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mononijikayu · 1 month ago

Text

cure — ryomen sukuna.

"I’ll write you the best songs, little lamb. Even better than what I already gave you." he promised to you. His tone was softer than usual. "Songs so good they’ll make the stars jealous." “You are making quite big promises, don’t you think?” You tease him, giggling as you read over his newest piece. “This would make the stars jealous.” "Yeah, because they’re our songs." he’d say, his smirk softening as he handed you another crumpled page. "No one else gets to have something as good as this. Not even the stars. Only you.”

GENRE: alternate universe - alien stage au;

WARNING/S: dead dove do not eat, nsfw (not safe for work), alien invasion, heavy angst, romance, conflicted feelings, dehumanization, hurt/comfort, character death, mourning, loneliness, pain, humor, guilt, trauma, pining, complicated relationship, emotional distress, grief, canon related violence, emotional abuse, physical abuse, social isolation, depiction of character death, depiction of dehumanization, depiction of canon related violence, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of emotional and physical abuse, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of illness, mention of loneliness, mention of dehumanization;

WORD COUNT: 16k words

NOTE: this was supposed to be posted much earlier but my glasses broke and i have to wear contact lenses, but its rough. my eyes hurt but i wanted to put this out there for yall. i need to get new frames for my glasses, so let's hope i can do that later or tomorrow!!! i adore alien stage and i was really stuck on stage 6, which is ivantill going at it. and so i wanted to write about it in a fic, but with sukuna. this is not an easy thing for people to read as alien stage explores a lot of dynamics, including dehumanization, trauma, violence and other things. so please be careful, i tagged what it containsfor a reason!!! in any case, i think you'll be able to read nanami's much easier. i hope you continue to look forward to it!!! anyway, i'll see you then. i love you all <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 2000;

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU’VE ALWAYS WONDERED ABOUT STARS. Everything about them is a curiosity to you, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. The stars, once distant and unknowable, had always felt like something you could only admire from afar—faint whispers of a universe too vast to comprehend, scattered far beyond the grasp of your outstretched hand.

But then the aliens arrived, and the stars transformed. They were no longer untouchable pinpricks in the night sky; they became tangible, living, breathing beings.

And one of them, Starlight, became more than a friend, more than a visitor from the cosmos. They became yours. Not in the way one claims possession of something, but in the way their very presence seemed to stitch itself into the fabric of your existence.

Starlight was radiant, their shimmering, soft luminescence enveloping you like a gentle embrace. Their light didn’t burn; it soothed, warm and alive. They spoke not with words, but with a gentle hum that resonated deep in your chest, as though they were singing to the very rhythm of your heart. When they were near, the world felt softer, brighter. They were your everything, your universe, encapsulating all of your childish self.

Their curiosity mirrored your own, eyes (or something like them) wide as they marveled at the simplest human things: the way you brewed tea, the way the rain danced against your window, the way you laughed when you thought no one was listening. And in return, you marveled at them. They were a marvel, a being from the stars. And yet somehow so achingly familiar to you.

Every moment you both shared felt like secrets whispered between galaxies.It was endless excitement, especially for you who was still growing into yourself.

They would lift a glowing hand to the sky, and the stars would twinkle in reply, as if winking just for you. And when the weight of life pressed too heavily on your shoulders, when you missed home — you were reminded that you were already home. Because you were with Starlight.

Starlight was unlike anyone you’d ever known. Their presence was a tapestry of light and sound, shifting and shimmering in ways that no human words could fully capture. They were, without a doubt, the kindest of all the aliens you’d encountered—something you hadn’t thought possible in your tumultuous travels across the stars.

They never looked down on you, never acted superior. They never raised their voice or lashed out, never gave you cause to cry or to feel small. No, Starlight was different. They listened, truly listened, and their responses carried a patience and understanding that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket.

And they had this way of making you smile, even when you thought the weight of the universe would crush you. It was as though their very essence carried an unspoken promise: You are not alone.

You weren’t sure when it started, but somehow, you began to notice that you made them smile too. Well, if "smile" was the right word for the way their luminous form would pulse and shimmer with vibrant, joyful hues. It wasn’t until the day you sang that you truly understood how much you’d touched them.

You had been sitting by the viewing port, staring out at the swirling nebulae, the colors dancing in the void. The melody had come to you unbidden, a quiet hum at first, then blooming into words you hadn’t sung since you were a child. Your voice filled the chamber, mingling with the hum of the ship's systems. It wasn’t a grand performance, just something small and raw. But it was enough.

When you turned, Starlight was there. They were looking at you, their form trembling with flickering pulses of color you’d never seen before. It was awe-striking to see for the first time, who they truly are.

Those vibrant deep ambers and rich violets that seemed to ripple like a heartbeat. Their light dimmed for a moment as though catching its breath. Then, their glow intensified, and you realized they were weeping.

Tears? Could they cry? You’d never thought to ask before.

“Starlight?” you asked hesitantly, standing. “Did I... do something wrong?”

They stepped—or rather, floated—closer, their luminescence washing over you in a gentle cascade. They shook their heads at you, almost too reassuringly. Their hand rested against your head and traced the strings of your hair with soothing echoes.

“Wrong?” Their voices vibrated like chimes caught in a soft breeze. “No, little one. What you’ve done is beyond beautiful.”

You tilted your head, still unsure. “But... you’re crying?”

They seemed to shimmer with quiet laughter at your confusion. “Your voice.” they said, “it carries something special. It reminds me of home, of frequencies long since lost to my kind.”

“Lost?” you echoed, sitting back down. “How can sound be lost?”

“It’s not just sound, little one.” Starlight explained, their glow shifting into softer, warmer tones. “It’s emotion, memory. My people... we’ve forgotten how to feel them as you do. Your song brought them back, if only for a moment.”

You felt your cheeks flush red, unsure how to respond to such an overwhelming compliment. “I-I see. But I….I still did not want to….I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Their light brightened again, wrapping you in warmth. “Tears are not always sorrow, my dear little one. Sometimes they are the purest form of joy.”

For a while, you both sat in silence, the vastness of space your only witness. Then, tentatively, you asked, “Would you like to hear another song?”

Starlight’s form pulsed with an eager glow ethereally happy. “I would be honored.”

Over time, you grew fonder of that voice of yours. That voice of yours that harmonizes to what the other aliens called singing. What once felt like a mere habit became a passion, nurtured by the joy Starlight showed in your songs. Starlight delighted you in every way they could, bringing melodies from across the cosmos to inspire you.

They filled your world with sounds and instruments. At times, they would bring you little boxes they often called on Earth as music boxes. You had to crank it up over and over to hear those little sounds hum its tune.

You don’t remember much about Earth at all, but those melodies were haunting refrains from distant moons, rhythmic pulses from pulsar dances. They were beautiful. At times you wondered, is this what Earth people like?

You were thankful for everything Starlight would do for you. In return, you wanted to delight them too. So, you tried your best all the time, to sing. You sang for Starlight’s guests—beings of every shape, size, and light. And with time, they too grew fond of your voice.

Their praises were frequent, full of admiration. Their luminescent forms often shifted with excitement as they spoke about you after your performances. That’s when the whispers began from each and everyone of them when they came around. They tried to be quiet, but they were always loud enough to be heard. Not only by you, but ever so clearly, your Starlight.

“Bring your pet to the Alien Stage.” they’d say to Starlight, their voices rippling like waves. “Surely, they’d win the crowd over.”

The first time someone said it, you noticed the subtle change in Starlight’s glow—a flicker, almost imperceptible. Their eyes, usually brimming with warmth, grew wide with tension. They would shake their head in a proud, head-strong manner.

“No.” they said simply, their tone firm, though the words hummed low, almost mournful. “I will not.”

But none of them were deterred by each refusal. If anything, that only made the urge stronger, with each and every time you sang in their presence. Each time the suggestion came up, however, Starlight’s refusal was the same, unwavering. Each time, it was a hard pressing refusal. Over and over again, it was — “No.”

At first, you didn’t think much of it. You didn’t even know what Alien Stage was. But as the guests chatted, your curiosity grew. You overheard them talking with excitement about the performances, the music, the awe-inspiring singers from every corner of the universe.

They’d list the names of their favorites, their voices buzzing with admiration. Some even mentioned their own “pets” performing there, beings like you, brought to the stage to dazzle the multitudes.

Your eyes widened at every detail. The way they spoke of it made the stage sound like a dream. This seemed like a place where voices transcended worlds, where songs could echo through the cosmos itself.

You started to imagine yourself there, standing before an audience of countless beings, your voice reaching further than you ever thought possible. Maybe Starlight would be proud of you. Maybe they’d adore you even more if you proved your worth on that stage.

One day, your resolve solidified. You approached Starlight, your heart pounding with nervous excitement. “I want to sing for others. Not just for you, but for everyone. I want to sing on that stage. And make them as happy as I had made you!”

The moment the words left your lips, Starlight’s glow dimmed, their light trembling like a flickering flame caught in a draft. It was the first time you’d ever seen them falter. “You don’t understand what you’re asking, little one.” they murmured, their usually harmonious voice tinged with unease.

“Why not?” you asked, stepping closer. “I want to share my voice with everyone too, Starlight. Isn’t that what music is for?”

Their glow wavered, their colors shifting to muted tones. “The Alien Stage... it’s not kind. It’s not about music, not truly. It's a spectacle. You are not a spectacle. You’re not a commodity, certainly not my pet, no matter how they insist so. I won’t let them turn you into something you are not.”

You blinked, taken aback. “But... the others, your friends—they said their pets perform there. They’re fine, aren’t they?”

Starlight’s light flared briefly, a rare burst of frustration. “Fine? Is that what they told you? Do you know what happens when the universe gets bored of a song? When will the novelty fades?” They quieted, their voice dropping to a near whisper. “You’re my melody. My little one. I won’t let you be taken from me.”

Their words stung, but you couldn’t let go of the yearning in your heart. “My songs aren’t meant to stay here, Starlight. They’re like you—meant to travel, to touch others, to spark something in their hearts. Don’t you see? This is what I want.”

For a long moment, silence hung between you, heavy and unyielding. Then, finally, Starlight dimmed further, their light softening into a pale, reluctant glow. They looked distraught, nervous. They seemed to look close to tears.

“If this is truly what you desire, little one.” they said, their voice trembling. “Then I will take you somewhere to help you. But promise me, no matter what happens, you’ll remember that you’re more than a song. You’re more than what they might try to make of you.”

“I promise.” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

Starlight didn’t respond right away. Instead, they reached out, their light brushing against you in a gesture that felt both protective and sorrowful. You looked up to them, blinking in confusion. At this moment, you still never truly knew what these complex gazes meant. You were still a child, after all.

“Then I will help prepare you for the stage.” they said at last. “But know this: the universe can be a cruel audience.”

You nodded at them. They can only pierce their lips in a tight line. “I’ll send you somewhere safe, where you can learn." they said, their glow dim but steady. "Anakt Garden. They’ll teach you, nurture you. But promise me this: don’t let them take your essence away."

Anakt Garden was unlike anything you’d ever imagined. It was an orbital sanctuary, a massive structure built to mimic nature but filled with the impossible beauty of alien design. The fields glowed faintly, shifting in color as the air pulsed with an almost musical hum. Trees stretched high, their leaves shimmering like glass, and the ground beneath your feet felt soft, warm, alive.

Other children were there. And you realized that they were humans like you. The pets they were talking about like you. You hadn’t expected that all humans were pets. You had only known what Starlight told you about the universe.

Still each human child in their own right was unique in their presence. Some carried the same nervous energy you felt; others radiated confidence. It was comforting, in a way, to see so many dreamers gathered in one place. All of them yearn to sing, as much as you do. That had made you smile for the first time, the first time since parting from Starlight.

And then there was Ryomen Sukuna.

The first time you saw him, he was sitting under one of the bizarre trees, his pink hair like a fuschia flame against the soft glow of the Garden. He seemed at least a bit older than you. But you found him to be a fair face.

He had a presence that demanded attention, his sharp scarlet eyes daring anyone to look away. Where the other children were careful and obedient, Ryomen Sukuna was bold, loud, and entirely unapologetic. And with the way everyone spoke about him, he seemed to be a lone wolf. A persona non grata in a group of these jolly children.

Yet, when you first heard him sing, you were awestruck. You stood there, listening as though he was growing something in you. Like a flower that has been waiting to bloom. Everything in the air shifted when he sang like he was crying out for something to be heard.

Of course, His voice wasn’t polished or restrained; it was raw, powerful, and full of an unyielding intensity. It shook something loose inside you, something you hadn’t realized you’d been holding back. You couldn’t help but gulp, you wanted to be just like him too. You wanted to be as good as him, blessed with such a wonder of a voice too.

Sukuna being good at singing had lit a fire in you, one you hadn’t fully realized was there until now. Watching him perform was like witnessing a storm in motion. It was wild, untamed, and utterly captivating. Everything about him would make anyone feel like the world should revolve around him. And you wanted that too.

You wanted to capture that vibrance too. You wanted to be good. You wanted to make Starlight proud. You wanted to sing. Sing like you were the best in the world. It made you want to push yourself further, to become better, to chase the same freedom he seemed to command so effortlessly.

You started practicing harder than ever, retreating to one of the isolation cells to hone your voice. Day in and day out, you sang, the emptiness of the chamber amplifying your every note. Sometimes you sang until your throat was raw, until your limbs ache from exhaustion. You forgot to eat more often than you cared to admit, too focused on perfecting your craft.

And yet, despite all your effort, you knew you were holding back. It wasn’t hard to tell that you were. And that frustrated you to no end. It wasn’t that you couldn’t reach those soaring heights or push into the raw, emotional depths you heard in Sukuna’s voice. It was that you didn’t let yourself.

Of course, Ryomen Sukuna was quick to notice.

With those sharp eyes of his, he always noticed.

“You’re good.” he said to you one day, his tone deceptively casual.

He leaned against the doorway to the cell, arms crossed, his sharp scarlet gaze cutting through you like a blade.You couldn’t help but glance up from where you sat on the cold sterile floor, startled. You hadn’t heard him come in.

“Thank you.” you muttered, unsure how to take the compliment.

“But you’re holding back.” he added, his voice laced with amusement as he stepped closer. His smirk was as infuriating as it was challenging. “Why?”

You hesitated, your heart sinking under the weight of Starlight’s words—the warnings, the fear in their trembling light. You wanted to sing, you wanted to be the best. But you had to be true to what your Starlight said. You had to.

“I don’t want to disappoint my guardian.” you admitted quietly. “They’re afraid I’ll lose myself if I go too far.”

Sukuna tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was halfway to solving. Then he snorted, his grin widening into something both cocky and strangely reassuring. It was almost irritating. And yet, he had the right to be smug. He had it all figured out. All too well.

“Lose yourself? You? Nah.” He crouched down to your level, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. “If anything, you’re too afraid to find yourself.”

The words hit harder than you expected, leaving you speechless. Ryomen Sukuna laughs for a moment before he leaned in closer, his laughter dying down. It was soon replaced by a sly smirk softening into something that almost felt like encouragement.

“You’ve got fire in you, you know that?” he said, his voice low but insistent. “I can hear it in your voice, even when you try to hide it. You’re scared of what happens if you let it out, aren’t you?”

You opened your mouth to argue but stopped. He wasn’t wrong. Some of the people here are favorites of many aliens who had come to Starlight’s home as guests. And Sukuna was one of them. And some of them whispered here about what the contest was like. Even more, you were without Starlight. They won’t be coming back until the next visiting day.

He was right, he seems to always be right. You were afraid, sometimes feeling that fear of the unknown. That lack of security. That echo of loneliness. Of course you were scared.. You were but a child. And you don’t know much about this world.

“It’s not about them.” he continued, his tone firm now. “Not your guardian, not the stage, not anyone else. It’s about you. You wanted to join because you wanted to sing, right? Then do it for yourself.”

Your brows furrowed. “But I—”

“No ifs, no buts. You’ve got something special, something that deserves to be heard. And if you keep locking it away, you’re not just letting them down—you’re letting yourself down.”

His words lingered in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.You swallowed hard, feeling a spark of something new—courage, maybe, or defiance. Is it all that, you wonder? Or is just a phantom of a feeling. You didn’t know, truly. But his words made you feel like a fire was burning inside of you. And even if you didn’t know what it was…..at least it was there, long enough to keep you from sorrows.

“And what if I let it out and it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna’s smirk turned into a genuine smile, rare and disarming. “Then you keep going. You mess up, you fall, you sing again. That’s how you find your edge. That’s how you find you.”

He straightened up, his presence still larger than life even as he turned to leave. “Next time I hear you, lamb.” Sukuna called over his shoulder, causing you to blink as he called you a new name. “Don’t hold back. Let the fire burn.”

You sat there in the quiet for a long time after he left, his words echoing in your mind. Maybe Ryomen Sukuna was right. Maybe it was time to stop holding yourself back. Maybe it’s time to let that fire you feel be more than just a feeling. You took a deep breath, and looked at your music sheets again. It was time to practice once more.

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YOU FIND THAT YOU DWELL IN THE SAME AXIS AS SUKUNA. Somehow, you and Sukuna understood each other better than most in the Garden. It wasn’t something either of you spoke about outright. Well, there was no place for that here, after all.

So, there were no flowery declarations of kinship or shared confessions under the stars. But it was there, an unspoken connection that threaded between your interactions, subtle yet undeniable.

At first glance, it didn’t make much sense at all. You couldn’t be more different. Sukuna, with his razor-sharp confidence and unapologetic boldness, seemed to command the space around him, every action deliberate and brimming with power. You, on the other hand, felt smaller, quieter, more uncertain of your place among the dazzling figures who roamed the Garden.

And yet, despite your differences or maybe because of them, you felt natural around each other. Conversations flowed without effort, even in their silences. He could sit beside you, offering no more than a teasing smirk or a dry comment, and you wouldn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with needless words. Somehow, it was enough just to share the same space, like two stars orbiting the same unseen gravity.

Perhaps it was the way you each carried something hidden beneath the surface, something you rarely shared with others. Sukuna, for all his bluster, carried a weight in his eyes, a history that lingered in the way he sometimes stared into the distance, his smirk slipping into something more thoughtful. You had your own burdens, your own doubts, ones you tried to shield behind polite smiles and quiet resolve.

It wasn’t that you talked about those things. At least not directly. But there were moments, fleeting and unguarded, where the weight of what you both carried seemed to align. In those moments, you’d catch him watching you, his gaze softer than usual, as though he saw through the walls you’d built. And you knew, somehow, that you could see through him too.

Even when your worlds didn’t overlap most of the time. When his passions and his sharp-edged confidence clashed with your quieter, more careful nature, there was still some well founded common ground in the simplicity of understanding. There was no judgment between you, no need to prove yourselves to one another.

Sukuna didn’t try to push you into his shadow, and you didn’t shrink from the light he cast. And perhaps, that’s what you liked the most about him. He didn’t change anything with how he treated you or how he interacted with you. He was just himself. And you were just who you were.

For all the chaos and politics surrounding the Garden, where alliances shifted like the wind and friendships often felt transactional, what you had with Ryomen Sukuna was refreshingly uncomplicated. It wasn’t about competition or gaining favor. It was just... real.

And maybe that’s why, despite having little in common, you felt natural with him. You didn’t need to explain yourselves to each other. Somehow, you just knew.That was for the better, if you were truly saying it bluntly.

The shimmering beauty of Anakt Garden couldn’t hide its truth: it was a terrifyingly stifling place. Every moment was monitored, every move scrutinized by the alien caretakers. Their intentions were kind, but their constant observation weighed heavy, leaving you feeling like a butterfly pinned under glass.

Ryomen Sukuna hated it. He wouldn’t even be here if his guardian wasn’t insistent on making use of him like a pet who made him a lot of money— of course, just as much to isolate him from the scandals and troubles he creates as a performer.

You heard rumors about all of that, but you weren’t sure if they were true. You don’t want to cross a boundary with Sukuna, something he was unwilling to talk about as much as something he never truly decides to talk to you about.

But it was obvious in all the other ways, you suppose. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened whenever the caretakers hovered too long, their cold, clinical voices reminding you to stay on schedule, to follow their precise instructions. He never said anything outright in their presence, but the tension in his body was impossible to miss. His hands would curl into loose fists, his eyes narrowing like he was fighting the urge to lash out.

It wasn’t just their commands that grated on him—it was their entire approach. The way they treated you, and everyone else in the Garden, as projects, toys to play with rather than souls who deserve respect.

To this part of the galaxy, human children were their tools to be honed, performances to be perfected. You didn’t need to ask how he felt about it; his disdain was evident in every clipped word and icy glare he threw their way and how much he does not care for their discipline and in the worst cases, punishment.

You worry about him, about his defiances. But you know he’s been through this before, and he was a veteran. Ryomen Sukuna has lived through the experience. You could see it in his eyes, how much he hated the Garden. And just as much, how much he hated how this is affecting you. He hated seeing you go through this too.

One evening, after a particularly grating session where the caretakers had spent far too long critiquing your pitch and posture, you found Sukuna waiting for you under one of the glowing trees in the Garden. The soft luminescence of the tree’s branches cast him in an almost ethereal light, though the storm cloud brewing in his expression was anything but serene.

He didn’t say anything at first as you approached slowly, just patted the ground beside him in an unspoken invitation. You sat, letting out a long sigh, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your shoulders.

“They don’t get it.” Sukuna muttered finally, breaking the silence. His voice was low, angry, but there was an edge of frustration that wasn’t entirely aimed at the caretakers. “They think they can mold us into their stupid little visions.”

You glanced at him, his face partially obscured by the shadows of the tree’s light. “Maybe that’s just how they think things work.” you said softly, even though you didn’t fully believe your own words. “They’re just trying to help us... be better.”

Sukuna snorted, his lip curling into a derisive smirk. “Help? Is that what you call it, little lamb? Barking orders, telling you to strip everything raw until there’s nothing left but their idea of ‘perfect’? Yeah, really helpful.”

You didn’t reply right away. There was truth in what he said, he knew it more than you. That was the truth of that. But the caretakers had a way of making you feel like you couldn’t question them, like they knew what was best.

And even then, you were the one who wanted to be here in the first place. You had asked Starlight to let you be on that stage, happily so. You wanted to sing for the universe. For all the galaxies to see and hear. You chose your poison, your suffering. You had to make your bed and deal with it too.

Sukuna turned to you then, his sharp gaze piercing through your silence. “You’re already perfect, okay? Don’t listen to them, little lamb.” he said, his voice quieter now, but no less intense. “They just can’t see it.”

The words caught you off guard, scarlet warmth rising to your cheeks despite the weight in your chest. “I’m not... I mean, I’m trying to be better.” you stammered, looking away. “I want to be good enough.”

He leaned closer, his expression softening just a fraction. “Good enough for who? Them? You think their approval is worth breaking yourself over?”

You hesitated, your hands fidgeting in your lap. “I just... I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened again, but this time his anger felt different. You were good at reading his emotions by now. You had seen his eyes too much to not know what they felt. And when it comes to you, they shine with a protective glow almost all the time.

