#just imaging him sitting their running his hand through mcs hair

[leviathans-body-pillow]

Just finished lesson 12

[astracora]

EVER's Tool

Characters: Poly!LADs x gn!mc (Sylus POV/MC POV)

Warnings: Hurt/No Comfort, Angst, Talk of EVER Experiments and Torture, Violence, Gore, Spoilers for multiple anecdotes and all current story.

Word Count: 10348

Written: 10th January 2025

Notes: Established-relationship with gn!MC with all LADs, with my personal pov of the game and lil headcanons littered in. Unnamed MC, but using my personal MC's basic appearance and adjusted backstory. I take some liberties with what the game offers me. A lil AU almost, set after cat curse and turning point. I had the mental image of EVER making MC into a personal weapon, using the fact their memories reset so it's easier to manipulate them. I also think about the line that 'sincere emotions are hard to forget', and how the LADs are basically EVER's worst problem when it comes to controlling them. As a side note, I fucking hated Leon when I read the anecdotes, so so much. The creepy way of calling a child 'little bomb' just set me wanting him smacked in the face. So I'm channelling that dislike into ruining his day. The way I screenshotted so many main story things to pull into this. It's upsetting... I had to double check so much stuff cause I have a terrible memory. My final lil note is I have no idea how MC's resonance works, but there was a line in one of the anecdotes that EVER wanted it to absorb Xavier's, so I've run with the concept.) I have no idea if anyone else will care about this lil brain thread, but hey, have at ye. Will there be more? Gods only know. Now I can finally sleep its 2am and my brain refused to let me rest.

Now Playing: Bite Marks, by League of Legends (ft TEYA)

Masterlist

Missing for months now… He's reached out to every source he can find. Has sent Mephisto all over Linkon, the N109 Zone, beyond.

He has looked in every shadow, every dark hole he can find. He has searched and searched, and still found no trace of you. He has never felt this powerless, this lost, to have all the resources of Onychinus and still unable to find answers to the only question he really cares to have answered.

How can you have disappeared? Vanished on him, on them, when you have built a life together? The house has emptied, the halls are quieter, the bedroom you all share is hard to sleep in.

It is like they have acquired ghosts. Griefs that will not rest, that cannot settle… because they have no answers. No response, no way to seek you out to soothe open wounds, and apply salve to scars.

He cannot stop, he cannot stop looking. He looked for you through time, and space, he will not stop now.

If you are out there, he will find you, and bring you back home. To them.

He did not vow and share his soul with you, to lose you.

He has spent most of his days looking, and searching. When he is not forcing himself to keep being Onychinus' leader, he barely sleeps for investigating. If he stops for a moment he thinks of an empty bed, and cold sheets. Of limbs no longer tangled with his. Of fingers no longer soothing through his hair.

Sylus cannot bring himself to tremble and to crumble, he does not have time. Not when the answer has fractured his home. His loved ones.

He watches Xavier hunt, carry out his job. Kill and fight. Mindless and driven, because he wants to protect the Linkon you cared about too. He wants to keep his blade busy, so that his mind does not wander. Then, Sylus knows he searches and he looks. Under rock, across desert, in the mountains. Everywhere his missions take him, he searches.

He comes home empty handed, and tired, but never seems to sleep properly anymore. Restless and unsettled, no matter how often someone soothes his hair and holds him. Xavier sits in the cycle that Sylus knows they cannot break.

He has tried to reach out to Rafayel, the fish beached and unbreathing. He sits in his art room and stares at paintings he cannot finish. Empty canvas and snapped paintbrushes. There are days, he tears them, dry sobs in his chest, eyes burning for tears he can't quite shed. He splatters paint up walls, and stares at what remains. His hands cut and torn from violent actions.

He finds no inspiration, and he ignores all of Thomas' calls, and he sits as the doctor tends to damaged skin, and clings to hands to keep himself grounded. Whispering things that he doesn't want them to hear. Fears of it being his fault. They can only respond with tight arms, and affirmation. It is not, they're sure. It is not.

He watches Zayne pick up more shifts than he should handle, only home when forced to be. Sinking into work, and sleeping in call rooms. When he does return, he waters plants you have left behind, feeds the cats outside the house that seek you out, and keeps your things neat. He traces trembling fingers over photo frames, looks through albums, and reminds himself. So he can stop mistaking every hunter he sees as you.

His sleep is more uneven, and he trembles awake with nightmares, hands reaching out for comfort, and clinging to chests to cry. To weep, to shake. He cannot find solace no matter where he looks, and Sylus can only offer presence and love because he does not know where the solace is found either.

His home is torn and hurting, and he cannot fix it. He will not stop trying to fix it.

He has to fix it.

It is a late night, ninety-two days after your disappearance, when Mephisto's feed flashes. He watches, and he waits, and he sees a flash of familiar white hair and jagged scar down your cheek, through your mouth.

His hand tremours in front of the screen, as he reaches out with tentative fingertips. As though he can reach through it, and pull you through…

His legs force him up before he can second guess himself, before he can waver on the edge of unsurity. Before he can hesitate to long to miss you. He calls the prince, and he leaves. On the first winds of hope, since you vanished.

—-----

The prince stands alert outside the building, while Sylus breaks in. It is old and condemned, the same kind of building that collapsed down around you. Landed you in hospital as they put you back together.

It is not a place he would normally spend his time at. Yet he trusted Mephisto's eyes better than he trusted most things.

The perks of a robotic bird, that he has upgraded even further after your disappearance. Desperate, though he isn't sure he can admit that. Not without falling to pieces, as he digs and he digs and he searches.

Sylus is quiet as he ascends floors, his mist drifting up walls and through broken door frames. Seeking and searching for the familiarity he can never mistake. No matter how many floors he climbs, he cannot feel you. Cannot seek out the sparks of gold he knows so well, and the soul that cannot complete without his. He finally approaches the final door, and pushes it open. An apartment in ruins, but the smell of acrid blood hits him. Familiar and cloying. It does not appeal to his sense, nor to his hunger.

He looks at the walls, where blood has splattered, across the floor where bloodstains mark it. There is a body, throat cut, arm torn partially off. It takes him a second to assure that it is not you, but it is a second too long. The fear drops his heart before he can pick it back and place it where you placed your own.

Approaching the body, he cares little for the blood on his hands as he rummages through pockets, inspecting the wounds. Another stab mark through the temples. A dagger, curved. Familiar. He's seen it before. Designed by the fish, for you to use, adjusted lightness for the metal of your arm. Replacing the trusty claymore he used to witness you swinging with abandon.

Cleaving through enemies.

Cleaving through him.

He presses his fingers against it, assuring himself that he is not seeing what he wishes to. It would not be the first time he has caught glimpses of you in shadows, in alleys and chased the ghast. It is never you, it is always a cut into an already fragile heart, and he rights himself quickly.

To keep moving forwards.

This, however, he is not mistaken about. So he takes photos, sends them to the fish to evaluate, to the prince to be on guard. That someone is here, with your dagger. If it is not you, it has been stolen from you.

He will greatly enjoy cleaving through whoever has taken something precious to you. To lay their dirty hands on something that is theirs. His home, his family.

Footsteps approach him, and he hears a song he knows is yours. The notes though, they are buried in dust. The tune is not familiar. Your feet shouldn't make that noise, your heart is too familiar to him to be mistaken. To be misheard.

He whirls as a knife flies past his head. Stabbing into the broken sofa behind him. Sinking into moulding fabric. Releasing a smell he wishes he hadn't experienced. It fills the air as you step forwards, twirling a dagger around your fingers like he knows you've seen him do.

Like he taught you when you poked fun at him, asked him how he made it move so smoothly.

'Is it a crime lord aesthetic thing?'

'You have quite an image of me.'

'Am I wrong?'

'You just haven't looked closely enough.'

You are a flash of light, and a chill. A ghostly vision against the dilapidated backdrop. The dagger is dripping blood with each spin, splattering it against the floor and against your clothes. Black and loose. Harness over shoulder and around your chest.

You look as you should, jagged scars and crooked lips, mismatched eyes, arm of meta-

His eyes halt and hold on your form, there is no metal. He looks at the twisted carapace of a wanderer. Segmented into a limb, and long clawed fingers. Sylus feels as though he is staring at his own limb, long ago. When his claws could cut through your flesh with ease, and he could not feel the heat of your skin properly through his own.

It is black and twisted and cracked. Like a well used tool.

It is not yours.

It is not yours.

Yours was silver, painted by the fish, well worn and trusted. A tool as well as a part of you. A shield and a weapon in one.

It could trace his face gently, and swing a dagger with ease.

This is not yours.

The chill that you bring becomes ice down his back. It feels like the cut of a sword through his skin. Tears away at flesh and bone. Your eyes are empty, there is nothing in them but the glow of a gold he recognises. The resonance lurking under skin like a serpent waiting to strike. He levels his look on the dagger, and then back to your eyes. Seeking something out. Seeking you out.

You're in there, you have to be in there.

"Did you forget to check your phone, kitten?" He manages, but his voice is weak and cracked. He wants to grab you, to tell you it's fine, as long as you're safe now. He reaches out, and barely pulls his hand back quick enough before the dagger slices through where it was.

You tilt your head, then look down on the floor, "I was curious to know who sought out my target." The smile is crooked, it's wrong, it's twisted at the edges and broken. Like the horns he cut off years ago. "You're not on my list though."

It's a dismissive shrug, and a turn away. As though he is a stranger… as though he means nothing.

He barely holds the growl, though he is not angry, he advances on you, moving himself out of the way when your dagger darts out again. "Claws out kitten? Watch it, you could hurt someone." He manages, voice low, but pulling his tone to heel. He looks down at you. Reading at the empty gold glow, looking for something. Anything.

Disgust even, if there is disgust… you know of him.

There is nothing. Empty and cool. The abyss he should recognise but it is nothing he has seen before. Like you are missing. Like your body is empty.

You look back at him, unflinching, unbothered, watching him stare at you. It is the EVER symbol on your collar, he notices, it is like a brand against you. It is the flaming fury in his chest. It is not you.

It is them.

"Are you done?" You offer, stepping back out away from him, so he grabs your arm. The twisted skin against his flesh. Warm and pulsing under, but hard as stone. It is a painful thing to touch. It is not yours.

He looks at it, stares, and as he goes to speak, you tug it away from him. Spin, and kick him in the side.

The force makes him see stars for a moment, falling to knees. He gasps before he rights his body, before he forces adrenaline into his veins to catch the next kick you aim at him. The gold glitters under your skin, as you attack, and the leg he catches shakes his limbs. Throwing it away from him, as you spin and back away.

Sylus stands, and advances as you back up further, "That wasn't particularly nice, Kitten, we were having a chat."

"You shouldn't grab someone you don't know. It's impolite." You growl back, showing canines, and narrowing cool eyes at him.

Don't know.

He almost laughs.

He knows you, more than he knows himself. He knows you because you are part of him. He has lived with questions for who he is all of his life, has struggled to decide who he should be and who he is. You? You he knows.

He knows every piece of you, inside and out. He will always see you.

This is not you.

This is them.

"Then we should get to know each other." The words burn to say, and he reaches his hand out, ready to pull you to him. With skin, with mist. He cares little. He will capture you again, and he will make you wake up from whatever nightmare EVER have placed you in.

"I have orders, you're not part of them." You incline your head. He's used to a smile accompanying such an action, a tease, a lilt in your voice. Yet you are flat.

Then with the elbow of the wanderer's limb, you smash the window… and fall back.

He follows, on quicker feet than he has ever moved, melding into mist. Over the edge of the fall, watching you fall back. He has caught you so many times in his life. On the winds, with his wings, with his EVOL. He has followed you over the edge of many cliffs.

He will follow you over any others.

As he reaches out, you twist, hand on his wrist, pulling and turning, so that his back is to the impending floor. "You're determined." You snarl, actually snarl at him. His EVOL catches the dagger you aim for his chest, pushing it back, and he grabs your other arm, keeping the claws from closing around his throat.

You sink your teeth into his hand, biting down hard enough to draw blood, tearing at his flesh like he is a piece of meat you could devour.

The pain shoots up his arm, but it's not important. His wounds can heal, and while you can kill him, you have not levelled that fiend blade at his chest yet. Getting you back is all that matters, no matter the blood seeping down his wrist. You have bitten him before. You have come for him with daggers. You have shot him in the heart. Stabbed him through his joined heart. Cursed him.

Every drop of his blood that you bleed is another drop that belongs to you.

"Want to mark me that badly?" He laughs. He can only hope the prince has rested enough to hear the shattering glass. That he is still capable of hunting.

Your resonance bursts out of the wrist he holds in his mist, shattering it, and you kick, pulling away. Reaching out with claws to grab at the building. Grooves left behind you, as you slow your descent, he watches the gold shimmer again. Watches as the limb hardens further, claws thicker, digging deeper.

Spitting blood from your mouth, as you do.

He slows, balances himself. Without wings he cannot hover, can only slow his descent by a margin. His mist reaches out to yank you back. Into arms that cage around you, tighten around ribs he would normally be scared to break.

He holds, tight, and squeezes as much as he can. He feels you writhe, an angry cat held in a grip you do not want. Clawing and scratching. Willing to draw blood to escape. He feels the jagged claws of your hand grab at his wrist, digging into his flesh, tearing. Your EVOL bursts, and shatters, but it cannot shatter his bones, and he keeps the grip as you fall with him, as he ties you to gravity with him.

"Get off!" You growl, fury in your tone, and he's glad to finally see something from you. Some spark of who you are, even if it's angry and violent and vicious.

He sees a flash of light reflected off the glass of the buildings, and then he is caught and swiftly righted. Alongside a curse, and a huff.

Sylus turns to Xavier, who makes to speak before his eyes focus on you. Yowling and clawing. He reaches out a hand, only to have it knocked back by mist, "Don't. Your wounds don't heal like mine."

You snarl, "No, go on, let me slice you up." Claws flexing against the flesh you're serrating.

He'll heal. The pain is harsh, and burning. He's fought wanderers, but they don't have your mind. The knowledge of where to slice, the strength behind your anger.

"Starlight?" Xavier's voice does not waver often, he is used to seeing things that have hurt him. He has killed people who once followed him, he has fought those that were his loved ones. He has blood on his hands that burn to feel, but can never be washed off. Now, he wavers, watching someone who wears your face, but hisses and snarls to bite and snap. To cut and rip.

You kick back, into Sylus' shin. He avoids the second one, he knows is aimed to break his leg. Squeezes harder to creak your ribs. "EVER did something to them." He manages, using the mist to move the mark on your collar so Xavier can see it. He watches a jaw tick, the muscles jumping, blue starry eyes turn to ice, and focus on the point.

"We need to get them back." The prince approaches, and Sylus tightens his arms once more. If you have to be knocked out to get you back, well he can live with that. He's done it before. Hand around your throat, watching the life flickered in your eyes. Can your disgust hurt him more than the lack of any personal acknowledgement?

It is too soon for him to think, as you let out a snap of teeth at the prince, then smash your head back into his nose. The pain jolts up into his skull, so you reach your hand up, grab him by the hair and yank, then snap back one more time.

He's fought you before, he knows you. He knows you can beat him, he's been pinned by you in a test match before. Watching the glee in your eyes, seeing the fire at your victory. He has watched you practice swordsmanship with the prince. He has seen you cross daggers with the fish.

Everytime, you are cunning, you are ready to win. Everytime joy lights up your face if you succeed. Thrilled and happy to learn and improve. Crooked smile and bright eyes as you thank them for taking time for you to clash with.

It is not joy that lights your eyes, it's savage and it's gleaming. You do not extend your hand, or press a kiss to his cheek in your victory. You let him fall away from you, as blood sprays, and then you reach out with a clawed hand to rip at the prince's chest.

As soon as both have stumbled back, you turn, and you disappear.

Sylus' patience is strong. He has lived a long time, waiting, and living, and managing. It is when he has his prize so very close, that his desperation comes through. It was moments where he asked if you truly wanted him. Voice trembling and begging.

To touch, to taste, to hold, to seek pleasure with.

It was times when he had found you at last, growing impatient to feel your resonance against him. Moving too quickly, too desperately. Seeking memories locked behind a seal. Greedy for his beloved to look into his eyes and see someone worthy of flowers again.

It is the moments where he waits for your missions to end, and the message that you are returning, that he can no longer sit still.

It is when he saw your new home for the first time, a life built where he was not a monster, a family where he had nothing. Need bubbling to the surface to paint it in colours and fill it with song.

His patience has held until the last moment where relief is in sight. That it shatters, and it demands.

As he holds his bloody mangled arm, and spits blood on the floor, it breaks into shards. As he reaches out to Xavier, checking the wound, turning his face to check for others, he tears his already torn shirt to hold to the jagged claw marks.

As his fingers tremble and he shakes at where he is holding, he reaches for where his patience has gone and finds a small boy with broken horns. The absence of his calm, built on the back of his agony, lost to the fear and the doubt that circles his head.

It is the memory of the empty eyes, and the snarl that he can still hear in his head, the warm body in his hands, even though you had not been you.

You were finally so close, and now you are gone.

A hand tightens over his, the prince pulling his focus, and reaching up through the pain to ease tears that can't fall out of his eyes, "They're alive. We can find them again." He bites out, warming the chill in Sylus' hands, and waking him from the nightmare.

He will, and he'll melt every EVER building until he does. Rip the rot out by the roots, and become what Philos sneered at him for. A calamity.

Their evil is similar, afterall.

—------

He does not find any joy or relief in the information he brings back. As he watches the doctor stitch Xavier closed. Waving off his assistant. He eases the pain with his EVOL. Part of him wants to feel it, a reminder. You were there, he had you, and he let you go.

It does no one any good for him to be useless, or deeply wounded. So while the moon is still high, he repairs the damage, pushing his nose back into place. You'd told him it was beautiful, he hopes you still thought so when you returned. As the blood stops, and his wounds close, he leaves the room to shower.

The heat as high as it can go, to sear his flesh. It leaves his skin pink, as he finally turns the water off. Seeking out clothes that don't bear the ruins of your violence. When he returns to the living room, the prince's stitches are complete and bandaged, and the fish is looking at the photos he sent.

Before you tore at him like a beautiful and horrifying monster.

Had it been you, he would have welcomed your dagger and your claws.

He will not die to EVER's machinations. They will not make you their tool.

When he dies it will be because you have chosen willfully to cut through his chest and his joined heart. It will be your choice to sever your curse, and scatter his soul to the wind like the petals of deadly flowers.

Sylus eases himself into the sofa, leaning back and taking the fish's head into his lap with ease. Fingers finding purple locks and smoothing them out as they look at the photos.

He won't comment on Rafayel's feline-like purrs. He is too tired and worn. His heart hurts more than his arm did. "It was really them?"

"It was kitten, alright… Their body at least."

Zayne helps Xavier ease into a new shirt, cool hands sliding down sore skin, and turns his head to speak, "You think EVER are controlling them?"

The fish snorts, eyes narrowing, flames at his fingertips, "Is it surprising, after everything they've done?"

"That wasn't my question. Nothing they do at this point would surprise me, but controlling a person is…" The doctor flinches, and Sylus can see it. The image of you. Cold eyes, claws extended, tearing through Zayne's jugular. Blood splattering over your face, but you don't blink, or flinch. Simply move onto the next.

"Their eyes were empty, doctor. They didn't recognise or care when they saw me or the prince. They wanted to hurt us to escape… They didn't care how."

He finishes with the shirt and rubs at his forehead, trying to ease a headache that brews. It is better a headache, Sylus thinks, than him focusing on the aching pain in his chest. The fear of someone being broken by EVER. Experiments that defy morality. That twist and snap and destroy anything worthy of protecting.

That left him with twins, bearing scars. Inside and out. Who thought death would be an entertainment worthy of hunting for great prey.

That made you a child with a broken heart and a grandmother who didn't look close enough at what she did to you. Her morality flexible, because of your broken, twisted memory.

The doctor is a moral man, who believes in the power of medicine and science to save and protect the sanctity of life. That has rejected every offer for using his knowledge to twist that boundary. Who stares into the face of loss and believes dying in control of yourself, is better than living as a ghost or beast. Who has healed every wound you have held, and stitched up every injury.

Who nurses your heart, no matter how fragile it can be, or how much work it is.

What EVER stand for is so strongly opposed to the doctor, that Sylus can watch the tick in his jaw. The pain in his eyes. The tremble in his hands. The snowflakes drifting from fingertips, and the chill arching up his hands.

Rafayel removes himself from Sylus' lap, reaching over with heated hands and takes icy ones. Easing the cold back slowly, as the doctor fights for control over an EVOL that is soothed by you. It is a slower process with the fish, but it is worth it, as the chill recedes and the heat returns to the doctor's skin.

His trembling slows before it ceases, and he removes his glasses to rub his eyes, "Thank you."

The fish shrugs, sitting down next to him, ready just in case he is needed. Sylus looks down at his hand, flexing it in his lap, as he thinks about you taking his hand, pulling him forwards. No matter who he has been or will be, your hold has not wavered. It is his job to pull you back.

"We have a target." The prince exhales after downing a glass of water, looking over at him, and he nods, thinking. He can narrow down the search, look for traces, documents, records. EVER have always been simple to understand. Their methods are outdated to gain traitors, their experiments never stopped, no matter the state of the N109 Zone. No matter what destruction they left in their wake.

So he just has to find the thread back to you. While he has no intention of bloodying the doctor's hands, he has a fish who has killed those responsible for his people's suffering, a prince who has hunted any who dared raise a blade to you, and himself. A dragon whose treasure has been ripped out of his palms.

It is a foolish mortal that steals from a dragon.

—--------

Your return to their compound is slower after you've exercised that new EVOL you had been fed. It sticks in your maw, like a bitten on bone. It is uncomfortable, untrained, and aching. Your shoulder aches, your arm is covered in blood, and you need to clean your dagger.

The door swings open as you push through, slamming your fist on the wall to find the light. It brightens the room and you look down. Muscle and flesh in the grooves of your arm, sticking into the carapace. Stuck under segments. The feeling is a violent rejection. You rip the thing from you, throwing it across the room so that it smashes an unused lamp. Splattering some of the gore across the scientists whiteboard.

It is not really satisfaction at the viscera painting pristine EVER surfaces, but it is something. Or it is until a throat clears behind you.

"Little bomb, you should really behave yourself in the labs."

The feeling turns to biting fear, before you grab it by its throat and remind it. You do not fear foolish men. You do not cower to his slimy, disgusting voice. You do not run, or hide. You are not a child.

He is nothing.

You are a weapon.

"I don't recall you being the one I answer to, Leon."

You move through the room, seeking out the sink, and splashing water over blood on your clothes with one hand.

"Is the new attachment that unpleasant?" He points, indicating the weapon you had thrown. "If you want something better, we can provide it?"

The scoff isn't entirely in your control, but it does narrow the man's eyes, "You can't provide me much of worth Leon, don't act like you have any more power here than I do. It just needs cleaning. Drop it in a bucket. I'll care about it later."

"You're in a worse mood than normal, did you even carry out your orders?"

You round, dagger in hand and flick its tip under his soft throat, the tip pricking into skin, and bare canines, "When have I ever failed a job?"

He watches your hand, the dagger, then looks into cool, icy eyes. You can feel the resonance flickering, angry, uncontrolled. It is always harder to control some days. Like the sensations and the feelings are too hard to read, too uneven. You think about it failing when that man with white hair had you in his grasp. Refusing to help you break, to make yourself stronger. The panic of being held, the anger at being weak, the fury that breathed fire into your chest.

You do not know who he is, but you will slit his throat if he shows his face to you again. Tear his throat open with your teeth and drown in his blood.

"Kitten, tch." You hiss, pulling away from the scientist watching you with fear flickering in his gaze. "Starlight… What world do they belong to?" You spit at the floor, clearing more blood that still feels caught in your teeth.

"Seriously? Can you stop that?" Leon looks down at the blood now splattered on the floor, mixed with saliva.

"Clean it up if you're so unhappy. I'm going to clean this mess off me." You push past him, heading deeper into a compound that does not feel like anywhere you want to be.

"Stop, you have another order."

"Give it to me later."

"I'm here now, little bomb. You may as well listen."

It bubbles, it burns. You despise him, you don't really know why. You looked him in the eye when you opened yours for the first time and hatred and disgust and fear, embedded so deeply in your chest that you almost threw it up onto him. Leon greets you with his greying temples, and his sickening glimmer in his eyes as he stares at you, and he calls you little bomb.

It tears at your nerve and chews at your heel.

You want to tear his throat out, but you won't drink his blood. He is sullied, and disgusting…

But you have orders.

"What is it?"

"A doctor, he's wanted to do work here."

"Then offer him money, and immortality, I'm sure he'll jump at the chance." You spit again, this time aiming for Leon's shoes.

He rubs a hand over his face in response, looking at you like he is seconds away from locking you in a cage. You want him to try. The feeling is under your skin.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It simmers and burns and you want to cut and rip.

If he wants to try to tame your fury, he is welcome to try. To send you to one of EVER's toy boxes. To jolt you, and burn you, to remind you who holds the leash. Maybe the pain will shake out the feeling in the back of your gut. Maybe they'll put you in a ring, and watch you fight someone else like you. A tool, a weapon. Maybe you'll let someone pierce your chest for once. Spilling blood over the floor. Seeking escape in the splattered walls.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

It lurches in your brain, words you don't remember, and irritation that has no place. "What on earth happened out there?" Leon finally asks, watching you wary. Good. Wary is good. Wary is careful.

"Your target had friends." You snap, dagger twirling around the skin of your hand, unbothered when it catches on fingers that don't move fast enough. The pain grounds you, washes out the voices, so you run a finger over the blade, and watch the scientist. He looks away from the blood and you almost have to laugh.

He can torture you, but he doesn't want to watch you bleed on his floor.

"Did you deal with them?"

"They weren't on my list."

"If they were there-"

This time you do nic his neck, dagger fast. His EVOL is worthless, pointless, and has no way to stop you. Not like the mist, not like it curling around your wrist like warm fingers.

"I follow my orders, Leon. They weren't on the list." His blood trickles down his neck and the scent is sour. So you push him away, turning and walking off, even though he protests, hand covering his throat, "Send me the name. I'll capture him."

The walk through the compound is full of people whose names you cannot remember, whose faces you see every time your feet carry you through halls. There are rarely new faces, a close iron grip held over tools in a grand scheme. The dagger twirls and twists, and you are given a wide berth.

Unicorn, Subject 001. It is an easy title to hold. Thanks to it hanging around your neck like a noose, you are unbothered by others. It is like you are a beast that they keep their chains around, but no one is willing to feed you from their hand.

They would rather throw flesh through the bars, and run away.

It is fear and disgust, you muse. As it should be. As if any of them are better than you.

