do you believe your god to have punished you fairly?”

You meet his gaze, frowning. “What did you say?”

“Forgive me for being direct,” he tells you. “You do not pry into my secrets, so I never pried into yours…but if you would like to tell me, I will listen.”

For a few seconds, you just stare back at him. Are you glimpsing his soul again? From his end, all he can see is your gaze turning dim.

“My answer is no.”

Your expression turns bitter. Dainsleif lets you elaborate.

“When I was an angel,” you whisper, “I used all four of my heads. Seeing the world from every angle, speaking in different sounds, expressing multiple emotions at once…those abilities are what set the Cherubim apart from the rest of God’s creations.”

Your jewelry glitters on the nightstand. Earlier today, you’d worn an esclavage necklace with three cameo pendants. Each pendant bears the image of an animal—a lion, an ox, an eagle.

“So you can imagine how difficult it was to lose them,” you continue. You grip your upper arms, talons digging into your skin. “My beastly heads, all reduced to dust before my remaining eyes. And even then, our creator did not spare what was left of my body.”

A mirror hangs on the wall. It perfectly reflects Dainsleif’s cursed marks and your sorrowful countenance.

“This face was perfectly human until I grew fangs. My talons will always be in my line of sight. And don’t even get me started on the differences between halos and horns. It’s not…!”

Your voice cracks. At the same time, Dainsleif scoots closer to you.

In the dark, your expression looks tired. Resigned.

“So who cares if I looked down on humanity?” you mumble. “Why couldn’t I be forgiven? By now, I’ve lived over half of my life as a demon and yet…it still hurts.”

That ends your confession. You stare at your lap, wings lowered.

What is he supposed to say in this scenario?

From the beginning, Dainsleif knew it would be meaningless to believe in baseless depictions of demons. Still, it’s perplexing to see this side of you, to feel sympathy for the present source of his vexation and anxiety.

Yet in this moment, he finds himself reaching out to you. He copies your soothing gesture from earlier, placing his hand on the area between your wings.

You allow it, resting your head on his shoulder. After a few minutes, you break the silence.

“You know, darling, I’ve always wondered…why do you remain unchanged? Why do you still choose to live righteously when you will never be rewarded with a place in Heaven?”

He looks you in the eye. “That was never my goal. All I’ve ever dreamed of was peace. So even if there is no more hope for me…there must be for my fellow humans.”

At that, you hold his cursed hand and give him a pitying look.

“But darling…at this point, can you even call yourself human?”

˖⋆‧˚✦

♡ Decades pass. Dainsleif continues to wander Teyvat, with you as his sole companion. By now, he has long grown tolerant of your presence…and he has even begun to crave it on the days when you are busy in Hell. But he keeps it a secret, along with the sparks of attraction that he is beginning to feel towards you. Instead, he chalks it up to loneliness. That must be it.

♡ Despite that, his affection reveals itself in subtle gestures. Mint brew for your headaches. Practical gifts such as gloves and weapons. Once, the two of you were exploring Dragonspine when he noticed that your scarf had loosened. He adjusted it for you, careful not to touch your scars; and after your initial shock, you stared ahead and quietly thanked him.

♡ These days, he can’t find any Khaenri’ahns apart from a few descendants. In those cases, he has a short conversation with them then leaves without divulging their ancestry. It’s enough to know that those individuals are spared from the curse and able to live ordinary lives, though he wonders if their ancestors are doing well. He can’t make any new friends, either, due to your possessive nature though he does get acquainted with your “family.”

♡ One day, he wanders Liyue on his own and encounters a bespectacled local. He introduces himself as Pantalone and commissions Dainsleif to collect Noctilucous Jade for him. With nothing else to do, Dainsleif accepts the job but is later paid a much higher price than the 500 Mora he’d charged. But when he objects, Pantalone gives him a saccharine smile and tells him that he is “merely showing generosity towards his Jiejie’s pet.” Then he disappears.