“Listen to me, little lamb.” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re not some tool for them to shape, alright? You’ve got something real, something no one else has. Don’t let them take that away from you.”

You met his gaze, unsure of how to respond. There was something raw in his expression, something that felt startlingly vulnerable. For all his bravado, Sukuna wasn’t just angry for the sake of it, he never was. You knew him too well for you not to know that. He genuinely cared.

“Thank you, ‘kuna.” you said quietly, the word feeling small but sincere.

He leaned back against the tree, his smirk returning, though it was softer this time. “Don’t thank me yet. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t let them dim your light. You’re better than their rules, their schedules. You’re better than all of it.”

His words settled over you like a protective shield, bolstering you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. And as the glow of the tree cast shifting patterns across the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. You want to start thinking that maybe he was right. Maybe you didn’t need their version of perfection. Maybe you could find your own.

With each passing day, his company as much as his protectiveness became your anchor in the Garden’s isolating world. When the pressure of always being watched felt too heavy, Ryomen Sukuna was there to remind you that you weren’t alone. He had a way of drawing you out of your own thoughts, pulling you into his world where the rules didn’t seem to matter.

He started making you little gifts, sometimes when it was the get together activities. He was crude about it but you found that he does endearing work for delicate, endearing things by his own hand for you. He was good at it, with how he cobbled together from whatever he could find around the Garden.

Today, it was a bracelet made of woven grasses that glowed faintly in the dark. A carved fragment of one of the brazenly bright trees, etched with symbols and letters that only he could explain. You gasped as he showed it to you once he was finally done.

"It’s a good luck charm, little lamb. It’s all written in a human language, from long ago. " he said to you tenderly, pressing a small, smooth stone into your hand. It was warm, as if it had been sitting in sunlight. "To keep you safe. You need it here."

But sometimes, it wasn’t just those he gave to you. Sukuna would sometimes write you songs, too. He was more advanced with that than you in his classes. It’s why he sometimes gets bored attending the classes. Sometimes he also teaches you, when there are things that confuse you about the lessons or if they are going too fast.

Sometimes it was hard to read through it all. His thoughts go by so fast that he ends up writing without thinking about it. You giggle sometimes when he hands you page after page to go through them. They were always good songs, of course they were. But his writing was always something that was ever so special about it all.

But his handwriting was messy, scrawled on scraps of paper or even on his own arm when he ran out of space. He would get flustered about it sometimes, too. But you never chastised him for that. If anything, it was because he was born a genius of music.

He was born to create melodies that could move anyone in this life—human or alien. His music wasn’t just sound; it was an experience, a force of nature. It’s why he was a favorite of so many who tuned into Alien Stage.

His songs weren’t polished or rehearsed to the point of sterility. No, they were raw, defiant, and unapologetically alive. Every note, every lyric burned with fire, passion, and a kind of honesty that left no room for pretense.

And yet, for all their intensity, nothing could compare to the moments when he sang just for you. In those moments, the wild edges of his music softened. The defiance was still there, but it felt different. Everything about it was more tender, like an ember rather than a roaring flame.

When he played his guitar, the ink on the page didn’t seem as smudged, the chords didn’t feel as jagged. It was as though the very essence of the music shifted, reshaping itself into something gentler, something just for you.

When he sang for you, it wasn’t about proving anything or conquering the stage. It wasn’t about anyone else. It was personal. It was for his little lamb. And his little lamb, who was the softest voice that tendered anyone’s soul, he was sure to want to do the same. He wanted to make your soul a little less heavier in this stifling place.

“You bring out the quiet in me, little lamb.” he admitted one night, his voice low and almost shy, a stark contrast to his usual boldness.

The two of you sat together under the alien sky, its vibrant hues dancing like living brushstrokes across the horizon. His guitar rested idly on his lap, his fingers brushing absentmindedly over the strings.You tilted your head, caught off guard by the vulnerability in his tone.

“You? Quiet? I don’t believe it, ‘kuna.” you teased, grinning as you nudged his shoulder.

He smirked, though there was an unmistakable softness in his expression. “Don’t get used to it, little lamb.” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching into something halfway between a grin and a pout. “I’ve got a reputation to keep for all the galaxy, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. “Oh, I’ll treasure it while it lasts, then. The great Sukuna, soft-spoken and sweet. Who would’ve thought?”

“Careful, now.” he warned, though there was no bite in his words. “Keep talking like that, and I might have to write a song about how annoying you are.”

You gasped in mock offense, placing a hand dramatically over your chest. “Annoying? Me? I’m the one inspiring all this ‘quiet’. I’d like to correct you on that, thank you very much.”

“Fair point, little lamb.” he conceded, chuckling as he leaned back on his hands. He glanced at you then, his crimson eyes catching the light of the sky, and for a moment, he looked at peace.

“I always make good points.” You giggled back at him.

“But don’t go thinking this is all for you.” he added, his voice playful but his gaze lingering on yours. “It’s just... easier when you’re around. The chaos doesn’t feel so loud.”

Your laughter softened, fading into a gentle smile. “Maybe it’s because you don’t have to be anything but yourself when you’re with me.”

He stilled, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he let out a quiet hum. “Yeah, I suppose.” he said finally, almost to himself. “Maybe that’s it.”

And as the vast expanse of the foreign sky shimmered above you, you couldn’t help but think that whatever quiet he found in your presence, it was mutual. Something about him, about these stolen moments, made the rest of the universe feel distant and unimportant. It was just you, him, and the melody he always seemed to carry.

For just a moment, the Garden didn’t feel so heavy tonight.

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YOU WERE SURPRISED AT YOUR PROGRESS. Just as much, everyone else was too. The caretakers and the teachers began to notice the shift in you. It was impossible for them not to. Your voice had grown stronger, more confident, and your performances carried a depth they hadn’t seen before from you.

They praised you for your progress, their clinical smiles and approving nods a stark contrast to their usual detached demeanor. But their accolades rang hollow. They had no idea that their rigid schedules and suffocating structure weren’t the reason for your growth. It wasn’t their drills or corrections that had helped you blossom. All that work was done by Ryomen Sukuna.

When you felt like the weight of their expectations was too much to bear, Sukuna was the one who reminded you of the fire burning within you. When doubt crept into your mind, whispering that you’d never be good enough, it was Sukuna who sat with you under the glowing trees and told you to keep going.

“They can watch us all they want, little lamb.” Sukuna said to you, with a furrowed brow.

But then he yawned, his head resting against the false bark. His fuschia hair caught the golden light filtering through the Garden’s strange sky. He was exhausted from the evaluations today, he was up longer than some of the other kids. So after all that, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He leaned against a twisted, luminous tree, arms crossed, his usual smirk replaced by something fiercer, more protective. He wasn’t there for your evaluations, but with how the results came out — he had a right to reassure you.

You had barely made the top ten of the class. And that terrified you. Being top ten meant that you wouldn’t suffer more remedial classes. You were already exhausted from practicing all month for the evaluations. You didn’t need a repeat of it again.

Sukuna did not believe in the ranking for the evaluations. If anything he hated it. He may have been at the first place mark now, but this doesn’t mean that it meant anything. It wasn’t any of the teachers who will give you points at the live shows. It would be the audience. What the audience wants is often not what the teachers like.

“They’ll never understand what you’re capable of.” He tells you brazenly. “And I’ll make sure they don’t break you. Don’t worry about that.”

You looked up at him, his words stirring something deep inside you. “You really think I can do it?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

His gaze softened, the fire in his crimson eyes still blazing but tempered with something gentler. “I don’t think so. I know.” he said firmly, stepping closer to you.

“I just….” You purse your lips into a small line, lowering your gaze.

“You’ve got more heart in your little finger than any of those caretakers have in their whole soulless existence. They’re just trying to shape you into what they think you should be. But you? You’re already enough. More than enough.”

You felt a lump in your throat, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard. “It’s hard sometimes.” you admitted, your voice wavering. “To keep believing in myself when they’re always... pushing. Always watching.”

Sukuna crouched down in front of you, his expression unusually serious. “Then stop doing it for them, little lamb.” he said, his voice low but unwavering. “Do it for you. Never for them. They’ll never understand joy the way you do about singing. They’re just a bunch of pricks who want to make money. You’re amazing, okay? You got that? ”

His words struck a chord in you, and you nodded, a small smile breaking through your doubt. “Yeah.” you whispered.

“Good.” he said, straightening up and offering you a hand. “Because when we’re out of here, the whole universe is gonna know your name. And I’ll be right there with you, making sure they hear you loud and clear.”

The idea of a life beyond the Garden. That was something you’d barely dared to dream of, but now it seemed suddenly felt tangible. With Sukuna by your side, with Starlight on the other side of you.

Somehow, with him, the Garden’s walls didn’t seem so high or so suffocating. You started to dream again. You wanted to dream again. Not just of performing for others but of living, truly living, free from the caretakers’ rules and expectations.

“You really think we’ll get out of here?” you asked one evening, as you both sat under the alien sky. “And be together?”

Sukuna leaned back on his elbows, gazing up at the shimmering lights above. “Of course we will,” he said confidently. “They can’t keep us here forever. And when we’re out, I’ll show you what real freedom looks like. No rules, no schedules, little lamb. It’ll be just us and the stars.”

You laughed softly, the sound carrying a mix of hope and longing. “Sounds like a dream.”

“It’s not a dream, little lamb.” he said, turning to look at you. “It’s a promise.”

And though the path ahead was uncertain, with obstacles and risks you couldn’t yet see, you knew one thing for sure: as long as Sukuna was with you, as long as his voice called you forward and his presence anchored you, you could face whatever came next.

And so, life in Anakt Garden continued, the days blending together in a cycle of practice, observation, and fleeting moments of stolen freedom with Sukuna. The caretakers pushed you even harder, their teachings were continually becoming a relentless scrutiny that was even more suffocating than before.

They wanted perfection, polished and pristine, a voice that could embody the harmony they imagined humanity should be. After all, they wanted a good show. Perfection was the only way to make that good show happen. But you weren’t perfect by their standards. Neither was Sukuna, and you didn’t want to be — not anymore.

You just wanted to sing together with Sukuna forever.

"You ever notice how quiet it gets here at night?" Sukuna said one evening, lying beside you under the alien trees. The Garden's soft glow reflected in his sharp eyes, making them look like twin stars. "It’s too perfect. Like they’ve sucked all the realness out of this place."

You nodded, your chest heavy with the truth of his words. The Garden’s beauty often felt like a trap, a cage made of light and silence. Artificial as it may be, it at least provided some solace to you when the times were rough.

"They think if it’s quiet enough, we’ll forget what it feels like to be loud." he continued, his voice tinged with frustration. "But you and me? We shouldn’t be so willing to be quiet, you know?"

Those words stayed with you. And from that moment on, you started to see more of why Ryomen Sukuna was what he was to the caretakers and the teachers. He wanted to live. He wanted to be free. And the only way to be free was defiance. And you slowly but surely, you also became one with him in that too.

He began sneaking out of his quarters late at night to find you. Together, you’d climb the shimmering trees or sit on the glowing grass, whispering plans for the future. He talked about stages that stretched across galaxies, places where no one would tell you how to sing, where your voices could echo freely into the stars.

"I’ll write you the best songs, little lamb. Even better than what I already gave you." he promised to you. His tone was softer than usual. "Songs so good they’ll make the stars jealous."

“You are making quite big promises, don’t you think?” You tease him, giggling as you read over his newest piece. “This would make the stars jealous.”

"Yeah, because they’re our songs." he’d say, his smirk softening as he handed you another crumpled page. "No one else gets to have something as good as this. Not even the stars. Only you.”

“Only me?” Your eyes brightened at his words.

He smiled back at you once more. “Only you.”

But as much as Sukuna comforted you, you could see the way the Garden wore on him, too. The more you get to know him, the more he tells you about his experiences here. They were of course not going into all the details. He doesn’t want to regale you with sorrow.

Yet all that he says were consistent with his previous experiences. And each and every time he came back, he just hated it even more. The constant surveillance, the endless demands, the lack of freedom. It was like watching a wildfire struggle to burn in a room with no air. And no one was getting out without getting burned.

"They’re never going to let us leave, are they?" you asked him another night, the weight of the question pressing down on you like a stone.

Sukuna turned to you, his gaze fierce. "Not on our terms if they have their way, no. But that doesn’t mean we won’t get out."

"What do you mean?" You furrowed your brows quizzically at him. “Sukuna, what do you mean by that?”

He grinned, the kind of grin that sent a thrill down your spine because it meant he had a plan. "I’m working on something. Just... trust me, yeah?"

And you did. You always trusted him.

How could you not trust him?

He was all you had in this wretched place.

In the meantime, Sukuna never let the Garden take your spirit. When you were too tired to sing, he’d hum quietly for you, his voice a low, comforting rumble. When you felt trapped, he’d find a way to make you laugh.

Sometimes there was a sly joke here and there. Sometimes a sarcastic comment, or even an impromptu, over-the-top performance that earned him a scolding from the caretakers. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was that you smiled.

"You keep me sane, you know that?" you told him one night, the two of you leaning against each other beneath the alien sky.

"Good." he replied, his voice soft but steady. "Because you keep me grounded too."

You liked to think that when he smiled then, you realized you loved him.

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THIS WAS NOT WHAT YOU HAD IMAGINED IT TO BE. You had not wanted this to happen, not ever. But it has. You willingly walked into this stage. But you didn't know any better. You didn't know.

Alien Stage was supposed to be your moment, the culmination of all the practice, dreams, and songs you had poured your soul into. And yet, this was not the truth. It never was.

As you stood in the staging area, waiting for your name to be called, your chest felt tight. No, you don’t think it was the nerves. No, it had to be something darker. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

You could see it in Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes too. That pool of dread. That horror. He didn’t say anything outright, but his normally fiery demeanor had simmered into something quieter, sharper. As you waited, he stayed close, his presence grounding you in the chaos of the moment.

When your name echoed through the chamber, the sound bouncing off the crystalline walls like a bell tolling for the inevitable, Sukuna reached out without hesitation. His hand found your arm, his grip firm, almost desperate, as though letting go would send you spiraling into the unknown forever.

"Hey." he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. It lacked the usual bravado, the teasing edge you’d grown so used to. Instead, it carried something raw, something unguarded. "No matter what happens out there… sing. Don’t stop. Make sure you sing well. You have to win. Okay?"

His words were sharp and urgent, and the intensity of his gaze made your heart skip a beat. You nodded, but confusion flickered across your face. Ryomen Sukuna had never been this way with you before—so vulnerable, so unlike his usual self.

"Okay." you managed to whisper, though your voice wavered. "I will. I promise."

He didn’t let go, not right away. His grip loosened slightly, his thumb brushing your sleeve in a way that felt almost absentminded. You could feel your breath quiver at his touch, you looked at him for a moment, trying to take it all in. All of him in.

"Okay." he muttered, his eyes dropping for a brief moment before meeting yours again. "Sing as hard as you can. I’ll be here. Waiting for you. No matter what.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a cloak, warm and heavy. "Sukuna… why are you saying this now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His smirk returned, but it was softer this time, tinged with something that looked suspiciously like worry. "Someone has to tell you that they’re waiting. I have to. So you’ll come back.”

You blinked, a small laugh escaping you despite the tension. “I’ll always come back. You know that.”

You could see his jaw tighten at your words. “Yeah. I know.”

The announcement once again rang out for the start, perhaps even louder this time, signaling your final call. He finally let go of your arm, his hand lingering just a second too long before he stepped back.

"Go, little lamb." he said, his voice firmer now. "Show them what you’ve got."

As you turned to walk toward the stage, the gravity of the moment hit you. His words, his touch, his uncharacteristic vulnerability. You know that they weren’t just about the performance. They were about you. About everything you’d worked for, everything you meant to him, even if he couldn’t quite say it outright.

You glanced back one last time and saw him standing there, arms crossed, his fiery red hair catching the strange, otherworldly light. His smirk had returned in full, but his eyes gave him away. No, there was hope there. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of fear.

And as you stepped onto the stage, the lights blinding and the crowd’s anticipation palpable, you felt a strange sense of calm. You didn’t know why. But you could only look at it later as the calm before the storm that would change your life forever.

The space was nothing like the vibrant, celebratory arenas you’d imagined. It was stark and sterile, the kind of place that drained warmth from the air. The floor was smooth and reflective. You think that you could see your reflection if you look hard enough.

The audience or what passed for one was a collection of alien beings and floating orbs, their glowing forms pulsating with eerie rhythm. It was also broadcasting live all over the universe and even into the other galaxies.

Across from you stood your opponent. He was about your age, his dark hair messy, his expression somewhere between fear and resignation. He looked at you like he wanted to say something, but the moment passed, and the caretakers began their cold instructions.

"The match begins now." one of them announced.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as the first note left your lips. The song you sang wasn’t what they’d wanted from you. It was the rigid, controlled melodies drilled into you during practice. Instead, you poured everything into the song, letting your voice carry the raw, unfiltered emotions you’d kept hidden. Fear, hope, defiance—it was all there, spilling out into the room.

Your opponent responded, his voice trembling but undeniably beautiful. It wasn’t a battle just yet, no. In that moment, it was a conversation between lovers, having a desperate exchange to bring back a love that was near the end of its lifetime.

You sang as hard as you could, as well as you could. And you didn’t stop. But soon enough, it ended just as fast as it began. The moment the last notes faded, the orbs above began to glow, casting their silent judgment. A brilliant light radiated from your side of the stage, signaling the tally of the votes to announce your victory.

For a heartbeat, you felt relief—until you saw your opponent’s face.

His eyes widened in terror as a column of light descended from above, surrounding him in an otherworldly glow of bright red neon lights. And then you heard the gunshots. You reached out instinctively, a scream tearing from your throat, but it was too late. The light consumed him. Soon enough, it was his blood pooling down the stage.

Just a moment ago, he was something.

And now, he lay there dead, nothing.

Nothing but a pile of blood and death.

You stumbled back, your legs giving out as you collapsed to the cold, unforgiving floor. Your hands trembled, clutching at nothing, your voice gone as the weight of what had just happened crushed you. Your eyes were trembling, you couldn’t look away from what once was a living being.

Someone had approached, their serene tone in sharp contrast to the horror you felt. "Congratulations to you." they said. "You have advanced to the next round."

The words barely registered. All you could think about was the boy’s face, his fear, his voice, now silenced forever. You wanted to scream, you wanted to shout. You wanted to tell them that an innocent young boy was killed for losing, and how horrid that is. There was nothing else you could do, as they ushered you away from the sweltering blood pouring down from the stage to the audience below.

When they led you off the stage, Sukuna was waiting. His scarlet eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, he didn’t need to ask what had happened. He already knew, you didn’t have to tell him. And yet just as much, the answer was written all over your face. You don’t want to talk about it.

"They killed him, didn’t they?" he asked, his voice low, trembling with restrained fury.

You nodded, the motion barely perceptible as your body shook. Sukuna’s hands balled into fists, his jaw tightening as he pulled you into a fierce embrace. Your tears started to flow against his shoulder as you rested your chin against it.

"I should've told you to run away. I should have stopped you." he muttered, his voice cracking. "I should’ve gotten you out of here before—"

His words broke off, replaced by a heavy silence. For a long time, neither of you moved. You clung to him, your breaths shaky and uneven, his arms a shield against the unbearable truth that the stage wasn’t about music or talent or dreams.

It was a death sentence.

This is what the aliens at Starlight’s home would be excited about. This is what they gush over their human pets, children— would be doing. They would sing and they would lose and they would die. For entertainment. And you hated it. The thought of it all made you want to hurl everything in your stomach.

"They never told us." you finally whispered, your voice barely audible. "They never said what this was."

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, his scarlet eyes blazing with anger. But then there was regret. And then guilt. And then anger once again, for himself. For his stupidity.

He didn’t tell you anything either. He should have. Why didn’t he? Why didn’t he tell you? He was complicit in robbing you of your innocence. He was complicit in your grief. And even soon, your loss of life.

"They never tell how it happens. Now it’s guns.”

"But... why?"

"Because they can," he said bitterly. "Because we’re just pieces in their game."

For the first time, Ryomen Sukuna didn’t have a plan, and didn't have an answer for how to fix this. He didn’t know what to do, now that you had been robbed of what made you who you were, your humanity. Yet, all he had was you, and all you had was him.

But as you sat there, wrapped in his arms, something began to harden in you. The Aanakt Garden’s beauty, the caretakers’ promises, the Stage’s allure—it was all a lie. It will always be a lie.

It will always be a place where the cattle grows and gets ready for the slaughter. While the whole galaxy could watch. And now, you couldn’t unsee it. Now you can’t escape it. Neither could Sukuna.

"We’re getting out of here." he said finally, his voice steady but laced with steel. "I don’t care how, but we’re not staying in this hell."

And in that moment, you liked to think you believed him.

If anyone was going to get out, you think, it would be Sukuna.

And yet, that ugly feeling in your gut told you — no one escapes this.

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THE PLAN WAS AIRTIGHT, AT LEAST IT SEEMS LIKE IT. Or rather as close as it could be when desperation was your main driving force. There was some time before the next stage, where Sukuna was going to face another opponent.

And so in that time, Ryomen Sukuna had spent weeks mapping out the routines of the caretakers and teachers, and the additional security and studying their movements and making an accurate layout of the Anakt Garden. He whispered the plan to you late at night under the glowing trees, his voice steady despite the fire in his scarlet eyes.

"We’re getting out of here, little lamb." he’d said. "I’m not letting them keep us locked up like this."

You trusted him completely. You always have. Sukuna had always been your anchor, your protector in this wretched place. He was your salvation, and he will continue to be. You will escape with him. And you will see Starlight again. And you would be free, together. That was the plan.

But not all plans will go your way. No. Not at all. If anything, things will always go awry. Almost immediately, someone notices. And almost immediately, the meticulous plan that had been compromised. The alarm rings from one hall to another. And you hadn’t noticed it yet.

As you ran through the dimly lit corridors of the facility, Ryomen Sukuna leading the way with his usual reckless confidence, alarms blared. The sound pierced through the still air, loud and jarring. Your heart pounded as alien drones descended downward, their glowing forms moving with terrifying precision.

"Go!" Sukuna shouted, his voice sharp with urgency as he shoved you ahead. "I’ll hold them off!"

"No! Sukuna!" you cried, grabbing his arm. "We do this together!"

But the drones were faster. Before you could react, one of them fired a net-like energy beam that wrapped around you, pinning your arms to your sides. Sukuna roared in rage, lunging at the drone, but another blast struck him, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Run!" you screamed, but he didn’t listen.

Ryomen Sukuna never listened when it came to you.

Almost immediately after that, they had dragged you both back. And the Garden was on a lockdown. It was evident with how the glow of their containment fields cast an eerie light over the corridors, along the fully locked halls and pathways.

The cold, unyielding walls of the facility pressed in around you, each step back toward the Garden feeling heavier than the last. And you hated it. You absolutely hated it. But you hated even more that Ryomen Sukuna could not look you in the eye.

Sukuna was truly bitter about the failure.