It is bitter hatred that bites at your heels, that reminds you of every experiment, of every time waking up on a cold table, chest flayed as you are dug around in. Heart pressed and prodded.

It is your orders that keep you off that table. You are useful now. If you stay useful, you don't have to wake up in a cage.

It is the closest you can get to relief here, as though the sick doesn't swirl in your stomach still. There is no one to seek out for help, you are alone.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

Your snarl is unbidden, and you shake your head like a cat trying to shake out fleas. As if that will shake out the ghost of voices, for fools who get in your way. Bright red molten eyes, tinged in glossy tears, and star blue constellations, gazing at you in wonder.

No one has looked at you like that.

The scientists have stared at you in greed, in hunger, with curiosity. But it is not wonder, it is hungry and cruel and brings pain.

You stomach and you move forwards.

These voices will fade, you will not see red and blue eyes again, and you will forget the curling mist. 

As you enter the room you have been given to clean yourself up, the photo on the side stares back at you. A man you do not recognise, but whose name is etched into the frame. Caleb, your family… You do not remember him, your memories do not summon him. He has died, they've told you. Cut out of your life by people who stand against EVER.

Your home destroyed, so now you stay here. In a compound with cold walls… and a box of a room that cannot be filled because you own nothing. Except a photo frame you have been handed, and the clothes you are to wear when working.

You think you feel grief at the concept of not having him. You think that there are moments where something aches so deep in your chest that you can't find an answer to it. Like you are missing something integral. Seeking something out, but can never find it.

Sometimes in the shadows, when you enter and forget to turn on the lights, you think you see plushies along pillows… you have seen some with them on their desks. They are not for you though, you do not even know where you'd begin to find one.

There is a cold broken feeling in your chest, whenever you turn the lights on and they are gone. Just a mirage from a mind you think is fractured by the tests. You don't know what the feeling is, but it hurts, so you move onto another job, and move forwards.

You wonder if Caleb would look at you with disgust, to see no recognition in your eyes, to see you, with dagger in hand and blood splattered over your mouth and face.

Or was he like you? A tool to be used.

It is a question that has no answer, the dead don't speak. You will never find out. You will never have a voice answer you back, questions you speak out loud, when the room is too quiet and too cold.

So you scald your skin with heat in the shower, and burn away the remnants of the memories of voices calling out for you, and the pain. As the blood rushes down the shower drain, and leaves you as close to clean as you can get.

—------

Leon is cleaning up the blood when you return to the lab to pick up your arm, it is hours later, but he seems harried. Hair falling out from where he normally slicks it back.

You debate saying something, but decide against it, especially when you see that the gore has been scrubbed from your arm. A job you did not wish to have to handle. Even thinking about it, makes you think of the feeling of muscle under your claws. The hissed pain through clenched teeth. The arms pressing around your ribs, tight but wary. Like you would break under them.

You strap it back on, and spin the dagger in practiced claws in relief. No nics, no cuts. You don't remember who taught you, you never taught yourself. It eases you though, something familiar. A motion that is practiced and quick.

"You can get a better weapon than that, you know." Leon sighs, standing, relieved to be finished removing the mess you'd spread. So that he experiments could continue on. His finger points over at the dagger in your claw and you watch as he throws cloth into bucket.

The way he looks at the dagger makes your hand clench around it, slipping it back into its sheath at your side, and glaring, baring canines. It feels like an open wound. To be separated from it. Like it is as much a part of you as… your arm…

Itching in the back of your neck, a feeling of wrongness. It is not your arm.

Silver, and painted. A beautiful red fish swimming over metal.

You shake your head, pulling away from Leon before he can get his hands near you, or near the tool at your waist.

It is yours. It cannot be replaced. "It's killed enough of EVER's targets to be a fine weapon. Perhaps you should be replaced instead."

The bite does not agitate the man, but it does satisfy the little voice asking you to snap him. A little. There is no response but you are done with him, until a question gnaws.

Like a little beast at your heel. Demanding something.

You're not quite sure what.

"Why won't the doctor join you?" You ask, pushing some equipment to the side none too gently to sit on a table.

"Stop throwing things around, we need those." Leon snaps, "Your temper is too short, little bomb."

Your laugh holds no humour, it is a choke of a noise, that means nothing, "You call me that, and expect my fuse to be long? Unluckily for you, Leon, you are the only one who doesn't fear to talk to me. So you are to bring me orders, and answer my questions. If your things are in the way, that's not my problem."

He rubs the space between his eyes, and for a moment you get a flash. Forests, and snowflakes. Drifting through branches and alighting on white petals. Blending, and freezing, then falling.

Pushing his glasses back up, he speaks, "He doesn't agree with the tests we are running."

"You think capturing him will help?"

"I think capturing him will make him less likely to help, but surely the order came for a reason."

You scoff, but shrug, "Can't imagine what they could offer him, that means enough to make him agree. I suppose all of you science types have a price though. Something they can tug at to make you abandon your souls."

His voice is cold when he speaks, and you watch the spark of irritation. It's rare, he tries to keep his calm false mask, but sometimes. You can poke and prod. Like he is a beast you want to see bite. White hair ruffled and soaked as he laughs through-

You blink, and Leon returns to his bespectacled brown hair, and brown eyes. He speaks but you don't hear, and you push off the table, waving a hand, "Whatever." You don't want to hear it anyway, whatever he has to say won't remove the scalpel. Won't ease scars that don't disappear.

Won't mean you can lay down a clawed arm of beasts that they experiment on.

You're not too different you suppose, if you were maybe your arm would have rejected your body. Demanding something closer to home. Instead it follows your demands, moves smoothly, easily. You were told it was the ideal weapon and tool, and using it has certainly made missions easier.

It does not mean you wish to see it more than you have to.

Fabric catching on the segments of hard stone-like skin. Every sensation through it feels like it's felt underwater. Distant and abstract. A picture you can't fully see.

You step through the hallways, flexing the clawed hand carefully, as you approach the testing rooms. Inside is the usual, an old man with goggles on his head, greying brown hair. Wrinkles. He pushes the goggles up as he looks over at you, "Phi, I need my check." You approach.

His chuckle is low, and he eases you. There is something about him that is familiar, against all other backdrops of the compound. This man is familiar.

Sometimes if you stare at him for long enough, you can hear his voice telling you to stay calm.

You're not sure what it means, if he was there during your hazy wake-ups that you barely remember. Just the pain of the pressure on your heart.

"The Unicorn has wandered over finally. Come on then, you're weeks late." He indicates the black reclining chair beside him.

It normally grates at you, Unicorn. It is not a name, it is a subject title. You don't remember if you've ever been called anything else though. If any other name has ever mattered to you.

'Kitten'

'Starlight'

'Cutie'

'Darling'

They swirl and then you shake, like a dog shifting water from its coat. You will not drown to voices.

The chair is cold to the touch as you lie back, but Philip's hands are steady and careful. He checks over you, scans with his tools, checks your EVOL levels. "How are the new additions?" When he asks, you can actually hear concern. It's rare… it's not offered often. He is here just to manage your health, to track it. Leon is here as your keeper.

He proclaims that he knows you best. His little bomb. His reason to be in that lab. The core in your chest is his proudest test subject.

You think about the 'additions'. EVOL's fed into your resonance, powering it, making it more useful. You think about the pain, the snarling voice that wishes to devour and swallow. You would tremble at the sensation of the heat in your core. The ripping and tearing. The gold enveloping, and the rippling power that explodes outwards.

Broken glass and twisted shards of metal.

You think about how hard they are to control.

You think about fiery red eyes watching you as you fall, and the resonance failing to come to your hand at will.

You think about heat from skin like a memory you could grasp if you tried hard enough.

You think about when it finally answered you, so you could leave the call of snapping beasts at heels behind.

Questions left unanswered. Blissful ignorance, so your heart does not shatter. You don't want to know the origin of the fever or the broken splinters.

There is nothing on the other end of the thread.

"Temperamental." You finally answer, "They're harder to control than just my resonance is. I can't call them at will."

He nods, jotting things down, as he reads. As you look at his goggles, you see a leather jacket reflected in it, but when you turn there is nothing there.

Perhaps not sleeping is leaving you as useless a tool as Leon is.

A problem to solve later, when you can finally chase out broken parts of your brain, and swallow something to ease the screeching behind eyelids.

"You need to practice with them."

You huff, turning your head away, "I didn't need to practice with my resonance, what kind of tool can't be used straight away?"

When he doesn't answer, you return your gaze to him, watching as the man frowns. Staring at his tablet, like it holds news he does not want to see, but the tablet is empty. "Phi?"

He looks up, wavering eyes, and tired bags. He also does not sleep, you remember. You've never had it in you to ask why. If he's as haunted as you are. If this place keeps him from escaping his nightmares. You could ask, or you could dig for information… You do neither.

You always do neither.

"Your tests are fine, you should get some rest though, and make sure you take your medication. Leon said you've skipped it for two days now." He extends a hand with pills shaken out into them. Suppressants, for the core in your chest. To stabilise it.

You've taken them since waking up. They taste bitter, and they stick in your throat.

You grab them out of his hand, and throw them back. You feel like spitting them back up into his face, but manage to swallow them down, relieved when he has water prepared. You down the bottle, easing the sensation of the chalky taste, and run your tongue over your teeth to clear the residue.

It's no surprise to you that Leon would rat you out. Like he thinks he is your keeper. Like he owns your soul, and your body. Not just the warden responsible for your pain. The object of your abject hatred.

The cool of the seat starts to burn, so you pull up and step away. Shoving one hand into pockets, claw loose at your side. "Anything else?" The man asks, his expression becoming warmer, a smile loose on his worn lips. The familiar feeling sparks in your chest, and you wish you could ask.

Maybe if you ask you'd understand.

If you ask, you wake up from a nightmare, and you're not sure if the outside is better.

So you shake your head, "No, see you." and turn on a heel, leaving as quickly as you can. You can't thank him, you can never thank him. He is the only one who does not treat you like something to cut open for experiments, and you cannot thank him.

Because it is a low bar to clear?

Because you should not have to thank for that?

Because you blame him too?

You do not go to find food, though there is a cafeteria. You don't need to stay here. With the cold walls. Stared at by wary mad scientists.

You have a job, you can always do some research. Something that requires the movement of your feet, and the use of your brain. Something to distract from the feelings that bubble and overflow. That leave a lingering bitterness in your mouth like chalky medication.

That make you look over your shoulder, and not focus on the target.

It is an agitation you cannot shake out, so you have to focus it.

Your feet take you back to Leon's lab, but his lab coat is over the chair, as his tools are left behind. So you dig into his pockets, and pull out his wallet. Relieved to find cash, and not just card. You could figure it out, but it's always a pain.

Instead you take all the cash he has to hand, and leave, throwing his wallet back on the table.

If he wants to demand a punishment, he's free to. If you get results, he's less likely to get what he wants.

You want to watch him chafe under the pressure.

—------

Linkon is familiar in a way you aren't sure how to word. You've been told you lived here, that you lived with Caleb in a house in a nice little neighbourhood, before it was taken from you. You've walked to the area before, and while you sometimes can feel heat against your skin, you cannot quite bring the image to mind.

Like you're staring at a static tv screen. Sometimes there's a shape you think you can make out, but it could just be the broken image, flicking so fast you've fooled yourself.

It's like desperately grabbing at something, only for it to slip further under sand. One thing you do know, however, is that your feet travel before your brain focuses. That you pass by things called kitty cafes, and hesitate for a moment. Looking through glass, and wondering what it is you're seeing. You almost entered once, before dread settled somewhere in the pit of you. Pushing you back.

A warning.

So you simply look through the windows, to watch the small creatures and the floating OTTOs that tend to them.

It is enough. Perhaps.

The acknowledgement of something that you enjoy. Or think you enjoy. Perhaps you played with Caleb.

Before he was taken away from you.

Would he be able to remind you of things you have forgotten? Records of things you should know, photos of times you'd spent together? Would he be able to spark the image if he stood before you?

Your memory just a casualty of EVER's saving your life… It is a low price to pay, you've been told. That memory can sometimes be reclaimed. That your life cannot.

You cannot help but feel like a haunted ghost though. Sparks and flashes with abstracts and feelings you can't explain or name. Things that lurk along the edges but cannot be grasped. You have nothing for yourself, but the jobs you are given, and the titles you cannot shake.

Perhaps if you keep following the path, you'll find an answer at the end of it. Even though you want to turn from it. Run the opposite direction. Would the answer even make you happier? Or would it make the feelings worse?

Could Caleb really have cared about someone Leon calls little bomb? Could a tool be more than itself? Or were you both tools?

Perhaps it was easy to exist, because neither had anything else to claim.

If that were the case, you think you could accept it. At least then you would not be alone, surrounded by things that want to twist and snap and break and bend you. Make you into a weapon sharper than a dagger.

You still await the moment they pierce your skull with a sword, so you bear the horn of the beast, they're so proud of naming you after.

It is the smell of sweets that draws you to a cafe, and you are relieved that no one bothers to look at you for your arm. Though you have passed at least three people with panda costumes, so you think perhaps, this is a low scale of concern for Linkon residents.

As you enter, money in your pocket, you rattle off as many cakes as you can read, and afford with stolen cash, and then ask for a black coffee.

You pause, and then correct yourself. Cream, two sugars.

You can see it placed next to your head on a bedside table, you can hear a snort of disgust against your neck. You shiver, the sensation of lips on the back of your neck making you scratch at it with sharpened claws.

The blood that catches at the edges, makes your panic rise, but no one is looking at you. Couples too caught up with each other, groups laughing, and people alone working. Linkon, you decide, is an interesting but strange place.

At the compound you are stared at. Watched warily. There is no step you can take where you are not eyed, as though you could begin howling and snarling at a moment. You wonder if they fear you will turn into a wanderer. Will the core in your chest make you as horrifying a beast as the Myst's that EVER manipulate? Augmented protocores giving them powers beyond understanding?

It is an interesting thought. You hope if that happens, someone will silence you quickly. Lest you lose even the semblance of you that you have.

As you find your way to empty chairs, stuffing a macaron into your mouth, hunger tearing at your edges, you feel the aggravation and sensitivity calm somewhat. The itch easing, and the feelings leaving you be.

'Food is important, sweets can fill your heart as well as your stomach.'

The voice isn't familiar, it is a whisper on the edges. It does not bite at you though. The edges softened down, no longer sharp and broken. So you stuff more into your mouth, unconcerned with the world around you. Sating the beast that purrs as you feed it sugar.

As you finally stop starving your body, though you still refuse to let it sleep. Perhaps the confectionery will do for now.

With one hand you continue to claim sugary treats, while the other flicks through information Leon had sent you.

Zayne Li, cardiologist. Highly respected, has rejected offers of work over sixteen times.

You can't imagine why he'd suddenly decide to take up EVER's offer, if he has steadfastly rejected every time they had tried. Perhaps they finally had enough money for him. Money, equipment, a curiosity. It was always something that summoned the science types into EVER's hands.

They never fought or rejected for long. Denied enough opportunities, they would come running. Desperate.

Ice EVOL, uncontrolled, appears to create backlash when used.

Ice shards, tearing through skin, ripping into flesh, and rattling air from the chest. You choke on a sip of your drink, spitting the coffee on the table as you rub at your forehead. You can feel the cold on the tips of your fingers, and you aren't sure why.

It is not one of the EVOLs that was fed to you.

Just more static, things that don't belong to you, that won't stop haunting your vision. The lack of sleep has to be the reason.

Still, to have an EVOL you cannot control… That hurts you when you do. You think of the ones that aren't yours, that have been devoured by your resonance, and you rub at the space over your chest.

The core in your chest will eat anything it can grasp.

The file gives you his main location, Akso Hospital. Kidnapping a doctor from a hospital, would likely result in more mess than you want to deal with. You'll just have to follow him to somewhere else when he leaves.

Surely he has a home.

Why it's not in the file is a question you will have to ask Leon later. You'd expect them to give you more than minimal lines.

It is not as though you will fail… failing means tests. You think of isolation rooms. Of fighting people haunted, with protocore syndrome. That shatter when you fight back. You think of the agony in your limbs when they poke and prod.

You think of shocks, and scalpels. You think of what EVER means when they make you their tool. When you are their test subject.

You think of how, even if you run, they will always be able to find you.

You think of how pointless it is to fight back, when they break you down.

You think of their buildings in Linkon, office workers who mill about with their symbols on their chest.

You think of the news reports you hear, with their technology selling to everyone you pass.

It is an encompassing web, and you are barely a fly.

EVER have reminded you, that being a tool is better than breaking.

You're unsure if that's true, but you know that death never seems to save you. You have plunged your beloved dagger into your chest, trying to cleave the core out, but woken up on a table. Unsuccessful, reminded of your place.

You are hazy, if someone stops you, if you're always being watched that they can grasp you before. You wake up though, staring around you, and it continues. You continue. Dagger in hand, EVER's mark on your collar, and given orders.

It is as you lean back, finished with your bounty, sipping the last of your coffee, that the door swings open.

"I don't think now is the time to eat sweets."

"And I know you're not feeling great, when you can say that doc."

Static.

Like in that broken down apartment building. Staring at a man who looks like a ghost to you. Slowing your dagger long enough to look.

Crackling along the edges, filtering through your vision. Overlaying so many images against the other. It is noise and it is broken images.

It is a force of a wall you cannot break through.

You look, as two men enter. Tired, drawn eyes. One you know by the file in your hand.

The other, you know by the signs and posters.

Zayne Li and Rafayel Qí.

It is an easy thing to sit and watch as the one rubs at his eyes, and the other nudges him, hand easing strain from back.

They do not know you. No matter if they pick out the symbol on your collar, there are countless EVER employees, and your face is only known to the ones you're ordered to kill.

And now capture.

Still, your eyes want to move away. Looking at them hurts. The static is loud, and the feelings are back. An uncomfortable ripping at the fabric of what's inside you.

So you stand to leave, hoping you can pull away and come back another day. It is no use tracking a man when he has company, for all you know the artist is a bodyguard in his spare time.

Complications are not worth testing with.

It is the movement of your chair, and the way you stand, grasping at your chair to push it back in, that draws their gaze to you. It sends a chill down your spine, as they look.

As forest green eyes and burning pink and blue stare at you. Wavering.

You are hit with the static, louder now, pushing down on your head, trying to drown you. You want to cover your ears, but you can't. You can't stand out. You can't be odd. Not out here. Not more than you already are.

No one has looked, or cared. So you put one foot in front of the other, and it shatters the silence.

"Cutie?"

"Darling?"

It tears at the fabric, and it rips at the gauze. The open wound in your chest. You feel the ice though skin, the water in lungs. There is a sensation of falling, and an aching where you land.

They approach, and you wave off. Claw in the ground trying to right yourself, pull yourself together. Remember what you're supposed to do. Get out, leave. It doesn't matter if they remember your face… It won't matter when you knock out the doctor and take him back.

Even if the artist remembers you, EVER can cover it up.

They've never failed to do so before.

You just have to get out. To find your feet.

Why is there so much static?

Someone kneels by you, and a cold hand touches the claw digging into the ground. It cuts through the carapace, rips at the seams. You pull away, and it gives you enough shock to cut through, to give you a door. You back up, and shake your head, "I'm fine, sorry."

You don't look at teary eyes, or stop long enough to be grasped at, you don't want to know why they looked at you, or saw something.

You don't want the static.

You just have to get back, and do your job… Then shake out the voices who call out names that settle softer than Unicorn.

[hiskillingjar]

Kidnapping (Ren/MC)

i’ve truly been struggling to write this for like two weeks, so fuck it! changed the prompt to an idea i had, i make my own rules FUCKER

day 22: kidnapping second person.

“*sniff sniff*”

Ren's claws were sharp, even through the barrier of latex gloves, as he rubbed the hair dye into your scalp, making sure that the creamy black goo covered each blonde strand well, that there wouldn't be any gaps or light spots, any resemblance to the person you used to be after he was finished.

You continued to sniffle, your bound hands twisting in your lap, sitting at his feet with your legs crossed beneath you, just trying to stay still so he wouldn’t get mad.

Stillness didn't mean you wouldn't let yourself cry, though.

"Stop squirming and quit your whimpering," He murmured in a low, warning tone, gently forcing your head back against his knee (staining be damned) as he continued massaging the dye into your hair, fingers rubbing (trying to keep his claws as gentle as possible) soothingly into your scalp in spite of his harsh words.

For all his cruelty, it seemed he was still trying to make the process as pleasant for you as he could.

"You're being so fussy over some silly hair dye, come on, quit acting like such a baby…”

"S-Sorry..." You stammered, whimpering a little more as he squeezed another spurt of dye into your roots, the chill of it making you shiver. "I don't understand why, though..."

"Isn't it obvious? I have to change your look a little bit," He responded before tilting your head to the side a little so he could better reach the hair at the nape of your neck. "You're such a pretty and unique little thing. So, it'd be a shame if someone recognized you, right?"

"Mmf," You mumbled a non-answer.

You had figured as much, without him telling you. 

Brunette or straight black hair was probably (definitley) a lot more common than blonde hair with pink highlights. If you planned on keeping a hostage on a long term basis, it probably made sense to dramatically change their image, the way he was doing now, so that they wouldn’t be recognised if you dared take them outside..

Still, it was a sort of death knell for your hope of freedom.

"Besides, dark hair is going to suit you, trust me. It'll be a nice change!" He continued, taking an extra second to brush his fingers through the roots of your hair. “It’ll…mark the start of your new life with me!”

You didn’t say anything to that, and just kept looking down and sniffling, softly.

"There, all done," Ren pulled the gloves off of his hands with a little flourish and a snap, and tossed them away before grabbing your chin, gently urging you to stand up and face him. “Let’s just make sure I’ve gotten every part of your hair first…”

He clicked his tongue as he observed you, tilting his head a bit as if he were deep in thought, before grinning, his tail wagging behind him.

"Yep, that’s all done! Ahh, I just know it's going to look great!" He cooed in satisfaction, his hands dropping down to hold yours, kept still by the ropes. "My good little doll looks so lovely when she obeys and lets me shape her~"

You sniffled again at the idea, feeling another tear trail down your reddened face.

"Oh, don't get all crybaby on me agai- oh, come on..!" He groaned, the affectionate, excited gleam in his gaze faltering a bit as he watched the tears trail down your cheek.

He reached up to cup your face and wipe away the tears running down your cheeks, his voice a tad gentler and softer than when he'd been commanding you.

"You're gonna make me feel bad if you keep crying, you know?"

"I'm s-sorryyyy," You drawled, trying to stop yourself from breaking down completely as you hid your face in his hands. 

Why did he have to be so nice to you? 

It would have been easier if he was a brute, if he hurt you, if he made you do things you didn’t want to do.

 As it stood right now, all he had done to you was occasionally tie your ropes a little too tight and dyed your hair an ugly colour...and he only had to do that because you couldn't have been smarter about trying to signal for help.

"God, can't you just...stop being so cute, it's- it's really unfair.." His expression turned a little frustrated, his lips pursed into a thin line and his eyes narrowing slightly, but there was no actual irritation in his tone, just something akin to mild annoyance. "Why are you being such a little crybaby? There's no need to keep on bawling over a little hair dye..."

"I liked my blonde hair," You sniffled again, both wrists reaching up to your eyes as you tried to dry your own tears. "I-I worked really hard on keeping it like that...a-and now that’s all gone." 

You started to cry a little more, biting your lip in an attempt to stop it.

"Shhh, calm down.. I said you look pretty, didn't I? You’re going to look absolutely adorable with your new hair colour, I promise! Black is going to make those pretty eyes of yours really pop out~" He tried to soothe you by stroking the back of your hands while keeping a hold on you, frowning a little himself as you continued to cry.

Your lip trembled as another stream of tears ran down your cheeks.

"Why can't you let me go?” You asked, your voice a frightened whisper. “T-This can't be fun for you anymore, looking after me like this..."

His face twisted into a slight grimace as you continued crying and started to plead again. 

"Sweetheart, we've been over this.” He started tersely, an icy tone to his voice as he held your hands tighter, his expression darkened.“I'm not letting you go. I’m never going to let you go, and I won't let anyone else have you. You're staying with me, whether you want to or not." He leaned up on his toes to speak in your face. ��So, I’d suggest you make peace with it, okay?”

You shut up very quickly, letting your head sink down against your chest and your fingers slacken under the ropes.

Ren watched you for a moment, watched as you sank into yourself, before he moved his hands off your wrists and pulled you close to him, with your chest against his, his face nestled against your collar bone,  and your bound arms resting comfortably between the two of you.

“I’m sorry I have to be mean,” He murmured apologetically, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “I just want to keep you safe, okay? Just want to make sure you’ll stay with me…”

He kept you held there for a little bit longer (maybe a lot longer, you weren’t sure), his arms around your midsection and loosely holding you against his chest as he nuzzled against your collar, in an almost gentle, soothing manner.

His hair was incredibly soft against your neck, and the fur of his ears were warm and comforting, like you were being held by a lover or a partner. As opposed to the reality of the situation, a kidnapper trying to soothe their hostage.

You knew that he was probably just trying to comfort you, and was letting you feel bad in your own time without babying you or trying to intimidate you out of the negative feelings.

You appreciated that to a degree, letting yourself sit still and quiet for a long period of time.

Long enough for his alarm to go off, signalling him to take off the dye.

He held you close for a while longer, even after the timer on his phone went off, before he slowly let you go.

"Come on, we need to wash your hair now." He spoke quietly as he took your bound hands, leading you in the direction of his bathroom.

You let yourself be led and knelt down, obediently, resting your head over the tub (like sticking your head through the hole of a guillotine) as he started up the shower, testing the temperature and flow with his palm before guiding your head under the stream, and beginning to carefully run his fingers through your hair and rinse out the excess dye.

"You seem a lot calmer now," He commented with a hint of a teasing tone. “Cried all the bad feelings out, hm?”

"Mm," You hummed quietly, another non answer, trying to focus on the comforting drag of his hands in your hair and against your scalp and the warmth of the water, washing you clean.

Clean of the person you had been before him, clean of any sin you had endured up until then, ready to be born anew.

Ren was oddly gentle and attentive as he washed your hair (as oddly gentle and attentive as he often was, anyway), working the suds of black dye out through the strands of hair and massaging your scalp as thoroughly as he could. All the while, he stayed mostly silent, save for a few quiet, soothing noises under his breath, just low, hums or murmurs, you imagined, to settle you down and keep you feeling calm and relaxed.

You carefully adjusted your position, resting your hands over the edge of the tub, the ropes getting wet and tight, and letting your head sink lower down as the water finally ran clean, any remnant of black dye long washed away.

Ren turned off the water and grabbing a towel from nearby, patting your hair dry and using it to ruffle the new dark bulk of it playfully.