♡ A year after that encounter, you attend the concert of a Snezhnayan singer. The Balladeer has an emotional voice, but Dainsleif is distracted by a familiar glint in their eyes. After the performance, you bring him to the dressing room. The Balladeer is slumped over a chair, their eyes branded with a sigil, and an indigo-eyed demon looms over them. As you congratulate Scaramouche on “another excellent possession,” Dainsleif dreadfully recalls the traveler he met in Mondstadt.

♡ He confronts you about it in your hotel room. A part of him did suspect your involvement in his acquaintance’s disfigurement, but it’s different when you are guiltlessly confirming it. After a fiery argument, Dainsleif goes to sleep and coldly ignores you for the remainder of his stay in Snezhnaya. It was foolish of him to forget about your sinister nature.

♡ Not long after, he realizes that he hasn’t seen you in days. That is odd—usually, you inform him in advance if you have to stay in Hell for an extended period. Or did his outrage finally have its desired effect on you? He continues his journey, nonetheless, but it feels…different. Since meeting you, he had the assurance that his solitariness is only short-lived, that you’d always come back to bother him. But now? He isn’t so sure.

♡ He stops finding molted feathers on his clothes. When he looks in the mirror, he notices that your love bites have all but faded completely from his body. At the sight of his cursed marks, he recalls the nights you’d spend lovingly tracing the corrupted skin. You once told him that the luminous veins compliment his blue eyes, and his response had been a withering look.

♡ He goes to Sumeru. The House of Daena has undergone multiple renovations, and the secret archive has been moved to a new room. He rereads the texts about you and Khaenri’ah, taking note of each inaccuracy. How many years ago was his last visit? Has it really been 200 years since the day he crossed paths with you? So much has changed since then.

♡ Afterwards, Dainsleif finds himself wandering the area near Khaenri’ah. He hasn’t set foot in his homeland ever since the Cataclysm, but memory is a dangerous temptation. Just as he is about to walk away, he hears a loud sob and runs into the ruins.

♡  He finds a young person kneeling in a patch of Inteyvat flowers, hands clasped in prayer. When he calls out to them, they lift their head to reveal tears and star-shaped pupils in their eyes. Their face, however, is pristine. Are their cursed marks concealed with makeup? Or are they just a descendant of Khaenri’ah? Dainsleif crouches in front of them, offering his help…and that is when the person’s destitute expression twists into an eerie grin.

♡ Suddenly, the Inteyvat wrap around his limbs, restraining him. A heavy weight strikes the back of his head—the blunt side of a sword? Through his blurry vision, he watches as a celestial halo and a pair of glittery wings emerge from the body of the “Khaenri’ahn.” Two similar silhouettes appear near them, one in bronze armor and the other adorned with flowers. Everything goes dark.

♡ When he wakes up, he is in what seems to be a church. His body is chained to the altar and he feels dizzy, fading in and out of consciousness. From the looks of the stained-glass windows, it is already night. Beside him is a wounded figure, also restrained, more skeleton than flesh. They blankly stare ahead, unresponsive to his questions, and…is that Halfdan?

♡ The horrifying revelation is worsened by the presence of his attackers. From what Dainsleif can recall of the books he’d read, they are angels from the Second Sphere. The Dominion’s starry gaze is full of hatred as they narrate his comrade’s life after the Cataclysm. Halfdan had stayed behind to search for survivors, up until the angels took over their home. And in the decades since, he had been starved, tortured, kept alive only by the curse.

♡ By the end of their speech, all hope has left Dainsleif. Already, he is on the brink of passing out again and the chains have neutralized his Khaen’riahn sorcery. How can fate be so cruel to him? As the Dominion flies over to him, their multiple eyes blazing with cruelty, he whispers an apology to Halfdan and braces himself for a new world of suffering.

♡ Except they never lay a hand on him. In a burst of light, a taloned hand grabs the Dominion by the halo and slams them against the marble tiles. The other angels scream and cower in fear, a familiar name leaving their lips. Halfdan remains catatonic. As for Dainsleif, all he feels is pure relief at the sight of his savior.

♡ At this moment, you have never looked scarier. Your face is twisted in an expression of animalistic rage, and your glare could outshine the sun. You curse the Dominion this time, followed by the Virtue and the Power, before flying over to Dainsleif and breaking his chains. Before he faints again, he manages to point at Halfdan and beg you to help him as well.