Grievous because you were still here, trapped.

Mournful because both of you could have been free.

When you arrived, Ryomen Sukuna’s alien guardian was waiting. Starlight had always been stern, but Sukuna’s guardian was something else entirely. You were scared of them almost instantaneously.

They were a towering, cold figure with a presence that seemed to sap the air from the room. Its form shimmered with an intense, otherworldly energy, and their piercing gaze locked onto Sukuna the moment he entered in his presence. Just as much as their fist locked against his human pet’s jaw.

"You reckless little fool." the alien hissed, its voice a low, vibrating hum that resonated in your chest. "Do you understand what you’ve done?"

Sukuna spat blood onto the floor, his red eyes blazing with defiance. "Yeah. I tried to leave. And I’d do it again."

The alien’s form seemed to darken, its glow pulsing angrily. "You endangered everything. Your place here, your future—her future!" It turned its piercing gaze on you, and you shrank back instinctively. “You got sent here to straighten yourself and now you punish someone else with you? What a wretched bastard you are, aren’t you?”

"Leave her out of this." Sukuna growled, stepping in front of you despite his injuries. "If you’ve got a problem, it’s with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating, heavy with unspoken threats and the sharp bite of inevitability. The alien stood before you both, its shimmering form radiating an icy menace that cut deeper than its words. Its gaze was fixed on Sukuna, unyielding and cold, like a predator sizing up its prey.

"I warned you," the alien said, its voice devoid of the warmth it had once feigned, now reduced to a blade of frigid authority. "Just like last time. This is not a place for rebellion. It is a place of purpose, a place of order. I sent you here for that purpose. Because you’re a wretched little fool who likes trouble. And still—still—you defy any sense."

Sukuna’s laugh was sharp, bitter, and defiant, like shards of glass scattering across the floor. "And what’s the consequence, huh?" he spat, stepping forward despite the guards already inching closer. His crimson eyes burned with a rage that even the alien seemed wary of. "You’ve already threatened to kill me before. You should just do it, goddamn it. Kill me already and free me from my misery."

The alien tilted its head, as if considering the words, and then its gaze shifted to you. The moment it did, the air seemed to chill further, and your stomach twisted into knots.

“Then I should kill the girl too.” it said, its tone as casual as discussing the weather.

“You will do no such thing, sir.” One of the caretakers speaks up, as Sukuna’s guardian looks to them. “You cannot touch the property of another.”

“Surely it doesn’t matter.” His alien speaks once again, looking at you. “I doubt this girl’s alien will have any trouble replacing her–”

“No!” The word tore from your throat before you could stop it, fear coursing through you like ice.

Sukuna’s reaction was instant, explosive to your fear. His eyes widened, but only for a heartbeat before narrowing with unrestrained fury. He lunged toward the alien, his movements wild, reckless. With an intent to kill.

"You bastard! I’ll tear you limb from limb if you ever DARE touch her!”

But the guards were ready. They seized him before he could even get close, their metallic hands clamping down on his arms with a force that made you wince. He struggled against them, snarling like a caged animal, his red hair wild and his expression murderous.

“Let me go!” he roared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "You think you can threaten her? You think I’ll let you? I’ll kill you with my bare hands!"

“I’m telling you again, sir.” The alien caretaker says once more. “You cannot touch another alien’s property without them knowing. You are not their owner. You cannot punish them without their owner’s approval.”

The alien remained unfazed with what the caretaker said, its gaze shifting between you and Sukuna like a judge deliberating a sentence. They snicker at the caretaker’s words, narrowing his gaze to your frightful look. “Very well. Take my own to his sleeping cell.”

“I won’t let you! Not this time!” Sukuna screams like a wildman.

Sukuna struggles against the guards. He nearly gets away, but is quickly apprehended. He growls as he tries to attack them from the side, but they tackle him to the ground. You tried to approach him, but the caretaker pulled you away. Sukuna’s guardian lowers themselves to look at him, eye to eye.

“You will learn, you brat.” They said finally, its tone edged with finality. “Both of you will learn. Separately.”

The word hit you like a blow.

Separately.

“No, no.” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, you can’t—”

The alien ignored your protests, gesturing sharply to the guards. "I can do what I want. He is mine.” He looks at Sukuna again and snickers. “We shall have a good conversation, won’t we? Take him. Lock him where his fire can burn no one but himself."

"Sukuna!" you screamed as they dragged him away.

He fought against them with everything he had, his voice a feral growl. You too struggle against the caretaker, but no matter how much you both tried to pull from the gravity of separation, you tried to get closer. Yet it was for naught, as they managed to pull him away from your proximity. Your tears started to fall once more.

“I’ll find you!” he shouted, his eyes locking onto yours even as he was forced through the doorway. “Don’t give up! I’ll find you—I swear!”

And then he was gone.

His guardian follows behind him.

And you knew, you knew what he’ll endure.

You stood frozen, trembling, the caretaker alien’s presence looming over you like a shadow. Its gaze turned back to you, assessing. You looked to the ground, not wanting to show them the tears you were spilling for Sukuna.

“You should hope his words are hollow.” they said, its voice dripping with cold disdain. “Because hope will only destroy you.”

And with that, it turned and left, leaving you standing alone in the silence of the chamber. The absence of Sukuna’s fiery presence felt like a void threatening to swallow you whole. But even in the stillness, his last words echoed in your mind, a flicker of warmth against the growing cold. Don’t give up. I’ll find you.

And no matter what, you held on to that promise.

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THEY WERE FORCING EVERYONE TO WATCH THE NEXT ROUND. But you knew that they were doing this especially for you. You knew they were. It was Sukuna’s performance on the stage that day.

And you could see how exhausted he was, how brutalized his soul was. At some points, purple shade was peaking through his costume. You knew what that meant. And that had made you weep.

His performance had left the entire arena in a stunned silence. The lights above flickered dimly, casting long shadows that stretched across the cold, metallic floor. The haunting, heavy lyrics that poured from his lips didn’t just fill the air. Each and every word was him, each and every semblance of harmony belonged to him,

Everyone in that arena was consumed by it. Each and every note shifts the energy in the room, warping everything around him. His voice, raw and unrelenting, bled emotion. All his pain, sorrow, fury and in every word, there was a piece of him. A piece that he hadn’t shown anyone before. A piece of him that you knew and now were knowing even more.

You stood just out of sight, as caretakers wanted.You stayed hidden in the shadows just below the arena, watching as Sukuna let the song carry him. You could see the strain in his expression, the way his jaw clenched with each line.

It was as if he was born to be the song. It was as if the words themselves were a personal confession to all that were watching him The black sorrow he sang about wasn’t just an abstract emotion; it was something he had lived, something that clung to him like a second skin.

The first verse seemed to echo a truth he’d carried with him since the beginning of your time together. There was always a distance between him and everyone else. He had always been the outsider, the one who didn’t belong.

And yet, in the quiet darkness of the stage, there was you—his closest companion, the person who understood the weight of his heart. The loneliness in his voice spoke volumes: he wanted to reach someone, but there was always a wall between them, and that wall was made of sorrow, isolation, and the crushing weight of expectations.

He had sung like this for you before, in the quiet moments when he thought no one else was listening. But now, he wasn’t singing for you—he was singing for everyone. He wanted them to know his misery. He wanted them to know how much they had taken from him.

This wasn’t just him pouring out his heart to you, no. It was also for the aliens who were taking in his siren’s song. For the aliens who had taken him from his home, for the caretakers who controlled his fate, and for himself.

The chorus rang out like the final bell of a war that had no victor—only casualties. He held the mic stand closer to him. The imagery was powerful, as he tilted his head to belt out the note. Each connecting harmony was like a deep, endless sea that threatened to swallow everything in its path.

In that moment, as the echoes of Sukuna’s voice faded into the suffocating silence of the chamber you were in. There was a realization that struck you like a lightning bolt to the chest. Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just fighting the system, the Garden, or the alien overlords who sought to mold him into their image.

He was fighting something deeper, something far more insidious: the darkness that had been festering in his soul for far longer than you’d known him. That defiance, that fire that burned so brightly in him, wasn’t just rebellion.

No, it was a shield. A desperate attempt to hold back the weight of his own despair. And you hadn’t understood it then. Not fully. Not until now.

Memories of him flooded your mind: the way he laughed like it was armor, the way he played his guitar like it was the only thing holding him together, the way he smiled—wide, cocky, and so achingly fragile if you knew where to look.

That was that smile, wasn’t it, Sukuna? you thought bitterly, tears slipping down your cheeks unchecked. A smile that didn’t just hide pain but dared it to come closer, to strike harder. You didn’t have to face it alone, but you did. Again and again. Because you thought you had to.

Your legs gave out, and you crumpled to the ground, hands clutching at the fabric of your sleeves as if the motion could ground you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, the ache in your chest suffocating.

"You wanted to die." you whispered, your voice breaking under the weight of the truth. "You wanted to be free, to let it all end."

And then the thought hit you like a second wave of agony, sharp and relentless. And I was there. I was there, and you couldn’t help it.

The tears came harder now, your sobs wracking your frame as you clutched your knees to your chest. You felt guilt, beyond what you should. He too made his choices. He made his choice to live with you. Even if it was making him suffer. But that guilt, you want to free him too.

You want to be free with him. And how, that might not even happen. Not in this life. Even if you don’t want to give up, you don’t know how you’ll be able to keep this up. You wanted to be selfish with him too, to want him by your side for as long as you both lived. And yet, you don’t know what to do anymore as you listen to him sing more and more.

"You stayed." you choked out, the words meant for him even though he was no longer there to hear them. "You stayed… for me."

Your mind spun with the weight of it. Sukuna’s anger wasn’t just about rebellion or resistance. It was the fury of someone who had been forced to live a life they never asked for, over and over again, only to find a glimmer of something, or someone worth staying for.

And that someone was you.

He chose you, only you.

In that moment, as the final notes faded into the silence, Ryomen Sukuna’s expression softened, just a fraction. He wasn’t smiling, but there was something in his eyes that told you he had given everything on that stage. He always will. Even if he didn’t want to.

The votes quickly came in.

He turned to his opponent.

And he watched, his eyes cold.

The red spilled on his face.

Ryomen Sukuna had won the round.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

YOU STARED AT THE SCREEN. The days leading up to the next stage were filled with uncertainty, the tension thick in the air. Sukuna and you hadn’t spoken much since his performance, both of you retreating into your thoughts.

The silence between you two was loaded, heavy with unspoken fears and doubts. Neither of you could shake the knowledge that things were escalating. The stakes were rising, and no one, not even Sukuna, could protect you from what was coming.

Then came the announcement.

The one that would change everything.

You were going to face each other.

This was the last few rounds. And these were the rounds where the most dangerous matches took place. A place where the brightest stars were either made or shattered, and where the strongest were left standing. The announcement echoed through the Garden, their cold voices coming over the loudspeakers, numbing you with their indifference.

They didn’t care that you and Sukuna had a bond. Or that there was something more between you. They didn’t care about your shared past or your quiet moments of rebellion. Nor could they care about your wanting for freedom. None of that mattered to them.

To them, you were just pieces in a game, and now the pieces were being moved into position for the final battle. The moment you heard it, you froze. The words felt like ice, the truth of them setting in slowly, like a bitter poison coursing through your veins.

You and Sukuna were going to face each other.

You felt the world shift under your feet. Your body went numb as the weight of the situation began to sink in. But even in that moment of paralysis, you could hear the distant, familiar sound of Ryomen Sukuna’s voice—strong, fierce, and close. He was wearing a collar. That was something he had never worn before.

"Sukuna..." you whispered, your throat dry as you turned to face him. This was the first time you’ve seen him since you were parted. “I….”

He was standing near the edge of the arena, his posture rigid, his expression dark. His usual arrogance was gone, replaced by something far more serious. His eyes, usually sharp and calculated, were clouded with a deep, furious storm. He didn’t look like the same person who had stood on the stage with such confidence before.

Sukuna’s gaze locked onto you, his eyes narrowing as if he were trying to read you, to understand the words he wasn’t yet hearing. But the words in your mind were loud and clear: you didn’t want this. You didn’t want to fight him. And you were pretty sure he didn’t want to fight you either.

"I won’t let you die." he growled, his voice low, but full of unrelenting anger. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You could see the frustration building in him, the same frustration you felt, but much more visceral, raw.

"This isn’t some damn game. They’re trying to use us, twist us up into something we’re not." His breath was ragged as he took a step toward you, his gaze never wavering. "We’re not toys. I won’t let them take you from me. I swear."

You could feel your chest tighten as you watched him, your mind swirling with confusion. You didn’t want to fight him. You didn’t want to be a part of this blood-soaked game. But what choice did you have? What else was there left to do but survive?

"I don’t want to do this." you whispered, the weight of the situation sinking into your bones.

Sukuna’s expression softened for just a split second before the fire returned, burning brighter than ever. He stepped closer to you, closing the distance between you both with deliberate steps, his eyes searching your face.

"Then don’t." he said, his voice steady now, though it was strained with emotion. "Just let me do what I can, alright? Let me figure it out.”

You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that there was a way out, a way to escape this nightmare together. But deep down, you knew how this deadly game worked. You had seen the carnage before. And it's doubtful this will be the last. Not even his promises are enough to calm you down.

You had watched as real people were broken one after the other. Crushed under the weight of this deadly game, this stupid game you didn’t want to play. And you knew that in the end, it’s not likely to end. They don’t want it to end. They want to see the blood spill, so they may applaud.

But still, the desperation in his voice pulled at you, pulling you closer to him. There felt a horrible sense of finality. A finality you never wanted. Not with him. You don’t want it to end. Not ever. Not when it comes to loving him.

Ryomen Sukuna had always been your protector, your anchor. But now, the roles seemed reversed. He was the one who needed saving, and you were the only one who could save him from the thing that haunted him.

But the price is your death. You had to die to save him. To keep him from suffering. And the knowledge that he couldn’t protect you from this isn’t going to save him either. He wouldn’t let this happen. He doesn’t want to, either.

"I can’t lose you." Sukuna muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but the pain in it was so raw that it sent a shiver down your spine. “I love you too much to let you go.”

You reached out, touching his arm gently, feeling the tension in his muscles as you tried to ground him, to remind him that you were here, and you were still alive. But the terror in his eyes told you everything you needed to know: this wasn’t just about survival anymore. It was about protecting each other from the very forces that had taken control of your lives.

“I love you too.” You whisper back to him, almost so brokenly. “I don’t want to let you go either. I don’t want to lose you.”

He shook his head, his grip on your arm tightening. "Not like this.We can’t lose each other like this.”

You tried to pull him closer, but the weight of the situation was too heavy. You could see it in his eyes—the guilt, the anger, the desperation. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being forced to fight him, to be torn apart in front of everyone. But what were your choices?

You both knew the truth. You could either submit to the rules and fight each other, or you could rebel against them, together. And if you did that, the price would be steep. Sukuna’s scarlet eyes softened, though the anger remained.

"Thank you.”

“For what?” You asked him softly.

“For being the object of my affections.” He whispers to your ear, leaning forward to press a kiss on your cheek. “Thank you for being the victim of my shallow emotions. My love and my hatred. All of it.”

You looked at him for a moment before smiling, eyes getting watery. You could feel the warmth of his kiss sear on your skin, like a burn from the flame. Like a moth burning in the candlelight. You wanted more of him. You wanted more of his love. And his hatred. You wanted it all.

But there will never be enough time.

There will never be another time.

You cannot escape this time, not like this.

“Thank you for letting me have all of them.” You whisper back to him.

He returns your smile. “It was my pleasure.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

SOON ENOUGH, THE STAGE WAS PELTED BY THE POURING RAIN. And still, they will continue this, no matter what. It had to end here. There was no other way out. The harsh, mechanical buzz of the arena’s lights flickered above you, and the air was thick with the weight of the moment.

You were back on the stage, but this time, everything had changed. Everyone had their cold eyes watching from every angle. Everything was properly set by now, to the perfection of their wants. All that was left was the stage to have two people, singing for a deadly performance.

The stage was set, the tension palpable in the air as the crowd held its breath. Everything around you shimmered with the anticipation of what was about to unfold. The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across the space, and then, the music began to play.

A haunting melody rippled through the speakers, its ethereal sound sinking deep into your bones. The notes wove together like a sorrowful tale, threading through the very air that surrounded you. It filled the chamber, wrapping itself around you like an inescapable fog.

You could feel it—the weight of the lyrics, heavy with longing and sorrow. You sang them as they were. They spoke of parting, of loss, of moments slipping through your fingers like sand. It was as though the song had been crafted specifically for this moment, for this fight, for the end of something you never wanted to end.

You had expected the chaos, the passion, the defiance that always accompanied Sukuna’s performances. But now, as the music surged, something shifted. Sukuna, his scarlet eyes locked on yours across the stage, suddenly stopped singing.

The notes faltered in the air, the rhythm stuttering as he stood still. His lips no longer moved in time with the music. The sharp edge of his voice, so used to biting, so full of fire—was gone. The silence stretched between you both, thick and heavy.

Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze never wavered from yours, but it wasn’t the usual sharp, cocky look. There was no defiance there. There was no challenge. There was no will to fight. Instead, there was only something far deeper, more painful.

You had noticed it too late, how resigned he already was to this raw, aching realization that you both had reached the brink. The consequences of this moment, the weight of it all, had become far too real for him. You saw it in his scarlet eyes. That flicker of something that you knew was just for you.

Something more human, more vulnerable, than you’d ever seen before. The walls he’d built around himself, the fire he had fought so hard to keep alive, all began to crumble, leaving him exposed in a way that made your heart ache. And then, against the cold droplets of rain that began to fall from the sky, Sukuna smiled.

It wasn’t the usual smug, arrogant grin you were so accustomed to. It was softer, almost bittersweet. It was the sort of smile that carried the weight of everything unspoken between you. That was a smile of adoration, that was a smile of hatred — that was the smile of devotion.

He stood there as you sang. It was as if the rain had washed away the last of his resistance, as if the music itself had torn down the walls that had held him together for so long.In that moment, you realized something.

That smile—fragile as it was—wasn’t a mask. It wasn’t a challenge or a jest. It was surrender. Ryomen Sukuna had always been the one to defy the world, to push against everything that tried to contain him. But now, standing there in the midst of the storm, he was no longer fighting. He had accepted it all.

"I should’ve known." he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the soft rustle of the rain. The words were barely more than a whisper, but they carried a depth of emotion that took you by surprise. "I should’ve known that... this was always going to be the end. For both of us."

You heard him and you almost forgot your part in the song. You longed to say something—to tell him that there was still time, that you could still fight, that you didn’t have to end this way. But the words died on your throat. You continued to sing.

Because the truth was, you could see it too. The end was already written in the stars.You knew it too, you knew it too well. The inevitable was crashing toward you both, and no matter how much you fought it, it was going to happen.

Sukuna’s smile wavered as he watched you continue to sing. And for a moment, the man you knew, that man you loved, the fiery, untamable force….He was gone. He had let him die at that moment. All that remained was a broken man, drenched in rain, standing at the edge of something he couldn’t escape.

The music swelled again, but this time, it wasn’t just about the performance. It was about you both, about the fragile connection that had formed in the midst of all the chaos. The music no longer felt like a fight—it felt like a goodbye.

To him, this only ends one way.

If someone must survive, it has to be you.

He all but abandons his space, the rain pouring even heavier than ever. You were surprised as he pulled you close to him. Tears and raindrops all over your face. He was quick to know which were tears and which were the rain. He smiled. The music continued to play in the background.

His fingers trembled slightly as he reached for your face, brushing away a tear that had escaped. The song continued to swell deeper and deeper, and his turn to sing was upcoming. But Ryomen Sukuna’s lips were no longer part of it. He doesn’t want it to be. He wanted to die the way he wanted to.

His mouth pressed against yours in a kiss that was raw and desperate, a kiss that spoke of goodbye, of all the unspoken feelings between you both. A kiss that felt like a last act of defiance, a refusal to be another pawn in their game.

For a fleeting moment, everything else disappeared. The noise of the arena, the eyes of everyone watching this, the weight of the stage—all of it melted away as you kissed him back, pouring every ounce of emotion into that single act.

Your kiss was hard and angry, angry at him for choosing this route. Hard because you wanted him to feel your pain, the pain that he was leaving you with as you continued on to live. You pulled him even closer. You part to breathe but you pull him back in even more. You continued on and on until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

Soon enough the pelting of the guns started, there wasn’t even the neon red to warn you. They continued to shoot one after another. One to his shoulder, another to his back. But he kissed you back even more, his hands around your throat. As though to tell you his own pain in parting. More shots rang out, one after the other.

As your lips parted, his expression hardened, scarlet eyes flashing with the finality of his decision. Blood pouring out his lips as he smiles at you, almost so hauntingly with his hands still wrapped around your throat with such eager tightness.

"You have to live." he whispered, his voice rough, breaking. "You have to survive."

The bullets continued to tear through him, their cold, metallic scream louder than the music itself. His body jerked with each impact, his eyes wide with shock and pain as he staggered back, the warmth of the kiss he had given you still lingering on your lips, the taste of it bitter with the knowledge of what was coming. His rough, brutish hands slowly, and then finally off your reddening neck.

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Your long lost breath hitched in your throat as your entire world seemed to collapse in on itself. The music continued, relentless, as though mocking the pain in your chest. You wanted to scream, to stop them, but your voice was stolen by the sorrow that flooded your body.

Ryomen Sukuna crumpled to the ground, blood staining the stage beneath him, his chest rising and falling weakly, but his scarlet eyes never left yours. He wanted to look at you. He wanted you to keep looking at him. He was still there, still fighting, still telling you to live, even as life drained from him.

The music reached its climax, the voice of the singer rising in agony. Consume me, yes, me, oh, oh, the words rang out, but all you could feel was the sharp sting of your beloved’s corpse in front of you. The haunting notes continued as if nothing had changed, as if everything was still a game, but the truth was undeniable.

You cried out with everything in you, your desperate tears and the angry rain mixing with his blood on the stage, your heart breaking as you watched him slip away. Until he was finally gone. Until he was nothing but a bleeding flesh corpse in front of you.

The music, now a distant, broken sound in your ears, felt like an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest. Each note seemed to draw the last remnants of air from your lungs, suffocating you as you stood frozen on the stage.

Ryomen Sukuna's blood continued to stain the floor and mix into the water ceaselessly, pooling beneath him, but his scarlet eyes... his eyes that you so loved were still on you, still filled with the fire of a promise, a plea.

His last breath was shallow, but his expression never wavered. Live, his eyes said. Survive.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to tear the entire world apart for what they had made of him, for the life they had stolen. But instead, you stood there, powerless. The caretakers' voices crackled through the speakers, indifferent to the tragedy they had orchestrated.

They had made you fight. They had made you kill. But Sukuna had chosen to fall for you. He had chosen to make sure you had the chance to escape the nightmare, even if it meant giving up his own life.

And the weight of that choice was too much to bear.

You were still there, staring at him, when they gave the signal. The arena, the very place where your blood had spilled—your tears mixed with the blood on the stage—was just another part of the system they controlled.

