#greed and indifference do

[inariedwards]

Hey friends of queer history, have you seen Gran Fury's poster "Kissing Doesn't Kill"? You can check it out at the V&A's collection.

[ozzgin]

content: female reader, monster romance, Secret Santa gift for the lovely @jinnmyc! Happy Holidays <3

You've always found your monstrous husband to be particularly imposing. He never loses his cool, and his smile is a rarity reserved only for your presence.

"He's a tough one," you find yourself remarking to his beastly butler.

The scaly servant nods, a faint grin threatening to crease his features. With a dry cough, he covers his face, allowing himself a moment of recollection.

You see, there's a certain intimacy that remains hidden even from you. He knows it too well. He'd probably be thrown over a grill if he ever dared to suggest such blasphemous truths to you, so he can only smile cheekily whenever you mention his Master's impenetrable character.

Indeed, only he's been allowed to witness the Dark Lord's pathetic, deplorable displays. Without exception, they're all about you. His jealousy, his greed, his desperate need to be in your presence.

His horrid Majesty will lead strategic meetings with a calculated frown, only to crumble to his knees when all other officials have left the chamber. "Two days left, Sir," the butler will coo at the unholy creature. "(Y/N) will be exactly where you left her."

What else comes to mind? Perhaps all the times he quietly listens to your daily interactions, merely flinching - an unnoticeable jolt - whenever you recall a particularly daring approach from some poor soul. "Then he grabbed my shoulder," you'll say, narrating your story unaware and indifferent. Ah, there it is; the butler's eyes narrow in glee. Whoever found the audacity to touch you shall be swiftly discarded. Unbeknownst to you, someone's fate has been sealed.

"I didn't think you'd be home for Christmas," you exclaim, surprised by the Demon King's arrival. "Weren't you caught in a war?"

"Well, I made it happen," he responds nonchalantly.

The butler follows his movements with a silent chuckle. He thinks back to the fire, the scorched cities, the piles of cadavers growing with each swift blow of his Master's unforgiving wrath.

"You're exceptionally vicious today, Sir," he said at the time. "Might it have anything to do with the little human's approaching holidays?"

"Ah! This reminds me," the Dark Lord began, pulling his sword out of a fallen soldier, "bring me the goods tonight. I've been told the Earthlings wrap their presents in colorful paper."

[decagondice]

༓ Too Busy Being Yours ༓

༓ Pairing. Soft!Sylus x f!Reader

༓ Synopsis. In the stillness of a world built on shadow and steel, Sylus stands alone, the weight of her absence pressing against his chest. She lingers in every corner, in every detail — the gleam of his eyes, the quiet hum of the city, the cold touch of his sidearm.

༓ Content. Soft!Sylus, sfw, F!Reader, Established Relationship (?) comfort, Loneliness (?), Sylus misses you whilst you're away, fluff, Yearning, Domestic (?), Not proofread.

༓ Word Count. 1.3k

༓ A.N. This was super rushed but its almost 5am and I have been stuck with thoughts of Soft!Sylus whilst having Hozier's cover of 'Do I wanna know?' on constant loop. (I would recommend listening to that while reading this piece)

[Artwork by Petrus Van Schendel - 'Dutch Market by Moonlight', 1853]

The window was a fractured sheet of black glass, and beyond it, the vast sprawl of Onychinus bloomed in shades of dull copper and cold mercury. The city never slept — it simply lulled into a different kind of wakefulness, one that hummed with the murmur of distant engines and the low, syrup-thick din of voices lost between floors, beneath flickering neon eaves. Sylus stood before it, shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up over the worn sinew of his forearms, a coin flipping between his fingers. The metal gleamed faintly in the dim light, its rhythm steady and almost meditative, like thoughts drifting into the quiet of the room, rising and fading into nothing. 

He was waiting, though he would never call it that.

The apartment was too still without her, the silence swallowing the edges of the hours until they blurred together into one endless dusk. She’d been gone for days — maybe weeks — and though they had lived apart before, this time the absence ached differently. This time, she left her fingerprints on every surface she’d touched, and even in her absence, he felt her. In the hollow press of his pillow, in the half-drunk cup left on the counter, in the way her voice seemed to echo up from the floors themselves.

He wasn’t the kind of man who fumbled for words, but she had built herself a shrine in his mind without even trying. And it would be his curse — perhaps his only one worth bearing — to kneel before it willingly.

The phone buzzed on the glass table beside him, the screen illuminating briefly before dimming into a soft reflection of the room. Her name. A tether to the living world.

He let it ring once — twice — before answering, his voice low and indifferent, a thin veil over the frayed edges of his waiting.

"How are you?" Her voice was a warmth too tender for a world like his, too light to belong in the grip of a man like him.

Sylus laughed, a breathy, unguarded thing that slipped out before he could smother it. The kind of laugh that belonged in dark hallways or against the curve of her neck, close enough that no one else could steal it.

The phone rested lightly against his ear, but his gaze was fixed somewhere far beyond the windowpane, to where the sky peeled itself apart over the distant harbour, light bleeding into water like ink into silk.

He didn’t answer right away.

Because how could he tell her —

That every day without her was a hollow stretch, a penance paid in silence. That no matter how he occupied his hands — in deals, in schemes, in fights where blood became the only language spoken — she followed him. 

She was in the weight of the guns he cleaned with meticulous fingers, in the cold press of steel that always reminded him of how her hands felt against his jaw — not soft, not fragile, but deliberate, certain, like she knew exactly what kind of man she was holding and didn’t flinch. She lingered in the polished chambers, in the oil-slick sheen of metal under dim light, each piece of his arsenal now a reliquary touched by her presence. Even the treasures he hoarded — the rings, the loose chains, the antique blades and strange glimmering artefacts collected in careless greed — all of it, touched now by her absence. 

She was in the rain-slick streets beneath his shoes, the reflections of passing headlights gliding like ghosts beside him, the pulse of the city now syncopated to the memory of her heartbeat against his. A curse, perhaps. But if this was damnation, he’d bear it with the grace of a condemned man walking willingly into the mouth of hell.

Because Sylus — sharp-edged, gloved in the faint trace of dark woods and leather, the cool weight of steel a constant companion, with hands that had taken lives and seized fortunes — had known love first as a weakness. A blade turned against its wielder. A story with a ruinous end. But then there was her. Love, in the shape of her name. Love, not a thing that devoured, but something that held. Not a soft surrender, but a reckoning — two hands reaching into the dark and pulling him out without flinching at what they found.

He had told himself once that love was a thing best kept at a distance, lest it burn the house down around him. But now, even knowing the smoke would always follow, he could no longer resist standing in the heart of it.

She was there in the smallest details — the gleam of his carmine eyes when the light caught them just right, the weight of his jacket settling over his shoulders, the angle of his chair at the table where they sat together, knees brushing beneath wood. She was in the stories the city whispered, in the scars on his knuckles and the lingering taste of her on his tongue.

Her dragon, she had called him once — smoke and fire and ruin. And yet, it was she who wandered into his den, fearless and bright, leaving the scent of flowers in her wake. Perhaps he was the storm she wandered into — all steel winds and unyielding sky — and perhaps she was the quiet omen he had ignored until it was far too late to turn back. Or perhaps they were simply two souls damned to meet again and again, drawn together not by fate but by the quiet hunger of the earth itself.

It would not matter. If every lifetime led him back to this — the shape of her back beneath his hand, the sound of her voice softened by sleep, the way she pulled apart the silence between them with nothing but a glance — then Sylus would walk every damned path willingly. Sin, virtue, heaven, hell — none of it mattered if it meant keeping her. Not locked away, but free — because she chose to stay.

And what a thing that was. To be chosen by her.

"Did you miss me?" she asked, her voice a gentle needle, sliding between his ribs.

The window, cold against his fingertips. The city breathing outside. The distant gleam of headlights trailing like unspoken words between them.

"Haven’t had time to think about it," he said, his voice low, teasing, smooth as a blade sharpened on stone.

But they both knew.

And so the conversation slipped into silence — not uncomfortable, not empty — but the kind of silence built by people who knew every corner of each other. Her breath through the speaker, soft and even, and then — a quiet laugh, low and effortless, like a hand brushing through water. It was the kind of sound that lingered, curling around him even after it was gone. His fingers traced idle circles against the glass. They did not need to speak of longing. It was already there, woven into the space between every word, every inhale.

They existed in that place — a liminal space where shadow and steel met sunlight and skin, where dragon and archnemesis tangled together not in ruin, but in something softer. Something whole. And as the call ended, as the city stretched before him and the cold air pressed against the glass, Sylus stood alone — but not empty. Never empty.

Because even when she was gone, she was still there, as sure as the weight of his weapon resting within reach, as sure as the steady beat of his pulse in the quiet of the room.

Everywhere he went, she was already there.

And in every lifetime to come, in every heaven or hell, he would walk willingly beside her again.

Just to see her.

To have her, as she is — treasured and whole, free to be herself.

And for Sylus, that was enough.

A.N. I have been putting off reading Sylus' dragon myth for the longest time, so my details here might be a bit off, so please excuse me there! Hopefully my brain can generate more Sylus stuff :D Thank you for reading!!!!

[keferon]

*thwack*

Get his ass!

*insert about the cruel indifference of the universe vs the indomitable human spirit, idk*

————————

Prowl watched Jazz wrap his discolored torso with some sort of cloth type bandage, fascinated by the way the injury seemed to mimic the injury that Jazz’s… mech… had taken during the battle just breems before. The first time that Prowl had gotten to watch Jazz patch himself up, he had hovered worriedly and awkwardly. At the time, he had only just learned a few cycles before that his closest friend was an organic who piloted a mech-like body as a weapon, and not the mech itself.

Jazz had babbled on and on about how his mech could take serious damage and he would be fine, but sometimes the “DRIFT” connection between organic and machine meant that some wounds transferred over to the organic body. If Jazz took a blow to the helm and lost it, he wouldn’t have to worry about dying, but he would have a helm-splitting headache afterwards. Apparently, it had something to do with the cerebral connection that was needed to pilot such a large piece of machinery like it was an extension of your person. Some kind of unethical science that definitely would have had some bots going to jail if Jazz were Cybertronian. It reminded Prowl too much of Shockwave.

When the Praxian had expressed his discomfort at the slight connection he had made, Jazz had given him a small sad smile. The words that Jazz spoke in reply would probably haunt him for deca-cycles.

“When we were invaded, what was and wasn’t ethical kinda got thrown out the window. We were losin’ cities everyday, our population was dwindin’, either due to the Quints or due to civil unrest. Humans… we ‘ave short lives compared to you guys. But we love’em. Threw all our cards into one basket, and prayed. Monsters to fight Monsters was the propaganda they spread when I was growing up.”

Prowl’s optics dimmed lightly as he watched Jazz stretch upwards, pulling at the bandages and heavy bruises. The human made a slight groaning noise as bones popped from the stress. He turned to look up at Prowl, spinning a-top Prowl’s desk to give him a wide and mischievous grin. Prowl snorted faintly, watching his friend with a fondness in his EM field that he knew Jazz couldn’t feel.

“They never said anything about wha’ the Hunter Program does to the pilot. Only that when ya signed up, ya got a mech matching your specific specs and the opportunity to go slay monsters. Sometimes the mech was prebuilt, from a pilot who died and left their mech still intact, and sometimes you got your own personalized one. The mech itself though… they were never the unethical part of the program. It was all the serums and shit that they stuffed into me to ensure I’d survive the DRIFT process. I… I remember being tied down to a med-bunk and… and just flashes of horrific pain.”

Jazz walked up to Prowl, still grinning, preening almost like a turbo kitten. The Praxian laid out his servo so Jazz could crawl aboard, being mindful of his organic friend. He lifted Jazz up to his shoulder, relaxing as Jazz tucked himself in close, humming softly as he settled in the take a nap on Prowl’s shoulder. Prowl’s doorwings fluttered a bit.

“Yer not wrong. That what we did to survive was unethical, probably inhumane. But… humans… we hate losing. We do unspeakable things when given the right motivation. For some it’s love, loyalty, family, country, pride, greed. I’ve seen pilots pull themselves from their mech’s corpse, waving a gun at the jaws of a monster, whilst missing an arm and half their face. I’ve seen doctors tie down rookie pilots and pump them full of drugs and serums, watch them scream and plead for mercy, watch them die when it’s too much for their body to handle, so that pilots don’t die the minute they try to DRIFT. Yer not wrong. Humans can be vile and cruel and outright terrible, but we can also strive for peace and love and kindness. It’s that, that makes us survivors.”

Jazz’s humming fell quiet as he fell asleep against Prowl’s neck, causing the Praxian to relax slowly back into his office chair. He looked up at the data pad that Knockout had given him, containing Jazz’s full medical checkup. The list of everything in near critical condition for his species was… alarming. Jazz had said he felt fine during the checkup. Knockout’s reading said differently. Knockout’s readings said Jazz was dying. That Jazz had been dying for years.

Jazz knew he was dying and wasn’t moving to fix it. Because pilots have their life for their planet, and pilots had a set expiration date.

Jazz had accepted this date.

Prowl had never been so angry.

“An expiration date” made me silently stare into space for a while. Hoooly shit….

[snowballseal]

Guard Dog AU - Zayne

Summary: AU where you are the Foreseer, and Zayne is a human you've given your blessing to who has devoted his life to staying by your side, protecting you, and worshipping you. He would do anything for you. Anything.

Word County: 2744

Note: Sooooo, I went a bit feral with this one... Could be interpreted as very sub-like behavior for Zayne, but I feel like we all know this man just wants to worship his partner. So yah. I'll be writing similar au's for the other guys too, but this one might be my magnum opus.

Coming soon: Sylus / Xavier / Rafayel

Warning: Gets a little, spicy at the end, but mostly by implication. Reader likes to touch Zayne's face a lot. Someone calls Zayne a concubine and you get pissed.

Enjoy!

---

“Kneel.”

You stare, features a mask of icy indifference, at the human envoy wavering at the foot of your throne. They shiver in their thick coats, no material warm enough to keep out the biting cold of the Tower of Thorns. The biting cold of your glare.

Yet, still, they don’t kneel. You can see the hesitation on their faces, the pride flashing behind their irises. Humans. They always come, high and mighty, thinking themselves better than you, a demigod.

Your lips part, a scathing reproach ready on your tongue, but you don’t get the chance to correct their insolence.

“I said. Kneel.”

Zayne slams his staff into the polished, white granite. The sound of it echoes all the way to the far halls of the tower. The thinly veiled threat behind his words is unmistakable. Kneel before I make you.

The humans all crumble under the weight of his command. They drop to their knees, one by one, trembling at the pure contempt burning behind his gaze. Contempt for them and their human greed. They don’t even deserve to gaze upon the threads of your robes, let alone kneel in your presence, yet they think themselves above it? You may have mercy on their kind, but Zayne would rather cut them to their knees than allow them to show you such disrespect.

A faint smile ghosts across your lips. With the barest flick of your fingers, Zayne returns obediently to your side. He drops gracefully to one knee, head bowed, eyes locked on the unblemished edge of your robes.

It’s almost amusing, watching him turn so docile, so small for you. A man who conquers you in height and strength, who holds himself with the regal poise of royalty, who you’ve blessed with powers no man can dream of - a submissive guard dog at your feet. Ready to kill if you desire him to. Willing to die for you.

“Foreseer-”

Your smile falls away. Right, the humans. Eyes icing over once more, you turn your gaze to the envoy, regarding them with disinterest.

“What do you want, that you’ve come all this way and disturbed my peace?” Your voice rings like a delicate chime, but carries the bite of a frigid river. 

The one who spoke - a man dressed in expensive looking furs, his skin covered in a layer of sweat - flinches at the sharpness of your tone. He seems to steel himself for a moment, collecting whatever pathetic bravery he has gained from his comfortable life, and looks up at you with a determined glare.

“We’ve come here for a prophecy, Foreseer,” he starts again, voice muggish and demanding, “Our kingdom has experienced prosperity in the passing years and our king would like to be certain that it will continue.”

Zayne tenses beside you, his fingers tightening around his staff. You can see him fighting the urge to put this man in his place, his jaw drawing so taut it almost looks painful. Letting out a low hum, you reach out and brush your fingers through the dark strands of hair. A silent request. Zayne wavers, his breath faltering as all his attention falls back on you. 

Always on you. 

Your touch is gentle but insistent, your delicate fingertips tracing his temple, his cheek, his jaw. It leaves his skin tingling, pleasant and cold. It’s an addictive feeling and he can’t help but yearn for more. Zayne nuzzles into your palm, pressing his lips to your skin in reverent gratitude when you give him exactly what he wants, your fingers brushing more firmly against his face.

An uncomfortable cough breaks the silence, “Foreseer-”

“I heard your explanation,” you interrupt him sharply, a wave of frustration washing over you. Zayne can feel it, feels his own frustration at having your attention drawn away from him. But he doesn’t dare make that known, instead watching your face attentively as you speak. “And I will remind you that my prophecies will not be bound to your expectations. They are bound to nothing but fate, so I advise you to deliberate on what you are asking of me.”

“Our King simply wants to ensure that our prosperity will continue,” the man insists, as if you’re the fool who is missing the point. He levels you with a look of disdain, his eyes not so subtly darting to the hand you now have resting in Zayne’s hair. “Though I am certain now that our Highness would not care for the words of a mere oracle who keeps a concubine as her guard.”

The air in the chamber goes deathly still once the words leave his mouth.

Your eyes narrow at the man, glacier and even, but he keeps his chin held high. The rest of the envoy all shift, sharing uneasy glances between themselves. It seems even they know that what he said was a foolish mistake.

One should not anger a god so carelessly.

Slowly, deliberately, you stand from your throne. A flick of your hand and your own scepter appears from the air, the Creatio Protocore glinting dangerously from its tangle of wood. All eyes fall on it, a mix of fear and greed, all eyes except for Zayne’s, which remain glued to you.

Every step you take, every subtle movement, is controlled, the utter definition of grace. Even the air bows to you, shivering around your form, any remaining warmth fleeing from your presence. Tendrils of ice spread along the granite, creeping up the walls, covering the windows, turning the room into a prison of your anger.

And Zayne can’t help but watch, transfixed, adoration curling in the depths of his being. Because this is you, his goddess, his queen. He may be your guardian, but he is well aware that his title is by grace alone, and not necessity. You’ve never needed him. Not like this.

“You seem unaware of whom you speak to,” you murmur, patience tested and gone, “So let me remind you.”

The man lets out a yelp as ice suddenly grips his boots. You feel a flicker of satisfaction at the panic in his eyes, his confidence disappearing like a leaf carried away by the wind. His companions scatter back, looking on in terror as the ice travels up his legs, encasing the entire lower half of his body.

“I am the Foreseer,” you say, stopping a mere foot away from him. “The demigod of the Tower of Thorns. This is my domain, my home, and you are a pest. I owe you nothing. I owe your king nothing. As far as I am concerned, he is beneath me.”

“You insolent- He is our king!” The man spirts, turning a drastic shade of red. “I demand you show him respect, you despicable wi-”

A dagger presses deftly to the man’s neck and he goes silent, his eyes nearly bulging out of his head.

“Be silent,” Zayne snarls, “How dare you speak to the Foreseer in such a way.”

You glance at him over the man’s shoulder, brow flicking up. Any other time, it would warm your heart to see Zayne stand up for you, and you would gladly let him cross the boundaries of his position, to act as he sees fit. To act freely. But in this moment, all you can feel is the rage boiling in the depths of your soul. It’s your turn to show them their mistakes.

So you click your tongue, eyes narrowing, “I did not ask for you to intervene, my dearest.”

Zayne doesn’t miss the sharp disapproval in your voice, his breath catching somewhere in his chest. How thoughtless of him. Dagger slipping back into the sleeve of his robes, he forces himself to step back, head bowed like a wolf bearing its neck submissively.

“I apologize, my lady.”

You don’t offer your forgiveness, only giving him a stiff nod, and Zayne can feel his skin prickle with unease. Every fiber of his being aches, desperate to earn your affection, to please you, to offer an apology you deem sufficient.

If you want him to grovel, he will. If you want him to beg, he’ll do so until his voice gives out. Even if you want to punish him, he’d take it with such deep affection, because anything from you is more than he deserves.

But until you ask anything of him, all he can do is wait.

And currently, you must deal with the nuisance in front of you, even if you can feel Zayne’s laden eyes locked on you so intently.

“Now let’s talk about your king, shall we?” You muse, turning your attention back to the man. He swallows, regret showing in the way his hands tremble so viciously. “You humans have such a twisted view of power. Whether it’s money or prosperity or health. You are all subject to fate and that is why you hate my prophecy. Your king is no different, and I presume he’s looking for someone to blame when your land inevitably falls into poverty. In fact, I feel confident in saying he already sees it coming, and I would wager that he is the sole cause of it. Am I wrong?”

A low murmur spreads among the envoy. The man goes nearly purple in front of you, face tight with indignation, but he doesn’t dare utter a word, not with the looming threat of Zayne’s blade still nearby. 

You don’t need him to confirm what you already know, though. And you’ve had enough of this messing around. The day has been too long, and you desire nothing more than to rest.

“Tell your king that this mere oracle wishes him well in his remaining time on the throne,” you chime and turn to walk away. Your voice carries on over the clicking of your heels, “However short that time might be.”

“You can’t-! Foreseer!”

“See them out, my dearest, and then meet me in my quarters.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Foreseer-!” The man calls again, but Zayne doesn’t even allow him another glimpse at your figure. He’s lost that honor.

“I believe it’s time for you to leave,” he snaps, and breaks the spell of your ice.

The man immediately tries to make a run for you, desperation carved into every line of his face, but Zayne catches him by the collar of his coat and throws him back towards the rest of his party. His eyes set on them, harsh and cold, a sneer pulling at his lips.

“She has dismissed you. I suggest you leave quietly before you test my patience.”

“I will not listen to the orders of a-”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see a sigil carve into the air before a blinding light fills the space. The humans flee from the sudden ice clawing at their feet, voices tight with panic, boots slipping against the granite in their desperation.

A faint smile pulls at your lips as you dip into a hallway. Zayne always has been good at scaring people away.

It’s a quiet venture to your room at the top of the tower after that. The howling gale outside is all you can hear, muffled by the thick stone of the tower’s walls. It’s a somehow comforting sound, soothing some your prickled nerves.

Still, you feel tense as you settle on the edge of your bed. Dealing with the humans always does this to you. That’s why you ended up here, in the desolate, snowy mountains, far from any village or kingdom. Dealing with them is too exhausting.

How many humans have come to you, begging for an audience, only to throw themselves into a rage after you share one of your prophecies? A prophecy you can’t control, you can’t change. Yet they always blame you. 

You can hardly be blamed for resenting their kind.

All of them except Zayne.

Your dearest. Your steadfast peace. The comfort of your isolation was no match when he came to your tower.

And your frustration melts like snow in the springtime when he appears at your door, wavering at threshold. Hesitation furrows his brow, his fingers twitching against the frame. Features softening, you gesture for him to enter.