"There, all done," He spoke softly, once he was satisfied with his handiwork, before grabbing your arm and having you sit back on the tub’s edge.

Your hair covered your face, dripping water down your face, staining your t-shirt underneath.

It was what Ren wanted. 

And he always got what he wanted.

"It looks absolutely perfect," He mused, continuing to card his fingers through your hair, watching the way the water-slicked strands slid over your face and neck, before his gaze moved down to your face.

“Like you’re a brand new you…ready to be my toy~”

[rntoshi]

— isagi yoichi (n): the unintentional fuck boy.

͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏/ • yoichi is pro, all characters are adults.

no one would ever think to associate the term “fuck boy” to the heart of gold that is isagi yoichi. the blue eyed ravenette comes across as such a sweetheart when people first meet him. a bit hardheaded if you really know him, but a sweetheart, nonetheless. there's so much passion and drive behind his eyes that it's charming— alluring to the hopeless romantic type for the fact that they like to daydream about what could be. anyone could get lost in a fantasy about being swept off their feet by a pretty face like isagi, he makes it effortless really. golden retriever energy is what you would call it. it's why he's so popular with women, he comes across as this boy next door who’s so willing to do anything to achieve a goal he has set in his heart. that's the image he's painted for himself in the public eye, and not that it's inaccurate: it just simply doesn't translate well into his love life.

one of his issues is... isagi doesn't realize just how attractive he is. as it's been said before, he's himbo adjacent. the attention he gets... he sums it up as getting “lucky.” his friendliness can be perceived as flirting, even more so that he doesn't take into account that he's one of the hottest players in the blue lock program. his gorgeous face and his athletic but lean physique make him physically attractive but it's also the mannerisms he possesses as well. little things like being the type to place a gentle hand on the small of your back if he's trying to walk past you in a crowded area. a polite “excuse me, I'm sorry.” leave his lips and the prettiest smile when you two make eye contact lingers just a second too long. or the crease between his brows when he's frustrated or tired— running both hands through his hair which exposes his forehead. it.

he never intends to, but he can't help but to well... get cold feet after the climax of one of his newfound “flings.” once the initial excitement has passed, it's not as appealing for him anymore but there's a reason for this. it's his post nut clarity that gets him every time. that immediate clear mindedness or soberness a guy gains after blowing his load. lying in bed with a girl as she talks about their future— the pillow talk goes well until the plans she proposes clash with his career. isagi has a tendency to equate entertaining the thought of a relationship as him putting priority towards just that, and not his real passion. it's just that isagi is at a point in his career where... nothing will ever amount to how important his job is to him. he's dedicated so much time and effort to get to the point where he is now. its time consuming and mind plaguing, it's the long-lasting effects that blue lock has had on him throughout the years. it's built an insane work ethic and need to crave more. nothing can or will get in the way of him and his vision. it's a curse all athletes have and unfortunately isagi yoichi, our sweet mc, is not an exception. it probably affects him the worse, really.

these girls he gets involved with always seem to have a trend of leaving feminine items in his gym bag. thongs, bras, hair scrunchies and even jewelry in hopes of isagi returning them. some girls do it for his attention and others do it because they want to plant this seed that isagi is “seeing” them. the paparazzi can catch anything and will often seek for certain shots if they're tipped off.

it's kind of funny because out of everyone, raichi is the one who discovers isagi is a bit of a whore. it's a regular day at practice when all the boys were in the locker room getting themselves situated before hitting the field. isagi is sitting on the bench when he pulls out his cleats, and in the process a hot pink thong falls on the floor beside raichi's feet where he foot only a couple feet away. of course, blondie gives isagi a hard time about it.

“tch, you still seein' that one brunette, huh? she your girl yet?” raichi picks up the pair of panties, leaning against the locker with a smug smile twirling the skimpy garment around his pointer finger before sling shotting it back to isagi.

“hah.. no.” isagi lets out a small, breathy chuckle as he catches the underwear. he's a little embarrassed but it's nothing he's not used to. “i met someone else. she's a sweet girl though.”

“the hell are you talkin' about? you were just screwing this other chick last monday.” raichi raises a brow as he straightens his posture, only now realizing why isagi never said a specific name. it's because they were all different girls. ha, that's rich.

“ah.. well yeah.” isagi gives a shy smile, scratching the back of his neck before he shoves the panties back into his bag, in a smaller and more discreet pocket. raichi only shakes his head before turning around back to his locker.

“it's always the humble ones.” raichi mumbles to himself.

yoichi finds himself puzzled at how often these kinds of things end up in his possession at the most inconvenient times but he never thinks too deeply about it. his indifference to the situation makes them want to chase him even harder. do even more outlandish things to get his attention when his tunnel vision is impossible to break.

he routinely goes to the gym after these one-night stands. it’s like a detox but for his mind, cleansing it of all the diluted thoughts that fogged his vision. it's almost like his own form of meditation.

there’s something so hot about isagi working out after a hookup. it's the post sex glow he has, the thin layer of sweat on his body, the determined look in his eye as he pushes himself past his usual limits. his cock is semi hard in his sweats from his endorphins, creating a prominent print under the gym's harsh lighting. he feels like a brand-new man after. refreshed and ready for the next fight on the field.

isagi is sweet! he really is! he doesn't like making girls cry. but he can't help that he's awful at texting back or returning calls. yoichi just forgets, getting too caught up in practice, games and press conferences.

it's not all isagi's fault though, because he is such sweetheart and can come across as a little manipulative, women often think they can take advantage of securing a marriage with a professional athlete. most are in for a rude awakening when their plans fall short while others simply pick up on the behavior and more onto the next team with the next player.

it won't be like this forever though. i believe this version of isagi is the kind of guy to realize he's fallen in love with his childhood best friend. isagi is known to be extremely loyal so any relationships that have already been established are taken quite seriously by him. you were that sweet girl who lived next door to him for years. you always had cute band aids for when he scraped his knees and yummy snack to share after school. you weren't very athletic, but you always cheered for him even during his loses. you were also one of his biggest support systems when he was going through the blue lock programs. you've always been an anchor in his life and it's something he doesn't realize until you two lose contact for a couple years.

it's funny how things work out too because it just so happens that you two visit home around the same time. when he sees you in your mother's flower garden you had only gotten prettier. you're wearing a flowy sundress and a sunhat; he thinks it's so cute— refreshing to see in contrast to the girls that usually approach him. there's a moment where you finally lock eyes with him, and it makes his tummy drop.

and he realizes he's in love.

© rntoshi 2023. do not modify or repost.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 33

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 7k

A/N: Missed you all!

What do you say to your ex-boyfriend after you make him come so hard he cries?

Age old question. 

“Do you need water?” You ask, ankles wrapped around his lower back. Sated and satisfied, he nods before parting his body from yours. Eyes heavy lidded, staring at you bare covered in his come. Your questions sinks in and he takes back his nod with a furrowed brow.

“No-let me clean you.” He stands before you can protest that you can do it yourself. His jeans hanging low, sweat painting his hairline, he walks away. 

You’re left alone on the couch, a bit shameful you’d say. You might never look at the couch the same again. Thank goodness Chucho only ever sits in his recliner, he’s saving you from decades of embarrassment. The tv was shut all the way off and the December breeze creeped through the window steadily then all at once. Sobering your mind that only had the capacity to be turned on. Your pleasure sensors doing its job. 

He comes back, shifting his bulge with his palm. Kneeling before you, and wiping you clean. “We always seem to get here.” He whispers, leaning down to grab your panties off the floor. You thank him silently and pull them back on. He stands and watches you for a moment. He’s still licked with sweat and red eyed from his orgasm. “I don’t want this to be a step back-”

“It won’t be. We’re… human. And I’m almost getting my period so…” You ramble and he hums. You usually can keep it in your pants. And you talked up such a big game about boundaries just to fold the second your hormones whacked and Javier made the slightest reference to your previous sex life. You had an extraordinary forty-eight hour attempt of celibacy. 

He nods, leaning back in the seat. “Going forward?” He crosses his arms. Your brows shoot high, he waits for you to set a new rule. His pants are still unbuckled and he looks fucked out. Too sexy for his own good, that fucking mustache drives you up a wall. 

“Going forward…” You straighten up, criss crossing your legs. “I’d like to… not make it a habit while we’re figuring it out. But… if we get… in a mood-“ He chuckles, you stumble over your own words as if you weren’t just talking him through coming all over you. You narrow your eyes at him and nudge him with your foot. “No sex. Penetrative sex. No kissing.” You stabilize your voice, his eyes saddened at the last part. 

“Can I eat you out?” He asks like it’s nothing at all, like he’s asking what’s the weather like. You think for a moment. 

“Do you want to eat me out?” You ask, not sure why—

He looks down at your lap. “Please.”

You kick him. “Pervert… Yes you can. If! It happens to progress that way not just because we want to. We aren’t together-��

“Yet.” He nods. “Not together yet.”

You snort, “You’re confident.” 

“Andrea. I know you don’t want anyone else.”

You scoff this time, sitting up. “You’re right. I don’t. But if you can’t prove to me that you’re ready I’ll have no fucking problem setting foot to New York alone. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Your face is red, feeling something close to anger. No, you weren’t trying to be controlling. You’re just not the passive twenty-two year old ready to just cry and move on. Over and done with it. “Tomorrow. I want you to visit Lorraine. I’ll come with you if you’d like, I can’t promise to help the situation because I might pop her.” You exhale, running a hand through your hair. Genuinely frustrated and violent when you think of her. Javier smirks and nods

“Okay. But I need you there with me.” 

Flustered and frankly pissed off, “Alright.”

His under eye twitches and he opens his mouth just to shut it again. You squint at him, annoyed. “What.” You snap.

“You’re so sexy when you’re angry.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“So you’re back together” Genie wipes her lips, just to take another bite of bruschetta that drips on  the plate. You and Javier napped on the couch until four pm when the sound of a polaroid click and flash jolted you upright. Chucho stood at the couch without a clue, grinning as his photo developed. You yawned and Javier drove you back to your motel. He didn’t want to say goodbye, watched you until your waved at him from inside the room window. 

Then you put on your bumiest clothes and drive to your brother's house. In desperate need of talking to a woman. As much as you missed your brother, you were absolutely thrilled to find that he took your niece to a birthday party. 

Your lips tangy and oily, Genie was trying something new as a snack. “No. We aren’t-“

“So please explain this to me again.” She uses her bisquit to pick up what fell off before, grunting when it falls again. 

You sigh, licking your lips. “He ate me out on Christmas.”

“That’s blasphemous.” She grins and you roll your eyes. 

“Whatever, I think we were just high off of seeing each other. Missed one another, then we both felt shit about it the next morning. I told him we had to do this differently. I told him that we had to have rules because I want this to work so badly— Genie you don’t understand. I’m so tired of running around in circles.” You aggressively bite into another piece of bruschetta. Genie gives you a sympathetic nod, “I told him no kisses, no sex, just honesty. I need him to continue getting help—I need him to talk to Lorraine.”

Her brows shoot up, moving to stand and grab the bottle of wine left uncapped on the counter behind her. Internalizing all that you’ve said, she pours you another glass. “Don’t you think maybe… that won’t be a good idea. Like it’ll bring up old memories.”

And of course you’ve thought about it. You wonder if there’s a part of you who’s just being the jealous little girl you once was, You think that if he came back here, the same person he was in 1986 you’d be a bit crazy for making him talk to Lorraine. But that isn’t the reality, But that isn’t the reality, Lorraine intruded, she placed a wedge in the track of his life. Leaving him even more uncertain than he was before she came home.

There’s a part of Javier that stayed with her, a person isn’t made to be lied to in that way. You’re not sure if you can move on without officially leaving her in the past. 

You shake your head, “Lorraine is more than an old memory. She baby trapped him, attempted to isolate him on purpose, so she could keep him. And it has nothing to do with me—or-me feeling like she was taking him away from me. Even if we weren’t involved she still took advantage of him. It was an abuse of power, simple as that.” You crunch so loud it acts as a closing statement. Genies brows raise a bit, internalizing all that you’ve said. 

Genie is your family. She is your best friend. But she has also never left Laredo, Texas. She has lived her whole life in a bubble. She’s smart, she’s charming, she’s the only woman you’ve ever looked up to. But, she’s also very, very, southern—“You sound so damn therapized. That’s probably healthier than whatever I would have done!” She snorts and she means no harm. 

You laugh too, you love her so much sometimes you forget she isn’t really your sister. 

“What would you have done, Genie Diaz?” You quirk a brow. 

“Spun that bitches jaw at the altar!” 

“She was pregnant!” You cackle and Genie shrugs. 

“You’re right. I forget she didn’t lie about that. I don’t know, maybe spit in her face or something, she ain’t pregnant now. You should try it this time.” She gives up on piling her tomatoes on her biscuit and begins spoon feeding herself. You do the same.

“I’m trying to be good—I want to be healthy and mature about this. “ You say, mouth full of tomatoes. 

You playfully reach your spoon onto her plate, your silverware clanking. You find a scoop anyhow. “Huh. You’re really putting a lot of yourself into this.” 

You frown, because she knows. Because you have to say it anyway. Say it out loud. Face solemn and inward. Everyone always said you could never keep an emotion off of your face. 

“He’s the love of my life, so.” You shrug like it’s nothing to the ear. Genie smiles a small biting thing. You know she loves to hear it, you want to tell her to look away. But you don’t, “I will do anything to make it work. I’ll be thirty in a few years, I want to start building my life with him.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more happy to hear anything in my life.” She taps her spoon against yours, it’s like a hug. Like a kiss on the cheek.

 You tap hers back and burn bright red.  

This shit better work. 

Is the first thing Javier thought of the second you left his house. Feeling aimless and confused, which could be unhealthy but he just figures it just the effects of missing someone so much. 

He unpacks a few things, leaving most of it in its place. He’s ready to leave with you, if you say yes of course. He puts on his fathers records and picks up the living room. His brain was a bit clouded from the pseudo-sex you two had. Banishing himself from replaying it over in his mind. Ears hot with embarrassment and arousal thinking about the way you held his head when he came. 

His semi died in his pants the moment he remembered he needed to just call Lorraine, see if she’s even willing to speak. Javier’s therapist had been suggesting that he do something like this for a few years now. She believed that the way it ended wasn’t truly an end. And it wasn’t, he never got to face her and just ask her why. 

Granted, he’s been too fucking angry and rather never see her again. 

But it was you that asked, so he’ll do it. 

He knows he needs to, it petrifies him. But he wants to be with you so badly, the thought of this not working petrifies him in a whole other way. A way he won’t recover from. So he looks through his fathers phone book and finds her name.

It only took him two cigarettes, a lap around the kitchen and four minutes of silence to ring her. 

It rings twice and he hears a child's screech. Javier feels his world crashing down on him for a second.

“Hello?” 

Her voice makes him go cold. It makes him angry in a way that quickly turns to grief. All in twenty seconds. “Hello?” She asks again. 

He blinks, ashes his cigarette and straightens in his seat. It squeaks the same way it did when he sat half asleep over fifth grade math homework. The thought scares him, he’s been in this house for too long. Change becomes too much when you can pinpoint exactly what you did in that very spot twenty years ago. What he would give to do it all over, to drool over homework while his mother cooked. Instead he sits here with years of trauma, on the phone with one of the perpetrators. He blinks three times, “It’s Javi.”

There's a small breath from the phone, some shuffling and a similar creak that only a wooden chair could make. “Okay…” Is all she can say and he wants to bang his head into the hand sawed table Javier built with his father when he was fourteen. 

“I want to… talk to you. In person.”

“When… when did you come back to the states?”

“That doesn't really matter. When are you free?”

She does something that sounds like a scoff and his ears ring. He closes his eyes and sees you and everything clears up. “I guess tomorrow. Andy won’t be home.”

Javier’s brows furrow, “Who-”

“My son. My parents are taking him to the indoor waterpark. Does noon work?”

His eyes burn, chin usually strong but nearly quivers. He closes his eyes and can only feel heat surrounding his senses. His face an inferno, he feels so uncomfortable in his own skin at just a few words. He feels it, the isolation. Where would he be? How miserable would he have been with her. She speaks to him in that rude passive-aggressive tone she’d give him after a long day of classes.  Like he was a child needing reprimanding. 

He agrees with a simple sure and has what his therapist would describe as a panic attack. He cries again today. He feels stupid, exposed and weak. Unlike a man. He locks himself in his room for the rest of the night, doesn't come down for dinner and avoids thinking of you. He knows you’d cry with him and tell him he isn’t weak or stupid or whatever–he avoids thinking of you some more. He chooses not to be hopeful tonight, and that's what you are for him. 

He feels even more embarrassed when he wakes up at eight in the morning and realizes he fell asleep because his panic attack took the energy from him. He wakes up an anxious mess and he calls you to tell you that he’ll be at your hotel in two hours. He  barely lets you speak beyond the agreement, he wasn’t ready for this yet.

He showers and dunks his face in cold water, hoping his eye swelling will settle. He dresses the way he likes, denim, button up and boots. Burns one on the road, he knows you hate the smell. 

His panic fizzles the moment he pulls his fathers truck into the dingy motel “hotel”. What a rare thing you two have got going. You come out of the room, locking the door behind you and he already feels better. 

His lips twitch in a smile watching you struggle to work the overused key. He stares at what you decided to wear. Looking like a vixen, hair straightened, pencil skirt stretched across your behind taut like it's struggling. A sweater similar to yesterdays, white this time. And heels, like you're on your way to be the sexiest defense attorney in the state. He wonders if you could just forget it, fuck Lorraine, we can be fine without ever speaking of her again. 

Then he panics and looks at his eyes in the rearview mirror, still swollen and he decides maybe you have a point with all of this. He swallows his fear.

“Hi.” You chirp, not too excited for the day but excited to be with him. He furiously avoids  eye contact with you. 

“Hi.” He leans forward to kiss you cheek fast and you feel like an absolute loser for getting full body chills. “You look pretty.” He turns the key and the car rattles. The day is gray and depressing. The moment you opened your eyes alone in the itchy sheets of the hotel, you beamed at the sound of Javier's voice from your temporary home phone. Left sad at the brief tone and the Lorraine related reality check. You stared at the popcorn ceiling and cried for a few minutes. 

You see him now and figure maybe he feels the same way. 

The line between your brows creases, in the way that bothers him. You can’t help being worried about him. He had gone through so much without you. 

You observe his every move as he pulls out the lot without a word. Watching the way his hands look older on the steering wheel, thinking of what they’d look with a wedding band. You see a glimpse of the freckles on his cheeks that seemed to have layover from the Colombian sun. You see that under his eyes are puffy and that he’s clenching his jaw. 

He comes to a light and you can’t help yourself. Your hand flies to the back of his head, nails gently scraping his scalp. He pulls his brows together and leans into your touch. “Hey…its okay we don’t have to-”

He grunts, “Andrea…”

“We can go home, find another way– I can feel how unhappy you are it’s-”

“Andrea, please don’t do that-”

You drop your hand. “Do what.” 

The light turns green. 

“Try to take care of me– try to change the plans just because I’m not happy about it. It's right for us–I want to get it right.”

You frown and your hand feels as if it’s been stung. 

“I can't take care of you?” You whisper. 

He clicks his tongue, “I don’t want you to worry about that. That’s for me to handle.” Still, Javier has yet to look you in the eyes. Your face is filled with heat. 

“No.”

“No, what?” It’s meaner than he anticipates, you can tell in the way his forehead creases. 

“No. That’s not how this is going to work. Yes, I shouldn’t coddle you and I’m sorry for my immediate reaction to you being upset. But as long as I’m around I’ll want to take care of you. Let me have that.” You cross your arms, feeling like a petulant child, also not caring at all. His chest puffs and you can tell he’s about to speak again. You cut him off before he even begins. “You hurt me when you don’t expect me to care just as much as you care about me.” 

He looks at you, nostrils flaring and his face crumbles. He clenches his jaw and you watch the muscles in his face twitch, wanting to shut down and turn away. But he doesn’t, “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just trying—you’re the most important part of my life. I’m not used to feeling this… open.”

“We don’t have to see her today.” 

He chuckles, “No. Now I have to see her today. She was just as callous and cold on the phone as she was years ago. It fucking pissed me off.” 

You smile, leaning your head against the window. “I probably shouldn’t come in with you. For her safety.” 

He snorts, a long loud beep snaps them both out of the little world they’ve created in that truck. Javier looks at the rear view mirror and cringes, before stepping on the gas. “How many times do you think that light changed?” He leans forward and readjusts himself to his regular driving posture. You take a deep breath and just shrug which makes him laugh again. “And I need you to bear witness to her manipulation.” 

“I’ll try to behave.”

He raises a brow at you but returns to be inward. You allow him, he lets music play the rest of the ride.

The lawn is only slightly overgrown. Overgrown in the way that everyone’s lawn is in the winter. Even in a place where you don’t get snow, or really cold weather. Still winter is a feeling, feeling like your lawn isn’t important. There’s a mailbox too, only the last name Smithfield is on it. So she isn’t married which honestly comes as a surprise to you. 

You’d assume in some ironic alliance of the stars she’d get all that she wanted and you’d suffer. Or maybe she realized she needs to be alone in order to figure herself out entirely. 

Javier lets you knock when you ascend the stairs. There’s a cat on a porch swing. It meows at the sight of the two of them. Like the world’s softest guard dog. It makes Javier smile for the first time since he stepped out of the car. 

You aren’t nervous, you had your moment to confront her. You’re not nervous in that way. 

Javi though, you could almost feel it lift from him. Since the moment he picked you up, you saw it in the bags of his eyes and in the way he snapped and hurt your feelings. The way he gets in a headspace where he cares so much about everything and he can’t conceptualize someone else caring for him. 

He’d look into the eyes of killers, men so ruthless, so deeply connected that bringing them to justice is a task nearly impossible. But when Lorraine opens the door his eyes dart to the ground first then to hers. But it’s no use.

Her eyes are on you. 

You aren’t expecting it but it doesn’t show. 

She looks the same, hair still blonde, brighter now like she goes for a touch up once and a while. Her cheeks lost its roundness and she’s skinnier in the way that moms get. When they realize that maybe they should focus on themselves too, fifteen pounds lighter later. There’s not a lick of makeup on her face and her nostrils flare at the sight of you. Then she looks at Javier. 

“Well. Come on in.” She bites out in a tone that seems like an attempt to be nice. She turns and walks straight in. Javier follows first, taking a glance at you and clenching his jaw. The house is nice, modern, and tidy. The front door leads you to a hallway that brings you into the kitchen. Lorraine’s back is still turned. Picking up a toy from the floor and mail from the dinner table and placing it on the counter next to the stovetop. “I made lunch, I wasn’t picturing a third person here.” 

She glances over her shoulder and runs her eyes from the top of your head down to your heels. You smile back and you know it disgusts her. She turns her face back to the food on the stovetop. It’s a casserole, she had no reason to complain about her lack of food other than to assert some pseudo dominance over you. 

It’s laughable, you watch as she serves you a plate as well. 

Javier shakes his head as he notices her comment was unnecessary as well. “Should we sit at the table?”

“Yes. Water?”

“Sure.” You respond and the sound of your voice has her shoulders tensing. 

It’s a brown table with two chairs on each side and two at both of the heads of the table. You and Javier sit side by side. 

Javi places his hand on your knee, soothing you to soothe himself. It makes you frown, it feels like the first time you aren’t hiding yourselves and it’s in front of Lorraine. 

Someone who doesn’t deserve to see. The second Lorraine walks towards them with plates and forks and water and whatever she puts in that casserole Javier straightens up. 

Lorraine settles down and sips her water, her eyes attempt to avoid you but they lose. 

Javier doesn’t like this. 

The way he stares at Lorraine is the way you pictured him staring down the face of officials, criminals, and his boss. It’s like in one moment all the nerves he once had cease to exist, all that was left was the anger he feels and the itch for confrontation.

Her fork drags across the plate in an ear aching screech. She takes a bite, waves the fork gesturing between the two of you. “So? You too finally together?” She says with a smirk, a knowing hint of sarcasm. She talks with the knowledge of her role in all of this. 

Javier clenches his jaw, “No. We aren’t. I just got home.” He doesn’t entertain her 

foolishness.

Her eyebrows furrow, she frowns and looks at you. 

“Ah— that’s unfortunate-“

“Where’s your kid?” You cut her off, taking a sip of the water she served. The smirk is immediately wiped off her face.

“Andy is with my mother. Not like it’s any of your concern.”

“Well my relationship status wasn’t your concern either so I suppose we’re even.” A timer goes off in the kitchen, Lorraine startles. It settles something in you, she’s much more affected than you are. 

She ignores the noise. 

“I want to talk about the wedding—I want you to tell me about it.” Javi sits straight, pushing his lousy dish to the side, it clinks with your cup. He pats his pants, digging for his pack. He taps it against the table. “Can i?” 

Lorraine shrugged. The apartment reeked of smoke anyway. 

Here is where you need to take the backseat. Let him feel. Let him ask. It’ll be impossibly hard to just let it happen but he needs it. He lights up. 

“What do you want to know?” She leans back, food abandoned only twenty seconds into the conversation. 

Javier furrows his brows, like, what a stupid fucking question. “Why. Why did you lie? When did you decide to fucking lie? Who’s the father—just fucking tell me.”

“You were in love with another woman.” She looks at you and you feel that stupid pang of shame. “I don’t know why I fucking agreed to this—why did you bring her?” Her voice breaks but there’s no tears, she’s afraid of being vulnerable in front of you. 

And you want to claw her eyes out. Flip the table over. Call her evil. And yet, you see a girl so insecure—so jaded by what she perceived as normal—and you feel pity beyond belief. 

Javier doesn’t reply, neither do you. Because she knows why you’re here. How life would have been different for them if she hadn’t come back around. She knows, so she frowns and the facade is gone. The act, like she’s above all of this mess, like it was just some thing she did that she got over so he should too. It’s gone. 

Finally she looks at Javier. “I- In high school you—we were so good. I fucked it up— I know. I thought because we already were planning a life that we could be adults and work through it.” She runs a hand through her hair. “I told you I was sorry—for cheating. I told you that you were it for me. That I’d try but it was written all over you. You were over me so fast, I couldn’t understand that. We were together and you were over me. I became the other woman in our own relationship. Watching you fucking glow whenever she was mentioned. Or watching you hold yourself back from talking about her.” She exhales, she avoids your eyes the entire time. Like it could maim her. 

You can’t help it but you do feel an ache in your chest. Javier clenches his jaw once more, his cigarette sizzling before he drags again. 

“I was stressed too, we said horrible things to each other when we were like that. Then we’d make up, and be sweet and it would be good. That’s what couples do…”

“They don’t Lorraine—they shouldn’t. We were worse than horrible when we fought, you know that.”