♡ How long was he asleep? When he wakes up, the stained-glass windows are all shattered to reveal a sky the color of twilight. He and Halfdan have been moved to a corner of the church, kept warm by a blanket. And when he looks around the holy sanctuary, all he can see is carnage.

♡ Pieces of armor and flesh are scattered across the floor—the Power, brutally dismembered. Slumped against the double doors is the body of the Virtue, flowers and wings ripped off their cursed body. A rhythmic pattern of thuds directs his attention to the altar, where you are torturing the Dominion.

♡ They’re still alive, but barely. The eyes on their wings have been gouged out, and their halo has been reduced to fragments. You are bashing their face against the altar repeatedly—for how long? They have been disfigured beyond recognition. You ignore their desperate cries for forgiveness, only stopping when Dainsleif calls out to you.

♡ And just like that, your demeanor shifts from ferocity to concern. A loud crack echoes in the church as you finish off the Dominion and leave their corpse on the altar. Then you go over to Dainsleif, reassuring him that he is safe. But in the warmth of your embrace, he can only look at Halfdan.

♡ It’s too late for him. Irreparable damage has already been done to his body, what more for his psyche. Still, Dainsleif finds himself speaking to Halfdan, staring into his blank eyes, asking you if anything can be done to alleviate his pain. And when you ask him how badly he wants to put his comrade out of his misery…he understands the implication. And he tells you to do it.

♡ He doesn’t know if Halfdan can hear him. Nonetheless, Dainsleif forces a smile on his face, thanks him for faithfully doing his duty, and lies about the fate of Khaenri’ah. Then he moves aside, allowing him to crouch in front of Halfdan. Gently, you touch his face and whisper something to him. Then you spread your wings, blocking Dainsleif’s view.

♡ There is another crack. When you fold your wings, Halfdan’s head has been crushed and you are staring into his blank eyes. Glimpsing his soul, you confirm his comatose state and comfort Dainsleif. The rest of the day is spent preparing a makeshift grave and burying Halfdan in it. When you finally leave Khaenri’ah, Dainsleif turns back to face the ruins of his homeland. He hopes that his comrade is having a nice dream.

 ˖⋆‧˚✦

“I can do this by myself, you know.”

“I know. Now stay still, won’t you?”

“Right now, your health is more important.”

“And who are you to decide that?”

“______.” He gives you an exasperated look in the mirror and takes the comb out of your hands. “I am perfectly capable of brushing my own hair.”

The mirror reflects your stubborn expression. “But Dain—”

“I insist.” His gaze drifts to your bandaged shoulder, followed by the bruises near your neck. “Get some rest.”

“Oh, fine.” Shaking your head, you walk away from the vanity table.

Dainsleif faces his reflection. Aside from a bruise on the back of his head, his body is unharmed by the angel attack. To think it has only been a few hours since he left Khaenri’ah and returned to Shapur Hotel with you. He doesn’t know how he managed to get through dinner in his grief-stricken state.

At least his physical pain has subsided. And he feels better after taking a bath, though you were insistent on joining him. You wouldn’t even let him hold the hairdryer.

“Where on earth are my feathers?”

The facade of normalcy is broken by your sudden outburst. When Dainsleif turns to you, he sees you sifting through the clothes he’d just worn.

You give him an indignant look. “No wonder those angels didn’t know—What were you even doing in Khaenri’ah? Couldn’t you have at least waited for me to accompany you?!”

“...I kept them in my bag,” he answers. He walks over to the desk, where he’d placed his mask and the satchel you’d gifted him ten years ago. “I never knew there was a rational purpose to your feathers. I thought it was merely a sign of ownership.”

“Huh? Were you blind to the feathers on my brothers’ clothes?”

“That, I believed to be your equivalent of a family symbol.”

“In the past two centuries, did you even think of asking me about it?!”

He did try, at the start of your companionship, and you only said that he’d regret wasting your feathers. But Dainsleif knows better than to say that right now.

So instead, he yields to your embrace. This close, he can feel your body shaking.

“Do you know how frightened I was when I realized what happened to you?” you whisper.