“Come here, my dearest,” you murmur, tone impossibly gentle.

He hesitates for only a moment before sweeping across the room, reaching you with only a few long strides. You watch as he kneels at your feet, the thick fur of his robes gathering on the stone floor around him. And of course you notice the way his lips press together so vehemently, like he’s biting back something.

“Please speak, darling.”

Zayne’s eyes flutter shut, a shuddering breath passing his lips. You always say the term with such sweetness, such tenderness. It makes him feel dizzy and near breathless, loved in a way that makes his chest ache.

“May I touch you?” He asks, voice a low rasp.

You don’t even have to think to answer, “Of course you may, my dearest.”

With all the care in the world, Zayne gathers the edge of your robes in his gloved hand, drawing the silken material to his lips. His touch is reverent, like even the clothes on your body are deserving of worship. He takes his time, showering each fiber with devout affection, eyes slowly trailing up the material to gaze at you through ebony eyelashes. And you can’t help the way your breath falters so easily for him, always taken aback by the desperation, the hunger you find there.

Something dark glints behind those mottled depths at the sound. Slowly, experimentally he presses closer. When you don’t correct him, his fingers brush questioningly against your ankle, the warmth of his skin seeping through the leather of his gloves. And you’ve never been one to deny him.

Parting your legs, you let Zayne settle between them, your knees bracketing his wide shoulders. His fingers trace adoringly up and down your leg as he nuzzles into your clothed thigh, like a pup starved for affection. You can feel the warmth of his breath, even through the thick material of your cloak, and it makes your usually sharp mind spin.

“Please forgive my earlier thoughtlessness, my love,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing insistently against your inner thigh. “I will accept any punishment to atone for my actions.”

Gods, you never thought you would be so weak for one man. But how could you not be? How can you not crumble under such earnest devotion?

You’d freeze the world over if it meant having him forever at your side.

“You have quite the tactic for coaxing me to forgive you,” you breathe, reaching a hand down to trace through his hair. Zayne immediately leans into your touch, molten eyes soft with feigned innocence.

“I am simply a humble servant, unworthy of your favor, my lady,” he hums, eyelashes fluttering when your grip tightens momentarily in his hair. It’s only then a mischievous smile reveals itself on his lips. “How can I coax a goddess such as yourself to do something against your will?”

“You know full well what you’re doing, dearest.” You lean down, until your cool breath ghosts over his skin, sending a shiver through Zayne’s body. His bravado slips away, replaced by an uneven breath, his lips parting ever so slightly. “And there’s no need for it. Everything I have, everything I am, is yours, and that includes my forgiveness. All you ever have to do is ask.”

“You shouldn’t offer such things so lightly, my lady,” Zayne rasps, fingers pressing tightly into the softness of your leg as he forces himself to glance away. “You underestimate how selfish my desire for you is. I would take everything if you allowed it.”

Suddenly, your touch is on his chin, drawing his face back to yours, until he can feel the brush of your lips against his, taunting and delicate.

“If you want everything,” you challenge softly, gaze unwavering, “then take it.”

Zayne inhales sharply. And then his lips are on yours, kissing you so deeply, so tenderly, like he wants to draw the very breath from your lungs, like you’re the only one who can sate his hunger burning inside of him.

And you let him. You let him take everything he desires, because he always gives you everything you could ever desire.

That is how it has always been between the two of you. And that’s how it will always be.

---

This felt pretty different from what I usually write. I was inspired by an Xavier fic I read sometime back, and I just loooove the concept of truly feral levels of loyalty. And I love the idea of reader being just a feral for him.

Can't wait to write Sylus' 😉

[k-s-morgan]

Just wanted to show one recent example of what Russia has been doing to Ukraine. The city of Kharkiv, with over a million residents, is located close to Russian borders, meaning that it's difficult to defend it from air strikes. Russia has been systematically destroying it and killing its people, intensifying its attacks more and more, using the fact that most Ukrainian allies forbid us from launching our own attacks on Russian territory.

On May 25, Russian sent bombs to a hypermarket in Kharkiv. On a weekend, in the middle of the day.

That same day, it bombed the park. Before that, it hit the rest zone.

And a publishing house.

And the hotel.

And the television tower.

And so on and on. Russia specifically targets public places and areas of life to make Kharkiv a ghost city. To destroy the home of over a million people. Many, many residents are constantly dying from these attacks, including children, pregnant women, the elderly, and other most vulnerable population groups. And Ukraine is unable to hit the locations from which Russia bombs Kharkiv because it's forbidden by our own partners. It's a joke.

And it's just one city. Russian bombs and missiles are erasing towns and villages from existence entirely on a constant basis. I can't even imagine how many people and animals die as a result. It's impossible to comprehend it on a human level. Just like it's impossible to comprehend the world's indifference, where on the one hand, we have support, but on the other hand, this support is limited to not letting us lose quickly. We are under the most cruel restrictions and limitations. And as long as the greed controls the world, which is probably forever, and our partners keep having mutually beneficial relations with Russia, there is no way out of this. Just more deaths, suffering, and misery.

[mononijikayu]

come back to me — geto suguru.

"I need to tell you something." he said, his voice low, rough with guilt. “It’s... it’s over. Everything.” You frowned, stepping closer to him, concern etched in your features. “What do you mean?” He met your eyes then, and you saw it—the shift, the darkness lurking behind them. His expression was distant, hollow. "I killed them. The village, my parents... I killed them all."

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: dead dove: do not eat, dark fic, nsfw (not safe for work), r -18, angst, hurt/no comfort, toxic romance, character death, murder, guilt, remorse, horror, sorrow, tragedy, lovers, canon related violence, choking, violence, curse creature, ghostly figure, anguish, emotional instability, emotional, haunting, betrayal, unfinished business, depiction of character death, depiction of murder, depiction of emotional instability, depiction of choking, depiction of anguish, depiction of guilt, depiction of sorrow, depiction of ghostly figure, mention of mass murder, mention of death, curse user defector! geto suguru, victim girlfriend! reader;

WORDS: 7k words.

NOTE: this is probably the first time i'm writing something that is a dead dove, because i was curious how i would do when writing something as heavy and as horrific as something like this. i wanted to be able to write it properly, because not only is it kinktober, it is also spookytober. so, i had this in mind. i wanted to participate at least once. so, i hope that even though this might not be your cup of tea, it be something of interest to you. but if you can't read it right now, that's okay too. i'll publish more works soon enough!!! i love you all <3

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HE CAN SEE YOU EVERYWHERE. And it was his own fault. A fault, of course, he does not regret. A fault he incurs with wanting, and greed. You haunt Geto Suguru and there was nothing else but it to last forever. You haunt his existence as though you own it. Everything about was drifting through his every thought like a shadow he can't shake.

He had known this would happen. He had anticipated it ever since that day. The day he crossed the line from the man he once was into something darker, something twisted by hatred, madness and grief.

He had expected your presence to follow him. He had expected that you would never leave him alone. Geto Suguru had always wanted it. He had always wanted you. For you were everything. You were the beginning and end.

You were too important, too loved by him. You cannot leave him. You cannot go astray from him. Because he had made it so. He had made it so and it shall be like that. After all, he was the one that took your life. There was no other way about it. And he remembers. He remembers it distinctly. He remembers it all too well.

It was after the massacre, after he had ended up doing what he had done. Still in his blooded clothes, weary and exhausted, he did not hesitate in all he had done. Why should he? Why should he feel regret now when his heart, his soul, his everything, was corrupted by the greed and indifference of others?

That village had been reduced to nothing but ash and ruin, its people were swiftly slaughtered by his own hand. And all that remained was ash and bone, the dark charred bitterness burning amid the blue flames.

He of course did not stop there. He couldn't. It was as though he was in autopilot. As though no one was home. And yet, he remembers. He feels the contradiction of it all. But he does not need to admit to fault. The result was obvious. It was secured by fate. The fate he had chosen.

He took Mimiko and Nanako and brought them somewhere safe. And all that he could think of his house. It would be empty. His parents wouldn't be home. And he take what he needed and leave. He could leave. But he was a fool for thinking that everything would go swiftly as he planned.

Within an hour of him trying to take everything, he silences Mimiko and Nanako and tells them to keep the TV on, as loud as possible. And no matter what, do not come down. The two young girls agreed, they were smiling too. They would do anything he'd asked. For after all, he was the one who had saved them from these....these cruel creatures that had nearly taken their lives.

Geto Suguru has always had a difficult relationship with his parents. But even then, he had cared for him. He was a filial son, he knew that about himself. Yet he knew that he had gone far already with what he had done.

He cannot let his parents be an exception. Not even if they weren't at fault. Even if they didn't do anything. He can't be lenient. Geto Suguru lets his steps be firm, even if he knows he can't. He could remember his mother's greeting, seeing him. His father's little hey. It was almost like his childhood agaian.

"You staying the night, 'guru?" His mother asks him as she puts down the grocery bags. "I thought it would still be a school night."

"Let him be, dear." His father says, smiling at his wife. "We always work, he's always at school. Let's just enjoy having him around for a little more time."

His mother laughs. "You're right. We might as well enjoy our son being here."

"Oh, 'guru. Is that ketchup stains on your shirt?" His mother gasped, spotting the red stain on his white school shirt. "Take it off, 'guru! Let me clean it. Go and change, you must be tired―"

"You can do it later, dear." His father says, as he starts clearing out the groceries. "I'm sure that you can wash it later. If Suguru wants to spend some more time with us, then wash it later."

His mother pouts at his father's words. "I suppose so."

"Mom, dad." Suguru finally talks, raising his head a little. His eyes meeting that of his mother and father. He catches their attention and he stays still.

For a moment, he could see everything of him in his mother and his father. His mother's purple eyes, his father's tender lips. His mother's long black hair. His father's gentle face. He could see all of him in them. And he's going to destroy it. He's going to ruin it. He has to. There's no other way.

His mother's brows raised a bit confused. "What is it, 'guru? Do you want anything?"

"I'm sorry."

In that moment, maybe they did notice what was wrong with him. After months of suffering, after this whole year, maybe they finally noticed. But they noticed too late. They noticed too late when he already had resolve.

"Hey, son. If there's anything you want to talk to us about, you can." His father says to him, walking towards him. This was the last time Suguru would see his father's kind face. "We love you son, you know that. You can tell us anything."

"I love you too." Suguru whispers, lifting his head whole. He reveals tears pouring from his face. "I'm sorry."

Those were the last words he said to his parents. Those were the last thing they heard from him as his curses took them both one by one and destroyed what remained of who he was.

Geto Suguru sobbed for a long while, looking at the blood. Looking at what he had done. He sobbed and sobbed until nothing could come out. But what was done was done. He needed to move forward. There was only one thing left.

And yet, after all that bloodshed, he went to you. Not out of regret, not out of any moral dilemma, but he was too far gone for that. He had to close all his ties. He had to disappear. Geto Suguru cannot remain. He has to die. And what better way than to end you too.

If Geto Suguru had one thing he was truly happy in his life about, it was you. And you were his everything. You were the one constant, the one person who had always been there.

You, his childhood friend, the girl who had stood beside him through everything. And more than that, you were the love of his life. The woman he'd once dreamed of marrying, of building a future with before everything unraveled.

When Geto Suguru arrived at your house, everything was still. You were sitting alone, your parents gone, much like his had been your entire lives, leaving the house in an eerie silence. You were the last peaceful thing in his world.

And he has to take you away. You weren't meant for this dirty world. You were the purest thing in his life. You can't be here. Not when he wrecks everything whole. You can't, you can't be tarnished more than you will be.

As he stepped into the room, you looked up and your face lit up, just like it always did. You were so beautiful to him. The most beautiful star in his sky. Forever infinitely so pure. His beloved.

You smiled at him like nothing had changed, as if the boy standing before you was still the same Suguru you had known all those years. You were happy to see him, your eyes full of warmth, unburdened by the weight of the horrors he had committed just hours before.

“Suguru!” you greeted him, standing up and crossing the room to meet him. Your voice was soft, affectionate, carrying none of the tension or fear that had filled his life. “I’ve missed you.”

For a moment, in that single heartbeat, he almost let himself believe it—that he could be that man again. The boy who smiled and laughed with you. The one who loved you with every part of himself. He could feel the familiar tug in his chest, the love he had always felt for you, pulling him back from the brink. And for a second, he almost let himself forget.

But deep down, Suguru knew. The path he had chosen was irreversible. He had come too far, burned too much of himself away to ever turn back. There was no room left for love, for innocence, for the life he had once dreamed of with you. He had destroyed it all, and now everything around him had to fall too. Even you.

You didn’t see it coming. You had no idea of the darkness that had consumed him. You looked at him as if nothing had changed—as if he were still the boy who had promised to protect you, to always stand by your side. And that was the part that hurt him the most.

"Suguru, what's wrong?" you asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm. "You look... tired. Are you okay?"

He flinched at your touch, as though your kindness was too much to bear. He turned his face away, swallowing the bitterness rising in his throat. How could he even begin to explain? How could he tell you what he had done, the blood that stained his hands, the lives he had taken?

"I need to tell you something." he said, his voice low, rough with guilt. “It’s... it’s over. Everything.”

You frowned, stepping closer to him, concern etched in your features. “What do you mean?”

He met your eyes then, and you saw it—the shift, the darkness lurking behind them. His expression was distant, hollow. "I killed them. The village, my parents... I killed them all."

Your breath hitched. For a moment, you didn’t understand. You didn’t want to. “What are you talking about?” you whispered, shaking your head, disbelief coloring your voice. “That’s... that’s not possible. You wouldn’t—”

“I did.” His voice was cold, flat, devoid of emotion. “I killed them. They deserved it.”

Your knees buckled, and you stumbled back, eyes wide in shock. You couldn’t reconcile the words he was saying with the boy standing in front of you. “No... no, that’s not you, Suguru. You wouldn’t do something like that. You.... you would never.”

But as you looked into his eyes, the reality of it sank in. You could see it. Little by little, you pieced it all together. You could see the darkness that had swallowed him whole, the monster he had become. And your heart broke, shattered into pieces as you realized what he had done, what he was planning to do.

“I’m sorry, my love.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, but there was no warmth in it. “You have to understand... I can’t let you live. Not like this. Not anymore.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but even then, even as the weight of his betrayal crushed you, you didn’t hate him. You couldn’t. This was Geto Suguru; the boy who had always been gentle with you, who had held your hand on dark nights and made you believe in a future together. Your everything.

Just as much as you were his everything. You loved him. You still do love him. How could you not? He was and always will be the love of your life. You didn’t hate him, but you were afraid. Not of death, but of what he had become.

“Suguru…….” Your voice trembled. “You don’t have to do this. Please.”

He looked away, clenching his fists, his jaw tight. “I do.”

“But I love you.” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I still love you. Even now. Isn't that enough?”

His heart ached at your words, the pain of your love cutting deeper than any blade. He had come too far, done too much. There was no going back, not for him, not for either of you. He cannot stop. If he could do it to his parents, he could do it to you.

But you—you were different. He couldn't kill you like he had killed the others. He didn’t want to see fear in your eyes, didn’t want to hear you scream or beg for mercy. You deserved better than that, better than what the world had given you, even if he no longer deserved you.

So he made a choice. A twisted act of love, the last shred of mercy he could offer.

“I’m sorry, my love.” he repeated, stepping closer, his voice soft now. "You won’t feel anything. You’ll just fall asleep, and... you’ll dream. A dream that never ends."

Your tears fell freely, but you didn’t move. You didn’t try to run. How could you? You were in disbelief. You were in absolute mania, you were in a madness. There was no way you could. You cannot do anything but be still, in shock, and wait for the end. Betrayed, hurt and gone by the one that you loved the most.

Or perhaps, maybe you had always known it would come to this; that the boy you had loved had been consumed by the darkness, and there was no saving him. Maybe it was just fate. Or maybe you were just too kind, too trusting, too good for this world. Suguru would never know.

He held you close, cradling you in his arms, and for a moment, you let yourself believe everything would be okay. That somehow, this nightmare would end, and you would wake up in the arms of the boy you loved, the one who would protect you. But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

He just kept you beside him all through the night, for what felt like hours, maybe longer. Your body was so still in his arms, as though the weight of the world had finally let go of you. You were so quiet, so calm, as if you had already accepted what was coming. 

Maybe you knew, deep down, that the boy you had loved so fiercely, so fully, had become someone else. That he had become this person lost in a sea of hate and ambition, far beyond the innocent dreams you had once shared together.

Geto Suguru wondered if you had always known that it would come to this, that the path he had chosen would inevitably lead you to this moment of no return. That you had always known that he will be your beginning and end. That you would belong to him no matter what, life and in death. Because he didn't. Until now.

“I’m so sorry. I love you.” he whispered one last time, his voice cracking, as he used his curse on you—the one that could curse with a dream that would never end.

You felt yourself slipping away, your body growing heavy, your eyelids fluttering shut. But there was no fear, no pain. Just a deep, endless sleep. Suguru’s heart clenched. He knew what he was about to do. He had already gone too far—there was no turning back. 

You would never have followed him down the path he had chosen, the path of darkness and destruction. You were too pure, too gentle, to walk the same road as him. You would never raise a hand to hurt anyone, even if it meant saving yourself. That was the kind of person you were, the kind of person he could never be.

So, this dream; this was all he could give you. It was the only gift left that wasn’t tainted by his sins.

His curse; a dream that would never end. It was his final act of love, his last attempt to protect you from the reality he had created. With it, he could give you what the real world had taken away from both of you.

He could give you the life you should have had. The life he had stolen from you when he became the monster you never deserved. In this dream, you could live peacefully, forever untouched by the violence and corruption that had consumed him. In this dream, you could be happy. You could be free.

He watched as your breathing grew softer, your chest rising and falling in a steady, peaceful rhythm. And in that moment, Suguru let himself imagine what your dream was like. Maybe it was a simple life, the kind you had always wanted. 

Maybe the two of you were walking through the fields of a quiet village, hand in hand, with the sun setting on the horizon. Or maybe you were sitting beneath a tree, with your head resting on his shoulder, laughing about nothing at all.

He pictured the softness of your smile, the warmth of your touch, moments of joy that you would never experience again, not in the real world. But in this dream, it would be eternal. And most of all, it would be final. It would be the end. And there would be no path to return.

In this dream, the two of you could grow old together. You could have the life that you both had once spoken about when you were younger, before everything had gone wrong. There would be no death, no suffering. Only love. Only peace.

As your body stilled completely, Geto Suguru’s heart ached with the weight of what he had done. He had cursed you, just as he had cursed so many others, but this curse was different. This one was born out of love.

A twisted, desperate love that couldn’t save you, but could at least offer you a kind of peace. It wasn’t enough. He knew that. It was never going to be enough. But it was all he could give.

"I’m sorry, my love." he whispered, his voice breaking in the silence of the night. "I’m so sorry."

He could never undo what he had done. He couldn’t bring you back, not really. But he could give you this, a life lived in the dream of what could have been. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough for you.

But as the hours passed, and the weight of your absence began to sink in, Suguru knew the truth; he hadn’t done this just for you. He had done it for himself. To hold on to the illusion of what he had destroyed. To keep you with him, in some way, even if it was only in the depths of a dream that would never end.

It was all he had left

You never woke up.

“I love you, I love you.” he whispered into the silence, knowing you would never hear him. "Always."

And as he laid you down, letting you drift into the dream he had cursed you with, he knew he would never find peace again.

He had seen it in your eyes when he came to you that night. There was no anger, no fear—just a deep, silent understanding. It wasn’t the kind of acceptance that came from giving up; it was something softer, sadder. 

Maybe you had already resigned yourself to the fact that Suguru could no longer protect you, that the man he had become could only destroy the things he once cherished. He wondered if, in your heart, you had always known that the love you had given him so freely would be the very thing that led to your end.

Or maybe, he thought, you were simply too good for this world. Too kind, too pure. He never really knew. The way you looked at him that night, with the same softness you always had, even after everything. He couldn’t understand it. He had expected fear, maybe even hatred. But there was none of that. Just love, unwavering, even in the face of what he had become.

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HE PAYS FOR HIS SINS WITH THIS. Every evil act has a gift in return. Everything has a consequence. And he knew that you would die with some hatred in you. That you wouldn't go without a fight, without resentment. You would be bound to materialize as the shadow of what life could have been and the regrets he had made it to be.

Because of he had done, your ghost lingers. You were his constant reminder of what he threw away. You were all he wanted and all he had wasted. The person he loved the most and the person he ruined the most. In his mind, he can still feel the warmth of your embrace, still hear the way you said his name with love and trust.

He killed you because he had to. Because his mission demanded it—but the truth is, he didn’t want you to die. He had never wanted that. He had wanted you by his side, forever. But in his quest for destruction, he had destroyed the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him.

Even now, he can feel you. The weight of your absence presses down on him, but so does the weight of your presence. You’re always there, just out of reach, watching him, haunting him.

He sees you in his dreams, in his nightmares, in the quiet moments when he’s alone with his thoughts. He wonders what could have been, if only he had made a different choice. But that world is gone, along with you, and all he has left is the ghost of the life he should have had.

In the end, it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve to die. But he had gone too far, and in doing so, he lost the one person who had always believed in him. Now, your love is a memory that torments him, and your ghost is a shadow that will never leave his side.

"Do you hate me?" Suguru's voice trembled as he sat at the edge of the bed where he had last held you.

No one was living here anymore, your parents couldn't bear it. And so he bought the house, with a proxy. And left everything just the way it was. The room still smelled like you. It always will. Everything in this house will be you. Everything in his life is you.

There were faint traces of the perfume you wore, the lingering scent of your skin, and the warmth that used to make this place feel like home. The dresses you liked to wear when you both would go on those rare dates. The smell of your shampoo lingers in your bathroom. He remembered the way his nose would rest against it when you both slept together.

The home had been so abundantly you. Everything about it was you. And now, it was just a hollow space, like a tomb. All his regrets lay there. All his grief resided here. Everything was here. And he couldn't take it. He couldn't abandon it. He couldn't live with it. But he had to. He has to live. He has to live haunted by you.

Because he was sure, hell would be his place. And he would never see you again. He would never know you again. He would only ever live in misery there without you, without traces of you. He could feel his heart beat in his chest, heavy and erratic, waiting for something. Anything. Just a little sign from the presence he could always feel around him.

You didn't answer, not with words. You never did. But there was a weight in the air, a feeling that always hovered when he thought of you. He could feel your sadness, the disappointment that clung to the silence between them. It cut deeper than any curse could.

"I... I didn't want it to be like this, my love." he whispered, gripping the sheets beneath him, the same ones you used to curl up in. His fingers twisted in the fabric, the pressure keeping his hands from shaking.

"I thought... If I let you go gently, it would be enough. It would be kinder. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? I should...I should have taken you with me. Abandoned the world. We could... we could have been together."

