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persphonesorchid · 6 months ago

Text

Connotations Of Sin - JHS (m)

Summary: At your lowest, you’ve been living on the streets for the past couple of months. When you decide to leave your only safe haven and find yourself lost in a mysterious fog, an angel stretches out a hand of mercy. Little do you know, black taints his once alabaster wings.

Genre: Fallen Angel Au | Angst, fluff, smut (mdni), horror (V lowkey, I swear)

Word Count: 30k

Masterlist

Please read these warnings carefully!!

Warnings: Homelessness, Kidnapping (? is it though??), Suicidal ideation, referenced and described abuse and murder of a child. Hoseok is his own warning. Mc gets drugged and then she gets sick... A bit of religious babble, mc has nightmares (one of which is actually kinda bad...), she almost dies at one point. Hoseok likes playing mind games, but they aren't serious (Honestly debatable...). Implied gang activity and violence. Hoseok contradicts himself a lot, he's really confusing. Smut: oral ( m and f receiving) soft dom Hoseok, i think Hoseok has an oral fixation (or is it ME, the author?????) unprotected sex.

Notes: Phew, welcome!! SO, it's finally here!!! I'm so excited to share this project with you alll! It was such a big project for me, and so much time and effort went into it. Believe it or not, this started out as a smut piece and it had nothing going for it at all. If you've been following me for a while, you'd remember that back in 2021 i posted a teaser for something similar. Tbh back then probably wasn't the right time to post such a thing lmao, i for certain wasn't ready to write it and it wouldn't have been written in the way it was meant to with my writing style back then. It's been a long journey of understanding the characters portrayed here, and a lot of work to get them right. Very big shoutout to @hwaslayer who's - as always - been there with me from the very beginning and has been the biggest help and motivator, please look out for her Ateez's Seonghwa fic that shares this universe!! I won't keep you any longer, but please be sure to leave feedback, a lot of effort went into this project and i'd love to hear what you think and answer any questions! Happy reading!!!

“You sure you don’t wanna stay here with me dearie? I know it ain’t much, but it’s better than being out in the elements.” Abigail takes your hands in hers, hands that – much like yours – are dirt stained and ruddy, but bring you comfort that you wouldn’t find elsewhere. Abigail – or Toothy as everyone else calls her – is a frail woman with wispy auburn hair and a gap tooth smile. Her hair had gone white in some places, the crows’ feet at her eyes can barely help you guess her age. Her eyes are blue and dull but still regard you warmly like she did when she’d found you wandering along the fourth avenue weeks or so ago.

The space where she stays isn’t much; a nook in an alleyway between two rundown buildings that people don’t bother to go into. She’d tried her best to make it into a space that’s comfortable enough, the roof made of termite bitten sheets of ply that’s at least a square and a half wide. An old, mildew ridden tarp thrown over it and held down by a couple pieces of rubble from the building across makes up the walls that offer shelter from cold wind and rain and as much privacy you could get out here. The floor made of giant trash bags Abigail had swindled from some place or another, covered with old sheets that’s definitely seen better days. Even though the sheets had long lost their softness and leave you itching, they kept your butt off the cold concrete.

You’re going to miss the stories she’d tell. You’d lay on the floor, the longest part of the tarp folded over the top, and stare up at the strip of night sky between the buildings, twinkling with the bit of stars you can see and listen.

She’d tell you of her life before she fell to rock bottom, how grand everything was. How, many years ago, she’d won the lottery by a stroke of luck, only to have it turn sour when her fiancé gambled it all away and she lost everything. She never did tell you what happened to him.

You’d miss walking the couple of miles to the river, armed with pieces of run-down bar soaps and plastic bags with the little clothes you owned in them bundled in your arms. Or the nights when it’s cold, you’d go down to the square with her and look around for things to burn and dump them into the steel barrel to keep warm.

There are days when there’s nothing, and Abigail would distract you from your stomach trying to eat at itself with another one of her stories and old cans filled with steaming boiled rain water. There are days when you’d sit with a full tummy, there’s usually one kind soul out there that takes pity on you both to offer as much as they could.

You’ll be forever grateful for Abigail, with her motherly affection and her warm hands. She never once asked how you ended up here too, she simply offered a hand when you needed it most.

You felt as though you lingered too long... this is the longest you’ve stayed in a place. The company was good, but you feel like there’s just so much you’re robbing Abigail of by staying with her. You know she would strongly disagree; she’d probably whack you with her busted up sneaker and send you to sit in a corner until you’ve apologized. It’s simply how you feel, if you’re not here, Abigail wouldn’t have to share the little of what she gets, you feel terrible enough that she gives you more than she keeps for herself.

“Don’t worry Abigail.” You smile, pulling one hand away to pat hers. Her fingers are bony and long, and lacking the warmth they did earlier in the day. “I don’t stay one place for too long.”

It’s a lie, obviously. You’d rather chew your leg off than go out there alone. Away from the safety this little nook had been for the past month, away from Abigail, who’s cared more about you than anyone has in a while. But you care about her too, enough that you’d leave to make sure that she eats well enough to survive and not give it all to you. She’d be better off.

Abigail narrows her eyes at you, the wrinkles of her face deepening as she frowns. She looks sad, you note, the blue of her eyes dark and stormy, but she says nothing, just squeezes your hands for a while before letting go.

You smile softly, and continue stuffing your clothes into an old backpack Abigail had given you a while back. You fold the dirty ones tight, setting them at the bottom, and the few clean ones you had that still smelled like your last bar soap at the top. You don’t have much, and you’ve gotten used to it – as hard as it was.

When you shouldered your bag and stepped out from under the tarp, Abigail follows, worry on her brow, saying that she’d walk you to the mouth of the alleyway.

“Oh!” She says, turning back to duck under the tarp. You hear the rummaging of her old pot wares, the clanking of the metal before she comes back and holds out a can to you. The label looks worn, peeling off in some places, but you make out the bright red ‘canned peach’ on the side. “I was savin’ this for when we go down to the river, but you’d better have it.”

“Abigail...” You sigh, guilt gnawing at your edges, “I can’t take this.”

Abigail purses her lips, smacking the can into your hand, “Yes, you can. It’ll hold you out for a little while.”

“Then what would you eat?” You outstretch your hand, offering the peaches back to her and she narrows her eyes at you.

“I can manage.” She says testily, and then sighs, softening, “Are you sure you’ll be okay out there?” She takes the can and tucks it into the outside pocket of your bag, “It’ll be rough ya know.”

“I’ll be fine,” You say, and then, you hug her. Truly, you’ll miss her. She pats your back gently, “Thank you for everything.”

“Don’t mention it, we gotta look out for each other out here.” Abigail smiles, pulling away. She stuffs her hands into the pockets of her baggy jeans, something she’d picked up at a donation shelter a couple of days ago. It’s got a few holes and it’s frayed at the ankles but she’d never complain. “If you fall into luck, don’t forget me.”

“Never.”

You both say your goodbyes and you try your best to not cry at the sadness that clings to Abigail’s form as she hobbles back to her little nook. You take a breath and pick a direction to walk in.

You think about going to the river first, to get a little cleaned up before you go looking for somewhere to sleep for the night. You’re already regretting leaving the comfort that Abigail provided. You know she wouldn’t blame you if you turned right around and dragged yourself back. You’ve already made your mind up, though – it’s better this way.

You don’t have a gauge on the time, but the sun’s getting quite low. It streaks the sky in orange and pink, hiding behind a fluffy white cloud as it makes its slow decent. You might be able to make it to the river and back before night falls completely if you hurry. So you walk, and walk, and it’s a long way past the street Abigail first found you, where the city meets a forest edge.

You once asked Abigail why she didn’t live closer to the river, you worry about her most days, taking her frail self through the streets for such a long walk just to get here. She’d told you that even though some of your street dwelling comrades are friendly, most aren’t, and would do the worst to get what they need. It’s too risky to be close to the river where all manner of folk pass to get to it.

You tuck your bag to your front and keep an ear out for anyone that may be in the area. You grimace as the twigs and stones of the forest floor poke at your feet. Your shoes were on their last, they kept your feet warm most days, but they’re biting holes into your last good pair of socks. The trees get sparse the further in you go, and over the tweeting and chittering of the forest critters, there’s the sound of rushing water.

You break out of the trees and stand on the little edge where the forest pauses and the soft wet dirt begins. The river is a bit wild today, rushing through the rocks as it makes its way from wherever it starts. You know there must be a spring somewhere deeper if you follow the river back, but you don’t have the time to as the setting sun makes the forest look darker already. You wouldn’t like to be out here at night.

You slip out of your shoes and socks, wanting to keep them dry and walk down to the bank. Abigail has a little spot between three large boulders where she hides things. The spot is covered with leaves and sticks, and you dig through it to find the old blue bucket. It’s missing it’s handle and turned over to keep things under it.

There’s a new pack of soap powder that’s already been opened, a little square plastic bowl that’s probably seen better days on a dish rack and half of a soap bar. You pull the bucket out of its hiding place, taking just a handful of the soap powder and tossing it into the bucket. You tuck the powder into a corner of the rock with the soap bar on top of it and carry the bucket over to the river.

You rummage through your bag to find the clothes that needed cleaning, and put them in the bucket with the soap. It takes a moment of scooping water from the river and pouring it into the bucket. All the while you’re wondering where Abigail scored the soap powder from. A lot of things are hard to come by, but some people make trades with the little they’ve got. You feel a little guilty as you watch the water and soap soak into your clothes, though you know she wouldn’t mind if its you – you’re the only two that know where she keeps her stuff hidden – but still.

The soap smells sweet, and fresh in a way you haven’t smelt in a while. With the sun long gone behind the trees but still lighting the sky a bit, you wash your clothes as quickly as you can. You throw the soapy water on the bank and not back in the river, and rinse your clothes out just as quick.

There’s no time to wait for them to dry, with the sun being as low as it is and the wind baring its teeth. So you wring them out and pull out the plastic handle bag you keep folded in one of your backpack pockets to stuff them into.

It’s completely dark out once you’ve put the bucket back and covered Abigail’s things again and made your way back out of the forest. You would’ve liked to take a quick wash, but it’s too dark and the water’s too cold now. You’ll come back tomorrow when the sun’s high and hot.

You walk in a different direction than the way you came, looking for the little park that Abigail mentioned once. Its completely dark by the time you get there, your feet aching from the long walk and your mind muddled with thoughts.

You would often remind yourself not to think too hard, as your thoughts would often lead you to a dark place you find difficult to crawl out of. You would often regret not having people close enough to call good friends, maybe then you wouldn’t be out here.

You didn’t have a difficult life; you grew up in a loving home with both parents making sure that you were happy and not too spoilt by the fruits of their labour. You know the value of things and you know well to act like your parents raised you with some sense. Your mother passed when you were ten, and your father remarried when you were sixteen. You couldn’t understand why, your father loved your mother so much and you thought it would just be you and him against the world. You understood that your mother wouldn’t want him to live the rest of his life overshadowed by her passing and forget to continue living. So when he introduced you to the woman he met on a business trip, looking happier than he had in six years, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that something was off.

Your mother had always taught you to see the good in people, to give them the benefit of a doubt. There was no mistaking the thinly veiled disgust in your step mother’s eyes when she would look at you. She was quite young, compared to your father, anyway, and as the years went by, he spoilt her. He gave her whatever she wanted when she wanted it as long as it made her happy and you could only watch from the sidelines.

Your father fell ill, and everything went downhill from there.

When he passed, your world shattered and crumbled, leaving you standing in the rubble grasping at the wisps of it slipping through your fingers. Things were okay, for a while, grieving the loss of your father and trying to move on and step without him. Then the news of his will came not long after he was buried.

Your father left everything for his wife, the house, his money, and as you’d found on the first night you were out here, the savings account your mother had set up for you.

You had nothing.

You’d always kept to yourself growing up, and never let anyone closer than you would allow. You were home-schooled – all the way up to your tertiary education – and had no friends to speak of. Your parents never spoke of their family, all you knew and had were your mother and father.

It’s been a while since then. A good long while. It was hard to adjust to having everything at the tip of your fingers to having it ripped away all at once.

The first week was hard. You’d worked odd jobs here and there to keep your head above the water. Sleeping in a motel every night wasn’t ideal, especially since you had to buy food and every thing else. The little money you had ran out quickly, even when you pawned the possessions you did own it wasn’t enough.

You’ve had time to adjust since then. You met Abigail and things were as okay as they could’ve been considering. You remember, she had been pestering you about why you were pacing around on that bridge when she found you.

The deep rushing water below it had looked inviting – an easy way out. No one would’ve missed you, anyway.

You take a breath in sharply, and it burns. Cold air fills your lungs with little pinpricks as night fully settles. You try not to think about anything more as you walk through the park.

It looks empty, large trees and neat grass fields and cobbled walkways. There are dark metal benches scattered about, a trickle of water you can’t pinpoint coming from somewhere.

You’d just stay here for tonight, and find somewhere you wouldn’t be in trouble to stay at in the morning. You’re pretty sure you’re breaking some law being who you are as you sit down on the bench. It’s uncomfortable, the metal cold and biting, but you’d just have to deal for the night.

You dig through your backpack, pulling out the plastic bag with your damp clothes, a jacket that’s still in good condition and the canned peach Abigail sent you off with.

You spread your clothes out on the back of the bench, and you’re hoping they dry properly even if the air feels a little damp.

With a soft sigh, you lift the circular pin on the lid of the can and pull. The peaches are cut into slices and swimming in a sweet juice, and with some guilt you pick a piece out. It’s sweeter than anything you’ve had in a while, and for a moment you feel like crying.

You feel tears burn your eyes and nose as you chew the fruit, washing it down with a sip of the juice that tastes slightly like the can. It wasn’t long before it was all gone, your fingers sticky with the juice and you stare into the empty can with a frown. You wonder about Abigail and if she’s okay right now.

Setting the can down near the foot of the bench that’s bolted into the cobblestone path, you lay back. The sky is fairly clear, with a little smattering of wispy clouds floating by and stars that twinkle in the distance.

Drifting off slowly, you try to find a comfortable position to sleep in – though there isn’t one with this metal bench. Your jacket thrown over you as a makeshift blanket.

You’re not certain how long you sleep for, but when you wake, its to a tapping on your shoulder. The air is thick with something as you breathe in, and a lot damper than it was when you’d settled.

“Ma’am.” A voice calls, prodding your shoulder again, “Hello, miss?”

You open your eyes and your blood runs cold at the sight of the man in uniform standing above you. You sit up, excuses dancing at the tip of your tongue before you realised you could barely see past your nose.

The officer is holding a flashlight, the beam directed somewhere off to your right. A thick fog had settled while you slept, swirling way past the officer’s head.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t sleep here. This is a private park.” His words aren’t unkind, they come out gentle and a little pitying, as though he regrets having to do his job of keeping the riffraff out. He lets you gather your things, stuffing your still damp clothes back into your bag.

He takes a step back when you stand, “If you need somewhere to stay, there’s a shelter not far from here. Couple blocks that way.” He waves his flashlight behind you, towards the park’s exit, “Can’t miss it.”

You could barely see the guy, much less which way exactly he’s directing you to. You turn, squinting at the way you think he pointed. “Thank you... I’m really sorry about –”

“Don’t worry about it...just keep walking straight and you’ll find it.”

He motions with his flashlight again and you take two steps away before stopping and turning back, “Sorry but...the fog...which way...”

The man is gone, no sign of him having been there in the first place. It’s quiet, not even insects are chirping, you don’t hear any retreating footsteps. You stare at the spot he was just in, but didn’t want to linger lest he comes back and he’s decidedly less kind.

You hike your bag up on your shoulder, squinting to see through the fog as you walk towards the exit. The roads are empty, there’s the soft clicking of the traffic lights and the glow of shop lights and street lamps that make it a little bit easier to see. You still look both ways before walking quickly across the street, keeping straight like the officer told you.

It’s quiet, and honestly, it freaks you out a bit. You don’t think it’s that late, and even so, there should be people out and about. You don’t even think you slept for that long, it couldn’t have been more than an hour. There’s no reason for no one to be around, then again, you don’t know this area very well.

You walk for some time, the sound of your footsteps and your steady breaths your only company. You’re keeping your eyes peeled for any sign of the shelter, staring up at the glowing signs and squinting to see through the fog. You passed a convenience store, a pharmacy and a pet shop, all closed and dark inside. You’ve crossed two roads so far; it shouldn’t be much more walking...unless a couple of blocks have two different meanings between you and the officer.

You stop for a moment, taking a breath that settles heavy and damp in your chest. You look back the way you came, look at the signs of the buildings across the street and the one you’re outside of. You can’t see much more than that unless you keep walking straight.

You’re beginning to wonder if he’d only said so to get you out of the park. You take a couple of steps forward and then stop, looking over your shoulder. Your brows furrow and the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end.

It’s said that the mind always knows when you’re being watched, a sixth sense to be aware when someone is staring at you.

You feel watched.

And it isn’t an ordinary feeling.

It feels off, like some primal switch just flicked up in your brain. Briefly, you think that this is how a bunny feels being cornered by a fox. Your heart suddenly kicks against your ribs and something in the back of your mind screams for you to move.

You press forward, the feeling lingers, and intensifies. You walk as quickly as you can, your once steady breaths loud and harsh in the quietness of the night. You try not to look behind you as your ears pick up on the sound of another pair of footsteps. They match yours, and you’re not too certain if it’s just really your own bouncing off the walls of the buildings. When you stop, they stop, and start back up again when you start.

There’s another sound below it. Something snarls like a dog somewhere in the distance behind you, but, like everything else about this moment in this fog, it sounds wrong. Like it’s coming from a creature that’s trying to mimic the sound of an animal.

You stop dead in your tracks, goosebumps rippling along your skin like a wave from the top of your head and downwards. You take a breath, and with one foot in front of the other – you sprint.

Your footfalls are loud in the quiet, and even through your panic you notice the change of the footsteps that mimicked yours. There’s two more with it that falls in rhythm, like a large beast running on all fours.

It’s running faster than you are, the pounding of its feet against the pavement is double the speed of your own. You feel like your lungs are about to burst, your legs burning, and the damp air becomes fire in your throat when you breathe.

Whatever it is snarls again, and it sounds way closer than it was before. You could almost feel the sound rumble through you, and something hot fans at the back of your neck. You nearly trip, stumbling over your own feet in an attempt to run faster. You round a corner blindly, hoping to throw whatever it is off your trail and smack right into someone.

With your momentum, you’d think that you would send yourself and the person sprawling to the hard concrete. The terrified scream you let out rings in your own ears, high pitched and shrill, as you bounce back, falling in a heap. There’s a sharp twinge in your wrist as you brace, and a stinging in your palm when you just barely managed to catch yourself.

“Shit!” the person exclaims – a man, if the deep timbre of his voice was anything to go by. “Are you okay?!”

The man crouches down and you scramble back, then remember that you crashed into him because you were running from something and the panic comes back.

“I—there’s ... Something’s following me! It chased me all the way here...It’s—”

“Hey, hey...it’s okay...you’re fine.” The man seems to look behind you. You could barely see his face, even with him being as close as he was; the fog just seems to get thicker. “It’s just us out here...”

His voice suddenly seems hesitant, and you wouldn’t blame him if he thought you were crazy.

You breathing is still erratic, heart still trying to pound its way out of your chest.

The man’s hands hover at your shoulders, and there’s worry in his tone when he speaks again. “It’s okay. You’re alright, nothing’s out here but us.”

He takes your hand – the one that’s not holding your weight – and presses it to his chest. You almost jump out of your skin at the contact, but his own heart is steady, beating a slow rhythm against his sternum. “Breathe with me.”

He takes a deep breath in, and you feel his chest expand as his lungs fill, you try your best. Your throat is burning, and every breath feels like fine glass is swirling at the back of your mouth. It takes a moment, but eventually, your breaths match his and the adrenaline seeps out with your every exhale.

Your brain finally registers the throbbing of your wrist and palm, and the ache in your sides.

“There you go.” You can faintly make out the smile that spreads across the man’s face, heart shaped and pretty white teeth. “Good now?”

You nod, just barely, and he releases your hand. There’s a shuffling and the sound of a zipper and then he’s holding a bottle of water out to you. You eye it with some suspicion, and he picks up on it.

“It’s just water, promise.” He says, wiggling the bottle a little. “The seal isn’t cracked or anything.”

You take your weight off your palm, wincing at the hot flash of pain from the movement. You right yourself a little, taking the water from him with your uninjured hand and a soft thanks.

“Oh...here...” he keeps the bottle steady in your hand with a palm under the bottom of it, and the other cracking the seal with a twist. He lifts the bottle to your lips and you take a sip, and then a gulp, “Easy, not too fast.”

The water is cool, and a blessing, you didn’t realise how thirsty you were. When you’ve drank at least half of the bottle, the man puts the cap back on and leaves it in your hold.

“Were you looking for something?” he asks gently, and you nod.

“The homeless shelter...I think I’m lost now, though.”

The man tilts his head, “There aren’t any shelters in this area...you’re on the wrong side of the city if that’s what you were looking for.”

You stare at him for a moment, “...Oh.” The officer really did just say it, then. You’re not sure what to say to the man and you glance around at the street that’s still teeming with the thick fog.

You’re not sure what to say to him, and instead, look around the street for any sign of the shelter even though he’d said there isn’t one.

“I think the fog’s lifting...” The man mumbles. The fog is clearing; it’s easier to see further down the street and the man in front of you. He presses his palms against his knees and stands, looking around for a moment before looking down at you. “There aren’t any shelters around...but...I can help you. If you want, I live a bit that way, and I’ve got an extra room...”

This is a bad idea.

He’s quite tall, on the lean side with long limbs. He’s wearing a long black coat, and his black, suede shoes look just as expensive as the watch that peeks from the end of his sleeve at his wrist. The white tee shirt he wears looks a little billowy, like it would swallow his frame once he takes the coat off. He turns a little and you get to admire the sharp cut of his jaw and the elegant slope of his nose.

“I won’t hurt you or anything. I just want to help.” He says, turning back to you. His eyes are dark, but kind as he offers a hand to help you off the concrete. “I’m Hoseok.”

You take his hand, and there’s nothing in the back of your mind telling you to get away. Nothing in his body language that shows ill intent, and you have to remind yourself that some people are simply kind.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him softly, giving him your name. His smile is soft as he nods, lips turned up slightly at the corners, eyes squinted just a bit.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. It’s a bit late, though, and you’d have to walk a long way to find the shelter...” Hoseok says softly.

You’re still holding his hand, and the warmth of it grounds you. You honestly shouldn’t, really, you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t follow random men promising kindness. He really looks like a good person, quietly waiting for your answer as he gives you chance to change your mind should you wish.

He doesn’t rush you, and briefly you wonder if he doesn’t have anything else to do. He was clearly going about his business before you tackled him, though that word should be used lightly considering you’re the one who ended up on the ground.

“Okay...thank you.” When you finally speak his smile broadens, showing pretty teeth and still holding your hand, he leads you in the direction he was coming from before. You feel a bit bad, turning his night on its head and probably inconveniencing him.

The fog is lighter now, the air not as thick with it as you follow along. Hoseok didn’t talk much, not once mentioning your pitiful state of dress, or asking any questions. You’re grateful, not many people would go out of their way to open their homes to someone without one.

The place he leads you to looks expensive and you feel out of place. The road winds and twists into a residential area with houses and three storey apartments. There are cars parked in driveways, neatly trimmed grass and hedges, a fence around every tree. Lampposts dot the sidewalk every thirty or so steps, casting their orange glows across every surface.

Across from there, the road veers off into a more commercial area, with fancier housing and shops and a tall, looming hotel. The streets are quiet, shops already closed for the night and you wonder what time it is. There doesn’t seem to be anyone around, save for you and Hoseok making your way towards the hotel.

The doors slide open with a little mechanical whir, and you balk at the sheer size of the lobby alone. Light fixtures hang from the ceiling, bouncing their glows off of shiny surfaces. There are red and black lounge seats along a far wall, coffee tables of black tempered glass between them and the single seated chairs across. On the other side of the lobby is a little open cafe area, closed of course, with comfortable looking chairs tucked under tables.

There are two elevators, one of which you assume to be for staff. The reception area is a counter space of smooth looking white marble, though no one sits behind it.

Hoseok leads you to the elevator, pressing the button to call it down. You’ve let go of his hand now, as you take in the sight of the place. You wonder what anyone would think seeing someone like you in here. With your shabby clothes that’s seen better days, your dirty sneakers and backpack that looks like it’s moments away from just splitting apart.

There’s no one to see you, as the elevator comes down and opens with a ding. You catch sight of your reflection in the elevator walls, and grimace, regretting not bracing the cold river earlier. You definitely look homeless, your last bath was exactly two days ago, you look grubby standing just a little bit behind Hoseok. Anyone who would see you now would definitely turn their nose up at you and outright ask what you’re doing in their pristine hotel. Though, there isn’t much you can do to prevent that.

When the doors slide close you focus on the button panel, and next to it is a key card scanner and a button under it. The word penthouse is neatly labelled on the button in little black letters, and Hoseok fishes around his coat to pull out a key card. You blink, of course he lives in the penthouse.

The scanner beeps softly and Hoseok presses the button that glows a soft blue before the elevator lurches slight and ascends.

You fiddle nervously with your fingers in front of you, keeping your eyes on your shoes. There’s a shuffle and Hoseok turns to look at you, he’s smiling kindly again, something like pity woven into it and you feel a coil of shame twist in your chest.

“I’m sorry...” You say without much reason, glancing at him and then back down, “For the trouble.”

“No trouble.” Hoseok says softly, concern on his brow, his hand reaching out but stopping short, as though he’s not sure if he could touch you. You’re surprised he even want to. Heck, you’re surprised he’s doing any of this at all. “Really.”

“Do you usually take in random homeless people?” You ask, and his chuckle is light and teasing.

“Only the cute ones.” He says and then looks a little mortified, “Sorry. I’m kidding. It’s just...you looked like you really needed help...so I’m helping.”

“You’re very kind.” You murmur and offer a smile.

He smiles back, not as brightly as his other ones, it curls his mouth less, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He nods, “I try to be.”

The elevator slows to a stop, doors sliding open to a little well-lit hallway. On the other end of the hall is a wide pane of glass that overlooks the city lights, twinkling in a dance of their own making, and an emergency exit sign jutting out of the wall. You follow Hoseok out of the elevator towards the door which he unlocks with a password — the beeps loud in the quiet — the door opens with a soft thunk and a beep and he lets you walk in first.

The lights are on, as though he’d only planned to be out for a moment. You’re not too sure what to do with yourself now that you’re here, staring at Hoseok’s back unsurely as he takes his shoes off and tucks them neatly on a shoe rack.

He turns to face you, “I don’t mean anything by this, so please don’t misunderstand...”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

He seems to weigh his words carefully, “Do you want to take a bath?”

You flush, yeah, you surely look grubby enough for him to ask that. It’s warranted, so, you’re not upset that he asked. You’d actually love to, when was the last time you took a bath that wasn’t in the freezing river?

Still though, it’s embarrassing. So you nod silently, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He says, looking genuinely relieved. “You can leave your stuff here and I’ll take care of everything.”

“Okay...” You step out of your shoes, nudging them in a corner before you take your bag off and set it down. The clothes you have are still damp, stuffed in a plastic bag somewhere in the depths of your tattered backpack and Hoseok doesn’t give you a moment before he’s leading you through his home.

The chill of the grey tiled floor runs up your legs through your thin, threadbare socks. You don’t have much time to look around, but you’re aware you’ve passed an open space kitchen and living room, splashes of white, reds and black in the corner of your vision.

He lets you into the bathroom, “Use whatever you need. The towels and things are in the cabinet.”

You turn to face him, “I really can’t thank you enough.” You say earnestly, and he waves you off, turning to leave and shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“I’ll bring you some clothes that you could use.” He says through the door, his voice muffled. You thank him again and his footsteps trail away.

You turn and glance around the bathroom, floor to ceiling glass panes makes up the furthest wall. Before it is a porcelain bathtub that could easily fit three people, on a raised platform of white stained marble, and that platform on another, creating a single step up in order to get into the tub. The colour of the platforms compliments the dark reflective marble floor. The undersides of the platforms are lined with what you assume must be LED lights, glowing a pale white along the bottom.

The same LEDs line the back of the large wall mounted mirror, giving it an ominous glow. Below the mirror is a dark granite sink with a faucet you’re not even sure how to turn on. The cabinet below the sink house only cleaning supplies, and you look around for the towel space.

The shower takes up nearly the whole wall it’s connected to, frosted glass and jets embedded into the wall.

You walk over to the shower and realise that was wall beside it sorts of curve and you let out a surprised sound when you walk the short way towards the back of it. The ‘cabinet’ is more of a little walk-in closet, there’s a few fluffy looking bathrobes sorted by length and colour, and towels and washcloths stacked on shelves that match.

Under those are neat little space savers filled with bath oils and shower gels, sweet scented candles tucked into corners. Bar soaps and toilet paper on their own shelves at the bottom, unopened toothbrushes and what have you.

There’s enough room to turn full circle without bumping into anything if you step into it. But you look at your hands and decide to not touch anything until they're clean.

So you walk back out to the sink, frowning at the faucet with no visible way to turn it on; it’s just a sleek piece of metal that curves back into the basin. You look at it to and fro and wave your hand under it, startling slightly when water sprays from the faucet. You hold your hand away and it turns off after a moment. Now, your parents had money but it wasn’t anything like this.

You can’t imagine the cost of this place.

You find hand soap after peeking into the cabinet below the sink again, taking your time to thoroughly wash your hands clean. It’s hard to see the dirt go down the drain against the dark granite, but you’re grateful. You inspect your hands once your done, and finally allow yourself to touch Hoseok’s things. You take a towel down from the shelf, the one that’s at the top of the pile. It’s a nice pale yellow, and near the bottom right corner is a little blue butterfly embroidered into the fabric. After a little debate with yourself, you pull the washcloth that matches from its pile.

You set the towel on the closed lid of the toilet, and strip out of your clothes. You fold them neatly and set them on the floor along with your socks, stuffing your underwear into the pocket of your jacket. You step into the shower and pull the door shut behind you.

You turn the knobs and adjust the water so that’s it not too hot, and for a moment, you simply stand there. The water flows over your skin in rivulets, washing away the sweat and grime of the past two days. You try not to take too long, but made sure that you’re thoroughly scrubbed clean. You try not to use too much of Hoseok’s things, even though he’d told you to use whatever you needed.

You’re not sure how long you were in there, how long you stood letting the water wash away your tears as well.

When you step out, steam billowing put behind you, you wiggle your toes into the fluffy cotton mat under you, wrapping the towel around your form. It feels nice to be clean, skin feeling a little raw from the hot water. You tiptoe to the door and ease it open, and it pushes lightly against a bundle of folded clothes on the ground. Next to it, a pair of warm looking house slippers that you shuffle into immediately after drying your feet.