She shakes her head, “I was blindsided when you asked to separate. You’d say we weren’t together but we’d have sex and you still paid for everything.” 

Your brows furrow and Javier has a face of guilt. Like maybe he doesn’t want you here anymore. 

“We had an agreement.” He says lowly and Lorraine rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her water.

“Sue me then! For still having feelings for an ex boyfriend who is still living with me, paying for my life and fucking me at night.” She slams the cup on the table and your untouched silverware rattles. 

Javier narrows his eyes at her outburst. 

“Lorraine.” He says it like a whisper and her chin quivers. She could play the role of the heartless unaffected woman but she breaks character. “It was… irresponsible of us. Of me. I know that, and I’m sorry. It was six years of confusion and I really am sorry but I’ve apologized for this. Before I left, we had that talk, I was moving out. It was over that spring, you were seeing other people. I was going back home. You tried to baby trap me—that isn’t normal—that isn’t okay.”

“I wasn’t going to—then I saw the two of you at the wedding and my parents they-"

June 16th 1986

Lorraine is sobbing into her hand the second her aching body sits on her couch. Her parents followed behind her. Coming to sit down next to her. She put on a strong face when she walked in on them in the bathroom, telling each other they loved one another. She stared at herself in the mirror and smiled as tears threatened to fall. Her stomach is touching the sink. 

Her parents were livid when she burst into tears on the car ride back. When through a snotty nosed red face she says that Javier was with Andrea. 

They assumed he was the one who knocked her up. But she knows it doesn’t add up, she knows the man who did would never take responsibility in the way Javier would. She knows she can never find him if she tries. One drunken night with a man on a work trip. She continued to cry while they cursed his name, saying that he was less than a man.

“We will figure something out, he’ll step up once you tell him he’s his. You were together for nearly a decade! We know about Andrea. She was a fast little girl, brings shame to her family name.” Mrs. Smithfield paces then pauses to stroke Lorraine’s head. “She’s just a temptation.”

He held Andreas hand, comforted her at the sight of me. That was supposed to be me.

She remembers less than a month ago when she had just come home from her second appointment, getting on the phone with Genie. Asking about them, knowing the possibility of seeing Javier with you when you came back. She wasn’t prepared.

Lorraine hiccups, “I need him,” There it is, the truth. There's a part of her that loves him but most importantly she needs him. Overcome with that fact she can't seem to stop speaking through her tears. “He-he isn’t the father but I need him to be I can’t do this alone I-”

Mr. Smithfield storms out of the kitchen at that.  “Lorraine Marie. What are you saying?” He booms and Lorraine’s mother sits back in the recliner, head in her hands. Lorraine begins to cry more. Burying her head in the crook of her arm. “Sweetheart! Do you know what they’ll say if they find out. Your mother would lose her spot on the board, we’d never be welcomed in the church again.”

He mutters curses he would never dare say outside the living room. Lorraine sees the looks of their disappointed faces. She sees the same face they gave her brother before they sent him away. She thinks of all they’ve sacrificed to be here. To give her this life, their status. She thinks of the way she was brought into this world. A saving grace of her parents' marriage. Her heart clenches in her chest. To help her sleep at night she may say it's at the thought of being with Javier but something tells her it's the thought of taking him from you. 

“I…he doesn’t have to know it isn’t his.” She fills the silence.

Mrs. Smithfield lifts her head and there's a glimmer in her eye that maybe Lorraine should fear.

She accepts it. 

Javier is stone faced the entire retelling. His hand is holding his fist in a ball at the table. Watching Lorraine justify her actions. Excuse after excuse, thinking that pity will save her. At least that’s what you see. Product of her own environment, he wasn’t foolish enough to accept that. 

You hope Javier sees through her, he should. You know he’s worked on this in therapy, he told you he can no longer be manipulated by her.

 She’s rambling, and then she’s silent. She stares at the children’s drawing behind Javier’s head for a few moments and her face crumbles a bit. 

“My father was going to leave my mother. It had gotten so bad that despite his devotion to God and his-his dedication to maintain his image— he still filed divorce papers.” She lays her hands flat on the table then drops it into her lap. “But my mother was determined to keep her husband. She—had an idea of what her life was going to look like and she made sure of it. So she made sure their contraception wouldn’t work— and she saved her marriage with her pregnancy. That’s how I was brought along. That’s what I know — Javi I was going to do anything to have you again-.” She stares at him with an intensity like no other, the eyes of a manic woman. The eyes of a woman who hasn’t grown up. 

Javier shakes his head, and sits up straight. Heat swarming his face, he’s angry and you watch. Still you feel out of place here, you look away to avoid feeling the urge to cry at his pain. Then his voice booms and he’s pointing his finger in her face. “It’s not good enough— you can’t fault your parent’s actions for your own decisions. Choices you made as an adult—a choice you didn’t have to make. We were over, I didn’t want you. Don’t go using the way you were brought up as an excuse.” He leans back in the chair like the burst of anger pained his aching body. He exhales and Lorraine stays quiet.

Your teary eyes stare at the floor parts and look into the eyes of Lorraine. Her chin quivers but she doesn’t cry. She looks at you finally.

“Then what do you tell her? Huh?” She points her chin towards you, crossing her arms. Mirroring Javier’s posture while you perk up. His nostrils flare. 

“What are you talking about Lorraine?”

“Every time you leave her, every time you come back. Do you tell her it won’t happen again? Do you tell her you’re afraid of becoming like your mother so that each time you come home you can fuck up her life, keep her burning for you, and then blame it on it being the only way you know? Do you accept her dependency on you because you know she was neglected by her parents? Tell me Javi. Just fucking say it! Tell me it’s okay for you to be flawed and fuck up peoples lives, tell me I can’t live by those rules.”

You stand so fast, the wooden seat behind you clatters and falls. “Fuck you!” You yell, “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything about me— you don’t know how hard I've worked to recognize my issues and deal with them! You don’t know about our relationship.” You look at Javier, he’s completely shut down. You reach down and grab your purse, you gesture your finger between Lorraine, you and Javi.

 “You see— the difference between you and us is that we know we’re fucked up. Everybody is fucked up! But we are trying to take responsibility and grow. You—you’re the same mean spiteful girl you were when you made the conscious decision to trap Javier into a marriage.” Javier’s brain catches up with his body only barely when he stands. Lorraine watches his every move like she’s expecting him to stay. 

Your outburst harshly contrasts his tone when he does finally speak again.

“Lorraine—you will always be miserable and full of guilt and anger and fucking resentment for us if you don’t seek some help for your own fucked family trauma.” She stands too, wipes her face and you move away from her. You grab Javier’s hand and he stares at it for a second before following you toward the door. 

You step outside and Lorraine follows after. 

“Javi!” She calls from the doorway, crying hard. His brows furrow at her call, still holding your hand, he turns. 

A crack of sun shining on his face as he looks into the eyes of his former fiancée.

He shrugs, “I never want to see you again. You’ve made my life hell for too long, I'm tired of knowing you. I hope you figure your shit out for your—for your son.” 

It’s a harshness she deserves but a cruelty unlike Javi. You know it takes so much of him to be so headstrong. Your heart breaks for him as he turns away and drops your hand. Walking ahead of you as the sound of a screen door closing ends an excruciatingly long chapter. 

He raises his fist to his mouth in a motion and sounds akin to a cough but you know he’s hiding his tears from you as you follow him into the truck. You swing the door open and settle in, your heart beating so loud in your ears you feel like your cheeks may burst. Shortly he loads in, sniffling and crying in the way that he does. Continuous tears and furious shameful wipes. 

You’re so proud of him. 

You’re brought back nearly four years ago.

You in the car, with your head in your hands. Crying so hard you think you might drown. Replaying each word your father said to you, waiting for a comfort that cannot be provided by a kiss or a hug. But instead—

He wipes his face again with a shaky hand, he can’t seem to find the strength to away. 

You’re reluctant, afraid to overstep, afraid he won’t remember. 

Still you reach your hand over to his shoulder, up his neck and with your pointer finger and thumb you rub his earlobe. His simple gesture of, I love you, I’m your family.

 When he rubbed the beautiful bee earrings he got you in New Orleans.

You love him so much. You’re afraid to say it again. Instead you rub his ear to remind him. A quick pass that his brow relaxes at, your fingers caressing the shell of his ear. He leans into your touch for a moment before going frigid. You frown moving your hand to his jaw, holding his face with your face crumbled. 

You feel young again.

“When we were little—when we were young you’d always avoid talking about your feelings—or your personal problems when all four of us would get deep at 3 am. You’d listen to all of us but you always sat quietly.” You’re rambling but you picture the night.

 The summer before Javier’s freshman year, you, Genie, Frankie and Javier stayed under the stars way past curfew. The night Genie started crying when she told them about what happened with her dad’s friend. That sometimes she feels like the only person in the world who’s struggling. Frankie was already in love with her. He comforted her and talked about his dad. Which was a topic untouched between the two of you. You remember crying for him too.

 You told them about the way you felt inside, you sat there wondering if your brother would feel bad for you. And Javi, young, fourteen year old Javi said nothing. He just gathered you when you cried. And Javi, who still, sometimes says nothing, just put himself out there in a painful display of commitment to bettering himself. 

He knows what you’re talking about because his eyes soften at the mention. “I remember thinking how badly I wanted you to open up. How badly I wanted to comfort you in the way you comforted me-“ He closes his eyes and moves to part from you but you reach back out. “No— no one deserves to be manipulated and hurt in the way she hurt you. And i’m so—so fucking sorry I made you come here I thought it would be good for you-“

“Andrea-“

“No, Javi. Please. At Frankie’s wedding she got in my head— i’ll admit it. She made me feel ashamed of being in love with you—you told me you loved me that night and I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.” He wants to run, you know it, You see it on his face. “I can tell, I know you. She got in your head when she suggested that you’ll find another way to hurt me. But you won’t. I know you won’t hurt me again. You’re only finding a way to hurt yourself and I’m not letting that happen. When you hurt yourself—you hurt me, do you understand?” 

His hands come to hold to your wrists. “I’m not good for you.”

You chuckle through tears, “You think that’s enough for me to leave you alone, you’re out of your mind. Please can we go home.”

His skin is so soft under your palms, “I’m sorry.” He gravels out, voice thick with emotion. You couldn’t care for an apology, you don’t need any. “I—I need to be alone for a moment. I need to process alone I think. I’m sorry.”

Your chest swarms with worry. Your hands drop from the side of his face to his shoulders, you inspect his face and let a beat pass. 

“Are you sure?” You feel desperate. You want him to retract, you’re being bad but you hope he kisses you. He looks at your lips when you think this, he stares at you and looks pained. His hands remove yours from his chest and he turns towards the wheel, starting the car. 

He never answers and you drive in silence. It feels like a closing of a door, you’re not sure which. You look for an olive branch when he pulls into your motel lot. 

“Will you call me?” You ask, you try your best to let him feel on his own. After all, you were the one to put in place all these rules. Javier averts his gaze from you for a moment.

Then he does, his eyes soften at the sight of you. You’re vulnerable and open for him. Standing at the door of his car. “Yes. I will.”

A door inside cracks open. 

[attic-club-sandwich]

Heya, 🌹 anon again :)

I'm just popping in to ask for some more comfort stuff if possible. Life's been hectic lately and I kind of fell back into a depressive state. It's one that'll pass, but sucks in the meantime.

Anyway, I was wondering if I could request a lil something something about the obey me cast finding an mc who was crying late at night? (Like 3am late). Maybe they wandered into a different room to look out at the stars/nature or went to the room/house of being in question for a hug? Idk, up to you

Thank you!

- 🌹

Hello my dear 🌹 anon, it's so nice to hear from you again! I am so sorry you've been feeling down lately. I really hope that this helps and i'm sending you good vibes and lots of hugs! Thank you for being patient as I worked on this too. I hope that you enjoy! Please feel free to send in a request anytime.

I am sticking with the main brothers for now, but if you (or anyone else) has any requests for the other characters i'd be glad to write for them as well 💜

Meetings in the Moonlight

Content Warnings: Just mild themes of anxiety and a mention of body image.

gn!MC x the brothers

Taglist: @amberrskiies, @obey-me-posts, @sassykattery, @delphi-dreamin, @flemmingbamse, @a-hidden-gem @otomefoxystar @todothedodo @marvelous-maniac @nonbinary-disaster @selfmadender @animeismyhappyplace @vampire-tr4mp @ana-dear @gaychaosgremlin @sidgethegamer @temnuk0 @starshineandbooks @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf

Read PART 2 here

See my Obey Me! Works Masterlist for more!

Fill out this form to be added to my tag list!

Lucifer:

You lay in bed one night after a particularly rough day at RAD.

Your dreams are full of failing grades painted in angry red, dancing across the yellowing pages of your most recent exam.

Tossing in turning eventually turns into frustrated signs.

Grabbing your blanket, you quietly tip toe down the hallway and find yourself in the music room of the House of Lamentation.

You flip through the many records Lucifer has collected over his time in the Devildom

Being very careful to avoid the cursed ones of course.

You settle on a classic, one of Lucifer's favorite non-cursed records friendly enough for human ears.

He always plays it for you when you are feeling down.

As you curl up on the chaise lounge, you find your eyes welling up with tears, and you try to blink them away.

Suddenly, you hear a voice.

"MC?"

You jump slightly. "L-Lucifer? What are you doing here?"

His brow furrows as he notices the tears that roll down your cheeks.

"I heard music playing, and I thought it might be you in here."

He glances at the record, smiling slightly.

"I must say, you have excellent taste. However, it's 3:00 a.m. Care to tell me why you are in here all alone?"

He pauses, waiting for your answer as he reaches out to wipe away a tear.

"...And in tears, no less?"

You glance down, swiftly wiping away the tears as if he hasn't already noticed.

"Its nothing, Luci. I just couldn't sleep."

Lucifer sighs, sitting down beside you and pulling you close to him.

His warmth is comforting, and you nuzzle your face into his chest.

His grip on you tightens, and you find yourself being gently laid down so your head positions itself comfortably in his lap.

"Then sleep, my darling. You can tell me all about it in the morning."

You sigh as your eyelids grow heavy. The feeling of Lucifer's gentle hands running through your hair allowing you to finally relax into a deep sleep.

Mammon

You find yourself awake in the middle of the night. Again.

It always seems to be something.

This time it's the dull throb of your head that has you awake.

You've been very stressed out lately balancing the chaos of the demon brothers as well as RAD.

You groan, rubbing your temples. You need some air.

You crawl out of bed, grabbing one of his hoodies and pulling it on.

It smells like him.

It brings comfort to you. But it's nothing like the real thing.

You crack open your door, squinting your eyes in the dim light of the hallway.

Making your way up the stairs, you begin to wonder if he'd be awake at this hour.

Finally, you find yourself standing outside his door. You can hear the faint sound of music playing.

He must be awake.

You knock, hoping he'll hear it over the music.

To your surprise, the door opens rather quickly.

"Oi, MC? Whaddya doin' up this late?"

At the sight of your silver haired demon, you begin to tear up, and you begin to tremble as the tears roll down your cheeks.

"M-Mams... i'm sorry to bother you... i just.."

Mammon's eyes widen, surprised by your sudden outburst.

"H-Hey now, don't go cryin' on me! Come here."

You feel yourself being pulled into the room and into the warm embrace of the Avatar of Greed.

You inhale a shuddering breath.

"S-Sorry... I just..needed this." you murmur, burying your face into his chest.

Mammon hums, rubbing circles on your back.

"s'okay. You can always come to your favorite demon any time ya need to."

You can't help but giggle through the tears.

"Let's go get ya comfy in bed. I'm gettin' kinda sleepy too now that you're here."

Leviathan

Your eyes are puffy as you wipe away what seems like an infinite amount of tears.

You've been up most of the night crying in your room.

The anxiety that plagues your mind on the daily has finally gotten the best of you.

Worries of if you're good enough, if you truly belong here in the Devildom.

Every little mistake you made that day coming back to haunt you.

It eats away at you, causing your stomach to hurt and a dull ache in your chest

You were just about to lay back down and try to sleep when you hear a soft knock on your door.

"MC? Are you awake? Do you want to come to my room and watch a movie with me? I can't sleep."

It's Levi's voice.

The anxiety in your stomach transforms into butterflies.

"Y-Yeah sure, be out in a second!" you call, your voice trembling.

Before you can make a move, you hear the click of your door opening.

"MC, are you okay? You sound..."

Levi peeks his head in, spotting you sitting in bed with puffy eyes and a runny nose.

"H-Hey, what's wrong?!"

He's at your side in a second, unsure if it's okay to touch you.

"I-I'm fine Levi..." you sniff, wiping away more tears.

Levi's amber eyes glow in the low light of your room.

"B-But you're crying?? It doesn't seem fine..."

You shake your head, reaching out to gently grasp his hand.

"It's better now that you're here."

Levi blushes, "N-No way, all I did was creepily show up here at your door in the middle of the night!"

Suddely you feel yourself being pulled off the bed.

Levi is gripping your hand now, pulling you out the door and down the hallway.

You find yourself in his bathtub, nestled between his legs with your back resting against his torso.

"Now let's watch a movie until we're too tired, okay?"

Satan

It's 1:00 am and you somehow managed to end up in the House of Lamentation library again.

You've been having trouble sleeping again.

Your classes at RAD are difficult this semester, and you haven't found the best study method yet.

You sit at the desk, flipping through the pages of your text book,.

Frustration begins to build in your chest.

You have absolutely no idea how you are going to retain any of this.

The all too familiar lump forms in your throat.

The tell tale sign that you're about to cry.

You slam the book shut and rub your eyes with your palms.

They come back wet with tears.

You can't stop the tears from coming now that they've started.

As you cry, you think you hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway.

But maybe it was just your imagination.

You rest your head in your arms, your shoulders trembling.

You jump slightly as you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"MC. Shh, now. It's just me."

You lift your head to see the Avatar of Wrath standing over you, his emerald eyes filled with concern.

"S-Satan... I-I'm sorry..."

He pulls a chair over next to you, shaking his head.

"What ever do you have to be sorry about?"

You glance down at your lap, nervously fidgeting with your hands.

"B-Because I promised I would do better on my next exam. But i can't understand any of this..."

Satan rests his chin in his hand, reaching out with the other to wipe your tears away.

"You're doing way better than you give yourself credit for. And 1:00 in the morning isn't the best time to be trying to study."

You sniff, glancing up at him. He's right.

He stands up, the sound of the wooden chair sliding across the floor disturbing the silence of the library.

"Come now, it's past your bedtime. Tomorrow I'll show you my secret to acing all of these damned exams."

You give him a small smile as you wipe away the remaining tears.

He grabs your hand, squeezing it as he leads you out of the room.

"Are you in the mood for a bedtime story? I've got the perfect one picked out."

Asmodeus

You rub your eyes, hoping to rid yourself of the overwhelming fatigue

Sleep refuses to come, and it's getting frustrating.

You were supposed to go out with Asmo to a club tonight, but you told him you weren't feeling well.

Which wasn't entirely a lie.

He had insisted to stay and take care of you, but you had also insisted that he go and have fun.

If you were being honest, you weren't in the mood to be perceived by anyone tonight.

You hated how you looked in any outfit you put on.

And you couldn't seem to fix that one hair that refuses to stay in place

Instead, you were now curled up in Asmo's bed, tears threatening to spill over.

As you inhale his scent on the blankets, you hit the wall.

Tears begin to leak down your cheeks, staining his satin pillow.

Your shoulders tremble, and your eyes squeeze shut.

You aren't sure how long you've been laying like this, but you hear footsteps approaching the bedroom door.

Oh no, did one of the brothers hear me?

You quickly sit up, trying to wipe away all evidence of you crying.

To your suprise, The Avatar of Lust himself is back early.

"A-Asmo!" you squeak, pulling the blankets up to your chin.

"MC, darling, are you okay?" he is by your side now, pulling you into him.

You sniff, shaking your head.

He frowns, stroking your hair. "I knew I made the right choice by coming home early."

You blink at him. "What do you mean?"

He gives you a small smile and winks. "I just had a feeling. I couldn't stand the idea of you here all by yourself feeling sick."

You begin to cry again, wrapping your arms around him. "T-Thank you..."

He hums, rubbing your back as you cry.

"There, there my sweet little MC. I'm here. Shall we go get a bath? I have the perfect scent of bubble bath that will relax you and put us both right to sleep."

You calm down a little at the suggestion, and he helps you up out of bed. He grabs a silky robe from his closet on the way.

Before heading into the bathroom, he pulls you in, planting a soft kiss to your lips.

"Ready, darling? I'll be sure you're feeling better by the end of our time together this evening ♡"

Beelzebub

At some point, you had fallen asleep on the couch in the living room of the House of Lamentation.

As you blink awake, you notice the fire has gone out in the fireplace.

You shiver, the heat now gone and the room darker than you'd like it to be.

You start to remember how you ended up here.

The brothers had called you down for dinner, but you weren't hungry.

The day you had at RAD kept your mind reeling with anxiety.

After everyone had went to bed, you wandered downstairs, needing a change of scenery since sleep didn't seem to be happening.

You had curled up on the couch... and that's the last thing you remember.

Now you sit, alone in the dark. Your eyes sting with tears.

You really didn't want to be alone right now.

Bringing your knees to your chest, you begin to weep.

I should just get up and go back to bed, you think.

But you can't bring yourself to move.

Suddenly, you hear footsteps.

You lift your head, trying to glance around in the darkness.

"MC? Are you in here?"

A voice.

"B-Beel?" you squeak.

He comes around the side of the couch, spotting you sitting all alone.

"Hey. Are you ok?"

You shiver again, nodding.

He frowns, walking over to the fireplace and muttering an incantation under his breath.

His hand holds out over the fireplace, and suddenly it sparks to life again, lighting up the room.

"There, that's better." he sits down beside you. "What's wrong MC? Are you hungry? You missed dinner..."

His own stomach growls, causing a laugh to bubble up in your chest.

"N-No... well maybe a little. But i'm glad you're here."

He smiles, reaching out to grab your hand.

"Are you up for a snack? I can go get something and bring it to you."

You give him small smile. "Y-Yeah. That sounds good."

When he comes back, he has snacks in hand, and hands you a warm cup of tea.

He curls up next to you on the couch, and you lean into him.

"Thank you, Beel."

He smiles, leaning in to give you a small peck to the forehead.

"You're welcome. I can't have you going hungry and sitting all alone in the dark."

After your snacks, your eyelids are feeling heavy again.

It's almost as if Beel can read your mind.

"Come on MC, let's go to my room and get some sleep. Maybe Belphie will join us too."

He gently scoops you into his arms and you close your eyes, allowing the gentle swaying lull you to sleep.

Belphegor

You wake from a particularly awful nightmare.

Sweat coats your skin, leaving you feeling damp while the fear still lingers in your chest.

You sit up, rubbing your eyes.

You need some air.

Trying to be quiet, you sneak out the door and find yourself in the courtyard.

The cool air hits your hot skin, and you breath out a sigh of relief.

You've always found it peaceful out here, especially at night.

Usually you find solace in the stars, they bring you comfort.

However, images of the nightmare still haunt you.

You sit, wrapping the blanket you had brought with you around your shoulders.

You stare off into the night, memories of your nightmare taking over your vision.

You begin to cry, fighting to will yourself to think of something else.

Fresh, hot tears roll down your cheeks, not doing anything to help your already burning skin.

You don't notice that somebody else has also joined you outside.

"MC, are you okay?"

Startled by the sudden voice, you turn around to see Belphegor.

He must have sensed you had a nightmare again.

"B-Belphie, you s-scared me." you stutter, trying to wipe away your tears.

"You had a nightmare again." he states, sitting down next to you in the grass.

You nod, turning your gaze from him.

"I was trying to find you, but you were already gone from your room. ButI 'm here now, it's okay." He soothes, bringing you into a tight hug.

You let out another sob as you wrap your arms around him.

He rubs circles on your back, allowing you to cry into his shoulder.

"Did you see the stars tonight? They are extra bright. I think they knew that you needed comfort."

You glance up at the sky, noticing that they do appear to be brighter than usual.

You smile, taking his hand and squeezing it.

"You and the stars are always here for me."

He chuckles, bringing your hand up to place a delicate kiss on the back.

"Of course. And my love for you is infinite, just like the stars."

After awhile, you begin to yawn.

Which causes Belphie to yawn too.

"I think that's our sign to go back to bed." you giggle.

Belphie smiles, helping you up off of the ground.

"Let's go cuddle and fall asleep together. It's way past my bedtime."

[blueraineshadows]

Fire and Longing

SebastianxMc: Fluff with a pinch of spice

MC finished washing her hands and gazed at her reflection in the mirror of the girls bathroom. She remembered her first night in the castle, how nervous she had been, how eager she had been to fit in and prove herself. So much had happened since then. She wondered if she looked different. She turned her face to one side then the other, her eyes remaining fixed on her image. Her face was slimmer, her hair longer, and her eyes...they held darker secrets now, dark horrors best left unspoken, grief lurked in the depths and sometimes the darkness escaped.

But, there were also other things to feel warm about. Friendships, abilities learned, a place that now felt like home after 18 months of lessons, adventures and exploring. She wouldn't trade a moment of it, good or bad. A small smile tugged at her mouth.

Returning to the common room, MC felt the familiar comfort of the room wrap around her. It was late, the windows muted with the dark waters of the black lake, a fire crackled in the hearth. It was the best time of the day to be here when most of the students were in their beds.

But not them. After dark had become an unspoken time just for them.

Sebastian was sprawled on one of the sofas near the fire, his nose buried in a book as usual, no tie and his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. MC tapped his feet and he barely flicked his eyes her way as he scooted them backwards, bending his legs to allow her to sit. She picked her own book back up, curling her legs under her and settled to continue reading. The crackle of the fire, the soft swish of pages turning filled the silence, and MC was perfectly content to be here with one of her favourite humans.

She slid a sideways glance towards Sebastian. His hair was ruffled as if he had been running his hands through it, she wondered if it was as soft as it looked and bit her lip as she imagined it. His long fingers held his book, fingers she knew had calluses on them from the few times he had held her own hands. She watched as his lovely brown eyes scanned the page he was reading, a crease appearing on his brow when he read something particularly interesting. She could watch him like this for hours. He was ridiculously distracting and she scolded herself for being a fluffy headed fool. They were friends.

"You're staring," he chided gently. His eyes never left the page. "You have a terrible habit of doing that you know."

MC felt warmth creep into her cheeks but a playful smirk teased her mouth. "I thought you liked it when young ladies admire you, especially when your little fan club are cheering you on at Crossed Wands."