There was no reply, but the stillness in the room felt heavier. The silence was cruel. But it was what he deserved. He could imagine your eyes on him, those soft, kind eyes that had once looked at him with nothing but love. Now, he wondered if they would have only looked at him with sorrow.

"I loved you, the most in the world." he said, almost to himself. His voice cracked, the admission pulling something raw from deep within. "I still do. I don't know if that matters now, but I wanted you to know. Even after everything... I loved you more than I loved anything. Even the hate. Even the darkness. But that didn’t change anything."

The words felt hollow, like a confession given too late to a ghost that could no longer forgive. He buried his face in his hands, the weight of the years, of his choices, pressing down on him like a thousand stones. He did this to himself. He did this to you. He had no right to feel sorrow. No right to feel remorse or longing.

"I used to think I could fix it. That somehow, I’d find a way to make everything right. That maybe... Maybe if I succeeded, I’d see you again, and you’d understand. That you’d forgive me." He laughed, but it was empty, bitter. "But I don’t deserve it, do I? I killed you. I killed the woman I loved more than anything in this world, and for what?"

He stood suddenly, unable to sit still any longer, pacing the room. "What did I gain? Power? Control? None of it matters. None of it ever mattered without you."

The room seemed to shift then, the shadows curling in the corners, and for a moment, he thought he saw you. A glimpse, just out of the corner of his eye, like a faint outline of your silhouette. He froze, heart pounding, and for the briefest second, hope flickered in his chest. Could it be?..........

"Suguru......." Your voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it pierced through the silence like a dagger. "Suguru........."

He turned, but there was nothing. Just the dim light filtering through the curtains, the room empty as it always had been. But the voice lingered, echoing in his mind.

"Suguru..."

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, trying to hold onto the sound of your voice, as though he could pull you back into reality. "I'm sorry, my love." he whispered. "I’m so sorry."

For a long moment, there was nothing but the hum of the wind outside, the creak of the old floorboards beneath his feet. And then, in the stillness, something seemed to shift again. The presence was still there, but softer, like a gentle hand on his shoulder, a touch that wasn’t quite there but wasn’t gone either.

"I never wanted this, I…." he whispered, his voice breaking. "I never wanted to hurt you. But I didn’t know how to stop. I couldn’t stop."

There was no answer, but in the silence that followed, there was a warmth—a fleeting warmth, like the last rays of sunlight before nightfall. It wrapped around him, gentle, forgiving, and for just a moment, he thought that maybe you didn’t hate him after all.

But then it was gone.

Just like you were.

Just like everything.

And he was alone again, in the house where you had once lived, haunted by the love he had destroyed with his own hands.

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HUMAN GREED IS THIS, HE LIKES TO THINK. Even though he was the most undeserving being in existence, he wanted to be greedy. He wanted to be greedy when it came to you. He can't help it. He wanted you, no matter what. He yearns for you no matter the case. Even if it's to curse him, he wants to see you again. You became a cursed ghost, bound to him like the shadow of every terrible thing he had done. 

Geto Suguru felt your presence in everything he did, in every step he took. It was unavoidable. When he would wake up, he knows you were calling his name. When he was in his dreams, you would look at him, without saying anything.

You haunted him relentlessly, silently, like a specter of the life he had stolen from you, and from himself. He couldn't escape you. He didn’t deserve to. He doesn't want to. He doesn't think he should. Not when he loves you most.

At first, he tried to ignore it. He tried to pretend that your death had been some kind of mercy, that he had spared you the pain that had consumed everyone else. Because that was what he had thought when he had taken your life. That's what he thought he was doing. He thought he was standing by you.

But as the years passed by, he knew that he was in the wrong. He accepted that he was in the wrong. That he had caused misery beyond compare. Not only for him but the most, for you. You were robbed of everything. Because he willed it.

And you couldn't accept it. He knew you wouldn't. Even if you had not done anything when he had killed you, you resented him. He knew that for a fact. Because you would not have materialized, your spirit wouldn't have lingered if that was the case. You resented him. And you loved him. You wanted him to pay and you wanted to hold him.

You followed him through the days and the nights, never speaking, but always there—watching, waiting. Your eyes, once full of love and warmth, now filled with sadness, sorrow, and something worse: disappointment.

If he was being honest, Suguru hated it. He cannot take how you look at him with those eyes. He cannot understand how it hurt him, how it can put him to the worst of grief. Over and over again.

He hated how tainted you had become because of him, how his hands, once capable of tenderness, had defiled your soul. You were twisted now, corrupted by his actions, bound to this cursed existence because of him.

He had stained you, dragged you into the darkness with him, and now, he could never set you free. You were a cursed being, a remnant of everything pure he had ruined.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you. Every time he breathed, it was like you were just behind him, your breath a cold whisper on his neck. When he fought, when he killed, when he walked among the ruins he had created, you were there, like a silent witness to his sins. You never left him alone. And he had a love and hate for the fact. 

And in the stillness, in the quiet moments between battles, he would feel your sadness radiating from the shadows, like a knife twisted into his chest. The more he tried to push you away, the tighter your curse clung to him, a constant reminder of what he had done.

It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this. You had been innocent. You had been his love, his reason for hope in a world full of hatred. You were the light he had turned away from, and in doing so, he had dragged you into the abyss with him. And now, you were part of that same darkness. A monstrosity of his own making.

He wanted to give you peace. He wanted to free you, to find a way to release your soul from the curse he had placed upon you. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. He had gone too far, and there was no redemption, not for him, and not for you. This was all that was left of the love you shared—a twisted, haunted existence. You were bound to him in life, and now in death, you were bound to him still.

Suguru couldn’t forgive himself for what he had done to you. He couldn’t bear the weight of knowing that even in death, you had no peace. You should have been free, your soul at rest, away from the horrors of the world he had embraced. But instead, you were with him, suffering, watching him destroy everything, even himself.

"This isn’t what you deserved." he whispered one night, his voice shaking as he sat alone, surrounded by the cold, oppressive air of your ghost. "But that's all I have left of you."

And in his heart, he knew the truth: he had destroyed everything good in his life, including you. Now, all he had left was this haunting, this curse, this twisted version of the love he had once cherished. It was his punishment, the monstrosity of his own creation, and he would carry it with him until the very end.

You began to interact with him, more than just a haunting presence. At first, it was subtle—a cold breeze across his skin when the windows were closed, the flicker of shadows in the corner of his vision, the soft rustle of something moving when no one was there.

But as the days passed, it became more intense. You weren’t just watching him anymore. You were with him, and that made the guilt all the more unbearable. He could tell that you didn't know how to feel about it. One moment, you adored him. One moment you hated him. Each and every time, he took it. He yearned for it. He wants it to repeat over and over.

Suguru could feel it in every brush of cold air, in every movement you made. There was nothing left of the person you once were. You were no longer the girl who had loved him, the one who smiled and laughed, whose touch brought him comfort.

What was left was a hollow shell of your soul, twisted and broken by his actions. The broken body of a ghost that wanted nothing more to be free. To hate him, to love him and to leave him. And yet, despite knowing this, despite knowing that he had destroyed you beyond recognition, he still couldn’t let you go.

It was his greed that bound you, his selfish desire to keep you close, no matter what you had become. Even now, even as you haunted him, as you tormented him with your presence, he clung to you like you were his last lifeline.

He convinced himself that this was you, that this cursed, fractured version of your spirit was the real you coming back to him. He needed to believe it because the alternative; the idea that you were gone, truly gone, was too painful to bear.

In his twisted mind, he told himself that you stayed because you loved him. That even though he had shattered your soul, even though he had ripped you away from everything you knew, you still came back to him. You came back because you loved him the most. And that was enough for him, even if it wasn’t the truth.

But the truth was something he could never fully escape. He knew, deep down, that you hated him. He saw it in the way your spirit lashed out at him at night, the way you hovered over him, watching him with eyes that burned with anger and grief.

Sometimes, when the room grew still and dark, he could feel your hands—those same hands that once touched him with love—wrap around his throat, cold and vengeful, pressing down as if you were trying to choke the life from him. You wanted him dead. He knew that.

There were extreme nights, when you would feel your death over and over again. Where you would feel the anger and the grief and the pain overwhelm you. In those nights, you tried to kill him. Your cold, spectral fingers would tighten around his neck or press into his chest, making his heart race with terror.

He would wake in a panic, gasping for air, drenched in sweat, his body shaking from the closeness of death. And yet, even as he lay there, heart pounding, knowing you had just tried to take his life, he couldn’t let you go. The more you hated him, the more he needed to keep you close.

"I know you hate me, my love." he whispered one night, after waking from another attack. His voice was hoarse, his throat raw from where your ghostly fingers had pressed down on his windpipe.

"I deserve it. I deserve all of it. But… you came back to me, didn’t you? You could’ve gone anywhere, but you came back to me."

There was no answer, just the icy stillness that filled the room, but he swore he could feel you there, hovering just out of sight, watching him with those same cold, dead eyes as you kept pushing over and over again. You wanted him to die. You wanted him to pay. But he could see it too, how you wanted to stop yourself too.

"Even if you hate me, I need you here." he continued, his voice breaking. "Because you love me… you still love me, right?"

The silence stretched on, and for a moment, he almost believed he could hear your voice, your real voice, telling him that it was true. That you did love him, even after everything. That you wanted to say sorry over and over again.

But then, the familiar cold returned, creeping up his spine like the touch of death itself, and he felt your hands again, tighten against his skin. Only this time, colder, harsher, more brutal. More willing to kill. More willing to take his life in revenge. He had never seen you like this before. He had never seen you so angry at him before.

And he knew he deserved it. He knew it is what you should feel. He hurt people, he hurt you. He killed you. You had every right to want to take his life for yours. Even like this. Even after all this time. He would let you. As he had done before, he lay himself defenseless, at your mercy. He was ready to be taken to hell by your angelic arms. Even if he didn't deserve it. You pressed harder, digging into his flesh, as if you were trying to crush him.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry." he gasped, fighting for air, tears blurring his vision as he clawed at the emptiness around him. "I’m sorry for everything! But I can’t— I can’t let you go."

And that was the truth. No matter how much you hated him, no matter how many times you tried to kill him in the dead of night, he couldn’t let go of what little was left of you. You were all he had, even if what remained of you was a cursed, vengeful spirit, twisted by his own cruelty.

You were the only thing in his world that still meant anything. You were the last piece of the life he had destroyed, and he would cling to you, even if it killed him. Because that's the only way he could survive. That's the only way he could continue with this. Life is meaningless if you cannot be there. Even if it's to hurt him.

He hated himself for it. He hated the way his greed had tainted your soul, how his selfishness had turned you into this monstrous version of the woman he loved. The promise he had made was his failure. His eternal mistake. But it didn’t matter. In his broken mind, this was better than nothing.

"I’ll keep you with me, my love." he whispered, even as your fingers gripped his throat once more, sending waves of pain through his body. "Even if you kill me, I’ll never let you go."

For a moment, you were silent.

You just keep pushing on and on.

But he could see it as clear as day.

Tears were falling down on your face.

"I know." He croaks out with a struggle. He could feel his skin turn blue and purple as you kept pushing. "I....I know."

No, he thinks to himself. He will never truly know.

He was still alive.

And you were dead.

▐░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░▌

MISERY HAS COME TO AN END. This was what he had been waiting for since that day he had taken your life. He couldn't wait for it. He wanted for it to be over. He wanted for it to be done. As Geto Suguru lay there, life slowly draining from his body, Gojo Satoru stood above him, his face unreadable but filled with a deep, unspoken sadness.

The air around them felt thick, charged with the weight of years gone by, of a friendship that had crumbled under the weight of Suguru’s choices. But there was something else in that moment, something that Suguru had felt long before Gojo Satoru arrived. There was a presence that lingered, watching, always there. You.

You stood in the shadows, just out of reach but ever-present, as you had been for so long. He could feel your gaze, cold and sharp, cutting through the haze of his fading consciousness. He didn’t need to see you to know you were there; he always knew. Even as his body weakened, even as death crept closer, you were the one thing he could still feel.

Suguru's breathing was ragged, each breath a struggle, but he forced his eyes to focus, searching for you through the mist of pain and regret. And there you were—silent, ghostly, unchanged in the years that had passed since he had taken your life. 

Your face was a mixture of sorrow and rage, just as it always had been since you had become this cursed existence. It was so real, it felt so real. You were here. He had made you this way, and he knew it. The weight of that knowledge pressed down on him harder than any physical pain ever could.

“I knew you’d be here, my love.” he rasped, his voice weak, barely above a whisper. Blood trickled from his mouth, but he didn’t care. All that mattered now was you.

You stared at him, your eyes burning with the same hatred and sorrow that had haunted him for so long. But behind that, there was something else, something deeper that had always lingered between you….love. It was fractured, twisted by the years of torment, but it was still there, in the way you watched him now, waiting.

"I—" He coughed, the pain wracking his body, but he forced the words out, knowing he didn’t have much time. "I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. For everything. For what I did to you. For taking you away. I never wanted it to be like this."

Your expression didn’t change, but Geto Suguru could feel the weight of your emotions. He could always feel it, the depth of your pain, your anger, and the love that had been tainted by his cruelty.

"I don’t deserve forgiveness, my love." he continued, his voice trembling, "I know that. I don’t even ask for it. But… I need you to stay with me." His purple eyes, dark and filled with regret, locked onto yours.

"Hate me. Keep hating me for what I did. I deserve it. Stay angry. Stay hurt. Just—" His voice cracked, and for a moment, the mask of strength he had worn for so long fell away, revealing the broken man beneath. "Just don’t leave me."

You didn’t move, but something in your gaze softened, just for a moment, and Suguru’s heart clenched.

"I need you to keep loving me." he whispered, barely audible now, the strength leaving him with each breath. "Even if it’s hate. Even if it’s anger. Please… don’t ever leave. Stay with me, even in death."

There was silence for a long moment, the world around him fading, the edges of reality blurring. Gojo Satoru’s presence was there, a silent witness to this final moment, but all Suguru could focus on was you. The one person he had loved, the one person he had destroyed.

And in that silence, he thought he saw you nod. It wasn’t forgiveness. He knew that you could never give him that. Not even if you wanted to. So, he didn’t expect that. But it was something, a promise of sorts, that you would remain, that you would stay by his side, even in the twisted, cursed way you had been for so long.

You had no other choice. You were tied to him. Even if you were an angel, you were his to have killed. And you were his to keep. One way or another, you were doomed with him.

As the light in his eyes began to dim, Suguru let out one last breath, his body finally succumbing to the weight of it all. But even as the world around him slipped away, he felt you there, just as he had always wanted. He wanted forever. He wanted you to be bound to him, through love, hate, and everything in between.

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Geto Suguru felt a sense of peace, knowing that in death, you would never leave his side.

As Suguru’s body lay still, life finally left him, your form so long bound to his cursed existence, everything had begun to change. The air around you shifted, the heaviness that had weighed you down for years slowly lifting.

You had been tied to him for so long, your soul twisted by the hatred and sorrow of what he had done to you. But now, with his death, the curse that had held you in this half-life, in this torment, began to unravel.

You felt it—slowly, like a breath you hadn’t taken in so many years. The pull that had kept you bound to him, the chains of guilt, anger, and love, began to fade. It wasn’t quick; the pain was still there, raw and deep, but it was easing, loosening its grip on your soul.

The twisted form you had taken, the vengeful ghost that had followed Suguru through every step, began to dissolve. You were withering away, piece by piece, the curse unraveling like a thread in the wind.

But there was no joy in it. No relief. Instead, as you felt your spirit beginning to break free, something strange and unexpected filled you—grief.

The years of anger, hatred, and sorrow were fading, and with them, the love you had once held so deeply for him, a love that had persisted despite everything. As the curse released its grip on you, tears began to fall, silent and steady, down your ghostly face.

Gojo Satoru stood above Geto Suguru, watching it all unfold. He had always known about you, the shadow that haunted his best friend, the curse that Suguru had created out of his own guilt and selfish love. 

But seeing it now, seeing the way your form withered away, your tears falling like echoes of a past long gone, it struck him in a way he hadn’t expected. He didn’t need to see the full story to understand what you were; what you had been to Suguru, and what he had taken from you.

Your tears shimmered in the fading light, and Gojo Satoru, ever perceptive, caught the faint glisten of them. He could feel the depth of your pain, even now, as you began to fade from the world.

The sight of your sorrow, of your spirit being freed but still weighed down by the lingering grief, hit something in him that he rarely allowed anyone to see. His usual mask of indifference slipped, just for a moment, and he sighed softly.

“Love really is the worst curse, huh.” he murmured to himself, his voice low, almost as though he were speaking to the empty air, to you.

He understood, more than most, how love could bind, twist, and destroy. He had seen it countless times in the lives of others, and now, here, at the end of everything, he saw it in Suguru’s last moments and in your ghostly form, finally free but forever marked by what had been done to you.

You didn’t answer him—you couldn’t. Your form was fading faster now, the last remnants of your curse dissolving into the air. But as you disappeared, your tears fell one last time, a final release of all the pain you had carried, of all the love and hate that had twisted you into what you had become.

Gojo watched you until there was nothing left, just the faint whisper of your presence lingering in the silence. He looked down at Suguru, his once closest friend, and felt a deep, bittersweet sorrow wash over him. He knew that, in the end, both of you had been cursed by love, in different ways. And now, both of you are gone.

With one last glance at the empty space where your spirit had been, Gojo Satoru sighed again, his heart heavy. What a tragedy of a life it all had been.

"Yeah……" he whispered to himself. "The worst curse of all."

[distantlcver]

HEAVY IS THE HEART

Knight!Sevika x Royalty!reader you're married to a tyrant and have a love affair with your knight ! ! implied intimate parter violence. nothing graphic or too descriptive, but there is a brief mention

1 / 2 / 3

"Be love in its disrepute (lover, be good to me)" - Be, Hozier

Your husband is a cruel man, vicious and unyielding, carved from the stone of war and greed. You did not know this until it was too late. A marriage forged not in love, nor even in duty, but in the cold barter of power. Promises whispered in darkened halls had sealed your fate, your freedom traded for your father’s ambitions.

You had always known your role. As the daughter of a king, you were never your own. A piece upon the board, moved by hands that cared not for the heart within. When you were wed to the King, you clung to hope that there might be kindness in him. Instead, you found yourself shackled in silken chains, bruises hidden beneath fine embroidery, your spirit worn thin beneath his shadow.

At first, his cruelty was veiled behind cold indifference. A dismissive glance, an absent touch, a sneer when you spoke. But as the months stretched on, indifference turned to malice. His temper burned hotter, his words sharper, his hands heavier. He did not need to strike you to wound you, though he sometimes did. The real pain lay in the way he relished your suffering, the way he found amusement in watching you flinch, in pressing just enough to remind you of your powerlessness. He was a man who thrived on control, and you were just another thing for him to break.

Yet, in the suffocating dark, there was one flicker of light. Sevika.

She was meant to be just another piece of your husband’s court, another blade in his vast arsenal. A knight sworn to protect you, not out of loyalty to you but to the throne, to the man who owned you both in different ways. For months, she was nothing more than a shadow at your back, watchful, silent, efficient. At first, there was nothing but formality between you. Polite nods, brief conversations, and a shared understanding that neither of you had the luxury of truly letting down your guard.

Then, something shifted.

Perhaps it was the way she caught you when your knees buckled after a long night of biting your tongue through your husband's temper. Or the way she steadied you without a word when you stood too quickly, her hand firm against your back. A knight’s duty, yes, but there was no obligation in the softness of her grip, no command in the way she lingered, in the way she traced the ridges of your exhaustion with her eyes but never with pity.

As the King grew crueler, Sevika became gentler. Her touch was careful where his was cruel. The weight of her palm at the small of your back, solid and grounding. The way she let you grasp onto her forearm when the world became too much. The first time she set a cloak around your shoulders, it was an unspoken promise, an offering laid before you. And you, starved for kindness, took it.

You do not remember the first time you touched her in return. Only that one day, your fingers found the worn leather of her gloves, and she let you trace the edges of them as if mapping the lines of fate itself. She did not pull away. She did not tell you to stop.

There were no grand declarations, no whispered confessions in candlelit chambers. Only the quiet shift of the universe tilting on its axis. A moment held too long, a breath shared in the space between.

The first time you kissed her was accidental, or so you both told yourselves. A brush of lips during a late-night conversation in the quiet of your chambers, your husband away on some diplomatic mission. You had been talking about everything and nothing, your voices low in the thick, heavy air of the castle. There were no guards, no duties. Just the two of you, and the way the space between your bodies seemed to pull you closer until it couldn’t be denied any longer.

Her lips were soft, and you had been starved for something, anything, that wasn’t the cold, distant affection you received from your husband. The kiss was fleeting, brief, yet it lingered long after. Neither of you said anything at first. Words felt useless, a betrayal of the truth already settling between you.

The days after the kiss were a quiet war, a battle fought in glances, in the accidental brush of hands, in the space between what was spoken and what was left unsaid. You both pretended nothing had changed, that duty still dictated your every move, that the line between protector and queen had not been crossed. But the air between you had shifted, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous.

Sevika was everywhere, always close, always watching. She had been your shadow before, but now her presence felt different, intentional, measured. She was the first to greet you in the mornings, standing by the door of your chambers before the sun had fully risen, her expression unreadable yet steady. Sometimes, she brought tea, her fingers grazing yours as she passed the delicate porcelain cup into your hands. The touch would linger for a breath too long, a ghost of warmth that sent a shiver up your spine.

And in the late hours of the night, when the bathwater ran cold and the castle had settled into silence, she was there. Always there. Her touch was light at first, tentative and careful. The tips of her fingers traced through your damp hair, combing through the tangles with a reverence that made your breath hitch. The motion was slow, unhurried, as if she was memorizing every strand, as if she knew this was dangerous but couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Then, her hands moved lower, skimming over the bare skin of your arms, the curve of your shoulders. Her calloused fingers ghosted along your spine, following the ridges of your back with the kind of tenderness that made your chest ache. When she reached your hands, she lingered, smoothing her palms over yours, mapping the lines of your fingers as if she could imprint them into her memory. When she knelt before you, her hands brushing along the length of your legs, her touch barely there yet searing against your skin, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from gasping.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you had to. Because in the stillness of the night, in the hush of the castle where no one could see, her touch said everything.

You told yourself you should be more careful. But you weren’t.

Then came the stolen moments, the secret meetings in the corners of the palace where the candlelight flickered low and the walls felt like the only witnesses. The library, where dust-covered tomes lined the shelves, their forgotten pages turning in the breeze of whispered words. The empty corridors at dusk, where you walked side by side, never touching, never speaking of what simmered between you, but feeling it in every step. The secluded gardens, where moonlight pooled in the stone pathways, and her hand would hover just inches from yours, the space between your skin an unbearable distance.

She was careful, always so careful. Even when the hunger in her gaze betrayed her restraint. Even when you caught her watching you too long, her jaw tight, her fingers curled into fists at her sides as if she were fighting something she didn’t dare name. She never asked for more than you could give. Never crossed the fragile boundary that had already begun to fray at the edges.