The clothes: a dark grey long sleeve crew neck tee that hangs just a little off one shoulder, a pair of boxer shorts still in it’s wrapping, and long fleece lined sweatpants that you have to fold at your ankles.

Near the door is a towel rack where you hang the towel you used to dry, and after taking a breath, you step out of the bathroom.

You walk back the way Hoseok led you, and the air is prickled with the scent of freshly made food and it makes you wonder just how long you took in the bathroom.

The kitchen is a wide space, between the area that makes up the entrance hallway is a kitchen island, and much like everything else you’ve seen, is a long, polished slab of dark marble. There’s a sink in the middle, sleek and silver and soft white light comes from the fixings above it. Across from that is a large refrigerator, an electric stove and more counter space. There are a few scattered appliances, a coffee maker and a small espresso machine tucked under a cupboard over them, and a blender with something or the other in it.

Hoseok stands with his back to you, he turns slightly, looking over his shoulder and startles.

“Oh – shit.” He laughs softly, “Hey, was your bath okay?”

“Sorry...” You apologize for scaring him and he waves you off, turning to face you fully. He scans your form but there’s nothing odd in the action, and he nods to himself at whatever he was looking for. “Oh, yeah. My bath was okay, thank you.”

“Dinner’s ready if you...oh...” he glances to the side, back to you and then to whatever he’s got going on the stovetop. “...This might be too heavy for you right now...” He murmurs to himself, a hand scratching at the back of his neck. He looks sheepish, a little guilty about something he didn’t consider.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll eat whatever it is.” You’re not about to make him waste his food, or be impolite.

“Okay, well.” He presses a button on the stove panel, turning to the island. There’s the sound of a drawer opening and he pulls out a kitchen towel, smiling at you. He nods his head to the right, where, tucked to the wall is a modest sized wooden table. There’re two plates of what he’s made already there, and tall glasses of water. “Go ahead.”

You walk over to the table, pulling out the chair to sit. Dinner is creamy mashed potatoes, a hearty portion of steamed mixed veggies and steak that’s somehow done to your liking and already cut into pieces. Your mouth waters at the sight and it smells so good you could cry. Hoseok isn’t finished at the island, so you busy yourself with folding the sleeves of your borrowed tee-shirt up and out of the way.

When he comes over he frowns a little, “You didn’t have to wait, dove.” He takes his seat opposite you, “Please, eat.”

The random pet name flies over your head, not that you would’ve been bothered by it had you been paying attention. Hoseok was kind enough to open his home to you, let you use his things and now he’s feeding you. He could call you whatever he likes.

You murmur a thank you and dig into your food. The sound you make when you take the first bite borders on erotic, but your gracious host doesn’t seem to mind very much. There’s a pleased glint in his eyes and a small curl to his mouth as he watches you eat for a moment.

You’re too hungry to be embarrassed by the intensity of his stare, but you’re mindful to not choke or look like you left your manners somewhere at your feet.

The food settles in your stomach, heavy but it’s a feeling you welcome. You could barely remember the last time you had a full meal. The bite you swallow brings the odd feeling of it slowing down behind your sternum, and you take a long drink of the cold water Hoseok had set out for you.

The man himself barely touched his own food, seemingly content to watch you scarf yours down. He has his chin propped in his hand, a small curl to the corner of his mouth and a glint of something in his eyes.

“Thank you...for the food.” You stare at your plate, drizzled with gravy and what’s left of your dinner. You can’t meet his gaze and you’re not certain why, and the intensity of it is starting to gnaw on your senses.

“No need for thanks, little dove.” Hoseok says, and there’s a soft clink when he finally picks his fork up and it knocks against the round rim of the plate. “Just doing my good deed for the day.”

The pet name strikes you this time, no longer distracted by the delicious food and your rumbling tummy. The way it rolls off his tongue sends a shiver racing down your spine, one that was decidedly unpleasant. There’s something in his tone, the way he stares when you raise your eyes to meet his, something in his beautiful heart shaped smile.

The fine hairs at the back of your neck raises, and you’re back to feeling like a bunny in a fox’s burrow. It was the same feeling you’d gotten earlier in the strange fog; the primal sense that you’re no longer the apex.

Something like a bell jingles in the back of your mind and grows louder until its a wailing alarm.

You should leave. Thank him for being so kind and get as far away from him as possible.

The look in his eyes unnerves you, but it’s something you can’t put a finger on. Just off the edge of his form something flutters, a shadow that shouldn’t be there, but it’s gone so quickly you didn’t have time to focus on it. The feeling intensifies; tugging, now.

You don’t think he’s blinked.

A shudder runs through you, rippling along your skin like a shockwave and Hoseok is calling your name.

“Are you okay?” there’s concern on his brow, his unoccupied hand raised in a wave as though he’s been trying to get your attention for a while. “Do you feel sick?”

“N... no. I’m fine, thank you.” You try to smile, but you’re pretty certain it looks as strained as it feels. He was almost done eating, though he’s paused to asses you with furrowed brows. You feel like you’ve missed something in the past minute.

“I asked if you wanted more food but you just blanked on me.” Hoseok sets his fork down and you feel like you’re losing your mind. The feeling from before is gone, and you’re not even certain if you felt it in the first place. Maybe you’re tired, or maybe the feeling of the comforts you’ve missed for so long is messing with your head.

Hoseok looks perfectly normal, there’s nothing flickering at his back or anything odd in his stare.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sure.” You don’t feel certain, and if Hoseok noticed he didn’t comment on it. You pick up the fork again, scraping up the little left of your food onto it quietly. You feel strange, as though the past two minutes moved by too quickly, or like they happened weeks ago and you’re struggling to cling to the details of them.

Hoseok is focused on his plate, and uncertainty at the hope that he keeps his eyes there blooms in your chest. You’re not sure why.

It’s awkwardly quiet for a couple moments, with Hoseok finishing his meal and you, playing with the folded ends of your borrowed tee-shirt. When he was done, he takes the plates and the empty glasses to the sink to clean them and you sit idly at the table.

He’s drying his hands with a dark kitchen towel when he’s done, settling at the edge of the island and facing you. The overhead lights glow against his form, casting shadows along his visage that makes him look sharper; menacing. It clings to his hair like a depiction of something holy, making his dark hair look russet in the gleam.

You go to thank him again, even though he’d probably wave you off like he’s been doing the whole time, but the lights are too bright. The glow of the lights swells and flood your eyes, you squeeze them shut, trying to dispel the ache that comes with it. You turn your head and it feels like you’re neck deep in mud, it takes too much effort to do something so simple.

Panic wells in your chest, sending your heart kicking against your ribs harshly. You take a breath, well, you try, but it gets stuck somewhere in your throat and you choke on it.

There’s two Hoseoks when you peel your eyes open, and they neatly fold the towel they were using and put it down. For a minute, your vision settles, and the man leans against the island nonchalantly, crossing his arms and tilting his head as he watches you spiral.

“You should try to calm down.” He says softly, and you hate the way you cling to the sound of his voice when it’s very clear what’s happening.

“Wh...” Your tongue feels heavy, and the words you try to say are slurred and unintelligible. You move to stand, trying to get away even when your limbs feel like there’s a ball and chains at the ends of them. The world tilts on an axis, doubling as you make to your feet, you’re not sure if it’s leaning or you are.

Hoseok reaches you in a single step and a strangled sound escapes you. He places a hand on your shoulder, gently guiding you back into the chair. “Don’t worry. It’s nothing your body can’t handle.”

You can barely hear him, your ears feel as though there’s cotton in them, reducing his words to a muddled murmur. You can’t feel the way his fingers curl into the hair at your nape, but you notice the shift as he tilts your heavy head back to look up at him.

He’s smiling, you think. Pretty and heart shaped, all white teeth and sinister. And there’s that feeling again, as he says something you can’t hear, can’t focus, your eyes are closing.

There’s something dark and broken that flickers against the light above his head and shadows that dance at his back.

When the morning came and you didn’t wake, Hoseok wasn’t too concerned. He watched over you as once was his duty to another, tucked you into the sheets and the blankets and let you sink into the warmth of them. He sits in a chair at your bedside, simply watching the rise and fall of your chest and the pinch of your brow as sweat beads upon it.

Your body is fighting hard to flush out what he put in, and he admits, he may have given you a bit too much of it. It wasn’t his intention, but nothing can be done now but wait for you to come to.

When the afternoon comes and the first sign of your conscious shows in a weak attempt to rouse yourself, and a jumble of words that Hoseok deciphers with a well-trained ear it; was clear you weren’t fully there yet. Your skin was too warm, eyes not nearly focused enough, barely looking at him, and then the contents of your stomach come in a rush of bile and acid.

Hoseok tends to you gently, patiently, taking you to the bath and settling you in a way so that you don’t slip under and drown in your unconscious state. He cleans your mess, changes the bedding, puts you in a fresh set of clothes and lays you back to rest.

You stay asleep throughout the day, and Hoseok isn’t too concerned.

Humans are such fragile, foolish things. To him, you’re a porcelain doll, pretty to stare at and admire if it sits on the top of a shelf behind a case. Take it out of that case and it’s so easily broken. Hoseok is like a child in a sandbox of his own creation with too much power in his fingers. If he isn’t careful, he could shatter your form and lose you to the dunes.

The fear you felt the night before played you directly into his hands – never mind he had nothing to do with it – and Hoseok knows, you don’t have to be inclined to feel the weight of his presence. Your mind knew that something wasn’t quite right -- unconsciously or not --, and yet, you willingly followed.

Foolish.

Though, it was purely coincidental that you ran into him, he had been on his way to somewhere and wondering about the strangeness of the fog that rolled in out of nowhere. He hadn’t missed the weird quiet and lack of people either, it hadn’t been that late.

He doesn’t know exactly what you were doing in it, running around the way you were like a mouse in a maze. It’s something that sits at the back of his mind.

The morning of the second day brought no change; you were in and out of your drug induced sleep, and now, Hoseok was a little concerned.

“How much did you give her?”

There’s a squeak of leather as Seungcheol crosses his arms, when it’s quiet for far too long he gives Hoseok a look.

“A little.”

Seungcheol leans over your sleeping form, raising a hand to rest against your forehead. Hoseok would think you were dead if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of your chest.

“If it was a little, you wouldn’t have called.” Seungcheol says, shaking his head, the dark waves of his hair brushing his eyelashes.

“Well, she’s not dead.”

“Dude.” Seungcheol looks a little disturbed, straightening to stare at Hoseok with a displeased furrow in his brow. “You can’t just – humans have limitations.”

“I’m aware, Cheol. Thank you.” Hoseok grumbles, and he ignores the raise of Seungcheol’s eyebrow and the clear disbelief in his eyes.

“‘Course you are.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs lowly, he turns back to you, placing his hand on your forehead again until the tension in your face fades. “Don’t give her any more of that shit. She should wake up sometime today, maybe.”

Hoseok knows better than anyone the limitations of humans. Not that he acknowledges them, he hadn’t the need to in a long time, but he should be careful at least.

Hoseok leads the way out of his guest bedroom with Seungcheol following and closing the door gently behind him. Walking to the kitchen he could feel his eyes burning into the back of his head.

Hoseok takes his time, fetching a glass from one of his cupboards and the whisky he keeps stashed away for his more stressful days. “Spit it out.”

Seungcheol braces his arms on the other side of the island, eyes dark. “Hoseok. I normally don’t care what you get up to; it’s not my business.” He says, looking somewhere to Hoseok’s right. “You don’t fuck around with humans. Who’s the girl?”

Hoseok hums, looking down at the amber liquid in his glass with a contemplative stare. “Street urchin. No one anyone would miss or bother to look for.”

“So you just took her off the street?” Seungcheol frowns, but Hoseok could tell from the look in his eyes that he knows it’s not that simple.

“She came willingly.” Hoseok corrects, taking a sip of the alcohol he could barely taste.

He sets the glass down on the island and pours the whisky to fill half. Seungcheol is quiet, and Hoseok hates it. It gives his mind a moment to wonder, to open a box he’s kept locked and chained.

On most days, Hoseok barely knows himself. He remembers what he’s supposed to be – what he was – and sometimes, that part of him rears its head to fight with what he’s become. Wings dipped in gold and divinity at the end of his fingertips battle endlessly with the shadows that encased him.

A memory of a time he held something as fragile as glass in his hands, broken before he could properly hold it by someone who was supposed to keep it safe. The ache of it burns like a rash that never goes away, always there, only hiding under his skin until it flares up again.

“Just... don’t do anything stupid.” Seungcheol says after a while, watching Hoseok carefully.

“You and your moral compass.” Hoseok shakes his head, and just like that, the golden light is bundled up tightly and pushed back into the corner where he long hid it.

Seungcheol heaves a sigh, shaking his head, picking up his bag he threw on the island counter when he got here.

“I need you to do something for me.” Hoseok says, watching the light shine through the glass in pretty crystal shapes. There’s a furrow of Seungcheol’s brows, but he tells Hoseok to continue with a raise of his chin. “Keep an eye out for a fog.”

“A fog? Why?”

“She was in one the night before.” Hoseok sucks air in through his teeth, “and she wasn’t alone.”

Seungcheol hums, “Alright.”

Hoseok drinks the last of the whisky in one go and waves a hand at Seungcheol, “You can go now.”

“Thank you, Cheol. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” Seungcheol grumbles and then raps his knuckles against the countertop. “I’ll be over here for a few days, gotta sort some things out. Call if you need me.”

Hoseok watches him leave, stuffing his hands into his pocket as he walks back to the bedroom where you still lay asleep.

He sits on the chair, watching the rise and fall of your chest, every minute twitch of your facial features. Restlessness tugs at his limbs as the sun makes its descent western sky, spraying the dimming canvas in hues of lilac and peach.

Something in the back of his mind asks what exactly he’s doing. There was no reason – there wasn’t a reason for him to take you in. A sprout of boredom, maybe, or something involuntary.

Hoseok stares out the window at the slowly darkening sky and the soft glimmer of early evening stars, until the sky is navy and darkness clings to the room.

Your mouth feels like someone’s stuffed cotton in it, and your throat feels like sandpaper when you try to swallow.

You haven’t opened your eyes, laying on what you presume is a bed, if the softness beneath you was anything to go by.

There’s not much that you remember, even as the fog in your mind clears little by little. You remember eating, you remember feeling strange like someone had shrunk you and shook you around in a jar of water. You remember the fear that quickened your heart and your breaths and Hoseok, standing above you like a malevolent God.

You remember the strangeness of his form, and even now your mind can’t comprehend it. You’re not even certain if what you saw was actually real and not an effect of whatever Hoseok had drugged you with.

Drugged.

He drugged you.

Your eyes open and the room is dark. The blankets are thick and heavy and they make you feel warm. There’s a window to your far left, curtains drawn back to show the city in all it’s glory.

Slowly, you sit up, pushing yourself upwards on arms that feel a little weak, and find – to your horror – the clothes you were wearing before aren’t what you’re wearing now.

You take a breath before the panic could set in. You could feel it rolling under your skin like a rumble of thunder before rain, and you try your best to stay calm. You need to find a way out of here.

The apartment seems to be quiet as you slide your feet out of the bed and onto the floor. You barely register the chill of it when you stand, sock-less feet making it easier to sneak over to the door without making a sound. You don’t know where Hoseok put your things, and you don’t have time to go looking for them.

The door isn’t locked, and doesn’t make noise when you push it open slightly to peek out through the little gap you made. You recognise the hallway, the bathroom is two doors down on the other side, and opening the door a little more, you poke your head out tentatively.

You don’t breathe as you listen, but it’s so quiet, so much so that your exhale seems too loud, and there’s a soft ringing in your ears that set you on edge. Stepping outside the room, you contemplate your next course of action: You can bolt right for the door and get out, but risk making too much noise if Hoseok is indeed here. Or, you can slowly and quietly make your way over and slip out without cluing your kidnapper in on your escape.

Can it be called kidnapping if you were living on the streets?

The door seems miles away as you inch slowly towards the open kitchen and living room area. There are a few lights on, the same LED lighting strips run along the edge of the large pane windows and glows an ominous blue and the lights over the marble island had been dimmed. Both rooms seem empty and you couldn’t be more thankful.

Like a mouse, you skitter across along the hallway space that divides the two, down the little platform at the entrance and take one more step towards the door.

The door that seems further back than it was a second ago.

The stretch of space that was just an arm’s length away was now more than a hallway’s length. You stand still and stare at it, reaching an arm out in case you’re suddenly tripping balls but your hand swipes through air and falls limply at your side.

You look behind you and the rooms and hallway are just as they were, and turning back, the door was right where it was before. You could’ve sworn there was a handle on it. You place your palm against the cool, smooth surface where the handle should be and in the face of your freedom thwarted, you pinch your thigh.

You must be dreaming. The pain flares and grounds you and you realise there’s no explanation for this. You’re wide awake. Still drugged then. But you feel fine. There’s no swirling vision or heavy limbs, your mouth doesn’t feel like someone squeezed glue into it; you’re fine. This doesn’t make sense.

You back away from the door and almost stumble against the raised ledge behind your heels. Steadying yourself with a hand against the wall, you turn, and immediately, notice the darkness of the hallway.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart slams so harshly against your sternum it hurt. There’s that feeling again, it sends a shiver racing down your spine and scattering goosebumps along your skin. You’re being watched. You are not the apex here.

You want to run, or curl up into a ball and hope the darkness hides you. Fear coils into your muscles and locks them tight, and you’re left standing still, eyes darting around trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark.

There’s a darkness that curls at the center of the space a few feet away from you, undulating and crashing in on itself in an uncoordinated dance of chaos. It’s somehow darker than the darkness – stands out against it like white on black paint. It doesn’t make sense to you, and it could simply be your mind turning against you and scaring you further.

It slowly floats towards you, wraps around you in a languid, bored way, like smoke, no longer as tangible as it seemed before. You don’t feel it’s caress, but it’s cold, like you’d submerged yourself into a tub full of ice and water. You feel as though you’ll pass out, like the black wisps of strange smoke is filling your lungs and carving its way through. There’s fear, which is yours, and something that isn’t.

Something dark and lonely, desperate and afraid. It’s sad, so sad that you feel like you’ll drown in it, that tears would well in your eyes and squeeze your throat tight. There’s anger. It feels as though you can burn the world and revel in it.

The smoke snaps back and away from you, crumples on itself violently and then the lights are on, blinding you.

Hoseok is standing in front of you. There’s a mix of conflicted emotions on his face like he can’t settle on one before the storm in his eyes calm.

There’s a tenseness to his brow, and he studies you quietly with a tilt of his head.

“You’re awake.”

He takes one step forward and you take two back in turn. His eyes dart down to your feet and quickly back to your face, and draws the foot he put forward back to himself.

“I won’t hurt you.”

You scoff before you could help it, fear pushed slightly to the side as your anger rushes forward. “Right. Like I’ll believe that after you fucking drugged me.”

“Like I said, it was nothing your body couldn’t handle.” Hoseok counters calmly, “If I wanted to hurt you, you’d be dead.”

“Then why am I here? What do you want?” His threat didn’t go unheard, it settles into your mind and buries itself underneath everything else you’re trying to absorb for you to freak out about later.

Hoseok smiles, and its bright in its visage, every bit of sweet and caring as you thought him to be. Dimples you haven’t noticed before sinks into his laugh lines, and you think briefly, it makes him even more dangerous. He looks so harmless, as his smile blossoms and blooms into the heart shape you remember from the night before.

“Just you.” He says, eyes glinting with something you’ve decided is more than a little crazy.

You take another step back and he remains in his spot. If you’re quick enough – just enough – you can make it to the door. You might be able to outrun him.

“You can leave if you like.” He says, like he could tell what you’re thinking – or read your mind – and his smile fades, like a raincloud swelling and covering the warm rays of the sun. “Can’t guarantee you’d get very far, so I advise against it.”

You’re not sure if he’s being honest. Though, he looks pretty damn serious. He stares at you quietly, intensely, like he’s daring you to make that mistake. You hazard a look at the door behind you and the handle is still gone.

“What are you?” you ask, turning to face him and he’s directly in front of you. The startled squeak that leaves you makes him chuckle. Bending at his waist, Hoseok stares right into your eyes and you feel like your heart might just burst out of your chest and take off running.

Bunny in a fox’s burrow.

“Hm.” He hums, “Now you’re asking questions.” He straightens with a smile and steps aside, gesturing to the kitchen with a slight nod of his head. “I’ll tell you eventually. For now though, you should eat.”

You stay rooted to your spot and decide that if he wants you to move, he’s going to have to move you himself. He’s insane if he thinks you’d be eating anything he gives you.

“Come now, dove. Don’t be that way.” He sighs, stares at you for a moment later before nodding. He turns on his heel and walks into the kitchen without you.

There’re the soft clangs of him moving things around, doing whatever he’s doing in there.

“You’ve been unconscious for two days, and you’ve been sick. You shouldn’t be standing.” You hear him say from the kitchen, and you think you could make another attempt at the door but the handle is still missing, so you have no choice but to go.

You eye him suspiciously when you enter, watching as he butters a piece of toast and puts it on a plate. He doesn’t look at you as you hover unsurely at the dining table, watching the lights catch on the dark marble island counter.

“I won’t give you anything to drink. Get it yourself if you’re worried I’d try something.” He says softly, and not unkind. There’s a shift in his tone and the way his body moves as he brings the plate over. You feel like the man who was standing in front of you a couple of minutes ago in the hallway had hidden himself away and the man you’d met on the street had crawled his way back to the surface.

He sets it down on the table and walks back around the island, opposite from where you’re standing, and out of the kitchen.

You’ve been here for two days – whatever he’d given you must have been strong as hell – trapped here with...him. You’re certain you can’t call him a man, he’s something more than that and you won’t know until he tells you. Most of the memory of the night you came here are blurry and frayed at the edges, making them impossible to cling to and analyse.

There was something strange in the moments before the drug kicked in and right before you passed out. Something strange about Hoseok, but you can’t seem to recall it. It’s like it happened years ago.

The inconsistencies of your memory leave you on edge, and you eye the two slices of perfectly buttered toast on the plate. He’s given you something light enough that your stomach won’t be upset. As the thought comes to mind you faintly remember being sick at some point, but that too is fuzzy and you aren’t sure if its real. At least now the change of clothes makes sense, though, it doesn’t make you feel any better. He could’ve done anything to you while you were drugged and unconscious.

You wonder what he could possibly want with you. Why you, of all people? You’re just a girl who had everything taken from her and thrown off the ladder, now at rock bottom fending for yourself. There’s nothing left of you that could be given.

You feel Hoseok’s presence before you see him, a sort of odd pressure in the back of your mind and your chest. He pokes his head into the room like he’s checking to see if you’d started eating or not and doesn’t look surprised to see you’d left the toast untouched and you’re still standing.

“The toast is fine, you know.” He says, and there’s an understanding in his eyes when he looks at you. He knows you don’t trust him, though, he doesn’t seem too bothered by it. He sighs when you don’t make a move and comes into the kitchen. He takes the same route as before, walking around the opposite side of the island – away from you – until he’s standing at the other side of table.

“Okay.” He says, picking up one of the toast slices, he bites into it and stares at you while he chews. “Make something yourself then.”

You blink, “Huh?”

“The bread is in the fridge if you want. There’re oats if you prefer that instead. Stick to light things. I’d rather not be cleaning up after you.” You don’t understand him. In the short time you’ve known him, he’s like a square that’s trying to fit into a circle. The circle is too round to accommodate his sharp edges, but he somehow manages to get just half of the square through, even if the circle is struggling to contain it.

Not to mention the weird things that’s happened within the half hour you’ve been awake, things he’s yet to explain to you. Matter of fact, strange things has been happening since you left Abigail. The police officer, the fog, and whatever the hell was out there in it with you. You’re not even sure if that was real either.

You feel like if you focus on it, you’ll go crazy. So your mind does the only thing it can do to protect itself – pushes it away into a corner to mull over later along with everything else.

“I’d rather not.” You no longer feel the need to show him gratitude. You feel stupid, for one, why did you think trusting a random stranger would be a good thing?

Hoseok shrugs, dropping the half-eaten toast back onto the plate. He walks around you, close enough that the hairs on the back of your neck stands on end, that the warning bells are going crazy in your head again.

It’s uncomfortable being this close. The reaction is visceral, unable to ignore and you wonder why you hadn’t felt it the night before. Why you’d manage to follow him all the way here and not noticed. Maybe you had, briefly and in little moments that were small enough for you to brush them off.

You watch him watch you as he circles you like a vulture, “What are you?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was human?” He asks from behind you, and it feels like a terrible idea to have your back to him. He sounds amused, like this is nothing but a little game to him – just something to pass time while he’s bored.

As he rounds your right, your eyes meet the darkness of his. “You’re not.” It would be strange if you still thought he was after everything that’s happened already.

Hoseok hums, a twinkle lighting his eyes, “Perceptive, aren’t we?” There’s something like pride in his voice but you’re not sure what it’s for, “What do you think I am?”

“You expect me to guess correctly?” The difference in your height does nothing to stop you from glaring at him. He tilts his head at you, dark locks of his hair swaying against his forehead gently.

“No.” Hoseok smiles, “But it’ll make things interesting. I like games; play along.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his tone and the darkness in his eyes. He takes a step away from you and it feels like you can finally take a breath. His movements are fluid as he pulls the dining chair out from below the table. He sits gracefully, propping his chin in his palm as he watches you expectantly.

“Do you want a hint?” He asks, smiling sweetly.

“Why don’t you just tell me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You’re tired of whatever game he’s playing at, sick of the fear that keeps you standing still as he stares you down.

He stares at you like you’re a complex puzzle he’s trying to piece together. “I used to be an angel. Fallen from grace.”

You’d laugh at the absurdity of his words, but he has that look again. He has that look that makes you believe him, and everything seems to click into place and make sense, even if you barely understand it at all.

“Okay.” You nod, and then take a seat. You focus on the gentle waves of his dark hair and not his eyes, “Why am I here? Why can’t I leave?”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t. You can if you want to. I said that I can’t guarantee you’d get far; You weren’t alone out in that fog.”

You’d almost forgotten about that. Recent happenings had been enough to push it to the back of your mind. You knew you weren’t losing your mind that night, something had definitely chased you and you’re positive it wasn’t a regular animal.

“But that’s another topic.” Hoseok mumbles, more to himself than you, and it looks as though his thoughts strayed elsewhere for a moment before he focused. “You should be thanking me.” He says, tilting his head to meet your gaze with a smile.

He couldn’t be seriously wanting you to thank him. For what? Saving you? For all you know it could’ve been one of his tricks. Why would you thank him? He says that you could leave if you like – him messing with you since you woke up says otherwise. He’s not actually giving you a choice. You’re not going anywhere unless he lets you.

When you remain silent, he leans forward, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips. “There’s nothing for you out there, though.”

You know he’s right. But that doesn’t justify what he’s doing. You assume he doesn’t care, if you were him, you wouldn’t feel the need to abide by law either.

You’d never been much for fantasy stories, growing up you were well aware that they were just that – stories. Your parents weren’t very religious, but you’d say grace before meals, pray before you go to sleep and when you woke up. Your parents would sometimes quote the bible when you were being naughty and every now and again you’d find yourself in a church for Sunday mas.

Your father used to say that the bible is a book of stories and lessons, and even if you aren’t to abide strictly by it, you should at least heed it. There’s someone up above, watching always.

The angels in the bible were described differently than the man before you, you think. Can angels really do things so bad that it gets them casted out?

Did he do something bad that got him sent here like some wayward child sent off to boot camp?

Even if a part of you is ever doubtful, his existence proves the existence of a higher being and you have some choice words for them.

In the days that go by, you remain wary of Hoseok. You don’t trust him, but you appreciate him letting you hover about him anytime he makes you something to eat. He makes everything from scratch and you wonder most of the time if it’s a skill he just has or was it something he had to hone on his own.

He barely bothers you, goes about his business, which really, entails him sitting in the living room and ignoring you.

Some days is another story entirely. You came to realise quickly that Hoseok is fond of games, usually at your expense. A shadow following you here, whispers that come from no where and bounces off the walls.

There are moments when you catch glimpses of something out of the corner of your eye – a figure lurking in the darkness, just beyond your line of sight. When you turn to look, there’s nothing there, leaving you to wonder if it was ever really there at all. You’ve seen shit at the corner of your vision way too many times for it to be a coincidence. You try to brush them off as tricks of the mind, but deep down, you know it’s not that simple.

Hoseok is always there when it happens, some sort of mirth in his eyes like your suffering is amusing.

The feeling of being watched becomes a constant presence, a weight on your shoulders that you can’t shake no matter how hard you try. Every time you turn around, you half expect to find Hoseok lurking in the shadows, a smug smirk playing on his lips as he revels in your discomfort.

For the first week it’s been this way, and when the second week started, he’d leave at one point during the day. Bored of you most likely, not that you’re complaining; at least he was no longer trying to send you crazy.

He’d give you the same instruction he did the night be brought you, use anything you need with additions of ‘Don’t cause trouble’ and ‘Stay put’. You always roll your eyes at that, the door remains the same; missing it’s handle. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to.

You would stand in the living room, which looks much like the rest of Hoseok’s penthouse apartment; sleek and dark. There’s a few accents of white and red, black leather couches and clear glass tables. A flat screen TV you’ve never seen used mounted on the wall, a fluffy white rug covering the space between it and the couch. You’ve seen no other electronics besides that, nothing that you can use to contact anyone.

He’d left you things to occupy your time – like you’re a child – books and puzzles and what have you. And you found that the TV works if you become bored of the other things.

Weirdly enough, there’s people outside and below, unlike the night you came when it looked like a ghost town. You can see the glint of the sun bouncing off of shiny cars driving in and out of the hotel’s compound. Little people walking around as they go about their days, oblivious to your plight.

Sometimes you would hear someone out in the hallway beyond the door, like someone coming to clean and you would bang on the door and be as loud as you possibly could. It’s like you’re a ghost. You asked him about that once, and he told you that he can mimic spaces, make it seems as though something is or isn’t there.

Sometimes Hoseok would come back from his little excursions and be as normal as he could be. He’d talk to you like he isn’t holding you captive, ask you about what you did for the day as though there’s a million and one things you could do while there. You’d answer as to not be on the wrong side of him, even though it’s clear that he doesn’t quite mind you not saying anything back. He’d ask you what you’d like for dinner, and he’d eat with you.

On days like those it feels... normal. You feel comfortable and the nature of the situation escapes you. Like this had been your life for as long as you could remember. And sometimes you think, that maybe, if things were different. If perhaps he hadn’t kidnapped you, ‘helping’ you or otherwise. Maybe if your life had gone a little differently and you’d met him under different circumstances...then maybe.