“Now I do,” he mumbles. He hugs you back, positioning his hands below your lower wings. “Thank you for saving me.”

After a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence.

“Where were you these past weeks? I wondered if we’d ever meet again.”

“Oh, that? I just had a lot on my plate. Another headache, a new batch of sinners…and I figured you’d want some time to yourself. Ah, and I almost forgot!”

This time, you pick up your bloodstained clothes and take something out of your pocket.

“Here.” Facing him, you open the velvet box in your hands.

His eyes widen. “Oh, that’s…”

A ring. This isn’t the first one he has received from you, but it looks special. The gold band is engraved with intricate stars. The stone in the center is smooth, lustrous, with a radiant glow.

“What mineral is this?” he asks.

You tilt your head, and that is when he notices your horn. It looks normal at first glance, but it is shorter by a single inch.

“I commissioned one of the best craftsmen in Hell,” you explain. “How’s this? It should be easier to wear than my feathers, don’t you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” he admits, but his gaze hasn’t left your horn. “Was it—”

“It’s fine.” It sounds like the reassurance isn’t only for him. But he can tell that your smile is genuine. “It’ll grow back.”

“All right, then.” He allows you to lift his cursed hand and slip the ring onto his finger. “…Thank you for the gift.”

“Now, why don’t we get some sleep? It’s been a long day.”

With that, Dainsleif follows you to the bed. As always, you wrap your arms around him, pressing your torso against his back. Your wings also hug him, caging him in silvery feathers.

You press a kiss to his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

He stares ahead. “If you insist.”

The window showcases the second twilight of the day. You continue speaking.

“Tomorrow, do you want to have dinner at Lambad’s Tavern? It’s been a while since we enjoyed a drink together.”

“Sure,” he says. Already, he can feel the temptation of sleep. “And afterwards?”

A taloned fingertip traces the blue veins on his palm. “We can go wherever you want. There are a lot of new places to visit in Sumeru. I’ve heard of a new resort that opened in Inazuma. Oh, and if we leave for Liyue next week, we can get there in time for the Lantern Rite Festival.”

He intertwines your fingers. “I see. That sounds nice.”

He turns his head, facing you. Your eyes are bright, reflecting the stars in his own gaze.

“We can make our decision tomorrow.” With that, you give him a soft smile and close your eyes. “Sweet dreams, Dain.”

“Good night.”

He remains awake, however, long after the sky has turned dark. His hand is still in yours, his new ring glowing brighter than his cursed marks.

…He doesn’t know what to do, honestly. In two days, he has experienced so much, felt so many emotions, and he has yet to process it all. And there is still the winding road of eternity ahead of him, a future that promises anything but salvation. But tonight…

Tonight, he shall close his eyes and accept his fate.

Perhaps he will even dream of you.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Capitano ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving characters or dynamics not included in my masterlist.

At long last…..Dain’s fic has been written. This has been in my drafts since April, and I’m really happy with how it turned out!! Also, if the first few bullet points look very familiar, that’s because Pierro’s fic also begins with my worldbuilding for Church AU! Khaenri’ah~

Aahhh I had a lot of fun with Darling! Dainsleif and his demon wife. I rlly enjoyed writing their dynamic, so this definitely isn’t the last time I write for them. Who knows?? Maybe I’ll spare Dain and give him less suffering (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Tag a Dainsleif enjoyer!! @leftdestiny-posts @naraven @pranabefall @navxry @teabutmakeitazure @mochinon-yah @harmonysanreads @stickyspeckledlight

[artemisia-black]

Wizarding clothing and fashion

This meta/list of HCs has been sitting in my drafts for a while. But here is my meta about wizarding fashions. 

1.0 An insular culture with its own unique dress

No shade to people who enjoy seeing and drawing characters in muggle clothing, but I think that the majority of wizards and witches dress in wizarding clothing. 

Indeed, the fact that most wizards can’t dress as muggles and are quite conspicuous is mentioned in the first chapter of the series: 

“People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn’t bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion.” PS 

And then becomes a sort of running joke: 

“Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho” GoF

And in DH it is (partly) how Harry recognises that people are watching Grimmauld Place: 

“The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.” DH

Side note: it is peak Londoner to barely take notice of something odd. And this also implies that robes and cloaks are all year wear and that wizards potentially don’t have seasonal clothing.