It’s incredible how easily you accept the quiet betrayals of your own heart when you love someone in secret.

A/N: ended up making this waaaaaaayyyyyy longer than intended so i split it up

semi proofread- i can only read so much of my own writing before I descend into absolute madness

[fandoms-x-reader]

Replay

Requested: @deludedprime

Word Count: 9,425

Oneshot

Part 2

Summary: You have gone through the same story of meeting everyone multiple times now. Every time, at the end, everyone ends up meeting their end. You're trying to prevent that by going through it all once again. But, old habits die hard and the characters start to notice when you know a bit too much about them. Obey Me Brothers and Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Solomon Short writings for Luke, Thirteen, Mephisto, and Raphael

You opened your eyes and took in a deep breath. You were standing in the assembly room of RAD with seven people who you knew very well looking at you. But while you looked at them with familiarity, they stared at you with neutral expressions. All except Lord Diavolo who was standing in front of you looking at you with a smile. You wondered if he knew how much joy his smile brought to others.

“Welcome to the Devildom, Y/N,” he stated. Those were the words that have started your journey three times now. Or was it four? With everything that has happened between you and the brothers, you’ve lost track of how many times you’ve been in this situation.

Diavolo continued to give his brief explanation of who he was and where you were. Then, someone else said, “I will explain everything to you.” You turned towards the eldest demon and took in his appearance. He seemed indifferent towards you and though it hurt to see him like this, it made sense.

The Lucifer you had come to know had been so kind and caring. He was an amazing right hand to Lord Diavolo and an even better older brother. You never once doubted your place in his life, so much so, that it was easy to forget how cold he once was to you - as if you were an inconvenience that he had to put up with to satisfy Diavolo.

Diavolo and Lucifer fell into an easy conversation, the strong friendship clear even then when you were supposed to be completely clueless as to what was happening and who they were.

Lucifer began to explain the exchange student program, but you tuned him out. You were scanning the room looking at the others who were there, their gaze set on you. Two of the brothers weren’t there. 

As if on cue, Lucifer stated, “You need someone to look after you and I think that someone should be my brother Mammon. He’s the Avatar of Greed and…how should I put it…? Oh well, you’ll understand soon enough.”

“Now then…we still need to introduce our new friend to your brothers, Lucifer. And it’s probably better that you do that instead of me, wouldn’t you say?” Diavolo questioned, giving Lucifer a small smile.

“Yes, as much as I dread the idea of doing so, you’re right,” Lucifer replied. “Oh, come now. Really? You should be honored to introduce such a sweet and charming little brother like me!” Asmo chimed in.

“This one here is Asmodeus. He’s the fifth eldest. He is the Avatar of Lust,” Lucifer continued, not even acknowledging Asmo’s remark. “Wh…I can’t believe you just totally ignored what I said! And not only that, you referred to me as this one. How rude!” Asmo stated.

“Hmph. At least he didn’t ignore you altogether. How do you think I feel?” Satan added, refusing to look at Lucifer. “That one there is Satan, the fourth eldest of us. At first glance, he may seem like a responsible demon with a good head on his shoulders, but looks can be deceiving,” Lucifer told you. 

“Aha, so I’m that one, am I? Nice to meet you, Y/N. I am Satan, the Avatar of Wrath,” Satan introduced, giving you a polite smile. His polite smile disguised the anger that you knew was hiding behind his eyes.

“Now, the one there with the very grumpy look on his face is Beelzebub. He’s the sixth oldest,” Lucifer proceeded, ignoring his brothers’ side comments. “Lucifer, I’m hungry,” Beel replied. The statement almost made you laugh considering the amount of times you had heard it before. It was like his catchphrase.

“That’s too bad. Now behave yourself,” Lucifer replied. Beel let out a small sigh before telling you, “I’m Beelzebub, the Avatar of Gluttony.” Beel then went on to daydream - most likely about the food he was planning on eating as soon as he was out of the meeting.

“So - there are seven of us brothers in all. I am the eldest. Mammon, the second oldest of us, will be here soon. My other brothers aren’t here at the moment, but…well, we can get to them later. All in good time,” Lucifer explained.

“During your stay in the Devildom, the seven brothers will lend you their strength. To keep you safe, you are to stay with them at the House of Lamentation,” Diavolo explained before he and Lucifer made sure to add their numbers to your D.D.D. They even had you call Mammon to show that you knew how to use it.

Right after that, Mammon entered the assembly hall. Lucifer let out a small sigh before telling you, “Well, you’ve got that done now, and it seems the idiot has arrived.” 

Mammon walked up to you and Lucifer before saying, “HEY! Just who do you think you are, human? You’ve got a lotta nerve summoning the Great Mammon! Listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once. If you value your life, then you’ll hand over all of your money now! And anything else of value you too! Otherwise, I’ll wipe that stupid, happy-go-lucky look right off your face…by eatin’ you! Startin’ at your head and working my way down, until-.”

“Mammon shut up or I’ll punch you,” Lucifer stated simply before punching his younger brother. “GAH, OWW! Hey, what’s the big idea? I thought you were actually gonna give me a chance to shut up before punching me!” Mammon replied. You stifled a laugh as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. Same old Mammon.

“Y/N, Mammon here is the Avatar of Greed. He governs and oversees all forms of it. Whenever he takes a liking to someone, they suddenly find themselves awash in money. But from what I hear, if he decides to break it off with someone, the wealth evaporates. They’re left without a Grimm to their name,” Satan explained.

“And he’s also a masochist. That part’s important,” Asmo added and you watched as the second-eldest glared at the fifth-born. You could tell that Mammon wanted to say something to him but Lucifer beat him to the punch. “Indeed. And it just so happens I have a job for my masochist of a brother,” Lucifer said. 

“Y’all stop telling lies! I ain’t asked for that punch, and I AIN’T a masochist!” Mammon defended, shooting his brothers an angry look. Lucifer paid no attention to it though as he told him, “Mammon, you are going to be in charge of seeing to this human’s needs during this whole exchange. I expect your full cooperation”

“What?! Why me?!” Mammon complained. “Aww, lucky you, Mammon! I’m so jealous…” Asmo said with a small frown. “All right, then why don’t YOU do it, Asmodeus?!” Mammon retorted.

“What? Hell no, too lazy…” Asmo replied. “I thought you were jealous of me?!” Mammon questioned. “Just give up, Mammon. There’s no getting out of this. You know you can’t refuse a direct command from Lucifer, correct?” Satan replied.

“But why does it have to be me?! What about Beel? Why can’t he do it?!” Mammon asked. “This isn’t a job we can entrust to Beel. We might as well ask him to eat this human,” Asmo replied.  “Mm, yeah, I can’t promise I wouldn’t,” Beel added.

“You’re useless, you know that?!” Mammon told his younger sibling. “...Mammon?” Lucifer stated, controlling the anger that was beginning to blossom. “...Wh-What?” Mammon asked. A dark aura surrounded Lucifer as he told him, “Surely, you’re not going to tell me that you object to this arrangement, are you?” Lucifer questioned.

Mammon completely tensed up at Lucifer’s words before saying, “Ugh…I hate you guys! Every last one of ya!” Mammon paused for a moment before continuing to say, “Fine…FINE! I’ll do it, okay?!”

Mammon then turned to you and told you, “All right, human, listen up. As much as I don’t want to look after you, I’ve got no choice. It’s a huge pain in the ass, and I’m too important for this kind of thing, but Lucifer told me to do it, so I will. But in return you better make sure you don’t cause me any trouble, got it?!”

This was the scene that marked the start of your journey in the Devildom…several times now. You hated it every time. The way that Lucifer looked at you like he could care less about you. The way Mammon treated you like you were a burden. The way that Levi refused to leave his room. The way that Satan was so angry all of the time towards everyone. The way that Asmo only wanted to charm you instead of getting to know you. The way Beel looked at you as nothing more than a snack. And the way Belphie was locked up in the attic. Not even Diavolo or Barbatos looked towards you with a hint of care.

You thought about the previous times you had been in this scenario. It had always ended the same - with you losing everyone you loved. Losing the people you had come to care so much about hurt much worse than never having them in the first place.

So you managed to find a way to the beginning. To start all over and pray that you could find a way to stop the tragic end that occurred. You would do whatever it took to save everyone. 

It didn’t matter if they didn’t know who you were. It didn’t matter if you had to put all of your energy into making them love you again. If it meant they would be okay in the end, you would do it over and over again until you got it right.

But, you had already experienced all of this. You already knew most things about the people you were closest to. Was it even possible to try and do this without them realizing something was amiss?

Lucifer had always been hard to get to know at first. He didn’t know you and he wasn’t sure he wanted to get to know you. Diavolo wanted to strengthen the bonds between the three realms. That was the only reason you were in the Devildom.

And in one year, you would be heading back to the human world. None of them would see you again. So what was the point in talking to you and forming any kind of connection? 

In fact, he was even wary about his brothers’ growing friendships with you. Especially when they began making pacts with you. How had you managed to find a way into their hearts so quickly?

The more time he spent around you though, he began to understand the charm that you had. He came to know your kind-hearted nature and dared to let himself begin to care. 

So much so that when you decided to join him in his study while he was doing paperwork, he allowed you to stay. He stayed silent as you picked up a stack of papers and began to look through them.

When you grabbed a pen, he opened his mouth to say something. Those were important documents and they had to be filed correctly. But he stopped himself when he saw you filling out every box correctly - as if you had done it a hundred times.

Lucifer’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you finished that document and moved on to the next, effortlessly filling that one out as well. One by one you went through the stack while Lucifer watched you incredulously.

He was sure he had never allowed you into his study before. He had never shown you the paperwork, let alone explained which one was what. So, how were you doing this? Some of the documents were even written in different languages!

You sat down your pen as you finished the stack and gave Lucifer a small smile. “Hopefully that helped you some,” you told him.

Lucifer found himself naturally returning the smile as you stood up from his desk. “I’ll go make you some tea,” you offered, beginning to walk towards the door of the study.

Did you ever stop giving? Well, Lucifer had to admit that a cup of tea did sound nice right now. On top of that, he didn’t want to turn down your offer when you were being so kind. But, he was pretty specific about his tea.

“Y/N, could you make it-,” Lucifer began to stay but you stopped him. “On the stronger side?” you finished for him.

Lucifer’s eyes widened and you paused for a moment as you realized what you had done. You took a breath before putting on a fake smile and telling him, “You just seem like the type that likes his tea stronger than most.” You then quickly disappeared into the kitchen to make the tea.

Meanwhile, Lucifer was left sitting in his study to ponder the words you had spoken. Even if he had a tell that indicated that he liked his tea strong, there was no tell in the world that he could have given to instruct you on how to fill out the paperwork. Something wasn’t right.

When you returned with his tea, it only furthered Lucifer’s suspicions as it was made exactly right. No one - except Barbatos and himself - had ever managed to make it exactly how he liked it.

And when you left the study for the final time that night, he couldn’t help but wonder - who exactly were you?

It took Mammon a bit longer than the others to notice anything suspicious.

The two of you spent a lot of time together since he was the one in charge of watching you. So you would think that he’d be the first to pick up on it if something strange was happening. 

But the truth was Mammon was so distracted by his feelings for you when you were in his presence that nothing else processed in his mind. All he could think about was keeping his cool and not letting the way he felt about you be exposed.

So, he never thought twice about the moments where you accidentally slipped up.

The two of you were at the casino and Mammon was so desperate to impress you with his gambling abilities. But, he was having a bit of a rough night. And every time he tried even harder to win, he fell into a worse position.

You had seen Mammon’s tricks many times in the casino and realized what he was doing wrong. You whispered the strategy in his ear and Mammon’s eyes widened. That was it! That’s exactly what he needed to do to win. 

He proceeded with your plan and smiled proudly as he finally won. You assumed you would be questioned on how you knew that tactic. Not many would have. But, Mammon didn’t say anything. He just assumed you were really good at gambling, which only made you more perfect for him. He was curious to see what other tricks you had up your sleeve and he didn’t want to scare you off by interrogating you.

The thing that did tip Mammon off was when you decided to wash his prized possession - the Demonio 666 Lexura.

Mammon didn’t let anyone touch his car except himself. He claimed he was the only one who “knew how to treat her right.”

But in your past experiences with Mammon, you knew how much he loved it when the car was clean. And he even showed you how to do it properly once. You used to surprise him with cleaning it and it always brought such a big smile to his face when he would look her over and not see a speck of dirt.

He also used specific cleaning materials on it so that it always had that shiny new car smell. In Mammon’s opinion, it was one of his favorite scents.

Nonetheless, this Mammon had never talked to you about his car. He never showed you how to clean her. And he certainly never allowed you to touch her.

Mammon wouldn’t get mad at you. You were too special to him. But, he did almost have a heart attack when he saw you next to his car, a rag in your hand.

He quickly ran up the stairs and said, “Oi! Human! What are ya doin’?”

You turned to face Mammon and gave him a small smile before telling him, “I thought I would clean your car for you.”

It was a nice gesture, really. And Mammon appreciated it. But, he had a very specific way of doing it. And as his mind was trying to find a way to tell you this without coming off rude, his eyes scanned the area.

That’s when he saw the cleaning materials you used. It was the exact same brand that he always bought. He never kept any on hand though which meant that you went out and chose to buy those specific items.

Mammon quickly began inspecting his car. His favorite smell overwhelmed his senses and his car now looked immaculate. How did you know?

At the end of it, all Mammon could say was ‘thank you’. But, deep down, Mammon felt weird. Like he was having a deja vu experience. 

You were a normie. So of course Levi wouldn’t want to hang out with you. Why would he?

Except he was incredibly interested in getting to know you. He coudn’t help it! There are so many things that Levi’s obsessed with that came from the human world and he had a hundred questions for you.

But his self-deprecating thoughts kept him from approaching you for fear of rejection. So he resorted to insulting you and pretty much acting completely indifferent towards you.

But, then you beat him in the TSL contest and he attacked you. He felt very bad afterward. Leave it to him to drive someone else away.

He approached you afterward to offer up a pact with him as an apology. It’s not like you would want to make a pact with him anyway. It was just the only thing he could think of to make it up to you.

When you agreed to make a pact with him, Levi was both shocked and surprisingly happy. He didn’t think having a pact with a normie would affect him this much. But there was just something about you. 

Levi used the pact as an excuse to spend more time with you. He asked you so many questions about the anime and manga he liked. There was no way you could know all of them, but somehow you did.

You answered all of Levi’s questions and not just with basic answers. You had conversations with him about it. Maybe you were an otaku like him. There’s no way you could know this much without being one.

Levi invited you to his room more and more often to hang out. Though you had to make sure not to tell the others. He couldn’t have them finding out.

Levi had been a little suspicious about the amount of knowledge you had on the things that he liked. But he wasn’t in a position to question you about it.

He invited you over to play a new game that had just been released in the Devildom. Technically it was an early release so there was hardly any information on the game.

Levi had been so excited to play it, but he heard that it was one of the hardest games that had ever been made and it was impossible to complete without a second player.

The two of you began playing and you both picked it up pretty easily. Well, Levi had picked it up pretty easily. You had already played the game countless times in the past and knew exactly what you were doing.

When you reached the final boss of the area, Levi let out a nervous sigh before pressing start. He was getting eaten alive. He couldn’t hit a single attack. He just kept getting countered and then hit. 

His health bar went down rapidly until his character died and he let out a frustrated sigh. He turned to face you, expecting you to be wearing the same expression, but you weren’t.

Levi covered his mouth and let out a startled noise as he watched your character on the screen. You knew the attack pattern and dodged every single one. Your fingers were moving at an unbelievable rate but what shocked Levi was your expression. You didn’t even look like you were trying.

There was no way you could be doing this having never played the game before. He refused to believe it. There was something he was missing.

The words “YOU WIN” appeared on the screen and you let out a satisfied chuckle as you set your controller down.

You turned to face Levi and saw the shock in his eyes as he stared at you. “I’ve just played a game like this before,” you told him with a small smile.

He was not buying it. Either you were a video game ninja, or there was something that you weren't telling him.

Either way, he was going to figure it out.

Satan was very aloof compared to his other brothers. He wasn’t a shut-in like Levi, he just preferred to keep to himself. He found that solitary was better than company most times - especially when it came to his brothers. Because of that, he didn’t really spend any time with you. 

He knew the basics. Things that Lucifer forced all of his brothers to know before you got to the Devildom. And, he tried to be polite when he did find himself in a conversation with you. 

He observed your relationship with his brothers. How they had all fallen under your spell to the point where you made pacts with four out of the seven of them. He was impressed by your abilities, but he promised himself he wouldn’t fall for the same trick.

That was until he saw you as an opportunity to get underneath Lucifer’s skin. He knew that it was bothering Lucifer how easily you were making pacts with the brothers. Satan making a pact with you would be icing on the cake. 

He never felt more angry or rejected when you refused to make a pact with him. Why didn’t you want him? You wanted to make a pact with everyone else - so why not him?

At the end of all of it though, Satan admired your strength to say no to him and potentially put yourself in harm’s way. He appreciated you for helping him see the value in his relationship with Lucifer. And he still got to make a pact with you - the right way.

Since he was a little late to the party, Satan was desperate to spend more time with you. He started becoming jealous when he saw you hanging out with his brothers instead of him and that led to him inviting you to his room.

He wanted to spend some time reading with you and was more than happy when you agreed to it with enthusiasm. He was surprised you were willing to spend a quiet evening with him instead of going to the club with Asmo or going gambling with Mammon.

He chose a book for the two of you to read and you got about a quarter of the way through when the book mentioned a specific curse. But, it didn’t explain what that curse did. It was bothering Satan so you decided to take it upon yourself to look for the curse.

You quickly moved around his room, knowing exactly which pile had the curse and spell books. You knew how far down the pile the book was and managed to pull it out effortlessly without causing the tower to tumble.

Satan was in pure shock. To every other person, his room looked like a cluttered disaster. It looked like his books were carelessly strewn about. But, he had an organizational system. He knew where every book he had was and even had them categorized in a specific order.

But, how did you know what that system was? This was the first time you had been in his room long enough to be able to actually look around; and, he never told anyone else about the way he organized his books so you couldn’t have overheard it. 

Satan’s eyes radiated with curiosity as he watched you come back and sit down next to him. You had the page opened to curse already. It was as if you had already read the book and knew where it was in the book.

You read the curse description out to Satan and then looked up to see him staring at you. His gaze caused you to pause for a moment as you asked, “What?”

Satan immediately reacted, trying to pull himself out of his thoughts. “It’s nothing. It’s just not a lot of people would be able to find their way around my room,” he replied.

It was natural to you. After you learned his system, it made complete sense to you. But you realized you weren’t supposed to know his system at this stage in your relationship. You were now panicking as you tried to come up with some explanation. 

You gave him a small smile before telling him, “That book was one of the ones you threw at Lucifer and I just happened to catch a glimpse of it.”

Asmo knew there was something different about you from the moment he met you. He tried to charm you once then. The moment got interrupted by Lucifer but Asmo could feel the resistance from you.

He tried again at the Demon Lord’s Castle only to once again be disappointed and intrigued by the results. What about you made it so that you could resist him - something no one else had ever been able to do?

Then he felt your power when you summoned him. It was something he had never felt before.

As a demon, things can get pretty boring and repetitive. The same club, the same drinks, the same succubi who wanted Asmo to take them home for the night. So when he felt the power you had - and the effect your power had on him - Asmo felt excited for the first time in a long time.

He had to get to know you more and what better way than by making a pact with you?

He told himself that he wouldn’t. That his other brothers had a moment of weakness when they made a pact with you. But, after that moment, he realized how easily it was to fall for your charm.

Asmo wanted to do everything with you after making a pact. He wanted to do your make-up and hair, go shopping with you, go out with you. Anything and everything he could think of.

Asmo was a fashion icon for a reason. He had very specific rules he followed when choosing an outfit to wear. He had a whole chart in his head of which colors went with each other, which fabrics were good for the current weather, and which hairstyles went with those fabrics.

Each of his looks was planned out to the very last detail. He had it all memorized so easily. So, when you asked him for help choosing your outfit for the night, he was more than happy to do so.

He didn’t tell you about the intricacies of it. It would be far too much for you to try and understand all at once. He was just planning on going through the chart in his head as you went through your different outfits.

So, when you began going through Asmo’s checklist, he froze. You were talking about the fabrics and the colors. The shoes that would match the outfit but not match the hairstyle you were planning. The weather affecting your outfit. You were checking every single one of his boxes.

Had Asmo told you about his checklist without realizing it? His head felt like it was starting to spin the more he thought about it. 

“Okay, I think this outfit meets all of the criteria. What do you think?” you asked Asmo, smiling at him as you showed him what you picked out. 

Asmo quickly snapped back into reality giving you a nod. “It’s perfect!” he replied.

As much as Asmo wanted to question you on your fashion knowledge, he left it alone for now. He’s always known there was something different about you, and this just proved his point.

You were special in a very fascinating way and he enjoyed finding out your unique quirks on his own. He didn’t want to push anything. He wanted to experience them firsthand.

You were the first person to make him feel something stronger than lust and he was going to savor every moment he could when this emotion presented itself.

Beel isn’t a very particular demon. He doesn’t have specific systems or ways of doing things. He just goes with the flow most of the time. 

His mind was predominantly occupied with the thought of food. And, when he wasn’t eating, he was either at school, working out, or spending time with you or one of his brothers.

So he didn’t really have any extra time to find a hobby where he could make a system and he didn’t have any prized possessions like Mammon’s car.

Food was theoretically his hobby and even then, he didn’t care what he was eating. He didn’t need it to be a five-star dish where every spice was carefully added in. Preferably, he just didn’t want to eat Solomon’s cooking.

But, if it was the only food around him, he would eat it with no problem. He wouldn’t even question what was in it. In all honesty, he was probably better off not knowing.

So, when Beel noticed things were a bit suspicious, it wasn’t because you did something specific for him. It was because of how well you knew his routine. 

You had come to know exactly when Beel would be hungry and you liked being prepared with a snack or meal at those times.

The first couple of times you did it, Beel thought it was because he was being physically active. Because you gave him a snack after his Fangol game or after he came back to the House of Lamentation after a workout session.

But, then it progressed. He would be in the middle of class and his stomach would rumble. Before he could even think he was hungry, you would be handing him something to eat.

He would be in the middle of studying and you would continuously make sure he was fed without him having to ask.

And on top of all that, you knew what his favorite food and drinks were and you made sure he was able to have those items whenever he wanted.

It was a welcome gesture. After all, when you’re eating constantly, nothing ever really stands out in flavor. So when he’s able to eat something he really enjoys - it’s like a special treat for him.

You and Beel were watching a movie in your room when he finally asked you. He had already eaten all of the snacks he brought but something was missing. He was craving something…sweet?

Without taking your eyes off the movie, you pulled out a chocolate bar and handed it to Beel. You acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. You didn’t even blink when you did it.

But Beel was completely surprised. “How did you know that I wanted that?” Beel asked, taking the chocolate bar from you.