Sometimes on those days he’d sit quietly as you give him little pieces of you; telling him about your childhood and not so important things. He’d clear the coffee table to put a puzzle together and ask you to help him with it.

Some days he’d come back and he wouldn’t be in a good mood. He’d stand and brood at the large windows looking out, lost in thought. On those days he’d look gone, vacant, as though whatever going on in his head was paramount to the reality around him. His eyes are sad then, and he’d be so quiet you’d forget he’s there. He’d make dinner, and he would not eat.

On days like those, if you wake at night and venture out of your room, you’d find Hoseok as you did the night you first woke up. A swirling ball of shadows and smoke somewhere about, and the lights are always off. It scares the hell out of you every time. It reminds you of what he is, despite the nature of his existence, there’s something very dark about him. He scares you mostly, even when he’s being nice, it’s unnerving. You’d try to stay clear of him then.

Something in your mind had been made aware that he is beyond your understanding. He’s stronger and faster than you, can do things that makes your brain grind to a halt trying to process. Sometimes it feels like he’s in your head, watching your every move and surveying your every thought. It scares you.

On days like those, the last thing you want to do is sleep.

Sleep evades you and when you do finally catch it, your dreams are wrought with nightmares of shadows and screams and blood. Sometimes Hoseok is there and he’s less kind than he’s ever been, and you’re lost in darkness and can’t find your way out.

Sometimes it’s a man with red hair lurking at the corners of them, smiling and taunting you. You feel like you could never escape them, like your dreams lasts the entire night and leave you exhausted when you wake up.

The room you woke up in so long ago was yours; Hoseok stays clear of it and never enters without knocking. One day Hoseok had brought you clothes you’re certain costs more than your life, they’re mostly comfort clothes as you have nowhere to be at no point in time. From sweaters to tee-shirts, lounge pants to bicycle shorts and an assortment of underwear that made you scowl at him.

That day you asked him just how long he was going to keep you captive – he didn’t much like the use of that word, prefers ‘keeping you safe’. He told you about the mysterious animal that chased you in the fog, that he and a friend are looking into it and reminds you that you wouldn’t get very far should you leave. You reminded him that he’s not letting you go anywhere.

You stare up at the ceiling, counting the swirling pattern from one corner to the next. You’ve lost count of them every time and you’ve lost count on just how long you’ve been here. Hoseok remains the same, fluctuating between rivalling the sun and being the moon that sometimes eclipse it.

It’s the morning of yet another day, and you can hear Hoseok moving about already. Sometimes you wonder if he ever sleeps...does he need sleep? He eats...that much is for certain, so by any rate he functions partially human.

You sigh softly, getting out of bed and shuffling your feet to the house slippers Hoseok gave to you. There’s the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen, the sound of Hoseok moving about, and it sounds like he’s in a good mood if his humming is anything to go by.

You wash up for the morning and get changed before carrying yourself out to the kitchen.

Hoseok looks devastatingly domestic and the smile he directs at you is enough to send your mind haywire. These past few days has been confusing for you. Though the initial fear you felt for him was there, lately, it’s been less. You’ve found yourself missing him when he goes off to do whatever he does during the day and you’re excited when he comes back. You’re chalking up the reason for that being that he’s the only person you’ve been in contact with for possibly a month or two.

On some of the days where he would come back and be less than happy, and the lights go out like they’re scheduled to and Hoseok is no longer tangible. When he hovers in a little ball of controlled chaos that blends into the darkness, you sit and wait. You wait until he’s there again and the lights are back on and he looks at you like you’re something he’s lost.

It confuses you as much as his smile that sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage in a dance that isn’t out of fear. You actually can’t remember when you’d stopped being afraid of him.

“I’m going out today.”

Your brows furrow, he’s never told you that he’s leaving before. He brings over a breakfast of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sliced fruit. A sealed carton of orange juice and a glass for you.

“Okay...?”

Hoseok smiles, “Okay.”

When lunch came around, you’re sitting at the island watching Hoseok prepare the ingredients for whatever he’s going to make.

You don’t really feel the need to watch him as closely as you did when you first got here, now you simply do it because there isn’t anything better to do.

He moves in the kitchen like it’s a dance, turning to and fro with a grace you could only hope to have.

He’s already got something on the stove, some sort of sauce you think. It smells amazing and you’re looking forward to whatever it could be.

He looks a bit in his head, brows furrowed as he concentrated a little too hard to just be cutting an onion into crescent slices. He mutters something under his breath, turning to stir the contents in the pot before going back at the onion.

“Hoseok?” You call softly as he sets the onion aside in a bowl and pulls something else onto the cutting board. For a moment you’re not sure if he’s heard you, with just the steady sound of the knife hitting the board, he hums, glancing at you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes.” You can tell he’s in one of his moods, but he’s actively trying to be pleasant. He fills a pot with water and sets it on the stove and then turns the oven on to heat up. “What is it?”

His tone isn’t harsh, just a tad bit impatient.

“Is cooking just something that you can do? Or did you have to learn?”

He turns, pauses, stares at you for a moment and then chuckles, “It’s a skill I acquired through a lot of trial and error. I had a long time to perfect it, though.”

“How long are we talking?” You’re a little intrigued, besides him telling you that he’s a fallen angel, he hasn’t told you exactly how he became one or how long he’s been here.

He tilts his head and smiles gently in the way he does when he’s thinking if he should answer you honestly or not before shrugging, “Long enough.”

You sigh, “Fine. Don’t tell me. You’re probably older than dirt anyway.”

A surprised laugh leaves him, high pitched and a little untamed. The sound is infectious and now you’re laughing too.

Happiness looks good on him, you wish he wore it often.

When it was about four in the afternoon, you hear the closing of Hoseok’s door and the sound of his footsteps walking up the hall.

You’re curled up against the corner of the couch, tucked under a yellow blanket with a book in your hand. You smell him before you see him; the cologne he’s wearing reaching the room before he does.

He steps in and stands near the entrance, the end of his coat brushing against his shins while he secures a watch to his wrist. His hair’s grown longer since he brought you here, curling against his jaw and the bangs are long enough to almost hide his eyes if not for the middle part. The rings on his fingers catch the light of the sun, and he finally settles, a serious look on his face as he watches you for a moment.

He seems to be contemplating something, the muscle of his jaw tensing as he grinds his teeth. He lifts a hand and crooks a finger at you.

Unwrapping yourself from the blanket, you walk over to him. He doesn’t say anything, but levels you with a look and guides you into the hallway with a hand at your back. “I’m leaving the door alone.”

The door is practically singing your freedom, the silver handle looks like a lighthouse at a stormy sea at night. Hoseok is looking down his nose at you when you finally tear your eyes away. His eyes narrow as though he can hear your thoughts and steps away from you.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

And you didn’t. You messed around with the TV, got bored, read another book, and decide to take a nap. Doing it all to ignore the door. You wouldn’t get very far. You really don’t want to know what Hoseok meant by that.

There isn’t anywhere you can go, you have nothing to your name. You get three square meals, clean clothes and a bed to sleep in when night comes – you think about Abigail, you wonder if she’s alright – you’d actually be quite dumb to go out there. Hoseok hasn’t done much but mentally exhaust you, you aren’t chained up in a dank room and being made to do things against your will. It’s actually quite pleasant.

You shuffle to your room and crawl under the covers, suddenly too sleepy to keep your eyes open. You would usually take naps when there’s nothing else for you to do, but you’re never this sleepy. It’s like your body is demanding you close your eyes and pass out right now.

You open your eyes a couple of minutes later and realise you didn’t know you fell asleep. It’s dark out already.

You throw the covers back, scoot to the edge of the bed, and put your feet right into water. You look down at it confused – did you leave a tap on? Hoseok would probably throw you out a window for flooding his place. Or maybe he’ll start up his silly mind games again and drive you nuts.

You’re not too concerned about it, strangely enough, as you get up, the water soaks into the legs of your pants. It’s high enough to lap against the middle of your shins and you curse softly, how could you forget to turn the tap off?

You swish through the water, reaching the door and pulling it open. The water is gone and you’re standing in the living room. Hoseok sits on the couch, one leg lapped over the other, bobbing idly as he turns the page of a thick book balanced on his thigh.

“Hoseok.” You sigh, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood for your stupid games.”

He turns his head slowly to look at you, crooks a finger like he did at you earlier. You stomp over to him, not caring that you probably look rather childish doing so. When you stop in front of him, he gently puts the book aside and then wraps his fingers around your wrist.

Your pulse flutters and you pray that he can’t feel it. A soft squeak leaving you as he tugs you to him, you fumble to catch yourself, trying not to trip over your feet and the carpet. Your hand lands beside his head, sinking into the leather, his eyes meet yours through his hair, and when he pulls you down, you follow without question.

He settles you in his lap, one hand gripping your waist and the other snaking upward to bury itself into your hair. He leans forward, nosing along the underside of your jaw and when the warmth of his tongue streaks against your pulse, a shiver races down your spine before you catch yourself. You push against his shoulder, “Hoseok.”

His chuckle sounds dark to your ears, his grip on your waist tightens enough that you fear you’d bruise. His teeth drag against your earlobe and yours sink into your bottom lip. “Don’t act like this isn’t what you want.”

His words wrap around your head, burying themselves under your skin and makes home there. The hand in your hair slowly slides out of it, moving down until it’s wrapped around your throat. His thumb presses against your racing pulse, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “You want me to break you.”

It’s a moment of bliss, warmth spreading through you before it instantly chills. It’s all fun and games until he’s actually trying to choke you out. Your breaths come in shallow gasps as Hoseok’s grip tightens around your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. Panic surges through you, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ll pass out from lack of oxygen.

He’s going to kill you.

Desperate, you claw at his hands, trying to pry them away, but his strength overwhelms you. Your struggles intensify as you realize the danger you’re in.

He stands swiftly and lets you go, and you crash unceremoniously into the glass coffee table, nearly breaking your wrist trying to catch your weight. You cough and gasp, clutching at your throat that burns with every breath you take. Your eyes sting with tears as you scramble to put distance between you and him.

He watches you, amused, taking slow steps towards you. He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls and you realise – there’s nowhere to run.

You look up at him, and you’re now facing the windows. The LEDs that line the perimeter of them are glowing a sinister red and they’re the only source of light. There’s something slick under your palms, something you slide in as you try to get up. Inspecting it in the lighting does nothing, as it simply looks dark against your skin, but, there’s no mistaking the scent of copper.

Gazing around, you’re sitting in a pool of blood. Hoseok is nowhere to be found. The pool stretches off like something was dragged through it, going out the living room and down the hall.

You follow it, against your better judgement. This is the worst trick he’s ever played.

Your pants stick to your skin uncomfortably, and you wipe your hands hurriedly against the front of them. It doesn’t do much but spread the mess of blood around. The trail leads into your bedroom, and you stand outside the slightly ajar door with your heart pounding against your ribs.

Raising a hand, you push the door open, but plan to go no further than the threshold. The lights are on, dimly, it doesn’t give you much vision, but you could see Hoseok standing over someone.

It’s you, well...it was you. You’re not sure if you could call that you anymore. Limbs twisted in unnatural angles, sharp ends of bone sticking out from your bruised skin.

You stumble backwards, slipping in the still wet trail of blood and falling against the door behind you. Tears blur your vision, you feel sick.

“You see?” a voice whispers, echoing and bouncing around in your head. “This is what will happen.”

There’s someone else here.

“He’ll kill you.” The voice snickers, crawling along your skin like poison ivy. “Run. Get out.”

You startle awake, gasping for air, searching your body for any sign of blood. The sun is almost setting, preparing to make its descent in the west and you dart out of bed. Your skin feels tight, like you’re too big for it and it makes you uncomfortable. Your breaths are harsh barely making it into your lungs before you’re forcing it out again.

You make for the door, yanking it open and running down the hall. You didn’t stop to think, you just want out. You push the entrance door and it opens and you stumble out into the hallway you haven’t seen in ages.

You run up to the elevator, the overhead floor indicator is blank. And the elevator doesn’t budge when you push the button frantically. Hands caught in your hair you spin around, there must be a way.

The green exit sign glows like a beacon of hope. You trip over your feet getting to it, almost face planting on the expensive rug that lines the hallway. The door opens with a click and your footsteps echo in the stairwell as you take them two at a time to get as far away from this place as possible.

You don’t stop until you’re three flights down, breath ragged and vision spotty. You lean against the wall to catch your breath, panting and wiping the sweat off your brow.

There’s a loud bang that echoes from somewhere below and you freeze. Taking careful steps you peek between the railings and see nothing.

It might be Hoseok.

Or, it could be someone else in the building and your only hope of getting out of here.

“Hello? Is someone ther—” There’s another loud bang, and you take a couple steps down the fourth flight and look over the railing again. A thick fog swirls just a floor below.

The hair on the back of your neck shoots up at the low growl that dances up the stairwell. You nearly go tumbling down it in your haste to turn around and go back up.

As you turn to go back up the third flight, the fog surrounds you and you stop as it becomes impossible to see. You grip tightly to the stair railing, tentatively stepping up – You’re trying not to breathe too loudly.

There’s something scraping against the ground on the stairs below and your heart kicks. You step faster, at the same time trying not to trip and break your neck. There’s a low snarl and you bolt, taking the stair two at a time back up the way you came.

The floor vibrates beneath you as whatever it is gives chase. You make it up to the first landing, pulling the exit door open with a grunt. You’re just about to step through when what feels like three hot butcher knives slices through your back. The force of it sends you pitching forward, smacking hard into the wall on the opposite side before you crumple against it.

You could barely feel it, you’re aware you’re hurt...you could feel the pulsing, open wounds at your back. Your mind is trying to process as you struggle to move, taking a breath aches as you push yourself upward and away from the wall just enough to turn. You don’t manage much more than that, sliding down the wall until your butt hits the pretty red carpet.

The metal door of the emergency exit swings open harshly, banging loudly against the wall before it leans forward; one of the hinges broken. The thing that stands in the doorway looks like it crawled out of some deep, dark part of hell. It’s standing on it’s hind legs before it drops forward, claws that look at least nine inches long scraping against the linoleum.

It looks like a giant dog, honestly. It’s hard to tell when all you could focus on was that you could feel your heartbeat at your back, and the slick warmth soaking into your ruined sweater and pants. Shock maybe...or adrenaline, was keeping most of the pain at bay, you’re pretty sure you’d be dead otherwise right now.

With a guttural growl, the creature emerges, its form contorted and twisted, as if it were forged from the very essence of nightmares.

Its body is a grotesque fusion of twisted flesh and sinew, its skin a sickly shade of mottled grey, stretched taut over bulging muscles that ripple with every movement. Sharp spikes protrude from its spine, glinting menacingly in the dim light, while its black eyes burn with a fiery intensity that seems to pierce through your very soul.

The creature's mouth curls into a snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth stained with blood. Its breath is a noxious cloud of decay and sulphur, filling the air with a suffocating stench that makes your stomach churn.

As it lurches forward on all fours, its movements are unnaturally fluid, each step sending tremors through the ground beneath you. It’s trying to squeeze its way through the small space of the doorway, too big to pass through, and you could do nothing but watch.

Your vision goes hazy as you simply stare at the creature.

The adrenaline is fading and you’re starting to feel your wounds, but maybe if you could crawl towards the door...

At six pm on a Friday evening, Hoseok isn’t at all surprised to see the line of people waiting to get into the club. It’s still a long way to opening, but with the prestige of this place, again, he isn’t surprised.

He was with Yoongi when he bought the place, watched him build it from the ground up. Watched his taste for the interior bounce around erratically until he settled, as the clientele flickered from the common club goer to people – if they had enough money – buying their way in.

Haegeum is on the high-end of the city, the type of place where you’d wonder if folks had enough money to burn just because. Yoongi doesn’t discriminate and all are welcomed.

The queue is a mix of people: folks dressed to the nines just to step a foot in the place, those of which would most likely be sitting pretty in the VIP section. People just looking for a place to escape to for a while, teenagers holding tight to their fake Ids and clinging to their friends. They mingle in groups or alone, their chatter filling the air with a soft buzz of voices and hushed giggles.

Hoseok takes everything in with an air of nonchalance as he strolls by.

The bouncer at the heavy black door stands stoically, clipboard in hand for VIP clients. Hoseok breezes past him when he opens the door to let him in, stepping into the entrance foyer, illuminated by dim red lights. He walks down the hall, and down the dark metal staircase into the main floor of the club.

The above head white florescent lights do nothing to take away from the grandeur of the club, though, Hoseok likes it better when it’s late and the lights are off. The main floor is usually accented in lights of blue and red, casting shadows streaking along the sitting area. Embedded into the walls are velvet couches that flow with the design in a sort of snake like shape, a short-legged coffee table and single seated chairs dotted between every inward curve. There’s a wide enough walkway for two people walking side by side to pass, a partition of glass, and on the other side of it, black leather couches and even more glass coffee tables.

The walls are interesting, and Hoseok thinks this because he doesn’t know why Yoongi likes it so much. In large arched alcoves sits head statues of Greek gods of mortal tales, staring lifelessly into the distance, bathed in dark blue light. Between every two are columns that resembles those of a temple, and smooth grey stone. Hoseok honestly doesn’t know which vibe Yoongi is going for, not that he’d say it to his face.

He walks down the little walkway, down another set of stairs and across the dance floor. The bar is tucked in a corner, glasses being wiped by one of Yoongi’s employees behind it. Hoseok offers the man a nod of his head, moving towards the staircase that curves with the wall and upwards.

Yoongi’s office veers just off the VIP lounge, set behind large mahogany doors. And Hoseok doesn’t bother knocking. The room looks pretty much the same as it’s always had: dark walls with darker patterns, a maroon carpet lining the floor, abstract paintings hanging on the walls that allude to a darker nature, and in the far corner on the wall between two paintings is a golden blade dagger behind a mounted glass case.

“...Pick your side, kid. It’s either you’re with me, or against me.” Yoongi’s voice is cold, not angry per se, but reeking in annoyance that chills rather than burns. “And trust me when I say that you don’t want me as your enemy. I don’t play nice.”

There’s a young man standing in front of Yoongi’s large desk, his hands behind his back where one hand squeezes the other in bouts of nervous jitter. There are bruises on his knuckles, and even from behind, Hoseok could tell that he’s trying to fit into a crowd that doesn’t suit him. Haegeum isn’t just a club but a base of operations so to speak, in the middle of this high-end city, its easy for Yoongi to wrack up a certain clientele. People who seek a different ease of mind and has a different lifestyle.

Hoseok leans against the door, watching the scene play out, as the young man bows slightly and Yoongi waves his hand at him.

“Keep shadowing Seonghwa and Hongjoong for the week, and I don’t want any trouble this time.” He says dismissively, and the boy turns to leave. As Hoseok catches his eye, something akin to a bolt of lightening shoots down his spine. It isn’t noticeable to the more ordinary folk, but Hoseok isn’t ordinary, and neither are Yoongi and the rest of his boys.

The air crackles with static, raw, untrained power that itches Hoseok the wrong way. The boy stands there clearly a moment too long, and Yoongi’s knuckles raps against the table top. “Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun gives a soft apology, and quickly walks towards the door. Hoseok opens it for him, not out of kindness, but purely to give him a long unbroken stare. He smiles as the boy struggles to hold his gaze, even as the hair on the back of his neck stands on end at his proximity.

When he shuts the door behind him, Yoongi is already watching him with a raised brow. Hoseok wanders over to the leather armchair at the front of Yoongi’s desk and sits, shifting around until he’s comfortable in it. “I thought they were a myth.”

“Obviously they’re not.” Yoongi mutters, shaking his head as he sieves through a stack of papers scattered on his desk before he finds what he’s looking for. “Kid wanted in, so I let him. More trouble than it’s worth, honestly. But, the Nephilim are stronger than the order, so I gave it a shot.”

Hoseok hums, and Yoongi seems to catch himself, narrowing his eyes at him. The scar that runs through his right eye looks pink and irritated in the motion and the overhead lights. “What are you doing here?”

“What? I can’t visit?”

If Yoongi narrows his eyes any more, he’d close them, “I think you know better than anyone that you’re never here.” He says, “You’re absent more often than not, so I have the right to ask. Did you do something? I’m not cleaning up any more of your messes.”

Yoongi pushes back his chair, walking across the room to the mini bar he has tucked in the corner. He pulls a glass from the cabinet and pours himself a glass of whisky from a long necked crystalline bottle. He takes a sip and turns leaning against the bar’s edge. “Last time was enough trouble.”

“You’d clean it up anyways.” Hoseok says, leaning his head back against the chair, tilting his head to look at Yoongi. “I found something fun to do.”

Yoongi stares at him for a moment, quiet, contemplative, “Causing a different type of trouble, I see.” He chuckles, “Don’t break her.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Hoseok smirks, and then frowns a little. With all Yoongi’s prowess and danger, he’s gone a little soft around the edges, and he could see that softness in his eyes as he looks off into the distance. Surely thinking about the mortal girl that has him wrapped around her little fingers like bubble gum.

“You’ll learn.” Yoongi says cryptically, and it reminds Hoseok that he’s never really sure what Yoongi is thinking. Sometimes he’s an open book and Hoseok could read him like one, easy to figure out in the way that he moves, and sometimes he’s sealed tight.

Yoongi drains his glass of whisky, setting it down with a clink on the bar top before walking back over to his desk. “Since you’re here...” He opens a drawer and pulls out a thick black file, “Give this to Seonghwa.”

Hoseok takes the file and opens it, reading over the contents. There’s a man on Yoongi’s black list that’s due a checking in. “You let him and Joong have all the fun.”

“You’re too messy.” Yoongi retorts, “I said I’m not cleaning up after you.”

Hoseok shrugs, and gets up, skirting around the back of the chair and walking towards the door.

“Hobi.” Yoongi calls, “I don’t have to remind you that there’s a meeting at the end of the month, right?”

“I’ll be here.” Hoseok says, as the look in Yoongi’s eyes gave no room to say anything else.

He leaves the office, closing the door behind him with a quiet click and lets the tension roll off his shoulders. He goes back the way he came, black file in hand, towards the VIP section where he knows Seonghwa would be lurking. He walks down the little walkway, through the identical couches and tables on raised platforms that overlook the main floor of the club.

At the end, there’s a small section of booths, black velvet and low lit, and standing with his back to him is Hongjoong. He seems to be busy, twin pistols in pieces on the booth’s table, cleaning supplies set up neatly in a little row. Hoseok saunters over, and throws his arm over the man’s shoulders.

Hongjoong doesn’t spare him a glance but sighs softly through his nose. “I’m busy, Hoseok.”

“Where’s your shadow?” Hoseok asks, and waves the file at him, “Yoongi has work for you two.”

“When doesn’t Yoongi have work for us.” Hongjoong slides away from under Hoseok’s arm, sitting down in the booth to avoid him all together. There’s a dull glint of light as the fixtures catch on the gold diamond studded crucifix that swings against the white of Hongjoong’s tee-shirt.

Hoseok clicks his tongue against his teeth, “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

The dark bangs of his hair, which are usually styled away from his forehead, falls into his eyes when he glances upward at Hoseok. He picks up the cleaning solvent and pours a bit of it into the cap before dropping a cotton patch in to let it soak, then, he wraps the patch around the bristles of a small bore brush.

“Seonghwa isn’t here, he’s out back.” Hongjoong picks up the dismantled gun barrel, sliding the bore brush through until the now dirty cotton patch pokes out from the other end. The scent of the solvent burns Hoseok’s nose, and he leaves Hongjoong be, going back down to the main floor and through the emergency exit. The exit sits in the middle of an alleyway that connects two streets, and Hoseok catches sight of Seonghwa’s faux fur coat on one end.

Smoke curls away from his form with a light wind and brings the scent of a cigarette as Hoseok walks with quiet steps towards him. He’s laughing at something, phone in hand, and Hoseok drops his hand heavily on his shoulder and feels the way he immediately tenses.

“I’ve told you one too many times, Seonghwa.” Hoseok says, stepping to the side and around him, “Always be on your guard.”

There’s a glint in the way that he sneers, pulling away from Hoseok’s grip. He takes a couple steps back, watching Hoseok as though he spat at his feet.

“Aw, don’t look at me like that. Makes me all tingly.” Hoseok teases mockingly with a smile, and then offers the file to him. “Here.”

Seonghwa shoves his phone into the pocket of his coat, taking the file and looking through it. He takes one last drag of the cigarette between his fingers before tossing it. He raises a perfect brow at Hoseok and tilts his head, something like amusement in his eyes. “You don’t show up for weeks, and now you’re just Yoongi’s errand boy.”

Hoseok chuckles and it’s dark, low in his throat. “Seonghwa.” He takes a step closer, “Don’t forget your place.”

It’s irritating how Seonghwa doesn’t back down, the way he looks at Hoseok as though he’s beneath him. He stands tall and proud with his chest puffed out like a peacock, and Hoseok knows he’s about to say something stupid without using that brain of his first.

“Don’t act like we’re not in the same boat.” Seonghwa scoffs, and even before he opens his mouth, Hoseok could see the thought in his eyes, glowing like an ember in the dark. He sees the minute curl at the corner of his mouth and the glow of the street light that catches on the pretty studded silver of his teeth. “You got your ward killed, and killed the man that killed her. There’s no hierarchy among murderers.”

Hoseok takes a breath, and he feels the heat rising from the tips of his toes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the images he’s locked away floods out of the steel box he’s put them in. The little girl he’d been guardian to, her short, miserable and painful life. Found end at the hands of someone she had the misfortune of being born to. It was too late – he was too late, when he’d found her. And just like then, Hoseok sees red.

Warm, gushing red that spill into the creases of his fingers when he swings his fist at Seonghwa’s face. The black file and the papers within scatter on the wind.

Hoseok doesn’t let the surprise and force send the younger man stumbling back too far, and grabs hold of the front of his coat, curling his fingers into the material tightly. He kicks at his knee, and when he’s forced to kneel, Hoseok leans down to his height.

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who lost his wings for something so trivial; your sin and mine are two different things.” Hoseok sneers, and he’s so mad he could set Seonghwa on fire and watch him dance. “But I can remind you exactly why Yoongi doesn’t bother to have me involved.”

Someone pulls Seonghwa back, dragging him up to his feet. “The fuck are you two doing?”

There’s a tick in Seonghwa’s jaw that doesn’t go unnoticed and his eyes stay locked with Hoseok as he straightens. He should think twice, Hoseok knows he knows better.

Hongjoong shoves at Seonghwa’s shoulder, “Go pick that shit up.”

Yeonjun stands at the open doorway of the emergency exit, watching with wide eyes, looking like he’s halfway to backing out on his choice to get into Yoongi’s ranks. Hongjoong eyes Hoseok warily, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Seonghwa was doing as told.

Hoseok’s gaze burns a hole into the back of Seonghwa’s head as he moves around to pick up the scattered papers while Hongjoong stands like a watchdog.

Hoseok shoves his hands into the pockets of his black coat, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “You boys be good, now.” He says in parting, turning on his heel and walking out of the alley.

“What the fuck did you say to him?...”

Hoseok walks up the street, through the throngs of people still waiting to get into Haegeum. His phone vibrates in his coat pocket, with a sigh he pulls it out and answers.

“Yes, Cheol?”

“Hey, remember when you asked me to tell you when I’ve seen that weird fog?” Seungcheol sounds distracted, there’s a sharp sound from his end that has Hoseok pulling the phone away from his ear with a wince. He says something to someone else, voice too far away for Hoseok to catch, before he speaks again. “Couple of nights ago, it was in my area. Whatever’s in it is pretty good at hiding. It’s not the only thing in it either.”

Hoseok crosses the street, going in the opposite direction of which he came from. The people that line the sidewalk give him a wide berth as he weaves through them; unconsciously reacting to him being near.

“Didn’t see much of the guy, some twinky-looking redhead.” Cheol sighs, “I think the fog is like a domain. If you get lost in it, it’s like there’s no-one in there but you. Like a mirror realm.”

‘They who fight monsters should be careful, lest they become a monster themselves. And if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.’

What defines a monster? Something that goes beyond human comprehension, something that stands outside the bounds of what is morally accepted. Something that a person fails to understand and is therefore scared by. Something that make stories entertaining because they’re meant to be defeated in the end. They’re meant to be slain and mounted like trophies, pinned up for grotesque display of heroism.

What defines a creature that goes beyond human comprehension? White coloured morals and the freedom to help in the way it needed. He stopped being what he was created to be, and instead became something that someone needed the most. He did everything right. He had his head in the right place, he was determined to see it through to the end.

He was a little too late.

Over the years, Hoseok could no longer recall just how late he was. If it was by seconds or minutes, or an hour by a half. When he was finally strong enough to move, he traced the memory of a place he’d seen for years, all the way to a house where his charge waited inside.

She was always afraid. Alone, trapped with a monster of man’s making. A child he’s watched since the moment of her birth, watched her grow to be afraid and the light never reach her. By the laws of his nature he was forced to do nothing.

He was restricted to assisting in the only way he could. He couldn’t shield her physically, so he instead manipulated the monster in her closet. He made sure that his mind was changed, that he didn’t swing his claws as fiercely, that he slept deeply so that the child can have a night of rest.

He started to question, as he watched the monster that called himself a father, prey upon what he was meant to protect.

What’s the point? Is he not allowed to stop this? Why can’t he stop this? He could stop it because he has the power to do so.

The ideology was shared by another, and together, hubris.

Hoseok fell with pride; he fell with the intention to seek his ward out and help her. Even if he had no idea what was to come afterwards. Stripped of his grace and the feathers of his wings burned away, it didn’t matter to him.

He went as quickly as his wounds allowed, which in retrospect, wasn’t quickly enough. She was only six. An awfully short time to the likes of him, even shorter to mortals, not enough time to live and laugh – she wasn’t allowed to even do that. He’d stood there, in the broken doorway of a broken home and watched as the monster of his ward’s nightmare became a man before him. Hoseok’s vision had tunnelled and in the centre was the broken body of the child he’d sworn to protect.

When the shadows on the walls grew tall and Hoseok’s mind closed in on itself and allowed those shadows to encase him, the man cried. He pleaded on his knees at the sight of his reckoning, begged for mercy when he gave none.

Then, Hoseok shattered. Scattered like tiny specs of dust floating on the wind, and under the heat and pressure of his own realisations, he turned into glass. With his sharp edges he cut into the man and reveled in it. The sounds of his pleas like the gentle strum of a harp’s string, and the warmth of his blood was a bath Hoseok sunk into.

What he was, was something that was no longer needed, and with his hands covered in blood and gore and mess he held tight to his reasons for being and cried for her. He became something else that only protected himself. While he locked everything away and allowed the shadows to stay. The light he’s trapped struggles to glow, to breathe, and some days Hoseok wants to snuff it out for good, to become the shadows he plays in.