Given that wizarding culture is very insular (with its own economy, government, and education system), it would make sense that while it may occasionally borrow trends from the muggle world, wizarding fashion and clothing are unique. 

In fact, only the younger generation are seen in muggle dress, with Harry commenting: 

“Their children might don Muggle clothing during the holidays, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley usually wore long robes in varying states of shabbiness.” GoF

2.0 Class and generational differences in dress

The previous quote demonstrates two things: much like in real life, there is generational and class stratification of dress. The condition and quality of wizarding clothing serves as a non-verbal cue about a character's economic status. This disparity is not just a background detail but is frequently brought into focus, such as through Draco Malfoy's derisive comments about Professor Lupin's tattered robes.

“ Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the delapidated suitcase.” PoA

“Look at the state of his robes,” Malfoy would say in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. “He dresses like our old house-elf.” PoA

Even Harry comments on his robes and observes that: 

“Professor Lupin looked particularly shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes”

The patched and frayed nature of both Lupins and Weasley’s robes seem to indicate that robe repairs can’t be done by an individual (or when it is done, it is really visible). Another example of this is when Ron removes the lace from his dress robes and leaves: 

“...the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.” GoF

Additionally,  in Padfoot returns Sirius’s prison robes still appear tatty despite him having had a haircut and left the country. This indicates that he either can’t obtain new robes or can’t/hasn’t bothered repairing his Azkaban robes. 

This is interesting, given that Molly Weasley is able to make jumpers and scarves yet can’t seem to alter robes. While knitting and sewing are separate skills, it seems odd that there aren’t means of repairing robes. 

This suggests that robes can only be repaired and bought at official vendors such as Madam Malkins/Gladrags/Twifitt and Tattings. 

 It is also interesting that both Fred and George buy clothing when they become successful (also a parallel to the real world). They gift their mum:

“….a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace.”  HBP

However, things being ‘frayed’ aren’t always an indication of poverty. Tonks is first introduced wearing an outfit that is a mix of muggle clothing but with something that is distinctly wizarding: 

“Tonks stood just behind him…. wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend THE WEIRD SISTERS.” OoTP

This outfit is heavily reminiscent of Sirius and James in the Elvendork prequel: 

 “Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.”

3.0 The underwear question

Something that gets bought up a lot is whether wizards wear underwear. 

Harry (who was raised by muggles certainly seems to): 

“He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.” GoF 

And:

“He was shivering now, his teeth chattering horribly, and yet he continued to strip off until at last he stood there in his underwear…”  DH

So does Neville (in the UK, Pants means underwear)

“He broke off as Neville entered the dormitory, bringing with him a strong smell of singed material, and began rummaging in his trunk for a fresh pair of pants.”

And infamously, so does Snape: 

“Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.”

Also we get some information about witch’s underwear from Sirius’s very Freudian joke: 

“Sirius looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, then said, “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers.”

Bloomers are a type of historical, baggy underpants (think boy shorts, but make it victorian). 

In conclusion, Archie, who wanted a breeze around his privates, was probably an outlier.  

4.0 Materials and accesories

So what is wizarding clothing made of? 

For robes and cloaks the materials most mentioned are silk/satin and velvet: 

“ She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.” GoF

Additionally in GoF, we learn that even witches and wizards from other countries wear robes and cloaks: 

“Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep bloodred.” 

And 

“...Bulgarian minister loudly, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold.”

Other materials include Dragon hide which appears to be used to make practical gloves and boots but also fashionable jackets. 