His lips twitched but he kept his eyes on his book and flipped the page. "You're not jealous are you, MC?"

MC grinned. She loved their teasing moments and was more than ready to play. "And if I was?"

His gaze finally lifted to hers, curious. "You're not seriously jealous of some giggling 3rd years?"

She shrugged. "Were you not jealous when Garreth asked me to attend the Festival of Lights with him?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's different."

"I still haven't answered him you know, and I really ought to. Its not good manners, especially when he was such a gentleman when he asked me."

"Are you going to say yes?"

MC made a show of looking thoughtful. "He is quite handsome I suppose, and funny. He knows how to make me laugh."

"But he is a bloody Gryffindor!"

MC huffed a laugh. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything," he growled. "And anyway, I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Oh, and how is that?" MC closed her book and placed it on the low table beside them. "How does he look at me?"

"Lets just say there is nothing gentlemanly about the way he eyeballs you," Sebastian grumbled. He shifted up into a sitting position facing her.

"Really? Hmm, interesting," MC said. She took a lock of hair and began to twirl it in her fingers.

Sebastian snapped his book closed. "Interesting how?"

"Well, you know," she said pretending to be shy. "A girl has needs after all..."

His gape was glorious. "You wouldn't!"

MC shrugged, a giggle bubbling up through her lips. "Of course not. At least, not on a first date."

Sebastian eyed her dangerously, discarding his book to one side. "So, what are these needs a girl has to ease so desperately?"

MC felt her heart stutter and then pick up pace as he leaned forward, elbow on his knee and his fist supporting his chin. His eyes were fixed on hers, curious and glinting with dangerous mischief. He was trying to fluster her and it was damn well starting to work. Well, she could play dangerous too. A thrill sparked through her at the thought.

"I thought a man as wise as yourself would be fully aware of such things," she said.

His eyebrows lifted playfully. "Remind me," he said softly.

Merlin, he had such a tempting mouth, full lips with the perfect curve to the top lip. Her eyes lingered there, her tongue flicking out to slide across her bottom lip. He watched the movement.

"Kisses," she blurted. "None of that back of the hand business either. Proper kisses, full of fire and longing."

His eyes gleamed. "Go on..."

MC found that her chest was struggling to get air in fast enough and she took a deeper breath, her pulse a delicate flutter in her neck. "Um, touch," she said. Her eyes sliding to look at his fingers. He followed her gaze and held his hand out in front of her, palm up. With a raised brow he whispered darkly. "Show me."

Her gaze flew back to his eyes. "Sh-show you?"

He nodded, the curve of his mouth devastating. She almost gulped. This was a whole new level of teasing and she wondered if perhaps she had pushed a bit too far. But then her eyes dropped back to his hand, those slightly curved, outstretched fingers, and she wondered how they would feel tracing across her skin. Fire bloomed in her belly, spreading out and pooling between her thighs. Merlin, she craved it, craved his touch in a way that went far beyond their usual friendly contact. And why shouldn't she take it? They were old enough to know their own minds, and they had shared more in the 18 months they had known each other than most people shared in a whole lifetime.

Nobody knew her like Sebastian Sallow did.

But she wanted more. So, she reached out and touched her fingertips to his, sliding them delicately along the length of his fingers to trail softly over the palm of his hand. The touch was like a million sparking lights were blazing from his skin to hers. As her fingers grazed towards his wrist, his fingers clasped her hand tightly.

"That tickles," he smirked. His voice sounded a little strained. She stared at him. His pupils were dilated, golden flickers of firelight dancing in their depths.

She swallowed. "Did you not like it? I can stop."

"Don't stop," he said. "May I touch you?"

MC was sure her breaths were too loud and she tried not to tremble as she scooted a little closer towards him, hardly believing this was happening. She guided his hand towards her and placed it against her cheek. His gaze softened and her lips parted as his fingertips brushed against tendrils of hair and the shell of her ear. With agonising slowness he traced along her jaw to her chin, sliding upwards to brush against her lips. Instinct took over. She pressed her lips to his finger tips and he dragged downwards, tugging at her bottom lip, rolling it outwards. Her breathing hitched and his eyes blazed.

"Kisses full of fire and longing you say?" His voice was a husky murmur and all she could do was nod.

He closed the gap, his mouth claiming hers in a soft kiss. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she was all his. He kissed her top lip, then the bottom, sliding his tongue against it before tugging at it with his teeth. A soft moan escaped her, lips parting with burning want and his tongue swept in to find hers.

At last, she slid longing fingers into his thick, tousled hair, and it was every bit as soft as it looked. She dragged her fingers across his scalp and a small sound rumbled in his throat. The ache between her thighs flared and she tried to move even closer towards him. Sebastian was more than happy to oblige, tugging her up onto his lap, his hands gripping her hips.

It was almost overwhelming to feel this much and at such close proximity. Heart hammering, pulse racing and a burn in her loins that left her trembling with want, she shifted a little on his lap. He gasped and dragged his mouth from hers, both of them panting as they pressed their foreheads against each other.

"Forgive me," he gasped. "Forgive me if I went too far."

"No, no, Sebastian, not at all," she breathed. She took his face in her hands. "I...I was the one who teased you so. What must you think of me!"

One of her hands fluttered to her mouth, she was flustered and it was not a feeling she was used to. She had got rather carried away with herself.

Sebastian took her hand from her mouth and pressed a kiss into the palm. Her heart stuttered. "I think you are, by far, the most beautiful girl I have ever met," he said. He gazed at her, his eyes dropping to her kiss swollen lips. "Was that your first kiss?"

She nodded, blushing.

"And you let me have that honour?" He looked surprised, but his lips began to curve upwards.

She held his hand tightly, her face earnest. "Who else but you, Sebastian?"

His head titled slightly, a glint of playfulness in his eyes. "Not Weasley then?"

She smothered a giggle. "I am sure Garreth is a perfectly capable kisser, but I don't think he is the one for me."

A look of uncertainty flickered across his features, a small crease appeared between his brows. "And I am?"

Her heart squeezed. For all his swagger and sass, underneath he was much softer and vulnerable than he would ever let most people see. MC smoothed delicate fingertips across his brow and down to his jaw as if to caress his worry away. The pad of her thumb brushed his lower lip, still damp from their kiss. "You, Sebastian Sallow, are more than enough for me. If you'll have me, of course."

His grip on her tightened, tugging her even closer. His mouth was a whisper from hers, hungry. "How did I get so bloody lucky," he whispered. "I do not deserve you."

MC smiled and pressed soft kisses across his mouth. "Well, you have me, I am yours," she whispered back. "Forever."

[obscurecharactershowdown]

Semi-Finals

[image ID: the first image is of Stag Malinay, a young man with auburn hair and yellow-orange eyes. he's wearing a black shirt, black pants, and black, lace up knee high boots with belt straps. he's sitting on a red and gold throne. beside him is written his name, "Stag Malinay." the second image is of Granger, a girl with green eyes and short, wavy or curly black hair. in her hair is a red hat or ribbon. she's wearing a black turtleneck sweater, blue overalls, and a green coat. end ID]

Stag Malinay

Very self confident, bisexual manwhore with a troubled background he doesn't like to talk about. Said past is the cause of all his anger issues which he regularly takes out on the MC, initially. They become friends later, so it's okay. Also, he has a Tumblr account! @stagmalinay, run by me, the author. Can't really get more obscure than only selling a few copies of my entire book so far. [additional propaganda 1] [additional propaganda 2] [additional propaganda 3] [additional propaganda 4] [additional propaganda 5] [additional propaganda 6] [additional propaganda 7] [additional propaganda 8] [additional propaganda 9][additional propaganda 10] [additional propaganda 11] [additional propaganda 12]

Granger

so granger is the main character of the indie game "NeverHome" Chapter one, which is only $1 on Steam, is called NeverHome: Hall of Apathy. if ur a fan of young protags being put in RPG maker horror games, then this is the game for you!! so granger is just that… she wakes up to find herself in a strange, hostile world. she, along with the friends she makes, must solve the various puzzles before them while creatures are out to kill them… and along the way they can uncover the secrets of these never ending halls… her dynamics with the cast is also super fun… each character gets their moment or moments with granger. and what's so cute is that there's unique art for each pair that highlights the fact you cant get through these halls alone!! she also has her own theme song!! here!! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_vwtmIj5cw it's called cyclical tragedy AND HERE IS AN ANALYSIS OF THE THEME!! MUSIC THEORY!!! written by my good friend @HIEMIOLA "cyclical tragedy" embodies the protagonist, granger, through the music theory behind the track and ties itself back into the main track as well. to begin with an overview of the track, the key is D minor and hte time signature is 3/4. the piece begins with a broken minor third starting from the tonic. that is, it begins on the main note and moves along the main chord, D to F. the next set of notes are C to E, which is shifted down a step. the phrase repeats again, this time D to F, then G to E, which is an inverse movement from the original sequence. even in this first part, we could tell that the protagonist begins from square 1 with a simple pattern, then tries it again when it works. however, the inverse breaks that expectation of repetition, thus showing the diverse variations of solutions she comes up with using just the tools she has (the two notes moving in thirds). just like the game, she is given a handful of objects as well as a knife to defend herself and solve the mysteries of the world she exists in. with her creative uses of the items given to her, she continues on her way through the plot. we will keep moving. the melody begins. true to the title of the track, the melody cycles around the same beginning note, D, that she always returns to at her square 1. this is a nod to the save states she is allowed to keep to make sure that we the players don't lose the game, but it also references the health bar that appears as a circle around her avatar. the melody, mapped out, is also moving in an up-down wave movement across the sheet music. granger is creative with the knife she has and the quest items she obtains throughout the story, but she is not entirely reckless. rather, she knows when it is time to return to the safe rooms to rest. to time her returns requires skill because she must run to cover without being caught by varying her path so the enemies don't corner her as she tries to return to the room. most of the time, she is successful, shown through the consistent return to the beginning note. let's keep going. i would like to turn your attention to the main theme briefly. in the bass notes, you can hear arpeggios and outlined chords. this makes up the bulk of the accompaniment in the main game theme. [mod note: the rest of the essay, and some more propaganda, is continued under a cut because tumblr will not process more text than this in an indent. sorry to split it up, please continue below for the rest of the essay and additional propaganda!]

the third variation of granger's theme also has arpeggiated chords in the accompaniment while the melody features broken chords. at this stage, the pattern switches to eigth notes instead of the quarter notes at first. with greater movement and heightened senses, she runs throughout world and befriends other people, thus interacting further with the environment. while she isn't exactly someone we would call open, she is respectful to the people she first meets and has no problems with asking them for help when she needs it. because of her openness to working together, she speeds up her progress by asking for aid at obstacles that would be too difficult for her to overcome on her own, such as asking a teammate to break things, move things, or reach into smaller holes. fusing the main theme elements with her own theme marks this step as the inciting incident that sets her on the path to escape from this world. we'll continue.

continuing the same part, we hear some secondary fifths. i'm not entirely sure if this is what you call it, but it is a nod to the parallel key, D major. depending on what theory class you take, this could also be considered the other half of the key. i dont know how else to describe it, but i digress. these are glimpses to different dialogue options she could take, glimpses to a different key or a different ending. because this game only has one chapter ending so far, we are unsure of what other paths granger will end up in; we only know that there are certainly other endings she will experience, only to begin the cycle again when the save state is loaded for players to reach another ending. both A major and G major are chords that signify different choices that may lead her elsewhere only for her to return back to the tonic or main note, D. despite this, she keeps going, as will we.

at the midpoint of the track, we see a quick shift in patterns. instead of upward leaps in the notes, the melody falls in stepwise motion. true to the plot, this is another turning point of the game when she is forced to make a choice: continue or stop. after facing the spoiler event, her once determined personality is challenged as she struggles to keep herself and her team together. despite being the headstrong protagonist who spearheaded solutions, even now she finds herself doubting and taking smaller steps, smaller risks.

even after all of this, she rises to the challenge as the melody returns to its beginning sequence. true to a protagonist she gets up again despite the events that transpired and keeps her team moving in their lowest points. the thirds return as she finds more objects to solve more puzzles to open more rooms to save more friends. this repeating part of the track only solidifies her resolve as the piece ends with a broken chord in the main key, her key, of D minor. despite everything that transpired, she stayed true to herself."

the game is also so, so charming with the art, music, and story made by the same person… its so clearly loved and full of passion!! i love listening to the game's ost on occassion!! since it's all on youtube!

ok one last thing thing!! on may 8th, the game hit 100 downloads (on both steam and itch.io). you can see the creator of the game celebrate that with this lovely drawing of granger: https://twitter.com/NeverHome_Game/status/1655761270694633472

so at most, only a bit over 100 people have played the game… id like to say that makes it obscure!!

anyways granger and neverhome!! we love to see our protagonists put in horrific situations and isn't she super cute with a lil bow on her head? she is my daughter…

[additional propaganda 1]

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[avengers-rule103]

No One Elses

Sylus goes to get the protocore that will turn him back and MC can’t stop worrying about what getting it might entail until he’s back.

Trigger Warning: Implied assault but it doesn’t actually happen.

“Do you reqlly not care if i become somebody elses cat?” Sylus asked in that low and growly voice of his. Yes, I wanted to answer, but if I had of admitted it the mission would’ve been screwed. He needed to do this, we both did. I tell myself as I sit on the bed that I don’t have any intentions of sleeping in, though the idea of Sylus in another room, possibly in another bed… No, he’s clever, he could find a way around it if that’s what it came down to, unless… No. No. Even just giving thought to that possibility has me up and unconsciously headed for the door. It seems the possessive and protective affects this kitty protocore has on cats also works on their owners as well. Instead of sitting down again, or exiting the room in search of my white haired and red eyed cat, I turn to the balcony doors and swing them open. The fresh air will clear my mind. The fresh air will get these images out of my head. Images of Sylus realizing I was having fun playing with him, of Sylus leaning into my touch as I scratch his ears, groaning, of someone else doing those things to him. Of him holding me and asking me if I was okay with what we both knew what needed to happen regardless, like I was abandoning him, like he wanted me to say no anyway. I hold onto the metal rail, lean my forehead against it, letting the cold bite my forehead, letting the wind from the sea brush my hair off of my back.

I’m finally relaxed, finally not thinking, when I hear the door to the room click shut. I turn, Sylus is standing there, thin, light brown tail swinging behind him with a serious look on his face. I run back into the room.

“Are you okay?” Is the first thing I ask, we might be partners on this mission but we both know where we stand with each other outside of work, and if it was any other job, any other mission, we probably wouldn’t be allowed to work together.

“If that’s your way of asking me if I got the protocore than yes,” he moves his hand to the pocket of his red velvet coat and takes out a stone the size of his palm, if my heart wasn’t beating so fast with a mix of excitement and worry i’d laugh at the irony that the protocore looks like a tiger stone crystal. “It was surprisingly easy, I didn’t even have to step foot in her room.” He places the protocore back in his pocket, tapping it a couple of times for safe keeping.

My shoulders sag as I let out a breath of relief. “So you didn’r- you’re not-?” Both questions fade as I watch his face change, a mix of light amusement along with something deeper.

“You know despite being momentarily…” he hesitates, “hers,” he spits, “I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that right?” He pulls me close by my waist and i can’t help but close my eyes and curl into his warmth. I hold him tight. Apparently tighter than usual, because he pulls away just a fraction, looking down at me. “Were you worried she was going to hurt me?”

Tears well in my eyes as i nod, choking on the ball of emotion lodged in my throat. The images I was holding back so desperately now hit me with full force and I can’t help but let out a sob.

“Shhh,” Sylus coos as he pulls me close again, I look up through teary eyes just quick enough to see his cat ears are down, like his eyes and lips. I don’t need to tell him what’s going through my head. “Sweetie, kitten, she didn’t even touch me,” my head is tucked into his neck, my arms around his waist, like his arms are around mine. “I asked for the protocore and she merely dropped it in my palm, no harm done. I’m okay, not even a scratch, and most importantly I’m back here, with you.”

He holds me like that until the thoughts and tears subside, brushing his fingers through my hair, wiping the tears from my face.

Once I’m put together again, Sylus pulls away, his hands trailing down my arms until we’re holding hands. “What do you say we get off of this damned yacht and figure out how to turn me back, and then we’ll see what we want to do after that?” He raises an eyebrow.

I nod, “that sounds perfect.” I say out loud, swaying our joined arms and finally smiling.

“Just purrfect” Sylus adds with a wink.

[thirstyforbishiesimagines]

Anonymous said: Are you taking requests? I recently downloaded the game and am loving every bit of it. Ah! I was wondering if you could a nsfw scene between Y/N and Zion. Based on the text messages shower between the two, it seems he walks in on her getting dressed after the shower because he heard a thud amd couldn't get a response. Is it possible to do a nsfw scene where she is still in the shower when he barges in?If not, no worries!! Thank you!!

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Hi Anon, I replied to your msg a while ago. I hope you enjoy this spicy little piece inspired by the shower messages 🌶 😘 Let your imagination run wild 😏

x bambi

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Shower Room - Zion x Reader

* image from LucyDreams, Dangerous Fellows

Word Count: 637

NSFW

Warning: Smut . Profanity (18+)

.

.

THUD!

“Y/N?” Zion whipped his head towards the door. “Shit!” The worst-case scenario instantly popped into his mind. What if you were in danger? What if one of those things were hiding in the shower room?

Without hesitation, Zion burst through the door, ready to take on the undead, only to find you standing there with nothing but your cotton underwear on and a horrified look on your face.

HOW COULD HE?! HE SAID HE WOULDN’T PEEK!

Just as you were about to bawl at him, Zion scrambled towards you in a panic, tripping over his feet before pining you down between the wall and himself. 

“Shhh!” He hissed. You felt his warm breath fan the skin of your lips.

Red-faced and mortified, you screamed. “ZION, GET OFF -”

Hot, supple lips silenced your outburst as the redhead kissed you.

Bewildered, you stared at each other, taken aback by this sudden act of intimacy. If you weren’t so thrown off by the situation, you would have enjoyed your first kiss with him. After all, you did like him, and you knew deep down he liked you too.

There was always flirting between you and Zion.

Always banter during night patrols… and that hint of sexual tension.

Zion pulled away abruptly, flustered and waving his hands in front of you as he began to ramble nervously. “Wait! It’s not what you think! I heard something in here and thought you were in danger, and then you were about to -”

Does he ever shut up?

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a passionate kiss. You felt Zion’s body tense for a moment before melting against your lips as he slipped his tongue into your mouth to deepen your embrace.

“Pervert…”

Breaking away from his lips, you dragged him down to sit on the bench below. Flushed and dishevelled, Zion watched you eagerly. A flare of desire burning within his gaze, anticipating your next move. You drank in the sight of this gorgeous man. Biting your bottom lip as you eyed the sizeable bulge beneath his trousers. The outline of his cock left nothing to the imagination. It was glorious, delectable, and you couldn’t wait for his length to fill you whole. 

“You just wanted to see me naked, didn’t you?” You teased as you climbed onto his lap. Purring blissfully, you began to roll your hips, feeling your arousal dampen the fabric of his pants. Zion hissed through gritted teeth, pleasure flooding through his entirety. He gazed at you longingly, running his fingers through your hair before kissing you once more. Your tongues danced salaciously, saliva bridging between each kiss as you continued to grind over his cock. His free hand caressed your side, squeezing at every curve. 

“I swear that wasn’t my intention,” Zion murmured as he held your body down, halting your movements. He began to unzip his pants, freeing his dick from its confines. “But I wasn’t expecting it to turn out like this either.”

A lustful moan escapes your lips as Zion’s cock rested against your sex - erect and strong. Delicious pre-cum trailing down every pulsating vein of his length.

Zion cupped his hand to your cheek, caressing your skin ever so gently. You were captivated by the intensity of his fiery gaze. “I want you, (Y/N).”

Seduction evident in your smile, you stood up from Zion’s lap and turned away from him, hinging forward at the hip. You slid your underwear down your thighs, displaying a glistening view of your cunt before your newfound lover. You could hear the sound of skin slapping along with grunts and growls, knowing full well what he was doing.

With two fingers, you massaged your pussy lips before spreading them apart, mewling lewdly.

“Then fuck me, Zion.”

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A/N: What can I say? I like my MC’s more horny and forward 😏🤷🏻‍♀️😆

x bambi

[hebimoonlightwrites]

I love your para live writings! I would like to request something With a female s/o who is a rapper as well with reo-chan! You know s/o would be really badass outside but inside she is struggling a lot and have phantom effects and nightmares a lot. And you know some angst with happy ending? Hope its not too much to ask for and thank you so much!

Writer's corner: Wow! I totally screamed happily when I read this!! Well.. I've decided to write a one-shot for it. Also I hope you'll enjoy it! If you do not like it, please let me know and ask for something else so I'll write another one for you! Enjoy~

Warnings: phantometal effect, serious content and trauma (please, read with respect), angst (happy ending)...

⋆"𝒫𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒"⋆

"No...! No!... It's not my fautl!! It's not my fault!!... I DIDN'T KILL HER!! I didn't!!"

This was what mc yelled in the middle of the night, sitting on her bed after having a nightmare. It was the umpteenth bad dream she had. Her heart was beating faster than before and her eyes were open wide, looking around that room which was supposed to be hers. It was like if her gaze was trying to run away from those traumatic images which haunt her, forbiding her to sleep properly.

Her left hand's fingers ran through her own hair, while her right hand was looking for her smartphone in the dark of that room. She found herself wondering if her room was as dark as her past.

She had lived with Akan Yatsura's members for a few months now, but yet none of them had ever asked her about her past. It was like that even they had some dark shadows behind their backs and nobody had enough courage to uncover them.

4:50 am..

It was still early and her breath was already tired, as her body was. She was going to have a performance later in the early afternoon with the other AKYR guys. But yet, she felt like her body wasn't ready to step on a stage again. Her strength, her passion in music, her badass look...

Everything was just collapsing just like a cards castle.

Mc didn't have enough time to think more, that someone knocked on her room's door. A soft and young voice whispered behind it.

"Mc...! It's me, Reo... Are you okay?.. I heard you screaming in your dreams again.. You want to talk about it?"

Mc smiled softly hearing her friend's voice, so she decided to let him in her room. The young guy had sleepy eyes. He was probably sleeping well, but being woken up by that girl's voice. Of course he was worried! They were close friend, but yet Reo was feeling like Mc had something hidden, something terrible which haunt and scare her to the core. He really knew well her external being, her badass rhymes, her passion, her determination, as well as her sweet being towards him and the other AKYR. He wanted to help her. He really wanted to.. And. Yeah.. It was 'cause he had understood after a while that he actually loved her.

"You had a nightmare?", Reo asked, rubbing his own eyes. Mc looked down to her hands and, especially, she gave an intense look to that bracelet her dear mother had given her before.. well...

...before the accident.

Yeah... The accident...

...Her trauma.

"You can tell me, mc.. You know I.. I care about you... We're.... friends, no?", Reo tried to look at her eyes in the dark of that room of hers. He held her hand softly.. and yes.. it was exactly the hand with the bracelet. It was strangely rough... Not as the usual soft hand of Mc.

Mc's eyes lived that day, again, even if there was actually only the darkness of her room in front of her eyes. Her mind went to that terrible and damned day. She heard those people screaming... she felt the asphalt on her skin and darkness... after that, she opened her eyes and.... she saw again her mother smiling but a second later there... lying beside her. Her mum's eyes open but empty.. Her father had never loved her mother... And now? Reo was trying to convince Mc that he really cared about her? He would have abandon her, just like her dad did with her mother..

"NO!! NOOO!!! LET ME BE!! GO AWAY!!!", Mc yelled again, wrapping her own hands around her head. It was a torture!! Why did she have to feel that way!! It wasn't her fault! It wasn't!! It wasn't ...

...right?

Maybe it was.

Among all those screams she felt something strange, like burning on her wrist, exactly the one where she held her mother's bracelet, her phantometal. Reo tried to calm mc down, panicking seeing how she was feeling.

He didn't know that mc hadn't told anyone about her metal erosion.

And he wouldn't have discovered it. Mc tried to hide her hand in the darkness of her room and push Reo out of her room. He wouldn't have betrayed her like her father did to her mother.

Later in the early afternoon each AKYR members and mc got prepared for that performance of theirs. They all were excited of rapping in front of hundred, probably even thousand, of people! Zen had just finished training and said he felt so strong and ready!! Also Iori, Satsuki and Hokusai were, but Reo seemed so worried. His mind was still focused on what had happened that night. Why had mc behad that way?

But what about mc? Was she going to perform even if she was feeling metal erosion and nightmares?

Of couse she was!

She wore a different and oversized hoodie that day. It was unusual seeing her like that. Her face was paler and her eyes were sleepy. The others noticed it and tried to know what had happened.

"I don't think you should perform today, mc. Look at yourself! You don't look well at all.", Iori said, approaching mc who jumped slightly and covered more her arm at the sight of that man.

"Don't tell me what I have to do or not, Iori... I'm able to take care of myself."

What a lie, mc!.. That was definitely a lie...

...and you knew it.

And now here they all were, standing in front of thousand of people, holding those mics among the audience's happy screams and waving. The music started. All the hearts were focused on it, in order to make that day unforgettable for those people. They all started rapping their emotions. Some illusions appeared on the stage: Hokusai's tiger, followed by Satsuki's fireworks and Reo's confettis. People cheered, trying to grab those confettis. But Reo wasn't feeling well at all. His eyes were constantly pointed to Mc's figure. She hadn't sung yet. Her arms were weakly falling beside her body, wrapped in that oversized and colourful hoodie she had never worn before.

It was her turn, now.

Mc put that mic near to her mouth as she started rapping with the same aggressive and badass look which characterized her. But... Where was her illusion? Where were her blooming flowers? Where was her "rebirthing nature"? The stage was covered in fog, behind that fog.... a bunch of dead flowers. Their petals brought to the audience by the wind. Something was changing and Reo understood it immediately.

Mc started coughing. Suddenly a stabbing pain in her right arm, the one where she held her phantometal, made her yell in pain. She held her arm, falling on her knees and, then, onto the stage's floor among the audience panicked screams. Reo ran to her immediately, while Zen grabbed a mic only to say to the audience to calm down, that nothing had happened and that she was fine.. oh, well.. he hoped so.

"Stupid! I told you not to perform!!", Iori yelled, approaching mc, while Reo was trying to figure out what had happened to her. He was totally panicked, some tears started falling down his cheeks when he saw mc's face that pale, like if she was dead.

Hokusai decided to call an ambulance and, well.. the concert had been deleted, of course. They couldn't go on without her. Reo would have been too worried, as well as the others.

Mc was brought to the hospital immediately. Doctors were clear: she had metal erosion caused by her phantometal and her trauma. Her nightmares had been caused by that thing too. Now everything was clear enough for Reo.