He wouldn’t allow himself to reach that point, though. He still has a sense of himself, however skewed.

He owes Yoongi a lot, his partner in crime that he would follow to the ends of the earth. He never turned his back on him even as Hoseok changed to suit his troubles.

Hoseok remembers Yoongi standing at the doorway, catching up much later than he had. He stayed there quietly while Hoseok mourned the death of his ward and his tears made tracks in the blood that coated him.

Hoseok buried her away from her cursed home, far away and as deep as the roots of an old oak runs and salt floats on the air. Wild flowers bloom there, giving her the beauty in death she wasn’t allowed in life.

His chest aches as he stands there now. Under the shade of the oak tree where little speckles of the setting orange sun spills through leaves and dances along the space that he occupies. There’s a crinkle of plastic and Hoseok stares at the small bouquet in his grip. He chose every flower that reminded him of her: daises and lavender, lilies and snapdragons.

He lays it gently on the patch of grass that’s long grown over between two large protruding roots, mutters the same apology he does every time he comes by, and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat as he straightens.

He’s sorry he wasn’t there in time.

He wished she was given a chance, and wondered if her death was his punishment. He wonders what it would’ve been like to watch her grow, safe and happy. What her favourite flower would’ve been, if she would’ve valued the little things. He would’ve given her everything – pulled the moon from the sky if she so desired it. He would’ve taken the stars and put them in her little hands for her to watch them shine.

He wonders if it would’ve been better had he waited a little longer. That maybe the slightest change would’ve brought about a different outcome.

Hoseok sighs, turns his head to watch the sun set, dragged behind the ocean’s edge far off in the distance. Something at the back of his mind wiggles and tugs. He knows something’s wrong and he’s in no mood to deal with it.

You’re dying...you think. Your hand slides against the floor and it takes a moment to realise it’s your blood you’re slipping in. You can barely feel the rest of your body, adrenaline pumping your blood out of the wounds at your back. The doors of the elevator doubles and swarms in your vision.

You see them open but it’s so hard to focus. Hoseok steps out and walks slowly to you, you can’t see his expression, but you faintly hear the long, drawn-out sigh he releases. Your eyes focus on the darkness that surrounds him, the way it curls like smoke. The shadows at his back are clearer to you than they’ve ever been – wings. Dark plumage that glitters with something silver in the light, the feathers are long, long enough that they drag behind his steps. If he were to unfold them they would easily span to the ends of the hallway.

He hardly gives you a glance, stopping in front of you. You can’t see the creature now – blocked by Hoseok’s wings – but you hear it growl, and the scraping of it’s claws against the floor. Something glints in his hand against the flickering lights, a short sword that looks like it was dipped in gold from the hilt and it ran down the edges of the blade.

He’s a blur as he moves and your tired eyes can barely keep up with him, if it weren’t for the small space and shadows his wings casted you would’ve lost sight of him completely.

The creature snarls and lashes out with its razor-sharp claws, but Hoseok is already one step ahead, dodging with effortless grace. He moves with a speed and agility that seems impossible in the space he occupies, closing in on the creature that growls and snarls at him. It’s forced to dislodge itself from the doorway, pulling back into the stairwell that gives it even less room to defend.

Hoseok’s wings fold tightly to his back as he follows, and you could only hear the sound of his weapon sliding through the air, the sound of the blade whistling and the increasingly irritated sounds from the creature. Hoseok ducks under a swiped claw, makes a spin on his knee, and switches the hands that holds his blade. It slices through the creature’s gigantic paw like it’s made of something soft, and through the other as it comes back down. The severed limb drops heavily on the ground before it dissolves into ashes and float upward.

The sound it makes grate on your ears, loud and sharp and you can’t bring your hands up to cover them, something warm trickles out of each.

Without it’s two front legs to support it’s weight, the creature drops forward, and Hoseok grabs hold of the first spike at the top of its head. With a flick of his wrist his weapon spins in his palm and he points the blade right between the creature’s eyes and pushes.

Golden light flashes, nearly blinding you on top of everything else, you can just barely hear the cry it makes this time as it writhes in agony. It’s monstrous form twists and contorts before finally collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Hoseok stands over the fallen beast, his weapon clenched tightly in his hand, watching intently as it’s body dissipates like ash from a fire.

With a satisfied nod, Hoseok sheaths his weapon and it vanishes, and then turns his attention back to you, his expression a mixture of something. You can’t tell, everything seems so dark and it’s hard to breathe. He approaches you slowly, his movements cautious as he assesses the extent of your injuries.

Hoseok crouches and you slowly look up at him, he tilts his head and clicks his tongue against his teeth.

“I told you not to go anywhere, little dove.” He says softly, calmly, as though he’s telling you about his day and you’re not bleeding out in his hallway. “You’re so troublesome.”

You try to respond, but the words stick in your throat, drowned out by the rush of blood and the overwhelming sense of impending darkness. Hoseok’s presence feels both comforting and ominous, his wings casting elongated shadows that dance across the walls. You try to focus on his face, to find some semblance of reassurance in his eyes, but all you see is a blur of shadows and flickering light.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own laboured breathing.

Hoseok’s expression softens slightly, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes. He reaches out a hand to gently brush the hair from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the underlying tension in the air.

“Jesus...” Another voice says, the sound of footsteps hurrying close and the last thing you see is the shift of the hallway.

The night he found you out in the fog wasn’t the first time Hoseok had seen you.

By now, it would’ve been at least three months ago. You were alone, pacing around like a worried mother on a bridge over your perceived peace – had you decided to take it.

Human lives were no longer any concern to him; no consequence. He and his kind were here before and would be long after your kind has crumbled to dust and returned to the earth. He stopped then, and watched you contemplate the height of the bridge and the chill of the water below it; whether or not you’ll receive the mercy you seek. You’d cried for a long time on that bridge.

Hoseok is many things, but cruel is not one of them. He changed your mind and sent you away into the arms of someone that would care.

Hoseok has many contradictions. The darkness that he allowed entry fights the light, beating it into a corner where it cowers on most days. On those days he’s distant and struggling to contain it, he could taste malice on his tongue and the bitterness of it. The steel walls he painstakingly built with bloody and broken fingers are nothing more than barbwire fences; they do nothing to protect the glass figurines that make him whole.

Sometimes the glass are shards, sharp and unforgiving and willing to cut anything that gets too close. Sometimes they’re splintered panes and Hoseok is cutting his fingers to keep them in place. He curls in on himself, draws himself away, pushes everything outside his barbwire fence and tries to reinforce the walls. The darkness that swirls outside it seeps in and he can’t keep it out so he lets it fester and churn and he becomes intangible.

You weren’t there, and then, at some point, you were.

Sometimes...

Sometimes he’s standing in a grass field full of wild daises and the sun is warm and there’s salt in the air. The light peeks through the leaves of an old oak tree, and there’s a little girl who’s placed her life in his hands, who skitters about in the grass like something wild and free. She glows in her happiness, and nature stains her hands and the bottom of her white dress. She makes faces at him behind the trunk of the tree, smiles and hold his hands and tell him that it’s okay. It wasn’t his fault and he’s forgiven, he could let it go and be.

On those days, Hoseok feels like a still pool of water. The ones with lily pads and life, and everything’s alright. You’re always there then.

Hoseok knows of the fragility of humans. How easily they could shatter and break and suddenly be no more. He was something once, and then he became something else, and sometimes it’s hard to not be what he is. His darker nature prevails, and he doesn’t do much to stop it. Sure, sometimes he’s done things simply because he’s feeling particularly malicious and thinks that everyone should suffer – it’s almost always harmless.

He has a sense of himself, he knows when to stop, when things are taken too far and you can’t take much more of it. You eventually learnt to take it in stride and Hoseok was proud of that, though, a part of him thought it wasn’t nearly as fun anymore.

He would walk your dreams some nights when he was bored and had nothing better to entertain himself, his presence would sometimes bring his darkness and your dreams would not be as pleasant. He tried to walk through them less often.

When you were jumping at every little sound, the silence that Hoseok moves with and the way you’re less of yourself some days – he realised something. Not every nightmare was his doing, and the whispers in the walls of your dreams spoke of something else entirely.

The far, fuzzy edges of your vivid dreams where he’s reminded of things he’s tried very hard to lock away, lurks something red and more sinister than he.

He’s every reason to believe that hellspawn didn’t find it’s way here on accident, and for it to go undetected until the very last moment. It bothers him like nothing else has.

Though you lay peaceful now and Seungcheol had left after doing what he does best, the unease lingers in bouts under Hoseok’s skin, skittering about like electricity on a wire. His feelings where you’re concerned contradicts each other. Like oil on water he’s stuck in between wanting you close and keeping you at arm’s length. He likes when you’re near, but he likes when you’re far. A consequence of his nature, he toes the line of something sinister and could get dangerous and down right evil if he doesn’t reign himself in.

At a point he wasn’t quite sure what to do with you. He was just as confused on why he stopped you from ending your own life that night on the bridge and why he took you in that night in the fog. At first, he was just as wary of you as you were of him, despite the way he acted. He can’t help what he is.

On the days where he feels like splintered glass and he’s choking on his despair, you’d waited. You were there until the smoke cleared and your quiet presence helped put the glass back up and straighten out the posts in his fence.

He told Yoongi, there’s no fun in not breaking you. Yoongi said that he’d learn.

He can’t help what he is.

He could try, though.

He doesn’t want to break you, it’s a matter of cause and effect. You’re here with him, evidently, you’d be broken regardless. The most he could do is try. He could try to not be the straw, and try to not let outside forces become it.

He cares. He cares so much that sometimes he could taste it on his tongue. He cares that you smile when he’s earned it, that you eat well, that you greet him like a friend and then somewhere along get shy when you do. He cares if you live or die.

Hoseok squeezes his eyes shut, opening them to blink away the image of you, helplessly laying in a pool of your own blood.

Fear. He’s has only felt it once, the fear that you would die and he would’ve failed again to protect someone.

He sips slowly at his glass of whisky, drinking in the sight of you. He thought you were smart enough to listen to him at least, trusted that you would stay out until he got back. Perhaps it was his mistake, but he wonders, and he ponders as you give a minute twitch in your sleep. Your eyebrows draw together and you murmur something unintelligible.

Hoseok sets his tumbler on your bedside drawer and pulls his chair closer. This is something he could easily do from another room, though, for what he’s about to do he would need to be touching you in some capacity.

Your dream had started off vividly, as most of your dreams have since you came here. Hoseok stands just in the corner of it, watching you wake within your dream and put your feet down into water.

He walks along the edge of it, watching it play out like a simulation, following behind you as you make your way down the hall towards the living room. He’s there and Hoseok isn’t surprised – it’s not the first time you’ve dreamt him.

He watches as your dreamscape version of him pull you into his lap and he feels a little offended and rolls his eyes – he didn’t even try to make it look sexy. Is this what you think of him? He isn’t half as tactless. Seduction takes finesse, and you clearly have no idea what that is.

Hoseok turns, gazing at the darkened edges of your dream.

There’s a shift and he feels it. It’s heavy like a wet blanket and seeps in like mist, and your dream changes accordingly.

He knows this feeling too well – the intrusion of an external force manipulating the dream, it’s faint enough that he knows it wasn’t in his apartment or anywhere nearby, but strong enough to reach so far.

Hoseok hovers hesitantly between the doorway of the living room and the hallway, and closes his eyes against the image of him hurting you.

He follows you as you follow blood, and he wishes you weren’t so frightened. He stays close to you, stepping where you’ve stepped as though he could protect you from something that’s already occurred. You push the door to your bedroom open and he wants to stop you, turn you around and shake you awake, but he can only watch.

You’re there and he is too, whispers skittering along the walls like mice, and Hoseok yanks himself out of your subconscious mind.

He feels like glass.

When you wake it’s dark and your back is sore like you fell from a high place and splatted against a body of water. The moment feels like déjà vu regardless as you swing your legs over the side of the bed with a wince.

The broken projector of your sleep-addled mind flickers in black and white cut scene imagines of the evening. Hoseok, the fog, the dog that crawled out of hell specifically for you – as you can only assume – things considered, you’re pretty certain you died at some point.

The dark unnerves you, it makes you feel like a kid as you pull your feet back up onto the bed, and pull the blanket up over your head and pulled tight between your fingers at your chest.

You scoot back, wiggling a bit until your back is pressed flush against the headboard. There’s no light seeping in from under your door, and you sink lower, curling into yourself and hold the blanket tighter.

There’s a prickling at the back of your neck that sends a shiver racing down your spine. Your head turns slowly to the left and notice the unnatural darkness of the space between the edge of the wall and the window pane. Relief blooms in your chest at the sight of it.

“...Hoseok.” You call softly, waving a hand into the dark. You wait for a moment, but the lights don’t come on and he doesn’t appear as he usually would.

Carefully, you unwrap the covers from around you and place your foot on the ground. Taking a moment, you count your fingers – it’s always hard to count them in your dreams. All ten are there, and you take a breath before standing.

The floor is cold, and you notice the carpet that’s usually under your feet is missing, and the silhouettes of the things you’ve made yours are different; this isn’t your room.

You approach the ball of chaos carefully, and stand five steps away from the space it occupies. This is the second time you’ve been close to it, the first time had been much closer and you hadn’t understood it then. You reach a hand out, and gently: “Hoseok...”

It slows, the shadows and wisps shifting gently like a leaf on a soft wind. It elongates into a vague outline and then, Hoseok stares through you before he sees you. He’s still wearing the clothes he left in earlier, coat and all, looking a little more than rattled even in the dark.

He raises a hand and it hovers by your cheek, thumb ghosting the skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The lights didn’t come back on and it’s hard to decipher his emotions in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice soft, barely a whisper in the darkness. Somewhere behind you, a lamp flickers on dimly and Hoseok looks like he’d shatter if you touched him.

“I’m okay.”

Hoseok’s hand drops slowly from your face as he blinks, as though waking from a dream. His gaze focuses on you, but there’s a vacancy in his eyes. For a moment, he seems almost confused, as if he’s not sure how he ended up here or what to make of your presence.

His touch is light, gentle, like he’s handling something fragile when his fingers brushes yours. You feel his fear, a palpable thing, thick and heavy. It’s a side of him you’ve never seen before, and you’re not sure what to do with it.

He exhales softly through his nose, nods once and then his eyes are somewhere above your head. “Are you in pain?”

“No,” Your back sings a low hymn, achy and sore, but it’s nothing to fuss over. “I’m okay.”

There’s a lot of things you want to ask, but you can’t seem to pick one. You want to ask him about the fog and the creature, about his wings or how you’re even alive to mull over said questions.

Instead, you ask: “Are you okay?”

Hoseok looks unprepared for that, his eyes snapping back to yours and he flounders. His mouth opens and closes before he stares at you in that unnerving way he had your first couple of days here, like he’s trying to understand you. Like he could strip you down to atoms and see what makes you act the way you do and therefore comprehend the bases of your human nature.

“I’m...” He blinks, looks away, and a muscle beneath his right eye twitches, “I’m okay.”

He doesn’t sound convinced and you aren’t either, and where his hand brushes yours you reach out first. His fingers are cold and he looks down, staring at your hand like it’s something foreign, but his grip tightens. It’s quiet for a moment, he takes a breath that doesn’t seem to ease the weight he carries.

“You almost died.” He says quietly, brows furrowed as though he can’t understand his own concern. “When I brought you here...I did so with the intention to keep you safe.”

It’s quiet again and you wait, and wait.

Hoseok’s eyes mist, his breath shudders on the exhale. “I wasn’t here in time. Again. I—”

His hand in yours tremble, he’s looking through you again, not entirely here and he looks like a man haunted by ghosts he alone could see. You stumble a step back when he falls to his knees before you, but didn’t get far as his arms wound tight around your waist. There’s something strange about a creature such as him with all his prowess and tainted grace kneeling at your feet, and his words tumble from his mouth like his tears that soak into your borrowed shirt and he lets you hold the chain that drags behind him.

The weight is heavy, heavy enough that it grounds you and you listen to it rattle as Hoseok tells you everything. In a broken tone about a broken home and a child he couldn’t reach in time to save, about the shadows that he let hide the light and now he struggles to find it. The things he’s done since that would make the most wicked men cower.

You make the connection, as he lays himself bare before you. He peeled back the layers of his being himself and let you look inside; the bases of his nature, the connotations of his own sins. It makes sense to you now. The way he would change like the tide and his near obsessive, compulsive need to wrap you in bubble wrap and put you in a glass case. He’d long stopped scaring you and somehow became a comfort despite himself.

Maybe it’s circumstantial, or something else entirely, but you’ve grown to care for him and he’s been caring for you from the start. However skewed that was.

When he’s stopped his babbling, and he’s no longer crying, he still holds you tight, whispering apologies against the dampness of your shirt. You meet his height, gently pulling his arms away from you and you kneel, too. He blinks away the last of his tears and you catch them with your thumbs just under his red-rimmed eyes.

He’s no longer looking through you, one of his hands covers yours, his lips brushing delicately against your wrist when he turns his head; your heart flutters. He whispers something you didn’t catch, he closes his eyes for a moment and when he opens them, he repeats: “You can leave if you want.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“Will you stay, then?” He looks away when he asks, pressing his fingers against your palm in a way that tickles and distracts, and studies the lines of them quietly. “Stay here with me.”

There’s something like hope in his eyes that glints against the shadows that linger, shining like flecks gold in cracked rock. You nod slowly and he smiles easily, all teeth and heart shaped and his hand is warm when he cups your cheek with the one that isn’t holding yours.

“Your dream...” He says softly, and later you’d find that it troubled him the most; he would never do something like that – not to you. “I’m sorry.”

You store the fact that he knows about it at the back of your mind for later – later when he’s not pressing the pad of his thumb against the fullness of your bottom lip, tracing the shape of it. You’ve learnt to ebb and flow with him, a boat on his tide, taking the shift of his mood in stride.

There’s something in his eyes now that has nothing to do with how you found him earlier, something that makes you follow his lead, leaning in when he pulls you towards him. Deja vu accompanies the way he shifts, easing back and turning you as he does, leaning against a dresser you hadn’t noticed. He keeps his eyes locked with yours, directing your leg over his with a hand, and he settles you on his lap.

“This feels familiar.” He giggles, lifting his head to nose along your jaw and you’re reminded that he knows. Heat flares at the back of your neck and races up your ears, and when you push against his shoulders, he steadies and keeps you still with his hands on the top of your thighs and a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“I’m teasing.” He gives a crooked smile, tilting his head, “It’s cute that you think it’ll play out that way.”

“Isn’t it, though?” You blurt out, embarrassment forgotten. Honestly, the only thing that’s changed is the room, and when Hoseok pauses you smirk.

He smirks right back, something dangerous, and he chuckles, “Keep talking back. I like that.”

His hand slides up your back, and you don’t suppress the shiver that follows after it. The air grows heavy, charged with unspoken tension. You’re vaguely aware of your heart pounding, the rhythm matching the erratic thrum of your blood. He leaves a kiss where your jaw meets your neck, sucking lightly on the spot.

“Hoseok...” You start to say his name, but it comes out as a breathless whisper. You’re not sure what you intended to say, but the words get caught in your throat.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours. “What is it?” he asks, his voice rough with desire and darker still. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head, unable to form words.

With a low growl, he takes your silence as an invitation, his fingers tangle in your hair, and he tilts your head down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss you gasp into. It quickly deepens, becoming more urgent, as if he’s trying to devour your very soul. His other hand finds your hip, squeezing possessively.

You’re lost in the sensation, the taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against yours. The world has narrowed to the two of you, to this moment.

A soft moan escapes your lips, and he takes that as a cue, his tongue exploring your mouth with a hunger that sets your entire being ablaze.

His touch ignites a fire within you, consuming your senses and leaving you breathless, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

He pulls away slowly and you chase, he smirks against your kiss, and when he lifts his hips you feel the press of his arousal. His kisses trail, ghosting along your jaw, his tongue warm where your pulse thrums. He directs the shifts of your hips, grinding you down against clothed erection with a curse growled against your skin.

You follow the light tug of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back and to the side to give him more room to work. He hums appreciatively around your skin between his teeth and you hiss softly at the sting of the pull.

“So good for me.” He whispers when he pulls away. His fingers tap at your hip before he wraps his arm around, bracing the other against the dresser behind and stands easily.

A startled squeak leaves you, wrapping your arms around his neck even though he’s holding you steady. He reaches the bed in two strides, and drops you there, a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

You bounce a bit amongst the soft sheets with a soft giggle before you settle. His index finger curls beneath your chin and tilts, thumb brushing along your bottom lip again, “Ah.”

You comply easily, and then his thumb is pressing against your tongue. Saliva pools in your mouth and he hums when you wrap your lips around the digit. There’s a tick of his brow and the dull glint of his teeth when he smiles in the dim light of the singular lamp, and a darkness in his eyes that doesn’t scare you.

He tests the boundaries of what you’d allow, sliding his thumb along your tongue. His palm lays flat against your cheek, thumb reaching far until you feel the lurch of your stomach and pull back with a gasp.

He coos softly, leaning down just as he slips his finger out of your mouth to capture your lips in a kiss that’s more teeth and tongue than anything else. He nudges you back softly, large hands sneaking their way under your tee to reach your skin, desperate in a way that makes you think he’d die if he doesn’t.

He stops just shy of the undersides of your breasts, pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. His breaths are shallow, he whispers your name, “I can get intense.”

“I know.”

“I could hurt you.”

“I know.”

He studies you for a moment, then, tugs gently on the hem of your tee-shirt, “Up.”

As you shift to sit, you’re not surprised to find you aren’t wearing anything underneath the tee-shirt and cotton shorts he’s put you in; dressing you properly must’ve been the last thing on his mind.

Hoseok stands back to shed his coat, dropping it carelessly on the floor. There’s a metallic clink as the buckle of his belt jingles, and the sound of it racing through the loops of his pants.

You – oddly – don’t feel ashamed under his gaze that sets a heat wherever it settles as he roams over your exposed upper half. Putting your weight on your hands, you lean back, watching Hoseok roll the long sleeves of his tee-shirt up his forearms.

His tongue darts out to moisten his lips as he closes the distance again, climbing into the bed on his knees and coming up until they’re on either side of your thighs. Silently he trails a finger down the slope of your neck, it tickles across your collarbone and his fingers spread and palms your left breast.

Your breath hitches and he chuckles, and you know very well he could feel the shifting of your thighs as you rub them together seeking friction. It’s been ages since anyone’s touched you like this, all of Hoseok’s teasing isn’t doing you much good.

His lips meet yours, licking into your mouth, and he groans when you suck on his tongue. His fingers lightly pinch at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. His other hand roams, goosebumps following it’s path down your side and stops where his fingers tease the band of your shorts.

Your hips buck as you whine and Hoseok pulls away, eyelids heavy, pupils all but gone, panting softly; looking drunk on you.

He smiles and makes a disapproving sound at the back of his throat. “Patience little dove.” He tuts, tilting his head at you, “I’ll give you what you need.”

He trails his fingers along the edges of your shorts before pulling them down and off, leaving you exposed to his touch. His hair tickles where it drags against your sensitive skin as he moves downward. He avoids where you need him most entirely and you squirm, a soft whine building in your chest.

He kisses and licks his way up your thighs, teasing you until you’re begging. Gently, he spreads your legs, kissing the inner thigh of your right before he rests it over his shoulder, pushing your other up and holding it there with a palm.

His dark gaze meets yours and you can’t hold it when he licks a hot stripe from your weeping entrance to your clit. Your hand shoots down to grip his hair, back arching when his responding growl vibrates against your core.

With each stroke of his tongue, Hoseok explores every inch of your most sensitive areas. He laps at your clit, drawing out a series of gasps and moans that fill the room. You’re shaking and swearing as he eats you out like a man starved, his tongue swirling around your clit in figure eights and then dipping into you. He moans like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Your hands curl into the sheets, fingers digging in as if to anchor yourself. You’re lost in the sensations, a whirlwind of pleasure that leaves you breathless. And you wonder, briefly, if this was just something he was good at or something he had to hone.

His arm draping over your hips was the only warning you got before his lips wraps around your clit and sucks. Your back arches with a pitched moan and he slips a finger into your heat, and groans when you clench and gasp his name.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat a reminder of your vulnerability. Yet, paradoxically, it’s this vulnerability that fuels your desire, pushing you to new heights. You’re a wild thing now, driven by pure, primal need.

From between your legs, Hoseok watches your reactions, a dark-haired god feasting on your pleasure. His gaze is intense, a silent promise that he’ll take you to the edge. He adds another finger and they curl against your g-spot and it brings about your undoing.

If your arousal was a fire, Hoseok just threw gasoline on it just to watch it explode. He keeps hips lips around your clit as it throbs, fingers dragging along your fluttering walls and your eyes squeeze shut. You could barely breathe, lights dancing behind your eyelids as you gasp his name.

“Good girl.” Hoseok praises, lips brushing your clit and your thighs tremble. He rubs his hand gently over your stomach while you come down, and evilly, bites your thigh with a dark chuckle.

“Hoseok...” you whine as he laves his tongue over the stinging spot.

“Hm?” He smiles, “Want more, little dove?”

You almost cry as he changes course, pulling away entirely, and makes it clear he revel in your suffering when he coos mockingly, standing now.

He slowly unbuttons his pants, slowly pulls his legs out of them one after the other, smirking at you all the while. Even in the dim lighting, you could see the strain his cock against his black boxer briefs and you don’t miss the near inaudible sigh of relief from Hoseok at the change in pressure.

He crooks a finger at you, and shuffles closer as you do. He stands at the edge of the bed, and he sinks his fingers into your hair, brushing it back as you look up at him. He looks down his nose at you, and raises a brow, “Be a good girl now, dove. Or do I have to teach you?”

“I know how to suck cock you ass.”

Hoseok shrugs, a playful smile shifting his expression as he gently squeezes your cheeks, puckering your lips, “Is all that little mouth good for talking back to me?”

“You said you like that.” You say defiantly.

Hoseok hums, “Have your fun then,” He says, smiling, “Won’t be able to say much in a bit, anyway.” He tugs on your hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to signal his impatience.

Funny, he was preaching patience is a virtue a while ago.

You scoff softly, holding your weight with a hand and tugging his boxers down with the other. His cock springs out, long and thick enough that you wonder if it would fit anywhere. It’s flushed red at the tip and leaking pre that beads and dribbles down the underside, and maybe if you focus enough you could just about see the throb of the vein that runs along side. A breath hisses through Hoseok’s teeth when you wrap your fingers around him, his eyes shut and his head tilts back.

Your eyes meet his when you slowly drag your hand down the length of his shaft, teasing him like he did you; turnabout is fair play. His hold in your hair tightens just a bit, eyes narrowing.

“Dangerous game you’re trying to start.” He murmurs, “I don’t take well t – fuck.” He hisses, the word tapering off into a low groan as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

The slightly salty taste of him bursts against your tongue and you hum, twisting your wrist as you bring your hand back up to meet your mouth and follow it down again. The saliva that escapes from the corners of your mouth helps with the glide.

You take a breath through your nose and relax your jaw, taking him in until he hits the back of your throat and you gag. Hoseok’s thighs tense and a stuttered breath leaves him.

“Easy there.” He soothingly runs his fingers through your hair, though it does nothing for the involuntary tears springing at your waterline. You decide to play it safe, not taking more than you can handle. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind, letting you set your own pace, whispering swears and your praises.

Heat pools in your gut as your head bobs back and forth, your tongue flat against the underside of his cock, swirling around the head every time you pull back.

Slick with spit, your hand strokes the rest of him, and his groans vibrate in your ears. His fingers tighten in your hair, and it’s the only time he directs; holding you still.

“Take a deep breath for me, dove.” You do as told, and as you inhale, Hoseok slowly pushes forward, his cock reaching the back of your throat in no time at all. He groans above you, cock throbbing against your tongue, “There you go.”

He holds you there for a moment, only easing you back when your throat tightens with the need for air. He lets you breathe for a bit before he’s going again, thrusting slowly, once, twice and then holding you still. He keeps you there, cock throbbing at the back of your throat, your nose pressed against the neatly trimmed hair at the base.

When you gag he pulls you back, barely letting you breathe before he’s leaning down to kiss you, catching the string of drool that hangs from your bottom lip with his tongue. He lets you catch your breath, stepping back to pull his tee-shirt over his head and your mouth goes dry at the full expanse of his lithe frame.

Sitting back on your heels, breath a little ragged, you admire the sculpted lines of his body. Every movement is fluid and graceful, his muscles shifting smoothly beneath his skin.

His chest is defined, the faintest sheen of sweat highlighting each ripple of muscle. You can see the strength in his arms and shoulders, the way they flex as he moves. There’s a raw, primal energy about him, but it’s tempered by a quiet confidence.

Hoseok comes back to you quickly, cupping your cheek and kissing you fervently, moving with you as you shift back, cock smearing pre-cum along your inner thighs as he slots his narrow hips between them. He nibbles at your bottom lip, fingers sliding through your slick folds before the head of his cock nudges against your entrance.

For a quiet moment he stares then, kisses you tenderly as he breeches. It’s an easy glide, but it stings none the less, and you give an appreciative squeeze to his wrist when he goes slow. The stretch is bearable and soon the slight discomfort dissipates when he bottoms out and gives you a moment.

“Good?” he breathes out, hips pressed flush against yours. The same breath sucked back through his teeth when your walls tightens around him, his cock throbs in response and you keen. He grinds his hips down, pelvis pressing against your swollen clit and the sensation is almost too much and not nearly enough.

He’s close enough that you can run your tongue along his collarbone and feel him shiver. Leave your own marks there with your teeth and revel in the growl that rumbles in his chest.

He hooks an arm at the back of your knee, pressing it against your chest as he raises and balances his weight. You’re spread open for him, his cock sinks deeper, rubbing against a spot that makes your eyes roll back. He gives shallow thrusts at first, pressing kisses and bruises wherever he could reach.

“Fuck.” Hoseok hisses between his teeth, hips still, palm against your cheek, and he watches you with something other than lust in his eyes. Something gentle as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, such a good girl. Taking everything I give you.”

His hips snap forward and you cry out, hands gripping the sheets between them at his sinful groan. He keeps a relentless pace, and you could feel him everywhere. His fingers on your skin, leaving you cold and hot at the same time, gripping your hips so tightly you fear they’ll bruise. It would simply add to the ones he’s already placed, scattered on your neck and chest like mismatched constellations in a dark sky.

He brings your hands up above your head, holding them there, together with his free one.