Another place where they took away everything and gave nothing in return. The system that controlled your fate, controlled Sukuna's fate, was now turning its eyes to you. But in the midst of the flashing lights and the cold, sterile voices that told you to continue, that told you to perform, you made a decision. You weren't going to give them what they wanted. Not like this.

Your body trembled, but your heart, for the first time in so long, felt certain. You weren't just going to survive anymore. You weren’t going to let this system take everything from you, your life, your soul, your love for Sukuna, without fighting back.

You dropped to your knees beside him, the echo of his sacrifice reverberating through your chest. His body was still warm, still twitching with the last remnants of life, but you knew it was too late. He was gone.

But the part of him that lived. The part that had made sure you would survive. That was not lost. And that was something they couldn’t take. You didn’t care if they were watching. You didn’t care if they were observing your every move.

You leaned over Sukuna’s body, placing a trembling hand over his heart, now still. And in that moment, something in you snapped, like a thread being pulled taut and finally breaking. The arena’s speakers crackled, and a voice you didn’t recognize spoke.

“Stage completion.”

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

epilogue

The soft glow of the rising sun began to creep into the room, its warm fingers stretching across the floor, painting the walls with hues of gold and amber. The world outside was still, caught between the shadows of the night and the promise of a new day.

But here, in this quiet space, there was a peace that neither of you had ever known. The chaos of the alien stage, the endless battles, the pain, and the sacrifices—they all seemed distant, swallowed up by the serenity of the moment.

You lay there, your head resting on Sukuna’s legs, your body relaxed in the rare comfort of his presence. The rhythmic hum of your song, soft and almost hypnotic, filled the air.

It was a song that had become an anchor for both of you, a melody that whispered of things you had lost and things you still held dear. Your humming wrapped around him like a blanket, soothing the raw edges of his soul that had been scarred by too many years of violence.

Sukuna’s fingers, long and deft, traced the strands of your hair, moving slowly and deliberately, almost as though he were trying to carve this moment into his memory, like it was the only thing that made sense in a world that had long since turned upside down. His hand paused at the crown of your head, his fingers resting lightly as if afraid that any sudden movement might shatter the fragile peace between you.

"You’re still humming, little lamb." Sukuna said.

You were surprised that his voice was unusually quiet, the words more of an observation than a question. His fingers toyed with the ends of your hair, curling a few strands around his finger and letting them slip through his grasp, as if he couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

"You always sing when you’re... content."

You glanced up at him, your eyes still heavy with the warmth of sleep, a small smile tugging at your lips. "I always sing when I remember the good things." you whispered, your voice a soft murmur. "The things that make everything worth it."

Sukuna’s gaze softened for a fleeting moment, a brief glimpse of something that had always been there but was too buried beneath the armor he wore to ever show. His hand moved from your hair, trailing down the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. It was such a simple touch, but it carried with it more meaning than he had ever given to words.

"The good things?" His voice was low, almost hushed, as if he were afraid to disturb the peace between you. "What good things, huh?" He shifted slightly, his hand resting beside you now, his fingers grazing the surface of your skin.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the warmth of his touch sink in, the quiet rhythm of your song keeping the silence comfortable. You let the words come, not thinking about them too much, just allowing them to spill from your heart.

"The times when we didn’t have to fight." you said softly, almost to yourself. "When everything was simpler. When it was just us... and the world felt like it was still ours to take."

Sukuna didn’t speak at first, his gaze far away as if he were lost in his own thoughts. His hand didn’t move from where it rested on the side of your face, his thumb now gently stroking your skin as if trying to memorize the sensation. There was a vulnerability in his touch that he rarely allowed anyone to see, but in this moment, with the soft light of dawn spilling over the both of you, it felt right.

"You really believe in that?" he asked after a long pause, his voice quieter than it had ever been. "You really think we could ever go back to something... simple?"

The question hung in the air between you two, heavy with the weight of the years you had spent in the fight for survival. But there was something in the way his hand lingered on your cheek, something in the way he allowed himself to be vulnerable with you that made you smile again.

"I think….." you began, your voice steady. "We make our own simple things in life. We can decide to live in the good things, even if the rest of the world is falling apart around us."

Sukuna’s gaze softened, his features easing for a moment as if your words had found something deep within him, something he hadn’t known he was missing. He exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling with the weight of unspoken thoughts.

"You’re right, I suppose." he said quietly, his hand slowly shifting to the side of your head again, fingers gently threading through your hair. "Maybe... maybe we don’t have to fight all the time. Maybe we don’t have to live in the dark. Not if we don’t want to."

His words hung in the air like a promise, tentative but real. The two of you stayed there in the quiet, the hum of your song filling the space around you like a soft lullaby. The sun was fully risen now, and the light poured through the window, bathing the room in warmth.

The world outside might have been a battlefield, a place where survival meant everything, where love and peace seemed impossible. But here, in this moment, with Sukuna’s fingers tangled in your hair and the world reduced to the two of you, it felt like anything was possible. You could make your own good things, even if it was just for a little while.

"Stay with me, forever, ‘kuna." you murmured, the words almost too soft to hear, but he heard them all the same. You tilted your head up slightly, looking into his eyes. "Please, stay."

Ryomen Sukuna looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, in a rare moment of honesty, he nodded, his voice steady. He lets out a small smile on his lips. A smile he always reserved warmly for you. Only you.

"I’m not going anywhere, little lamb." he said quietly. "Not if I don’t have to."

You smiled back at him. “Good.”

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shinning-whammy · 5 months ago

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Red therapy Au

chronology

info about this au - part 02- char - summary - Dogday info sheet

after the hour of the joy

friendship (flashback when catnap decide be friend to dogday)

heretic (hoppy's dead) - part 02 - part 03 - part 04

kikin punishement (kickin's dead)

rumors

claws - part 02

prototype plans

white smoke

fighting back (attacking play.co employees)

losing a friend

bobby talk

red dogday nightmare and eclipse - info about nigmare Dogday and eclipse

searching

the true (bubba's dead)

fight

poppy appear (red dogday vs poppy)

mommy returns

sleep time

poppy appear 2 time (lock)

coma arc (white smoke the cure)

escape arc - part 02

corrupt white smoke (red smoke 2.0)

bobby's dead (punishment)

therapy

craftycorn dead (time to hunt)

pendants

(christmas time)

side effects

regreat - info about red smoke dogday

promise

tired

becoming heretic (picky die after tell the true to dogday)

stay (catnap hurting dogday)

promise broken (dogday's dead)

never alone au

(This Au still in process and will have changes as red therapy progresses as well as having new updates but here tittles and peak what will come )

good morning my sun (dogday feeling sad as everyone apologize to him)

he arrives (catnap appear, dogday lost the memories from the past)

good boy (happy DD as player talk with CN)

night movies

nightmares

punishment

red dogday appear

pity (bubba and ms deligh helpig CN)

crafty's sorrow

nightmares attack

why does my heart cry

1006 attack (trigering a memory from the past)

hypocrisy (all the smiling critter except dd have a talk with CN)

want to recover the memories? (dogday deciding if recover the memories)

pendants/ promise

never alone

what if

(alternatives ideas for this Au but no canon for that)

Another Ending

Still Alive

evil team - part 02 - part 03 - part 04 - part 05

doubt - part 02

tea party

you can see more about my art on my other social media

patreon - Deviantart - youtube -instagram - twitter - kofi - webtoon - Tiktok - comissions

#smiling critters #dogday #catnap #red therapy au #never alone au #comic

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hoseoksluna · 6 months ago

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SMOKE, i. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst

word count: 6.8k

summary: everything that begins also ends.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: suicide ideation, yoongi has deep feelings that he hasn't felt in a long time, sexual innuendos, yoongi has brief dirty thoughts, alcohol consumption, talks of alcohol, social anxiety and feelings of anxiety in general, jungkook has mint hair, covid and the pandemic, talking to a dead loved one, jealousy, envy, anger, crying, yoongi's bad shoulder.

note: welcome to the brand new yoongi series! i can't believe this baby is alive and ready for you to read. i struggled with this a lot, since it's written in a way i've never tried before. yoongi's pov, first person—like what? i thought this chapter was pretty shitty as i didn't feel comfortable writing in this style, but i pushed through, felt like it was meant to be—which is why i need tons of your validation. i was also kinda sad today, so please send your love. :( fyi, jungkook may be a huge part of the beginning of this story, but this is not steam pt 2. jungkook won't be present as much later on. no polyamory here. *spoiler* he just brought oc to yoongi and then he will lovingly go away, dw. :) enjoy this first chapter, i can't wait for many more! kisses.

side note: happy bday to us! mwah.

It was a bang, what happened in our group.

A bomb that blew off in Jungkookie’s trembling hands when he shared the news. A decision that wasn’t really collectively discussed, not even privately with Namjoon—but an information that erupted among us as we sat in the lounge room of the venue, refreshing ourselves with snacks and drinks after the tough soundcheck we had. I had a bottle of Hennessy in my hands myself, about to pour myself some liquid courage in order to chase away the bitter ire I had swirling in my veins, but hearing his words made me forget about the nectar right away.

He was bringing along a female friend for the tour.

The ire turned sour in my bloodstream.

He must’ve lost his mind.

And what’s worse, I was the only one who looked at him as if he were a lunatic. The members squealed and hollered, clapping their hands, shouting different variations of words of, “Jungkookie got a girlfriend!” that made him blush so profusely that he wasn’t able to reciprocate any of our eye contact.

Especially not mine.

I was fuming, taking breaths that hurt my lungs. The bottle of liquid courage damn nearly broke, but I didn’t feel a thing. How could I—when amidst the ruckus and the soft smiles of our staff my feelings parted and melted into a crossroad that I began to stand in the middle of.

One way led to selfishness, the other to the very polar opposite of it.

Jungkook didn’t deal with the pandemic well. His skin was invariably lined with a certain sensitivity towards forlornness and when the mandate forced upon him a pressure of being abandoned—by us and by his long time flirt that was the driving force behind his creativity, besides Army themselves—he didn’t take it well. Crawled inside himself, even deeper within when our management canceled our Map of the Soul tour and we had to stay bricked up inside our homes for a full year.

He was crestfallen and despondent, a decaying human. No girlfriend, no Army. No band members to slap his back, cook him food and distract his mind from the loneliness.

Except for me.

I was the one who made time for him. Who visited him, despite our management’s strong disliking for it. I went around them and did it without anyone’s knowledge but Jungkook’s. With a mask and health in perfect condition that I took care of more for him than for anyone else. Our relationship blossomed to highs that overgrew the bricked walls of our mandatory, artificial castle. A peach honeysuckle vine that we watched as much as we could while I wrote poems to him in my heart to alleviate his ache. It was spring and one, singular hummingbird would fly in to listen to my words while inhaling the sweetened perfume of those pale orange flowers or the fragrance of the natural honey I would buy him and pour over the pancakes I would make for him. A comfort food, a symbol of our secret meetings. A butterfly would sit on the small creature’s back, just to look over its wings and be a witness to a mind’s mending, an afternoon’s tea mixed with dark liquor that would always fade to noraebang.

The key to Jungkook’s heart.

I don’t know how the little fella found us, but I wish his wings would sense us here. There’s no windows for him to look out of, but the craving in me for it to fly in and save the day, remind Jungkook who’s been here for him this whole time, blossoms in me just like those peach flowers.

The castle has collapsed a tiny bit, but the honeysuckle remains untouched.

Or at least I hope so.

The other, non-selfish way is simple. Our work had been put off for so long and now that we’re able to pick it back up—in a way that isn’t as satisfactory as I’d want it to be, of course, for the only faces we’ll be seeing beyond the stage are the ones of camera lenses, not the ones belonging to our beautiful Army—there’s a distraction, an external person who could never understand the gravity of that pain we all went through.

This was supposed to be a precious time shared between us. Another mending of some sort—as our job is the chambers of our hearts.

And now as I look at her, I feel her playing with those strings of my heart like a harp. And I have that terrible feeling that she will open the doors to each chamber and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for.

In spite of the fact that she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a gut feeling that consumes me and I can’t do a thing about it, not even admit that it gives me the tiniest hint of a thrill that I’ve been craving for so long.

Jungkook wasn’t the only one affected by the loneliness that came with the mandate. I gave my all to him and always walked out of his door empty—with no one to refill me.

Performing again was supposed to do the job, but it seems as though she’s come in to hijack it.

Announcement, the ruffling of his hair and multitudes of teasing aside, we had an hour and half left until the beginning of our first show in Seoul. Jungkook left us, with cheeks as darkened as poppies in the summer, with a staff member and our bodyguard to pick her up at a designated meeting spot nearby. He hadn’t eaten all day—not before our dismal soundcheck and certainly not during our hair and makeup session. A ribbon of worry curled tightly in my gut that unfurled once he filled his plate with hotdogs after introducing her to us.

No shaking of hands, only Jungkook’s hand pointing at each member while his mouth gave life to their names. And she didn’t nod her head, not even once, as she moved to greet and smile at every face, which caused me to think that she either already knew of us, either due to our popularity or due to Jungkook’s stories—or both.

But when it was my turn, her smile faltered.

I didn’t see much of her face, for she wore a black mask. And the only part of her features I was able to see spoke to me in a foreign language I was too pissed off to decipher.

Feline eyes.

Round and wispy, so terribly cat-like that it cut through my heartstrings she played with and then abandoned. She held my gaze so unfathomably deeply and it wasn’t until she whisked her eyes away that I realized she, irrevocably, clutched time in her hands. It had stopped during that brief moment and resumed as if nothing happened.

It unnerved me.

As did my strange feelings as I took in the personality of her outer form.

She wore a long silky dress, as black as her energy and her hair nearly akin to the length of that garment. Its hem brushed against her ankles with every movement she made and her feet were shod in a pair of heels that would puncture my heart if she so much as wished so. Over her shoulder hung a matching, leather purse and I noticed something that bruised, most peculiarly, my flesh.

The clasp of her chain strap had a chubby Grookey Pokémon caged as a keychain.

I found it as adorable as absolutely dangerous. Still do as my eyes can’t help but to watch it twirl.

She’s a dangerous black cat, with her claws tucked in. And the entire night coils in her eyes, dressing her in innocence and a simultaneous seductiveness that make my lungs swell.

A quintessence of beauty, she is.

After the introduction is over, Jungkook pulls out a chair for her beside him, sitting down and not wasting a second as he stuffs his mouth full with one of the hotdogs. The monkey bounces with her movement and it’s only now that my brain puts two and two together. The monster almost matches the minty tinge of Jungkook’s dyed hair with its plump, green body.

None of them know that I match him, too.

A leaf of the same plant swirls in my glass of whiskey.

And the notion of iciness that it adds to the bitterness of the liquid turns to ash in my mouth as I take a sip. I, myself, sit on the armrest on the couch, alone—but not alone physically. Hobi rests, leisurely, next to me and she’s stolen glances at him more times than I like. Looked at him while completely avoiding the ring of protectiveness I’ve conjured around myself.

She does good, but it spreads fire to the strangeness of my feelings that I can’t name.

Is she throwing a rope around another one of the boys? Her claws itching to rise?

Who’s next?

I sigh as she laughs, softly, at something Namjoon says and it deepens my ire. Namjoon should’ve made order as the leader of our group. Should’ve said no to Jungkook at the unfolding of his news and keep the number of our group to seven. Especially when our time together is this precious.

Not chatting her up and coaxing that wonderful sound out of her.

“Can we get you anything to drink?” Namjoon asks, waving his hand in the direction of the alcohol station out far in the left corner of the lounge room. A mint plant mocks me as my eyes flick to it while I take another sip. The reason why it’s there in the first place is because Jimin likes his mojitos.

He sips on it like it’s a Capri-Sun as I swallow the dark liquid after swirling it in my mouth for a moment, the bitterness doing nothing to stifle my ire.

“No,” she says, feebly, brushing her fingers down the length of her ebony hair before tossing it over her shoulder, giving me a perfect look of one singular strand that has been dyed in the same pale green color that is suffused all though Jungkook’s hair. The shade, but darker, more sinister, imbues my blood with envy. It’s not that soft color, redolent of spring meadows, by any chance. It’s an ancient, vague memory of a forest once in full bloom that is now withering and dying at dusk. How long has he been seeing her that they reached this base? “I don’t drink hard liquor, but thank you.”

Namjoon licks his lips, spreading his arms over the two empty chairs beside him. “Ah,” he laments, smiling at her, gently. “You don’t drink at all?”

Jungkook lifts his head from his plate, laughing through his nose as he chews his food, his mouth forming into that bunny smile of his. He knows something I don’t and my green blood boils.

The cat girl grins, her head twisted in Jungkook’s direction when she laughs, the skin under her chin rounding out, and my chest tightens in endearment at the sight of it.

The cutest fucking double chin I ever have the eyes to see.

Fuck.

“Oh, she drinks,” Jungkook says, his words muffled due to his full cheeks, the food inside showing as he continues to be all smiles.

The cat girl pinches his arm, but owing to the thick fluffiness of his jumper, she doesn't reach skin, and therefore doesn't inflict the pain she intended. Jungkook pretends to moan in pain, anyway. My chest tightens again—this time for a beat longer.

An oddity flies through my vision, slicing through my envy.

Her claws sinking into my bare skin as I let her playfulness out—

I shake that picture out of my head as quickly as it arrives, running my fingers through my strands that had fallen in front of my eyes. The girl helps my effort by speaking, distracting me from the faint rush of lust that begins to course down my body.

I can’t get hard.

“Yeah, I only drink wine,” she reveals, coyness entwining around her tone, and she kneads her hands, struggling with her straight posture.

Another distraction, one that softens, most peculiarly, my lust.

If I were born with deaf ears, I would’ve known she was fighting through her shyness by one glance at her body language and I don’t blame her.

She doesn’t have only seven pairs of eyes watching her. She’s the apple of fifteen more if I include our staff, sound engineers and our management.

If I weren’t the person I was and if this wasn’t my job, I would have run the first chance I got. A certain admiration envelops my heart the more I study her toy with her fingers, soothingly, because of a reason that aches to admit.

A reason far from plain.

She’s the same as me. Uncomfortable by and disliking any public event with people involved, especially if you’re put in a position to talk.

A bond forms and I can’t stop it. I can’t rip it apart even as I willfully try in my headspace to cut off that red string tied around my heart, leading to hers. I can’t because she eventually slouches, giving up, her spine protruding towards me through the open back of her dress, for she’s turned her body towards Namjoon, who sits at the head of the table, but I figure she did it in order to be closer to Jungkook to gain some comfort from him. The skin of her back is refulgent and tanned, scattered with little blemishes that connect, like constellations, to a night sky full of birthmarks, and that only add to her beauty.

Her whole back is filled with them, stirring my wonder. And, unknowingly, she let me see by sweeping her hair to one side. I wonder if Jungkook has seen them and appreciates them as much as I do—

Jungkook burps, obscenely loudly, setting down Hobi’s unfinished can of Sprite that he left on the table. I’m sure Hobi’s regretting making that mistake, but when I look at him, he’s smiling so widely that I can see his gums and I’m so astounded by that view that I’m thrown off my balance.

Even more so, when I check the reactions of the other members and begin to feel shame descending down my own spine like cold sweat. Jimin has hearts thumping in his eyes, raising his hand in the girl cat’s direction, connecting with her as he says he loves a good bubbly. Taehyung, sitting on the direct opposite side of Jungkook by the table with his arms crossed and his face flushed intones that tonight after the show he will break his sobriety streak. Jin joins the table and flicks Taehyung’s forehead, tells him he doesn’t have to break anything while taking a huge bite of his banana. And Namjoon… he laughs, hands intertwined upon the back of his head.

The whole table laughs, in fact.

Hobi does beside me, too.

I’m the only one who doesn’t, steeped in my uncertainty as I am.

They all bask in comfort and gaiety. There’s no awkwardness, no unspoken words or silence that hangs heavily in the air. There’s no need for our hummingbird; no need to change directions, play pretend or act accordingly to the new situation because there’s absolutely nothing new about the atmosphere I find myself to be in. Everything is as if it were just the seven of us.

Making jokes, lighthearted energy, connections lengthening and digging deep…

I haven’t seen that, been a part of that in so long.

I was wrong—and the shame, stemming from my wrong impression and unwarranted fear, washes out the envy from my blood. It stands, arm to arm, with my life-long emptiness and I bow my head down, licking my lips.

I wish to exit myself out of this room.

I wish my heart wasn’t so sensitive.

I wish—

“It’s her birthday today and I bought so many bottles of champagne and wine,” Jungkook says, running his tongue over his teeth, and my head lifts; my heart enlarges before it shrinks, painfully, magnifying my shame until it grazes the flesh like a shard. It’s her birthday? “I’ll need your help, guys. We’re not celebrating here tonight. After the show, we’re going to my place.”

It’s not peach honeysuckle that I’m thinking of. Not pancakes. Not our hummingbird and butterfly as the boys cheer all over again, wishing her happy birthday.

It’s her that I’m thinking of.

And how much I messed up.

He brought her here to make her birthday special—to be with her on the day that carries her name, not to replace me.

It explains why she’s so magnificently dressed up; why she’s putting her feet through so much pain in those heels of hers.

Just for one night. And I’ve managed to ruin it so majestically with my energy. No wonder she won’t look at me; no wonder her eyes won’t even sweep past me en route to Hobi’s chocolate fountain that his eyes emanate.

Mine are nothing but death. I don’t blame the decline of her smile as her pools met it. A kitty cat that looked at the face of a skull. It symbolized the end of time and now I perceive that it epitomizes the end of me.

The longer she’s present, the more I loosen the consuming negativity that I’ve lived for so long in compliance with—because now I’m soft.

I’m gutted I made her feel awful to be here with my dark energy.

“Jungkook, you should’ve told us that was the reason why you brought her along. We would have welcomed you with a happy birthday song,” Namjoon says, his palm lifted towards Jungkook and her while his other hand reminds behind his head.

I can’t see her smile. Not even a hint of it in her eyes, for this time around she doesn’t turn around to steal a glance at Hobi. And I wish she would, with a strength that I’m in awe that I’m even possessing, because I find myself yearning to look at her face, amidst my softness.

I misjudged her so terribly that the yearning doubles as she presses her hands against her cheeks amidst the overbearing attention. Becomes a need—a need to fix what I so unfairly have broken.

And jealousy thunderstrikes in my system when Jungkook bumps his shoulder into hers, gently, his head tipped low, fixed in her direction as she struggles, once again, in her shyness. Straightens her spine just in time for Jungkook to curl a finger around her ear and take off her black mask.

I’m so jealous everyone else gets to see her face fully that indignation supersedes my past ire and my softness and I’m quickly up on my feet, ready to walk out to breathe in some fresh air but something else steps into my plan.

And it’s not her.

It could never be her.

Staffs members circle around us, guiding us out of the room to wire us up. But I stall my time, purposefully staying behind so I can look at her. I pretend to exercise my pain from my shoulder surgery by rolling it and making a face. Jungkook whispers something to her, her face pointed upwards as he stands before her while she remains sitting and I’m so bothered by it that it calls out the pain, incites it to come haunt me again.