You finally looked away from the movie to see the confusion in Beel’s eyes. “It only makes sense to have something sweet after all that popcorn,” you replied nonchalantly.

“But, you always know what I want when I want it,” Beel pressed on. He had held his tongue for a little too long and now he just wanted an answer. 

You paused as you tried to figure out what to say when a brilliant idea came to mind. 

“The student council did a survey on everyone’s favorite foods for lunches at the cafeteria. That’s how I know what you like. And, you get hungry every day at about the same time. So after the first couple of days, I figured out when you would be hungry.”

It was a simple explanation, but it satisfied Beel. At least for now.

Belphie was always a bit suspicious about you. Not only were you a human, but while he was locked up in the attic, you had no problem calling him out.

You knew every lie he was going to tell you before he could even say the words. 

He wanted to make himself look better to you so that you would help him. But, when he went to tell you a sob story, you told him to cut the act and just be honest with you. What were you? A human lie detector?

To be honest, Belphie was starting to get a bit frustrated with you when he realized he couldn’t say anything but the truth. 

You knew that he hated humans and that he was going to kill you the first chance he got. But, you still agreed to help him. Why? Belphie determined there must be something wrong with you mentally.

How did you know so much about him in the first place? He figured Beel must have told you some things about him. It was the only thing that made sense.

You did as Belphie had asked and managed to make pacts with his brothers. And the second the door to the attic was open, he did as you knew he would and attacked you.

But hold on a second…did you just dodge his attack? He tried once again only for you to move quickly out of the way. Now, the other brothers had heard the commotion and had come to your rescue before Belphie could lay a hand on you.

How did you know his attack pattern? How did you know the exact moment he was coming for you?

Your foresight stands out the most to Belphie. To the point where he can’t help but wonder if his brothers had picked up on it as well. 

He wanted to understand how you knew so much about him without knowing him so he started spending more time around you. He started noticing the small details about what you liked and didn’t like.

He noticed the way that you knew exactly how he liked to lie down when he was taking a nap. What his favorite pillow was and the perfect temperature for a good rest.

You knew he liked stargazing and that his favorite food was sushi. You even surprised him with movie tickets once. Did Beel tell you all this information about him? Is that how you knew?

Belphie was having a particularly restless night and decided to leave his and Beel’s shared room to try the bed in the attic. He grabbed his favorite pillow and made his way out into the hallway.

He just so happened to bump into you and looked at you curiously. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked. You shrugged your shoulders in response before questioning, “Can’t sleep, huh?”

Whenever Belphie was leaving the twin’s bedroom you knew he was having a hard time falling asleep. Belphie nodded his head and you gently took his hand before leading him up to the attic.

Did he tell you he wanted to come up here? You got onto the bed before motioning for Belphie to join you. He was skeptical at first. This would be the first he was this close to you and he wasn’t sure how to react.

But you knew this was a surefire way to get Belphie to relax and go to sleep. So you urged him once again to get in the bed.

He did this time, lying down next to you. You guided him so that he was lying on your chest, his arms wrapped around you. Your scent overwhelmed him in a comforting way and he felt all of his tension release when you began running your fingers through his hair.

The warmth of your body added to his relaxation and he found himself quickly starting to fall asleep. It was strange to him. He had never laid like this with you before. Yet - it felt like it was the most natural thing in the world.  

Diavolo kept a careful eye on you whenever he could. You were his exchange student after all. He trusted Lucifer with the task of making sure you were safe from harm. But, at the same time, he wanted to ensure your safety himself.

Something about you drew him in. He was supposed to remain impartial towards the exchange students. He couldn’t favor them in any way. If he did, it wouldn’t be a proper test to see if humans and angels could adjust to life in the Devildom.

He had the power to give you everything you could ever desire. But he needed you to experience things on your own. And although he couldn’t show you any favoritism, that didn’t stop his growing feelings for you. It didn’t stop the curiosity he had about you.

He would notice the way you were with the brothers. You fit in perfectly with them - as if you were a missing piece in their puzzle.

You knew everything about them. How to keep Mammon from falling for pyramid schemes. How to get Levi to spend more time out of his room. How to calm Satan’s rage. How to get Asmo to look beyond his appearance. How to satisfy Beel’s hunger. And how to motivate Belphie to stay awake for longer.

Diavolo could see the way you had even managed to get to Lucifer when the two of you were dancing at one of his balls. Lucifer was genuinely smiling and Diavolo was…jealous.

When he realized that he was jealous of the seven demon brothers, Diavolo made it a point to spend more time with you. He wanted to get to know you and he wasn’t going to let his royal duties stand in the way of it.

He invited you out to dinner with him and the two of you were having a great time. Diavolo felt like he could really open up to you. So he told you some of the worries he was having about becoming the King of the Devildom.

He expected you to be a great listener, but he never expected you to help him so much. You knew all the right words to say.

You knew the history of the Devildom and what the leaders before him had done - including his father. You talked about his aspirations that he had yet to even share with Barbatos or Lucifer.

You made him see things in a light he never would have thought of. And, at the end of your speech, when you placed your hand on top of his, feelings overwhelmed Diavolo.

He didn’t know how you knew so much about the Devildom. Maybe Satan had been helping you study. And he didn’t know how you knew so much about his dreams for the Devildom. Maybe you were just blessed with big dreams like he was.

He was a bit skeptical of it all. He believed there was no way that you could know so much about everyone after being a random human who was chosen to come to RAD. There were too many coincidences and instances where you knew things you shouldn’t. 

He wanted to explore further and find an answer to his questions. But, at the end of the day, all that mattered was that he believed you truly belonged in the Devildom with all of them.

And when your hand touched his, it was the first time he had felt so much joy and love for one person. That was a feeling he wasn’t going to let go of.

Barbatos is the most wary of you. His ability is to see both the past and the future and to alter realities as he sees fit. So, whenever something suspicious is happening that involves time as a construct itself, he senses it.

He keeps a close eye on you. He couldn’t say what it was for sure that was different about you. You didn’t seem like you were from the past. Your aura didn’t match those he had met who had traveled to the future.

But, you definitely didn’t seem like you were truly from the present. He was on the same page as Lord Diavolo. There were far too many coincidences for one to chalk it up to you just being particularly intuitive. 

He wasn’t sure if you were using a spell or a curse. But he was positive you were either from the future or from a different reality. He didn’t say anything to anyone else though.

Getting others involved in the affair of time almost always resulted in dire consequences. He did try to figure it all out on his own though. Why were you there?

He could tell you weren’t a threat to the others. You seemed to genuinely care about them. If you didn’t you wouldn’t be spending as much time with them or doing the things that make them happy.

He came to the conclusion that this wasn’t the first time you had gotten to know them. He could see it in your eyes. The slightly tired look when you had to pretend like you didn’t know something. He imagined it was exhausting.

But, why would you be here if you already knew everyone? He studied your body language more. The way you were so happy just to be around everyone. The sad look in your eyes when they left. Almost heartbroken

Because it reminded you of a time when they left for good. So, that’s it then. One - or from the look in your eyes - all of them had met their end and you were here trying to prevent that.

Barbatos had to will himself not to open the door in his room to see what happened. Sometimes it was better not to know.

You and he had a chance to talk alone after the retreat at the castle. You offered to help Barbatos clean up the mess the others had left. And, even though he had a very specific way of doing things, he allowed you to help. This was his opportunity to try and find out more information from you.

When you started cleaning though, he was at a loss for words. You were doing everything perfectly, exactly in the order that he would do it. But in order for you to know that - you and he must have gotten quite close.

Barbatos’ mind began to race. He knew you were close to the others but he never thought he would have been one to fall for you as well. 

“Is everything okay?” you asked him and he immediately concealed whatever emotions he was feeling with a smile. 

“Yes, I’m just surprised by your efficiency,” Barbatos replied.

The fact that you had come either from the future or another reality meant that his time could be limited.

And now he was going to make sure to make the most of it. He wanted to get to know you the way the others had before it was too late.

Solomon knew more than he let on most of the time. He liked being the mysterious figure and keeping everyone on their toes.

He could tell that you had an immense potential for magic from the first moment he met you.

Everyone told him that you had no magical capabilities and that you were just a normal human. But he could see that was a lie, even if you couldn’t.

It was his mission to release that potential, but he had to be smart about it. He wanted you to find out about it on your own. He would just be there to give you a gentle nudge in the right direction when the time called for it.

He didn’t get much alone time with you, thanks to the brothers, so he had to watch your growth from afar.

He would study you in classes, watching as you would effortlessly perform whatever spell or curse the instructor had asked you to. Solomon knew that you would be able to perform them, but what he found intriguing was the expression you wore while doing them.

Your eyes looked slightly zoned out as you half-heartedly spoke the words. Sometimes gesturing lazily while you said the spell. You looked bored. As if you had already performed all these spells before.

It only piqued Solomon’s interest more and he eventually asked you to be his apprentice. He couldn’t be more happy when you accepted.

Solomon taught you some basic spells and was amused when you performed them easily. He moved onto the more intricate ones thinking he’d finally be able to challenge you. But he was shell-shocked when you performed them almost as easily. No magical capabilities? Whoever wrote that fact down about you got it all wrong.

Solomon decided to move on to something a bit more challenging - cooking. 

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m actually a great cook. How about you teach me how to do teleportation magic instead?” you asked, a hopeful gleam in your eyes.

“Now, Y/N, cooking is an important part of learning magic. A lot of curses require specific ingredients. Though I usually like to mix mine and see what happens!” Solomon responded with a smile as he began pulling out various items. 

“I usually just add things as I feel like it, but I do have one dish in particular where I actually follow a recipe,” Solomon added.

“Let me guess, you call it the Solomon Special?” you asked. Solomon looked shocked as he asked, “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” you replied, grabbing ingredients and throwing them into the pot. You were making it without Solomon even telling you how to do it. And you didn’t get a single thing wrong. 

That was impossible. This was his secret recipe. He had never shared it with anyone. In fact, the only reason he was about to share it with you was to impress you with his cooking skills.

“And done! Now let’s get out of the kitchen,” you said, leading him out of the room. Solomon trailed behind you. Something definitely wasn’t right here.

Solomon started paying more attention to you when you performed magic. He was trying to comprehend how you knew about a secret that was so “special” to him. 

He would use his own magical abilities to try and find the answers he was looking for. He could tell that you had a secret and he was dying to find out what it was.

Simeon had many things in his life that he kept from others. When you lived as long as he had, you witnessed many things that weren’t always pleasant to share with others.

Because of this, he got used to not sharing things. He always put on a smile and had a positive outlook towards things in life. 

He found a creative outlet to express his emotions - writing. And he used the stories he created to tell the secrets he held and wrote under a pen name so that he didn’t expose the truth. 

He was happy like that. He never felt the need to tell others about his past experiences or how he felt about them…Until he met you. A random human who others claimed wasn’t capable of anything significant.

Yet, from the moment he saw you, he felt something stir within him. He felt a connection to you unlike one he had ever felt before.

Your beauty caught him off guard and he was even more surprised when your kindness surpassed his own. How could a human be so perfect?

Simeon knew he was in trouble when it came to you. You were someone he could risk losing everything for.

Because of that, he did what he could to keep his distance. He was always nice to you and talked to you when you were around the others. But, he didn’t go out of his way to get alone time with you. He was afraid of what would happen if he did. 

But, then you said something to him that made him freeze. He had mentioned something to you about having writer’s block and your response was innocent. You were just trying to be friendly. But, it made Simeon begin to question you. 

“I’m sure you’ll get the motivation to write again soon. You have so much talent. Just look at how popular TSL has become!” you told him, doing your best to encourage him.

There was only one problem. He hadn’t told anyone that he was the author of that series. And, you had only come to know about TSL after you came to the Devildom. After you met him. So, how did you know?

The secret was out. The things he had been trying so hard to conceal were revealed. Yet, he didn’t feel the way he thought he would. You had spoken to him about his book with so much kindness in your heart. There was no judgment, there were no questions. 

The smile you gave Simeon attracted him even more as his mind raced. There was no explanation as to why you knew that information. 

The logical thing would be to question you about how you knew it. Especially considering this wasn’t the first time that you’ve known something you shouldn’t have. 

And although that was the logical thing to do. The only thing Simeon could think about was how he wanted to tell you more about himself.

To finally relieve the weight he’s been carrying around for as long as he could remember. Because he knew that you would listen to him and never make him feel bad for it. He knew that you were special.

BONUS CHARACTERS:

LUKE

The others weren’t the only ones who noticed your strange behavior. It wasn’t hard to see that you had a special talent for knowing about them and their likes and dislikes.

Luke got an example of this almost right away. He took a liking to your kindness immediately. All things considered, you were a remarkable human and he enjoyed spending time with you. 

He also believed that if you spent too much time with the demons then they would find a way to taint your soul. He was an angel after all and could see your virtue. Virtue that he didn’t want to change because of your time here in the Devildom.

He followed Simeon around in an attempt to warn you about the demons. He had finally seen you and opened his mouth to say something when you surprised him.

You held up a slice of Barbatos' Signature Cake. Luke immediately froze as he looked at the piece of cake in your hand.

He would never ask Barbatos - a demon - for the cake himself. Yet it was one of his guilty pleasures. He loved the combination of flavors the dessert provided.

“We were at the Demon Lord’s Castle, and Barbatos was serving his cake. I made sure to grab you a piece,” you told Luke with a small smile.

Had he said he liked Barbatos' dessert before? It couldn’t have just been a lucky guess. Why would you specifically go out of your way to save him a slice unless you knew how much he liked it. 

Luke was considered “young” for an angel so he was still learning some things. But he knew enough to know that there was something more going on than you were letting on.

THIRTEEN

You and Thirteen had been talking about one of the many adventures you had gone on with the brothers.

She had heard a rumor about it and asked you for the full story. So, you gladly indulged her request, giving her all the awful details about the trouble that befell you.

Thirteen thoroughly enjoyed the tale, especially how high stakes it was. It was truly a life-or-death situation.

She couldn’t help but imagine how if she had been there she would have had the perfect trap to get out of that situation.

As if reading her mind, you stated, “If only we had your Devouring D.D.D. trap.” Thirteen was surprised that you had stated what she was thinking.

But she was even more surprised at the trap you had mentioned. She only thought of it a few days prior and hadn’t told anyone about the idea. She hadn’t even started planning out all of the logistics for it.

So, how did you know about it? Could you read minds or something?

Thirteen knew there was something different about you because she could see how shiny your soul was.

But, there was more to you than just a shiny soul and she wanted to know what it was. Maybe she could use one of her traps to find out?

MEPHISTO

Mephisto didn’t really come into contact with you. His royal duties kept him pretty busy. And he wouldn’t dare slack off and risk looking bad in front of Lord Diavolo just to chat with the new human student.

But, he wasn’t oblivious to the way everyone acted around you. He could see that you were more than just a simple human.

What really sold it for him though was when he was planning on making those terrible stickers of Lord Diavolo and Lucifer. 

Mammon had recruited him for the Lucifer sticker and Mephisto gladly agreed. He was happy to be involved with something that might embarrass Lucifer.

They had all sworn secrecy to each other because they knew if news got out then they would be in big trouble.

Mephisto ensured that the brothers hadn’t told anyone. He was going to share the Lucifer sticker anonymously after school that day. He was quite proud of it. It was Lucifer riding a white unicorn. He believed it was quite clever.

You were passing Mephisto on your way out of the class and you told him, “You should make the unicorn pink and purple.”

Mephisto let out a small gasp at your words. Had one of the brothers leaked their plan? There was no way they could have. Mephisto had been keeping a careful eye on them all day.

So then how did you-?

Wait, you were right! Pink and purple would look much better and only further Lucifer’s embarrassment. Thanks, Y/N.

RAPHAEL

Not even Raphael was safe from your knowledge. He visited the Devildom rarely and his trips were usually so few and far between.

He had only talked to you on a few occasions and during those times, you didn’t really have any personal conversations.

Most of the information Raphael knew about you was because of what he heard from the others. 

And he was sure that it was the same way for you when it came to him. 

So, he was completely awestruck when Simeon handed him a present from you. Simeon had been visiting the Celestial Realm and you asked him to bring Raphael a present for you. 

Raphael opened it to see a beautiful spear enclosed. It was made from a very rare material that could only be found in the Devildom. It was said to have the potential to inflict ten times more damage than the one he currently had.

He never voiced this wish to anyone though. It was something he held as a secret in his heart because he was afraid that the other angels would look at him in disdain for wanting to acquire something from the Devildom.

Raphael ran his fingers over the spear. You must have some kind of mental telepathy abilities. The others had told him you were special but he didn’t see the extent of it until now.

You were not an ordinary human.

[eu-nicola]

sacrifice

summary: you are a noble woman who faces an impossible situation: sacrifice your freedom and marry a cruel senator to save Lucius

warnings: violence, angst (idk)

word counter: 5084

author’s note: english is not my first language

The air in the imperial hall was thick with unbearable tension. The emperor's voice echoed with an authority that seemed to crush every corner of the room, while his eyes analyzed you with a calculating disdain. Sitting before him, you could feel the weight of the words he'd just spoken, as if they were a dagger pressing against your neck.

“It's a simple exchange,” he had said, his tone almost bored, as if discussing the terms of a minor treaty. “You accept the marriage to Senator Callidus, and in return, Lucius will be freed. We won't pursue him again, nor will we send him back to the arena. He will live, as long as you play your part.”

Your breath caught in your lungs. The thought of Lucius, dragged back into the suffering and humiliation of the arena, tormented you. You had witnessed the cruel spectacle of gladiators fighting for their lives in front of an indifferent crowd too many times. But Lucius wasn't like the others. He was fire contained in flesh and bone, a man whose spirit couldn't be broken, no matter how much the Empire tried with every lash and chain. His only “crim was his blood, a heritage that marked him as a threat to the throne.

On the other hand, there was Senator Callidus. His name made you sick. He was known for his insatiable greed, his cruelty towards the weak, and his contempt for everything you stood for. If you accepted the marriage, your life would become a constant hell. His poisonous words and calculating gaze would be your daily companions, and any hope of freedom would disappear forever.

The emperor watched you in silence, savoring your internal struggle. He knew he was asking for an unimaginable sacrifice, but to him, your feelings were irrelevant. What mattered was what his Empire would gain from the union. Callidus was influential, and his support would ensure political stability that the emperor wasn't willing to pass up.

When you finally retreated to your chambers, despair wrapped around you like a cloak. You didn't sleep that night. The candles burned down to melted wax as your mind wandered through every dark corner of your dilemma. Part of you wanted to reject the proposal with every fiber of your being. You didn’t want to become a pawn in a political game or the wife of a man who despised you as much as you despised him.

But the image of Lucius wouldn’t let you rest. You remembered him in moments when his rare but sincere smile had lit up the darkest days of your life. You remembered how, even chained and wounded, he had found strength to comfort you when everything seemed lost. He was so much more than a gladiator. He was a symbol of everything the Empire feared and, at the same time, everything you admired: courage, resilience, freedom.

Day by day, the torment grew. You found yourself wandering the palace gardens, searching for answers in the whisper of the wind or the rustling of the leaves. Your maidens watched from afar, whispering among themselves about your pale complexion and the way your hands trembled constantly. No one dared approach, except one.

“My lady,” said Ilena, your most loyal maid, in a quiet but concerned tone. “What are you going to do?.”

You looked up at her, and for a moment, you wanted to unload your anguish. But what could you say? What words could capture the weight of a decision that would affect not only your life but Lucius's and the fate of an entire Empire?

“I don't know, Ilena,” you whispered finally, your voice broken.

That night, as the stars twinkled on the horizon, you made the decision to visit Lucius in secret. You managed to convince one of the guards to let you into the dungeons where he was held. When you arrived, the sight of his chained figure tore at your soul. Despite the visible wounds on his skin, Lucius greeted you with the same intense gaze he'd always had.

“You shouldn't be here,” he said softly, though there was no reproach in his words.

“And you shouldn't be here either,” you replied, feeling your tears threatening to spill.

He tilted his head, studying you as if he could read every one of your thoughts. “What’s going on? Your face says more than your lips want to admit.”

You told him everything. Every word came out with difficulty, as if revealing the dilemma made it even more real. When you finished, Lucius remained silent for a long moment. Finally, he spoke.

ñDon't do it,” he said, his voice firm. “Don't sacrifice your life for mine. This place, these chains... they're not worse than losing you”

His words hit you like a storm. For a moment, you felt the temptation to do what he asked: reject the marriage and find some other way to save him. But reality was cruel, and you knew it. There wouldn't be another chance.

When you left the dungeons, with Lucius's words echoing in your mind, you understood that the time for indecision had passed. The choice had to be made, and whatever path you took would mark you forever.

When you returned home and found rest in your chambers, the sound of hurried footsteps approaching down the hallway ruined it all. Then, the door to your room flew open, and your mother stormed in like a whirlwind. Her face was pale, not with exhaustion, but with contained fury. Behind her, your father and older brother entered, their expressions shifting between disbelief and disgust.

“Is it true?,” your mother demanded, her tone icy. She didn't need to explain what she meant; the rumor had spread quickly, as it always did in the palace.

You remained silent, but your tense posture was enough of an answer.

“By the gods! You can't do this.” Your father's voice boomed with authority. “Marry that man? Callidus? Do you know what it will mean for our family? It will drag us into the mud along with his name.”

“I’d rather die than see you by the side of a monster like him,”

your mother added with a coldness that cut through you like a sharp blade.

Your brother, who rarely got involved in family matters, stepped forward. His gaze was filled with genuine concern, and that hurt more than your parents' words. “Sister, you don't have to do this. We’ll find another way to help Lucius. There are... other ways.”

“What ways?,” you asked harshly, standing up. Indignation began to burn in your chest. “Talk to the emperor? Beg for Lucius's life when we all know he's already made his decision? There’s no other way.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” your father retorted, crossing his arms. “Callidus isn't just corrupt, he’s a dangerous man. If you marry him, he won’t just destroy your life, he’ll destroy ours. Our family will lose the respect of the court. We'll be the subject of mockery and rumors.”

"It's a gladiator," your mother replied with disdain, her words laced with contempt. "He's not worth the sacrifice of a daughter or the prestige of a house like ours."

The words hit you like a whip. How could they be so blind? Lucius wasn’t just a gladiator; he was a life, a hope. But in the eyes of your family, they only saw chains and blood.

"I’ve already made my decision," you said firmly, crossing your arms.

The silence that followed was deafening. Your mother looked at you as if she couldn’t recognize you, while your father closed his eyes, shaking his head with a mix of frustration and resignation.

"If you do this," your father finally said, his voice full of warning, "don’t expect our support. Don’t expect protection when things get tough. Because they will get tough, I assure you."

"Father..." your brother murmured, as if still wanting to calm the situation, but your father raised a hand to silence him.

"No," you said, lifting your chin with determination. "I don’t need your support. This isn’t for you or for me. It’s for him. And if that means losing everything I have, then so be it."