“You’re so good to me, Dove. And all mine, hm? Say it.” He grunts, “Say you belong to me, promise me that you’ll stay here with me.” He says this softly, tenderly, grinding his hips against yours in slow movements, tightening the coil in your stomach.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. I promise.” You babble, hips moving against his on their own accord. “I’ll stay. I promise. Please.”

Hoseok groans at your words, leaning down to capture your lips with his, tongue finding yours with ease. “That’s right. You’re mine. Fuck. All mine. Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Hoseok.”

He curses under his breath, straightening his form and brings his hands down to grip your hips tight, and sets a brutal pace. Head tilting back to reveal the marks you left on him, groaning before he looks back down at you, “Close? Hm? You’re squeezing so tight.” His words taunt, as did the smirk on his pretty pink lips, “Make a mess for me, Dove. Cum all over my cock. That’s it, good girl.”

White lights dance behind your tightly shut eyelids, a ringing in your ears. And Hoseok was fucking you through it, fast and hard, his praises a rumble in his chest. You lay there boneless, taking what he gave with a haze over your mind, a weak moan leaving your parted lips when his hand met your throat. Your heart spikes for another reason entirely, but he doesn’t squeeze. Fingers just there, barely any pressure, as he chased his own end, cock kissing your cervix with each trust, his other hand pressed against your lower stomach.

His thumb finds your clit and you jolt, catching his sinister smirk that curled his lips. “There’s no going back after this, baby. Fuck – you’re mine, understand?” You can feel him throbbing, feel the way his hips stutter on the draw back, he was close and you wanted nothing more than him marking you, claiming you in this way. When your eyes meet his, a shiver goes through you.

He comes undone with a low groan, hips flushed with your own, still thrusting through it, and you can see them with your own eyes, as he shudders and stills. His wings uncurl, dark feathers, darker than anything you’ve ever seen, dipped in silver, spreads out behind him and flutters. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, gentle, barely there and you feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

Your eyelids were heavy, and sleepily, you reach out to brush your fingers through the feathers that encased your forms. Hoseok stiffens before your fingers reach them, and chuckles, nipping softly at the flesh of your neck, “Go ahead, Dove.”

He relaxes, when your fingers touch, and you feel him shudder, groaning softly against your neck. They’re soft, your fingers disappearing in the inky blackness of them. With a final brush of his lips against your neck, Hoseok pulls back, his wings shimmering away like a mirage and your hand passes through air before lands limply at your side.

He squeezes your hip gently, mindful, and then he’s gone, walking out his room and into the hallway. The light that spills in helps you see a lot better than the dim lamp, and you notice that Hoseok’s bedroom looks much like the rest of his apartment; sleek and dark. There isn’t much to it either, the basics, more utilirian than a comfort space. You wonder if he uses it at all.

Hoseok comes back and gathers your boneless self into his arms. You rest your cheek against his collarbone, the sound of running water reaching your ears when he steps out into the hallway.

The tub is filling, steam rising from the bubbles that form at the top of the disturbed water. It smells like mint and some sort of fruit, and the temperature is just right when he steps into it and lowers you down. He positions you so that your back is against his chest and turns off the water when it’s high enough. You sense that he’s in his head again, not quite here even as he presses a soft kiss to the back of your neck.

“Feeling okay?” he asks suddenly, tracing a mindless pattern along your arm.

You hum softly, “Yeah. Sore, though.”

“I expected that.” Another kiss, apologetic, against your shoulder. “Also...” Hoseok pauses, “I finished inside you. I didn’t ask. I’m sorry.”

The realisation dawns on you too and you shift a little to look at him, “I don’t mind, but....is that a bad thing?”

There’s a strange half smile on his lips and he lifts a hand to tug softly on one tangled end of your hair, gently sifting his fingers through until he’s satisfied. “It can be, if it takes. But, I’ll get something for it tomorrow.”

You notice that the marks you left along his skin have begun to fade already, and you poke at them with a finger. He heals quickly, you figured. He chuckles softly, taking your hand to press kisses along your finger tips and then to your palm. Your finger brushes over the mole on his upper lip gently and watch him melt.

He studies you for a moment, the same way he did before he left earlier, though, it’s softer now. “Would you like to come with me?”

You brighten, perking up with a nod, “Is that okay?”

Hoseok hums, mischief in his eyes, “If you promise not to run off as soon as you step foot outside.”

You roll your eyes and turn around, and Hoseok pulls you back to him with an arm around your middle. “I have nowhere to go.”

“I know, I was only teasing.” He chuckles.

You’re both quiet for a while, and you simply relax, almost falling asleep against him as the warm water soothes your aching muscles. You aren’t aware that you did, and only wake when Hoseok was just done tucking fresh clean sheets up to your chin. You’re back in his room but you don’t mind, the thought of going back to your own unsettles you right now. You haven’t forgotten your nightmare, and it’s something you’d definitely have to unpack another day.

You wait until he’s crawled in behind you, the warmth of him encasing you gently. His form melds against your back like he belongs there, an arm slipping under your head and the other over your hip. “Hoseok?”

“Yes Dove?”

You worry at your bottom lip, fingers finding his under the covers and they squeeze your own encouragingly. “There’s a friend of mine...I was with her before I met you.”

“I can help her.” He murmurs, and he sounds...sleepy. Today was a lot for him as well, you suppose. “I can get her a job here.”

You shift, turning to face him, he tucks you to him when you settle, chin resting on top of your head. “How are you gonna do that?”

You hear the smirk when he answers, “Do you think everything I have magically appeared? I own the hotel.”

“Wha—”

“Shh.” Hoseok squeezes your hip, “Go to sleep.”

Sometime later you’ll realise that Hoseok needed you more than he would admit. When you learn his tells he would help put himself back together with you instead of trying to do it alone.

Sometime later he’d take you to see her. When the wind is cold and the old oak tree reaches it’s bare, spindly arms to the frosted sky. When the day marks yet another year and he lets you put the flowers between the roots. He looks like a shadow against the glittering white, and he tells you he’s okay.

He’d take you to meet his friends at a club on the high-end and you’d would realise that he’s soft only with you and the guy who reminds you of a cat. With the others he’s closed off and friendly in a way that seems a little odd.

You’d see Abigail often and would skirt around how you actually met Hoseok when she’d ask. Anyone would think you’re crazy if you told them.

You spend most of your time at home while Hoseok goes off doing god knows what when he’s not there. It’s something to do with his friends and you never ask.

Then he’s there and everything beyond him and you and the space you both occupy doesn’t matter. And it’s kind of easy to forget where it all started – it’d been so long since you’d wondered where you were going to get anything to help you get by.

He’s made of cracks and splintered glass but he let you sink into the spaces, filled the pieces with you and settled. There would always be cracks in the glass that he’s made of, and there would always be a post in his fence that he needs to hammered in to fix. Despite the unconventional way you’d both started, the abnormality of his existence, you’d be there.

[bold, can't tag]

Tagging: @iammeandmeisiam , @imanhaitani @allhobbitstoisengard @dontstoptime @astormunchar @eoieopda @blog-name-idk @madbutgloriouspond @bangtansmauyeondan @taestefully-in-luv @mssukeyna @euphoricfilter @luaspersona

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forevertoru · 3 months ago

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cafe rekindle ~ koshi sugawara x reader

synopsis: after years of living in your hometown after graduation, one last glimpse of your past was enough to motivate you to finally give yourself the fresh start you needed. a new city, a new life. with the help of the people around you, you were able to accomplish your dreams and start your very own cafe. working in your own cafe means you meet lots of people, but one familiar face was enough to make the walls you built up over the years falter.

chapter synopsis: love isn't always something that'll stay in our lives. accept it or not, people come and go if they see fit. even a picture perfect relationship with a sturdy foundation can come crumbling down. despite the hardships of losing someone you saw as "forever", don't let that stop you from accomplishing your ambition. but even new cities have familiar faces.

notes: i literally have no idea what i'm doing, this is my first time (in a while but we dont talk abt that) writing fanfic.. wish me luck. (wrote this bcuz i was listening to promise by laufey while reading angst fanfics)

tags: angst (?), fluff (?), elementary school teacher, cafe owner, exes to lovers, second chance romance, slow burn, fem reader-oriented pronouns

warnings: swearing, reader smokes to deal with emotions, talks of mental health

word count: 3780

ch. 1 the end of the beginning & new beginnings

No one ever expects longevity from the relationships in our youth, in fact, it would be foolish to even expect something like that. From grade school, to high school, some would even argue college; it never becomes long term.

You were always aware of that, so why did you see yourself getting married to the man you spent your high school and college years with?

A silly thought you planted in your brain; but who could blame you? He was the ideal partner. Patient, gentle, understanding, and so much more — even though you were still young and didn’t have much planned for adulthood, you made a vow to never let him go.

You loved him with every single atom you had in your body, and perhaps you still do. After all, it isn’t easy to forget about a relationship you swore would’ve lasted a lifetime if it were under different circumstances.

In all honestly, you weren’t quite sure what made you love him the way you did. Maybe it was the fact being around him just felt so.. easy. You never felt like you had to be a different person when you were with him.

To put it simply, he was the person who brought you comfort.

But even so, silly vows you make to yourself don’t really mean anything if you can’t make them a reality. Over the next few months, the happiness you thought would stay in your life forever gradually started to fade, and there was nothing you could do about it.

You know he didn't mean to fall out of love, at least that's what you wanted to believe. Not a bone in your body wanted to make him seem like a bad person, not when you still had so much love and respect for him.

Days before the breakup, you noticed he seemed a bit… different. He stopped holding your hands, stopped bringing you lunch, he couldn’t even bring himself to look you in the eyes. Yes, they were little things, yet, you still managed to notice them.

You decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, telling yourself, “Maybe studying has him preoccupied” Trying to shake off whatever insecurity you were feeling. Looking back — maybe you should’ve asked him the first day you noticed, maybe then, things would’ve worked out.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

When you felt his hand wrap around your wrist for the first time in days, guiding you to a place where the two of you could be alone and focus on the soon-to-be conversation, you knew it was the end of the relationship you tried desperately to keep in your life.

Before he could even get a word out, you couldn’t help but notice the dryness in your throat, how your heart started to race in anticipation, and the tears in your eyes that threatened to spill.

From the look in his eyes, you could tell this was going to be the last day the two of you could call yourselves “soulmates”.

Throughout your entire relationship, you always managed to keep your composure. You knew how to keep your emotions in check, therefore, you never cried in front of your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.

– Seeing tears in your eyes for the first time broke his heart.

At that moment, he wanted to change his mind, take you in his arms, and promise he’d never let you feel this type of pain again. But despite the feeling he couldn't shake off, he knew deep within himself he wouldn’t be able to keep that promise.

And before he could change his mind, the boy finally spoke.

“(name), no matter what, I’ll always have so much love for you.” The gray-haired boy started, and as he spoke, he couldn’t help but notice the look in your eyes. The way you looked at him with such hurt and confusion made it all the more difficult for him.

“Before I say anything, you did nothing to make me feel this way” he spoke, taking your hands in his. “You’re an amazing girl, (name), you always have been and I’m sure you always will be.”

As the words left his mouth and the emotion started to become prominent in his eyes, you noticed something in the way he looked at you — despite what his mind was telling him to say, in his heart, he didn’t want to lose you, and that made it all the more gut-wrenching.

You felt so idiotic for thinking this relationship would last, but at the same time, it was such a shame to lose the person who you thought would've been a great lifelong partner.

If you were being honest with yourself, you couldn’t stand the thought of losing him.

All you wanted to do was fall to your knees and beg him to stay an eternity with you, but from the tone that laced his words, you knew he would follow through with the separation no matter what.

“You deserve so much better and I-” It was almost embarrassing how he couldn’t keep his emotions in check anymore, his voice breaking as he wiped away the forming tears from his eyes with his shoulder. “I didn’t want this to end… If anything, you were the girl I wanted to marry. The girl I wanted to spend my life with, raise a family, and die with”

The words that spilled out his mouth didn’t help in aiding your broken heart, they only made it harder and harder to keep the tears in your now glossy eyes.

Without a second thought, your mouth opened and you blurted something out. “Are you breaking up with me?” your lip quivered as your eyes scanned his face for an answer.

It was a stupid question, but it was the only thing on your mind.

The boy was caught off guard by your sudden bluntness. It was a simple yes or no question, but, by the way you spoke, it just made breaking up even harder for him.

The way you looked at him in such despair was enough for him to finally break eye contact, causing him to shift his gaze onto the ground.

Maybe it was the guilt that caused the boy to go nonverbal for a few seconds — an internal conflict between his heart and mind. You were everything he could ask for, yet, he knew he couldn’t give you everything you needed.

After what seemed like a century of waiting, with a shaky voice, six words finally fell from his mouth.

“I think we should break up..”

And there they were – the words you were dreading to hear. Before you even noticed, the tears you were desperately holding back started to fall from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks and hitting the concrete the both of you stood on.

It didn’t take long for him to notice the drops of water falling from your eyes, and once he took notice of the tears, his hand found its way to your face, his palm cupping your cheek as he wiped away your tears with his thumb.

It was as if he wasn’t the reason for the tears. As much as you wanted to scream, telling him not to touch you, to leave your sight and never talk to you again after this, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to do so.

Everything in your mind was telling yourself to hate him, to loathe his very being. Yet, despite all the hurt he was causing you at this very moment, you still couldn’t see him in a negative light.

Tear after tear fell from your eyes – It was almost pitiful. To you, it felt like you were crying for nothing. You felt stupid for being so affected by this, foolish to be this hurt over a relationship.

You were in your own little world, caught up in your thoughts, struggling to come to terms with the “sudden” breakup. Trying desperately to grasp the reality of the situation, a familiar warmth seemed to wrap around you.

The boy’s arms held you as you cried, in an attempt to calm your emotions.

In the moment, as you noticed his arms around you, it almost felt like he was trying to mock you. He had the audacity to try and provide you comfort when he was the cause of the emotional turmoil.

You stood there for a while, your hands curled into balls, and all you felt was anger. You told yourself you didn't need his sympathy.

That anger didn’t last long though, it was soon replaced with despair.

Your own arms soon wrapped around the boy’s frame as the tears from your eyes stained his shirt. You found yourself sobbing in his arms, trying to seek the comfort he would always provide for the very last time.

As your face stayed buried in the gray-haired boy’s chest, he placed his chin on top of your head as his hand rubbed your back. The sound of your muffled sobs made him feel horrible. The guilt of hurting you was unbearable, he felt like such an asshole for doing this to a sweet girl like you.

After some time, the boy finally pulled away. He looked at you for what could be the last time.

As he pulled away and looked at you, he couldn't help but lean in and press a soft kiss on your forehead, as if a silent apology for all the pain he was provoking in this very moment.

That kiss left you with a conflicting feeling. Every atom in your body wanted to feel anger, you wanted to slap him with your hardest blow. Yet, the kiss brought you unexpected comfort.

— As much as you wanted to stay in his arms for however long you could, you took a step back, wiping away your tears.

With a shaky voice, you finally spoke. “I understand” was all you managed to mumble.

He wished you could’ve said more, he hoped that you didn’t hate him and that one day you’d be able to forgive him, but he understood as well, he knew you weren't fond of talking whilst experiencing high emotions. He understood well enough to let you walk away without another word.

Maybe that was Koshi Sugawara’s biggest mistake.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

From talking for hours on end to walking past each other in the halls.

It hurt to become so distant from someone who knew everything about you, from two people who claimed to have so much love for each other to strangers.

It felt like a mockery to see Sugawara somewhere on campus, each encounter with him was like a constant reminder of the breakup and the emotions that came with it.

You tried to avoid Koshi on campus whenever you could for your sanity, but, going to the same school made it impossible to even attempt. Enviably, you crossed paths with Koshi occasionally, and every single time you did, you felt your heart break a little.

Before you could even realize it, your mental health began to worsen as the months seemed to drag on. You couldn’t commit to your studies and found yourself slacking off on assignments. And in return, your grades began to plummet.

It started to feel almost impossible to even focus during lectures, your mind always seemed to be focused on something other than what was being said by the professors. You almost always fell asleep during your classes since you had never gotten the proper amount of sleep the previous night or couldn’t bring yourself to listen to the lecture.

A period in your life where you avoid talking about it as if mentioning it would bring death upon you. A time in your life when you were at an all-time low; skipping your lectures, laying in bed all day, neglecting your chores.

Smoking was the only thing that brought you comfort during these times. You were well aware of the risks that came with smoking, but the desperation of wanting to escape reality got to you.

But as the days turned into weeks, with the help of the people you had around you, you had found your spark again.

You had finally found yourself once again and you couldn’t be more proud of yourself. Though you weren’t proud of the addiction that came along with it, you can’t change what already had happened.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

– Before you knew it, it was the day of your graduation.

It was more fulfilling than you had imagined, you couldn’t help but shed tears of joy. You were genuinely so proud of yourself, just a few months ago, you thought you’d never make it here.

You stood patiently as you waited for your name to be announced.

From around ten people in front of you to only one person. Soon you were next to be called on stage to finally complete this hellish nightmare you were eager to escape.

You felt your heartbeat in anticipation as your hands started to sweat, you couldn’t wait for all the opportunities that were ahead of you. You had always dreamed of opening your very own cafe with recipes you perfected.

The very second they called your name to walk on the stage, you couldn’t help but tear up. You walked up onto the stage and accepted your diploma with a smile on your face, you shook everyone’s hand and headed back to your seat.

And that’s when the realization finally hit, you were finally done with your college years; you were finally an adult.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

An average day for you after college was inviting a friend over around the evening and having them taste and critique whatever you had made. Then, the following day you’d try again with less or more of a certain ingredient and then have your friend try it again to see what they’d say.

Baking wasn’t a cheap hobby you could just do whenever you pleased. With that understanding in mind, you took up a job as a cashier at a nearby fast food place just a walk around from your house.

It’s been like this for a few years now, and you were content with this lifestyle. Of course, there would be times when the stress of not being able to perfect something gets to you, but all it took was a cigarette to calm you down and you were back to figuring out what you should try adding to a recipe next.

Baking wasn’t much of a clean hobby either, after each session you had to clean. As you were cleaning your kitchen, reorganizing whatever was in there, you realized you were starting to run low on certain ingredients for your pastries.

Looking at the time, you realized the grocery store was about to close. Panicked, you grabbed your wallet, phone, and house keys before sprinting out the door so you could have a decent amount of time to browse the shelves.

Luckily, you made it with an hour to look around and decide if you wanted to purchase an item or buy it another time.

After almost an hour, you headed to the self-check-out, scanned your items, paid, and left the store.

Unfortunately, you didn’t own a car, so that left you to just walk from place to place. You didn’t mind though, you liked walking, it was therapeutic for you. Surrounded by the orange sky, you headed home with earbuds in both ears, playing whatever songs were in your playlist.

As you entered your neighborhood, you were more than ready to just settle down on your couch and watch the new episode of the current show you were watching. Nearing your apartment, you glanced up from your phone and nearly dropped all the bags you were holding.

Just outside of your apartment complex stood a familiar boy, seemingly looking for someone or something.

For a while, you just stood still, looking at the figure in disbelief.

And just like that, it was like you were reliving college all over again. The feelings you swore were gone and you’d never feel again suddenly came rushing back to you, hitting you like one big wave of the ocean.

“Koshi..?” You whispered to yourself as tears began to well up in your eyes. You couldn’t understand why he was outside of your building or how he knew where you lived.

You had replayed this exact scenario in your head about a million times, so why were you suddenly freezing up?

It was naive, but a part of you believed he wanted to apologize to you for what had happened in college and finally give you closure, and maybe, just maybe, rekindle the spark the two of you once had.

The cold air of the evening blew against your body as you felt your body heat up, breaking into a cold sweat, it was almost embarrassing how nervous you were getting, you hadn’t even approached him yet.

Before you could ever make the decision, he made that decision for you. The figure that stood in front of your apartment building turned to face you, and that's when you realized, it wasn’t Sugawara, but rather, a stranger.

Right then and there, that’s when you decided you couldn’t live in this city anymore.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

Just seeing someone who resembled him in the slightest was enough to send you spiraling. Alone in your one-bedroom apartment, the only sound that filled the area was your muffled sobs.

You sat in the corner of your bedroom, knees against your chest, head down as you felt all the memories from high school up to college come rushing back to you.

The desire of wanting to escape the city that was filled with reminders of why a portion of your college years turned bitter and acting on impulse don't mix well.

After seeing that boy outside of your building just a few moments ago, you didn’t waste a second booking a one-way flight to a different city that left the next day.

It felt somewhat childish, still being bothered by things that happened to you years ago. Even so, you couldn’t stand staying in this city a day longer.

It wasn’t long after you started packing your things, saying goodbye to the place that was your home for years now. You felt emotional, and rightfully so. You had to leave your family and friends without a goodbye since this was out of the blue, but this is what you needed the most, a fresh start.

The following morning, you made your way straight to the airport, unable to stay another moment in that apartment. Without a second thought, you left your key at the front desk and left without looking back.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

Who knew after moving out of your old city, you’d finally be able to accomplish your dream. With the help of the new people you had met, you were finally able to open your own cafe.

For the first few months that you lived in this new city, there was this feeling of uncertainty you couldn’t shake off. Maybe it was the fact you were completely isolated from everyone else.

Moving to a new city meant you had zero friends, but that issue didn’t last long. As the days passed, you eventually met people who happened to have the right skills to help you open your cafe.

Of course, starting a business isn’t a cheap investment by any means. The cost of simply purchasing the building was more than expensive. Along came interior design, painting and flooring, lighting, storage, equipment, and ingredients.

A year-long process, but it was worth the wait in your eyes.

It was a hassle and almost put you in debt, but once everything came together, you had no regrets. You were beyond proud of yourself, you never thought you’d be able to come this far; yet, here you are.

Now, the only thing that remained was the name of the cafe. Though you’ve dreamed of this moment since the day you finished college, you never thought of a name.

With the help of some friends, a name was finally decided.

Soon, “Autumn” cafe was now open to the public. Since your cafe was located in a somewhat popular location in the city, it didn’t take long for the cafe to become a success.

You felt more than accomplished, you never thought your own business would reach this amount of success in such a short amount of time.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

It’s unexpected for the owner of a business to work in said business. But hiding in plain sight was such a clever way to monitor what was going on in the cafe.

What made it all the more fun, the people you work with don’t know you own this establishment.

It’s a great thing you weren’t present during job interviews, or else this wouldn’t have worked out for you.

You worked as the cashier in your own business, but you didn’t mind. It kept you busy and saved you money as well, it was a win-win.

ᥫ᭡ . ˚

10:27 am. It was somewhat of a slow day today, given it was a school day and most of your customers were college students. There were only 5 customers in the store right now, just enjoying the silence of the cafe and eating or drinking whatever they ordered.

You sat behind the counter reading about whatever drama was currently ongoing. Both your earbuds were plugged in so you couldn't hear whether or not someone came in, but you didn’t care. Rarely anyone came in at this time anyway.

You enjoyed days were work was slow, and you & your coworkers could relax once and a while, you guys enjoyed these moments whenever they were given.

As you were scrolling, you noticed someone come up to the counter from your peripheral vision. “Welcome, how could I help you?” You said as you took off your earbuds and placed your phone back into your bag.

Without looking up, you waited patiently for the person to voice out their order so you could punch it in the register. After what seemed to be a minute, the person still hadn’t said anything.

“Maybe they’re browsing through the menu,” You said, still not looking up. But after what seemed like another minute passing by, you finally lifted your eyes to see what the person behind the counter was up to.

As your eyes found their way to the person in front of you, you felt your heart drop to your stomach as you realized who it was that stood just in front of you.

Koshi?

#haikyu x reader #anime fanfic #fanfic #haikyuu sugawara #haikyuu #haikyu fluff #karasuno #haikyuu time skip #sugawara x reader #sugawara kōshi #hq sugawara #angst #soft angst #haikyu fanfiction

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clip-the-simp · 7 months ago

Text

Not Much Else [Pt.2]

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,233

Warnings: burning, cannibalism, canon typical violence, swearing, slight angst, unwanted touch (not from The Ghoul), (I’m bad at warning tags so just let me know if I need/should to add some)

Tags: Mild Proofreading, eventual smut (if I can get the balls to write it), reader had bat wings, Bounty Hunting, deviation from TV show, pre!show events(?), (Again I'm bad at tags so let me know)

Summary: You're a vault experiment that makes it to the surface. Quickly you learn the lay of the land and a few years later end up working the same bounty as The Ghoul. You convince him to let you take a long after having a feeling that you just had to follow him. Where will this story lead? Only time (and my motivation) will tell.

A/N: This is part 2 to the cringy ass shit I call a fanfic. Be forewarned that this is going to be incredibly inaccurate to cannon events and really unrealistic honestly. But listen. If Lucy can have her finger zapped back on and working properly anything can happen.

The pair of you had been traveling for two days by the time you caught wind of the target's whereabouts. After stopping at several towns to get supplies and information, you had been pointed east, away from the coast. He was trying to get over the mountains, or what remained of them, in order to get as far out of town as possible.

Once knowing this, The Ghoul and yourself continued on. Not much had been said in the two days of traveling together. You didn’t take The Ghoul for much of a talker so you kept your thoughts to yourself in hopes of not disturbing his peace. Most of your time was spent pondering over that feeling that continued to linger.

The familiarity from before continued to pluck at your thoughts the more you took in The Ghoul’s demeanor. Surely he couldn’t be someone from your past. There was no way someone could live over a hundred years, but maybe there was. With some of the other people and creatures you had encountered, maybe there was a possibility. This world was odd like that, and you had heard that The Ghoul was a lot older than most. So just maybe he was someone you truly recognize, however the wasteland changes people. Let alone someone who had been doing this for over a century.

So one night after you had settled at the ruins of a worn gas station and started to fix a meal, you decided to pry. It was a difficult situation. You couldn't be too blunt or he would quickly shut you down. However you couldn't tiptoe too much or he would get agitated and again shut you down.

Having managed to haggle some ingredients off someone at the market in the last town you were in, it could make for a good bargaining point with The Ghoul. Perhaps if you gave him a good meal he would loosen up a bet to talk. You had been contemplating the proper way to ask your questions the whole time you sat over the pot of stew. So when the food was done, you spooned out a bowl full of the stew for The Ghoul and waited a moment before to ask your questions.

“So, how long have you been wastelanding?” You started, making a bowl for yourself and blowing on it lightly to cool it off. The Ghoul was already a few bites in before dividing to take the chance of prying for information, and when you did he stopped momentarily to stare at you. His shoulders straightened as the bowl in his hands lowered to his lap.

“Why y’asking?” He asked bluntly as his expression stayed stone cold. The blood in your veins felt cooler than before as your gaze left his to reside on the bowl in your hands.

“I-” You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to scare him off. However, you could feel The Ghoul’s gaze burning into you as you searched for an answer. Against your better judgment, you decided to be upfront.

“I just have this feeling that I know you is all. Maybe that’s why I wanted to follow you in the first place.” Your eyes rose to meet The Ghoul’s once again only to find his expression to no longer be cold but instead a bit sorrowful. However that moment was brief as he asked you another question.

“What makes y’think that?” His voice was not as harsh as it usually was. It was as if he was trying to remember, just as you were, who you could’ve been to him in a past life. That sudden change in him sent a pinged of pain through your heart. You couldn’t help but feel a bit bad for making him recall the old life he once had.

“Your demeanor just reminds me of a man I once knew.” You said. Setting your bowl to the side, you remove the goggles from your eyes only now realizing they still lingered on your face even after the sun had fallen. Your gaze lingered on them for a while before you began to speak again.

“He was popular in western films back in the day and I had the pleasure of Co-starring in a few films with him. He was a good man which wasn’t too surprising.” You chuckled to yourself as you remember the time you had tripped over the bottom of the costume dress you were wearing on set. Cooper Howard had caught you mid fall and the two of you joked about it a bet after.

“It’s funny now that I think about it. If I placed you two side by side there wouldn't actually be much that y’all have in common. Maybe the cowboy physique but that's about it.” When you looked back up, The Ghoul’s gaze was trained on you. It was full of mixed emotions that were balancing sadness and anger. Guilt settled itself low in your chest as you realized perhaps you had gone too far. Picking your bowl up, you quickly raised it to your lips and started to drink some of it. Hoping to relieve some of the tension in the air.

“I’ve been doing this shit for over 100 years. The waste land changes people.” The Ghoul finally answered your question. His voice was still angry but the somber undertone didn't go unnoticed. As the two of you continued to sit in silence, the man sitting across from you, past the fire, spoke.

“I’ll take first watch.” The Ghoul grumbled as he finished his soup and went to spoon the last of the stew into his bowl. A worry he was going to leave in your sleep crossed your mind and as you began to voice your concern he spoke before you.

“I’m not gonna leave y’stranded. We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow. So sleep.” The Ghoul growled the last bet which caught you off guard but definitely got the point across. You leaned against a rusted gas pump while pulling your wings over your arms and partially over your legs. It never took you long to fall asleep, but the guilt from hurting your traveling companion lingered. You wanted to make it right but reasoned you could mend things while traveling again tomorrow.

An abrupt crash caused you to wake up with a start, but before you could get your bearings, there was a heavy weight on you that hadn't been there before. It had you pinned to the ground as your senses came back to you and you realized it was a raider. The fire was still blazing which allowed you to see the man on top of you clearly. He was barking orders to his group which you weren’t coherent enough to make out.

“Get off me!” You shouted as you squirmed to fight against the man’s hold on you, the ground digging into your back. Your pulse pounding in your ears as panic washed over you. How had they gotten the jump on us? Your eyes frantically looked for The Ghoul only to see him lying face down in the sand. It was far too dark and you were in far too much of a panic to focus on if he was breathing or not.

“Aren’t you a pretty sight?” The raider leader said as he leaned down and ran his tongue up the side of your neck to your ear. At that moment instinct kicked in as you turned your head and bit down into the raider’s cheek when he was pulling away. Your teeth, having been abnormally sharp canines, beat through the flesh with ease and left a large hole in his face. The chunk of meat was left in your mouth as he jerked back in pain and held his face.

Taking that opportunity you got out from under the man but quickly yanked him up as you went to promptly throw him in the fire. His screams as he hit the flames alerted his group who quickly pulled out their weapons to attack. The fire was being smothered by the man writhing in it which put your opponents at a disadvantage. You spat out the flesh that remained in your mouth and beard your teeth, now stained with blood. Most of the raiders carried knives and close ranged weapons which only put them at an even greater disadvantage, as long as you stayed out of range.

You pulled out the pistol holstered at your thigh as you aimed and fired the first round. The bullet landed square in the chest of the raider closest to where The Ghoul laid motionless. As the body fell the other two charged in your direction which you quickly ducked away from and led them out from under the gas station canopy. They quickly followed suit as they chased after you. Not wanting to take a chance of them ripping your wings you stayed nimble on your feet.