“... followed by Fred and George, who were wearing jackets of black dragon skin.” HBP

Additionally, robes can be embroidered: 

“ The man’s scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread” DH

“Harry glimpsed Slughorn at the head of the Slytherin column, wearing magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver” HBP

“Madam Rosmerta scurrying down the dark street toward them on high-heeled, fluffy slippers, wearing a silk dressing gown embroidered with dragons.” HBP

Interestingly, both men and women appear to wear heels: 

Dumbledore: 

“He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots” PS

Madame Maxine: 

“Then Harry saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage..” GoF

Monsiour Delacour: 

“However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered.” DH

Madame Rosmerta: 

“ Next he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels,” POA

Furthermore, witches carry handbags: 

“Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swinging wildly” COS

“ She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.”  GoF

“Professor Umbridge pulled a small roll of pink parchment out of her handbag”  OoTP

“Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag.” DH

5.0 My HCs

When I imagine what male robes look like, I imagine something akin to a Morrcan thobe or an Indian Sherwani.

I imagine robes to be enchanted to move and in my fic Pietas, I describe my OC Aeliana’s robes as follows: 

“She smiled slightly, smoothing the front of her dress, which was decorated with embroidered flowers and birds that had been enchanted to flutter their wings.”

I also HC some cultural variance in robes- with certain countries using different cloth or the skin of magical animals that are native to their countries. With hotter countries, having lighter robes and cooling/anti-perspiration charms.

[phantomposting]

So this prompt is probably gonna be a bit niche and only a very specific group of angst lovers may be into it but i mean I write to itch my brand of brain rot so who cares right?

Alright so I was thinking DP x Dc but what if we have a bit of a Tokyo ghoul esque twist. Danny and Damian are twins of course cause who doesn't love a bit of family drama :3

TW: CANNIBALISM, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, STARVATION, GORE, VOMIT

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

So essentially something goes terribly wrong and Danny can't digest food anymore the only thing he can eat is human flesh like a ghoul. Not sure what triggers it wether it's a lab accident or ghost biological thing is up to the writer

Danny doesn't fully know this when things start going south tho all food makes him violently ill and he essentially starts starving himself due to not knowing what's wrong and what he can stomach. Sam and Tucker try very hard to help him but it's a bit hard to truly tell what's going on until it's too late.

Sam accidentally gets a cut while alone with him. Things are a blur. All Danny knows when he comes too is Sam is dead, and he just tore her apart. Her blood is all over him and his mouth and he's in ghost mode. Someone came to check in the screams and saw him the ghost ripping her flesh from bones. Before he can truly absorb what's happened he runs.

So on the run he has a moment of realization. He feels like he should throw up but he can't. He assesses and doesn't know what to do. He wishes he could die he wishes he could rid the world of such an awful beast and fade but he isn't sure how to even do so. Every effort just heals. So he decides to get as far away from everyone he loves as he can.

He goes to Gotham. Its the best way to hide his ecto signature to keep the others from getting hurt and there's quite literally a constant supply of corpses to keep the ghoulish side fed so that he won't black out and hurt anyone ever again. He just needs to keep moving and keep hidden so the bats don't catch on and nobody gets hurt.

While getting into a routine he tries to figure out how to stop this how to go back to normal. He's slowly losing his mind and all this is messing with his protection based core he's falling apart at the seams.

Meanwhile the bats are horrified by the new developments of what seems to bea cannibal in gotham messing with all their evidence. It's really putting a damper on all their investigations and they need to track this guy down and fast if they want to assure the citizens safety.

Joker also catches onto this cannibal and just so happens to run into the kid. He offers him shelter and a role to play in exchange he gets free food from jokers victims it's a win win really. And what a pleasant way to mess with the bats especially with this kid looking like such adoption bait for the guy.

Needless to say Danny agrees having derailed enough mentally that he figures he might aswell just be the villain at this point. He also obtains the name Ghoul or maybe even Ghoulish Laughter under jokers foot.

One night things all come to a head and there's a big fight between joker and the bats. This showdown is where Damian and Danny run into eachother for the first time. Damian is horrified to see what's become his his brother and Danny is horrified to find that he could hurt his own brother and runs.

Joker is pissed Ghoul doesn't stick around. He's gonna starve that stupid beast for his insolence. Damian is determined to find out all he can and figure out what exactly happened to his brother. Hopefully either help him or stop him from ever hurting anyone else ever again.