He ran to mc's hospital room immediately, without even asking the doctor for permission. Behind his back he let Iori calling him: "Reo!!! Reo!!! Wait!! You can't-!!"

He didn't care. He didn't care at all!

He wanted to see her. He needed to see her. He was terribly afraid of losing her. He couldn't. Not now that he had understood how he loved her. Yeah.. he did.

Reo's running steps echoed in those white and clean corridors. His breath was as heavy as it had been Mc's one the night before. Why didn't she tell him how she felt?

That stupid!!

Ignoring all those doctors who wanted to stop Reo entering Mc's room, the young boy ran and kneeled down beside that girl's bed. He sobbed, keeping his eyes to her paler face, her eyes closed... Her arms... they were...

"She's fine.. We managed to help her.. just in time.", a nurse said softly smiling, putting an hand on Reo's shoulder. He was crying because.. He hated seeing mc that way!! It was his fault. If he had opposed and stayed with her the night before, then that wouldn't have happened and she would have been just fine!

Reo gently reached Mc's hand, the one with metal erosion. Nurses had removed her phantometal, which was on a near table. He looked at it, kinda cursing it for being the cause of Mc's pain, but... he didn't know Mc's trauma yet.

As he saw Mc getting better and opening her own eyes, Reo jumped to her, hugging her figure tightly. He cried loudly.

"You idiot!!! Why didn't you tell me about it?!?! Why did you push me away?!?!? I was so scared to lose you!!! Yes, I was!! Because I love you, Mc!!! I love you!!!"

He... He does?

He actually does?

As Mc heard those words, a tear let her right eyes and fell down her paler cheek. He... He loved her. She had been a fool not to trust Reo enough to tell him about all those nightmares and phantometal's consequences and... well... her traumas. She should have told him..

"Promise to trust me next time, mc! I don't want to see you like that again...!"

"I.... I do.", Mc quietly said hugging Reo rightly.

They would have been together from that moment on... Always.

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC is Half Demon and They Look Awfully Familiar

(Underground Tomb edition!)

Hello friends and degenerate sinners, this is basically a mini headcanon set for Luci’s kid!MC about how the incident with Luke and the Grimoire would go down in this AU to tide you all over until Part 3 comes out! Enjoy!

It was a normal night in the good ol’ HOL... Lucifer was doing paperwork at an ungodly hour of the night, Beel was in the kitchen, and Mammon was screaming and running for dear life. Ah... sweet normalcy.

The custard incident remained the same, MC got force-fed custard and Beel threw a truly fantastic hunger tantrum that culminated in the wall connecting to MC’s room collapsing.

Cue lecture from Luci-father.

“I am very disappointed in you three.” Lucifer rubbed his temples as MC, Beel, and Mammon awkwardly stood in his room. Mammon of course, was trying to avoid the death glares MC was giving him. Poor bastard.

“Especially you two, MC and Beel.”

“Whuh?!” Mammon sputtered. “What about me?!”

“I expect this from you. These two on the other hand,” Lucifer raised an eyebrow at MC who was awkwardly trying to suppress a laugh at Mammon’s aghast expression. “Should know not to act like this.”

“We’re *snrk* sorry, father,” MC paused to try and muscle through a giggle. “It won’t happen again.”

“He ate my custard...” Beel pouted.

“So, MC won’t be able to use their room anymore due to the wall... collapsing.” Lucifer gave Beel a pointed glare.

Mammon smirked, and if he were sitting on a couch, we would have leaned back and kicked his feet up. “Well, obviously since I’m a kind and generous soul I’ll open up my room for poor MC to stay in. My babysittin’ rates are quite high though-”

“BABYSITTING?!” MC snarled, giving Mammon a death glare that could probably kill lesser demons.

Lucifer felt a twinge of pride upon seeing his child give someone his signature bone-chilling glare, if he weren’t supposed to be disappointed he would have given MC a pat on the head and let them hang Mammon from the ceiling.

“Uh- heh- MC, I’m your favourite uncle! Me babysittin’ ya should be an honour!” Mammon was sweating bullets and desperately looking to Beel for help.

“Levi is rapidly approaching favourite uncle status.” MC crossed their arms and huffed.

“Levi?! Wait- does that mean I was your favourite-”

Lucifer was almost tempted to stick MC in Mammon’s room just to have MC punish Mammon so he could get some sleep, tragically, his common sense won out. “MC will be staying with Beel. He has an extra bed in his room after all.”

MC looked over at Beel and smiled. “Could be worse, right? I’ll replace the custard.”

Beel’s smile upon hearing the last part could have lit up the entire Devildom. What a sweetie.

MC still chilled in Beel’s room. They finally got to ask more questions about Belphie, and Beel is more inclined to share what’s up because MC is his big bro’s kid after all!

Because of MC’s half demon-ness, they hadn’t met Belphie at that point in the story unlike in canon. They were just curious about their missing uncle. They ALSO already knew what Belphie looks like because Lucifer gave them an in depth tour of everything and he pointed out all the portraits.

MC, being the sadistic sweetheart they are, went out and bought themselves and Beel replacement custard. MC made sure to eat it right in front of Mammon.

But my oh my, who was texting them? *gasp!* Luke!

MC obviously let their little angel buddy into the house (Luke did not know about MC’s parental situation at that point, keep that in mind). Luke was fun to tease a little after all! And it was nice to have another kid around, but MC would never admit it.

Since MC had literally no reason to be afraid of their dear old dad, they went right up to him and asked him if Luke could stay over. No fear.

“Father?” MC leaned on the doorway to the backyard, Lucifer was playing fetch with Cerberus. MC had never seen someone play fetch so robotically.

“Yes, MC?” Cerberus’ middle head dropped a slobber covered squeaky toy into Lucifer’s gloved hand, the other two heads snapped at the middle one.

“Can I have a friend over?” MC asked, trotting over to give Cerberus some pets. On the first day the dog had tried to eat them, but after giving him some much tastier bacon treats, Cerberus was sweet as pie. Murderous and dangerous pie, that is.

“Do I know this friend?”

“Yes, it’s Luke. Can he stay over?”

Lucifer wrinkled his nose and rolled his eyes. “Cerberus is right here, you have access to a dog. Why on earth would you bring the chihuahua over?”

MC snorted and gave Cerberus’ right head some scratches behind the ears. “He’s not a chihuahua all the time, come on, it’s for the good of the exchange program!”

The two had a stare down for a little while, and to his absolute horror, Lucifer felt his resolve cracking. This child of his was too adorable for their own good. “Fine, MC.”

“Yes!” MC fist pumped as Cerberus’ middle and left heads tried to join in on the ear scritches.

“But note,” Lucifer continued. “I expect a full report to give to Lord Diavolo on this whole experience.”

MC frowned and debated sticking their tongue out at their father, they decided against it. “A paper? On a sleepover? Really?”

“Yes. Really.” Lucifer gave MC a flick on the nose. “Like you said, it has to do with the exchange program. Now go make sure the chihuahua doesn’t die and leave you with a mess to clean up.”

The look of complete terror Luke gave MC when they told him that Lucifer said he could stay over was completely worth the paper they were going to have to write.

“What?! You weren’t supposed to tell him I’m here!”

“He said you could stay.”

“Why?! Oh no... did he demand your soul as payment or something?! MC! You shouldn’t have put yourself in that nasty demon’s debt! Don’t worry, I’ll get your soul back somehow.”

MC should have been offended... but they weren’t. I mean, could you stay mad at Luke when he just offered to fight arguably the second most powerful demon in the Devildom to get your soul back?

Now that Luke’s presence in the house was known to everyone, the challenge was no longer keeping Luke hidden, it was making sure Luke didn’t say anything that would get him killed and making sure none of the demon bros made Luke cry.

Mammon was the main culprit of the teasing because Lucifer actually had better things to do. And he had a (totally not a) date with Diavolo so he’d be back late and wouldn’t be home to tease the chihuahua.

Mammon’s status as favourite uncle was hanging by a thread by the end of the first day.

Asmo thought Luke was positively adorable and also very annoying. He offered to paint MC and Luke’s nails. Luke declined, but MC was all for it. (Their cuticles were a MESS by the way, they needed the manicure.)

Luke’s nails were painted gold to match the gold on his outfit! Asmo was quite proud of his work, and was very offended when he was not allowed to try and braid Luke’s hair.

“It looks so soft!”

“You’re not allowed to touch my hair, demon!”

Satan still disliked MC on the basis that they were just a mini-Lucifer and hung out in his room or the library to avoid them and Luke.

It was incredibly annoying when Luke and MC burst into the library to look for cookbooks and treat recipes after Luke told MC about his baking endeavours. Satan debated ordering a pair of ear plugs on Akuzon...

Or perhaps a laser gun...

Both would make him stop hearing the children’s grating voices.

“You two, be quiet.”

“We haven’t spoken since we got in here...”

“You’re breathing too loud.”

Beel remained the only brother who was actually decent to Luke, they all played Go Fish in Beel’s room.

Levi was in his room playing his new video game just like in canon, but he could hear Luke and MC running around outside his room.

He was fully prepared to do that introvert thing where you stay in your room until you hear someone say goodbye to the guest.

Levi’s eyes were glued to his computer screen, just eight more skeleton monsters to kill and he’d get the achievement! His attention crumbled the moment he heard the dreaded sound of...

Guests...

“Hey MC! Whose room is this?”

The sound of a door opening and closing down the hall caused Levi to jump in his seat. Oh no... his worst fears were realized! There was another person in the house!

“That’s Asmodeus’ room. Luke you shouldn’t go around opening everyone’s doors-”

The sound of another door opening and shutting made Levi pause his game and look at Henry 2.0 for help. Maybe if he jumped into the tank and wrapped himself in his tail he’d camouflage into his surroundings...

BAM!

AAAAA! Not enough time! The guest was drawing nearer... he was going to have to... *barf*... SOCIALIZE!

“How about this room?”

Levi braced himself for the incoming social contact... Fs in the chat everyone...

“We shouldn’t bother Levi, let’s do something else.”

HAJEKDJSJSJSJD- BEEL! BEEL JUST SAVED LEVI’S LIFE!

The poor third born slumped back in his seat, the awfulness of socialization avoided. He uh... hadn’t actually left his room in maybe three days... maybe he should actually go outside... enjoy the nonexistent sunlight, y’know?

...nah. Levi went back to his game.

Since the kitchen was broken, Beel, MC, and Luke went out and get AkuDonald’s. They were all out of the toy that Luke and MC wanted so that trip was a disaster! A disaster I say!

Just the image of Beel happily chomping on his eighth burger while Luke and MC angrily pick at their fries makes me want to laugh.

Now the question you’re all waiting for, did Lucifer try and kill Luke and Beel and then MC for trying to take the Grimoire?

N O

“Whose room is behind that door?” Luke pointed to the door to the attic staircase.

MC shrugged and hit their knuckles against the door a few times. “It’s just the door to the attic. My uh- Lucifer said not to go up there because it’s just full of old junk.”

Normally MC would scoff at the idea of being told what not to do and do it out of spite, but MC was a child, and like most children, they hated scary attics. They hadn’t even attempted to open the door in the month they had lived in the house.

“Hm, maybe he’s hiding something...” Luke puffed out his cheeks and knocked on the door. When met with no answer, Luke turned the doorknob. The door creaked open, and the two peeked inside.

A tall spiral staircase greeted them as they tentatively stepped inside. Not so-good Lord, the room was freezing, but it didn’t seem to bother Luke as he walked further into the room.

“What do you think’s up there?” Luke asked, craning his neck to try and get a look at what could be at the top of the stairs.

MC shuddered and crossed their arms. “Like Lucifer said, junk. Nothing important.”

There was a tingling feeling at the base of MC’s neck, their hand flew to the spot only to find nothing, but the uneasiness didn’t cease. Something was very... very off. A shudder creeped up their spine as Luke stepped closer to the staircase.

“Come on,” Luke tutted, placing a hand on the railing. “Demons are known liars!”

Luke was quite difficult to be friends with sometimes, MC had to admit.

With every step Luke took up the stairs, the sense of dread brewing in MC’s gut grew, but they remained rooted to the spot, it was almost like something was physically stopping them from getting closer to those stairs.

Luke stopped on the sixth step and craned his neck to look up again. “Hello?” He called out.

His little voice echoed up the staircase, he was met with no reply for a moment, until a massive shudder wracked both his and MC’s spines.

“Hello.” A voice replied.

Quick as lightning MC dove forward, taking three steps up the stairs despite what felt like electric shocks stabbing into their skin, and yanked Luke back down the stairs and out the door, closing it behind them. MC heard a lazy, carefree chuckle reverberate through their head, and a message that only MC could hear.

“Leaving so soon, Lucifer?”

...

Spooky right?

Anyway- back to Luke and MC being idiots together.

They headed back to Beel’s room to watch some Devildom kid shows, I assume Tom and Jerry just played on repeat.

Luke explained the reason he ran away from Purgatory Hall, and MC legitimately debated whether or not they should throw Luke out of the nearest window for all the jabs he was taking at demons.

“Simeon was going to go out for tea with Diavolo! He even said that I could ask Barbatos to instruct me on the finer points of baking!”

“What’s so bad about that?”

“They’re demons, MC! Simeon and I are angels from the Celestial Realm! We shouldn’t be consorting with demons.”

Once again, bless Beel and his lack of murderous rage when it came to anything other than food.

“MC, Lucifer would be upset if you broke a window.”

“What’s he talking about?”

“Nothing Luke, nothing you need to worry about.”

Don’t worry, no angels were harmed during the visit.

On day two of the extended sleepover, Luke and MC decided to go running around the house again.

“And this is the basement.” MC put their hands on their hips and kissed their teeth as they looked around the Underground tomb. “Perfectly creepy.”

Luke shuddered. “Is this house nothing but one creepy room after another..?”

MC smiled and stuck out their tongue. Their fear of the attic did not extend to the underground tomb. Not that they were actually afraid of the attic or anything...

“Why? You scared some big monster is gonna getcha?” MC teased.

“No!” Luke gasped. “I’m not scared!”

MC began to walk backwards into the darker depths of the tomb, their teasing tone echoing off of the walls. “Then come on! Don’t be chicken!”

Luke looked back and forth from the door out of there, to the rapidly disappearing figure of MC, he rushed after MC.

“I’m not scared of some dark basement.” Luke huffed.

“Why not~?” MC snickered. “There could be ghosts down here... tortured souls of those who were damned to Hell for all eternity~!”

MC swiped Luke’s hat and placed it on their head, Luke jumped at the sudden contact and began to try and get the hat back from MC.

“Stop trying to scare me!” Luke yapped, MC laughed and began to jog deeper into the tomb.

“Maybe there’s a monster that eats chihuahuas down here too! Who knows!” MC twirled the hat with their fingers and ran a little faster when Luke ran after them.

“I AM NOT A CHIHUAHUA!”

Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best course of action to tease and scare one’s friend instead of telling them what they said earlier was mean, but MC wasn’t the best at decision making.

When MC reached a dead end, they stopped and looked around, Luke crashed right into them. He managed to swipe his hat back from a now disinterested MC.

MC’s gaze landed on a book being held up by a statue, they padded over and looked up at it.

“Luke, do you know what that is?” MC asked, turning to look at their now very miffed friend.

“The... book? I don’t know.”

Truthfully, MC didn’t know either. During their first tour of the house, Mammon had interrupted the Underground tomb segment and Lucifer had to cut the tour short.

“It’s uh...” MC pursed their lips and tried to think of a convincing lie. “A spell book. Lucifer told me that it makes your magic really really strong, so he stuck it down here to hide it from Solomon.”

“Did I now?”

MC and Luke screamed and whirled around, there stood Lucifer himself, not looking terribly pleased with the two of them.

“MC, care to explain why you and the angel are so close to the Grimoire?” Lucifer’s words were icily calm, and MC knew that meant if they didn’t come up with a good explanation they’d be in big trouble.

“W-we were just playing down here...” MC trailed off, looking to Luke for some kind of backup before realizing what a stupid idea that was.

“Y-yeah! We were just-”

Lucifer stuck his thumb over his shoulder and glowered at the two. “Out.”

“Yes sir.” Luke and MC mumbled as they stepped away from the Grimoire, Lucifer relaxed slightly as the two walked past him and down the hall.

When the two got back up to Beel’s room, Luke suddenly gasped and turned to MC.

“You said it was a spell book!”

After that, MC got the feeling that Luke was no longer welcome in the house. What was the big deal about almost touching the Grimoire anyway? It could only override pacts and control demons-

Oh.

Balls.

Simeon got called to pick up Luke and before the two of them left MC assured Luke that he could come over and hang out anytime as long as he texted first.

Beel said Luke could come over and bake when the kitchen was fixed, poor Beel would have to do without Luke’s baked goods for a little while longer.

MC rested their chin on the coffee table they were kneeling in front of, stewing in annoyance. Their unfinished homework was practically mocking them, but the Demonology textbook was not what had them in their funk.

“MC, do your homework.” Lucifer said from the living room couch, he was comparing his phone to notes in a binder that was placed on his lap.

A grunt from MC caused him to raise an eyebrow. Their grasp on demonic language had improved, but Lucifer did not approve of them using their new skill to sass him.

“MC.” Lucifer chided, MC turned to look at him with a deadpan expression. “If there’s something wrong, either tell me, or do your work without complaining.”

MC turned back to their homework and tapped their pencil against the textbook, before puffing out their cheek and turning back to Lucifer.

“What’s in the attic?”

For the briefest of moments, Lucifer froze, he forcibly relaxed and went back to his work.

“Junk.” Lucifer replied. “Did you try and go up there?”

MC shook their head. “No, I went into the staircase room, but not up the stairs.”

Lucifer’s eyes flashed, he then took a deep breath and looked at MC. “Good, there’s nothing of interest up there anyway. If you did go up there you might break something or hurt yourself.”

“Okay.” MC sighed, trying to push the voice from the attic out of their mind. “What about the Grimoire? Why is it down in the tomb?”

Lucifer could feel his patience growing thinner and thinner with every question. “So it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

“Why not just destroy it?” MC asked, their question wasn’t meant to be taken as an insult or be malicious, it was just legitimate curiosity. “Wouldn’t that be safer?”

The first born hesitated before he answered. He looked over MC, before shaking his head. “...I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

MC’s eyes narrowed, but they went back to their work all the same. It would be about ten minutes of quiet before MC spoke up again.

“When Belphegor gets back from the human world, you’re going to have a lot of explaining to do, huh?”

Lucifer’s eyes snapped up to look at MC, who still had their back turned to him as they scribbled notes from the textbook. His grip on his DDD tightened as he replied.

“Why do you say that, MC?”

MC didn’t seem to register their father’s clipped tone, and shrugged. “Beel said that he isn’t answering his texts or calls, and when he sent up a letter Belphegor didn’t respond to that either.”

“The life of an exchange student is a busy one, as you can see.” Lucifer forcibly injected his last bit of remaining calmness into his words as he gestured at MC’s homework. MC laughed at that.

“Yeah well, I still make time to call my friends and ren back up in the human world.” MC giggled. “And I’m sure those text notifications about his older brother discovering that he has a child would make him pick up the phone.”

“Belphegor might have a much larger workload.” Lucifer retorted, trying to keep himself from snapping at MC.

“But still, you’d think he’d call his-”

“MC-” Lucifer snarled, MC whirled around, the fear and shock in their eyes caused anything Lucifer was going to say to die in his throat.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, before Lucifer took another deep breath and turned back to his work.

“Not right now, MC,” Lucifer whispered. “I’m working.”

...

To be continued...

[mixedmetalroserings]

We Know You By Now (Harry Styles x fem!MC)

Summary: After an interviewer makes some gross comments about Harry’s relationship, he has a conversation with his girlfriend about the public’s perception of him. 

Content: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Swearing and objectifying comments

Word Count: 1079

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I heard the dressing room door slam open, and I immediately turned to see the guys coming back from their interview.

“Hey guys, how did it - Haz?” I cut myself off, noticing Harry staring at the floor, the rest of the band standing around him, unsure of what to do. Zayn was the one to finally break the silence after he didn’t reply.

“We tried to talk to him, but…” He trailed off, and I nodded.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked. They all agreed, taking their leave from the room as I guided Harry to sit down on one of the dressing room couches.

“Baby, can you look at me, please?” I gently prompted, my thumb rubbing soft circles against the back of his hand. When he finally met my gaze, I could see tears brimming his eyes. I just shook my head. “What happened out there, Haz?”

He drew in a shaky breath, his voice trembling as he finally spoke.

“I’m not just using you for your body. You know that, right?”

“Harry of course I know that; where is this coming from?”

“I really do love you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I could tell he was trying to force back tears, and I pulled him into a hug, gently running my hands along his back.

“Hey, I love you too, baby. And I’m not going anywhere. I’d be lost without you.”

He broke at that, crying openly into my shoulder. The sound made my heart shatter, and I continued my soothing motions, whispering softly in his ear.

“Let it out baby. You’re ok, I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

“They -” He tried to speak, to explain, but he couldn’t manage to get anything out. I just shushed him, holding him as he continued to cry.

It was only when his sobs turned to soft sniffles did he break from the hug, trying desperately to catch his breath. I cupped his face with my hands, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks. He was avoiding my eyes, staring at his own hands as he leaned into the feeling of mine. Finally, I spoke.

“Harry, are you ok?”

He hesitated before shaking his head slightly, collapsing back into my arms. I held him close, laying back on the couch so that he could cuddle on top of me, head resting against my chest as I toyed with his curls.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked after a moment. He considered for a second before he took in another deep breath.

“I’ll be fine. Just… the interviewer was making a lot of comments. About me and you. And I feel like I should be used to it by now, but it really stung.”

“What were they saying to you?” Just hearing him talk about it made me want to punch someone, especially when he held me closer, trying to protect us both from the world outside this dressing room.

“She - she asked me how our relationship was going. And I said that it was going really well, and that we were both very happy, and she followed up with ‘so you really love her?’” He paused again, drawing in another shaky breath before continuing, “And I said yes, of course. And she just laughed a little and said something like ‘her and her ass, right?’ So I immediately said that yes, you’re beautiful, but I love you for who you are, not just for your body, and she just kinda scoffed and rolled her eyes. And she just said -” He cut himself off again, and I watched him reach up to wipe his eyes as he finished his recap, “ - she said ‘oh Harry, we know you by now. But whatever you say.’ I think it was Liam that blessedly changed the subject after that, but honestly, I couldn’t really focus for the rest of the interview. I was just… I don’t know. I just needed to talk to you. Before you saw that.”

“Hazza…” I trailed off, not even sure how to respond. I ran my hands through his soft curls, hearing him sniffle as I tried to collect my thoughts.

I was incredibly disgusted, but for the most part I just felt sad. Sad that this image that was unwillingly pushed on him from such a young age was following him around like this, that he’s had to deal with this shit his entire career.

“I just don’t understand,” He murmured, head still tucked against my chest.

“I know, baby. And I’m so sorry that you have to deal with all of this. But it’s not -”

“No,” He cut me off, and I looked down at him, surprised. “I don’t understand… why are you still here?”

“Oh my god, Harry,” I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tighter, prompting him to look up at me with watery eyes. I leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, watching his eyes flutter shut at the gentle affection. When I pulled away, he didn’t break eye contact with me.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t have to deal with all the rumors, the attacks; you don’t deserve that.”

“Neither do you, Haz. You don’t deserve any of this, and it breaks my heart to hear the disgusting things that people are saying to you. I’m so sorry that you have to put up with all this bullshit, but I’m not sorry that I’m here. I love you more than anything in the whole world, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to be scared away by a bunch of assholes who have absolutely no idea what they’re talking about, making judgements about people that they hardly know. You are the most kind, respectful, incredible man I have ever known, and that fact doesn’t change because of some bullshit image thrust upon you when you were a teenager.”

He was silent for a moment, taking in what I said before he leaned up and kissed me again.

“God, I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve all the love in the world, Harry Styles. I mean it.”

“My love, you’re all that I need.”

I felt him cuddle back up against me when he said it, and I resumed running my hands through his hair, one hand on his back, holding him close.

“I love you so much, Haz.”

“I love you too. Thank you, for being here.”

“I always will.”

[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

A continuation on the cheating Lucifer post plzzzz x

Mystic Rhythms (Lucifer x GN!MC)

A/N : I fell up my stairs today and bruised my kneecaps and my forearms when I tried to catch myself... That shit is embarrassing, especially when everyone runs out of their rooms to see you laying there trying to figure out what the fuck just happened. My knees hurt. But, anyway... The title is a song that I was listening to while I wrote this... It doesn't have anything to do with the writing at all, it's just a damn good song. Mystic Rhythms by Rush, highly recommend.

Part 1

Word Count : 2k T/W : cheating ; mentions of cheating ; Lucifer being a flat out dickhole ;

There was no way that you could possibly leave. Lord Diavolo wouldn’t allow it, would he? Of course not. In a matter of days you would emerge from your room, running back through the doors of his office to tell him how much you missed him. He was sure of it, his pride wouldn’t let him think any different. He would go about his days as if nothing happened, because in his mind, nothing happened at all. It was a little bit of fun to take his mind off of the stress that came along with his work, and yes, he could have gone to you for that kind of fun, but he also needed a little bit of change, a little bit of something to keep things interesting. It wasn’t exactly his fault that you happened to catch him having his fun. You shouldn’t have been out of the house anyway, a matter that he would have to handle with his brothers. They should have been watching you, making sure that you didn’t leave the house at all. Surely they know how dangerous the Devildom is outside of the House of Lamentation. It was everyone else’s fault but his own, and he’d stick by that until you and everyone else believed him.