Firing off another two rounds, one landed in the thigh of the farthest while the second lodged in the shoulder of the other. They continued to come after you which led to the last fatal two shots fired, but not before the one closest to you managed to swipe his blade across your forearm and leave a trail of blood running down your arm.

You quickly applied pressure to the wound as the bodies fell and you ran over to The Ghoul’s side. The man in the fire was no longer a threat and was burned bloody. Examining The Ghoul you realized he was still alive, but saw a bruise beginning to form on the back of his head. The raiders must’ve been hiding out and waiting.

What had The Ghoul so distracted he didn’t see them? You thought to yourself as you sat up. Rummaging through your bag you looked for your med kit to wrap your arm. It was going to be hard to bandage the arm with only one hand to work with but you would make do.

The Ghoul had been out for the rest of the night which worried you as you kept watch for him to recover. However, when morning arrived he came too and in a bet of a panic at that. His weapon was immediately in his hand as he waved it around looking for the raiders. You had already taken care of the bodies and harvested whatever meat you could manage off of them along with any supplies they could’ve had.

“What happened?” The Ghoul demanded as he leaned back on the wall behind him. You had flipped him over while he was sleeping so he wouldn't be lying face down in the dirt all night. His demeanor and frantic actions had startled you a bet so had your hands raised in defense.

“Raiders must’ve been camping out and ambushed us in the middle of the night. I took care of them.” You lowered your hands as he returned his gun to its holster and rubbed the back of his head. Slowly, you brought forward a makeshift bag filled with the remains of the raiders. You took it upon yourself to dry out the meat last night as you kept watch, not wanting to fall back asleep by accident. The Ghoul raised an eyebrow as his gaze moved from the bag, to you, then to your bandaged forearm.

“I figured if you don’t want it, someone in the next town will.” You explained as realization slipped into The Ghoul’s expression. Tossing it over to him, he looked in the bag to find what he was expecting.

“Well look at that. Looks like y’have more uses than y’let on.” His voice was teasing as he wrapped the meat backup and found a place for him to carry it. The Ghoul stood as he checked his belongings. Soon after, stretching to relieve the ache in his body from being shuffled around while unconscious.

“I got a lot of talents if you’re looking to test my limits.” You chuckled lightly as you stood up from your spot near the burnt out fire. Gathering your belongings, you quickly stretched your wings before tucking them back under your jacket. Your eye’s met with The Ghoul’s which caused you to startle as you saw the expression it held. It wasn’t something you had seen on him before, but it looked almost hungry as he smirked at you.

He began to walk closer to you leading to you stepping back into the gas pump you had been sleeping on. Your eyes rose to hold The Ghoul’s stair as he leaned forward to your ear. Worry settled into your veins as you wondered if he could hear the pounding in your heart against your rib cage.

“Maybe I should, darlin.” He whispered before turning away and beginning to trek into the wasteland. A deep red plagued your face as you tried to get your bearings. Why did he do that? Was he trying to rile you up? No he couldn’t have been. Could he?

“Come on now! Don’t make me wait on y’.” You heard The Ghoul shout over his shoulder as you realized he was already far ahead of you. Quickly gathering your composure, and throwing your goggles over your eyes, you ran after him to catch up.

#the ghoul x reader #the ghoul #cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #x female reader #x reader fanfiction #fallout franchise #fallout fanfic #fallout #writing #fanfic #fan fiction #female writers #writers on tumblr

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rafesbabyg1rl · 13 days ago

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Hiii pretties! Welcome to my blog!! Please keep things positive and stay slutty my friends!!!

~If you have any requests, please feel free to leave it in my inbox!!!~

Masterlist: The Watcher (Part One, Part Two, Part Three...)

you can read the rest if you wanna like know more about me n shit ig

Hello!! I'm Kay, or K, kat, whatever you wanna call me. I'm literally just a girl. I am a freakkkk. I do be a bit of a stoner y'all, and I usually am high when I write, so if I make a mistake, I'm blaming that. I'm from the United States (unfortunately) and I only speak English. This is a safe place; I am always here if anyone wants to talk. I do not discriminate; I do not spread hate. I do not and will not tolerate hate or unkind behavior towards me or others here on my blog. Like seriously guys I have bad anxiety, so please be nice and don't make it harder for me.

This is pretty much solely for Outer Banks, Rafe Cameron to be more specific. But, feel free to talk to me about other things!

Other things I'm interested in/passionate about: Taylor Swift, veterinary medicine, Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul, The Walking Dead, 13 Reasons Why, Supernatural, Jurassic Park/World, Harry Potter, The Maze Runner, The Hunger Games, comedy movies (Seth Rogen & James Franco). I love cold weather, books, and cats. Music is life and I listen to a little bit of everything so feel free to send songs.

I AM a student, so just keep in mind that I may be inactive because I’m in CLASS or doing work; because I will prioritize that over tumblr (well, i try). Other times I’m inactive because I am sleeping, or because I’m busy with LIFE. I am not tied to my tumblr and blog. I’ve had only positive experiences here so far, but I know that fanfic writers are often mistreated by readers, but guys we are all just people.

If you want me to hurry up and publish new work, don't tell me that, just interact with my blog and compliment my writing and that will motivate me more than anything else ever could. Also ASK AND REQUEST PLEASEEE!! I really enjoy and appreciate new ideas and feedback from other people's brains. I also appreciate constructive criticism. Don't be mean about it, but if you dislike or disagree with something, tell me politely. I like hearing feedback and am always working on improving my writing.

Seriously y'all, please please PLEASE do NOT be hateful. Do that on your own time, not here. I will not tolerate unnecessary attitude and hate. I believe in forgiveness, and I know that mistakes and misunderstandings happen. I will treat anyone and everyone with kindness and respect unless I have reason not to (really hoping I don't).

Who do I write for? I only write for Rafe Cameron. However, I'm not opposed to writing a little or sharing thoughts about other Outer Banks Characters!

What do I write? I will write literally almost anything. There’s no such thing as too much for me, so request away please. ------ As for darker topics, I will write them. Actually, a large portion of my work will include darker topics/themes/kinks, etc. I will write sensitive subjects too. But just because I live for that shit, doesn't mean everyone else does so I'll do my best to include warnings on all my work for any content that might potentially be triggering for others.

(Small warning: mentions of my mental struggles and self-destructive habits) I've always struggled mentally. I've always felt as though the way my brain works is different from everyone else; like something is wrong with me. But after many many years, I now have a better understanding of myself and how my brain works. Not to dump this on y'all, I swear I have a point, but I have diagnosed depression, anxiety, and ADHD. These things are all a big challenge I face in my day-to-day life and are often the leading cause of why I may take longer to write and publish things. I may take breaks, so don't worry if I'm not active, I will be back at some point. And I'll try my best to update you guys on when I'm gonna be less active or vice versa. Another way my mental health effects my writing is because when I write, a lot of the time my personal experiences or feelings will end up incorporated within my work, since well, it's all coming from my brain. I mostly write for myself to express my thoughts and feelings, having others read and actually enjoy my work is just an added bonus. But personally, I have struggled with self-harm for about one third of my life. I often get ideas for new works revolving around this theme and may publish things about it eventually. Themes such as mental illnesses, self-harm, abuse, insecurities, EDs, suicidal thoughts, unhealthy relationships (obv), toxic household, etc. will have a reoccurring appearance throughout my works. So just be prepared, I guess.

And like I said before, if anyone needs to talk, I am ALWAYS here and I am a very good listener.

Everyone is more than welcome to message me or leave anything in my inbox. Whether it's to chat, request something, ask something, literally whatever is welcome!! (Except hate I don't fw that)

Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy! As always, be kind and stay slutty!

#rafesbabyg1rl #thewatcher #rafe cameron #drew starkey #outer banks #outer banks netflix #rafe cameron x reader #rafe x reader #rafe obx #outer banks fanfiction #outerbanks x reader

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bearsbeetsbeskar · 11 months ago

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Sheep Days with Joel (post outbreak)

Word count: 5.9k (im so sorry i genuinely can't believe I wrote this much about an old man taking care of livestock) Rating: swearing, descriptions of an animal birth (I tried to make it not too gross or explicit), traumatic animal birth, discussions of labour and stillbirths Summary: At Tommy and Ellie's insistence of him finding a routine, Joel is appointed as the sheep caretaker in Jackson. After all, sheep are quiet, and do what they're told. How hard could it be? A/N: this is purely self indulgent, peepaw playing with animals. No romantic interest or pairing, just wholesome father daughter interactions, along with some other characters. Something about the holidays made me think about that conversation that Joel and Ellie had over the fire, and his dream of owning a sheep ranch, and before I knew it 5k was written. If you have read all of this, please know that I love you so incredibly much and you make it worth it to keep writing these silly little stories that bring me so much joy. main masterlist

Life in Jackson had a way of moving at the speed of molasses, while also propelling itself further into the future at the speed of light.

Some days were syrupy and slow, thick with palpable moments of survival, tension and freedom. Memories of what life was like before the outbreak. Other days however felt like the course of an electric current, with glitches and shocks jumping from one event to another, one threat to another in the span of a few hours in a day. Attacks from raiders during ambushes in the early morning, a group of coordinated clickers just outside patrol borders when dusk set in.

Even just the day to day events in Jackson could make one feel that life seemed to pass by at a static, yet dynamic pace, regardless of what routine you had fallen into in the modest settlement.

Joel was still getting used to it. The staticity, as well as the dynamism. Life before Jackson was nomadic. Rootless. Constantly on the run.

Endure and survive. That’s all that really mattered at the end of the day. The words bore a penultimate weight akin to the wartime motivational phrase, ‘keep calm and carry on.’

Well, that’s all Joel knew how to do.

Carry on.

Not so much the keep calm part, but he was no stranger to putting his head down and pressing forward when things got tough. Carrying on also meant being strong for others. Something which Joel is constantly reminded that he need no longer do now that he and Ellie are in Jackson. Now that they are safe.

And there is no shortage of people who tell him the same, including Tommy and Maria, and even Ellie.

“You gotta find something to do, man,” Tommy sighed and crossed his arms, leaning into the doorframe of the kitchen. “Something to help you get into a routine y’know.”

Joel glared at his younger brother. “The hell d’you mean I gotta find something, Tommy? I already have a routine.” He scowled and shifted his jaw.

This is the 3rd or 4th time the subject has been brought up and Joel’s just about had it. He doesn’t get it. He does things. He does stuff around the commune. He goes on patrol shifts, helps with the woodworking and labour jobs. He goes to some of the community events, like game nights held at the dining hall or movie nights- even though it takes a good 30 minutes of Ellie’s begging for his resolve to crumble, and he grumbles throughout the entire movie.

As if Tommy can read his mind, he responds. “Going on patrol doesn’t count as routine, Joel.”

Puffing out his chest and mirroring Tommy’s body language, Joel glares at his younger brother.

“And here we go again,” Ellie quips from her seat at the kitchen table.

There’s a smirk plastered across her face despite her gaze, focused intently on the weathered pages of an old astronomy book.

“You stay outta this.”

Joel’s clipped tone brokers no room for negotiation, Ellie’s known him long enough to recognize that. But that doesn’t stop her from pushing him, just because she can.

“You stay outta this. Rah rah rah. I’m Joel and I hate everything.” She mocks his deep southern drawl with exaggeration, continuing to look down at her book.

“Tommy’s right, Joel. Say whatever you want but you can’t just fill your days with the odd jobs around here. And going on patrol. And hanging with me.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Joel exhales, his nostrils flaring. “Ellie-”

“Look, dude,” she cuts him off, “I love you, but it wouldn’t kill you to find something else to do with your time. It’s not the end of the world. I mean, it is but c’mon. It’s like you’d rather get killed by a fucking clicker than step outside your comfort zone.”

At that, Tommy snorts and shakes his head.

“It’d be a hell of a lot less painful than this conversation, that’s for fuckin’ sure.” Joel huffs and puts his hands on his hips.

“There’s lots of other jobs in the commune that you could help out with. Jobs that you don’t even need skilled labour experience for.”

“Like what, Tommy? Teachers at the school? Volunteers for movie night?” His scowl deepens, as does the crease between Joel’s brows.

“Like training newcomers on patrol shifts, working at the clothing shop, working with the livestock-”

“Livestock? What kinda livestock?” Perking up in her seat, Ellie pushes the book away and turns to face Tommy.

“Just for the horses, chicken, sheep and pigs. Well, it’s really for the sheep ‘cause we came into a decent sized herd in the last couple months, and they’re a bit tricky to look after.”

Tommy runs his hands through his raven curls and chuckles. “No one’s been able to quite figure them out yet, and they don’t trust Jake- the caretaker for the horses and pigs.”

“Sheep?” Ellie’s mouth gapes open, her bright mischievous eyes finding Joel’s.

“Joel. Sheep.”

Already knowing where the conversation was headed, Joel tips his head back and looks up at the ceiling. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

__________________________________________________

And that is precisely how Joel finds himself knocked on his ass, after getting headbutted by one of the older lambs, in an attempt to get their halter on and bring them into the barn.

“You little shit, get back here!” he barks at the young sheep as it trots away from him towards the food trough.

Rubbing the right side of his jaw and grimacing, he sits back on his hands, looking at the rest of the herd a few feet away from him. “I’ve a right mind to tell them to serve lamb for the rest of the month at the dining hall. How’s that sound?”

A few sheep at the hay bale turn to look his way, chewing absentmindedly before ignoring him again. It had been about ten days since Tommy enlisted Joel as the sheep caretaker, or as Ellie had so lovingly called him, Jackson’s resident shepherd, and Joel had to admit, the job wasn’t half of what he expected.

It turns out sheep weren’t quiet, and they certainly didn’t do what they were told. Sheep were actually a pain in the ass to keep. A royal pain in the ass. Much different than cows and horses, despite being herd animals.

Not to mention that they were creative, escape artists, always jumping over the fence of the pen or squeezing in between the slats of the fence. It was a regular occurrence to hear the phrase ‘loose sheep’ or ‘the sheep are out again’ being hollered across the main street, as a handful of them skittered across the main road, Joel out of breath as he jogged after them, the stitch in his side burning through his abdomen, while he knees ached incessantly.

His first week was spent just getting close enough to them so that he could tag their ears for the breeding records. Not that he could manage to even get a hand on any, especially the young lambs. As soon as he got within 8 feet of the herd they would scurry away, kicking and bucking into the air, or run right past him, as he keeled over trying to catch them. Needless to say, Joel didn’t manage to avoid getting headbutted and kicked a handful of times during those days.

Cursing, he dusted off his pants and leaned against the fence of the pen.

“How’s it coming?” Tommy’s voice called out to him from the opposite end of the pen.

Narrowing his eyes in response, Joel hunched over to rest his hands on his knees.

“Easy my fuckin’ ass you liar. These little shits are demons.”

Stifling a chuckle, Tommy rests his arms over the fence and looks down. “Like I said, it takes some time to get to know ‘em.

It was wrong to laugh at his brother’s misfortunes but he couldn’t help it as he watched Joel’s hulking figure tentatively approach the herd again before pausing as they all scattered around him.

“S’that why you haven’t been able to recruit any other unfortunate souls for this torture?” Placing his hands on his hips, he shifts his weight from one leg, appraising the herd.

“No,” Tommy huffs out an exhale, “most folks don’t have the time to commit or they don’t have an affinity for animals.”

He looks out at the horizon, scanning the snow covered peaks of the mountain range bordering the settlement, before his gaze returns to Joel. He smirks as that familiar scowl settles onto Joel’s face.

“I do not have an affinity for animals.”

Snorting, Tommy looks down at his feet again, nudging the toe of his boot into the hardened ground. “Is that so? That why no one else has been able to ride Callus out on patrol?”

Joel grunts. “That’s different. I wasn’t taking care of him, I was only riding him cause everyone else had their designated mounts.”

Lying through his teeth was easier than admitting that Joel actually loved having a special bond with the chestnut gelding that seemed to hate everyone else.

It took time.

Lots of hushed murmurs and praise for the gelding to learn to trust again. Not to mention that Joel seemed to have endless patience for the imposing gelding, never getting frustrated with him or upset when their progress seemed to regress. Plus, he had that quiet commanding authority that seemed to ease Callus’ nerves whenever he became frantic and anxious.

Before he knew it, Callus was following him around the paddock, poking his head out of his stall and nickering whenever Joel stepped foot in the barn.

“Whatever you say, Joel. Whatever you say.” The younger Miller shook his head and stepped back from the fence. “I’ll let you get back to it, since you got your hands full,” Tommy squinted and peered around Joel’s figure, “or, rather, your pockets full, I should say.”

Before he can even glance behind him, Joel feels a harsh tug on his back pocket, stumbling backwards as one of the young lambs tears a shred of the bandana in his pocket.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! Gimme that back you piece of-” he bellows as the lamb prances away with the scrap of faded red cloth in its mouth, echoes of Tommy’s laugh fading into the background as he walks away.

_____________________________________________

A couple months later …

It had been roughly over a month since Joel started taking care of the sheep. Their upkeep became somewhat easier as Joel figured out their quirks and tricks to working with them, but the real difference was that Joel did indeed fall into a routine with them.

Everyday he got up before Ellie had to be up for school, and headed over to the barn to give them their morning feed. Then, he’d come home, eat breakfast, and walk Ellie to school, shortly before returning to clean their pen and stack hay bales in the barn loft. Sometimes he would even shear some of them when their coats became too thick. At the end of the day, he’d pick Ellie up from school and they’d have dinner together in the evening, then he would pop out again to feed them dinner and do a final night check before lights out.

They were surprisingly curious creatures, and smart. While he would mill about his different chores, they would follow him as he walked around the outskirts of the pen. When he was cleaning up the pen, they would nudge the wheelbarrow, knocking it over in the process.

Eventually, they stopped running from him and would eagerly approach as he walked through the barn into the outside pen, carrying a heavy hay bale for their breakfast or dinner.

When he’d get lost in his aimless thoughts, or stuck on paralyzing flashbacks, a panic attack brewing under the surface, he’d feel a tug on his sleeve or the back of his jacket.

Pairs of deep brown eyes surrounded by a halo of soft cloud like wool would simply stare back at him. Calmly grounding him back to reality. Not that he encountered those very often. What was even more surprising to Joel was that he had panic attacks way less often these days, his brain seeming to allow him some rest and solace from its usual fight or flight status. Even Ellie and Tommy noticed too, with Ellie pointing out that he was ‘less of a grumpy motherfucker than usual.’

He never named them, though. He wouldn’t allow himself that liberty.

They were just animals. Creatures.

Creatures, who in the beginning were ‘little shits with crack for brains and body padding like the Michelin man,’ according to Joel. Soon, however, ‘little shits’ turned into ‘little devils,’ which eventually turned into ‘little buggers,’ with an affectionate lilt behind the nickname.

It was Thursday today and the vet was coming by to look after the horses and give them their seasonal shots, along with the sheep, too. With temperatures dropping, the animals had to be prepared for the harsh onslaught of cold weather that was native to Jackson winters. Although the commune was prosperous and there was no shortage of food and supply, or need to ration, the animals were always of high concern.

“How much are you feeding them nowadays?” Dr. Joyce, the local vet, asked as she placed her stethoscope to the belly of one of the mature ewe’s.

“‘Bout 25 pounds of hay a day, and 15-20 pounds of grain on top of that.”

She hummed contemplatively as she shifted the stethoscope knob throughout the mass of wool covering the sheeps’ belly. “That’s quite a bit considering the size of the herd you have here.”

She nods to the rest of the herd munching away at their breakfast in the pen.

Joel shrugs in response. “That’s what Jake was feeding them beforehand but he suggested I up it as we come into winter, to help ‘em keep weight on.”

“Well, he’s certainly not wrong.” She reaches into her kit to pull out a packaged syringe, ripping open the wrapping and flicking the end of the needle two times. Small droplets of liquid ricochet out as she pinches the skin of the ewe’s neck, not covered in wool, and gently inserts the syringe.

“Is there anything else I should be doing? Or anything else I could do to help them more when winter hits?”

While Joel would admit that he still really has no idea what he’s doing taking care of these animals, it doesn’t mean that he won’t give his all in providing care to them. He’s come to realize he actually likes learning about the sheep, aspects of their care, behaviour and physiology. It scratches parts of his brain that were only really activated when he was contracting, woodworking, or other technical jobs. And he doesn’t half ass jobs, no matter the nature of them.

Dr. Joyce swiftly removes the needle within seconds, and smiles warmly at him.

“Nothing in particular, Joel. You’ve done a great job taking care of these guys so far, I know they’re not easy to look after.”

At that he chuckles and shoves his hands in his pockets as he leans against the stall door. “You could say that. There’s been a deep learning curve with ‘em that’s for sure.”

She nods and opens the back stall door that leads out to the pen, the ewe trots out to return to the herd. “Well, like I said, you’ve done a good job so far. Aside from keeping up with shearing them, although you won’t have to worry about that too much come winter, they’re pretty low maintenance. Keep them on lots of hay throughout the winter, and give them more grain to supplement for the colder weather. And some of them may need more than others, especially the pregnant ones.”

He nods along, running through the mental checklist of things he’s already been doing to increase their food supply, when he looks up at the vet.

“Pregnant?” His brows furrow and he frowns.

“Oh boy. I guess Jake left that part out when you took over?” The vet chuckles again as she takes in the dazed look on his face and scans the herd briefly.

“You do have a couple pregnant ewe’s here, probably at least 3 or 4. But that one,” she points to a particularly large sheep under the shelter that’s lying down, unkempt wool and hay covering half her face. “That one, 1633, she’s the furthest along. Probably another week or two before she pops.”

“A week?” Joel repeats it, disbelief still laced in his tone. “Shit, I thought she was just really fat. And lazy.” He narrows his gaze at the ewe, tilting his head slightly as he takes in the obvious rising and falling of her midsection, her legs barely tucked underneath her.

“Don’t worry, Joel, I know easier said than done,” she reassures him after clocking the worry etched into his features. “But sheep births are often fairly quick and easy, not as intense as horse or cow births due to their smaller size. I’ll be on call over the next week in case anything happens but just put more bedding in the stall here during the evenings for her, and keep her feed the same. She will handle the rest.”

Inhaling sharply, Joel nods, processing it all. She tells him what signs to look out for that indicate early labour, and gives him a brief list of things he can do to prepare, as well as supplies that could be helpful during the birth and afterwards. At least the doc will be there to help out so that he’s not completely on his own, despite being very out of his league.

“Sounds good, doc, I’ll call ya if I notice any changes in her or when she does drop.”

“Please, do. And I’ll see if Jake can come in for an hour or two during your off hours in the event she does go into labour then.”

__________________________________________

Three days after Dr. Joyce’s visit, 1633 goes into labour. Nearly 10pm, just as the settlement tucks in for bed and night shift patrols begin. Dr. Joyce was busy with another animal emergency, of course. Just his luck.

So, he recruits the next best thing, and gently wakes Ellie up after rushing back to the house after a night check. He hands Ellie the list of supplies that Dr. Joyce gave him and she blitzes throughout the house, gathering the different things in a box.

Of course, the curiosity, fear and excitement over an animal being born was not lost on his teenage daughter. She fired off a barrage of endless questions as she was right on his heels, following him throughout the house.

“Has her water broken? Is she in pain? What direction is the baby gonna be facing when it comes out? Did you call Dr. Joyce?”

“You bleat more than the damn sheep these days, y’know that? C’mon just get that stuff together for me.”

Joel huffs as he grabs a bucket from under the kitchen sink, thinking of what else he could grab. It had to be the night when Tommy and Maria were both out on patrol as well, leaving just him and Ellie.

God help him.

When they returned to the barn, the ewe was in the stall, lying on her side, bleating out her obvious discomfort. He quickly takes his thick jacket off, hanging it on a nearby post before stepping into the stall.

“Alright, honey, alright, it’s okay.” The low murmurs of his voice only seem to agitate the ewe more, as she bleats repeatedly while he approaches and crouches down beside her. His eyes never leave the ewe’s body.

“Ellie, hand me a couple big towels.” She reaches into the box of supplies and hands him two fluffy towels, crouching down beside Joel slowly. The ewe continues to let out loud long bleating groans, huffing as her body starts preparing for labour and her water breaks with an audible slosh.

“Shit. Well, there goes her water.” He huffs, his mouth pressed into a straight line as he tries to peek and see any signs of a muzzle or cloven hooves coming out.

Gagging and turning away slightly, Ellie groans.

“Ugh, okay that’s fucking gross!”

He gives her a disapproving frown. “You’ve seen worse before, calm down.”

“A clicker brain and exploding guts is not nearly as gross as this. How are you not freaking out?

Suddenly, the ewe lets out a long bleating groan again and thrashes her hind legs, in an attempt to get up frantically.

“Shit. Whoa, whoa, whoa, mama. Easy there. Y’can’t get up just yet.” He hovers over the sheep and tries to coax her back on the ground.

“Ellie, come around here, help me keep her on her side.”

She shuffles around to Joel’s other side and buries her hand into the soft thick wool, gently pressing down. “Have you ever done this before?”

Joel grunts while he tries to contain its flailing legs, preventing the ewe from rolling over or getting up.

“Nope,” he strains. “I’ve seen one or two cow births, long time ago when I was growing up in Texas.”

“Shouldn’t be too different,” he says breathlessly, saying a silent prayer as he pulls the sheep away from kicking at the stone wall of the barn. “As long as she stays on the ground like this, she should be okay, she can’t get up or roll over though ‘cause it could hurt or suffocate the baby.”

“Okay, okay,” Ellie exhales shakily, wincing as the sheep bleats loudly.

“Hey,” he turns to gaze down at the teenager, his voice quiet but authoritative. “It’s gonna be okay, look at me.” Her dazed gaze snaps from the ewe up to meet Joel’s big brown eyes. Anxious. Focused. “It’s gonna be okay alright? She’s gonna be okay?”

Ellie nods her head, the hint of a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as she looks down at the ewe again. “It’s okay, momma, you’re okay, just breathe.”

No later than 5 minutes after do a pair of hooves and a muzzle appear. Ten minutes of pushing after that, the tiny lamb is lying sprawled out on the ground, Joel rubbing the remnants of placenta off its body and face.

“Joel.”

It’s barely above a whisper as Ellie hovers over the baby, crouched on the balls of her toes.

“Joel. It’s - it’s not breathing.”

She inhales sharply and leans her head over the mouth, trying to feel or hear for a puff of air.

He’s silent for a moment, and leans back looking at the tiny body covered in bodily fluids, and realizes there’s no movement coming from the lifeless body. No rising of its stomach, and its eyes are barely opened.

All of a sudden the vastness of the chilly barn shrinks to the size of a shoebox. The air suffocating, as if all the oxygen was sucked out of it.

“Fuck. Fuck. Get me another towel.”

Rushing over to the box of supplies, Ellie hands him a smaller towel, as Joel leans down and wipes at the lamb's eyes, and around its nostrils. He tries to open its mouth to see if there’s any fluid trapped there but he can’t see.

“Get the baster. Hurry.” His clipped tone betrays his panic as Ellie places their turkey baster in his hand.

It’s a poor substitution for an actual proper bulb syringe that is used to remove mucus and fluid from newborns’ mouths. He opens the lamb's mouth and inserts the baster roughly, pressing down on the bulb, as murky liquid is drawn through the clear pipette. He squirts the remnants of the baster out onto the ground and reinserts it into the lambs mouth, drawing more mucus and crap out a few more times until it’s empty.

They both wait a beat, panting heavily to see any sign of life on the little sheep.

“She’s still not breathing. Fuck.” Ellie’s voice trembles. “She’s not breathing, Joel!”

“Okay, go into the feedroom and fill up the hot water bottle with warm water okay? Warm water, not hot, I’ll try to swaddle it in more towels, get some heat going.”

Immediately, she races to the feedroom with the rubber water bottle. As Joel hears the water running in the background, he wraps the lamb in two big towels. The ewe is now up and pacing frantically around Joel, sensing something is wrong.

“C’mon baby, c’mon,” he rubs the covered lamb firmly, pressing his palm down slightly against the ribs and chest of the baby and shaking slightly. Nothing though, no sounds, no movement.

The ewe is now crying and bleating repeatedly as she paces circles around Joel, wanting to get to her baby. “I know, momma, I know. I’m trying. Fucking hell.”

The edges of his restraint and control start to fray. His heart is racing, chest tightening under the crushing realization that the lamb is a stillborn. He cradles the lamb, swaddled in a mountain of towels now, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the tiny limp weight against his body.

Moments later Ellie reappears at his side, sinking to her knees with the water bottle in both hands, the sloshing sound of the water drowning out the ewe’s crying.

Joel opens the folds of towels up so that she can place the flimsy warm pouch over top of the lambs side. Wrapping it up like a burrito again, he holds it up against his chest as if he was holding a baby, firmly patting and rubbing the little lump in his arms. Ellie fruitlessly tries to calm down the mother ewe but it’s no use as she continues to trot circles around Joel, weaving back and forth and trying to nose the little lump in his arms.

He places the swaddled lamb on the ground, into the cushioned nest of shavings and straw bedding. Hovering over it on all fours, he places his palm over the swaddle again, applying pressure to the lambs back and rubbing circles, while opening its mouth with his other hand.

“C’mon, little one, c’mon. Gimme something, c’mon. Please.” Joel leans down, his lips pressing against the towel as he murmurs. The sound of his warm, deep voice breaking is barely muffled by the damp fabric as he squeezes his eyes shut. Another set of warm, small, clammy hands overlap his, as Ellie kneels beside him.

They huddle together over the lamb for another minute or two, the soft swishing of straw and shavings strewn about as the ewe continues pacing is the only audibly sound. Her cries for help softened to brief bleating.

Ellie intertwines her fingers with Joel, squeezing tight as she let’s out a quiet sniffle.

Then, a muffled sound. The smallest hiccup.

“Joel.” She whispers and squeezes his hand again.

“Joel, look.”

He raises his head slowly, holding his breath as he hears the small noise again, before he carefully unwraps the swaddled material. He cautiously rubs the lambs back again, as they watch as its bleary eyes blink open, slowly but surely. It raises its head ever so slightly, dazed, before letting out the smallest bleat.

Choking out the breath that he had been holding in, Joel rushes to wipe around the lamb’s eyes and mouth again. “There she is. Hey little one,” he coos at the small animal, afraid to speak above a hushed tone.

“Holy shit.” Ellie huffs in disbelief with tears in her eyes. “Dude, you fucking did it! Oh my god, look at her!”

She clutches the sleeve of Joel’s shirt, exhilarated and bouncing with adrenaline. “Do you think it’s a girl?”

Smiling to himself, he shakes his head, “not sure, but it doesn’t matter, s’long as it’s healthy. Right, little one?” He slowly strokes the lamb as it starts bleating with more fervor, when he feels a bigger muzzle shoving his hand out of the way .