When your family left the room, the air felt colder, as if they had left a void behind. You stood there, staring at the closed door, as tears threatened to fall. But you refused to let them out.

There would be no turning back. The choice was made.

The next day, the emperor received you in the same hall where the deal had been made. His expression remained impassive as you announced your decision with the same firmness you had used with your family.

"Very well," he said, offering a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I knew it. You’re a smart woman. Callidus will be pleased."

You didn’t say anything, just nodded while the words "Callidus will be pleased" echoed in your mind like an unpleasant echo. You knew what awaited you: a bleak future, a constant struggle. But you also knew that somewhere, Lucius would live free, far from the suffering and cruelty of the Empire.

As the days passed, time seemed to move faster than a shooting star, and each new dawn brought a reminder of your impending fate. The preparations for your marriage to Callidus were underway, like an unstoppable machine. The maids measured you for dresses, servants debated the arrangement of flowers, and heralds were already practicing how to announce your union with the senator to the court. Everything felt surreal, as if you were living someone else’s life.

But what tormented you the most weren’t the details of the marriage, but the messages that began arriving. The emperor, in his infinite ability to manipulate, had begun sending you envoys with disturbing messages, each one more unsettling than the last.

The first message arrived one morning while you were having breakfast alone in your chambers. A young messenger, dressed in the colors of the imperial palace, bowed deeply before speaking.

"My lady," he began, with a carefully neutral voice, "The emperor has received reports that Lucius has accepted his fate as a gladiator. According to rumors, he is willing to fight in the arena again."

You set the cup you were holding down so gently that it barely made a sound against the plate. You looked at the messenger in disbelief.

"Where do these rumors come from?" you asked, trying to stay calm.

"Lucius himself is said to have expressed his willingness in his last conversation with the guards," the young man replied. "They say he even asked to be trained again."

The words felt like a dagger slowly sinking into your chest. You knew Lucius would never accept his fate as a gladiator; not after everything he had suffered. But doubt slid into your mind, like poison. What if he had changed his mind? What if he had decided that your sacrifice was in vain?

You stood up abruptly. "You may leave," you said, the coldness in your voice hiding the storm raging inside you.

The messenger bowed again and left, leaving you alone with your thoughts. The room, which you usually found comforting, suddenly felt oppressive. You paced back and forth, trying to clear your mind, but the messenger's words continued to echo.

The following days brought more messages, each one designed to erode your resolve.

A different envoy arrived on the third day, informing you that Lucius had begun training in secret, showing a renewed skill that impressed even the most seasoned gladiators. On the fifth day, another messenger claimed that Lucius had made disparaging remarks about your sacrifice, supposedly saying that he didn’t need you to save him, that he would rather die in the arena than depend on you.

That last statement left you paralyzed. For hours, you sat in your room, staring into space. The messenger’s words repeated like an incessant echo in your mind.

"What if it’s true?" you asked quietly. The possibility that Lucius didn’t want to be saved, that you were sacrificing your life for someone who didn’t want your help, began to consume your thoughts.

Ilena, your maid, approached quietly and set a cup of tea on the table beside you. She knelt beside you, her eyes filled with concern.

"My lady," she said softly, "do you really believe these news... are true?"

"I don’t know," you admitted, a lump in your throat. "I can’t ignore them, but I can’t fully believe them either."

"Then maybe you shouldn’t believe them," Ilena suggested gently. "Emperors aren’t known for their honesty. He’s always after something."

You knew Ilena was right. Both emperors didn’t need the truth to get what they wanted. But even knowing that, the doubts were impossible to ignore.

As you struggled with the doubts planted by the emperors, deep in the dungeons of the imperial palace, Lucius also faced an internal storm. The chains that kept him physically bound couldn’t restrain the flood of thoughts that overwhelmed his mind. Each day, he saw how his fate hung by a thread, depending on your decision.

At first, his focus was entirely on survival. He had learned to hide any sign of vulnerability, becoming an almost imperturbable figure in front of the guards and the spectators who attended the arena fights. However, your secret visits had planted a seed of something he hadn’t expected: hope.

The furtive conversations between you and him became the only light in his dark days. Every word shared, every furtive glance, began to blur the barrier he had built around his heart. What began as simple recognition of your humanity slowly transformed into something deeper and more complex.

Lucius remembered his wife, Arishat, whose death had left an unfillable void. Arishat had been his anchor, the reason he fought to survive in the arena and dream of a life beyond the chains. Her memory was sacred, a testament of love and loss that he swore never to betray. Accepting your sacrifice would mean giving up the hope he had placed in a future he never knew.

Every time he saw you, he felt a mix of gratitude and confusion. The strength you showed in facing oppression and sacrifice inspired him, but it also made him question his own feelings. Was it possible, after all this time, for his heart to open again? Could he allow himself to feel something more than the need to survive?

Those answers never came for Lucius, and he had to leave them in oblivion. When the day of the wedding came, the blinding and cruel sunlight bathed the imperial palace, casting long and stretched shadows on the ground. The grand square was adorned with colorful flags and garlands, but everything seemed like a mockery compared to the weight you felt on your shoulders. Your wedding to Callidus, the senator who despised everything you represented, felt more like a farce than a celebration. However, the emperor had decided that the true ceremony of the day would be something else, one that would take place in the arena, before the eyes of the entire court and the people.

The spectacle had been carefully orchestrated. While preparations for your wedding continued inside the palace, the stands of the imperial coliseum were filling with eager spectators. Men and women from all social classes gathered to witness a battle that, according to the emperor's rules, would not only be a fight to the death but a sacrifice that would mark the destiny of everyone present.

As you were led to the arena, the air seemed to grow dense. You could hear the screams of the onlookers, the expectant crowd waiting for a slaughter. The cage Lucius had to fight in was already being prepared, and the entire palace seemed to have been transformed into a stage for the impending fatality.

Both emperors watched you from their elevated thrones, their eyes fixed on you as if they were enjoying your pain. They knew what you had sacrificed. They knew you had given yourself to this fate in the hope that Lucius would gain the freedom he so desired. But they also knew this would be a cruel reminder of what real power in the empire entailed: sacrifice, suffering, and absolute control.

The arena began to fill with a palpable tension as the gladiators were pushed into the center, among them Lucius, who, despite the visible scars of his suffering, stood tall, his face marked by a determination that made your stomach twist. You knew what the emperor had done. You knew he had manipulated him, that the news of your sacrifice had reached his ears, and that the only reason he fought with such ferocity was the promise of your life, of your sacrifice. The emperor trusted that, upon learning the magnitude of your pain, Lucius would fight harder than ever, driven by a rage that would shake even the most fearsome opponent.

From the stands, with the sun burning your skin, your eyes locked onto Lucius. You could see the internal struggle reflected in his face. You knew he didn't want to fight, but the thought of losing you, of losing the chance for redemption you offered him, was pushing him beyond his limits.

The emperor raised his hand, and in that instant, the fight began.

The gladiator Lucius had to face was a large man, with armor that gleamed under the sun, armed with a sword as sharp as a serpent. Lucius was unarmed, his hands bound behind his back, and only his agility, training, and will could save him. At first, the fight was a cruel game for the opponent. Lucius, caught between his desire to survive and the need to honor your sacrifice, moved with impressive skill, but every blow he took seemed to break him a little more. The fight was not only physical; it was emotional, mental. His mind was a battlefield.

From the stands, you felt powerless. You couldn't take your eyes off Lucius, yet every move he made tore you apart more and more. The sound of metal clashing against metal, the crowd's roar, everything mixed into a torrent of pain and despair. Every time Lucius fell to the ground, a scream died in your throat, but you couldn't do anything, nothing but watch.

They forced you to stay there, as a witness, to witness the horror of what the emperor had planned. The palace priest, with a voice that was sacred but empty, began to proclaim the fight as a blessing for the Empire, while the shadows of the gladiators stretched across the arena, merging with your own despair.

Lucius stood up once more, his face covered in blood, his body battered with bruises. There was something in his gaze that pierced your soul: a mix of rage and resignation, fear and bravery, as if he had already accepted the inevitable. But, at the same time, his eyes met yours, and in that brief exchange of glances, you could see the love and gratitude, but also the anguish of knowing that his freedom could cost you your life.

The large man raised his sword for the final blow, and in that moment, something changed in Lucius. The strength he had been controlling throughout the fight burst out in a surge of raw energy. With a cry of fury, he jumped on his opponent, unarmed, but with a ferocity that seemed to defy logic itself. The fight turned into a torrent of force and blood, and finally, with a swift and deadly move, Lucius dispatched his enemy.

The crowd erupted in cheers, but for you, everything was chaos, an abyss you couldn't escape. Lucius had won, yes, but at what cost? The emperor watched from his throne with a cold smile, while you felt your soul tearing apart.

The fallen gladiator lay in the arena, a symbol of what the emperor expected from everyone: submission. But Lucius, with his breath heavy and his body aching, stood tall, looking at you with eyes filled with conflicted gratitude. You knew what that meant: the price of his victory had been too high. He had fought for your sacrifice, for your freedom, and at that moment, he couldn’t be free.

You had stayed standing, watching the scene, believing for a moment that maybe all of Lucius suffering had made sense, that maybe the emperor would keep his promise. But the blow of reality was as violent as the clash of steel on the sand.

A guard stepped up to Lucius with firm steps, the gleam of his sword reflecting the sunlight like a deadly threat. Your heart stopped. The emperor had never intended to free Lucius. It was all a lie, a manipulation to ensure that he would die before the eyes of the people. The promise of freedom had only been a way to gain Lucius’ loyalty in the arena, a way to manipulate his will until it was too late.

The guard raised his sword, and a scream of horror escaped your lips. Chaos took over you. You couldn’t stand still, watching the man you had tried to save being led to his death by the hand of a cruel tyrant. The pain in your chest, the despair, the rage transformed into a courage you never thought you had. You couldn’t, you mustn’t, allow the emperor to succeed. Lucius didn’t deserve to die like that.

Without thinking, your voice trembling with contained fury, but clear and determined.

“Stop!” you shouted, looking directly at the emperor. “This is a lie! The freedom you promised me was nothing but a mockery! Lucius must not die! The sacrifice has been mine, not his!”

Your voice echoed across the arena, and a heavy silence followed your declaration. The guards turned towards you, their gazes cold, but the crowd started to murmur, and then, what seemed impossible, happened. Inspired by your words, the slaves, the gladiators, the prisoners, all those condemned to the arena, rose. A cry of rebellion rose up, a roar that made the Coliseum tremble. The chains were shattered, weapons were taken, and the anger held for years of suffering overflowed. The rebellion had begun.

The emperor watched the scene, stunned, not understanding immediately what was happening. His eyes moved quickly from side to side, looking for a way out, but the room was already filled with chaos. The roar of the crowd, the sound of fights breaking out, the soldiers’ desperation as they didn’t know how to control the rebellion, all of it surrounded you.

The guard who had been about to execute Lucius hesitated for a moment, glancing at the growing revolt with fear. Seizing the distraction, Lucius, exhausted but with a fury renewed in his eyes, stood up with strength that seemed to come from the very pain that had marked him for years. You knew you had to get to him before it was too late.

Running towards the arena, you dodged the falling bodies, the deafening noise of the battles around you. When you reached Lucius, he looked at you in surprise, and for a moment, his eyes showed vulnerability, as if he couldn’t believe that amidst all this, in the middle of the chaos, you had come for him.

You stopped in front of him, your breath heavy, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were about to explode. Lucius, his eyes full of emotion, stepped toward you, his hand trembling slightly as it touched your face, as if he couldn’t believe you were really there, in front of him. The rebellion continued to tear everything apart around you, but in that moment, there were only the two of you, amidst an unparalleled chaos.

“You did it,” he murmured, his voice full of awe and gratitude. “What you did… Why?”

“I don’t know,” you responded, trembling. “But I couldn’t let them kill you. Not after everything we did, after everything we sacrificed… I promised I’d free you, and I won’t break that promise.”

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, as if the words caressed your soul. When he opened them again, there was a deep sincerity in them, a fragility that only you could see. His hands took yours firmly, as if he feared you might disappear.

“The sacrifice, right?” he said bitterly, but a weak smile appeared on his lips. “You’ve given everything for me, and I… I don’t know if I can live with that. But now… now I don’t know how to let you go, how to let you keep suffering for me.”

The words you had kept hidden for so long finally came out, like a confession buried deep within you. “Lucius, I don’t know what’s going to happen now, but… I love you. And I can’t keep seeing you in this life without freedom. I can’t keep living without knowing I fought for you.”

Lucius trembled, the shock in his eyes echoing your own feelings. The crowd kept fighting, the clashing of swords and shouts barely reaching your ears. Yet, all of that disappeared when he moved closer to you, his lips seeking yours in a kiss that changed everything.

The world, the Coliseum, the emperor, all vanished the moment his lips touched yours. It didn’t matter what happened next, it didn’t matter what awaited you at the end of this rebellion. Only Lucius and you existed, the love you shared in that fraction of time when the history of an empire fell, but the love of two souls rose above it all.

The kiss was all you needed. He held you, kept you close, as if afraid of losing you, and it tasted like sacrifice, hope, a forbidden love that defied the laws of an entire empire.

After that, Lucius pulled away, his figure disappearing into the shadows of the crowd that was celebrating the rebellion, his back straight with a new determination, a new opportunity.

As he walked away, you stayed there, amidst the turmoil, the fighting, and the chaos you had unleashed. The smell of burnt gunpowder and the sound of the echoes of rebellion still rang in your ears. The feeling of having freed him was bittersweet. There was a bitter satisfaction, as if you had given your soul to a cause greater than yourself, but at the same time, you knew that the peace you had won for him was only the beginning of a personal torment you would have to face alone.

You sat on the ground, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Lucius’ face still lingered in your mind, his gaze intense and full of gratitude before he left. It had been your sacrifice that had freed him, that had kept him alive, but now he, now free, had a future that you couldn’t share. The irony of it all tore you apart inside.

The rebellion continued. The slaves and gladiators kept fighting, taking advantage of the chaos to gain ground, while the emperor’s forces tried to restore order. You knew the price of your bravery would be high. The guards were already approaching, their eyes reflecting the emperor’s fury. They had seen you publicly defy his authority, expose his betrayal, and all of that wouldn’t go unnoticed. The temptation to run, to join Lucius in his escape, was strong, but you knew you couldn’t. You couldn’t bear the consequences if you did. The emperor, in his rage, wouldn’t hesitate to crush what was left of you to make an example of your disobedience.

One of the soldiers stepped closer, his eyes cold and calculating, and without saying a word, you were surrounded by a group of guards. There were no shouts, no threats, just the heavy silence of imminent defeat.

You stood up with dignity, even though the weight of your decisions, your actions, struck you with every step. It didn’t matter what the emperor did to you now. You had already given everything you had. Lucius was free.

The following days became a series of trials, punishments, and confinements. You were kept prisoner in the Imperial Palace, locked in your chambers where no one came to see you. Yet, even in the darkness of your thoughts, the image of Lucius kept you alive. You knew he was far away, seeking his freedom, fighting for his life in a way that no longer belonged to you. Despite all you had lost, there was some comfort in knowing he had a new chance to fight for his future, to redeem himself.

Rome looked at you as a traitor, as a woman who had defied the will of her emperor, and you couldn’t foresee what the future would hold for you. You knew it would be a long road to earn redemption, and the emperor wouldn’t easily forget the humiliation you had caused him. The death penalty was a real possibility, but still, you were certain you had done the right thing.

Loneliness was unbearable, but sometimes, when everything calmed down, when darkness took over your cell, you felt something inside you. A presence that had grown within you without you knowing. It was a feeling that filled you with both fear and hope. In the silence of your chambers, you realized what you waiting: a child of Lucius.

Weeks passed slowly. The sentence you had been given seemed like a sentence to invisibility, to oblivion. Your body started to change, and with it, the weight of the life growing inside you. You had returned to “normal,” your charges forgiven, and now the child you carried would be called your husband’s son, not Lucius’, but at least you knew he would be safe. Every time you thought of him, of his smile, you felt him close. Maybe you would never see him again, but the love you shared could never fade.

[holylulusworld]

Indifferent (7)

Summary: Your father wanted a bond between you and the Barnes Empire. No matter what.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Wife!Reader

Characters: Captain Syverson

Warnings: arranged marriage, angst, arguments, mafia au, strong reader, jealousy, language, mentions of domestic violence/slight violence against Bucky  

Catch up here: Indifferent (6)

Indifferent Masterlist

Bucky is seething.

His office lies in ruins.

Every single piece of furniture was destroyed, and even the wallpaper hung loose from the walls. He ripped the divorce papers into shreds before drinking himself to sleep.

He fucked up. Big time.

“Buck, you go to get up and fix this shit,” Steve sighs. He runs his hand down his face. Bucky’s second-in-command is tired of his friend’s shit. “If only you didn’t conspire with her father. Of course, this was the last thing she wanted to hear. The two men in her life betraying her in the worst way possible.”

“What do you know about women?” Bucky slurs. “You never had yours under control. She’s waltzing around town, telling everyone you got weak.”

“Buck, I love you like a brother, but if you say another word about my wife, you’ll miss a few teeth,” Steve towers over his friend, holding out his hand. “Choose. Do you want me to help you find Y/N or sit on the floor and drink your mind away?”

“I know where she went,” Bucky scoffs. “I bet she’s sitting at my mom’s table, sipping tea while ratting me out. That fucking brat!”

“Hmm…” Steve nods thoughtfully while glancing at Bucky, who sits on the floor in nothing but his boxer briefs. “I wonder why you’re making me blush with the problem in your pants and still refuse to admit that you’re head-over-heels for your wife.”

“I’m not!” Bucky throws the half-empty bottle of Scotch at his friend. Steve easily dodges the attack and snickers. “How dare you say shit like that! She’s the last pussy I want to pound. I only want to get my hands on her to spank her ass raw!”

Steve throws his head back laughing. “Buck, stop being an idiot. You two are butting heads because you are so into each other it’s painful to watch. Just fuck it out of your system.”

“I bet she’s got teeth down there too,” Bucky lies on the floor and curls into a ball. He’s just done. “If I try to push my little Bucky in there, she’ll bite it off and feed it to her lover, Thor. A tall and bulky blonde with waving hair. That asshole looks like one of the guys in my mom’s romance novels.”

“Buck,” Steve crouches down to pat Bucky’s back, “talk to me, punk. Did you fall in love with the masseur?”

“What?” Bucky growls and sits up a little too fast. He cradles his head, groaning. “I’ll cut your head off if you say that again. I should’ve ripped that masseur apart.”

“I’m telling you one last time to stop being a stupid bastard and get your wife back. Your mother was right. Y/N, and you are a great match. You’re just too blind and stubborn to admit it.”

“Stop talking shit,” Bucky growls at his friend. “I don’t even like her! She’s a brat, and annoying and loud and a fucking thorn in my side.”

“That’s a fucking lot of ‘ands,” Steve laughs again. He shakes his head before holding out his hand. “Let’s get you sober and clean. After you come back to your senses, we can think about a way to get your wife back.”

“What are your plans?” Sy watches you pace back and forth in the motel room you’re hiding at. After you called your father to ask him if Bucky told you the truth, you’re restless. “Sugar, stop walking holes into the floor.”

He grabs your upper arms to stop you from freaking out. “He told me it’s true. My father, the man I trusted with my life, sided with Barnes. Can you believe he did this to me?”

Sy looks away, ashamed.

“Sy, what are you hiding from me?” You question and grab his face to force him to look you in the eyes. “I deserve the truth, don’t you think?”

“Before your wedding, I heard Barnes and your father talk. Your father was always a greedy and power-hungry man. His greed for power only got worse the older he got.”

“I know my father is a greedy man,” you sniff, forcing a weak smile on your face. “What do I not know?”

“George Barnes got weak. Everyone knows it. Your father wanted to form a bond between your families to easily take the Barnes’ empire over.” Sy reveals a truth you didn’t want to know about.

“This makes me a pawn in their game,” you muse. “Wow. I believed I was a sacrificial lamb to strengthen our empires, not to fulfill my daddy’s wet dream to take over another empire.”

“Sugar, I’m sorry for hiding things from you. Their deal was one of the reasons I quit my job and work as a freelancer now. I never wanted to lie to you while looking you in the eyes.” Sy covers your hands with his, squeezing them. “Still, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you so before you married Barnes.”

“You’re here now.” The betrayal is still fresh in your memory; you sniffle. “Nothing else is important. You fulfilled your duty. I know how important loyalty is to you.”

“Loyalty is everything in my line of work,” he replies before clearing his throat. Your hands are still on his face, and he’s feeling something else than responsibility at that moment. “We should lie low for now. Maybe reconsider your plan.”

“Reconsider my plan?” You question.

“You said it yourself; Bucky will be out for blood. Maybe it’s not the worst idea to ask Winnifred Barnes for help. I heard she’s very fond of you.”

“I don’t want to drag her into this shit show,” you hastily reply and shake your head. “Winnifred was nothing but good to me. She doesn’t deserve to end up hurt or worse because of my father’s plans. We should keep her out of this.”

“It’s your decision,” Sy sighs when you drop your hands from his face to pace the room again. “I’m with you the whole way. Just tell me what to do.”

“We’ll need a better plan than filing for divorce, I guess,” you sigh and sit down on the bed. Of course, there was only one free room with only one bed. “I think for now all we can do is get some sleep. I could fall asleep standing.”

“You can sleep,” Sy says as he checks on the locks again. You fall onto the mattress and roll to your side to watch him shove a commode in front of the door. “I’ll make sure no one dares to enter the room.”

Sy clicks his tongue, signaling his dog to guard the bed. Aika jumps onto the bed to lie next to you. “What?”

“Aika will protect you at all costs, Y/N,” he says. His features soften when you look his way. “I don’t expect them to find us here. I paid cash, and no one knows us here. Rest now. You’ll need all the sleep you can get.”

On the other end of town, Bucky is aimlessly driving around. He slams his hands onto the steering wheel, cursing himself for even looking for you.

“I’ll find and tame you, brat…”

Part 8

[livelaughlovetoread]

In defense of Lily Evans liking flying

I think it is a common trope that Lily does not like Quidditch/Flying, but I have always thought she liked it.

The big reason why is that she lept off her swing very high up and floated down.

There was undisguised greed in his thin face as he watched the younger of the two girls swinging higher and higher than her sister. “Lily, don’t do it!” shrieked the elder of the two. But the girl had let go of the swing at the very height of its arc and flown into the air, quite literally flown, launched herself skyward with a great shout of laughter, and instead of crumpling on the playground asphalt, she soared like a trapeze artist through the air, staying up far too long, landing far too lightly. -DH

Lily literally launched herself into the sky to fly down. That sounds like someone who would love to learn to fly and would not fear it.

As for liking Quidditch, I will admit my evidence is weaker on this one

1. My first inkling is that she noticed James playing with the snitch and he did it to get her attention. James was always making a fool of himself in front of Lily, but he would probably do things that would get her attention. Also, why would Lily know about James' hair being windblown or him playing with the snitch if she was not paying attention to Quidditch?