Everyone else had something to say to her—and yet I still haven’t, owing to my foolish mistake. Self-hatred fastens to my anger and I can’t breathe, my lack of knowing what to say to her when the time comes worsening my feelings.

The boys leave the room and it’s just me and her. The staff member knows not to push me, but the pressure in her eyes is the driving force that takes my legs to the kitty girl.

She sits so awfully forlornly in her chair, reminds me so much of Jungkook, her spine back to slouching, that marvelous pillar protruding again and my lungs do that thing they seem to automatically do whenever I see that part of her.

She hears my footfalls as I approach her, but she doesn’t turn around. I ignore the way it makes me feel, the heaviness that comes with it, too. She, in most probability, thinks I’m walking out of this room without saying a word to her, but I’m not capable of that.

Not anymore.

I call out her name and, in surprise, she lifts her spine. Turns around, at last, the sleek fabric of the dress adding swiftness to the movement and I see her face. Her full mouth that compliments, most perfectly, her big feline eyes. And I think about how much her dark, sensual energy doesn’t mirror her personality, her coyness that hides inside until someone speaks to her. Her chin is so small that my fist would still be empty if I held it in the way my body asks for, but the look she gives me diminishes the lust that slowly begins to crawl again within me.

It’s one that bears a different kind of shyness. It’s fear-induced respect and the hatred towards myself thickens.

I don’t want her to feel this way, but I molded it in her.

It’s my fault.

It’s why I think twice before I tell my fingers no, for they ache to drum against the top edge of her chair in effort to linger in her proximity. I won’t encourage her discomfort when I yearn to wipe it clean. But when she inhales my prolonged silence and raises her thin brows in waiting, the tiniest sliver of a smile quivering on her lips, she doesn’t know it—but she somehow gives me the words I was lacking.

“Did Jungkook tell you where to go?” I ask, softly, fearing her knees will turn away from me, her body language divulging to me the depth of her uneasiness around me. But she remains put, the pillows of her lips balancing at last as they stretch out in a small grin that I don’t deserve.

Her slender nose crinkles.

My heart forgets to beat.

“No, he told me to wait here and that Min-ji will take me to a room where I can watch you, guys, perform on the TV,” she says, her grin making it difficult for her to get the words out and she blushes. There must be some other, silent language shared between our bodies because I discover myself smiling, too, even though there’s nothing from her sentence that can possibly be the cause of it.

The energy shifts, devastatingly, and heat clings to my skin, dispersing relief down my nerve endings.

All while buzzing tingles chase it, hastily, grabbing it by the back of its shirt and consuming it.

It’s strange, so terribly strange to be consumed by nervousness when I’ve been used to nothingness and emptiness for so long.

And her eyes seem to grow bigger, despite the irrepressible dynamism of her fear. Is she gaining thrill out of it—to be staring at the face of breaking death like the small kitten she is and knowing it’s her power that influences me?

Those eyes. If my ears weren’t bombarded by Hobi’s sound effects wafting down the hall and into the lounge room, mingling with the rise and fall of Jungkook’s voice as he warms it up, I swear I can hear the song of swallows in them. She’s a manifestation of a summer evening in her fear and nervousness, when those birds go mad in the tender blues and pinks of the sky—and I don’t know why I like it so much. Why I want to seize it in my hand and squeeze it.

And she’s about to be all alone here with it while I go join the rest of my brothers.

It’s something that doesn’t feel right.

The staff member taps me on my back. Time is against me—why doesn’t she control it? I swivel behind me to catch her nodding her chin in the direction of the hall and I sigh, quietly.

“Wait with her until Min-ji comes to get her, so she’s not alone here,” I tell her, then look down at the kitty girl again.

Her raised brows create wrinkles on her forehead and once she sees that I’ve noticed, she relaxes, wetting her lips. Doesn't want me to see the surprise that comes from what she created in me.

How cute.

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur, moving my feet towards the exit. I gaze back at her, catch her lungs shuddering, and the words slip off my tongue before I scramble the courage to stop them. “And happy birthday.”

Her blush reaches her neck and it’s all my vision consists of—even when I’m performing.

Our interaction was too short. Too, too short. And my anger took on a new face.

Hers.

Every word I rapped as I stared into the camera, I felt it dissolving in me and transforming into a yearning so great that my verses gained new meaning. A yearning to see her again, talk to her, pinch that fear in my fingers and fling it away, make space for something in her that had the vigor to surprise me and make me soft again. And in my concentration, I didn’t have the fight in me to put a stop to it. I was doing my duty for the happiness of our Army and while I thought about her, it seemed right. Those two things went along and it spurred a pleasant feeling in me that was warmer than the adrenaline sticking to my inflamed body from all the performing.

It didn’t hit me that she was watching me the whole time until my eyes regarded her unperturbed, flaccid posture in that white plastic chair, wading in my thoughts as I was. Her grin and the flecks of light in her eyes illuminate the room with orange, blazing fire. She’s barefoot, her heels kicked to the side, crooked, elegiac, yet still sensuous. Our show is being rerun on the TV and she’s watching it, transfixed, not realizing me and Jungkook were the first to come to her out of the group.

A mental connection clicks in my brain at the sight of it. The peach blossoms of the honeysuckle, Jungkook and the genuine love I carry for him. It is that orange color—it’s a home that keeps it safe, the atmosphere that she exudes through her evident elation and I don’t really understand why I feel this way.

I haven’t even known her for a day.

And it’s forced to collapse when her pools don’t find mine, but Jungkook’s once we walk in, joining her. She holds up her hand in the air, curling down her middle and ring fingers in while the rest of her digits remain erect, small and slim as they are. Her nose crunches up in the way it did when our bodies spoke in that secret language. And when she laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle, I realize she’s mimicking his gesture that he so often does on stage while showing off his Army tattoo.

The finger-fucking gesture.

Her blush beams on her face, even more so when she does a stroking movement with her curled fingers, and I can’t help but wonder, briefly, if that’s how she does it to herself when she’s all alone and the night sinks inside her skin to get a refill of her juices, only to smear it across the sky.

It’s what I need to focus on, so I don’t explode in anger that she ignores me.

Jungkook cackles, sticking out his tongue and doing the gesture. I hide my face in my towel, getting rid of the sweat coating me—but it pours out of my pores again when I hear her giggle.

And I need to leave, my imagination no longer strong enough to withstand the jealousy that poisons my blood all over again.

I fling the towel out and away from me, not caring where it lands.

I don’t meet any eyes as I walk out, keeping my sight fixed on the gray floor, streaked with black lines from the hundreds of wheels of carts that have drove down the hall and from all the sneakers that have walked past. I follow them and I don’t know where they take me until I’m suddenly face to face with the gaping night.

And it’s not her.

It’s my wound.

No stars for a naked pupil to see. Merely an abounding canvas of blackness that stares back at me and questions me, questions my feelings when it knows full well how hard I’ve wept, many times, in its airy embrace.

I sit against the wall, needing something solid to support me, the spaciousness of the roof enveloping me, but not tightly enough. There, but never close enough—always a safe distance apart, as if afraid of me.

Everyone is so always fucking afraid of me.

And when they lean in and graze my heart, they get repulsed by me.

It’s an ouroboros that my life, like my legs, follows. Like a dog chasing its own tail—and it’s such a perfect comparison because I’ve always been alone, save for my brothers. Distracted for a while, then alone again.

I’m weary of it, despite the fact my body tends to wait for the thrill of the attention, longs for it, even when I dislike it. I’m an oxymoron that won’t cease and I have to live with it.

And I can’t exit out of it because I have millions of lives that depend on me, plus six more.

I sigh and I think sucking on a cigarette, numbly, while I crawl on my knees through the forest of my thoughts and feelings would be a thing of perfection. But I can’t afford that. Not when we’re working again. Not when our boss lurks at every corner, has eyes everywhere. Jungkook has had his last hotdog for a while and I…

I swathed my broken strings around someone he brought into my life.

Through a little hole my brothers let me see by forcing her to sit through a conversation that was a pain for her. A moonlight stripe of her personality, encased by her social anxiety and shyness. One that has awakened my body to emotions it hasn’t felt the touch of in a long time.

Why am I not fighting it?

Why am I not coercing my soul into submission, into that abyss of emptiness and hostility?

Why am I letting myself feel?

She’s just a girl that he’s seeing. Many stories like these have been written before and we’ve read the lines, recognized words that limned us, only for the love interest to disappear into thin air after some time like she never existed. And she’d just be another character in his love chronicles, if her persona hadn’t spoken to me so much.

If her body hadn’t spoken to me in a language no one knows—not even me.

I can’t begin my sentences about her with ‘she’s just a girl’, because she isn’t.

And I don’t understand how that’s come to be.

It happened so quickly that I fear I wasn’t present enough.

My wound tilts its head as my world does the same thing—slants on its axis. Coos at me, seeing me, seeing through me. Reminds me of what happened the last time I felt.

The passing of my girlfriend gave me the gift of a gun to my hand—gave me the face of death that I’ve been carrying ever since because it nearly made my dream of time ending come true. And the kitty girl… standstill hangs off her fingers like a pearl necklace that’s too long. And I find myself wanting to wear it. Because it’s her decision, her consciousness, her will.

Not mine.

And it will bring me closer to my Sun-mi.

My wound begins to cry at the memory of her, raindrops pitter-pattering on the tin ridges of the rooftop and I cherish that she’s remembered and honored by such vastness, by such picturesqueness that I’ve always considered the night to be. And when the wind brushes along my fidgeting hands, I almost feel her touch all over again.

Feel.

I feel.

And in my heart, I tell her. I sail to her, attaching myself to her again. Tell my Sun-mi that I am capable of feeling and that I don’t know how it came together in me. And I ask her, in utmost respect, to guide me on this unknown path.

Because I am alone without her. Adrift, without rhyme and reason. No wits to me, no rationality, no clear perception of right and wrong.

There’s only grayness to me.

Maybe that’s why I, unknowingly, dyed my hair this color before the start of the tour.

And it dawns on me, now that one chapter has closed in my life, that the passing of my Sun-mi a year and a half ago is the reason why I’ve clung to Jungkook so rigidly. Because I couldn’t spend my time on her, I spent it on Jungkook. Because I had all this love for her and I couldn’t give it to her, so I gave it to Jungkook.

And the kitty girl has put a stop to it.

Sun-mi graces me with the tepid, yet fuzzy impression that it’s good—that it was meant to happen. And I believe her.

And with my belief, the rain thickens.

A thunder rolls forward from a far-away corner of the canvas of the sky that I can’t see. And I dwell in the pool of the fountain of the love I still have for her and forever will continue to have. Kneel in it. Search for her.

I imagine her. The button of her nose, the curl of her top lip whenever we ridiculed aegyo by doing it together and doing a good fucking job while at it. I imagine her small fist at her round cheek, but she connects my memories to the kitty girl.

And she consumes me, wholly.

Sun-mi makes me imagine her doing a cat-like aegyo and as the corner of my mouth lifts, a particular fear devours my gut.

A fear of closeness.

A fear of doing something with her that I did with Sun-mi, even when she okays it in my spirit.

A fear of reliving something so painful again.

The rain inches towards me and I scurry to my feet, my hand trembling as I open the door to the staircase. And when I shut out the sound of hard rainfall and prevent the traumatic memories of my accident from slinking into my mind, it’s the only strength I have left.

And I crumble.

I mirror the rain I abhor so much.

I sit on the top of the staircase and I sear my hands with my acid-suffused tears. Sob so devastatingly that I don’t recognize myself, drenching the denim fabric over my knees. And when I pull on my hair, numbness is all that I detect within me.

Good.

No feelings; only emptiness.

I steel myself by taking a few deep breaths, letting the oxygen settle that deep in me. And I unattach myself from my Sun-mi, promise her I will get back to her soon. Go back to who I previously was before I scraped the skin of my knees raw on the hardened soil of my emotions and thoughts.

Alone death.

But Sun-mi doesn’t sail away back to heaven. Doesn’t let me go. She stomps her foot on the wet grass of my heart and I understand why. I asked her to guide me and what I didn’t know was that she would break the laws of heaven in order to do that. She wouldn’t whisper words of wisdom into the chambers of my heart. She would take my hand and show me wisdom, pointing me to the right decision.

That is my Sun-mi.

I let her because I need her. I bow to her and I would stoop to my stomach on this dirty, metal staircase floor to divulge my respect and gratitude to her if I didn’t hear a voice echoing up towards me.

A familiar male voice calling out to me.

Sun-mi pulls me to it and tingles vibrate down my legs as I fly through the stairs, skipping the bottom ones in order to get me faster to my brother. Sun-mi pumps blood into my heart, refreshing the grass she lays upon, and lightness descends upon my shoulders.

Her work of art.

Heaving, I meet Jungkook in the doorframe, glancing up at me, disappointment lidding his eyes. But I don’t fear, not when Sun-mi is with me. He opens the door wider for me to step through, but I remain fixed on my spot, panting, ringing piercing through my hearing sense.

Too much adrenaline at once in a season of drought. My body is unable to catch up to the new acclimatization.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat raw from my crying and I clear it, so there’s no evidence of my sensitivity. Sun-mi caresses the wall of my heart to soothe me and tears burn at the back of my eyes—from the simple fact that I can feel her.

I’ve felt her only once before. A week after she died, I prayed to her, loudly, until I lost my voice. Begged her to come back to me.

And she did.

And it felt nice until it didn’t—so I made it my habit to attach and unattach myself because of my fragility. It is only a matter of time before the logic of your mind distinguishes a real person from a ghost. And the parting of that vulnerable mist, in the middle of your agony, isn’t for the faint-hearted.

But Sun-mi, at this very moment, feels more real than she ever has. As if she truly was hidden in the rooms of my heart like a little doll, like a little angel that has the task from above to guide me.

And because I need it, I’ll let more time pass through this transcendental connection.

Jungkook flattens his lips, tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out to play with the thin metal pierced through his bottom lip. He’s changed back into the clothes he came in, minus the fluffy jacket. A black T-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It makes the green of his hair stand out—just like the wisp of the same color on that singular strand of the girl kitty’s hair.

They have a tendency to match and shame boils in me, that Sun-mi is a witness to the jealousy I feel. I haven’t told her and I don’t know if I want to. In my momentary cowardice, I hope that she can sense it and validate it.

But I gain nothing from her.

Silence.

One that Jungkook breaks.

“Staff said that we have to wait until the storm passes.”

My stomach sinks, the memory of the rainfall faint in my ears. “Good.”

Jungkook pauses before he voices out the question that I can visibly see rising in him. Nibbles his bottom lip, the metal tilting to the side like my world. “Where did you go?”

My breath shivers as I inhale, tasting my half-false words before I speak them. “I felt hot and I needed some fresh air.”

I felt jealous that you made dirty innuendos with your friend, I don’t say. It led me to seek my dead girlfriend because I feel inclined to fraternize with that aforementioned friend.

Jungkook frowns. “You went out in the rain?”

I pass through the gap between his body and the doorframe, not able to stand the position I’ve been put in, anxiety prickling my fingertips. Jungkook lets the door shut behind him with a loud thud, following closely behind me until he falls in step beside me.

“It felt refreshing until it didn’t,” I decide to mutter. Typical words of mine—I can’t stand them either.

Sun-mi is still silent.

Maybe I should unattach myself, protect myself from further pain. It was a moment of weakness, anyways—

Jungkook rubs my shoulder, gently, the fixed one, barely touching me, but the gesture is there. And I grasp why I love him so much.

His gentleness is everything to me.

“The rain will stop,” he says and I take those words to heart, giving them the meaning that they are the wisdom I needed to hear, the wisdom I sought from my quiet Sun-mi.

The rain will stop.

The sensitivity will stop, too.

And time will stop soon, one day.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff.

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suhkusa · 6 months ago

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EGOIST 20.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. angst, hurt no comfort, the aftermath of past chapters

A/N. me when

-> MASTERLIST.

Everything you did was on impulse.

You acted before thinking things through rationally and it was chaotic.

Your heart and head hurt so bad, you felt like there was nothing more that you could do except sob and mull over your mistakes.

Mistake.

You felt absolutely stupid for thinking something was different. Something would change. But the universe came around and found the worse way, the worse person, to prove you dead wrong.

To make matters worse, you were depressed and jobless. At this rate, you’d have to move back home with your family and work at a local retail store, and you were not going back to that lifestyle if you could help it.

On the brighter side, your emails from news outlets and your notifications from social media had finally begun to slow. At this point, it’s been a week since the initial incident.

The only person you’ve kept in touch with from your former job was Kiyoomi. According to him, the emails hadn’t slowed on his end, but that was to be expected since he was the center of many fangirls’ attention.

He’d keep you at least a little sane when you felt your mentals decline.

As for the other man, you hadn’t heard or seen anything of him. Which was definitely for the best. You were actually surprised he hadn’t shown up at your door, because your threat to call the police if he came was half-empty.

And you absolutely hate yourself, because even though you know he did you extremely wrong, there’s a sliver of you that misses him. That wishes that he hadn’t been the cause of all your hurt so that he could be the one who is comforting you.

But the world is cruel and so was Atsumu.

———

You had expected it to take months to find a new job, but after you had helped manage a champion team, the calls came in faster than you could answer.

There were too many good offers, even offers from teams that MSBY had beaten. You took the easy way out of each call by telling them that you’d get back to them ASAP. You’d probably have to research the teams and players before really considering or accepting a job offer.

Other than job-hunting, you found yourself at home nearly all day. You’d play video games with Sakusa or just do some cleaning around the house. You’d found a new hobby with gardening in your spare time. Though, you weren’t very good at keeping them alive.

If not doing any of that, you’d be caught up in your head. Whether it be thinking of the past or worrying about the future, your line of thought would somehow find its way to him. You’d scold yourself every time, but you couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts. You’re scared that if you were to see him, you’d crumble all over again. You don’t know if you had it in you to turn him away, even after everything.

A knock at your door causes you to jump. You quickly get up to open it to Kiyoomi.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” you bow to him jokingly, before he walks in.

“I was here two days ago, not too much,”

You laugh before the two of you walk to your living room, making yourselves comfortable.

“How has the unemployed life been treating you?” he asks as he begins to connect his Nintendo Switch to your TV.

“Good, actually. I got like almost 8 different job offers, I think one of them is actually from an overseas team,”

His eyes widen at that, “Impressive,”

You nudge at him, “Yeah, I’m actually considering that one, it might be in California? But it’s far, but at the same time maybe that’s not a bad thing,”

“Could finally get away from all this madness,” Sakusa adds, taking your remote to switch the source.

“Mm, yeah. But at the same time this is my home and I don’t feel like I got closure with—”

Sakusa’s head snaps your direction, his eyes look at you knowingly causing you to stop. “Don’t start,”

You groan in distress, “I can’t,” you throw your head back, “I’m a mess,”

He uses the Switch controller to select a game, giving you the other controller. “Maybe you should seriously consider that overseas offer. It’d be a nice change of scenery, and it’s not a forever thing. At the end of the day you could always come back. I think you being here reminds you too much of him, and it’s not doing you any good,”

Your eyes widen, “Woah, so serious, Omi,”

His eyes squint at you, “I am serious,”

You laugh, taking the controller into your hands.

“I will though,” you continue, “You’re probably right, I might just need to untether myself from this god forsaken country for a while. Too many bad memories,”

“Thank you, Kiyoomi,” you smile, clicking the button to ready up your character.

“Anytime,”

———

Atsumu considers going on hiatus. Contrast to you, you’ve been on his mind 24/7. Atsumu always hated those stupid “everything reminds me of them,” jokes, but now he seriously relates.

He can’t drown himself in other women or alcohol. Because it feels wrong. He finds himself needing and wanting to be loyal to you, even though he hasn’t seen you in more than a month.

Atsumu avoids asking Sakusa about you. Mostly because the last time he did ask, Sakusa told him off. He opted to make burner accounts to see what you were up to on social media. Unfortunately for him, you stopped posting almost entirely before turning your account private.

He knew he was getting borderline obsessive but he couldn’t help it. He was already fighting the urge to go to you himself everyday. To try and ask around to anyone and everyone who may know what you’ve been up to.

Atsumu knows all of this is wrong of him. He was the one who did you wrong. Nothing he’d do would ever make it up to you.

Everything was working against him.

After you left that day, he had told Angie off and blocked her once and for all.

When he found out you had resigned, he almost considered quitting.

He wanted to curse every higher being for allowing things to turn out this way.

But nothing could compare to how he felt the day he eavesdropped on Kiyoomi’s phone call. His phone call with you. He stood by the doorway of the locker room as he listened as closely as he could.

After so long he’d finally gotten something, crumbs, of what you were doing. Though it was definitely not what he had expected or what he wanted.

“You’re taking the job?” Sakusa sounds excited, Atsumu assumes he’s talking about you getting a new job, “That’s good, sounds like a good offer,”

There’s a pause, and he guesses that you’re probably saying something in response from the other end.

“Are you nervous though? The U.S is pretty far, but California is cool from what I’ve heard,”

Atsumu’s heart sinks to his stomach. California? You were leaving the country?

His mind is running wild. Atsumu obviously knew you’d eventually find a new job, but he had thought you’d still be within arms reach. Close enough for him to reach out to you when he feels like the time is right. But across the globe? Atsumu is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t register the sound of Sakusa ending the call with you or him coming out of the locker room.

Atsumu nearly jumps at the other man’s voice, “Oh, you,”

He has no words, and just stares at Sakusa. “You heard, huh?”

“Good for her, she’ll finally be able to get away from you.”

The words from Sakusa are like a slap in the face, and if he was talking about anyone other than you Atsumu would’ve let him have a piece of his mind. But Sakusa was right.

He didn’t want to sound conceited or boost his own ego, but he probably had some part in your decision making. And while in the past, he probably would’ve felt some sick gratification from driving you far away. But now it just made him feel sick. Just sick.

Atsumu is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He wants to see you, to try and change your mind, he knows his efforts would be wasted.

Still, would it really hurt to try?

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #haikyuu series #haikyuu atsumu series #atsumu x reader angst #haikyuu x reader angst #raeworks #atsumu fanfic

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adventures-in-mangaland · 3 months ago

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Yet Another Dead Boy Detective Fic Rec List

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

I've been having so much fun with these, so I've decided to make another! See above for links to my other fic rec lists. ♥️

Like We're Gonna Die Young (Again) by RoseGanymede95

The latest installment in the superb Codependency World Cup series has the boys attend a nefarious house party and grapple with old frenemies, 90s fashion and temporary amnesia. Also fleshes out their achingly sad backstories, but compensates with the triumphant return of Pierre the rabbit.

When I Picture You by Gruoch

Charles gets braceleted by the Cat King instead of Edwin and receives his heart's desire... being alive again. This author has a special gift for taking fun sounding premises and turning the angst up to 11. So excellent.

young blood (never get chained) by ghostinthelibrary

University AU in which half-demon Charles intervenes in Edwin's ritual sacrifice and inadvertently binds their souls together... I'm genuinely obsessed with this AU, it has so much potential for tons of delicious tropes. Human!Edwin getting a crash course in supernatural shenanigans! Soulmate vibes!Found Family! Demon lore! What's not to love??