“There ya go momma, there she is.”

He gets up, ignoring the groaning protest from his knees and steps back so that the ewe can see her baby, gesturing for Ellie to follow.

“Here, Let’s give ‘em some space to breathe. Go grab the space heater and we’ll get ‘em nice and warm.”

Shooting to her feet, she scurries back to the supply room to retrieve the heater. Joel sits back against one of the stall walls, his head tipping back till it hits the wooden slats with a dull thunk as he takes the deepest breath he’s taken all day. The adrenaline is still coursing through his veins but he feels fucking exhausted all the same. Defeated but elated, he watches the mom lick and nudge the little lamb, before a voice rings out from behind him.

“Well, well, well, looks like we got a full house in here tonight!”

Joel turns to see Dr. Joyce striding through the aisle, a bright twinkle in her eye as she stops in front of the large stall, already stretching a pair of latex gloves over her hands.

The corners of his mouth pull up into a small smile as he nods in her direction. “Hey doc, how’s it going?”

“I should be the one asking you that,” she chuckles with warmth, shimmying around the stall door slowly. “You’ve had quite the night from what I can tell. I saw the lights on at this hour and I could only assume it had finally happened.”

Snorting, he crosses his arms over his chest. “That’s one way of putting it.” He nods his chin as Ellie returns with the space heater in hand, “couldn’t have done it without this one’s help of course.”

Ellie grins and hands the space heater to Joel. “If I’m being honest, it was probably one of the coolest and scariest things I’ve ever seen in my life. Especially when she wasn’t breathing. But it was all Joel, really. He brought her back, I just tried not to get in his way.”

Rounding Joel’s other side, Dr. Joyce crosses the stall and crouches down and pulls out her stethoscope, winking at Ellie. “Is that so? Do I sense a future vet tech assistant that can help me with house calls?”

“Shit. Are you serious?” The teenager’s eyes nearly bug out of her head as a massive smile stretches across her face. “That would be fucking awesome!”

Joel doesn’t even have the energy to reprimand her for swearing, his mind and body drained as he snorts and shakes his head.

“Hey! Is there room for two more at this welcoming party?!” Another booming voice echoes throughout the large stone barn, similar in its Southern drawl to Joel’s but not as deep.

Tommy and Maria round the corner with huge smiles, still in their riding clothes, fresh off the night patrol.

“Just so long as y’all can keep quiet.” Joel grumbles, still sat leaning against the stall wall with his arms crossed, legs kicked out from underneath him. He looks over at the scene in front of him, warmth etched into his features as he watches Dr. Joyce check the lambs vitals while the ewe finally starts to munch on hay again.

“We couldn’t believe it, we had to come right away. Hell, I had half a mind to cut the patrol short when we found out.” Maria nods at Joel with a smirk. She glances over to the little sheep who has started to stand on all fours and nurse from its mom, wobbling on its nimble legs.

“What’s the verdict Dr. Joyce?” Tommy sidles over to Joel, crouching down beside him and grinning. “All working organs? All ten fingers and ten toes?”

Joel sighs gruffly. “They’re hooves, not toes, genius. Jeez, you sure you’re expecting soon?”

Maria only smirks in response as Tommy mumbles and shoves his older brother in response.

“Everything’s in order Joel, don’t worry.” Dr. Joyce smiles, taking one ear bud out of her ear as she continues to check the lambs pulse. “Her oxygen levels seem good, despite the rocky start and her lungs are clear of fluids, and she’s warm. You couldn’t have done a better job, really, you should be proud of yourself.”

He tries to hide his beaming smile he really does, but Joel grins. His bright eyes crinkle and his dimple pokes through his right cheek. “Thanks doc. I appreciate ya comin’ over here as soon as you could.”

“Her?” Ellie’s eyes widen as she clasps her hands together. “So it is a girl?!”

“Yup, definitely a girl.”

“Think she deserves a name, don’t you?” Tommy nudges Joel in the arm again.

Joel’s smile falters immediately. He shakes his head and looks down. “No. I don’t name ‘em, besides it’ll only be a couple of days before she’s gotta get tagged and registered in the breeding books too.”

“Oh come on Joel, please? She deserves one. After everything she’s been through…” Ellie’s voice trails off.

Everything they had been through. She doesn’t need to say it for him to know.

When she doesn’t keep going he looks up at her. Her eyes pleading, welling up with fragments of the pain and haunted memories that they endured over the last year.

He looks at Tommy and Maria, his eyes then falling on Dr. Joyce as she tends to the lamb.

“Ellie’s right Joel. I know y’all don’t normally give them names, especially the young ones, but given the circumstances, this little lady oughta have a name.” The vets eyes are soft as she gives Joel a sympathetic smile.

He’s silent for a moment, shifting his jaw. His gaze drops to the tiny lamb, white as snow, now that she’s been towel dried and cleaned, listening to her tiny bleats as she headbuts her mom for more milk. Instantly, his gaze softens, his big eyes rounding at the newborn.

New life.

A breath of fresh air into the looming hollowness of the barn. A pulse. An electric current, melding into a comfortable, viscous, energy as Jackson’s population, well four-legged population, increases for another day.

Sighing, he tilts his head in adoration. Filtering through the vestiges of his memory, he thinks back to the conversation that prompted this whole sheep herding fiasco. Him, Ellie, their tiny fire amongst the vast expanse of snow covered country, with nothing but the moon overhead. The comforting solace provided by its glowing illumination, letting them know they weren’t alone in their travels.

“Well, she is a bright light, figuratively and literally,” he peeks his head out of the stall to find the moon, beaming down on the tiny settlement, before glancing down at the lamb again.

“How does Luna sound?”

In that moment, the lamb trots over to Joel on its spindly legs, getting braver by the minutes after its birth. She bleats in his face loudly and headbutts his arm affectionately before circling back to her mom, stumbling over herself in the process.

“Well I’ll be damned, I think she likes it.” Tommy chuckles as Maria comes to stand beside him.

Ellie snuggles up to Joel, her eyes starting to close as the evening's events catch up to her. “It’s perfect,” she yawns and nuzzles into his broad shoulder, “our little Luna.”

Luna approaches Joel with more curiosity again, as he stretches his hand out towards her, letting her sniff and lick him.

Despite everything that happened, the chaos, the panic, and near crisis with his first lamb birth, for the first time in a while, Joel feels whole. Fulfilled. Right where he's supposed to be, in this new world, this new life.

Rooted.

A lopsided smile stretches across his face, as his dimple pokes through his cheek. “Yeah, I suppose it is. Our little light, Luna.”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller fanfic #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff

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belit0 · 1 year ago

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HIIIII<3333 How are you and how have you been. First, i need to praise you for such a good work you do, i really am impressed by your writing skills and how you write the characters so realistic and understandable. You truly have my respect especially for writing some characters like Madara or Indra are really complex to write because of their personality and they truly are complicated due their backstory. So thank you dearly for accepting requests and working on them. You truly have an unique writing style wich i do absolutely admire! Please keep up but don’t overwork yourself, rest is important and please remember to drink and eat enough. I love you so much and your blog is literally my favorite. ( You 🔛🔝) So actually i wanted to ask for a request. (A oneshot or a scenario please) About Madara watching his wife giving birth to his baby and how he sees his wife holding their new born in her arms. Please i am too curious cuz i really can’t Assess this man if he would cry at this sight or not😭. I woule appreciate if you would accept my request. But there is no need to. Feel free to ignore it, i still love your blog so much.

I swear your words touched me so much that I took a screenshot and saved the message in my private chat to read it whenever I need motivation, you brought tears to my eyes (literally)!!!

Thank you infinitely for your beautiful company and for supporting my modest work, I love to share what I do, especially if I have people who like it and enjoy it, it fills my soul to read words like that💕🙏💫🛐

I can never explain the appreciation I feel upon receiving this type of messages, it's a very powerful and big feeling, too strong and too deep for words.

Thank you so much, my beautiful nonny, for being around and keeping me company, please never go away, i love u😭💕💫

Now, going back to the request, OF COURSE MADARA CRIES, he's one of those persons who cries out of anger, it bothers him a lot because he feels weak but has a great facility for tears.

Now, what I did to him in this piece is a bit cruel, I apologize🤣🙏

He can't stop pacing the hallway, anxious and nervous, desperate because of the screams he hears on the other side of the door. The midwives demanded he stay out of the room to avoid creating more chaos, his distress palpable in the air every time he asked "Is she in a lot of pain? Is the baby okay? Is something wrong with (Y/N)?"

He was kicked out of the place to avoid putting more pressure on the poor women assisting with the delivery, and even as the clan leader, he was taken away the choice of whether to be part of the moment or not. It all pushes him so far over the edge he even resorts to taking off his gloves and chewing his nails like he's 15 years old again.

"You look like crap, Aniki." Izuna comments with a smirk on his face, openly mocking his poor older brother. Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he looks at him with amusement and even a bit of pity.

As always, his Otouto accompanies him.

"No shit." He snorts in anguish, tearing the skin off his finger and hissing from the burning. He may be the strongest warrior of all his time, but he can't help the little mundane aches and pains of day to day life.

"What's got you so bad? It's just a baby." He reaches out to him as if to lay a hand on his shoulder, but stops before doing so, knowing the outcome, clicking his tongue at how fickle fate is.

Staring at the ground and swapping the tortured finger for a new one, he fails to get out from inside his mind, raise his head, react. Worry consumes him, and (Y/N)'s screams of agony don't help. "Exactly that. I couldn't protect anyone, I couldn't protect you, I won't be a good father, what if-"

"Wowowo, hold your horses, Aniki. You couldn't protect me because I wouldn't let you, if anyone was going to take that idiot down it was me. We talked about it many times, didn't we?" He stands in front of him, unable to get his older brother out of his vicious cycle of insane thoughts, and crouches down to the ground to meet the path of his eyes. He smiles at him again, an act that always manages to get Madara's attention, and he finally listens to him.

"Did you think of a name? That'll be your job if it's a boy." Madara jumps in a startled gasp as (Y/N) screams louder than ever, and looks at the door separating them as if wanting to set it on fire. Respecting the midwives' wishes feels stupid, but neither does he want to get in the way of things he doesn't understand.

"Izuna." He answers without moving his eyes from the spot, walking and avoiding his younger brother like he couldn't just walk right through him. He moves a little closer to the door, waiting.

"What?" The younger Uchiha gets up, and moves back to stand next to him, not understanding.

"Izuna, for the name."

"You want to give your precious baby my terrible name? You'll doom him to be a beautiful mess."

"Tribute, so he'll always remember the uncle he never knew." And at the moment his eyes fill with sadness and melancholy, his brother decides to change the course of the situation.

"If you want to pay tribute to me, take him to visit my grave and drink sake over my remains, you idiot. I say you name him Inari, I always thought it was beautiful."

"Inari..."

"Sounds nice doesn't it? It's a good one to scold him after he gets in trouble, which I'll make sure he does."

"Will the baby be able to see you?"

"We'll find out."

"MADARA-SAMA!" the door suddenly opens, one of the midwives coming out agitated "THE BABY IS COMING, SOON!" She demands him to re-enter the room, and Madara looks at his brother for encouragement.

He smiles at him again, and that's all he needs to know that everything will be okay.

The makeshift delivery room, on the other hand, is a mess. Several women run around moving bloody towels and trying to wipe the sweat from (Y/N)'s forehead. One holds her hand tightly as his wife pushes and pushes, legs spread wide and revealing a picture both terrible and wonderful.

"MADARA-SAMA!" the midwife shoves him from behind to the side of the bed where she attempts to deliver their child, unafraid to be rough with the clan leader. Madara, unable to react, grabs the hand that was previously held by another woman, as he stares at her belly and can do nothing but try to hold back tears.

Paralyzed by inoperability and not knowing what to do, the Uchiha feels useless, incapable of helping or assisting in any way. His expertise is in fighting, combat, violence, he has no idea how to act in sensitive situations or those that require emotional intelligence. He is afraid to say something inappropriate, something that will upset (Y/N), and cannot find the strength to speak without crying.

No one told him he would feel this way, an experience so surreal as to make him break down.

The last time he cried disconsolately was with his brother's death, years ago, but his child's birth seems to challenge him in the same way, the miracle of life and the product of his own dedication coming to reward him, demanding him to pour out all his feelings through tears, no shame for being in front of strangers.

Everything seems to disappear around him, focused only on his wife and the task ahead. The stupor washes away little by little, getting into the game and helping her get through the experience as best he can.

At one point he thinks to be speaking words of encouragement, but has no track of what is going on. The image of (Y/N) suffering, crying, screaming, stirs him to the core of his very being, wishing he could take away her agony and be the one to endure this odyssey.

He holds her hand with both of his, while between his wife's legs two midwives demand further pushing. Everything is chaos, a maelstrom of speed where Madara can only concentrate on her, until he suddenly hears it.

The most beautiful cry he has ever witnessed, a small, high-pitched sound coming from a tiny baby in one of the midwives' arms. (Y/N)'s face automatically relaxes, ready to faint from exertion and exhaustion, yet she whispers "Hold the child" before smiling with genuine joy.

Madara, following orders while being totally out of his comfort zone, receives the newborn in his arms, and what was once silent tears now turns into unrestrained crying.

He crumbles in front of his baby for different reasons, moved and overwhelmed for having been able to produce something so beautiful, so delicate, after destroying and murdering as much as he did. That adorable little human being is proof enough, at least for him, of not being a disastrous person, for there being hope and kindness in his destiny, able to repent for all the lives he stole on the battlefield.

Izuna's death brought him great resentment for the world, condemning him to anger and rage as a way of life, willing to destroy whoever it takes to regain what was lost, yet (Y/N) saved him from an avoidable catastrophe, and showed him he could be more than his grief, giving him the tools to move on.

Holding the result of such pure and generous love in his hands is the mythical demonstration of how the blood on his hands is washable, how his past does not define him, and how his future is not marked by eternal pain.

The thrill of a better life engulfs him completely, as he stares with pure affection at the child he himself created. His son, utterly his, the most beautiful ray of sunshine. "Inari..." he whispers between sobs, and brings him closer to his wife for reconnection with his mother.

Upon reassuring (Y/N) is no longer bleeding and there are no further problems to worry about, the women begin to leave the room, carrying lots of bloody sheets and towels, cleaning the space little by little and giving privacy to the new family.

One of them takes the newborn for close examination, and when the room finishes clearing of people, Madara can see Izuna near his baby, making sure the midwife treats him well and takes proper care of his little Inari.

He can't help but cry again at the image, knowing his son will always have a guardian angel with him.

#uchiha madara x reader #madara uchiha x reader #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #madara #madara x reader #naruto imagines #naruto shippuden #naruto #izuna #izuna uchiha #uchiha clan #uchiha izuna

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stealingyourbones · 1 year ago

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Ask the writer ask game! Tagged by @gremlin-bot

1.) how many works do you have on ao3?

2.) what’s your total ao3 word count?

50k!

3.) what fandoms do you write for?

Primarily DPxDC but I enjoy writing DC and I greatly enjoy writing D&D campaigns!

4.) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Falling in Love (In the Most Literal Sense)

Short DPxDC Prompts

I've Grown a Mouth So Sharp and Cruel (It's All That I Can Give To You)

What the Hell?! (UP FOR ADOPTION)

Dream of a Peaceful Slumber

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I’m simply too busy with my tumblr to respond to people on ao3. If I try to focus on more than one website at a time I’ll lose my mind 😅. I promise I Look at each and every one!

6.) what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending

There’s a sander sides fic i wrote like 8 years ago that had all of the sides get slowly and very brutally murdered one by one in hella graphic detail. I was trying to experiment with descriptors and visuals at that time. Definitely that one. I don’t think it’s on ao3 but it’s somewhere on my old Wattpad account

7.) what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely Falling In Love (In The Most Literal Sense) or an unpublished eldritch smut horror DeadOnMain fic that’s forever staying in WIP hell. Falling In Love first and foremost has an ending, secondly they get along and it’s cute :)

8.) do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I occasionally get questions or criticism on my tumblr but that’s either advice or someone wanting answers and that isn’t hate.

9.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have tried my hand at smut before. Mostly smutty scenes with kinda sorta fade to black, solely because I’m terrible at painting a mental picture for the reader so it always flows terribly. I’ve written that eldritch DeadOnMain thing as I said previously, and some of Jason’s matches Malone persona OF ideas.

10.) do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one?

Somewhere in my WIPs there is a homestuck AU DPxDC fic where DP kids are the humans and DC folks (primarily the teen titans) are the trolls. Definitely that one.

11.) have you ever had a fic stolen?

No fics but I’ve been sent asks that are word for word one of my prompts. I just delete those and go on with my day. Idk I don’t have a tiktok and someone’s probably imitating me on there with my prompts so possibly????

12.) have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13.) have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes!! I’ve Grown A Mouth So Sharp And Cruel (It’s All That I Can Give To You My Dear) (eventually I’ll get around to working on it I have so much stuff going on like preparing to move and finals creeping up aUGH)

14.) what’s your all time fav ship?

Ooooo It’s a solid tie between Kon/Tim and Dave/Karkat. One is my current favorite and the other is one that’s been my favorite ship for the longest time.

15.) what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I have a WIP in my files that’s a DPxDC Dash/Danny fic where Dash is a bomb disposal tech and Danny just moved into Gotham. I have the entire outline written and almost a solid chapter done but I heavily doubt I’ll have the motivation to touch it again.

16.) what are your writing strengths?

I don’t think I have any, (I haven’t written a full length fic in so long I can’t really tell 😅) but I’m very good at setting tone. Idk what do y’all think?

17.) writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. 100% dialogue. It always feels clunky and unconversational whenever I read it back. I swear the second I start writing talking I forget how conversations work.

18.) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I’d probably throw a simple word here in there of the other language if I’m writing a bilingual speaker or ask a pal to help me with translations because I only know English and I know damn well that friends are better translators than google.

19.) first fandom you wrote for?

Sander Sides! I wrote a solid 500ish prompts for that fandom and like 70k worth of fics. It was what got me into writing and for that I’m so very glad.

20.) Fav fic you’ve ever written?

Definitely my Batman mermaid au. I love it to bits and I’m so proud of the designs and I’m always kinda sad that I’m the only one as enthused about this work as I am. None the less I reread it at least every 3 months and it always makes me smile doing so.

Ooo who to tag… @chromatographic @halfagone @susiron

#ask game #bones speaks #bones replies #feel free to ask me about any of these :D

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imagine-knowing-a-name · 2 years ago

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will you stay here with me?

Summary: Natasha finds out you’re graduating, but is it too late to get back in your life? (until their true meaning is goodbye - part 2)

Pairing: Avengers & Teen!Reader (Specifically Natasha as a guadian)

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Swearing, angst & abandonment

A/N: Okayyyy so... part 1 (read it here) wasn’t very popular on tumblr, but thanks to @carol-romanoff and a few people on ao3 asking for a part 2, I got the motivation to write some more of this story :) so here’s the reunion between Y/N and the rest of the Avengers team, but mainly Natasha!

I’ll be posting it twice, one with an angsty ending (this one), and another with a happy ending that I’ll post after this! Please comment/reblog if you read, it makes posting this fic feel a lot more worth it :)

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“Oh.”

“What’s oh? You have found something on her?”

“Not on Sasha, no. It’s Y/N’s college…they sent out their final exam results this morning.”

“Natasha, we cannot get distracted.”

“I know.” Natasha groaned, “We’ll find Sasha, I promise, but after that I’m going back to America for Y/N’s graduation.”

“But-”

“Yelena, we’ve been doing this for years, alright? The child I raised was 18 the last time I saw them, and now they’re graduating college. I’ve missed so much; I’m not missing this too.

“Fine. We find Sasha, go to your child’s graduation, then-”

“Then back to this, I know…It’ll just be a few days.”

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Exhaustion was too weak of a word to describe how you felt. Post-graduation parties with your – now former – coursemates had continued until the early hours, and your reluctance to return to the silence of an empty compound had you crashing at a friend’s house while the party raged on around you.

The midday sun had long since passed before you wordlessly trudged home. Your head hung heavy and you listened to nothing but the beat of your footsteps for the whole journey, too engrossed in your own mind to care about anything else.

That didn’t mean you were off guard.

Living in the Avengers Compound, you could never afford to be; the logo alone made it a constant target for attack and, since the others had left, you were alone to defend yourself. Would the team care if you were attacked? Would they reunite to rescue you from a kidnapping? The thought crossed your mind often, but a larger one always replaced it: would they even notice?

This time, you stalled as you raised your key towards the door. Your arm remained frozen so close to the keyhole but your head darted around. Tracks of dirt you certainly hadn’t left on the carpet and porch ornaments haphazardly rearranged; whoever it was that had broken in hadn’t done a very good job of covering their tracks. An amateur? you considered, or someone who didn’t care for the element of surprise.

You wrapped your hand around the phone in your pocket, ready to call 911 if needed, then turned the key. The door squealed and you winced, regret took centre stage as you remembered the grease left nearby; you could still have the upper hand if you hadn’t procrastinated so long-

“Surprise!”

Eager, smiling faces popped up from behind the furnishings, the antithesis of your clenched fists and jolting eyes. In the initial fear, you’d jumped back over the threshold, and when your brain finally slowed for long enough to identify the intruders, you were glad you had.

The whole team grinned from the entryway, the most you’d seen in one place since just after your 14th birthday. Wanda stood front and centre, making it impossible to avoid looking at her; she smiled when you did. It seemed genuine, that she was happier was undeniable, but your mind could only flash to the year prior; to the bitter insults and accusations and the “we’ll come visit” that never came true…until now at least. All the Avengers watched expectantly, they waited for the shock to break and for you to smile and cheer and celebrate their return.

You faced them all… then did the opposite. They watched you toss your bag to the floor instead.

Hesitation flickered across some of their faces, but you paid it no mind. In fact, you revelled in it. To prove to them that they no longer knew you, that you had changed since they left, and that you did not forgive them. It was all you wanted, and you didn’t have to say a word. The silence only broke with the slamming of the door, the Avengers on one side, you on the other, and the barrier formed in their absence recreated in a physical sense.

You needed space.

For the length of your walk, flashes of their surprise returned to your mind. You started to analyse it, trying to remind yourself of the faces you had spent so long without when you realised one member of the team had still been absent. Typical.

The sensation that materialised upon the realisation was hard to express and even harder to understand. It had been years since you’d last seen her. You’d felt rage and grief and shed countless tears over her. You’d cursed her, sworn that you never wanted to see her face again, and even convinced yourself to hate her for leaving.

If you’d seen her smiling at the reunion, you knew the long-dormant anger would have bubbled right back to the surface, so your own emotions surprised you. If you hated her… if you wanted to scream to her face and cry at her memory… then why did your heart fall so low when it noticed her absence.

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Natasha’s brows furrowed when the team filtered in. It was supposed to be celebratory, but their slumped shoulders and flitting eyes indicated it would be anything but; you weren’t even with them.

“Where’s Y/N?”

She had heard the door open, heard their exclamation, so why weren’t you there?

“They left. Saw us all standing there and turned right around.”

Natasha took a step forward. The team all stepped back. “Where did they go?”

“I don’t know, Widow,” Tony scoffed. “Look, I’m no spy, but turning and slamming the door behind them isn’t the kind of body language that says ‘oh please come follow me, I’d love to spend time with you.”

Natasha had her things at the door before Tony could even finish his point, and before anyone else could agree with the billionaire, the door was slammed shut.

“This door didn’t deserve today’s treatment,” came the muffled sigh.

Natasha knew as soon as she left the building. After the long winding driveway, towers and skyscrapers reappeared in view and, just beyond that, the edges of trees and greenery peaked out into the street. Years of memories flooded back as she ran; even if this park was closer to the Compound than the Tower, she’d taken you every week when you were younger, content to let you run and play safely in such a quiet space.

She didn’t know you quite as well as she had four years ago, that was for sure, but she had to hope you hadn’t changed enough for this.

Switching from a run to a walk, it was like the whole world slowed. You sat on a bench ahead of her, facing away, but with your knees drawn up into your body and resting under your chin. Even now, you still looked so young in Natasha’s eyes. Four years could have been four minutes for all she saw, and she wondered how she had ever thought you were old enough to leave.

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“Not a big fan of surprises, huh?” she joked upon approach. You could hear the smile on her face, though you didn’t turn to look, and you certainly didn’t reciprocate.

“So you were there, then.” you muttered.

“I planned it. I know you’re graduating, so I thought you might like to see the whole group again.”

“It must have been a while since we were all in one place,” she mused. “Either way… I guess I was mistaken.”

“I guess you were.”

“Has something happened recently? Is that why you’re barely answering?” Natasha couldn’t take it anymore, she shuffled closer, ready to beg for answers. “I haven’t seen your mood so down since that incident with your friends in High School.”

“Yeah, I’d rather not remember that.”

“So what is it?”

“It’s you, Natasha.” The Widow pulled her hand away, recoiling at your tone, though you hardly had it in you to feel bad about that. “All the Avengers, everyone in that room. Everything you’re doing today, to- to what? To get back into my life? To make yourselves feel better for being absent all this time? To act like you actually want me after years of no contact?”

“I know I’m being harsh, but you know what? You deserve it. You fucking deserve it. You were my mom, Nat! It might have just been guardianship on paper, but I saw you as my mom and you knew it. You knew I trusted you. You knew I forgave anything you did because I loved you, and you took advantage of that!

When you left, and promised you were coming back? I believed you. How stupid and naive of me to believe you, but I did. And you know why? Because you’re the only parent I had. I didn’t become an adult the moment I turned 18 and I didn’t suddenly stop needing a parent; though, with that said, you didn’t even wait until I was 18 to leave did you? that’s just how old I was when you stopped coming back.”

Natasha’s mouth dropped into a silent gasp. Her hands fidgeted with indecision on whether to comfort you with her touch of stay away; it was a choice you made for her by shuffling away. The weight of the years had finally caught up to Natasha; thoughts of you had been the only break for her one-track mind, but the mission hadn’t allowed her a second to truly think about it, or else she would have realised sooner that thoughts did not equal actions, and four years had passed without you in her life.

“I needed you, Nat. And you left me.”

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Soft wind and rustling leaves took their space in the silence your speech had left. Natasha’s always perfect hair ruffled in the breeze, but even that couldn’t carry away the words that lingered. No, those remained stationary. They were the only things to fill the area of the bench that neither you nor Natasha dared inhabit.

Had a stranger walked past, they may have noticed the equal looks of discomfort and questioned the similar mannerisms; but for you, with your chin tilted up and a refusal to look anywhere but forward, Natasha’s matching stance may well have been invisible. You were different people now; nothing could ever be the same.

You noticed movement, just out of the corner of your eye, and suddenly you pictured Natasha. She was fidgeting with her jacket, that much you knew, but her head bowed in your mind’s eye with an uncharacteristic doubt across her features, no doubt preparing an apologetic disquisition.

Her hands settled and you prepared for the speech. You hated to still know her so well. And yet…you still fell for her polite cough. You turned only to find her facing you already, with legs crossed identically to yours. You unfolded yours and waited.

“I know you’re expecting excuses from me, but I won’t do that to you again. With all my heart, I know that you’re right and that you deserve a genuine apology for everything I’ve done– not done even–” she corrected with a hint of a smile, “in these past four years. I haven’t been around, left you with false promises, haven’t texted when you know as well as anyone that I could’ve found a way– I’ve not fulfilled my role as your guardian at all and I am so, so sorry. I don’t expect forgiveness, especially not right now, but know that I will do everything I can to work towards it.”

You sighed. How could you answer that immediately? It took time to process, not least to formulate a reply, but at last you managed a whisper. “Can you stay with me for now? Stay here like we used to. Please?”

She nodded, already shifting off the bench when she answered. “Of course I will. The sun’s already going down.” With that, she lay back against the rock and let her gaze relax at the sky. Content, you followed her lead and lay beside her.

“It’ll be a pretty sunset,” Natasha added after a moment; her head tilted towards you with a faint impression of a smile on her features. For the first time that day, you smiled back.

She may have been a trained spy, but Natasha’s efforts to conceal her reaction were fruitless. The first betrayal came in her eyes, the spark returned to them as they crinkled at the sides. She turned away from you next, but even a full tilt of her head wasn’t enough to hide such an open smile.

“You don’t have to hide being happy, you know.”

Natasha sighed. “The only years I didn’t were the years I was with you.” Defeat resounded in her tone, “I’ve fallen back into old habits.”

After that, the two of you fell back into silence, with just rustling trees and the inescapable noise of traffic to soundtrack the setting sun and rising stars. Beyond that, Natasha focused on the subtleties of your breathing; despite years away, she still had the rhythm memorised and concentrated on it until the pattern softened and slowed.

Natasha leant on one elbow just to see how your face relaxed in peaceful sleep. The sight wasn’t new – she’d seen it innumerable times while tucking you into bed, carrying you off the couch after late-night Stark parties, or even from looking in after returning from a mission. Seeing you sleep had always allowed her a moment of quiet in an otherwise hectic life; it was the one thing that had never changed through the years of watching you grow and, even now, it felt like the only part of you that hadn’t changed in her absence.

The spy let you fall deeper into sleep before she shifted to pick you up. With a strength and grace that only a Widow possessed, she cradled your sleeping form in her arms and carried you back to the compound. Back home.

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Natasha had barely set you down in bed before her phone started to vibrate. She hastily pulled the cover over you and took a step back, making sure she wouldn’t disrupt you if she answered it.

“Yelena, it’s 2am here. If you’ve got something to say, say it quickly.”

“We have a lead on another Widow. She is in America for now but we do not know for how long. Natasha, you are the closest to go look for her, so-”

“No. I can’t. I promised Y/N-”

“I need your help with this Natasha, she could disappear any day now and we will lose the only chance we have to save her! You don’t know what that mind control is like to be under, but it’s torture, Natasha, we have to get her free.”

Natasha’s focus returned to you. She cast one last, longing gaze over your sleeping form and sighed. You looked so peaceful; it was a struggle to equate that to all the curses you’d throw at her that day, and hard to believe that all the thoughts you’d shared still lingered in your mind.

“Alright,” the Widow conceded. She took one step forward and gently brushed the loose hairs off of your face. “What intel have you got for me?”

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The room was still when you awoke. In your morning daze, it could be mistaken for any of the days that came before, with silent halls, empty rooms, and your bag still tossed on the floor. But things were different. Flashes of memories reminded you that you hadn’t been alone the night before; Natasha had returned with the team, she’d apologised with an authenticity that you hoped not even a spy could fake, and she’d promised to make things anew.

Despite all her words, the rational part of your brain didn’t believe it – it wouldn’t let you believe it – not without the fear of getting hurt once again. And yet… something she’d done had gotten through to some part of you, a part that had always held out hope for her, and Natasha’s verbal confirmation that she’d do better had germinated the hope that blossomed inside of you. It had seeped into your very soul, infiltrated your subconscious thoughts, and besieged the walls you’d taken years to build.