Days passed and the armchair across from his desk began to bother him. It was empty, the entirety of the office was empty. Things were quiet, not a peep from even his brothers who would usually barge in and bother him at any given moment. It used to be annoying, but now it just seemed strange that it wasn’t happening at all. Not only did the lack of his brother's constant interruptions cause him unease, but the lack of you. Was he so used to you being there that the absence was this bothersome to him? It shouldn’t be that way, it shouldn’t bother him at all, but he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus on his work without some sort of distraction. These distractions gave him breaks, they allowed his mind that tiny bit of time to relax, to ease the stress. Now there was nothing, nothing but the work in front of him, and it was, in a sense, almost worse than before you got there at all. Even then, he had his brothers to agitate him. Now it just seemed like they were avoiding him, or doing everything in their power to drive him nuts by not being around. It made no sense to him, none at all. He should be thankful for the silence, for the uninterrupted time that he was being given to finish his tasks at hand, but he wasn’t. His phone vibrated on the desk, and in the complete silence of his office it sounded so loud, loud enough to make him jump back for a moment before fumbling forward to grab it. There was no reason to be like this, his mind was reeling for no particular reason at all, at least that’s what he told himself. He told himself a lot of things, most of them were based on his pride, or they were based on the image of himself that he wanted everyone to believe was real. Much like the whole cheating thing, something that he’d never willingly admit to, he didn’t want anyone to think he was the kind of demon to do such a thing. Not only would it ruin his image, but it would ruin the image of Lord Diavolo who he was around more often than not. A little harmless fun shouldn’t potentially ruin the image of the Future King, should it? There it was again, his subconscious mind speaking what he couldn’t out loud, taking his mind off of the phone that was now in his hand until it vibrated again. He assumed that it was you, prideful assumptions based off of thoughts that held no reason. If he were to be honest with himself, he knew that there was no reason for you to call him at all. If he were to be fully honest with himself, he knew all too well that there was no way for you to call him or message him at all if you had really done what you said you would do. But being honest with himself isn’t something that he’s good at. Being honest with anyone isn’t his best skill. There was no need to be honest when lies are much easier to live with. “You’ve been silent for a while, is everything alright?” The message read, and the name at the top wasn’t one that he’d like to see, but it was one that he knew well. Silence, it was becoming something that he was surrounded by. He wasn’t silent, but the world around him seemed to turn that way. It was penetrable and unbearable, he couldn’t take it for a moment more. With the push of a button and a swipe of his gloved finger, he quickly turned off his phone and placed it back on his desk. They could bear the silence for a little while longer, but he couldn’t. He needed to talk to someone, he needed to talk to you, even if it meant that you were yelling at him, screaming at him for the acts that he committed. His office wasn’t the only room that way empty, the house itself seemed to have been abandoned. There were no sounds of life coming from any of his brother's rooms, and he found it hard to imagine that all of them had a place to be that wasn’t inside these four walls, especially Leviathan. This only had him moving faster down the corridor until he finally reached the door to your room. He didn’t bother with knocking, the sound of his knuckles against the wood would be deafening in the silence. With a quick turn of the doorknob it was pushed open, revealing to him the truth of

the words that you had said when you walked out of his office. You were gone, you had actually left, and whether you had actually gone back up to the human realm or just gone somewhere else in the Devildom, one thing was clear. You didn’t want to be around him, you didn’t even want to be under the same roof as him, and it seemed that his brother’s felt the same way. He was alone, and as pleasant as the thought seemed to him before, now it scared him.

You sat on the bed in your room, looking up at the six demons who refused to let you go alone. They had tried to make you stay in the Devildom, but upon hearing about what Lucifer had done, they completely understood why you’d want to leave, as hard as it was for them. It didn’t change the fact that they cared about you though, far more than anyone you had ever known, and they weren’t going to leave until they knew for a fact that you’d be safe without them. “Is there any way that you can fix her D.D.D so that it’ll work up here?” Satan asked, looking over at Levi who was awkwardly looking around your bedroom. You weren’t sure if his demeanor was based on the fact that he was in someone’s room other than his own, or if it was the fact that he was in your room, but Satan’s question had him stumbling over his words for a second before answering his brother. “I’m… I’m not sure. I-It’s never been done before, I’ve never had to do it… It might take a couple days… J-Just to figure everything out… You know…” He ran his hand through his hair before sitting down on the floor, nervously twirling the drawstrings of his sweatpants around his finger as the motors in his mind seemed to visibly turn. You didn’t want him to overthink it, and you didn’t want him to stress himself out by thinking too hard about it, so you quickly slid off the edge of your bed to sit next to him on the floor, patting his knee and giving him a little smile. “Don’t worry too much about it right now, alright? We’ll figure something out.” Your hand on his knee had his cheeks burning bright red, but he quickly nodded in agreement, and you could almost see the stress leaving him as he finally relaxed. “So, since you all are here… I can order some food to the house for dinner?” It was strange having them all there, well, all but one of them… It was strange, yet comforting. You didn’t want to be alone, not right now, not after everything that happened, so you were grateful for their presence. The mention of food had Beel lighting up, practically dropping to the floor next to you and wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “Dinner and movies? Human world movies? And since Levi said it could take a few days, we can all stay here and sleep in your room, right?” It was impossible to tell him no, he looked so excited at the thought of it, and everyone else in the room had perked up at his words. There was no way that they would all be able to fit in your bed though, and all of them sleeping on the floor didn’t sit right with you. You’d have to figure something out, and it would most likely turn into a shopping trip to buy more blankets and pillows just so they’d be comfortable. The thought of a sleepover, in a sense, was nice though. It would be the perfect way to keep your mind off of everything, for you to relax, laugh, and have some fun with your six favorite demons.

The door knocked just as the six of you settled into the couch, the movie had just been unpaused and everyone was taking the first bites of their pizza slices. Everything had been delivered, there was no reason for the door to knock, so you decided to ignore it, just as all the other brothers did, hoping that whoever it was would take the hint and go away. That wasn’t the case though, and the knock came louder this time, almost like whoever it was was trying to break down your door. “You don’t have to pause it… Maybe it’s the delivery guy… Maybe I forgot something…” You shrugged, pushing yourself up from the couch and walking over to the door. You weren’t expecting anyone, you weren’t expecting anything, and you surely weren’t expecting him. Your stomach dropped when you saw him, his crimson eyes boring into your own. “I see you have quite the party going on here. Shame I wasn’t invited since I am the reason for this gathering, am I not?” It seemed that in that moment, time stood still. The wind that had been rustling the leaves of the trees had suddenly come to a stop, the sounds of the movie behind you had gone silent, even the sound of fabric brushing against itself whenever the brothers shifted on the couch wasn’t heard anymore. Everything had gone still, everything had become eerily quiet, and the only things you could hear was Lucifer’s voice and the sound of your heart beating faster in your chest. “Oh, don’t worry darling. I only had to take care of a few minor details, just to make sure our conversation wasn’t interrupted by my brothers.” His smirk sent shivers down your spine and had your stomach doing flips. This was the last place you expected to see him, but then again, you had told him that you wanted to leave. The only thing was, you didn’t expect him to follow you. It had taken days for you to convince Lord Diavolo to let you go back to the human realm, especially with all the other brothers begging you not to, begging Lord Diavolo not to agree, but he had finally allowed it, and that was the day that Lucifer decided to come to you. It was pathetic, and seeing him made you physically ill, but you had to stay strong just as you had before. “What are you doing here?”

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 31

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 8.5k

A/N: I got a bit carried away. HEHEHEHE.

Andrea's little look

When the sun comes in you aren’t regretful. But you aren’t happy. 

Your head is pounding and there’s a pit in your stomach that you can’t get rid of and it isn’t from the remnants of alcohol. Your legs are intertwined and his palm is laid flat on your stomach. There’s a part of you expecting to wake up and rub yourself on him, continue what you left off last night. But you have the urge to cry. 

“I don’t know what came over me last night.” He speaks first, raspy from sleep or maybe lack thereof. “We shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have.” 

“it wasn’t just you. I wanted it to happen.”

 You remove his palm from your belly and raise it, fingers around his wrist you intertwine your other hand with his. It was calloused and littered with tiny abrasions. Much more man. “But I think I know it wasn’t right. I don’t feel really good.” Stroking your thumb over the knuckle of his pointer finger. Skin had been split there many times, you feel it. 

His chest stutters below your cheek. “I’m sorry.” His voice is so broken you drop his hand and shoot straight up. His eyes are darkened and there’s tears out of the corner of his eyes. One falling too quickly for him to hide it. Your own chin quivers and you sit criss crossed beside him, taking the pad of your thumbs to wipe the tears that continue to fall. You whisper his name, leaning close to kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry I pushed you away…I was sick from feeling so guilty—I couldn’t focus the first few months—until I started therapy—Andrea..” His voice rips and his eyes are swarmed with tears. You weren’t— you couldn’t be immune to his tears. You weren’t angry, you never could be. Not when you know how he was taken advantage of. 

“Javi…” You wipe his cheeks. It’s all you could say.

“Tell me— tell me how it made you feel.”

“I was mostly feeling for you—because of what she did-“ You lie and he shakes his head.

“Just tell me.” He sits up and you shuffle to give me space. “Tell me so I can stop driving myself crazy. So that when you leave I’ll be fine.” 

The tables turned and you hate it. 

You recall being in this position, wanting every answer from him so that you aren’t left to spiral when he leaves. There’s so much to tell him, he looks so desperate. So tortured by his own circumstance. You swallow, furrowing your brows. Wondering how to start. How to lay all of it out on the table. You peek at the window, the sun creeping in, it's early. Early enough for the house to still be silent. Your hair is mussed, you feel his wet eyes burning a hole through you. 

“I hated you. For those two weeks. My cheeks would get red from anger when I thought about how careless you could be… plan a future with me after everything we went through– after everything I went through. It drove me crazy that you couldn’t fucking keep track of who you fucked and when or whatever. I was already feeling insecure when she came into the bathroom at Frankie’s wedding, I knew something was wrong. Honestly, I don't even remember the night when you told me. All I recall is the moment you told me, the pain I felt in my chest. I don't know—I realized over the years  that I had the mental power to completely block out what hurts me the most. Like I don't think I can make out my fathers face and I can't remember that night. It started my journey to try to forget you.” You know every word is hurting him but maybe he could get a taste of what you felt. Your thinking isn't spiteful, you just want him to understand. He asked for this. “Lorraine was lying, I know. But you took responsibility so quickly, I know you had no idea but the idea that it could have been true felt like a heartbreak in itself. You laughed last night… when I told you how hurt I was–crying to songs–”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Javier, it's okay. You just have to know that I spent those two weeks picturing you rubbing her belly, and laying in bed with her, and whispering to her to not wake your father up. And at the wedding she said that you used to tell her I was nothing to you. I couldn't picture you saying it but after the wedding I could see it clearly. I knew it was really over when I saw you holding her at 7/11. I walked away without saying anything but I was really hoping you’d come after me.”

You can't see him, he’s sat up now, shifted behind you but his downcast gaze is felt. You can feel him thinking behind you, you're taking him step by step along your brain. “I decided I was going to move away. I buried myself in phone calls and realtors and car dealerships, packed everything or whatever. I didn’t speak to anyone really, just wanted to disappear. But I wasn’t going to miss your wedding.”

“Why?” He isn’t crying anymore, the fog in your brain clears. Glancing over your shoulder you connect with his own blood shot stare. 

“I had to see it so I can just move on. You know… then we all found out.” He asked not to see you. “I was so heartbroken for you. All the pain I felt from the rejection from my father, from when you left for Houston, from when you told me she was pregnant– none of it compared to the pain I felt for you when I found out it was all a lie. I just wanted to see you.” Fuck, your voice finally gives. You could spell it out for him like you did the rest, you could tell him that his request freed you while simultaneously ripping you in half. You know it led you to accomplish all the things you wanted, you left your doomed home for christ's sake. But I wanted you to do it with me. We could have left together. You think your body's decision to sob and fold over into your hands tells him the rest of what he needs to know. 

“Andrea…” He whispers, his hands encircling your shoulders. You shake him off. 

You catch a breath and wipe your tears with your palms. Probably dragging some mascara along the way. “It isn’t smart for us to be doing this. I promised myself I wouldn't. I should go.” Your body begins before you can even form a thought. Getting off his bed, still in tears you search for your panties. The bed springs with him coming to his feet and he’s so much larger than you, you begin to miss fifteen minutes ago when you were nothing but someone encased by his warmth. You snatch the small thing and nearly fall over from blurry eyed vision while attempting to put them on. Like the gentlemen he was and fuck him, Javier holds your arm steady. “Thanks.” You murmur before padding away from him. 

“Don’t leave… you don’t have to stay here like we said but please…” He rasps, “Please dont leave yet.” He lets go of your wrist. You were a victim to his begging eyes, and frankly you loved the chase. No matter how many times it hurts you. It’s too easy for him to convince you but he heard you. You had to be fair, you had to listen to him. 

Without a word you pull the chair of his desk with a screeching sound. He fucked you there once or twice. You missed when memories still felt sweet. You settle down on the chair, elbows on the desk you inhale and exhale steadily. In your peripheral Javier settles at the corner of the bed. 

“I won’t keep you here. I didn’t scheme to have you back in my bed, to confuse you—frankly I’m fucking confused. I’m confused on what I feel. I’ve spent years working out how to approach you, my therapist brought me through it. I knew once I saw you I had to tell you everything, I had to apologize and let you make the decision whether you wanted me in your life or not.“ It comes out all in one breath, no longer a whisper or a rasp. “And I’m so fucking sorry but the second I saw you all of that went out the window and I shouldn’t have done this.” 

“I offered to sleep in bed with you.” You correct, he was apologetic about the wrong things. 

“I was emotionally manipulated by Lorraine. I don’t care if it makes me sound weak, I’ve worked it out with my therapist. I already felt like I needed to push away anyone I loved, I guess I’m like my mother in that way. It’s not an excuse but through all the shit I went through in Colombia at the very least I can say I left that place with a better understanding of myself. I made too many decisions for you—for us. I thought I was protecting you—it’s what I feel like I’m actually good at. And I want to tell you that I have changed, that you have to stay so we can make it work. I want to—” He’s speaking with his hands and suddenly they drop to his lap. “But I can’t keep making decisions for you. It didn’t work before, it’s unhealthy. So please Andrea… just—. What do you want?”

Your blood runs dry. Sobered in an instant from your state at the hardwood, your brows furrow. “What?” 

“I will spend every day of my life apologizing to you if that’s what you need. I’ll never speak to you again if that’s what you want. I’ll move to New York and you know I hate New Yorkers. I’ll move on. I’ll leave town without a trace. I’ll do whatever you want.” It’s desperate, your heart is beating against your rib cage so hard you fear it’ll break the bones. “What do you want Andrea?”

You feel like you’ve been here before, your future spanning across your palm. Choice is a funny thing, especially when the possibilities are endless. Yet for someone like you, choice feels constrictive-suffocating—panic inducing. It feels like your heart is going to break through skin and bone. What a mess your mind is, what beauty.

Everything speeds and flashes those few seconds you’re absorbing the simple question of what do you want? 

You see Javier pinching the skin of your back inspecting the freckles there when you were twelve, Javier lifting you up to give you a better view, Javier kissing you for the first time, Javier coming home, Javier telling you that he loves you. 

He always made the choice to touch you, to kiss you, he said he loved you first. In this Chess board he played white and made the first move. You accept each move because it’s Javi and he has a read on just exactly what you want. 

You lift your chin.

“I want to be given time. I want to see that you’ve worked on yourself. I want to learn you again. I want you to learn me. We can see each other as friends while I’m here. I won’t be staying the night with you again, there’s too much—“

“Sexual tension.” He finishes and you roll your eyes hard, it burns from its previous use (sobbing).

“To put it lightly. “ You sigh, wiping the last wet spot on your cheek. Feeling confident when in control. “I want us…” Your brows knit, overtaken by the reality that he will quite literally do anything you say. “To go to dinner.” His brows raise. “As exes—and friends. I want to know everything, I want you to tell me there.”

He shrugs, “I can tell you now.”

“No. I need a neutral environment.” He nods in agreement, the two of you tried to be vulnerable last night and that ended with your pussy on his face. “I want you to speak to Lorraine.” 

You watch his body language shift, he was sitting almost boyish and relieved that you had taken control of the situation but this request—it almost looks like he’s about to jump out of his skin. Cheeks paling. “Only if you feel you’re ready to. I will too, separately or together—whichever you prefer. Even if I decide to stay exes, this could be a step to fixing our friendship because we lost that too.” You bring one knee up on the chair and rest your cheek on it. Afraid to say this next part because it might discredit all these boundaries your setting in place. Attempting to be progressive and modern and healthy. Maybe it was the school teacher in you. You lick your lips a bit anxious to speak again. 

Javier’s eyes narrow, he leans forward with his arm crossed. “Is that all?”

“I don’t want to hear about whatever hookers you paid when you were away. It’s disgusting and frankly disrespectful to even bring up to me.” Yeah, maybe you were being a little hypocritical and rash. But fuck it, if he said he’d do anything you’d ask. 

“Correct if I’m wrong but-“

“Javi, I don’t give a fuck. You said anything.” Your jealous bone was a lethal one. It was like an open wound you loved to toy at. 

Sadistically, you pressed him for answers and you were even more furious internally that he actually answered them as if it were nothing. You’re sure when you were tipsy and warm and horny, it didn’t bother you. But you swear your eye twitched the moment you woke and replayed that conversation in your head. Win stupid prizes you suppose, tough shit. 

“Alright.” He rasps with a curt nod. His eyes full of promise, nervous and prepared to ace the exam you laid out for him. Ms. Diaz style. 

With the morning birds chirping at his window, collar bone exposed from his shirt ruffled from your hold on him the entire night. Javier was here, in front of you, twenty six years of age. 3 years in the police force. Six years in the DEA. Each time you see him he looks older than the day before but still you stare and see just Javi. The unchanging eyes that have done nothing but adore you your entire life. Lips that called you beautiful when no one had, called you smart. Plush lips that kissed you. Hands that pushed you in rivers and pulled you back out. Fingernails that traced words into your sleeping back. The two of you, changing in time mentally-physically and still somehow possessing a love so strong it goes unchanged. 

Your decision was made. You’re not sure he’s deserving of your never ending generosity. You’ll give it to him anyway. 

He just needs a bit of fear in his heart. 

You decide to sneak out before Chucho could wake. You tell Javi that you’ll call him later, that you need time alone. Or maybe away is what you meant. He looked pained and truthfully, you felt just the same. How easy it would have been to drop your pride and climb back into bed. Be safe, know deep in your heart that he would never hurt you, not again. You believe the words he says, you just want to make sure he believes it. 

You realize, very rudely, that you aren’t sixteen anymore and this isn’t a summer at the lake. The Christmas morning air was chilly and you were ready to spend the day in your hotel room wondering if this was all a big mistake. 

Driving out of the rolling fields and into town, you're forced to take a back road to your hotel because of Laredo’s Light and Lord Christmas Fair. It was your favorite part of Christmas until age thirteen when the fair went from running around with your friends to a day to hang with your boyfriends. It wasn’t like you had many friends outside your brother but the Christmas fair was always an opportunity to just have fun with girls your age. Of course until everyone got boyfriends. You hated on it but you secretly wanted to also walk around cozied up with someone you loved, decorate some cookies and kiss with sugar laced lips. 

It doesn’t seem like this Christmas will cut it either. You fish the gold little key from your cup holder and shuffle back out of your car and into your hotel room. Phone rattling on the desk. You frown, thoroughly confused and slightly creeped out by the telephone seemingly going off while you weren’t there. Your hotel rooms a mess from your nerves of seeing your family. Hah, imagine what the place would look like if you were warned about Javi. You don't think too hard and pick up the phone before you can set your purse down. 

“Hello?”

“I don’t want to be apart from you.”

Your heart swells and your cheeks heat. You should have known giving him your hotel room extension was a bad idea. He was always like this, a flirt on the phone because you couldn't be there to smack his hand. You shut your eyes and place your hands on your hips like a mom ready to scold. “How many times have you called?”

“Twice, will you come back. It felt like we argued.” He rasps and you consider it for just a moment. 

“We didn’t argue.” You say it softly and you can’t understand why. You settle into the desk and begin undressing to just sleep the day away. 

He clears his throat, “I guess I’m not used to you being around and willingly deciding to leave my room. It feels like you're punishing me.”

“That’s not what this is. I don’t blame you for anything.” 

“I know.” You hear the unspoken, so why can’t we just be together. You know it’s what he’s thinking because when you’re around each other logic runs out the door and all you can conjure up is acting on the intense feeling of love you have for each other. You’ve got to learn to harness it, because look where it got you your whole lives. 

“If it makes a difference, I don't want to be doing this.”

“So don’t” It’s quick and biting and his voice is clear as day. 

“I just don’t want us to make a crazy decision before working things out. I don’t want…” Your voice dies a bit, it's much easier to say it how it is without seeing his face. “I don’t want us not to work again because we rushed into things and chose not to acknowledge everything between us. I can’t-I can’t- I don’t have it in me.” 

I’m tired, I miss you so badly but you were hurt more than me and I want you to recognize it. One day you’ll figure that all I want is for you to be okay. 

“Okay.” It’s soft and so him. It’s the tone he has when you're dozing off against his chest, when his palm cradles the back of your head. When he speaks to you like there’s nothing that could ever do you harm. “I’ll stick to the plan. You tell me when to call Lorraine, I’ll do it. Tell me when you want to have dinner. I’ve done harder things in my life.” He chuckles beyond the phone and you follow suit. Missing him and damning your attempt at self control. Unsure what to say next you look around the room because you’re afraid of the silence that comes once you hang up. Soon to be a stark realization that now that you’ve had him again you’ll need him around. 

“Well…” You fill the awkward silence with even more awkwardness. 

“I have a request for our relationship repair list.”

You smirk, eyes trained to the carpeted ground, It amazes you how white the rug was for a hotel room.”Shoot.”

“Let me call you every night. Good night or a conversation or whatever.” 

Cheeks ablaze you feel your tiny smile lines deepen. There's nothing more humbling than smiling at nothing. You were smiling deeply and you hope he can’t hear it in your voice when you say, “Sure.” in an attempt of being aloof and collected. You’d be kicking your feet if you could. Staring at the pink off-shoulder top that will likely be out to no use this trip. You think of sugar kisses. “Come to my hotel at 5. I want to go to the Christmas fair.” 

You hear the springs of his bed loud and creaking like he sat up, “Like a date?” A bit too high, he clears his throat. 

“No. Like Javi and Andrea hanging out in town. As friends. “ You’re not convinced yourself. “Okay?”

“Okay."

Javier is whipped, to put it lightly. He didn’t really care if it's just two friends hanging out. What a joke. Javier showered fifteen minutes longer than usual, hoping the stains of who he was in Colombia don’t show. Tempted to scrub his skin raw he decides that you’d have him stains and all. He steamed the red button up that had been catching dust at the top of his suitcase, ruffled his hair in the mirror–once–twice–three times. He gets it the way you like. Slightly falling over his forehead and curling at his nape naturally. His hair was swept to the side these days, an attempt to look like he has it together. He knows what you like best. You’ve never commented about it but he remembers the look you used to give him when he let his hair be. He considers putting on his ranch hat, sunglasses but opts the brown belt, jeans and cowboy boots had said enough. 

Dr. Hertz is going to kill me, he thinks the moment he looks at himself in the mirror and considers cutting flowers from the yard. 

Waiting for the bathroom so he could brush his teeth once more he wonders what gotten into you two last night. He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, so quickly the two of you were reduced to sex crazed animals. He told himself it wasn’t going to be this way, that no matter how good you looked and— you never looked better— no matter what— he’d show you how good he could be first. 

But he fucked it all up talking about his hookers and eating your cunt. 

Now he’s being forced to show you how good he could be—on your own terms. Which was both terrifying and absolutely exhilarating. You must know how flustered he gets when you take control. He can feel himself crumbling already. Ready to drop to his knees and beg you just to trust his word. 

But you were a school teacher, you had to have believed in the tales you told your students. The hare and the tortoise. Slow and steady wins the race. He’ll be at that pace as long as it’s you at the finish line. 

Javier told Chucho that he was taking you out to the Holiday festival. He just smiled and went on with his business, which was wrapped in a blanket on his recliner watching a new American Experience episode on Ellis Island. Javier chuckles to himself while retrieving his keys at how content his father was on days like these. 

Turning the keys with a jiggle, Javier realizes his fathers truck was pushing on fifteen years old. I should really buy my own car. It struggles like it always did but eventually tracks the gravel onto the road. It was a chillier Christmas, like the weather knew you’d be in town. Give you a real taste of winter. The roads were clear up until main street when Javi realized that maybe taking the road past the festival wasn’t the smartest idea. He’ll blame his newfound discomfort for American roads after years in Colombia. 

“Fuck.” He mutters, looking at the window and realizing that all of Laredo would be there. Strangers who knew him, who read about him, who would wonder why he was here. Wondering why he was here with you and not Lorraine. They last saw him as the man who left the golden girl at the altar. The judging stares and whispers would be a guarantee. 

But once he approaches the grubby hotel you were at, your blinds open. Perched up on your bed in a pink sweater, eyes glued to a notebook scribbling. Heedful in your own way, like whatever you had to write was very important. Cute little ripple between your brows. In 1986 your hair was dark with a diamond in your nose. 

You lighten your hair, stop wearing your nose ring and start wearing rings. Javier feels his chest tighten with every second he’s looked at you since yesterday. It’s like every time you see him you’re trying to remind him that there will never be anyone else. 

Javier looks at himself in the rear view like a kid getting ready for his first date, nervous. It seemed that you noticed his headlights through your window because when he looked back up you were opening the door to your hotel. Javier opens the door to receive you. Light pink sweater falling off your shoulder showing him skin that would mean nothing to him if it were anyone else, but it’s you and his urge to step close and kiss that freckled spot. Brown skirt flowing below your knees. He’s ogling you and he doesn’t care, he’s never seen anyone more beautiful. When he looks back up at your face you're doing the same, eyes glued to his hair. Score. 

“Hi.” He steps close and grabs your waist and places a chaste kiss on the cheek. Skin soft, you smell good enough to eat. He clears his throat, readjusting his belt as he straightens up and you burn bright red. “You look beautiful.”

Timid eyes flash back to him, “Thank you, you look good too. Like the hair.”

Javier’s lips twitch for a smile but he bites it back. “Let’s head on the road before this car breaks down.”

You snort and cackle, just a week ago who told himself he’d do anything to hear that goofy laugh of yours. One that would ring out in the cafeteria, earned side glances and scoffs from people who were too cool for school. He remembers sitting tables away, Lorraine clung to him and his ears perking up at the sound of your giggle from feet away. 

“God I’ve done way too much in that car.” Javier steals a glance at you in the same way you look at him. Kicking your sandals off, pulling over and bouncing in his lap. You both looked at each other and pictured the same distant memory. Your eyes narrow stopping at the door of the truck. “Not. Like that.” Through your teeth yet still teasing , opening the door and hopping in. 

He says under his breath, “Yeah sure.” 

“God this was a shit idea.” The two of you stood side by side in the middle of mainstreet. Parking lots turned into grounds for dingy rides. Tents set up with rigged games. Crowded at every corner. Children running, laughter and The Ronettes blasting so loud it sparks your nerves. You look up at Javier next to you and he’s already pulling out a cigarette. “Everyone’s here. I swear I just saw Josefina Alto with a baby bump.” You exhale. Javier looks to you from the corner of his eye, lighting his cigarette.

“Who’s that?” He murmurs, stick dangling from his lip. 