Ghosts and Monsters by justafandomfollower

Charles is also sacrificed and the boys meet in Hell! Fantastic premise and executed really well. I loved Masterful Edwin taking charge and protecting Charles while inwardly despairing. Highly recommended.

back to back they faced each other by ShanaStoryteller

The Night Nurse has a theory about how Charles was able to rescue Edwin from Hell so quickly... I'm genuinely shocked I haven't recced this one already. Sorry guys, I forgor. Anyway, this has interesting "Guardian" (angel?) lore, great meta and we even get some temporary amnesia as a treat.

boyfriend jacket by skadii

5+1 times Edwin borrowed Charles' jacket. The characterisation is on point, and it has some great OCs (Kyle the snarky seeing-eye cat!) and really sweet payneland moments. Plus Charles' jacket doing its most to annoy the Cat King.

Looking Like the Sunrise by letters_of_stars

Edwin thinks he's cursed so he and Crystal must team up to solve the case of his Mysterious and Suddenly Appearing Rizz. Funny and sweet friendship fic with some quality Edwin-Crystal bonding and discussions of trauma.

The Case of the Anonymous Confession by Mayarenerose

College AU featuring Charles posting an 'anonymous' online confession about his complicated feelings for his bestie. The closet is glass, but Edwin is oblivious and Crystal is in pain. Cute and funny epistolary social media fic done really well.

the middle of something wonderful by KiaraSayre

Does what it says on the tin and gives us a trope salad of cosy vignettes, including a time loop, temporary amnesia, sudden corporality and Crystal and Edwin trying to get a good grade in Party. Wholesome.

My heart is like a haunted house (series) by halffulljampot

Charles (unknowingly) befriends the ghost of Edwin's mother and constantly gushes to her about his amazing best friend/boyfriend. Beatrice is a great OC and it's just nice (though extra tragic) to read a fic in which Edwin had loving parents. Read it for Family Feels and wholesome intergenerational friendship.

the first rule of fight club by e_va

The boys are captured by an evil underground fighting ring. The fic is from Charles' PoV, so the prospect of having to fight Edwin was especially stomach-churning. Still, we get Edwin being a badass and a brilliant surprise cameo I don't want to spoil.

The Case of The... by sophisticatedyet

Edwin borrows Niko's negligee and Charles' brain breaks. There's also a case and giant squids, but Charles' Distracted By The Sexy crisis is the main (hilarious) event.

in those heavy days when love became an act of defiance by aletterinthenameofsanity, JUBE514

Daemon AU and first meeting fic! Loved the worldbuilding, insightful character work and lovely use of Greek mythology. Honestly, this fandom needs more daemon AUs.

spinning around and around in an ocean of grief (your ladder came down to the sea) by Ingi

Prequel to DontOffendTheBees' excellent College AU, expanding on the boys being alive and in school together. Also has its own prequel about their first meeting from Edwin's point of view. This one, though, is a Charles' Bisexual Journey/Feelings Realization fic. So lovely.

head in the clouds but my gravity's centered by shadowquill17

Face Touching: The Fic. I just love non-sexual intimacy in fics and this one is so tender. I also love Accidental Kissing and Feelings Realization so my cup runneth over.

i don't want to rest in peace by handwrittenhello

Different First Meeting fic featuring Poltergeist Charles! Loved the concept, even though it made me sad.

the great snogging debacle of '95 by thatgayprince

Edwin disguises himself as a girl and Charles starts and then defers a sexuality crisis for 30 years. Funny, steamy and emotional.

a beautiful day to say goodbye by ofstitches

The agency take on the case of a depressed house. This is another bittersweet Edwin backstory fic with discussions of grief.

Smitten in the Stacks by cordelianoir

Adorable prequel to lolotr's equally adorable library AU. Meet cute featuring (platonically married) Dad!Charles crushing on the hot librarian who leads Children's Storytime.

Jenny Green: Butcher, Hot Mess, Reluctant Queer Elder by Money_Maker

Jenny-centric fic! The focus is on Jenny and her financial, mental and emotional struggles post-canon, but mentoring Edwin through his queer self-discovery becomes a big part of that. This turns into a really sweet friendship, plus Found Family Feels and some fun outsider PoV of the boys' dynamic.

I've always got more recs so watch this space! ❤️

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threepandas · 3 months ago

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Bad End: No Question

The republic fell slowly, then all at once. Rot building like a creeping cancer, in all the places the shining lights of luxury did not touch. Festering and untreated, all while I could do nothing to stop it. I knew it was coming, could see the story unfolding, yet? Was powerless to stop it.

No one listened.

Why would they? I was just a naive child, spouting nonsense. After all, they all said, they all believed... the Republic Was Forever.

Until it was not. Until it all died. And from the bleeding, screaming, ruin? The Empire came, swallowing everything whole. Right up to the end. While in my head, I knew how the story would unfold. Had tried and tried, to no avail, helpless and small as only children can be, as the tidal wave finally hit.

Believed, even as they lay dying. Even as I watch as the people cheer, as blood ran thick in the streets, clogging the gutters. The luxurites dead. Both guilty and innocent alike. The boot heels, upon the necks of the poor, no longer. Or so their leaders proclaimed...

Easy scapegoats. Obvious targets. The villians for their narrative, pay no mind to what happens next. The money and power, the land. We are HEROS! For the PEOPLE! You can TRUST US.

Ha.

Of course.

All hail the Emperor. Wealthier then any man has ever been. Truely, we are Free.

Yes, when the revolution came, I wasn't with them, my family. My "proper" social circles. That's probably all that spared me. I would have been hunted down, otherwise. Innocent or not. Can't have any of the old power bases lingering about, after all. People might get the idea to rally. Might miss the Old, when the New loses it's shine. Child or not, we can't have THAT, now can we?

The staff and volunteers of the soup kitchen, hid me with the other children as the adults boarded up the windows and doors. I held a young mother's child, looked her in the terrified eyes and swore, on my life, that I would gaurd her daughter with my life. I remember expecting to raise that child. To never see her again. Not alive.

Remember wondering, how far I could stretch the coin, if I pawned the pretty little bits of jewelry my parents gave me. Assuming they weren't ripped right off me, the second we got out. I had plans to hide them. Begun calculations. So many little mouths to feed. We had to stick together. We MUST stick together.

Then it was over.

My "disgrace" of an uncle came for me. Found me in the near ruins of my "silly little project". He was the one who had wanted to work. Had a stable worker lover everyone knew about but no one talked about. He was covered in bit of hay. Smelled strongly of horses. His lover had grabbed him and dragged him to safety, hidden him, desperately, among the stalls.

Out of our entire House...

An entire House, once noble, now wealthy. Out of HUNDREDS of people? Built over centuries, branches upon branches, marriages and adoptions. Wards and in-laws. Newborns to lovers to elders on their deathbeds? Of them all, so few remained. And yet... I could not even blame the servants who abandoned us. Who turned on their Slave Masters in all but technicality. They had been treated so cruely, for so long.

.....but the children? What crime did they commit?

I stood in the ruins of Manor after Manor, great house after great house, and wondered. Would I let this make me a monster too? Was this anger or grief I felt? Would any of us ever be free, from the sickening rot that had crept so slowly into the hearts of these people? Both, the ones I had called kin, and the very people who killed them. But oh... there were so many bodies to bury. So, so many bodies.

Some of them... so very, terribly, small.

But as we put out embers and buried the dead? The oh so glorious empire was rising. A fat and lumberous beast, settling with already groaning bones into the still smoking pit, where the Republic lay dead. And, benevolently, the Emperor saw no reason to kill us. We were informed by pristine letter, hand delivered, as we stood smoke stained and filthy, among the pyres.

At least... thank the gods. At least my Uncle remembered.

He and I, fellow outcasts and trouble makers, he recalled my "nonsense". How it had very much come true. So he took the Emperor's letter. Smiled benignly, with the bland promise of nothing. And gently corralled us few who remained into the only remaining dining hall, to pour over the letters as a House. A Clan. Together.

He looked to me with haunted eyes... and wanted to know.

I phrased it as a vision. It would be easier to swallow that way. Not unheard of, in legend. Not out of the realm of possibility. Just absurdly, absurdly rare. But... did we not live in world shaking times? It would make sense, it felt, that the gods would at least MENTION such things...

A novel, a lifetime ago. We were hardly the Protagonists. Not related in any way. Dramatics and death would surround them. A dark age followed, supposedly, by light. But... was the real world ever so simple? I didn't know. I could name all the players. What would occur.

It would be up to US to protect ourselves.

And we WOULD need to protect ourselves. For the Empire was not a kind place. Nor fair. It was the rot of the Republic laid bare. Without pretense. And soon... the purges would begin.

I was, of course, right. The people's blood soaked victory soon gave way to dismay, as they became targets. Divided. Conquered. Inquisitors, hand chosen by his most graciousness, the Emperor himself. I held my tounge, kept my piece... and hated it. Undermined what I could. Rebuilt my soup kitchen.

Attended court.

Because, of course, all we loyal subjects MUST attend court. Don't we love our Emperor so? See how we fawn! We simper and bask in his greatness! Oh we hang on your every WORD, most royal Majesty! We are entranced! Loyal, loyal subjects, all. Such decadent parties as the people starve.

Didn't my family perish for such similar actions? But, ah, they deserved it. Of course. And THIS is for MORALE!

I sip wine looted from the Redcrest family's cellars. They were dead now. Were proud of their wines. They made them for centuries. There shall never be more bottles, yet frivolous, we drink them away. What crime did they commit? Their workers? I close my eyes and keep my smile fixed.

A pleasant expression, because everything is Fine. Remember who you fight for, survive for, you are the canary in the mine. If you go silent, they know to run. The longer you live, the more people you can help, you can do this. Remember... sometimes rebellion is refusing to die. Refusing to let them pull hope from your desperate, bleeding, claws.

Just smile.

Everything is Fine! See? We're Smiling!

"Such a lonely seat. Not going to dance? Mingle? One might think you're not having fun." Comes from behind me, the voice an almost silibant rasp, rumbling thunder and the whispered hiss of a blade. If ever there was a voice made for threats and the confession of terrible things, it was this. "But how could that be? Such a loyal servant of his Majesty would never be so divisive and disrespectful. You must surely be ill. So, tell me then, your excuse?"

The only reason I do not jump, and splash on more reminder of tragedy right down my front, in a display I can not afford, is that I freeze up. Jumping would look guilty of something. It would not matter that he walks all but silently. That I did not notice him and was startled. That it is a simple, human, reaction. Why am I so JUMPY? Guilty conscious? Perhaps an Inquisitor and I should... Talk.

And dropping my wine? Making a SCENE? Am I seeking to undermine his Majesty?

That's ON TOP of the fact, that... frankly? My House can not AFFORD to replace a wine stained dress. With his Majesty's demands for constant decadence yet performative humility, his hoarding of wealth and demands of tribute? We are barely scrapping by. Most "graciously spared" survivors are.

Not ALLOWED to become lower class. Disappear into the masses and work or live quiet, modest lives. No. We must PROVE our LOYALTY to his Majesty. Constantly. Forever. Right up until we fail and are punished for it. In a sick game, no one can ever hope to win but him.

We are to continue on, as though he did not burn the world down. Yet in revamped parody of what was. Like a social outcast, holding towns hostage, to play out "high school prom" as the MOST popular kid, forever and ever and always more. Or ELSE. Because he never grew up and never got over it. Because people didn't like him. So he'll MAKE them. Kill them if they refuse.

The fifteenth version of this dress. Lace carefully taken off and redone elsewhere, I cycle through "new dresses" and trade with allies who are about my size. Who could possibly afford to meet the man's mad demands? When we are barely feeding are own? When he has seized our assets yet will not let us work?

We are dying.

Painted in what inherited gold, silks, and jewels remain. Terrified. We are dying.

"Nothing to say? How quiet. One might think you are... afraid. But how could that be? You would know, as a loyal servant of his Majesty, that you have nothing to fear from us. No Inquisitor would harm one of the loyal subjects, of our beloved ruler. You are perfectly safe... that is, of course, assuming... you are, in fact, Loyal."

The near shifting of heavy cloth against heavy cloth, the sigh as it slid against armor, markes a deadly presence behind me. Light, almost silent, steps are nearly lost under the music, as he moves. Circling me like a hunter. I force myself to turn towards him instead of shying away. Claw control back of my instinct frozen limbs, with desperate hands. I cannot, CANNOT afford this.

"Ah, but you are sick. Headache, perhaps? The drink too strong?"

Red eyes bore into me from a silver mask. Infamous claws, on hands that have done so much, are tucked behind his back like gentleman, out on a stroll. Bone white robes, over armored black under robes. Monochromatic, blood red, and silver steel.

The Grand Inquisitor.

"Perhaps you've tired yourself. With all that dancing you did not do. So many questions. So few answers. But then, ah, I've been speaking so rudely, my dear. Talking over you. How has your evening been, hmm? Pleasant, I take it?" His voice was as light and almost charming, as a gentle hand; wrapped delicately around the throat. Not squeezing, not yet, just a simple remind that it could. If he did not like, what you had or were about to say. "Come, sit, I insist."

The smile on my face felt like it was a dam under pressure. Like my teeth could only barely held back the screaming in my head. The mask of my expression, covered in hair line fractures, only just holding together as I nodded. Followed along. Hysterical comparisons to the march before firing squads, danced in the back of my head. I shoved them back. Down and far away. I... I had to be present. Alert.

The chandelier's light caught with terrible beauty, on the brutal points of his claws. As he gestured, almost a mockery of the polite gentleman. He would be one, if not for the unspeakable things he had done. He was certainly polite. His etiquette immaculate.

Social dances. A mockery of comfort. Mock, mock, mock. His mere presence, his brutality, desecrated it all. Made profane the familiar. For who? WHO? Could break bread with the butcher of men? Could smile politely and serve them thoughtful bits of nothing? Treat them as your own? Yet... yet we were all to afraid to resist. To refuse.

Did they delight? Forcing us to welcome them, where they clearly were not wanted? Where we could not refuse them? Perverting the purpose of our traditions and our ways? Was... was it funny? Or just another tool to use against us?

Smile, dip your head, a small curtsy or bow. The guest invited sits first, serve drinks, time appropriate food if you have it. In my head I knew each step. The etiquette of the classes and why each was the way it was. He did not reach for the pitcher on the table. Merely settled back into his chair, like a throne.

Was he deliberately breaking the social norm? To create discomfort and pressure me to talk? Did he not know? His past was shrouded in mystery. Perhaps he simply did not feel like it. Who, here, could insist? Shun him for his rudeness?

I tried not to sweat, under his heavy gaze. Did not partake. Sat, back straight, my gentle mask-like smile fixed, as I stared over his shoulder. A pretty doll. Ragged and worn around the edges. Trying desperately to appear The Good And Loyal Citizen, least something... Unfortunate, happen.

"What a lovely dress." He mused into the tense silence, breaking it to brutal shards. "Yet, I can not help but notice the shade. The cut and design. Madame Signe's work, isn't it? It suits you." Everything inside me went cold. It was. But if he recognized it...

"Yet? I can not help but wonder, my dear. Why the lace is in the wrong place? You wouldn't happen to be trying to pass off that dress as something new, would you? Trying to subvert and undermine his Majesty's very clear command? That would be treasonous. And you, such a loyal subject, would never."

He knew.

I didn't know how much he knew, but he DID.

Struggling not to shake, not to give everything away, I lied. Of course, I did. Right through my teeth. I would, I had, and I promised. Straight to the end. Lie and lie, until I had nothing left in me. I know nothing, I know no one, there is nothing here to find. Lies upon lies, all while those I love flee for their lives. Praying to gods I don't think can even hear me, that it will be enough.

The slight tilt of his head somehow projected a sense of mocking indulgence. One long leg crossed the other, lounging like a warlord. The clawed gauntlets on full, gruesome display. Every part of him, from the set of his shoulders to the angle he sat, radiated amusement. As though he were watching a silly little child, playing foolish little games. Getting into mischief, then trying to hide the obvious evidence.

Was I quite done? His silence seem to say. He can wait.

I tilted my chin up with a strength and defiance I did not feel. Yes, I was done. Let come what may. I... I tried.

"So afraid, dear citizen. Acting as though I'm some sort of monster in the night, out to butcher and hunt the innocent. One might get the wrong impression. You might even hurt my feelings." He laughs, a sound that seems to roll and fall dangerously, past grinning teeth. Sharp and deadly. "But of course... I understand, I do. About your dress. You can not help it."

"After all, you have not changed a bit."

....what?

"Still compelled, against all rhyme and reason, to tend to the wretched under classes. The filth and wastrels. Beggars and whores. Instead of purchasing dresses for parties? You, oh loyal Citizen, are of course, exemplifying his Majesty's great Mercy."

That's not what... He KNOWS it's not... Where is he GOING with this?

"Yes, we must make exceptions, perhaps. Have mercy. After all... you had nothing but the best of intentions. And how can I hold that against you? When you can not help what you are? Soft and foolish. So very merciful and giving. Humane."

He dropped the word like it was a joke. Almost snide, laughter haunting the edges of it like a pack of hunting hounds. As though humanity to others, itself, was laughable. What a joke, he seemed to suggest, the mere concept of mercy. Of compassion for the sake of it.

So, why? What game was he playing? If he had to mercy to give me? Why even suggest...?

"Do you remember, the Revolution? That glorious rise, as the old fell away. As shackles were broken. As class lines no longer bound us. As we, both children, sat in the dark?"

Impossible.

No... no it... please, God, it can't....

The music was very far away. Muted, as though through blankets. Conversations becoming indistinct. Memories of stale air and dust. Packed earth beneath me and cold stone pressing against my back. The terrible, uncertain creek, of cheap woods from both the crates and ceiling above us. Everything that COULD be stacked against the doors, was.

Wondering if we would survive fire. If they, in their anger and hate, would think of it. Oh god, oh god, we were just kids-!

White hair, like bone, forever silent and staring. Never came close but showed up every time I did, they noted. A crush. Local boy, they mused. He was too thin. Bruises where there shouldn't be. Scars on skin too young. He didn't run when I went to him, but never came to me. I tried to feed him. Just one more story. So many tragedies, that I could do so little to change. All I had was soup.

"Ah~ there it is. You recognize me now. It's been so long, hasn't it, my dear?" Something pleased and horrifying, curled like spreading poison through his tone. "I am a man, grown, now. Have become quite accomplished, if I do say so myself. Wealthy, influential, well connected. Powerful. No longer weak and unworthy of your time."

"In fact," He leaned forward, as though telling a secret. Almost playful, despite the horror of his words. "It's my turn to control you. To be the powerful one. To have everything while you have nothing."

"I will admit... I have been waiting for this for a very long time. You were so beautiful. Trapped in you wretched blood bought finery, chained to the House that would keep us apart. I knew even then, that I would have you, that I was the ONLY one that could be allowed to have you. No one else. And oh, his Majesty has been so very, very obliging."

Folded papers were withdrawn from his robes. Offered almost carelessly. If it weren't for the intensity of his stare? I would believe he didn't care, how I reacted. With shaking hands. I smooth the pages as I open it. From the desk of the Emperor himself... a... a marriage contract.

"Exactly as I wanted. You'll never escape me again. Smile, my dear."

"We're getting married."

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reonnex · 4 months ago

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The infantilization of book!Wylan and show!Wylan really needs to be looked at.

This isnt a call out, or trying to hate on anyone, just an overall thing I've seen throughout being in this fandom

In the books while Wylan is a child he is also 16. People underestimate him into innocent and even younger. And while he is naive, this does not make him innocent. He has his own morals, own judgment that havent been ripped away from him yet. He is just trying to survive.

People use the "we could wake them up line" a lot snd I agree! But to also look at the full lines as well

Wylan gestured to the guards. "Is it safe to leave them, you know-"

"Alive? I'm not big on killing unconscious men."

"We could wake them up."

"Pretty ruthless, merchling. Have you ever killed anyone?"

"I'd never even seen a dead body before I came to the Barrel." Wylan admitted.

"It's not something to be embarrassed about," Jesper said, surprising himself a little. But he meant it. Wylan needed to learn to take care of himself, but it would be nice if he could do it without getting on friendly terms with death."Make sure the gags are tight."

This isnt him being ruthless. Its him being logical. He is taking what Jesper says to heart. Wake them instead of killing them unconscious becuase Jesper doesn't want to kill unconscious men. Which they do end up tying the soldier to a pole, not killing them!! Him having morals shouldn't contribute to claims of him being innocent.

Wylan is worried about hurting people but will do so if nessecasry to save his friends. We can see this in the show and books. In the show he does not want to make bombs for Kaz, but does so in the end because he acknowledges he has to survive. He is worried about Alby, but goes along with the plan still.

All these are what makes Wylan, wylan. It is his fundamentals, his morals and idels. They are not however claims to see how sweet and innocent he is and how he was corrupted.

Ontop of this, while it is never y it is hevaily implied that Wylan is also autistic. (Also, correct me if im wrong please, but im pretty sure Jack did talk about this.) Autistic people get infantilizated already, and I've had my own fair share of this as well. ( I am autistic and have a learning disabilitiy, as well a speech impedament that I still struggle with.) I have to work harder to make sure people treat me as a twenty year old. Because that is my age, and there is a significant difference in attitude in how people treat me when they know im autistic, and when they don't.

And for Wylan, I feel like its the same issue. While it may not be intentional, ive been people coo over the fact Wylan has done simple tasks or teen experiences. Him having Jesper read to him, getting flustered when talking to him, Wylan not understanding social cues as well as others and taking things to face value.

You can be excited for him and think it's sweet, but to also acknowledge that there is a line between "Thats adorable" and "He's adorable." Wylan is someone who is neurodivergent. He was extrmetly sheltred as a child and was never given the proper tools to help his dyslexia, due to this he has struggles that shouldn't be overlooked or seen as "cute" when he experiences outcomes due to the situation he was in. Whenever he doesn't understand social cues, i.e., "Whos mark." People giggling and saying it's silly or cute when he doesn't understand the cues. That's infantilizating! You are viewing things he struggles with in the lens of watching a child understanding the world. Which Wylan isn't. He is a teenager, no matter the circumstances. His age should be understood.

This infantilization also effects wesper in how people view the two of them. Many people view black people as "older, the man in the relationship, rugged" while the white person is seen as the "women, younger, more innocent."

Infact, I think the show only worsned it for Wylan. As now there are faces to names.

Jack does have a youthful face, but still looks his age. I have a babyface and even now at 20 I look much older then I did at 16. The same goes for Jack. He cant control how he looks but because of his youthful features people only push for this racially hetaronormative mindset more between Wylan and Jesper (Even if its untitional).

Even Kit looks his age as well and has a baby face. He's 29 right now but was in his mid twenties during filming. Season 1 was filmed back in 2019 but due to covid post production got set back, and season 2 was filmed in the beginning of 2022. But why is it only Wylan who is infantilizated? Jesper struggles just as much with his ADHD and trauma as Wylan does.