This could absolutely be due to her crush on him, but she knew enough to make the comparison, which means she probably went to matches (or stared at him after Quidditch practice).

2. Lily spoke in her letter affectionally about Harry playing on his toy broom and him being a Quidditch player. If she truly hated the sport I don't think she would have spoken of Harry on his broom the same way - she would have been worried about him getting hurt or something.

3. She married James Potter. I mean, I don't think the Quidditch-obsessed guy would marry someone who truly hated Quidditch. Lily could definitely be indifferent to it, but I don't think she hated it.

My conclusion, Lily was fascinated with flying as a kid enough to disobey her mother. She probably liked flying at Hogwarts and watching the Quidditch games.

[nausicaaandhermouth]

The Revolutionist

masterlist

pre-canon!silco x gn!reader [2.5k] [AO3]

cw: implied/referenced suicidal ideation, implied/referenced depression

summary: at a particularly melancholy night that drives you to the heights, you meet a stranger in the shadows who coaxes you from the edge.

tags: pre-canon, sexual(?) tension, depression, suicidal ideation, undercity, smoking

a/n girl iono what this is, but here's to my first one shot (clinks glass) idk why i'm nervous (btw requests & taglist are open if you're interested)

From this dizzying height, the Undercity unfurls below. A tapestry of ethereal greens and golds, luminescence piercing through the murky haze—stark silhouettes of buildings jut upwards, defiant sentinels of black and grey amidst the swirling miasma. Its signature sickly green fog blankets the metropolis; coils around structures and seeps into every crevice, a suffocating embrace.

Your feet graze over the edge, toes curling over where solid ground gives way to a yawning abyss. The boundary between life and oblivion is razor-thin here. One small shift, imbalance, and gravity would claim you.

The wind whispers seductive promises of flight, tugging at your clothes, daring you to test the limits—it’s a heady mix of terror and exhilaration.

The precipice beckons, a siren call you’ve never heeded this far before. Each step tracked each loss that then etched into your very bones. First, it was your father, consumed by the blight. Almost expected. It was a degradation the Undercity-born was familiar with. Then, your sister, life snuffed out by an enforcer’s merciless fist. The brutes. Now, your mother, long adrift in her own ocean of grief. You’d become little more than ghosts haunting the same halls, the world’s greed carving an insurmountable chasm between you.

Logic screams that your presence here is madness. The need for comfort, for solace only another soul can provide, wars against reality. You long to bridge the gap, find someone’s warmth, spit out the bitter poison fed by the relentless suffering.

If not today, then tomorrow, or the day after—the world will take again. This grim lottery where Death deals the cards. Will it be the fist of an enforcer or the invisible killers that saturate every breath?

Are you really contemplating this?

“Bit dangerous, don’t you think?” a voice, velvet and silk, cuts blade-like through your contemplation.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. A jolt of surprise sends you teetering forward. Heart pounding, you stumble back from the edge.

Whirling around, you fix the intruder with a glare. His dark silhouette materialised a few feet away like some spectral apparition, leaning against the roof with an infuriating nonchalance. A cigar dangled between his fingers, wisp of smoke curling around his face.

His eyes, half-moons of disinterest, survey you with the casual indifference of someone observing an insect. It makes a look that makes your spine straighten, your earlier melancholy rapidly morphing into irritation.

“Sort of the point,” you spit back, words tasting of bitterness and bravado. You slide a step away, creating further distance between you and him. The roof suddenly feels too small. Who is he? What does he want? And more importantly, how dare he interrupt your affair with oblivion?

He responds with a half-shrug, somehow making it an eloquent gesture of his impassivity. Drawing a deep breath from his cigar, he exhales a cloud of smoke that hangs in the air like a tangible manifestation of your growing annoyance.

Your mind races and falters. Is he really just going to stand there? Not that you want to be stopped, but his nonchalance was… unsettling? A highly irregular response to finding someone conversing with non-existence. Though, the idea was not novel—a common fate for many under dwellers.

You turn back to face the sprawling cityscape, trying to ignore the insidious tendrils of smoke that start coiling around your senses. The question burns in your mind: What is he doing here? This moment was supposed to be yours alone. You hadn’t anticipated a witness for your last moments.

Unable to resist, you shoot him another glare, only to find him utterly disinterested in your turmoil. He’s busy scraping something off the underside of his boot, as if the grime of the city is more worthy of his attention than your life-or-death deliberation.

Frustration boils over, and your words escape you before you can stop them. “Are you just going to stand there?” the question cuts through the silence and he looks up, meeting you gaze with those half-drooped eyes.

His face remains a mask of calm, thoroughly unaffected by your hostility. It’s a further irritant how much your obvious displeasure slides off him.

“You want me to catch you, or something?” he drawls, tone a perfect blend of sarcasm and boredom that makes your blood even hotter.

His words hang between, a challenge and a dismissal all at once.

“What are you doing here?” you strike back, impatience sharpening your words.

He takes another languid drag from his cigar, smoke veiling his face. “What—can I not be?” his voice carries a hint of amusement as he pushes off from the wall. Each step towards you is a study in fluid grace, soft and languid. “Like you, I can appreciate Zaun’s skyline. Seems we just have a point of preference,”

He halts a few feet away, gaze drawn to the cityscape below. The proximity allows you to truly observe him for the first time, the details etching themselves into your memory with startling clarity.

His eyes, a stormy blue, almost grey when drenched behind mist. They’re set in a face that could have been chiselled from marble—all sharp angles and clean lines, giving him an almost shark-like profile. Long, dark hair is gathered into a careless bun at the nape of his neck, rebellious strands escaping to frame his face, softening the harsh edges ever so slightly.

A spark of gallows humour flickers to life within you, at last a defiant flame against the dark. “Ah,” you nod, wariness still evident in the tension of your shoulders while a sardonic smile curls your lips. “Planning a dive, too, are you?”

A huff escapes him—a sound that might charitably be called laughter, but falls short of genuine mirth.

Suddenly, the name snaps you back to reality. Zaun. The word carries with it its reputation and weight. So few people use the name that it stands more so for people that had “rebel” ideas rather than what it was created for. Your eyes narrow. “You’re one of those… revolutionists, huh?”

He turns to you, face still angled downward, but his gaze locks onto yours with an intensity that momentarily catches your air. You fumble for composure, scraping together the dregs of your wit.

“Nation of Zaun, children, brothers, sisters,” you intone, bobbing your head in mock-solemn gesture as you attempt to recall the group’s motto. The words taste foreign on your tongue, like reciting a prayer to a god you’ve never believed in.

His brow shifts slightly. “Is that mockery?” the question hangs, but not accusatory, rather tinged with a gentle curiosity that catches you off guard.

You shrug. “Sure is an idea,” you mutter, words running away before you can fully process them. You’ve never given it much thought before, too entrenched in the sorrow that’s dogged your family’s steps like perpetually wet shoes, leaving its trail of misery.

This time, he turns to face you fully, his complete attention zeroing in on you. It halts you momentarily, but you push through, averting your gaze as you continue.

“Idealistic. Hard-headed,” you pause, then look up to meet his eyes, your own gaze hardening. “Unrealistic,”

His head tilts slightly, reminiscent of a predator assessing its prey. “You don’t agree with us?”

You exhale sharply, a sound caught between a laugh and a sigh. The revolutionary ideals tumble around you head like a well-worn shopping list. Independence, rid of topside’s clutches, own leadership, own government. “No, I do,” you admit, surprising yourself. Your brows furrow, grappling with the contradiction between your words and your earlier mockery. “Just ballsy, I suppose. It’s never been done, uncharted waters and all that,”

He nods, absorbing your perspective with a thoughtfulness that makes something in you quiver as if in surrender. You find yourself studying his eyes, that stormy blue-grey gaze that seems to hold secrets of their own. They flicker with an inner light as he searches for his response, and you're struck by the intensity of his conviction.

“Then how are we ever to find new land?” he says finally, his voice low and resolute. The simple statement carries an undercurrent of determination that sends a shiver down your back.

“We seem to be surviving fine,” you say, your words dripping with trying humour, a brittle shield.

His response isn't the sad attempt at laughter. Instead, his brow quirks upward, a subtle gesture that feels like a probe into your very secrets. “Then what drove you here?”

You're caught off-balance. How did he read you so easily, peeling back your layers in mere moments? Your gaze darts away, then back to his piercing eyes, discomfort radiating from every pore. “That’s hardly your concern,” you attempt a smile, but it's a weak thing.

“But I can bet it’s one of the following,” he drawls, taking a long, deliberate drag from his cigar. The smoke curls around him like a living thing as he continues. “Lung blight from working in factories, lung blight from working in the mines, or a stray enforcer who got a little too… harsh,” the smoke drifts and drowns you both, swarming your heads in a little bubble.

You inhale, feeling the intoxicating tendrils crawl up into your head, a silent song of temporary escape. Your eyes fix on his cigar, mesmerised. Does it fuel his poetic responses and that maddeningly indifferent stare? You wonder, your hands rising of their own accord, reaching to pluck the cigar from his grasp.

You rest it between your lips, inhaling deeply. The acrid smoke fills your lungs, a familiar burn that grounds you in this surreal moment. With practised ease, you exhale, your tongue crafting perfect smoke rings that float lazily between you. They dissipate against his face, a ghostly caress that lingers.

Your lips twitch, suppressing a smile as his eyes bore into yours. Is he entertained? Infuriated? His face remains an impassive mask, giving nothing away.

“Been trying to learn that,” he says, gaze flickering between the cigar in your hand and your eyes. There's a hint of something else in his voice.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance. You hope your demeanour mirrors his earlier bored facade. “It’s all the tongue,”

His eyebrow arches slightly. “Is that so?” he murmurs. “And here I thought it was about control,”

You take another drag, letting the smoke curl around your lips before speaking. “Control is part of it,” you concede, voice low. “But flexibility is key,”

He reaches for the cigar, fingers brushing yours as he takes it. “Show me,” he challenges, eyes never leaving yours.

You lean in, forcing your gaze to fixate on the smoke and its origin. Nothing else. “It’s all about the right pressure,” you pause, your breath a ghost drifting from you, as if absorbed by him. “Too much, and it falls apart. Too little, nothing happens at all,”

He inhales deeply, eyes latched onto yours, then attempts a ring. It’s clumsy, dissolving almost instantly. “Pitiful,” he huffs, frustration and amusement colouring him.

You can’t help but chuckle. “Close,”

As if instinctively, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t be kind,”

Is that a dare? Your brows twitch in brief process. You take the cigar back. “Relax your lips, circular,” your eyes fall to his mouth, mimicking yours subconsciously. “Bend your tongue down. Tip on the bottom of your mouth,”

“Mhm,” he hums.

You demonstrate, creating a perfect ring that quivers over his shoulder.

“I see,” he mutters, watching, mesmerised. Whether by the ring or your mouth, you don’t want to know.

Nodding, a slow smile spreads your lips. “Delicate,” you raise the cigar his way.

He takes it with his lips, hooking his fingers around and taking a long drag.

You find yourself captivated by his attempts at smoke rings. As he inhales, his eyes close, a moment of quiet concentration. They flutter open to witness his handiwork—thin, frail rings that dissipate quickly in the air. The corner of his mouth twitches, a hint of a smile breaking through his stoic facade.

He tries again a few times, clearly taken by this newfound skill. His presence has shifted, no longer infuriating but almost... playful.

Emboldened, you gather your courage and circle back to his earlier question. "All of the above," you say, your words herding his attention back to you. Your voice is steady, but there's an undercurrent of pain you couldn't quite strap back. “My dad worked in the mines, and my sister... she got in with the wrong crowd. Crossed some enforcers on the wrong day.”

His eyes soften, a wordless apology that's more than enough. You've never been one for overly expressed sympathies anyway.

“And mom's been showing…” your voice trails off as your mind drifts to your mother's face, the image of her becoming more gaunt with each passing month etched painfully in your memory. It's a familiar process, one you've seen play out in countless Undercity families. Someone's mother or father always showing signs of the blight. Now it's your turn to watch it unfold in your own home. “Declining,” you finish, the word heavy on your tongue.

The light atmosphere dissipates, replaced by a shared understanding of the Undercity's—no, Zaun's harsh realities. You stand there, smoke curling between you.

“It’s never easy, is it?” he says softly, words simple but sincere. He takes another drag of the cigar then offers it back to you. "But we endure," the tone seems to challenge your earlier actions—asking, are you still thinking about it?

You accept the cigar, fingers brushing his. With a long drag, you let the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling slowly. "Guess it's just what we Zaunites do, right?" you take a step away from the edge, nearing his side.

An amused smile finally tugs at his lips.

He was a stranger mere moments ago, and yet here you are, mixing tastes and sharing ideologies. Names seem almost irrelevant. Still, you offer yours, falling from your lips like a confession.

He repeats it, sounding entirely new as his voice wore each letter in that silk tone, escaping his mouth alongside whispers of smoke.

“Silco,” he gives back, the name igniting a spark of recognition that raises your brows as you return his cigar.

The name echoes in your mind, often whispered in the same breath as 'Vander'—the two faces of the revolution. The muscle and the voice of a movement that promised to reshape Zaun's future.

“Mm,” you murmur, your eyes tracing the contours of his face with newfound interest, drinking him in. Each line, each shadow takes on new significance as you piece together the man behind the name. “Not just a revolutionist. The revolutionist,”

A short laugh escapes him, a rare sound that seems to surprise even him. He brings the cigar to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours. There's a burning in his gaze that pins you in place, making you acutely aware of every breath.

He takes a deep drag, the ember glowing bright in the dim light of Zaun's eternal twilight. As he exhales, your attention is drawn inexorably to his mouth.

A more practised smoke ring emerges, expanding and drifting between you. It's a marked improvement from his earlier attempts, a physical manifestation of how quickly he learns, adapts. You find yourself wondering what other skills he might possess.

[lovezbrownies]

My actions. (Yandere!F!Med Student x GN!Reader.)

General Masterlist

Synopsis: You meet the infamous Lorelai Marlowe, your med school's sweetheart. And you hate her. Referring to this ask!

Warnings: Mean darling, reader don't gaf! stalking, slow burn obsession, gets kinda creepy at the end, reader yelling at Lorelai.

Lorelai Marlowe x GN!Reader

Lorelai Marlowe had never known true friendship. Born into a family of wealth and prestige, her life was shaped by expectations and status. The Marlowes were not just wealthy, they were a dynasty of accomplished individuals, known for their brilliance and influence. And where there was money, there were people eager to get close. Lorelai learned early that, for most, being her friend meant securing a piece of the Marlowe fortune. Relationships were transactional: "You give, I take." It left her craving something real, an honest friendship, untainted by her last name.

Her idol is her father, Mason Marlowe, a man who embodied success in its purest form. Mason Marlowe was a genius: the youngest person in the country to hold seven degrees, one bachelor’s, two medical degrees, two master’s, and two doctorates. "A bachelor's is barely worth the paper it’s printed on," Isa’s father would say with a dismissive wave of his hand. But his disdain wasn’t reserved for education alone; her father held a similar view on relationships. “You’ll never find true friendship while bearing the Marlowe name, Lorelai,” her father would warn. “People want our money, not you.” When Lorelai was younger, she fought against that idea. She believed in friendship, in the idea that people could care for her beyond the wealth she represented.

But now, after years of watching greed twist every connection, she wasn’t so sure.

Though she yearned to be as indifferent to social interaction as her father, that trait was beyond her reach, something she would never achieve. Lorelai couldn’t help herself. Even with the fakest of friends, she found herself chatting away, always looking for a spark of something real. Despite her privilege and the walls she built, Lorelai was a loving person at heart. She just needed someone to give her a small piece of love in return.

And soon, she would find that glimmer of hope in her medicine class. Lorelai excelled in every course she took, a testament to the Marlowe family’s near-genetic genius. With her eidetic memory, she never had to study as long or as hard as her peers. While others broke their backs studying, Lorelai effortlessly retained every detail. It was a fact that had always set her apart, and isolated her.

She’d never paid much attention to you before. You were just another face in the crowd, one of those students who always seemed perpetually exhausted, always overburdened with books and the stress of academia. And while Lorelai would sit through class texting or working on assignments for other courses, today would be different. Her professor had just partnered her with you, some random student she barely knew, for a project on the effects of diabetic medicine. Naturally, other groups were assigned far more exciting topics, but this? It was just her rotten luck.

Standing tall and poised, her family’s perfect genes in full display, Lorelai surveyed the classroom. She was everything her mother always said she was, tall, gorgeous, smart. Perfect. She scanned the room for you, but she had no idea what you looked like. All she could do was watch for a student who looked as lost as she felt. And then she spotted you.

You approached her slowly, the school's oversized jacket wrapped around you like a shield. Your slouched posture and the disarray of your appearance made you look even more exhausted than usual. Your backpack bulged with books, threatening to spill out at any moment, while your hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in days. Lorelai hesitated for a moment, worried that your messy appearance might signal laziness. But then she reassured herself: the more disheveled you looked, the harder you probably worked. You would be diligent, even if not polished.

With her signature bright smile, Lorelai greeted you as you finally stopped in front of her. She decided to speak first, her tone bubbly, eager to break the ice. “Hello! I’m Lorelai Marlowe! And you must be Y/N! Or are you? Hehe, I’m just kiddin, ”

You cut her off sharply, your voice curt and almost aggressive. “Are you going to take this project seriously, or should I do it alone?”

Lorelai froze, shocked by your bluntness. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. It was… rude. But it was also oddly intriguing, lighting a spark in her that had no business being lit. She chuckled nervously, trying to recover. “I, No! Of course, I’ll take it seriously. I’m so sorry if I made it seem like I wouldn’t! I was just trying to exchange some friendly banter.”

You narrowed your eyes, clearly skeptical. After a moment, you sighed, realizing it wasn’t worth the energy to argue. “Yeah, okay. That’s good. Let’s start by doing our research on diabetes in the library. Better start from there.”

Lorelai smiled nervously again, her eyes darting to the side as she scratched her arm, a telltale sign of her discomfort. “Actually, I-I had something planned with some of my friends after this class… But I promise I’ll still help!”

Before you could respond, she reached for a pen. “Here’s my number, Do you have a pen by, Oh! Heh, thanks!” You handed her the pen that had been stuck behind your ear for half the class, but when she tried to grab your hand to write on, you yanked it away.

“No. Here’s a sticky note. I don’t want to get ink poisoning from some girl’s phone number.”

Some girl? Did you not know who she was? Lorelai stared at you, stunned by your indifference. She wasn’t used to being dismissed like that. You shook the sticky note in front of her face, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“See you later,” she said, still flustered, “Next time you work on the project, p-please invite me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” you muttered as you turned to walk away. “As if you’d come…”

As the days passed, Lorelai found it hard to forget your strange, cold demeanor. Even some of her ‘friends’ began noticing her mind wandering during conversations. It was odd, she thought, how that brief encounter stuck with her. Normally, people came and went in her life without much impact. But you were different. You didn’t seem impressed by her, and that nagged at her, stirring a curiosity she hadn’t expected.

At first, she tried to brush it off. You were just another project partner, someone she’d never thought twice about before. But when you hadn’t texted or reached out in any way, concern started to creep in. What if she’d offended you somehow? Lorelai wasn’t used to people staying angry at her. She was used to charming her way out of any misunderstanding, but something about this situation felt different.

By Tuesday, Lorelai decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She wasn’t one to obsess over things, but this situation, you, felt unresolved. It itched at the back of her mind. She’d skipped the evening medicine class plenty of times, but tonight, she couldn’t bring herself to miss it. If only to clear the air. Maybe, once you two talked, this lingering unease would go away.

She arrived late, of course, distracted by the usual mindless chatter of her friends, but she did show up. That had to count for something.

Sliding into the seat next to you, Lorelai tried to catch your eye, but you seemed utterly absorbed in the lecture. She smiled, a soft, almost shy curve of her lips, something out of character for her. But when you didn’t even acknowledge her presence, that smile faltered.

Tentatively, she reached out, her hand lightly patting your thigh, expecting the usual warmth of recognition. But when you looked at her startled, confused, there was no warmth. Instead, there was an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Disdain? Annoyance?

“Hi! Sorry for scaring you,” she whispered quickly, eager to close the distance that seemed to have opened up between you. “I noticed you didn’t text me after Friday, so I thought I’d check in, make sure you didn’t start working alone. I’m here to help, of course.”

But instead of relief or understanding, your eyes narrowed. “I did text you,” you muttered, voice cold and firm. “Maybe you should check your messages.”

The words cut through her like ice. Had you? Impossible. She would have noticed. She always kept her phone on her, never missing a single message from anyone. She’d know if you had reached out.

Fumbling through her phone, her confidence wavered as she scrolled through countless unread texts. And there, hidden in plain sight, were your messages.

Her stomach dropped.

Saturday, xx, xxxx: Hey, it’s your project partner. I’m going to the library to research insulin for our project. If you’re coming, I can grab you coffee.

Sunday, xx, xxxx: Going to the library again to research more meds. Join if you can.

Monday, xx, xxxx: I finished the project. I included you where I could. Submitting it tonight.

For the first time in a long while, Lorelai felt truly ashamed. You’d been reaching out, offering olive branches, and she had ignored every one of them. You had every reason to be upset. As the weight of her mistake sank in, she looked up at you, her voice small and shaken. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t see them. I swear, I just, ”

Your sharp look cut her off, the anger in your eyes almost startling. “It doesn’t matter. I gave you the credit. Now, leave me alone.”

The coldness in your voice sent a shiver down her spine, and she fell silent. People didn’t speak to her like that. Ever. The weight of your dismissal clung to her long after the lecture ended, and as she walked home that night, her mind kept circling back to the interaction. You weren’t just mad, you had no interest in forgiving her.

Over the next few days, she found herself replaying the scene in her head. At first, it was a matter of guilt. She’d never meant to dismiss you like that, and she told herself she just wanted to apologize properly. But as the days stretched on, something shifted. You really didn’t care, did you? There was no attempt on your end to smooth things over, no effort to reconcile. You weren’t trying to get back into her good graces.

That... intrigued her.

Lorelai had never met someone who could brush her off so completely. She found herself wondering more about you, where you hung out, what your life was like outside of school. You weren’t like the others, the people who fawned over her or sought her attention. You were indifferent, and that indifference bothered her more than it should have.

Tuesday class rolled around again, and she showed up, not for the lecture, but to see if you were there. Her friends noticed the change, making offhand comments about her ‘mysterious project partner.’ Lorelai just smiled, deflecting their questions. She hadn’t told them how strange you made her feel. They wouldn’t understand. No one else ever made her question herself like you did.

This time, when she saw you seated in the hall, she hesitated. You hadn’t forgiven her, she knew that, but there was something about your anger that pulled her in. She took a seat a few rows behind, watching you for a while, studying how you scribbled notes with such focus. You hadn’t looked up once.