Writers choice of how they want things to go down from there and wether or not Danny can be redeemed or saved. There's honestly a whole world of possibilities with this one! :D

[placeinthemiddleofnowhere]

Random hybrid! AU idea that I have floating around my head rn (featuring reader x poly!141 dynamics) 😎

So I’m picturing a world where hybrids are often treated like second class citizens. They can have jobs, but they don’t achieve high status in them, and more often than not will have humans manage or mind them. They’re very similar to humans, but often have smaller statures and of course have tails and ears of animals, sometimes even horns or feathers or claws. Generally hybrids will be sent to jobs they’re best suited to according to their ‘breed’.

One of those jobs can be serving in the military, in fact in this AU it’s encouraged for families to send their hybrids to jobs that they can ‘live away’ in just so that the government can curb trends in neglect and stop antisocial behaviour from runaway hybrids. Our MC is one of these hybrids that gets sent away, born to a family of two humans that couldn’t understand how they’d ended up with a kid with defective ‘dog’ genes.

Of course, reader grows up with a chip on their shoulder because of their crappy parents, so pretty much from the get go in their new job they’re a cheeky shit. They don’t take orders well, they’re constantly being disciplined, they mouth off, they’re sloppy and ultimately they don’t want to be there.

However after a brutal few months of punishment reader eventually caves. They do a good enough job that eventually the traits that make them difficult, become the ones that make them hard as nails. They’re the ones that make reader actually proud of something for once in their life, their capability to do what others cannot.

And for years reader serves and does their job well, though never having the black mark of their bad beginnings scrubbed from their record. Other hybrids have soldiers choose them, to be their permanent handlers and serve them on the field for as long as they live. Though reader never gets the pleasure, as much as they start to yearn for someone that might want them, that might wish to train them and take the time to smooth out their still jagged edges. No one ever wants to take the chance. No one wants the onus of shepherding the black sheep.

Then Ghost shows up.

He comes to the grounds and says his Captain, a man named Price, has ordered for a hybrid to join their team. They need one that can keep up in stressful environments, one that can move fast and take orders quickly. He stressed how deadly the jobs would be and immediately the handlers are balking, not wanting to waste their well trained hybrids on a task force with a near constant suicide mission. Until they remember that you’re still around. Little smart mouth sod that you are, wouldn’t be much of a waste if they were back again after disposing of you.

And so you’re pretty much sent off packing with a kick on your arse and a silent but ever inferred ‘don’t fucking come back’ order.

When you first get a proper look at the skull mask clad giant, you’re scared shitless. The handlers had done some damage to you in their time, but this man stood multiple feet above you and could take you out with one swipe. The fear he elicits is enough to keep you quiet for at least 5 minutes until you’re back to your usual self. Back to the wolf that growls and snarls and bites at the bars, the one that tries to keep the hurt at bay with a flash of their bloodied teeth.

Ghost sees through the act right away. He knows how bad hybrids have it, he has an inkling of what you’ve been through. So instead of treating you how they would, instead of grabbing your scruff and going to hit you and slam down that ‘insolent’ personality of yours he shows you the utmost amount of patience and kindness.

He gently undoes your too-tight collar and replaces it with one from his bag. He puts a couple fingers under the leather just to make sure it’s comfortable for you. Even after you grunt at him when he asks if it’s ok, he just huffs out a laugh at you and ruffles the hair between your ears, rubbing a flat palm around your fluffy head. He doesn’t even care when you growl at him for it, something you’d have been lashed for before. Instead he withdraws his hand and respects your space. He even leads you to a car and has you sit in the backseat with him, telling you after that it’s alright to lean against him and get some rest if you’d like!

Already you feel like your defences are shaking loose. You’re not quite sure of yourself. No matter how many snide remarks you make at the man he doesn’t try to correct you, he doesn’t even give you a cuff around the ears. He just shrugs you off and gives you watchful looks, sizing you up and making you feel even tinier than you are.

It unnerves you like nothing else and ultimately, as you start to dose off and slip ever closer to Ghost, you wonder what the rest of his team will be like. You wonder if maybe your new posting is just the change you’d been craving…

[jadegretz]

Morrigan: Seduction and Sorcery Combined by Jade Gretz

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an eerie glow over the ancient castle that loomed like a dark sentinel over the mist-covered forest below. Inside the grand halls, Morrigan Aensland, the beautiful and powerful succubus, sat upon her throne of obsidian, her emerald eyes gleaming with a mixture of boredom and anticipation. She could feel it in the air—the shift in the winds, the subtle pulse of energy that hinted at something more sinister.