Jack and Kit are only one year apart, the same in the books but still ive been Wylan be portrayed as the "poor innocent child who was abused." and Jesper as the "he needs to get over his addiction hes a grown man/ he's too mean to Wylan."

In society now so many black teens are seen as adults and treated as such, while white teens are seen as younger and not pushed so hard. The same can be seen for wesper.

Ive even seen people on Tiktok and other socials claim that Jesper was rude to Wylan and abusive. (WHERE???). Both Wylan and Jesper have said things that hurt the other, and they both apologized for it, and get grilled as well. In the show and books they learn and grow. The infantilization of Wylan doesnt hurt just him but plays into racial stereotypes and also microagressions. Why is it that when the white character is calling someone out its "deserved" but when the black character (who might I add had no idea) makes a side comment he is labled as cruel and abusive?

In so many shows and books the black character is usually portrayed as the joker character. Six Of Crows does this as well, which is something important to not ingore. Jesper is seen as the flirty joke character. However the only difference is soc also show more sides to his character by letting him be vulnerable. Letting Jesper show his struggles to the audience as well, how his neurodivergece effects him, letting him dress in skirts and bold colors that step away from the gender norm. So many times in media the black character is just there for shits and giggles, or is used as the villan/antagonist.

It believe its really important to understand this, and to acknowledge if your infantilizating him, or even using microagressions on Jesper unintentionally, then to learn to understand why and to grow from them.

#I had words I had to say #once again this is not a callout post!#please dont go hunting for any post as this has been on my mind for months now #I just see it keep happening over and over again and wanted to say something #six of crows #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #wesper #shadow and bone

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see-arcane · 7 months ago

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The idea of one of the Weird Sisters being a romani girl or a slovak girl that was in the wrong place at the wrong time is horrible, and a great way to showcase the kind of power (both social, and supernatural) that Dracula forces upon the humans around him.

Wrong place, wrong time, wrong state of being, social, supernatural or otherwise. Dracula could have taken anyone from any station in Transylvania. Rich or poor, friend or foe. But I think none of the Weird Sisters were noblewomen while alive. They were, like Jonathan, sniffed out among the chattel. Dracula is their superior in every regard that way; and more, the servile classes do one thing better than any aristocrat.

It is their wont to make their ruler happy.

The eldest, a young fair girl, was a drop of sunshine and laughter in a threadbare village. Someone who uplifted and charmed whoever she crossed. Dracula, after some unknown breaking point in the mad red fog as he skulked up the mountains into his broken castle to wrestle with inhuman instincts and hold to something like a man's sanity, was alone. A monster made raw with slaughtering, with his people only fearing and fleeing around him. His halls are quiet. He crawls and lopes through them, snapping at himself, knowing he is reducing night by night into a Thing more than a man, let alone a conqueror.

So he goes hunting. He finds the fair girl who makes others happy and holds their hearts. He steals her. Wrings out months of playacting from her; in turn, he has reason to force himself into behaving like a man. The castle has no visitors in that era. When she cries and calls from her window, she hears only her own echoes as a pleading choir. And then it is back to making her monster happy. So happy that he loves her. She must stay.

The next girl was taken back when ties were first forged between the Count and the early generations of Slovaks he would come to entrust with his errands. There was trust on the human side too. Yes, he was a monster, but he was their monster. Their benefactor. He speaks to them like kin and pays a dragon's ransom for their work. They are allies! He calls them friends!

So it goes until his attention falls on one of the girls. A daughter. A sister. A new wife. She knows their Count, their kind monster. 'A friend of the family.' And perhaps she is not even afraid when he asks her, cordial as a lord, to aid him with something in the castle. A small matter, my dear, but something he would not trust the coarse handling of the men to do. She goes in. The door locks.

Does she go to that same room, that same window? Does she weep and call for her family? Does anyone try to come for her, to plead with their friend-master-owner, or to--ha--raise a weapon against him?

If so, it is a small matter. Quick. Bloody.

She charms him while alive. For she must. She thought, just as her new-ancient Sister thought, that she might find a way out. A chance to flee. But she makes him so happy. So happy that he loves her. She must stay.

And the Slovaks learn a lesson that is shared through centuries. They warn all those they work with in the future of the same. The locals, the nomads, the strangers. No women. No girls.

The third girl has no warning. She is Romani, but she has run from her people too. Or else she was trying to find them. Times have always been grim, but especially when the mania over witchcraft was at its height. She lost friends and family to...what? Sham trials and tortured deaths? A scattering to the winds as they fled the self-assigned hunters? Running further, higher, steeper. God's soldiers will not bother with their mission if it means galloping up the cliffs.

Up, up, up.

There are wolves. There is cold. She has no room in her to care.

And then, a fairy tale happening:

A man appears on the moonlit mountain. His eyes are fire. Are you lost, my dear?

She is. She thinks herself already dead or dreaming when he leads her into the castle. When there is food, warmth, and sympathy from this smiling noble perched in the crags of the Carpathians. And for one month, maybe two, even after she smells something worse than death on him, even after every liberty is plucked from her like petals from a rose, even after she has her first glimpse of her grinning Sisters, even after she sees strangers--Living people! Her own people among them! Look, look, I am trapped here! Please! Please, do not go, do not leave me with him...--she clings to charm. To smiles. She makes him happy.

So happy that he loves her. She must stay.

And now there is a young man. Such a winsome thing, young and strong. He makes their monster so happy.

His waiting Sisters think their monster may just love him.

And as they hear him shout from the hand-me-down window, they laugh along with the living in their coffins.

#Having Some Feelings Today Can You Tell? :))))))))))))))#the weird sisters #brides of dracula #jonathan harker #dracula #re: dracula #dracula daily

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xomakara · 5 months ago

Text

Wanted Dead Or Alive

(re-posting from my old account seulrinnie-rinrin/xomakara-secondary)

SUMMARY | A handsome cowboy is injured while tending to a wild horse he's rescued miles from town. You're on the run, and can't afford to stop on your way to your destination – but you can't ignore the wounded man when you see him, and decide to help him despite the personal risk.

PAIRING | Mingi x Reader

GENRE/CONTENT/WARNINGS | Cowboy!Mingi, Heiress!Reader, Western au, non-idol au, smut (with some plot), consensual sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up y'all), slight fingering, dirty talk, pet names (darlin', sweetheart, etc), praise kink, bathtub sex, bed sex, gunfights, mentioned abuse

RATING | Mature, Explicit, 18+, NSFW, MDNI

LENGTH | 7,929 words

TAGLIST | --

NETWORKS | @cromernet (reuploaded so only tagging nets that haven't reblogged it yet)

AUTHOR’S NOTE | Excuse me, while I go bathe myself in holy water.

You can't help but spur the horse forward, your heart thudding in your chest. It had been hours, but the adrenaline was still running rampant in your system, your stomach clenching with dread.

You could hear the sound of hooves, and your body was tense and tight as you pulled the reins, hoping the sound wasn't heading toward you.

It had all started when you woke up with your ex-husband's hands around your throat, a wild look in his eyes. He'd seemed desperate and he had looked at you with an unfamiliar expression as he tightened his grip.

The memory of his hands squeezing the air out of your throat, the burning in your lungs as he tried to squeeze the life out of you. The memory had tears springing into your eyes, and you swallowed them back, forcing the panic away.

He had almost succeeded, if not for the fact that you were more desperate to live than he was for you to die.

You'd fought him with everything you had, and with the steak knife that you hid under your pillow, you stabbed him in the hand so that you could breathe.

And then you ran.

You had a small fortune that you'd stashed away, and you had a bag packed for days like this.

It wasn't enough to keep you safe for very long, but it was enough to get you where you needed to go, and it was enough to keep you warm, and fed and hidden from prying eyes.

You had planned to slip out of town under the cover of darkness and disappear. You'd heard that it was possible to disappear entirely, to leave the country, and you were prepared to do it.

You had no ties, no one waiting for you, nothing to keep you in town except for the fear of being found.

The sun is rising over the horizon, and you know you should probably stop for a rest, but you don't think you can.

You want to keep moving until you can't anymore.

You know there are men on your trail. They're not smart enough to keep up with you, but you know they're going to follow you for as long as it takes.

They'd followed you to this little town, and you knew it was only a matter of time before they found you again.

And they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted.

You know it was the money they were after.

After all, your family had a lot of it, and your husband had known about it and had wanted to get his hands on it for some time.

That's why he married you.

Sure he was rich and everyone knew it. But with the way that he spent it, he was drying out his funds, and he knew that if he didn't find some source of income, he'd be destitute within the year.

He wouldn't tell anyone, oh no, that would damage his reputation.

Instead, he'd taken a loan and used that loan to buy the nicest ring that he could afford.

And then he'd gone and found himself a rich wife.

He'd been careful in his planning. He'd been charming and he'd made you feel things you'd never felt before. He charmed his way to get your parents' favor, and they'd approved of him almost immediately.

The wedding had been the biggest social event that had happened in town in a long time.

But it didn't matter how well the two of you were liked, because your ex-husband didn't know how to stop spending, and now people were beginning to talk.

And they were beginning to ask questions.

You had been his perfect cover, his perfect alibi, and now that he was losing his power and prestige, he wanted to keep the one thing that was left to him.

And that was the money.

You didn't mind giving him the money, he'd been good to you, and he'd loved you, and had cared for you. But when the love turned to abuse, and the care turned to control, you decided you were better off without him.

So, you left him. Divorced him.

And now he was coming after you, and after the money.

He would not stop until he got what he wanted.

And neither would the men that were chasing you.

Your horse had been galloping for hours, and you were starting to slow down. Your body was sore, and your legs were cramping, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

You could hear them getting closer, and it made your blood run cold.

Your eyes scanned the horizon, looking for a place where you could stop. Somewhere you could hide, maybe.

There was a corpse of trees not too far from the road, and you veered towards them, hoping that they were thick enough to hide you from the men who were pursuing you.

And then you see him.

Tall and handsome, leaning against the side of a tree, holding his side. His head is tipped back, his face twisted with pain, and you feel your heart drop at the sight.

You pull your horse to a stop, your hands trembling. You're afraid. You're so scared. But you can't just leave him there, bleeding.

He's a big guy, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, but right now, he looks so small.

He opens his eyes, and his gaze finds yours. His eyes are dark, and you can see the pain in them.

He lifts his hand, and he waves at you.

"Hey there, little lady." Voice hoarse and gravelly. "Looks like I could use a bit of help."

You couldn't help but dismount your horse and carefully walk up to him. "What happened to you?"

His face twists and his shoulders rise as he inhales deeply. "Long story short, I got shot trying to round up some horses for Ol' Man Kim. A bullet got lodged in my side. I ain't sure if it went clean through, but I need a doctor. I can't make it to town."

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. "I can't take you into town, Mister. I can't afford to draw attention to myself."

He gives you a strange look. "Why would that draw attention to yourself? Do you have a criminal record or somethin'?"

You shake your head. "No. It's a lot more complicated than that. It's a long story."

"You can make it short like I did mine."

You laugh softly, your heart skipping a beat. He has a nice smile, and he's even more handsome when he laughs. "Okay. Well, long story short, I'm on the run. My ex-husband is trying to kill me for my money. And some other guys are after me. I can't stop here or else I'm putting myself at risk. I have to keep moving."

He studies you for a moment, his dark eyes boring into yours. "If you're willing, I could be of some assistance. I'm good with a gun, and I can keep you safe."

"But you're injured, mister."

"It's just a flesh wound. I can still use a gun. If you're worried, I can ride along with you, and when we get to the next town, I'll find a doctor. Until then, I'll watch your back. I promise I won't let anyone hurt you."

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. "Why would you do that? You look like the type that would rob me instead."

"Nah, I may be a cowboy but I don't harm women and children." He reaches out his hand, palm up, a kind smile on his face. "I'll protect you, Miss. And when I'm healed up, I'll help you get to wherever it is that you're going."

You swallow, unsure if you should trust him or not. But he seems like a decent guy, and you could use all the help you could get.

"I don't know..." You bit your bottom lip. "I can't afford to pay you right now..."

"That's alright." He smiles again, and it's a reassuring smile. "I don't need any money. Just some help."

You hesitate, your heart racing. "Okay."

He grins. "Well, alright then. What's your name, miss?"

"Y/N."

"Mingi. A pleasure to meet ya."

"Likewise." You nod and walk towards your horse, taking hold of his reins. "You think you can get up on your own, Mingi?"

"Sure thing." Mingi grunts and pushes himself away from the tree, his hand clutching at his side. He takes a few steps, his face twisted in pain. He staggers and nearly falls, but you're quick enough to catch him before he hits the ground.

You grunt and strain to keep him upright. "Easy there."

He looks down at you, and you can see the embarrassment and pain in his eyes.

"Sorry."

"It's alright. Just lean on me, and we'll get you up on the horse. We're not going very far, and I think I saw a doctor a few miles back."

Mingi nods and takes a deep breath. You can't help but notice that his hair is messy and windswept, and his clothes are rumpled. Despite that, he was still very handsome.

You put your arms around his waist and help him climb onto the horse.

"Thank you." He says, his voice soft.

"You're welcome." You reply a small smile on your face.

You can't help but notice the way his broad shoulders taper into a narrow waist. He has the build of a man who does hard work for a living, and his dark brown eyes are bright and clear. He's the first man who's been honest and kind to you in a long time.

As you climb onto the horse, Mingi wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to his chest.

You feel safe and secure, and you can't help but notice how his arms feel around you.

His scent is warm and masculine, and you feel yourself relaxing into him.

"We should get going." You say, your voice barely a whisper.

"Right," Mingi says and nudges the horse forward.

As you ride away, you can't help but notice the way he tightens his arms around you, and how his lips brush against your ear.

You shiver, and close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his arms around you, and the safety you feel in his embrace.

For the first time in a long time, you feel hopeful.

You arrived in the small town that you passed a few miles back and the first thing that caught your eye was a doctor's office.

Mingi had been quiet the whole ride. The pain must have been intense. You pulled your horse to a stop and quickly dismounted. You helped Mingi off the horse and slowly made your way into the building, his tall frame leaning on you.

"I need a doctor! Now!" You shouted and looked around the waiting room.

"Please wait your turn." A woman, who looked like a nurse, muttered as she sat at a desk looking over some papers.

"Ma'am, please get the doctor or help me." Mingi softly said, the woman looking up at him. Mingi smiled down at you, his face pale. "My little wife here is worried and I'd hate to see her cry."

The woman blushed, and got up from her desk, quickly hurrying down the hall.

"Wife?" You questioned.

"She'll give us priority. Trust me." He softly grinned at you. "It's easier to get what we want this way."

"How's that fair to the other patients?"

"Life's not fair, sweetheart."

"You're lucky that I find you charming." You huffed.

"You find me charming? Well, aren't you sweet?"

"Shut up." You softly chuckled and rolled your eyes.

"Sir, ma'am, follow me." The nurse came back into the waiting room and ushered you down the hall and into an examination room.

After some time, Mingi was patched up, and per the doctor's orders, you had to stay a few nights in town. You were worried about the men that were following you but Mingi assured you that you would be safe.

"So, where are we staying?"

"With a friend of mine."

"Friend?"

"Yep. He'll take good care of us. He owes me a favor and it's his fault that I got shot in the first place."

"Is it Ol' Man Kim, you mentioned before?"

Mingi nodded. "Just don't call him old. He's only a year older than me but I like to mess with him. We grew up together and we've always had each other's backs."

"He sounds like a good friend."

"He's one of the best." Mingi grinned, the pain meds kicking in.

"Alright, well, we better get going then." You sighed and helped Mingi get out of bed. "The doctor said that the medicine will probably make you drowsy."

"I'll be fine. Let's go."

You helped Mingi back to your horse and got him situated on the saddle.

"Ready?"

"Yeah."

"Where to?"

"Kim's place. It's not far from here."

"Alright." You mounted your horse and started heading out of town.

You rode for a few hours, the sun beginning to set. You were about to suggest that you should camp somewhere for the night, but Mingi told you to continue straight ahead.

"This is a long stretch of nothing, are you sure we're heading the right way?"

"Yes. Keep going, the house should come into view soon."

"Okay." You said, keeping the horse moving.

It was growing darker, and the air was getting colder.

"Mingi, we really should stop and rest. We can continue tomorrow."

"Not yet. We're almost there. Keep going."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Alright."

You continued to ride, the sky turning darker.

"I'm getting worried, Mingi. It's getting too dark to ride safely."

"Don't worry. The house should be coming up soon."

"Okay."

The moon was high in the sky and the stars were shining brightly.

You were about to give up and insist on making camp when a large house appeared in the distance.

"See? Told you."

"Well, I'll be damned." You sighed.

"It's not much, but it's home."

You followed Mingi's directions and guided the horse to the front door.

"Who's there?" A man opened the door, pointing his rifle at the both of you.

"Calm down, you old fart. It's just me." Mingi waved his hand at the man.

"Mingi?" The man lowered his rifle and squinted his eyes at him. "What the hell happened to you, man?"

"Got shot trying to wrangle up your horses, that's what." Mingi joked before looking at you. "This little lady here helped me."

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name, Miss." The man smiled at you.

"Y/N."

"Nice to meet ya. Name's Hongjoong. You can call me Joong."

"Joong, this little lady needs our help. She's running from some bad people." Mingi leaned his head against your back, his voice sounding groggy.

"Bad people?" Hongjoong questioned, eyeing you suspiciously.

"Yes. My ex-husband is trying to kill me." You explained. "He's hired people to come after me. I've been on the run for months now."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Miss Y/N."

"Thank you."

"Mingi, why don't you take Miss Y/N and get settled in while I bring your horse to the stable."

"Okay."

Mingi helped you down from the horse, his arms wrapping around your waist as he slowly lowered you to the ground.

"Careful." You softly spoke, helping him down from the horse.

"Thank you, darling." Mingi smiled.

"You two, get inside and get warmed up. I'll take care of the horse." Hongjoong took the reins and led the horse to the stable.

You helped Mingi inside, the two of you entering the large ranch house. You placed Mingi on the couch before taking a look around the house. It was simple but cozy, and it smelled like vanilla and pine.

"Make yourself at home. Joong won't be long." Mingi leaned back against the cushions.

"Thank you." You smiled and went back over to him, sitting on the couch next to him.

You studied his features, his eyes closed and his face relaxed. He looked so peaceful, and you couldn't help but admire his beauty.

"What are you thinking about?" Mingi suddenly asked, opening his eyes and looking at you.

"Nothing. Just how handsome you are." You admitted.

"Well, thank you, darlin'." He smiled. "You're pretty yourself. Real pretty."

"Thank you."

"I'm glad you decided to stop and help me. I owe you my life."

"You're welcome." You smiled and leaned back against the cushions.

"So tell me your story," Mingi muttered. "Why is your husband out to get ya? Is it just for the money or is there something else?"

"It's a long story, Mingi." You sighed, a frown forming on your face.

"I got all night, sweetheart." He smiled, rubbing a hand up and down your arm. "C'mon. Indulge me, please."

You rolled your eyes. "You're lucky you're hurt. You're being very cheeky."

Mingi laughed, his dimpled cheek pressed against the cushions as he closed his eyes. "I am indeed. Tell me about ya. About yer marriage."

"What's to tell?" You shrugged, leaning back against the sofa and closing your eyes. "I met a man I thought would take care of me. He charmed me and my family but in reality, all he ever wanted was my money. Because he was on the verge of being broke." You began, re-living the memories. "At first, he treated me nice and it was wonderful, until it wasn't. It was his love language, lavish gifts, and trips. And then all of a sudden, what I thought was love turned into abuse and control. He wanted to spend my money on everything. When I said no, things went badly and his abuse became physical."

Mingi reached out a hand to you and put it atop yours, giving a little squeeze. "That bastard. I know his type. Those were the men I robbed and stole from. The greedy ones that hurt women." He let out a sigh and laid his head back. "I was an outlaw, for a long time. Joong and I were always looking out for each other. He was the brains and I was the brawn. But, a couple of years back we fell on some rough times and realized we weren't as invincible as we thought. When Joong's mama passed, she left him this property. We went legit and bought some cattle. Things are good now but we were still doing odd jobs. Helping friends and such." He smiled.

You studied him. "You two seem close. Friends can be good to have."

Mingi smiled at you, his dark brown eyes piercing into yours. "Joong and I are good at taking care of ourselves. Never needed anyone else until now."

"Until now?" Your eyebrows raised.

He shrugged a shoulder, an eyebrow lifting. "You never know what the future holds. Better to be prepared."

Mingi chuckled and stretched his limbs.

"I like the way you think." Your lips turned upward as you spoke to him.

The two of you sat in comfortable silence. Mingi's presence brought a feeling of ease to you. A moment later, Hongjoong came through the front door and removed his boots at the entrance.

"Hey, Joongie." Mingi greeted with a sleepy smile.

"How are ya holding up?"

"Better now." Mingi looked at you with a smile on his lips.

"Hey now, don't be all flirty up in this place-"

"Don't get jealous, Joong." Mingi cut him off.

"Me, jealous of you? Hell no." Hongjoong made his way over to you and sat down on a loveseat opposite the sofa. "So Miss Y/N, you got some crazies after you? What for? You some kind of heiress to a fortune? I can't see you doing any sort of wrong."

Your face reddened a bit as the men watched you. "I uh...well you could say that. My parents are wealthy, yes, and I was married to what I thought was a wealthy man...but he was on the verge of being broke. He only wanted my money so he could fund his extravagant life. Over time, he changed and became abusive. Finally, I couldn't handle it anymore so I divorced him. Stabbed him in the hand with a steak knife and ran away. Now he's sent thugs and goons after me. As long as he can get his hands on my money, he doesn't care if I'm dead or alive."

"Unbelievable." Mingi sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Well, I have to hand it to you, Y/N. Most women wouldn't have the strength or gall to stand up to an abuser or their spouse." Hongjoong admired you.

"I have to get out of the country. That was my plan all along." You sighed. "Get out of the country and try to live quietly, like normal. Not to offend, but men like you aren't exactly low-key."

Mingi chuckled. "Good point."

"And now you're saddled with the poor cowboy you've rescued and stuck at a ranch house on the outskirts of nowhere."

'What if they come here?" You bit your bottom lip.

Hongjoong shook his head. "You don't have to worry. Mingi and I are more than capable of handling a few thugs."

"Right." Mingi smiled at you. "Now, how about some food and bed? I'm starved, wounded, and exhausted."

"As am I."

"Okay, you two." Hongjoong stood. "I'll get dinner started, so rest up."

"She's in there!" You heard yelling. "We'll kill her if we have to! Bring her here, now!"

You were thrown on your back, a male body covering yours as you blinked your eyes awake. The tall cowboy covered your body as best he could with his own, a rifle aimed and firing out the window into the night.

"Stay low," Mingi growled in your ear, a primal protective tone. He aimed the rifle once more as shouts and screams pierced the air. More gunshots and the air turned electric. He spoke to you in a hushed tone. "Do you know how to handle a gun?"