“Seriously?” You cross your arms, he gives the same dumb stare and shrugs. “The girl you had sex with right before we started dating.” In the bar, trying to forget about me. You might add but chose not to get him in uncharted waters. His brows shoot high, a small play of realization and disgust spreads across his features. His eyes drop to the ground.

“Yeah.” He says it to himself like a child punished. You hadn’t figured that running into people you’d like to avoid is absolutely what will happen tonight. He drags and exhales. Looking ahead at the food stables ahead, decked in green and red. “Fuck it. I see Elote.” He begins to walk and you follow with a giggle. Impossible to stay mad. Tempted to grab his hand but this isn’t what this was. You’re not sure who needs more convincing, you or him. Elote didn’t really read Christmas but any fair was a place for great vendors. You try to catch up with Javier’s steps but fail considering he had a head start and far more comfortable shoes. 

“Wait up!” You shout, shivering a bit. Texas really took the New York out of you. Despite the blistering reality of being seen and judged the fair was a beautiful sight. Christmas lights strung between light posts. Storefronts decorated with tinsel and the sounds of laughter from young teens in the artificial snow pit a few feet away. 

Javier shook his head and glanced behind at you, “No one told you to wear kitten heels. Ms. Nueva York.” He says in an accent so thick it’s much more “nueva yol”  than york. 

Eyes rolled, you try to keep up. “I could say the same about the ranchero costume Agente.” 

“Haha.” He deadpans. Approaching a crowd of teens in the middle of their way, the line to the swings bleeding into streets of food trucks. Javi stops for you and distracted by the world surrounding you, you walk straight into his back. Nearly falling over Javier swings around and grasps your wrists. Bringing attention to them. Pulling you through the crowd with head nods of hellos and permiso’s. He really was a celebrity to these kids. Eyes wide and shocked at the sight of their hometown hero. Él mató a Escobar! And whispers alike. Wide eyes like he was Princess Di. Glances at you, fortunately they were middle and high school aged children who likely didn’t know what a scandal Javier Peña and Andrea Diaz had been for many years.

You figured your neighbors and church goers would come up with their own stories. It wasn’t until a late night call with Genie that you decided to pry and ask if people had asked about her.

Well, the people at the wedding saw what they saw. They saw you leaving abruptly into the church where Lorraine was. Heard commotion in the chapel and then Javi never showed up. Then people started telling their own stories, seeing you kiss him at the library just a week before, sneaking out to his car or whatever those people stuck their nose at. Everyone just thinks you're the other woman. 

And well, you were quite set on not being home for longer than two weeks a year before you found out what was being said. The stomach turning panic you develop each time you're home wasn’t aimless. 

Fuck them all, you grip Javier’s hand tighter and he looks back at you as if he’s asking you are you okay? He leads you to the line. The only sound between them is the christmas bells and chatter. Eyes flashing to your conjoined hands you jump out of your own skin and drop his hand. His brows twitch and you know it hurts him. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

“You're a real local hero.”

He grunts, crossing his arms and you notice a slight bulge in the pockets of his denim jacket. “They can add that to the list of rumors.” You scoff, a breeze causing a rise of skin on your collarbone. You move up in line, the vendor's face is familiar but not enough to place a name. He still stares at the two of you a bit longer than your nerves appreciated. “¿Nos puedes dar dos elotes y dos chocolates con licor, por favor?¿Tienes cambio para un billete de cien?”

“Javi.” You tug his sleeve but he waves you off. This was how it used to be, you cursing him while pulling out your wallet and him looking at you feeling so deeply offended that you would dare lift a finger to pay for anything. Suppose Javier Peña was a traditionalist in that way. You know you’d be taken care of your whole life if you decided that was what you wanted. The vendor smiles and heads to prepare your order. Javier turned to you, fixing the cuffs of his sleeves. “I have a job you know.”

His lips flip in a mocking frown with a shrug, “Thanks for the information.”

“Jodón.”

“That’s liquor.” Javier grunts, settling into the picnic table. You sip too, face screwing. 

Coughing, “Oh fuck. That shouldn't be allowed.” Javi nods, using a bite of his corn as a chaser. He groans in approval and tilts the cobb toward you. You comply, biting into it, mindful of not looking suggestive. 

His stare burns anyway. 

You can’t pretend, none of this felt real. It was too easy to fall back in, to laugh, to share food, to bicker, to touch. Could it be this easy? It couldn’t be. Easy wasn’t really Andrea and Javi’s thing. Weighted with anxiety, you bask in his gaze and all of it goes away. You can only think of how it feels to be heard. How it felt to have him with you the day you met your father. How just last night he held you. How you still touched your empty ear lobe when you felt alone. This, this has to work this time. I don’t have it in me to love anything else–anyone else. I’ll forever be plagued by you and all the years we spent apart and the months we spent in love. 

Wiping your lips and murmuring a mouthful thank you. You decide to get on track. Stick to the plan. Put it all out there so you could never hurt each other again. Ask him the questions that make him break contact. 

And you do the thing you always do, “Is hero so bad of a rumor?”. The thing where something lingers on your mind and you pick up on it minutes maybe hours later like the person next to you sat in the corner of your brain and watched it form. Jaya, your mother, your brother could never catch on. But Javi, fucking Javi, caught on every time. Thrived in your disorganization, familiar with your quirks. There’s no one else for me. 

He chews, jaw tightening. He was chiseled by the gods, lord was it unfair to those who came after him. “Rumors are damaging in their own ways. I’d like to forget about Colombia but being called a hero at home keeps me stuck there. Stuck in all the things I didn’t do.” He shrugs, “Now I’m afraid of failing on the basis of expectations I haven’t even set myself.” 

I want to know everything, you think, but not here.You didn’t know how to console him, any topic of his time at the DEA made him tense and timid. He would contort into a person unknown. All you can do is ask,  “Does it get in the way of your self perception?” 

His brows furrow, placing his corn on a paper plate. “Suppose so.” It is short, definitive, like he isn’t ready to elaborate. He reaches for a napkin and blots the corners of his mouth and then yours. Oh, how desperately you wanted to lean your forehead into his chest and stay there. Feel his palm cradle you. Is it so bad? “You?”

Lips pursed, you think for a moment, body facing him entirely. If it were any other day, if the wedding hadn’t happened, he would have had his hands on your knees. But his distance is respectful and he’s being awfully good. “Well the rumors about me arent very positive. Most people view me as some homewrecker that fled when it blew up in my face.”

“People know she lied.” 

“I know. That’s why she moved two towns away. Still, narratives were made. That I have always been this side piece that you’ve kept burning for you for almost a decade. Even in high school.” You take a sip and suddenly, the drink isn’t so bad. You almost continue but a child screeches from a table away, his mother wiping his shirt of hot chocolate. “Just feels like I’m being punished for being in love.It was our business and I guess that’s why I don’t like coming here.” Most of it is true. The trauma that you have connected with this town isn’t just because your one true love failed here. 

He nods, you can see that he’s taking it all in but tethering on the line of a question. “So why did you ask to come here… with me.” He doesn’t have to say it. You know what he means, why, why in your right mind would you willingly make such a public display despite the gut turning unease being in Laredo gives you. Your brows screw together because your reasoning feels silly, desperate–pathetic even. But Javier never judges you. 

“Cus’ I don’t want to feel this way forever. I want to be able to feel at ease in my own home.” Glancing from his red shirt, up the column of his neck and to his eyes. No one has ever been so interested in what you had to say. “And because despite everything you make me feel secure. We could hate each other but if I was forced to face a fear it’s you that I would call first to encourage me.” It’s a confession in itself, it's saying, and I still love you. He knows it because his warm eyes soften in a way that you yearned to see again. 

He clears his throat, choked up and he tries to hide it by looking at the string lights above. Attempting to seem interested in anything but you for a few moments, “You’re not alone in that… you know– in feeling that way. Everything that went down with Lorraine created a fear I didn’t know I had– its sadistic– selfish thinking but it was only you who I wanted to be consoled by.” There's pure reluctance in his voice, like he knows that this sounds crazy. 

It’s not to you–you thought about it sometimes. I wished I was able to be your friend, be there for you, but I was far too in love just to watch it all happen.

You give him a nod and take another sip. It was warming you up but not in any significant way. The tone of it all took a turn. I guess we’re doing this here. 

“Can I tell you something that bothered me.” A bit averse, afraid of sounding like some girl who wants to pick a fight with their ex. You just want answers. “It’s not like– it’s just something that I felt.”

Luckily, Javier knows you aren’t one of those girls. He nods with permission. Looking awfully southern, all he needed was a cowboy hat to tip and you’d be on your way. You exhale, bracing yourself because it was a long one. Probably something he’s never thought about. You start anyway. “In New Orleans we had like our first real fight. Do you remember?” He nods, not saying a word. Looking grumpy as ever, you were too tempted to kiss those pursed lips. Focus. “In the car we had unprotected sex.You came in me, you sort of– well not sort of– you cleaned me after. Then in the hotel room you sort of freaked out on me like I was just waiting to trap you. You told me I should have gotten off of you. It was only after I said I was on birth control that you told me that if I got pregnant that you’d stay but when you were faced with the tiniest chance you put me to blame. I guess it just made the Lorraine thing all the more– I don’t know-sad for me. Because you dropped everything. You never questioned her, but you did so to me. I guess in my own twisted head, hearing all these rumors about me I started to really feel like maybe I was just this place holder until she came home. I know it’s ridiculous. And stupid but I felt like the woman in the bell tower. I guess being alone makes you over analyze a lot of shit. Sorry, I’m being crazy.”

“You’re not being crazy.” It’s whispered and it’s fast, it nearly interrupts you. When you two are together it’s scarily easy to forget all that's around you. The passing glances, the whispers, the sleigh bells, babies crying and carnival buzzers. “I was afraid. I am afraid. I was afraid of altering our lives together because I know that if you got pregnant I would have paused my life for you–that you would have to put a pause on your own life. In my head we live our dreams and then we start our family. I was reckless with Lorraine because I knew no matter the outcome… me and her wouldn’t work. Oil and water. I wanted to do right by you. For a moment I realized I hadn’t really done right by myself. I would have saved myself and everyone around me a lifetime of pain if I just pried. But…”

“We can’t go back there.” You finish. 

He shakes his head, distant. “Yeah.” He scratches his jaw. “I'd give anything to go back to seventeen and do it all over.” 

Goosebumps rising on your collarbone you hug yourself and lean into the table. The sun was completely gone now, nothing to warm you than his hulking form next to you. Gaze fixating back on the only man you’ve ever loved. “What would you change?”

Javier can’t hide it, he’s like you. His lips twitch and his nostrils flare a bit. He doesn't need to answer, you know. He decides not to answer at all, eyes floating from your own to your neck and down to your shoulder. Clenching his jaw for a split second,he takes out a camera from his jacket pocket and places it on the table.

 For a moment you think this is quite the awkward time for pictures but you soon realize this wasn’t that. He begins to remove his denim jacket. He doesn’t struggle, he places it over your shoulders. Warming you once more. Hands hovered and retreated. Like he was fighting the urge to pull you into him. Rub you warm and kiss your temple. 

You smile to yourself and sling your arms where they belong. His oversized jacket dangling off your wrists and covering your hand. You were truly surrounded by him, the scent of him settling into you, overwhelming your senses and you get the incessant need to be in bed with him suddenly. Smirking you dig your denim paws into the pockets of his coat, digging for anything he didn't remove. 

Jackpot.

You whip out his reds with a smile and he can only with with a sly smirk. You look up at him and wiggle your brows, placing the carton down in front of you. Raising your wrists and shaking the fabric away like you’re getting prepared to eat a mess meal. You pull your sleeves back and pull one lone cigarette out. Placing it between your lips, you stare at the wooden table- perfecting your smolder before looking up at Javi. Lips pursed in a frown, cigarette dangling off your lips, brows furrowed. “Smokin’ all alone querida?” You deepen your voice. 

He bursts in a laugh, eyes closing and dimples deep. You don’t break character, flipping your hair out of your face. “Is that what I look like to you?”

Raising your pointer and middle finger in two form, you remove the cigarette from your lips. “Yes. Am I seducing you Andrea?” You ask, wiggling your brows once more.

He leans in close, so close his lips nearly press on the shell of your ear. “What does that say about me if you are?” He rasps, hand spanning  against your stomach. Holding you in a way that’s far more suggestive than any grope. 

Rolling your eyes, “You weren’t supposed to answer!” 

He laughs at how flushed he can make you. How in the cold you look a million degrees warm, tips of your ears fiery. His hold on your stomach bringing you back to being under him,  pressing, can you feel me here Andrea? 

Straightening up and moving to grab the camera, he struggles to figure out how it works. “Pose for me, give me your Javi face or whatever.” 

You grin, sitting up straight and posing. Drowning in his coat, doomed to smile with his cigarette between your lips. He whispers something about being so beautiful before the flash goes off. He smiles to himself, placing the camera back on the table. 

“Alright, I know who’s operating that ferris wheel let’s go.” 

Hands warmed by disposable cups of your spiked hot cocoa, you lived New York City winters but still the forty degree texas chill caused occasional teeth chatters. Staring up at the ferris wheel decked in Christmas lights you look over at him. Cheeks bitten by the wind, he was already looking over at you. Looking at you in his coat. You two had been playing a little game of 21 questions on line while it moved so so slowly. 

“And you? What’s your biggest fear?” You ask finally. What a strange thing this was, learning more about the person you know best. His eyes narrow at you for a moment. Mustache and lips twitching into what seemed to be a ghost of a frown. 

He makes this face and blows some low air like he’s about to say something so real yet slightly embarrassing. He clears his throat, “Becoming my mother.” He can’t look at you when he says it because he’s visibly cringing and quickly bringing his hard hot cocoa to his lips. 

You blink hard at that. Blowing a raspberry with your lips. “Fuuuuuuuck” You say in an exhale. “I’ll drink to that.” You clink your drink with his while it was at his mouth, quickly taking a sip and catching him off guard. Laughing into his own drink it splashes in his face. 

Covering your own mouth, nearly choking on your drink and snorting and giggling so loud the surrounding line stares the two of you down with  judging eyes. Javier wipes his mustache that drips. Like always, the two of you laugh without regard of whos watching. 

Javier eventually slips the operator a smile and four dollars and you are loading the rickety piece of metal. Securing the holster until it clicks. Giddy, you lean your head into his shoulder quickly—feeling a surge of happiness before straightening up. 

“Happy?” Brow raised. 

You shrug, “Just missed you is all.” The stomach pitting rocking began as your cart lifted higher and higher in the air. Donny Hathaway’s “This Christmas” bleeds out the ride's low quality speakers.  

He hummed. Reaching an experimental hand out onto your lap, palm up. Lustful nights turned to innocent actions the next. Something in you heals. No cares, refusal to conform to what you should do according to everyone else. Run, two damaged goods are just as useless as one. You intertwine your hand with his. Pads of your fingertips pressed against his knuckles. 

Christmases spent stressed, the ones she spent alone. You decide this once you won’t rip herself from this illusion. God, you hope it wasn’t an illusion. 

He stares intently at where you connect. Those hands of his that have done wrong to many, still dwarfs yours. 

“Andrea.” It’s featherlight. Not in need of a response. “Stay at my house. I don’t like the idea of you at that place— when your home is here—with us—with me and my dad.”

You think of your plan. You think of how lonely it felt to be stuck in an outdated inn, watching M*A*S*H with only the sound of your breathing and the running air conditioning. His house was your home. 

“Alright. But I’m sleeping on the cot.” The uncomfortable little mattress that stood up at the basement of the Peña Ranch. Thrown on the floor with quilts whenever your brother would crash. 

“I’ll sleep on the cot.”

“No that’s unfair it’s your bed.”

“You’re my guest.” 

“I thought that it was my home? I’ll take the cot.” The ride jolts at the top of wheel. A view of the entire town, if you squint, you see the hills that lead to the rolling land where he lives. Homes glowing in various colors, the town that brings you pain, burns so beautifully for the two of you.

“Fine. You take the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“I want you in the room with me.” You rush, burning bright at your display of desperation. Javier chuckled, squeezing your hand. 

“I’ll leave when you fall asleep.” 

“Or we can share the bed.” He suggests, slowly and mischievously, you both smirk at each other. Flashes of you pawing at his hair while he holds you still, making you feel all that you’ve missed. He gives a toothy grin, “Yeah… better not.”

[sevendeadlymorons]

When your requests are open again could you possibly do a scenario on how the brothers would react to an mc who cuts themself... if not I understand, thank you either way, love your content!

I saw this come up and I just had to do this one straight away as it hits close to home for me. Thank you for the request, I hope you’re doing ok

Brothers Reaction to MC Who Harms Themself

WARNING: NSFW // Mentions of self harm, blood and sharp objects !

—————————————————

Lucifer

Was about to knock on your door to deliver your missed RAD work, when he heard a silent gasp and cry come from inside. He listens in as the sound continues. He opens the door to ask if you were alright, but when he saw you pressing a blade to your wrist, he drops everything he was holding onto the floor, and all that was on his mind in that moment of time was taking the blade away from you. He runs full charge at you, taking the blade away from you as you collapse in his arms, sobbing. Hearing the pain in your voice as you scream out to him, begging him to give you the blade back was the most traumatising thing he’s ever heard, and it will live on with him forever.

Shushes you and strokes your hair, trying to comprehend what just happened, completely forgetting about your mutilated wrist until he feels fresh blood trickle down onto his skin from your fresh wound. He panics and runs out the room, taking the blade with him, throwing it in the bin in disgust, before grabbing some disinfectant and bandages, rushing back over to you to wipe your wounds, telling you that you’re doing great when you suck air through your teeth in pain. He carefully wraps up your wrist, making sure to not hurt you or tie it too tight.

After he’d wrapped you up and disinfected your wounds, he’d held your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb and staring into your dull eyes, giving you a small smile as you fake one back, his heart dropping to his stomach at your state. He holds you in a tight hug and promised you he’d never let you be hurt again, because it kills him to see you in pain.

Mammon

He doesn’t knock, but for once, he wished he did as he stared you in the eye, watching blood trickle down your arm in horror as you held scissors in your other hand. He stood there for a few seconds, in shock, before reality kicked in and he was running to your side, snatching the scissors from your grip and catching you as your knees buckle. He’s never seen you look so lifeless. Your eyes were dull and there wasn’t even the faintest sign of a smile on your lips, the one he can’t wait to see every morning. That smile was gone. He held you so tight as you cried into his shirt, screaming his name into his chest and shaking. He feels physically sick seeing you like this. This isn’t the MC he knows...

He felt something wet drip onto his arm and when he looked down to find your arm slit, oozing blood, he panicked and pulled you to the bathroom, unthinkingly running your arm under warm water but regretting it when he saw your face wince in pain. He didn’t know what to do for you. He just wanted to make you feel better. He looked around in the cabinets and grabbed some loose bandages he luckily found, messily wrapping your arm up in the fabrics, not tying it too tight so that it doesn’t hurt you.

Sat you down on the bed, and held your hand, tears forming in his eyes as he stares into yours, and watches you try your best at flashing him a sweet, small smile. He hugs you tightly, rubbing your back and rocking you, telling himself he won’t ever let that happen again for as long as he lives.

Leviathan

Anime night, Levi had been looking forward to it all week, but when he flung the door open and caught eyes with a blade pressed to your thigh, he stopped. He dropped everything he had and just stared at it. Horror in his eyes as his mouth trembled. He was in shock, he had no idea what to do as he stared at that sharp object between your fingers. So he did all he knew to do; rushed straight towards you, snatching the blade and throwing it across the room, his arms wrapped around you as he cries silently into your stomach, feeling you sob onto his head as well. He felt you shake in his arms so he rubbed your back, and went to hug you, putting his head in the crook of your neck.

So much had happened in the space of only a few minutes that he didn’t even realise the blood that was staining his clothes from your wounds. He looked all around the room for something to stop the bleeding, searching in your bathroom for bandages, where he luckily found a strip laying in the cabinet. He rushes back in and start to desperately wrap up your leg, his cheeks flushing red as he realised he was touching your thigh, but that wasn’t important right now. Right now, all he cared about was you

After he’d finished, he apologised for barging in and messily wrapping up your cuts, but you didn’t say anything. You was staring at your leg and Levi felt his heart break as the thought that he didn’t notice something was wrong wracked his brain. He held your head to his chest and squeezed you tightly. He will never let you go through this alone again, he refuses to let you suffer alone.

Satan

He occasionally just walks into your room and sits down next to you, whipping out a book and just enjoying your company. Today was one of those days, but when he walked in and didn’t see you, he decided to just come back later. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a pained gasp coming from the bathroom though. He walked towards the room and the door was slightly ajar. He pressed his ear to the door and heard you sobbing. He rushed in but the sight he saw, left him in complete shock. He couldn’t move as he stared down at you, a single blade clutched in your fingers, blood surrounding you on the bathroom floor as it was spilling out of your cuts. He felt himself trembling as he could practically feel his heart spilt in two at the sight of your face, so visibly broken. He dashed towards you, cradling you in his arms and asking you to give him the blade until you finally placed it in his palm and he threw it in the bin in anger. How couldn’t he have noticed, he was so annoyed with himself as he could feel your pain while you quivered in his embrace.

He composed himself and grabbed your face to look at you, wiping away your stray tears with his thumb as he then proceeded to examine your mutilated forearms. He couldn’t help but tear up as he felt your arm shake, looking you in your eyes and desperately asking why, over and over again. He shook his head, realising it wasn’t the time, and stood up to grab the bandages and disinfectant from in the cabinet, coming back to your level to clean the wound and wrap up your arm, giving it several kisses after he’d done.

He apologises for his abrupt entrance but reminds you that you should have told him you felt this way and he would have helped. When your face remained blank he wrapped you into a hug so tight, he could feel your pounding heartbeat. His heart hurt, the image of you on the floor still stuck in his head. He never wants to see you in that state again. He will protect you with his life from now on.

Asmodeus

Ran into your room to ask you what colour he should paint his nails for the party he’s going to soon, but when he got there and you were sat with your knees to your chest on the floor, your entire thigh covered in drastically bleeding cuts right next to a large box cutter, he choked on his words, in disbelief as blood ran down your leg. He almost screamed and scurried to your side, throwing the blood stained knife to the side and stroking the back of your hand as he watched you break down. He pulls your head slowly into his shoulder and let you cry, his hand running up and down your back as he felt himself shaking when he stared at your soon to be scarred thigh. He pulls you close to him as he felt tears threatening to escape too, his eyes quickly tearing up at the thought of you being so miserable and he never noticed before. He thought he knew you so well.

Quickly got to his feet and brought back disinfectant and a bandage from your cabinet, taking a quick glance at your dull face, your eyes puffy from crying. He knelt down and straightened out your leg, wiping your wounds with disinfectant, making sure to be gentle. He hated to hear you in so much pain as you gasped and winced from the disinfectant entering your open cuts. He shushed you and apologises quickly, then went to litter your entire leg in kisses, giving a reason why he loves you for each cut you made that day.

He didn’t care how messy he got when he wrapped up your thigh, his hands now stained in your dry blood. All he cared about was you and your well being. If he knew, he would have stopped you and prevented all this pain from happening, but he didn’t know, and that obviously fake smile you’ve been forcing since he met you was becoming clearly obvious to him now as he eyed your exhausted eyes and pale skin, a constant frown plastered on your lips. He promises to you, he will keep you safe. Nothing will hurt you when he’s around, not even yourself. He doesn’t want to see any more scars on your pretty skin.

Beelzebub

Went downstairs for a midnight snack, like he usually does, but when he went past the knives, he noticed one of them were missing. Didn’t take any notice and went back upstairs to eat in his room. When he went past your door though, he heard a stifled sob and heavily breathing. He walked in to ask you what’s wrong and give you a hug but when he saw you on the floor with your head against the bed, your arms visible with several deep cuts, seeping blood, he froze and couldn’t take his eyes off your arms. He dragged his eyes away to see the missing knife next to you drenched in your blood. His breathing hitched and he shook, all he could do in that moment was mouth your name. But suddenly, his legs moved on their own and before he knew it, he was at your side, kicking the mnife away with his foot and hugging you to his chest, your tears staining his shirt as he pulled you closer into him.

His eyes never once left your arms, watching the blood trickle out and he felt so so scared of losing you. He grabbed your wrist and got up and rushed you to your bathroom, grabbing some bandages and running your arms under the tap, feeling bad when you wince in pain. He dried your arms off as gently as he could and wrapped the bandage around your arms slowly, keeping his eyes drawn to your face to see if he was hurting you. He held your wrapped arm in his hands for a while, peering down at it, still visible shook up.

He wrapped you in a blanket and rocked you in his arms for the rest of the night, listening to you cry silently and letting you use his shoulder to cry onto. He reminded you that you’ll be alright and he thought to him how he will never let this happen again, he will make sure you feel happy in his company and embrace. He’s never leaving you alone.

Belphegor

Noticed you were no longer by his side in bed anymore and sleepily went around the room to look for you, his eyes half open and drooping. He saw the bathroom light was on though the crack in the door, so he pushed open the door and half unconsciously reached around for your arm to pull you back in to bed. When he grabbed your arm, he heard you cry out in pain and his eyes shot open, scared he’d hurt you again. His hands felt sticky and when he looked down at them, they were covered in blood. His heart beat was racing as he thought he’d hurt you, but when he panicked and looked down to apologise, he saw you holding a pocket knife in your other hand and the blood that was stained onto his hands was from your arm, littered in long deep bloody cuts. His breathing became unsteady as he thought back to the last time he saw you bleeding, it was because of him. He dropped to his knees and crawled over to you, blood from the floor covering his clothes and palms, but he didn’t care as he reached out to touch your face, distress in both your eyes. He looked at the knife in disgust and hatred, kicking it across the room and hearing it hit the wall. He felt your arm and examined it, desperate to fix this.

He scrambled up to his feet to wet a damp rag and place it over your arm, gently wiping away the blood, stopping and asking you if it hurts when you made a pained face. He grabbed the bandages and quickly wrapped you up, making sure you aren’t in pain again. Then he grabbed at you, pulling you into his chest and squeezing you urgently. Listening to your loud muffled sobs as you cried into his skin. His heart hurt remembering the sight and he no longer felt tired anymore. He felt sick and worried.

He sat there for a good couple hours, on the bathroom floor, holding you in his embrace and shushing you, your tears dried onto his clothes and leaving a musky smell. How didn’t he notice. He spends every night with you. Have you been doing this right next door every night when he was asleep? He hates the thought and swears to protect you every second he can. He doesn’t care how much sleep he loses, as long as you’re ok, that’s all that matters to him.

DM’s are always open if anyone ever needs someone to talk or vent to. I know the feeling of thinking you have to harm yourself to feel better, but it’s not the only solution. Whoever you are, I love you and stay safe x