Morrigan was no stranger to danger. As one of the most powerful beings in the Demon World, she had faced countless threats over the centuries, each one more fearsome than the last. But this night felt different, as if the very fabric of reality was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Her senses, honed over millennia, picked up on the faintest disturbances in the magical currents that flowed through her domain. She could feel the presence of others—beings that did not belong in her castle. Their magic was foreign, unfamiliar, and laced with malevolence. A small smile played on Morrigan's lips as she leaned back in her throne, her wings unfurling slightly in anticipation.

"So, they've finally come for me," she murmured to herself, her voice a silky purr that echoed through the empty hall. "Let the games begin."

The guild of magic-wielding assassins had been watching Morrigan for some time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They were a secretive and powerful organization, known only to those who dealt in the darkest of arts. Their members were trained in the use of ancient spells, curses, and hexes, their bodies and minds honed to perfection for one purpose: to eliminate their targets without mercy.

Morrigan had been marked for death by the guild after she had disrupted one of their rituals, thwarting their plans to summon an ancient demon that would have given them untold power. The guild did not take kindly to interference, and they had sworn to make Morrigan pay for her insolence. They had sent their best—a group of five elite assassins, each with their own unique brand of magic and a thirst …(see the rest of the story at deviantart.com/jadegretzAI). For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)

[sinizade]

Nerilynn Ernarre

Paladin of Selune (with mods ofc I want to dream)

Romance: Halsin

Bestie: Jaheira / Halsin / Zevlor

Previously a follower of Shar who abandoned her dark beliefs to follow the light of Selune after falling in love with a Selunite who converted her with whom she married and had a daughter, but simply abandoning Shar would not be something easy and without consequences. Nerilynn received a curse that took away her vision in the dark and now haunts her mind with vivid nightmares and it was thanks to this curse that she killed her own husband and her newborn daughter... Now a paladin sworn to revenge, Nerilynn hunts down and eliminates Shar's fanatical followers, always leaving a message for those who still have the chance to surrender to Selune's light, giving the youngest the chance to choose their path before accepting the Dark Lady embrace.

Even at the Lady of Silver's church, Nerilynn never needed to take care of the younger ones precisely because of her family history that made her brothers and sisters apprehensive about allowing her to get close to the younger ones, but that damn tadpole in her head gave her a taste of why she had always avoided that... Humans, elves, a Githyanki with serious anger issues, and a clearly hyperactive tiefling who now followed her wherever she went, they weren't bad people, but Nerilynn had never been forced to spend so much time with so many troubled young ones like she has been through, her only outlet was Jaheira and Halsin who at least shared their thoughts about these troubled young ones at the camp.

Shadowheart was a challenge, a BIG challenge... Every day Nerilynn tried very hard not to rip that insolent and intolerant child's head off, but at the same time she was angry, she felt sorry for her, such a young girl suffering in the clutches of those who follow the Dark Lady, having her mind corrupted and destroyed little by little... Remembering that one day Nerilynn was in Shadowheart's place, remembering that she managed to get out of this dark world even with consequences was what gave her hope.

After so many years Nerilynn never thought she would fall in love again, feel again what she felt with her first husband and, for a moment, she even felt as if she was cheating on her husband, but Halsin managed to push that thought away from her. .. He took care of her, understood her limitations and what happened in her past. Not even the distance kept them apart, after the defeat of Absolute each one had different ideals for their own future, but in a way, such different plans ended up merging at times and both always ended up meeting again.

Some extra information about Nerilynn

Her dream guardian have the appearance she imagined her daughter would look like if she had the opportunity to grow up

Even though she loves Halsin very much, she doesn't see herself living in the middle of the woods with him... She's a city lady with an important position in the Selunite church, continuing with a long-distance relationship seems like the best option for both of them

She and Shadowheart traveled together to visit and see her parents' Selunite church

Even with all the difficulties, Shadowheart became a daughter to Nerilynn