That hope made her letter all the more devastating.

In truth, you knew the second your gaze fell on the paper, with its tidy fold hiding the message away, only your own name reflected back at you. Your hands trembled as you opened it and tears fell freely while you read it. In a moment, your hands seemed to still when your whole body vibrated with boundless emotions too acute to describe. Rage and anguish and bitter disappointment energised you. It took all your willpower not to crumple the worthless letter in your hand or to track Natasha down and inform her of your despair with some act to harm her.

You wanted her to feel a fragment of the sorrow she had caused you. Some of the hopelessness, some regret… anything to show she’d ever cared as much as you did for her. The anger dissipated like that, and you fell back onto your bed, the paper heavy in your hands while your mind mourned.

The love you had for her would never change, you only wished she could say the same.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff & reader #natasha romanoff & child!reader #natasha romanoff imagine #avengers & reader #marvel #mcu #ikan writes

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ijwrsmff · 1 year ago

Text

Commission for @pickingpixel !

This one was so fun to write! It involves a male reader, who is a demon and the avatar of sorrow! I guess tw for swearing? Overall it's along the lines of a hurt/comfort.

Thank you so much Pixel! I appreciate you giving me the chance to write this story for you, and I hope you like it! (Could not figure out why I can't tag you I'm sorry but I also emailed it to you)!

Word Count: It ended up being 6,490! Much longer than most of the others I've written, so it was a fun little challenge! Each story with the brothers is separate, so it's kind of like 7 stories! With a little ending that ties them all together!

Lucifer:

Another day in the life of the avatar of sorrow. You were waking up for what had to have been your 10th nap in the day. Time passed weirdly, when you didn’t really want to do anything. But motivation struck you, and you went to bother Lucifer. You’d lived with the brothers for a while, but Lucifer seemed to like you the least. Though it wasn’t surprising, seeing as he also liked a lot of people the least.

You checked his office, and for once he wasn’t there. He was almost always there, so the only other places he could be were his room or Diavolo’s castle. He tended to go there a lot too, always being Diavolo’s lap dog or whatever. But going all the way to the castle didn’t seem appealing at all, so you were relieved when he was in his room.

Knocking as a formality, and that alone, you walked right in. He was, as to be expected, at his desk also doing work. Perhaps? Upon closer look he was reading a book at the desk. He barely noticed you coming in, and let out a simple huff to show he knew you were there.

“Lucifer.” You said, walking up to his desk to see what he was reading. It was something way over your head, and seemed boring in the three words you cared to read. Books may or may not be your thing, but certainly not the ones Lucifer read.

He closed his book and without even looking at you said “I’m trying to read. Go away.” And finally looked at you after you stayed there for several moments. “Y/n, let me read.” He said once more, and sighed in irritation when you still didn’t move.

“I’m bored.” Was all you said, and you walked over to Lucifer’s bed and plopped down on it. For a brief moment, he thought you left. But when he heard the rustling of his bedsheets he jumped up.

“WHAT ARE YOU-” He got up and walked over to you, picking you up off the bed with ease. “Get off. MY. Bed.” and he tossed you to the ground.

You weren’t just any demon. You were an avatar of sorrow. Lucifer knew you were tough enough to take a fall like that. Not that he wanted to hurt you, but you were irritating him. “Seriously?” He said, deadpan as you made yourself comfortable on the floor. “Just get out, I can’t get any relaxing done when you’re here moping around.”

The words stung a bit, but you were used to it by now. You knew you had that aura about you, the one where demons would look at you and think ‘What’s his problem? He lives with the seven rulers of the devildom, he’s got nothing to be sad about!’ Coming from those jealous of your residing so close to the demons all of the devildom wanted to be around. But hearing it from the brothers, it still hurts.

Something in you snapped, becoming angry before turning back to sadness, “How would you feel? Being an avatar of sorrow, overwhelmed with feelings of not being good enough? All. The. Time. All of the other ‘avatars’ are considered brothers. What am I then? Just another demon you’re stuck with?” And you left as quickly as you came. You didn’t even stop when Lucifer called after you.

You didn’t choose to be this way…you didn’t want to be depressed all the time. Another few steps and you’d be in your room, back to sleeping the day away. Consumed by the negative thoughts that swarmed through your mind no matter what kind of day you were having.

“Y/N! I SAID WAIT!” Lucifer called, catching up to you. He even reached out and grabbed your shoulder. After the altercation, you didn’t have enough energy to fight it. He sighed again, and continued, “Wait. Please. We need to talk.” He sounded strained, like he didn’t even really want to have this conversation, but you let him proceed anyway.

“And just what do we need to talk about?” All the anger was gone, and you just felt…empty. That same feeling that you hated to feel day in and day out. No positive emotions, no negative even. Just completely empty.

“Everything. I don’t…” He groaned and rubbed his face, “I don’t mean to be so cruel towards you. Insensitive even…” He trailed off and looked at you to see if you were listening. In some ways you were, some ways you weren’t.

“The thing is…I do see you as a brother figure. Which is why I distance myself.” He knew he needed to explain, but it was hard to get the words together. “When we’re here, at home, I see you sad and it makes me sad too.”

You raised an eyebrow, and a little bit of life flickered in your eyes, only to return to emptiness, “That’s kind of my effect on demons. Sorrow.” And you finally faced fully towards him, waiting for him to continue.

“Just…listen. You’re like family to me, so seeing you’re sad, KNOWING you're sad…it’s hard. And I don’t know how to make you smile. I’m not good at that.” Hearing the avatar of pride mention he’s not good at something was a shock, and it even registered on your face. Slightly. “And when we’re in public I see other demons look at me and revere. But when they look at you, it’s pity.” He reached out a hand to put on your shoulder and waited for your permission to do so, “I can’t stand having anyone look down on you. You have…admirable qualities.” It sounded unsure, but got the point somewhat across.

“Like…what?” You could rarely think of anything good about yourself, and you knew it was your power that made you feel that way, but hearing Lucifer say something good about you made you a little��hopeful…for the first time in a long time.

“I could never have your ability. It would drive me insane, and it only makes me proud of you. For being stronger…stronger than me. In some ways. So just…keep that in mind.” And he walked off without another word.

After what felt like an eternity, that little bit of life…sparked once more in your eyes. Making even you, the avatar of sorrow, think that things…might be okay.

Mammon:

“Why are you so annoying?” You said to Mammon, as he cried over Goldie being cut up into pieces. Lucifer had enough of Mammon’s complaining, and cut his favorite belonging into several pieces and left them on the ground.

He turned back to you and screamed, “WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW? MY PRECIOUS BABY GOLDIE!” And he tried pathetically to piece it back together. “Shopping sprees will never be the same without you…” As he disregarded you.

But you were there just walking around, you COULD just leave. Actually…maybe you will. Muttering under your breath as you left, “Shopping sprees are so boring.” But no. Absolutely not. Mammon would NOT let those words slide!

“Boring? BORING?” He ran up to you, and placed both hands on your shoulders, “A man’s best friend is his wallet.” He said, way too serious for your liking. That tone…he was planning something. “Come on. Shopping trip. Now.”

You eyed his cut up credit card, and raised an unamused eyebrow. “And just how will you be paying?” Somehow you knew the answer, but tried to put what little faith you had in Mammon into him having an unseen character development arc. “And if you say…”

“You’re paying.” He said, before you could finish your sentence. Yup. Exactly what you suspected. That didn’t stop the wild glimmer in his eye from coming back full force though, as if just the thought of you paying for a shopping trip brought him as much joy as spending money on his own card. Maybe he just liked spending money, regardless of whose money it is.

You looked into his eyes, not falling for this trick. “No. I’m not.” But your resolve went away the longer he stared at you with those pleading eyes of his. He wasn’t leaving this alone, as several minutes of unwavering staring proved to you. “Mammon, no. I don’t want to.”

He still wouldn’t give up though, and used his arms to hold you closer as he whined, “PLEEEEEEASE! I promise you’ll love shopping trips! The great Mammon knows all the best locations and prices!” Something told you he knew NOTHING about prices. But as he whined, and whined…and whined…you gave in.

“OKAY! DAMN! Then will you leave me alone?” You groaned, and once more, even louder when he pulled you into a hug. Mammon’s cheers and excited “woot woot!”s making you feel like you definitely signed up for something you couldn’t handle. Or at the least didn’t want to.

“YES! I’LL LEAVE YOU ALONE NOW LET’S GOOOOO!” He ran to the door, and looked back at you like a puppy waiting for its owner to follow it. Maybe you could convince him to leave earlier if you lied about how much money was on your card. Eh…you’d decide later.

Shop after shop, you sat out front while Mammon did unknown amounts of damage to your card. You didn’t buy much, so you had a heaping sum laying in your account. Though something tells you even that wouldn’t stand a chance against the avatar of greed. You didn’t really care what he bought, as long as it would appease him and make him leave you alone for a few hours.

Though after a couple shops, he dragged you in with him. “Mammon, I don’t wanna shop, just get your shit and let’s go!” You practically slugged behind him, but every once in a while something would catch your eye. Briefly. Mammon didn’t seem to notice, clearly more intent to get more things for himself than others. Typical.

In a couple hours, you were both walking around with full hands. 99% of its contents were a mystery to you. He did buy a little keychain with you directly next to him, which made up the 1%. It was exhausting more than anything, and by the time you convinced him to go home you were completely spent. You just wanted to not be bored…and you guess…Mammon did resolve that. It wasn’t necessarily “fun” but it was something to do that was more than anything you could do around the dorms.

Mammon gave you back the card, looking very…very pleased with himself. Dropping all the bags you were carrying in the entrance, you went to go back to your room, but he stopped you. With his foot. Both his hands were still full, so a foot would have to do.

“Woah, woah, woah! Where are you going! Don’t you wanna see all the stuff I got?” He grinned and you groaned. It was annoying, but you helped carry all the bags to Mammon’s room. Once again, you placed the bags down and went to leave. And once again, he stopped you.

“Come on! Check out this stuff I got for you!” It certainly did make you stop. You turned to see if he was joking, but he looked serious. As serious as a grinning avatar of greed could be. When you tilted your head, he continued, “Don’t act so surprised. The great Mammon is very generous.” And he huffed.

It made you scoff, but you did walk over to him and the bags. “I got one thing for you from each of the stores we went to!” Then muttered, “And a few things for me…” And he began pulling all the items out of the bags, making a “for you” and “for me” pile. “You don’t like a lot of shit, so I just did some guessing.”

To your surprise, you did think a lot of the items were pretty cool. At the last bag, and the item you liked most, you smiled while looking at it. Actually…smiled.

“BOOM! SUCCESS!” It tore the smile off your face, and replaced it with a mixture of shock and confusion. “Well…I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya smile. You’re pretty depressed, dude. So I wanted to see if I could make ya smile by the end of the day.” He gave himself a high five, “So today was an epic success, only possible because of the great Mammon.”

It was embarrassing for you, so you got up to leave…but you did carry your belongings Mammon got you in one of the shopping bags. He continued to cheer as you left, and rambled about how amazing he was. You turned back at the door, and gave a real smile. It was small, but still there. “Mammon…thank you.” And left without another word.

Who knew…that the avatar of sorrow could smile. All because of one idiot and a lot of his own money down the drain.

Leviathan:

“Why am I here again?” You said, sitting in Levi’s room with him right next to you. He had called you there very suddenly, and mentioned a reason but used a lot of terms you didn’t understand. So you weren’t entirely sure what the goal here was.

He chuckled, and it would have sounded menacing coming from anyone but him, “We’re going to find out your favorite video game genre.” Levi explained, but it made you lose interest immediately.

“No thanks, I’m good not knowing, I’ll-” But his hand grabbed your arm to stop you. He wasn’t very strong physically, but you also didn’t want to bother him too much. Out of all his brothers, he probably understood your sorrow the most. Which…was unfortunate. But also made you feel validated. You sensed that in him, the very sorrow that dwells within you had a home deep down in his heart. So you stayed.

“Please! I just need to know so I can get you into pro-gaming!” And he chuckled yet again. Just like you were soft on him, he was soft on you. It wasn’t just anyone he tried this hard to have a relationship with. He knew you were sad, so he said “Games…help me. Feel better. So maybe…they can make you feel better too.” Then he looked away to not see any trace of rejection on your face.

It was really sweet…how he was going to try and help you. So you sat down without another word, and heard his excited giggle as soon as you did. “Alright…where do we start?” You sounded defeated, but that wasn’t entirely uncommon. It didn’t phase Levi at least, which…kind of made you…maybe a little content? You didn’t know the right word for it, all you knew was he was trying. It made you wanna try too.

Several games went by, each of which Levi would ask a million questions about and share “fun facts” about it throughout your gameplay of them. Some of them were okay? Some were definite nos. “I thought that one was alright. It needs more x, but I liked the “gameplay” of it.” He was even teaching you new gaming words, what has your world come to?

Levi thought for a moment, and slammed his fist in his hand with an “I GOT IT!” He jumped up and rummaged through his games carefully. He was looking for something, but also wasn’t going to destroy all the other games he enjoyed. Had it been one of his brothers, they would probably destroy them. But you waited patiently, and he finally pulled out a game you had yet to play.

“This one isn’t one of my personal favs, but if you liked those things about the other you’re going to LOVE this!” And without another word he inserted the game into the console and handed you the controller. “Okay now for this game this button does…” And he went into detail about what all the buttons would do.

Even when the game explained that to you the second you loaded in.

You didn’t know how long you were playing, but it didn’t seem like too long. Between the music, story, and gameplay…this was at least your favorite game you’ve played. Though your face didn’t show it, you were actually enjoying the game a lot. And not just that, but having Levi tell you about all the things you missed and information on how it was made, made the whole experience a lot better.

He was more excited than you visibly were, but he acknowledged he might be annoying you with the games and that brought you out of it. You paused the game, and turned to him. “No…Levi you’re not being annoying. This game is really fun. I like it. Tell me about this character?” And you unpaused to show him which character you were talking about.

“You…you really like it? You’re not just saying that?” His worried poured out, and he rambled, “I know some people get mad when I force them to play games, but I think there’s games for everyone, and if you hate it I need to know so-”

You hit his arm lightly, “I mean it. It’s fun. Thanks for showing me this.” To send the point home, you smiled at Levi. It may not have been a huge smile, but it was more than he had ever seen from you. He looked completely and utterly shocked, and yelled before you could say another word.

“YOU CAN SMILE? FRIENDSHIP METER RAISED LOL!”

Satan:

If anyone knew what you were going through, in terms of unasked for demonic powers, it’d be Satan. His anger was unrivaled, and you were dealing with a serious bout of depression. You didn’t know if he could help you, but you were going to try. Ever since becoming the avatar of sorrow, and avatar of wrath, you both knew how uncontrollable that power became for you and those around you.

He was cooking dinner, since it was his turn. Belphie had agreed to puppy guard Beel so Satan could get the food done before Beel ate it all. He had been known to do such a thing. Many. Times. It was his burden, to always be hungry. So you didn’t really blame him, but having your own food to eat was good too.

Satan didn’t expect a visitor, let alone you, but he wasn’t going to argue with the company. “Hey. Dinner will be ready in an hour, maybe two.” He said, without looking up from his work. He couldn’t fathom why you’d be here if not to check on food.

“Satan…how do you do it?” You hadn’t even looked at him fully, just like how he hadn’t looked at you. But when you asked, he did look briefly, realizing you weren’t talking about his cooking.

“How do I do what?” He didn’t look again, just continued to work on everyone’s dinner. “I know you don’t mean to make the soup. We both know you’re a better cook than me.” Satan wasn’t even a BAD cook, but he wasn’t a good one either. Except for very select things.

“Deal with…the anger.” He stopped, but didn’t look at you. It took him several moments of pausing to resume his cooking, and he waited for you to continue. “You're the avatar of wrath…so you’re angry a lot. How do you deal with it?” You sighed, and rubbed one arm with your opposing hand, and felt dumb for even asking.

This made him stop working altogether, and face you. He wasn’t worried about the food right now, it could wait. This was more important. “It’s not easy. And I presume you’re only asking because you’re dealing with the effects of your own power.” He walked over, and looked at you evenly, making you look at him too. He was trying to search your eyes for emotions, and only found…well…sadness.

“Yeah…I’m tired of being sad. About anything, everything. It’s so overwhelming…and underwhelming. It’s hard to explain.” You groaned and looked at him to find sympathy in his eyes. It made you hesitate, but waited patiently for his reply.

“It is hard. It took years to work on it. But even now, I realize I’m angry pretty much all the time.” It didn’t seem like much of an answer, so he elaborated, “I do feel angry. All the time. But after a while, I learned to accept it. And instead focused on something opposite to wrath. What I found was contentment.” He pulled out his phone, and showed you an extremely long document on his phone about every book he’s ever read.

“So…I find something…that makes me happy? And just accept I’ll always be sad even still?” It didn’t make sense, “But that’s not fair! I don’t want to be…just sad. All the time.” You slumped, and Satan sighed.

“What I’m trying to say is…while you may be sad, it just means you have the potential to be even happier still. I get excited about new books, and something I’ve been taught, and learned THROUGH those books, is how you can feel more than what you are made to.” His lips twitched into a smile before returning to their neutral expression. “If you can be sad, you can prove the world wrong. Show them you can be happy, even as the avatar of sorrow.”

“Oh…” Was all you could think to say. It took many moments of processing, and Satan allowed you that time. “But how…can I find things that make me happy?” You looked almost pleading, craving more answers. It did make sense? To an extent? But it sounded a lot easier said than done.

“Try something you haven’t yet. Read a different kind of book, find someone to confide in, play a board game, just something you haven’t tried. If nothing you’ve done has made you happy, try something else.” He went back to cooking, but was turned partially towards you so you knew he was still engaged in the conversation.

“I don’t even know what I COULD try…” His words left you hopeful, that you really could find something to make you a happier demon. Was it even possible? But…”If the avatar of wrath can be excited…then the avatar of sorrow can be…happy?” It was more of a question than anything, but it did made Satan smile slightly.

“I have books on hobbies. After I’m done cooking and we’ve all eaten, come to my room. We can go through some of the hobbies you can try, or I could lend you those books.” Books seemed to be his answer for everything, but he was an extremely wise demon. Maybe there was something to them after all.

“I’d…I’d like that.”

Asmodeus:

“Smiiiiiiile!” Asmo said, as he tried to take a selfie with you. “Pleeeeease! Just one smile!” He was doing his best! He was all dressed up and everything! “We’re about to go eat at that new restaurant! I need a good selfie for the occasion!” He pouted.

“I never agreed to that.” You said, not amused by any of this. “You’re the one that decided we were going. I never even agree to that, much less “selfies”.” You used air quotes. You’d never taken one, and what was the point? Asmo cared way more about beauty than you, but as is expected of the avatar of lust.

He pouted and crossed his arms, before going to a better lit spot in his room to take his own picture. Asmo finished with several pictures, and walked back over to you, “Don’t I look cute in this one? This one isn’t the best but still adorable~!” And scrolled through each and every one with you. “Now come on! It’s restaurant time!” As he dragged you out the door.

“I seriously never agreed to this.” You groaned but decided it was worth it to get some food. You were kind of hungry, and maybe if you were lucky Asmo would find another demon to go bother and you could go home. A nap sounded alright, a long day of…well nothing…was exhausting.

Asmo took more pictures on the way there, and eventually started taking some with you too. “I thought you didn’t want me in your pictures.” Was all you said, on the walk when he refused to stop taking more. “Won’t I “ruin” them.” It was stated as a fact, but he didn’t take it that way, more of an argumentative statement.

“Brothers need to take pictures together!” And he wrapped his arms around one of yours. “It’s healthy!” But you were thrown off by the “brothers” bit. Asmo hadn’t called you brother yet.

“Brothers?” You were confused, and looked at him while he practically skipped in step with you. “I know I'm the avatar of sorrow…but we don’t have to be brothers.” Your eyes cast downwards, as you waited for the impending punchline of his joke. But he didn’t make one.

Instead, he huffed and poked your nose, “Of course! You’re just such a cute little brother!” He let go of your arm and spun around once, taking his phone out for another selfie. “I was only big brother to two, you know? But now I get to be a proper big brother again!” He managed to capture a few pictures as you laughed.

“Asmo, I’m older than you. By a good bit, “you know”,” you said, quoting himself back to him directly to his face. Then you realized the snapping you heard was his camera. “W-wait! Delete those!” You reached for it, but he stepped aside too quickly, clearly expecting it.

“Nu uh! Actually…tell you what.” He winked and grinned as he skipped backwards for each step you took towards him. “I’ll promise to only show my circle those pictures, if you smile again.” Asmo was trying to trick you, and you knew it. But you couldn’t even really smile “properly”. That laugh was the first time in a long time you’d even smiled. Or come close.

There were little smiles, and grins VERY occasionally, but never a straight up smile. “Asmo we both know your circle is hundreds of demons, saying “only my circle” is still way more demons than I can even name. By a lot.” You stopped chasing him and looked to the ground. “I don’t even really…know how to smile. It doesn’t happen often.”

He looked at you and went, “Awww! My little baby demon brother needs a lesson in smiling? Well you’ll be pleased to know I have the best smile in the Heavens, planets AND Devildom!” It made your eye twitch, hearing him boast again.

“Asmo seriously? I’m older than you!” You huffed and started walking towards the restaurant again. “For making fun of me, you’re paying.” It was meant as a threat, but you should have known he wouldn’t care. “And you’re buying dessert.”

“Aww!” Just the noise was starting to irk you, “Does my little baby brother need his BIG brother to pay for their meal? Of course! Only since you asked so nicely~!” And he spun back to you, wrapping both arms around yours again.

“Asmo…I’m gonna say this one last time…” You started and he waited patiently as you gathered the words, “I’M OLDER THAN YOU!”

It would not be anywhere close to the last time, but after some time you’d grow to enjoy it. Though you’d never once tell him that. It would go straight to his head, and everyone already dealt with that enough as it is…still…

It was nice to laugh. Maybe…you’ll find an opportunity to do it again.

Beelzebub:

You walked through the dorms, and bumped (quite literally) into Beelzebub. His stomach growled, and you figured he was on his way to the kitchen to get more food. Even if his stomach HADN’T growled, you would still assume so. But him rubbing his belly with a pained look on his face only amplified that.

“Beel?” You questioned, when he didn’t move from his spot. He looked at you and asked the “logical” question.

“Do you have food?”

You sighed, and said “No. Not really hungry.” But made a mental note that you might start carrying at least a snack on you for when you did bump into Beel. “Sorry.” And you went to move away, but heard Beel follow you. “Uh…what?”

He looked determined, “You didn’t eat breakfast with us again. Did you have a big breakfast on your own?” He ended up stopping you in your tracks, and he said “Can you cook? Did you cook your own breakfast? What did you make?” Figures that he was probably asking if you could cook for him.

“I kind of cooked it. I just fried a block of cheese in the microwave.” You dismissively said, and went to walk away but were once more stopped by Beel. “Beel. What?” You were getting a bit irritated, but also concerned. Beel got…a little wild when he was too hungry. “You know you’ll feel sick if you don’t eat.” But he didn’t reply a single word, just grabbed your arm and dragged you to the kitchen.

He still looked so shocked, “Can a block of cheese really fill you up…?” It was incomprehensible for him. “You should eat.” And he rummaged through the cabinets. Luckily the kitchen was always stocked for when others ASIDE FROM Beel wanted to eat. He could eat anything and everything, but he still tried to leave at least some for the others. Including you.

You groaned, not wanting to, but also knowing you probably should. “I’m not really hungry, B-” And a chocolate bar was shoved in your mouth. When did he even grab that? And how come you didn’t notice it?

The look of shock actually made Beel laugh, but it turned serious again, “You can’t go that long without eating. It’s not good for you.” He quickly ate at least three chocolate bars, before he started looking for meat. “Eat more.”

You muttered “It’s not healthy to overeat either…” But he either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. You jumped up on the counter and glared at him while he searched for more and more food. When he held out a hotdog on a stick, you simply glared. “I’m not hungry.”

Beel started to glare back, and held out the hotdog as long as he could before his own temptations gave in and he ate it. “Sorry…was meant for you.” And he picked up and held out several things, only for him to end up eating it in the end. “This time. This time it’s for you.” He held out his FAVORITE burger.

“Beel no. That’s like…your favorite or something. I’m not eating it. I wouldn’t even if I WAS hungry.” Your glare disappeared, and you realized he was even willing to give up his favorite burgers just so you’d eat something. That had to mean something to him, so in turn it meant a lot to you. “Why do you even care…?” It didn’t make sense to you at all, and you wanted to know the answer.

“Because you’re our brother. You need to eat and be healthy.” It was so straightforward, that it caught you off guard. But he looked as serious as could be, and continued to prod the burger closer to your hands. He wasn’t going to sit there and feed you if he could help it, but the stunt with the chocolate bar proved he wasn’t above doing so. “Eating is important.”

Your will began to break, and you struck a deal, “How’s this then…you eat your favorite burger, and I eat some cereal or something.” You would feel awful eating that burger knowing how bad Beel would want it. Already feeling bad as it is, you didn’t need another reason to feel bad. “Okay?” You tried, watching the gears turn in his mind.

“Okay!” He said, and instantly downed the burger. How did he even do that without feeling sick? Either way, you both knew you couldn’t go back on your promise. You hadn’t even got down from the counter when Beel made you a bowl of cereal they had. He was really determined right now…

When he handed it to you, you spitefully took one bite and looked at him with a “happy now?” He clearly was NOT happy now. He pointed at the cereal and crossed his arms. “Seriously? You’re going to watch me eat this whole bowl?” He nodded. “Great. An audience when eating…”

Beel’s stomach grumbled again, and he went back to the cabinets to find more. “Eating…” He repeated that last word before doing exactly that. He was far from done eating when you had finished, but it was okay. It was…like a bonding moment.

“Beel.” You said, and set the empty bowl in the sink. He’d just started eating a steak (how did he even find one and cook it right?) when you spoke up. “Are you even listening?” You sighed, and rubbed your forehead in dread of the emotional moment you were about to have.

“Mmm!” It was meant to be more of a “mhm” but it became just a random noise to show he was listening while also really enjoying the steak. He was paying attention at least, maybe it would actually be better to do this while he was eating so he couldn’t say anything back.

“Thank you…for caring.” You were going to add more, but it was embarrassing enough as it is. Without another word you walked out of the kitchen. Or tried to.

You were pulled into a side hug, and it left you standing there frozen. “I do care. We all do. But we’re not rushing you. Next time you want a late night snack, come get me.” And he let you go, leaving you with those words while he ate even more.

Do they really…all care? It could be hard to tell. But maybe…just maybe…he was speaking the truth.

Belphagor:

“What’s your secret to sleeping so well?” Was the simple question you asked to Belphie, who was chilling in your room…for some reason. “Don’t you have better places to nap?” It wasn’t as much out of irritation as it was curiosity. He did seem to be napping in your room more often these days. He didn’t used to, but you didn’t feel like talking about that right now. Instead you just wanted to know how he always slept so well. At least it seemed he did anyway.

“Nap when you’re tired. Go to bed when you’re tired. You wake up tired? Sleep another few hours.” He fluffed the pillow he brought with him everywhere and laid back down. He said it so matter-of-fact, and seemed to believe it.

“Do you have a favorite place to nap?” You didn’t know why you were asking so many questions, but he was so laid back all the time it couldn’t hurt. You’d rather be asking Belphie questions in comparison to Lucifer. “Or a place where you nap more than others?”

“Yeah. You wanna see?” He sat up and yawned, raising an arm in the air to stretch. He didn’t even wait for you to answer! “Come on.” He said, and walked out of the room. Belphie didn’t even seem to care if you were following or not, just heading in his direction.

You stood up, not having anything better to do, and followed after him. He continued to walk, and seemed to know exactly where he was going. Belphie really must come here a lot, to know where it was from anywhere in the house. “Where are we even going?” You personally didn’t leave your room too much, but you didn’t know if the other brothers did either.

“My secret place.” He said, and looked back at you, “That literally all my brothers know about. You’re the last one that doesn’t.” And he continued to walk in a certain direction. He just called you a brother…and so casually…maybe he didn’t even realize he said it? Who knew with Belphie. He could be both laid back, and calculating. It was confusing.

You didn’t address his comment, and instead chose to just follow him to where he was leading you. The dorms were so big, it seemed like you were going so much further than you thought possible. With these dorms though, there was certainly a lot you had yet to see. Maybe one of the brothers would show you their favorite places too…over time. You were in no rush, and you presumed they weren’t either.

When you arrived, it was a beautiful room with a skylight that showed more stars in the sky than you thought there were. A few blankets and pillows were already there, showing it really was Belphie’s favorite sleep spot. But there were also a lot of other things there, presumably belonging to the other brothers, especially Beel. It made sense…they were brothers. And Beel was his twin, so it made sense there were more things of Beel’s than the others.

Belphie noticed you staring at all the little trinkets, and pointed to one keychain that was dangling over the bookshelf. “See that one?” He walked over and held it up to you. It was simple, just some horns in your favorite color. “You haven’t come here before, but I still wanted something of you here.” He dismissed it immediately, but you weren’t willing to let it go.

“Something…of me?” And you walked up beside him to look at the keychain. “But…why?” It confused you greatly, but then again…a lot about Belphie and his brothers confused you.

He looked at you before plopping down on a couple of blankets in the center of the room and looked up to the stars. “Because I want something for all my brothers here. It’s my place, but it’s theirs too. Yours too.” And he yawned, but patted the spot next to him. “Come look at the stars. They’re really pretty right now.”

“You’re so dismissive…” It was a statement, and he chuckled at the words. You debated just leaving, but he looked at you expectantly. “Fine…just for a little while.” Far more careful with the motion, you laid down next to him.

Belphie pointed out some stars, and you could only pay attention for so long before dozing off. He would be lying if he said he didn’t fall asleep right after. He didn’t have to talk more if you were asleep too, perfect time for him to take that nap he wanted.

End:

It was relaxing…knowing they all thought of you as their brother. Over time, you’d grown to see them as brothers too. Just like Satan said to do, you found your happiness too. But not in a hobby, instead, it was the brothers around you. They all had their good qualities, and bad qualities. Just like you. They were on your side.

And you were on theirs.

#x reader #male reader #male! reader & obey me brothers #platonic relationships #platonic lucifer & reader #platonic mammon & reader #platonic leviathan & reader #platonic satan & reader #platonic asmodeus & reader #platonic beelzebub & reader #platonic Belphegor & reader #obey me x reader #obey me & reader #male reader is avatar of sorrow #brothers #commission #hurt/comfort

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