How could you act like she didn’t exist?

She told herself it was just curiosity. You were a puzzle to her. She’d find a way to fix this, to make you see her differently. And maybe then, everything would go back to normal.

But things didn’t go back to normal. The more you ignored her, the more she found herself thinking about you outside of class. You were unlike anyone she’d ever met. The anger, the coldness, it wasn’t something she was used to, and it fascinated her in ways she couldn’t quite explain.

Weeks passed, and Lorelai began finding excuses to cross paths with you more frequently, though she made it look casual. A wave in the hallway, a brief, fleeting glance during lectures, little things that seemed insignificant. But she was paying attention to the details. The way you carried yourself, the people you spoke to (which were few), the way you brushed off her presence like it meant nothing.

Slowly, her thoughts began to shift. What had started as guilt for a missed message turned into an obsession with understanding you. You weren’t just another person to her anymore, you were a challenge, someone she needed to figure out. Why didn’t you like her? Why didn’t you care? You weren’t cold to everyone, just to her.

The idea that someone could reject her so fully began to gnaw at her. She needed to fix it. She needed to know why.

But with every rejection, every sharp comment or dismissive glance, Lorelai’s need for your approval grew. It was subtle at first, a passing thought, a lingering glance. But over time, she found herself looking for you in places she knew you’d be, lingering longer than necessary in class just to feel that tension between you.

Each new interaction, no matter how brief, only fueled her need to understand you more. And the more she tried to fix things, the worse it got.

By the time a few months had passed, Lorelai was fully consumed by her need to be acknowledged by you. She had abandoned most of her old friendships, her focus narrowing entirely on you. Every move you made fascinated her, the way you seemed so unaffected by her presence, even as she became more desperate to understand you. It was maddening.

You had no idea how much space you were beginning to take up in her mind. And she would never admit it out loud, but she knew this wasn’t normal. No one had ever gotten under her skin like this before.

It had been months now. Months of you trying to shake her off, but Lorelai clung to you like a shadow, always there, always hovering just close enough to make her presence felt. Her apologies, once so constant, had evolved into something far more unsettling, a desperate, needy devotion that you couldn’t seem to escape.

She never left your side, always lingering just a few steps behind, waiting for any small scrap of attention. Her eyes never left you, watching, waiting, hoping for even the slightest glance. It was as if her entire world now revolved around you, her every thought consumed by how to stay close, how to keep you from drifting away.

You had tried everything to avoid her, changing your routes, ignoring her messages, even switching seats in lecture halls. But Lorelai always found you. Always managed to squeeze herself into your world, her presence pressing in on you like a weight you couldn’t shake off.

Today, it was worse. She had followed you again, walking silently behind you as you made your way to your favorite secluded spot on campus, the far east garden near the cadaver storage. You had come here hoping for some peace, but Lorelai, ever-persistent, had trailed after you like she always did.

“I missed you today,” her voice broke the silence, the tone dripping with an almost pitiful longing. “You didn’t sit in your usual spot… I thought something had happened to you.” Her words were soft, trembling slightly as though the mere idea of you being out of her reach caused her genuine distress.

You clenched your fists, the irritation boiling inside you. She never stopped. Always prying, always looking for something to cling to. “I’m fine,” you snapped, your patience fraying. “And I need to be alone.”

But Lorelai didn’t back away. If anything, she stepped closer, her eyes wide and pleading as though your words hadn’t even registered. “You don’t really mean that,” she murmured, her voice soft and fragile, like a glass about to break. “I know you’re just upset. But I can make it better. Let me help, okay?”

You stiffened, feeling her desperation like a physical force. It was suffocating. “Lorelai,” you hissed, your voice sharp, “I don’t need your help. I need space. You need to leave me alone.”

But instead of retreating, Lorelai’s eyes filled with a sudden intensity, a wild gleam of desperation sparking in them. “No, no, you don’t mean that,” she said quickly, shaking her head as if she could will your words away. “You’re just saying that because you’re stressed. You always say that when you’re upset. But I can fix it. I can make things right, I promise. I just need more time with you, that’s all.” Her voice cracked at the edges, the strain of holding herself together evident in every syllable.

You felt your pulse quicken, panic bubbling beneath the surface. “Are you insane?” you finally shouted, spinning around to face her. “I’ve told you a thousand times to leave me alone! What part of that don’t you get?”

For a moment, Lorelai froze, her eyes wide with shock. But the hurt you expected never came. Instead, her face softened, her lips trembling as she reached for you, her hand stopping just short of touching your arm. “No… you don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You need me. You might not realize it yet, but you do. I can’t leave you. I can’t!” The desperation in her voice hit you like a wave, her neediness palpable, like she couldn’t survive without being near you.

Your frustration exploded. “You’re suffocating me! Do you understand that? You’re obsessed!” You stepped back, putting more distance between the two of you, but Lorelai followed, her movements frantic now, her eyes wild with fear.

“No, please, ” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I’ll do better, I swear. I can be what you need. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it! Please don’t push me away. I-I need you!” Her words tumbled out, her hands clasped tightly together as though begging for your mercy.

“I don’t want anything from you!” you shouted, your voice laced with frustration and exhaustion. “I want you to leave me the hell alone! Can’t you see how much you’re ruining everything? How much I hate this?”

Lorelai’s breath hitched at the word “hate,” her eyes watering as though the thought of your rejection was more painful than anything she could imagine. But instead of breaking, her lips twisted into a soft, almost adoring smile.

“You’re only saying that because you’re scared,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I know it’s hard for you to let someone in, but I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

You stared at her in disbelief, your stomach churning. Was she serious? Did she not hear a word you just said?

“Lorelai, you’re insane!” you barked, trying one last time to get through to her. “You’re not ‘helping’ me. You’re stalking me. You’re obsessed. I don’t want anything to do with you!”

For a second, you thought maybe, just maybe, your words had finally pierced through. Lorelai stood there, blinking rapidly, her eyes wide and glassy, as if processing what you had just said. But then, slowly, her lips curved into a smile, a needy, fragile thing that looked more like a cry for validation than an actual expression of joy.

“You don’t mean that,” she whispered softly. Her voice was laced with an almost pitiful hope, a hope that you would just stop resisting and finally give in. “You’re just… upset. I know you don’t hate me. You couldn’t. I’m the only one who understands you, who can be there for you when everyone else leaves. I won’t leave you. I can’t.”

She took another step closer, her hands trembling as they reached toward you, as if touching you could somehow solidify her place in your life. You stepped back instinctively, but Lorelai didn’t seem to notice, her eyes were locked onto yours, wide and filled with a raw, desperate need for your approval, for your attention.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “Don’t shut me out. I’ll be better, I promise. I’ll be whatever you need me to be. Just… don’t leave me. I’ll make everything perfect. You’ll see.”

You could hardly breathe. The sheer weight of her obsession, her need for you, was overwhelming, suffocating. You had to make her understand. “I don’t care what you do,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger and disbelief. “I don’t care if you apologize a million times. I want nothing to do with you, Lorelai. Get that through your head. Just leave me alone.”

But her eyes only softened more, as if your harsh words were nothing but the fleeting tantrums of a child who didn’t know what was good for them. “You’re just confused,” she whispered, “and that’s okay. I’ll help you. I’ll fix this.” She nodded to herself, already convinced of her version of reality. “You’ll understand one day.”

Her voice was soothing, like she was the one comforting you, her needy, obsessive gaze never wavering.

“Lorelai, just, ” you started, but she cut you off, stepping even closer, her voice a pleading, broken whisper.

“Please,” she said again, “just give me one more chance. Just one more, and I’ll make everything better. I promise. You’ll see. You’ll need me, just like I need you.”

It was terrifying. Her obsession had bloomed into something so twisted, so far beyond anything you had anticipated. And now, her desperation was laid bare, her entire sense of self wrapped up in this delusional, obsessive need to be everything for you. She wasn’t just stalking you anymore; she was trying to anchor herself to you, like she’d collapse without your attention.

“I don’t need you,” you said quietly, taking a deep breath. “And I never will.”

But Lorelai only smiled, a broken, fragile thing. “You say that now,” she whispered. “But I know the truth. And you will, too. One day.”

[deliciousangelfestival]

Nothing Has Changed - 11

Summary: Returning home for peace, you're faced with your tormentor, Bucky Barnes, who is now involved in your family's business.

Character: Bucky Barnes

Warning: Angst, Tragedy.

Author Note: So... I wrote the story outline until the ending. I didn't expect the story to turn dark. Prepare yourself.

Nothing Has Changed - Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 💖💖💖

The next morning, you arrived at the hotel ready to tackle your workload. As you approached your office, you noticed something unusual—the door was locked. You jiggled the handle, hoping it was a mistake, but it remained stubbornly closed.

Your mind immediately went to Lydia. She was the only one who could have done this.

Finding Lydia in her office room, her expression cold and authoritative. “I own this business. I can do whatever I want. Starting today, you’re banned from this place,” she declared, her voice dripping with disdain.

You didn’t want to push the issue any further. With a resigned sigh, you decided to leave. As you left the hotel, you noticed several employees watching you, their whispers barely concealed.

Natasha, in particular, seemed to revel in your discomfort. She left the front desk, a cup of tea in hand, her lips curved into a smug smile headed to Lydia's office. From the window, Lydia looked on with a satisfied gleam in her eye.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Natasha said, her voice tinged with malice as she handed a cup of tea to Lydia.

Lydia took the cup with a sense of triumph, savoring the sweet aroma of victory that seemed to emanate from the tea. She took a deliberate sip, her gaze never leaving Natasha.

“But your son…” Natasha began, a hint of concern slipping into her tone.

Mentioning Bucky caused Lydia to flinch visibly. She paused, her hand momentarily tightening around her cup. After a moment’s hesitation, she replied curtly, “He won’t dare go against his own mother.”

With that, Lydia reached into her purse and pulled out a thick wad of cash. Natasha’s eyes widened with greed as she watched the stack of bills being unfurled.

Lydia handed the money to Natasha with a smug smile. “Here’s your compensation. And my gesture of thanks for encouraging me to come back,” she said, her tone dismissive.

Natasha’s excitement was palpable as she counted the money, her eyes sparkling with approval. “Anything for you,” she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm as she slipped the cash into her own pocket.

Lydia, watching with a smug satisfaction, raised her cup in a mock toast towards Natasha. “I appreciate your loyalty. It’s good to know who I can count on,” Lydia said, her voice laced with a hint of scorn. She took another slow, deliberate sip of her tea, savoring the moment.

Natasha beamed, her earlier indifference melting away in the face of the cash and Lydia’s praise. “Just doing what needs to be done,” she replied, her voice now dripping with sycophancy. She glanced at Lydia, her expression a mix of adoration and cunning.

The atmosphere between them was thick with unspoken power plays and veiled hostility. Lydia’s gaze was cold and calculating, while Natasha's expression was a careful blend of eagerness and submission.

As Natasha finished tucking the money away, Lydia dismissed her with a curt wave of her hand. “You’re free to go. I’ve got other matters to attend to.”

Natasha nodded enthusiastically and quickly exited, eager to be out of Lydia’s presence and out of reach of any further demands.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

While driving home, you mulled over the strange intensity of Lydia's hatred. It was bewildering to you; you had barely interacted with her during your time in town. Arriving at home, you saw Tom emerging from the house, his jacket buttoned up against the chill.

“Why are you back so early?” Tom asked, his eyebrows knitting together in concern.

“The owner fired me,” you replied tersely, the frustration clear in your voice.

“The owner?” Tom’s confusion melted into understanding as he added, “Oh, her.”

“Where are you going?” you asked, noting the determined set of his jaw.

“To the hospital. Just a routine check-up,” Tom said nonchalantly.

Since Tom had first told you about his cancer diagnosis, you hadn’t accompanied him to any appointments. “I’ll go with you,” you offered, surprising both yourself and him.

Tom’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Are you sure?”

You nodded firmly. “Yes, I want to.”

Tom was taken aback by your sudden willingness. The drive to the hospital was silent, and as you arrived, you couldn’t help but notice how the place looked somewhat run-down.

The building seemed outdated, starkly contrasting to the well-maintained hospitals you were used to in the city. The thought of cancer patients being treated here didn’t sit well with you.

When Harlan was still alive and fighting his own battle, you had seen him seek out the best care, no matter where it was. You knew that even in a small town, the facilities for treating cancer should be better than this.

In the waiting area, you turned to your father, concern etched on your face. “Do you want to get a second opinion in the city? I know some excellent doctors.”

Tom waved off your concern with a dismissive gesture. “It’s alright. The hospital might look old now, but they’re planning to build a new one later this year.”

“How do you know?” you asked, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

“Bucky mentioned it. His contractor business is handling the construction,” Tom explained.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re really close to him.”

“He’s like a son I never had,” Tom said, a wistful note in his voice.

The words hung between you, creating an unexpected silence. Tom’s face flushed with sudden regret as he slapped his hand against his forehead. “I’m such a stupid dad with a stupid mouth. Urgh!”

For a moment, you felt a pang of understanding. Your father’s attempt to express his feelings, even if it was awkward, revealed a deeper truth. He had always been a good father, but it was clear now that there was a part of him that longed for a different kind of connection.

Your lack of reaction made Tom uneasy. He fidgeted with his jacket, unsure of how to bridge the gap he had unintentionally created. The awkwardness hung heavy, but there was also a sense of clarity—both for you and for him.

Before you could further explore the tension, a nurse appeared, her clipboard in hand. “Dr. Stark is ready to see you,” she announced with a professional smile.

As you and Tom entered the examination room, you were met by Dr. Tony Stark. His presence was immediately striking—his demeanor was confident and his tailored suit spoke of someone accustomed to high stakes and high standards.

“Tom!” Tony greeted warmly, extending a firm handshake. His gaze then shifted to you, and his eyebrows arched in recognition. “You look just like her.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Who?”

Tony’s smile faltered slightly as he adjusted his glasses, seemingly surprised by his own slip. “Pardon me. I went to the same school as your mother,” he explained, his tone softening with a touch of nostalgia. He then gestured towards Tom. “He’s a lucky guy.”

Tom’s face turned a shade of red as he shifted uncomfortably. The mention of his past made him awkward, but he managed a sheepish smile.

Tony proceeded to discuss Tom’s medical condition with a mix of professionalism and empathy. He reviewed Tom’s file, made some notes, and prescribed additional medication. His calm and methodical approach seemed to put Tom at ease, though you remained unsettled by the hospital’s overall atmosphere.

It seemed outdated and not up to the standards you were accustomed to, and you resolved to find a better facility for your father as soon as possible.

As Tony wrapped up the consultation, you noticed a framed photograph on the wall. It was an old, slightly blurred image of a football celebration. The focus was hazy, but one figure stood out clearly in the foreground—your mother. She was dressed in a cheerleader’s outfit, her smile radiant. What caught your attention was that she was hugging another man, someone whose build and presence made it clear he wasn’t your father.

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Tony’s voice startled you. You turned to find him standing just behind you, his gaze fixed on the photo with an unreadable expression.

You were taken aback, the shock evident on your face. “Why is that photo here?”

Tony’s eyes softened, revealing a trace of sadness or perhaps regret. “That’s from a time when things were simpler, and people were less complicated,” he said quietly. “She was something special.”

Tom, standing beside you, remained silent but his expression mirrored the quiet turmoil you felt. Seeing him like this brought back memories of your own experiences with bullying—times when you had felt isolated and out of place. It was a stark reminder of how the past could linger, shaping the present in ways you might not fully understand.

As you prepared to leave the examination room, the weight of the discovery pressed heavily on you. The photo, Tony’s unexpected comments, and Tom’s uneasy demeanor contributed to a growing disquiet. You resolved to dig deeper into the hospital’s practices and to ensure that your father received the care he deserved.

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

After the unsettling encounter with Dr. Stark, you drove Tom back home, your mind still spinning from the encounter. You needed answers, so you headed to the library. The small-town library, with its dusty shelves and musty smell, seemed like the perfect place to uncover secrets from the past.

In the dimly lit library, you pored over old newspapers, your fingers flipping through brittle pages. You were searching for any mention of a high school football game or related events. Given the town’s size, there had to be some story that linked to your mother and the people around her.

Hours passed as you sifted through countless articles. Finally, you came across a collection of photographs from a high school football game. Your mother was there, among the cheering crowd.

She looked radiant, her smile bright, and her cheerleader uniform vibrant. She was surrounded by a group of familiar faces—Dr. Stark, Mr. Rogers, and others all look close and friendly.

But what caught your eye was a man standing next to her. Her arm was draped around his neck, and his arm was wrapped around her waist. They looked incredibly close.

He had the same distinctive eyebrows, nose, and hairstyle as someone you knew. Your heart raced as you squinted at the faded image. The man’s name was Alex Morris.

A cold shiver ran down your spine as you connected the dots. Alex Morris was Lydia Barnes' husband and Bucky's father.

It dawned on you why Lydia had harbored such animosity toward you—because Alex Morris was your mother’s ex-boyfriend. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

Just as the weight of this revelation settled on you, Jake Jensen unexpectedly appeared, "Boo!!"

His sudden presence made you gasp, startling you so much that you let out a small scream. This attracted disapproving shushes from other library patrons.

“I'm sorry,” Jake said, his voice low, “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“In a library?” you said, still clutching your chest from the shock. You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards a quieter section of the library, away from prying eyes and ears.

Once you were hidden among the quiet bookshelves, you pointed a finger at Jake. “You owe me.”

Jake looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know what you did that led to me being bullied by that mean girls’ group,” you said, your voice steady but filled with accusation.

Jake’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize the impact it had.”

“I’m not interested in your apology,” you said, crossing your arms and fixing him with a stern look. “Not unless you do something for me first.”

Jake’s expression shifted from confusion to apprehension. “What do I need to do?”

“You need to get your mother to spill what she knows about my mother and Alex Morris,” you demanded. “She’s the town’s biggest gossip, and I need to know everything she’s heard.”

Jake was taken aback, clearly caught off guard by your request. He looked at you, his face a mix of guilt and hesitation. “You really want to dig into all this?”

You nodded firmly. “Yes. I need to understand what happened and why Lydia Barnes hates me. I’m counting on you to get me those answers.”

Jake looked like he was struggling to process your demand. Finally, he nodded slowly, a mix of resignation and resolve in his eyes. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

You released a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. This was the first step toward unraveling the secrets shadowing your life.

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[luciaintheskyainthi]

Hello! I have ✨questions✨

Apologies if this is all over the place 🙇

What is your take on Peter’s feelings towards Mysterio’s/Beck’s death?

He died succumbing to his injuries in their fight- Would/does Peter feel a semblance of responsibility/guilt about it even if it was an indirect death? Maybe if he had somehow been more careful Beck could have somehow made it out alive?

Or does it delve into the realm of indifference & or denial since Beck made everyone believe Peter was the one to end him when it was all Beck’s own fault?

Oh! And since he went through some traumatizing fake reality ordeals with him- Do you think Peter reality tests when something particularly mentally straining happens? (Not me projecting lmao) Though I imagine his ✨Peter tingle✨ has him covered in that department 😌

Thank you for your time feel free not to answer I was just curious on your thoughts about it!✨

Ayyoooo this is a fab question!

Personally, I don't think Peter holds too much guilt over what happened to Beck, beyond the shame and frustration he feels about having fallen for the man's manipulations.

Part of this comes down to the fact that Beck wasn't a crook like Osborn. Osborn, as with all the villains in NWH, was a character driven to that point by external factors: his sadism is chemically induced and not his 'natural' state of being. Hence the guilt Peter feels in ECM at having been driven to the point of nearly killing the man. He knew Norman wasn't himself, he knew there was a cure, but he still let his anger get the better of him.

I find it quite interesting that all of the villains Peter deals with in NWH are altered/radicalised/villainised (pick your verb lol) by external factors. Dr Oc, Dr Connors, Electro, Sandman... all of them have been changed in some way by things out of their control (most notably in relation to the two working class villains... and isn't it interesting that the working class characters are the ones who had these things happen to them out of their control, whereas for the other three, men well-respected in their fields, their changes were self-induced...? 🤔) . Sure, there are underlying factors that drive them, but the narratives in their original films draw a clear connection between their villainy and the changes that happened to them. This makes it much easier to create a sense of pathos for these men: despite their actions, they are also victims.

Beck... Beck is not that way. He's driven by revenge, and for a man who isn't even alive anymore. It's sheer pettiness at that point. Not exactly the noble villain. Even the Vulture/Toomes engenders more sympathy than Beck, since his actions (before he goes off the deep end) are fuelled by a desire to break even after his company is snubbed in the cleaning efforts post Battle of Manhattan (and I could get into a whole rant about the way Marvel/Disney HAS to make a working class villain like Toomes irredeemable to undermine what is in fact, a reasonable anti-capitalist argument because the heroes of the MCU serve the status quo and Spider-Man fell victim to this portrayal too).

SIDE NOTE: If you'd like to hear more about this perspective (that most heroes in the MCU are pretty much just super powered cops serving to preserve the status quo), Skip Intro on YouTube has a really interesting video on the copaganda present within the MCU (or from here if you just want to listen to the part about Peter Parker ). While I do find some of his points to be over-generalisations, he still brings some very insightful points to the table.  VerilyBitchie also has an interesting video on the changes made to Peter Parker in the MCU that I enjoyed.

All this means, I don't think Peter is kept up at night by Beck's death. His villainy is driven by internal factors: revenge and greed. What happens to him is tragic, but it's also something that Beck could have walked away from at any point in time. This made it easier for Peter to walk back from the guilt he felt at his involvement with Beck's death (not to mention, I imagine having people who love you talk through what happened must do wonders for that guilt complex).

Side note two.... If Peter's more inclined to feel guilt/sympathy for villains who are in some way not compos mentis, what shall he be like with Gotham's villains? There are of course, plenty who are similar in function to those he dealt with in NWH: characters altered/driven/victimised by external factors. One would imagine he's likely to be sympathetic towards these kinds of villains...

But there are just as many villains on Gotham's roster who are insane in a way that can't just be 'fixed'. Pyg is a good example of this: he's not someone where something just 'happened' to him that made him the way he is. There's no 'fix' for Pyg. The best anyone can hope for is that he's kept away from others.

Likewise, there are plenty of rogues who are more like Beck: villains driven by greed and an inability to see other humans as humans, and not just pawns that can be moved and abused as they please. Black Mask and the Penguin are good examples here. And I think it's quite interesting that it's this type of villain who Jason as the Red Hood was first dealing with....

And then of course... there's characters who play the insane card very convincingly, but truly they're sadists and nihilists who just want the world to hurt.... Characters like Joker. Joker, who likes to play the insanity card, but as Jason points out in Under the Red Hood, is far more sane than he wants anyone to know (check out the way he loses that smile when Jason calls him out)... One has to wonder... how will someone like Peter deal with a sadistic man like Joker?

(side note 3, Jason's ass is fabulous in these panels and he's serving cunt when he walks away, but goddamn why must they make him look so ooolld 🥲🥲)