"Yeah." You had been forced to learn back with your husband and his controlling nature. You would never use a weapon to harm, though.

Mingi looked to see that you nodded, reaching over he dug in a side drawer of the dresser next to his bed and handed you a pistol.

"Just in case. Try to stay low until it's clear. But if it's an all-out war, don't be afraid. Protect yourself. I don't mind dying for something worth it and you're something worth a lot in my eyes. I promise you, you'll come out alive and whole."

You turned and locked eyes with Mingi. Mingi held eye contact for a second before hopping out of bed.

"You ready?" Mingi moved to the window and looked out over the land surrounding the home, the firelight casting an orange glow.

You swallowed your anxiety and nodded to the cowboy.

"Okay." Mingi readied his weapon and hopped up onto the window, gun first, and fired. He took cover in the window frame, a thump sounded like a body landing, but you weren't sure. You held the gun ready, gripping tight to it tight as sweat lined your palms.

There was no more yelling. Only the crackling of the fire was audible. Mingi sighed heavily. His head dropped and then you watched his chest inflate and fall quickly as his nerves calmed down.

"You good, Darlin'?" He turned his eyes to meet yours.

"I'm...okay."

"Good." He nodded. "Remember to stay low. I'll draw their attention away, then you run like hell. Head to the stables and get on one of the horses. Head to town and find Yunho, the sheriff. Hongjoong and I will be right behind you. Okay?"

You nodded. "Okay."

"Good girl." He gave your knee a light squeeze. "Stay low and quiet."

Mingi disappeared. You took a few breaths, listening to the silence. You then dropped the window and began to make your way through the house and to the stables. You heard the sounds of horses stamping the ground and snorting. You looked over and saw Hongjoong climbing through the window.

"He okay?" Hongjoong whispered, moving his head out the window and seeing Mingi wasn't following you.

"Yes." You looked at him, sadness lining your eyes and fear welling in your voice.

"Hey, he's tough. The guy has been in much worse jams and walked out unscathed. This time isn't going to be any different. Trust me." Hongjoong had his revolver out, keeping his eyes focused on any movement outside. He hoped his words were true and the Mingi was alright.

A second later you heard Mingi's boots hit the floor. You were relieved. He moved quickly to the window.

"Four men dead."

"Is that all of them?" Hongjoong asked.

"Yes. They rode in fast. Just the four men. Heard one of them saying that there's more on the way."

"Damn, you're ex-husband wasn't playing around," Hongjoong grumbled.

Mingi approached you. "Darlin', let's go."

Hongjoong looked at you. "Go with Mingi. I'll hold down the fort. This is my goddamn house after all."

He clasped Mingi on the shoulder. "Just go and get her safe."

"Yeah." Mingi nodded.

Hongjoong loaded the pistol and cocked the hammer. "This ain't goodbye forever, Miss Y/N. I promise." He saluted the pair of you with two fingers, a genuine smile on his lips. "Be safe, you two."

"Take care, Hongjoong. See you on the other side, my friend." Mingi then took your hand and led you to a horse already packed with bags. He then picked you up by your waist, lifting you as though you were nothing more than a pillow. His strength never failed to impress you and excite you at the same time. You tried to situate your skirts appropriately but decided to tear a good portion of fabric from the hem for easier mobility.

You felt Mingi swing up behind you on the horse and place an arm around you. "Hang on. We're heading on to town to get Sheriff Yunho and let him know what's going on. Then we'll head on to the next town over." Mingi clicked his tongue and kicked the horse's flanks gently with his boots and the pair of you raced off the property. You were overwhelmed and felt as though things were starting to go wrong, again. Would the nightmare ever stop? Was there no safety in the world for you? And now, you were putting a new man and his best friend into the situation. Men who weren't bound to you in any way.

Men who owed you nothing. Who have both saved you already, when they barely even knew you. How could you thank someone for something like that?

After stopping in town and telling the sheriff what had happened and disguising yourself in men’s clothing, you and Mingi were on the road to the next town over. With Mingi behind you and one hand on the reins, you gripped the saddle and tried to focus on breathing. Your heart wouldn't slow down, and Mingi could sense how anxious you were.

"Talk to me, darlin'." Mingi patted your arm and leaned forward a little to listen.

"Oh..." You hadn't noticed until now just how tense your shoulders were.

"It's gonna be fine." Mingi's voice was warm and comforting, the complete opposite of the situation at hand.

"How can you say that?" You looked over your shoulder and locked eyes with him, tears already lining your waterline.

Mingi's breath hitched a moment when he met your gaze. It was an intense moment the two of you sharing, his large eyes drawing you in, pupils dilating ever so slightly. You were breathless when his face lowered to yours, his mouth suddenly pressing to yours in a firm yet gentle kiss. You relaxed as the shock melted away and leaned into him, Mingi's arm sliding over your waist and pulling you against him.

Your hand lifted and rested upon his broad chest. You could feel his heart thrumming away against his ribcage. A soft growl vibrated his throat when his lips parted against yours, allowing the hot sweep of his tongue to dance with yours. You were enjoying the moment, but the stress still lingered and ate away at you.

You were caught completely off-guard by Mingi's actions. Especially considering how you had only met him just a day earlier.

"Mingi..." You gasped a little, a redness spreading over your cheeks as the cowboy pulled back and smiled.

"I promise everything will be just fine, Y/N," Mingi muttered. "We'll be in town soon and on the next train out of there. Then we'll be off far west. Free from that bastard and his goons."

"You're going through all this trouble, and danger, to protect someone you don't even really know." You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling bad for endangering such a kind and wonderful man like the man behind you.

"Hey." Mingi reached over and brushed a stray tendril of hair from your face. "You're the real deal. I can tell, just by meeting you and hearing your story. Besides, this is me getting away from the life that Hongjoong and I led until just recently. This is redemption in a way, to help a pretty woman and save a good soul." Mingi moved one hand up your neck, fingers sliding along your skin making gooseflesh ripple along the trail.

"But the cost-"

"I think I know the price better than anyone. I was an outlaw, Y/N. Threw in my hand with the wrong people when I was a young idiot. Was lucky to be alive, and eventually met up with Hongoong. So I've seen all there was to see and can read people well. And, it's never too late to change and to choose the right people to surround yourself with. I've realized that I have to help others – the right way. And, besides, if I have to be in a sticky situation, I'm glad it's with someone like you."

You looked up to see Mingi staring down at you, his hands touching your waist.

Mingi grinned a bit as you seemed surprised. You were lost in his gaze for a moment, before coming back to your senses.

"Thanks."

Mingi stroked your cheek softly, admiring the details of your face for a moment, taking note of a certain spot he wouldn't mind having a chance to mark later on. Your face had a healthy dusting of sun-kissed skin that shined. Mingi stared in awe. He's known many a beautiful woman, but you were special. "Come on, darlin', we should keep moving. Should be in town soon enough."

You rode together the remainder of the way in silence. Your mind races over how the last day has unfolded, the danger the beautiful stranger was putting himself in, and the feelings stirring up in you for him. A few hours ago you didn't know him. Now you wanted to protect him and save him from danger. Was there something else driving you? Something hidden deep inside that only this kind-hearted stranger was capable of revealing?

Your mind drifted off and before you realized it, you had arrived in town. It was early morning and the streets were quiet, save a few people starting their day. After tying the horse to a post outside of the inn, Mingi gathered his rifle and your pack then helped you to the inn. After booking a room for both of you, Mingi gently grabbed you by your arm.

"Let's take it easy today, stock up on supplies, and then board the train tomorrow. Better get some rest while we can."

You nodded. Mingi rubbed your arms as your eyes fell. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna do anything to you." His expression softened as your eyes opened and focused back on him. "Not unless you want me to."

You smiled lightly and followed Mingi upstairs to the room you both had booked. Mingi kept the rifle close to him while entering the room, scanning the area, double-checking the closet and any potential hiding places, and making sure the window was locked, before relaxing his shoulders.

"I could use a bath right now." You said as you stood next to the bed.

"My thoughts exactly." Mingi smiled lightly.

"You'd like to bathe too, I presume?" You asked him, turning to the cowboy who was removing his gloves.

"Only if it's alright with you. No worries, I'm fine to wait for another day." He rested his gun and belongings at the foot of his bed. "Wouldn't be very polite of me to invite myself. And I don't want you thinking less of me." Mingi sat on the edge of his bed and started taking his boots off.

You wanted a bath but also a partner to be with. Even after all those kisses on the road, he was still respecting you, and wanting to make sure you were comfortable with him. What a rare and wonderful man you had stumbled upon.

"Well...I'd rather like someone to...bathe with me..." The sentence slipped out as a shy request, barely above a whisper, but Mingi heard and immediately looked over his shoulder with a sweet grin.

"Is that so?"

You nodded timidly and brought your bottom lip in between your teeth as his gaze made your nerves fire up. Mingi smiled, biting his lips as well in thought and lust.

"Well alright, Darlin."

You watched Mingi cross the room and follow you to the door leading to the tub in the corner of the room. "Shall we?" Mingi gestured, his palm opening outward and he held his other palm and wrist to you.

Your hands grabbed onto his and he gave a soft reassuring squeeze before releasing a hand, opening the bathroom door, and letting you inside. The tub was large and sturdy-looking and would easily fit two people. Your back faced Mingi while you started to get undressed, as he slowly shut the bathroom door.

You kept your eyes forward, hearing Mingi undo his belt buckle, and let his gun holster drop to the floor. His shirt followed the rustle and whooshing of cloth hinted at what was happening. He stood behind you, pausing and waiting.

"You still want my help, darlin'? I'm not going to push you into doing something that makes you feel uncomfortable. If you'd rather me keep the rest of my clothes on, just say the word."

You turned with wide eyes, biting your lips at his naked chest and broad, sturdy shoulders. Mingi held a knowing, charming grin on his lips as he teased a single button open on his trousers.

"Yes." You breathed, hypnotized by the delicious sight of a gorgeous and almost nude Mingi. "Mingi...I..."

"Shh..." Mingi closed the distance between you and met your mouth, claiming your lips once again, his hand gripping your side firmly. You placed a hand over the larger, muscular one that rested upon your side. It felt incredibly soft and so strong. Your free hand started to play along the band of the loosening trousers. Mingi grunted lowly, moving your hand to slip inside the waistband of his trousers.

Your fingers gripped gently, a needy moan escaping him as you got a taste of his size.

"Fuck..." He muttered, pulling back and kissing along your neck. He groaned, then tugged your shirt up over your head and you pulled your hand back from his waist. He tossed the shirt to the side, a hand rubbing along the delicate curve of your hip and tugging down the waistband of the trousers you were wearing.

"You sure about this, Darlin?" Mingi whispered against the shell of your ear.

"Very sure." You muttered back as you kissed his neck.

Mingi hissed as your mouth sucked softly, his skin vibrating beneath the skin of his throat. He continued to lower your trouser hem, the palm of his hand skating over the naked skin of your thigh, leaving behind a trail of tingles in its wake.

"Fuck, Darlin..." he breathed, eyes latching onto the sight of your naked hips. Your hands skated down his toned belly and played over his trousers once again.

"Lower.." he asked, his lips pecking your shoulder before nuzzling your cheek.

You complied, fingers brushing and kneading over the growing heat. Your hand pulled his length out, fingers brushing the smooth and hardened skin. Mingi released an exhale, as your thumb grazed the swollen tip of his cock, massaging the fluid that leaked from his throbbing tip.

"Christ..." He buried his nose in your hair, grunting. "We're not even in the bath yet. Fuck.. Y/N.."

"Mmm?" You teased lightly, still stroking the solid flesh gently and slowly.

He chuckled, the hand at your hip brushing gently over the juncture of your thighs, then dipping down to stroke your intimate entrance. You cried out, pressing your body tight to Mingi's while his lips attacked your throat, sucking at your collarbone.

He turned your body around, your back pressing against his front, and slowly steered you towards the waiting tub. Mingi took a seat in the steaming hot water, stretched his legs out, and carefully lifted you into his lap. You moaned at the feeling of Mingi's cock prodding your backside as he brought your hips closer to his own. Mingi growled lowly and purred as your behind settled into his lap, grinding down a little and humming at the hard, thick rod nudging your tailbone.

Mingi laughed through a moan and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your head before you felt his tongue playing with your skin. "Ready?"

"Yes." You muttered back in a gasp. "Mmmmmm..."

"No worries, Darling. You'll enjoy what I do to you." Mingi purred.

"Promise?" Your back arched in pleasure, his thumb dipping low and swiping against the delicate bundle of nerves nestled amongst the folds of your sensitive clit.

"Mmhm..." his finger slid around your inner folds, coating the digit, and he plunged inside, his lips sucking softly on your neck.

"Oooh god..." Your back arched, mouth agape, and hips bucking into the sweet feeling of Mingi's skilled hands pleasuring you.

Mingi hooked his chin on your shoulder and grinned, loving to see the effects his ministrations were causing you.

"Look at you, Darlin'." He gave a harder rub of his finger against that little nub hidden at the peak of your heat. He bit back a moan feeling you clench against his thick finger that was currently prodding your sweet wet center. He shuddered and your hips squirmed. Mingi lifted and lowered his fingers until both sank inside the hot core and massaged. Your back was arched, and a whimpered sob of utter bliss was loud and clear.

"Mingi..." The name came out breathlessly and your hands reached back to grip his forearms, the pads of your fingers gripping tightly as you turned and your eyes locked with Mingi's. Mingi pressed closer to you, lips trailing back up to the side of your neck, and claimed another hungry kiss. Your moans vibrated, Mingi growled in pleasure as he removed his fingers and snaked around you, turning you so that your legs ended up straddling his waist. Mingi sat back, the ends of his hair soaked, strands curling against the nape of his neck and temples as he watched you lower yourself on his cock.

"Just like that, beautiful. God, you feel fantastic." He muttered, reaching up to brush his lips back over yours. "How do you feel, darlin'? My size okay? Any pain? Need me to go softer or harder?"

You bit your lip, marveling at the sweetness the cowboy was treating you. Your insides squeezed, your muscles contracting and pulsating around him. A cuss of pleasure came from him as he slid up a little more, hands taking your waist, guiding you to lean back against his wet chest. The suds and bubbles moved away, exposing more of the heated contact to the cooler air.

Your nails scraped gently up Mingi's thighs and you sank further, feeling a slight resistance, but still feeling wonderful.

"Oh god, Mingi."

"I know, darlin'..." One hand rested on your hips under the water, the other cupping your breast and kneading, enjoying the warm mound beneath his palm. "Tell me, darlin'. How does this compare to your ex-husband? Be honest..." He breathed, burying his face into the back of your neck, kissing the hot skin.

"He never filled me like this...so good...so full...God..."

He ground his teeth a little, groaning through his teeth as he nipped your earlobe, keeping his eyes trained on your back and sides. You moaned, not caring how much noise you were making. Mingi leaned into you and stole another hungry kiss before whispering, "No worries, you can scream as loud as you like with me, darlin’. I'll take you harder and fill you even more."

"Yes, please. Fuck, Mingi...." Your breathless and heady voice caused Mingi's self-control to break. He thrust a little harder and gripped you tightly.

Mingi snaked an arm around the front of you, grabbing your wrist and pushing his weight to the back of you. With each thrust the water began to slosh, threatening to spill from the edges of the tub and onto the wooden floor. "Mingi-"

The thrusts turned rough, yet there wasn't any pain. You reached out, searching and grabbing, anything, needing something to hold onto. Seeing what you needed, he repositioned you so that your breasts were now pressed against his chest. You wrapped your arms around his neck, rocking against him. You didn't care if the water had gotten everywhere by now. Your pussy throbbed and clutched. He felt so big and you were impossibly full with him, the way his thickness was lodged inside and caressed every inch of your walls.

"Is this all you need, darlin'?" He asked. His words came out short and clipped as he panted.

Your response was only a loud mewl.

His hands pressed tight against your back, keeping you close, and the arm hooked beneath your bottom increased its grip.

You bounced upon his lap, your movements jagged, unable to do anything more. All you could do was cling to Mingi.

"There, Darlin...such a good girl for me..." He mumbled through a moan. His voice was gruff and it made your skin prickle.

"More..." you moaned back.

"Yeah? I'mma need to move this elsewhere to give you more, Darlin'." Mingi spoke against your shoulder, peppering a kiss to soothe you. His cock felt so good inside you. "Don't worry, Darlin'. I'm not done with you, yet. We still have the bedroom, and I need to have you ride me." Mingi purred while his mouth searched your body.

A throaty chuckle erupted from Mingi as he heard your cries for him.

You yelped and whined, surprised as his arms maneuvered you, and lifted you right out of the tub. The world blurred around you, Mingi's wet flesh clinging to your own. A second later, you felt yourself land upon the cool sheets of the mattress. The fluffy bedding was a welcome feeling as Mingi's wet frame pressed to you, your lips reconnecting once more.

"We didn't wash up..." You let out a small moan of contentment against the warmth of Mingi's neck, the skin dewy and soft.

"Guess not, but I certainly enjoyed a bath with you nonetheless, Darlin’." Mingi purred against your shoulder, flipping to lay on his back and bring you on top of him. He spread your legs further and gripped your hips in both his palms as you slid down on him. "Damn...Y/N..."

"You said you wanted me to ride you, didn't you?" You smirked, settling back on him.

"Oh...that was one of the best ideas I've ever had...aight, show me what ya got..." He placed one hand on your waist while the other was laid above his head, his grin impossibly wide and goofy as his eyes met yours. "By all means, show me, darlin'."

Fuck, bathtub sex was good but being atop such a fine specimen like Mingi...this was even better...and a whole other level of sensual.

"Mingi...my god..." Your breath caught, eyes slamming shut and rolling into your skull as you sunk deeper and began riding him with more passion.

He cursed under his breath. "Fuck, your pussy is fucking perfect." He smiled, watching the view from under. Mingi was lying there, watching you move above him and he groaned.

"So hot...the way you are riding me...damn." He was straining with how good you were feeling. Your pussy squeezed around Mingi's thick cock, and your hand slid along his broad chest and down his sculpted torso. You trailed along his muscles, and Mingi watched you explore his body while you bounced atop his erection. He loved this.

"Look at you, Y/N.." Mingi smiled.

"So big.." you were stretched in a way you had never been before. "So full..." You whined, completely lost in him.

His hands wrapped tighter around your hips as he helped bounce you up and down his cock.

You continued riding the cowboy for a few more minutes. Mingi brought a hand up, running his thumb along the wet folds of your pussy and you whimpered, gasping when he started circling your clit. "Mingi.." his name came out louder, turning to a wail as you were right on the verge.

"Do it, cum all over me, let me feel it, I'm getting close. So close, darlin’." Mingi barked back, a growl emerging and his hands gripped hard as he pounded up and into you.

"Ooooh, yes!"

He sat up quickly, kissing you again as he thrust deeply until he could go no more, releasing. He jerked, pumping every last bit into you before easing down onto his back with an exhausted and spent laugh.

You collapsed over him and snuggled in closely.

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow." Mingi agreed and he looked down at you and your naked form, which was intertwined with his. You snuggled in closer and were amazed at his energy. "Better than with your ex-husband?"

You let out a laugh and you pulled his hands and wrapped them around your waist. Your hands ran across his skin and his face had an easy smile, those chocolate eyes softening. You pushed yourself closer to him, which he welcomed. "Most definitely."

"How would you feel if I stayed with you to protect you and ensure you arrived wherever you wanted to go? I promise to make sure you aren't in any trouble. That's if you would like the company."

A smile spread over your lips, and you nodded your approval. You'd love nothing more than the company of a handsome man with a good heart such as Mingi. He smiled in return placed a small kiss on the tip of your nose and held you tighter, drawing the covers of your bed over the both of you. You smiled a little as you looked at him. The night air filled with a beautiful silence. It was comfortable. Neither of you spoke, but eventually, Mingi whispered into the dark:

"Y'know what Darlin'? I reckon we can manage life together just fine."

You giggled and nodded. "I have a feeling you're right about that."

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skzstannie · 1 year ago

Text

“We’d never want you to struggle alone”

SKZ-> ot8 x 9th member! reader

genre: angst wc: ~2100 cw: mentions of depression and death of family members, hatred for the holidays

Hi guys! Here’s my attempt at some Christmas/holiday angst. The fluffy Part 2 is posted and linked at the bottom of this post!

Feedback and likes/reblogs are greatly appreciated! I haven't got the chance to interact with too many people on here yet, so reach out if you'd like!

Happy scrolling!

"Hey guys, I'm pretty tired. I think I'm gonna head to bed. Chan Oppa, I'm gonna go lay down in your room until everyone's ready to go back to our dorm," you wave off their comments asking you to stay with them and make your way to the leader's bedroom.

It's December 20th, and the guys are all gathered around the television in the 3Racha/Hyunjin dorm, binge watching Christmas movies. During a normal year, you'd all be at your own homes with your families, cozying up to the fireplaces and drinking hot chocolate with your siblings. However, this was no normal year, and your comeback ran too close to the holidays, not allowing you nor the boys to go home for Christmas. Not that you particularly minded; you hated the holidays.

You imagine what you'd be doing at home right now, no doubt curled up in your bed with an exciting romance novel, listening to some dark academia playlist you'd found on YouTube.

But you're not home, you're stuck here with a bunch of Christmas-crazed dorks who have spent the last few weeks decorating your dorms full of all things Santa Claus. You've been managing to sneak away whenever any holiday-esque activities are taking place. You've not told them of your hatred towards the holidays, and you're not really planning to, either, not wanting to be the reason their fun-filled nights are ruined; they're already sad enough about not being able to head home for the holidays, the last thing you want to do is be a scrooge. So, you’ve resorted to humbly excusing yourself, busying yourself with your own activities when the occasion arises.

As you walk into Chan's room, you take notice of all the little trees he has decorating his room. Cute. You pick up the picture of his family he has resting on his nightstand beside his bed. You stare at his mom, dad, siblings, and grandparents smiling faces, feeling the familiarly unavoidable pit in your stomach form.

Your parents and one set of your grandparents passed away in a car wreck about five years ago, before you debuted with the guys. Your other grandparents, your mother's parents, passed away before you were born, never getting the opportunity to meet them. So, that left just you and your brother. Your brother, being a few years older than you, started his own family the summer after your parents passed. He has a beautiful wife and two children now, one boy and one girl. They got right to baby-making after they got married, so excited to start a family of their own. Unfortunately, that family never included you. You only know of their children because you’re mutuals with your sister-in-law on social media.

Your brother essentially ghosted you after his first child was born. You two were never the closest sibling duo, but you never expected him to completely drop you and ignore your existence. But he did, and that's just something you have learned to live with.

You were not in a healthy place after all this happened. You had no one to go to when your heart was breaking, grieving the loss of both your dead and alive family members. You put all your focus into the trainee program, all your sadness and anger towards the world into your dance and song. Chan eventually found you on that one fateful day that you deemed saved your life. You were at the lowest of your low, and you thought you had finally reached your breaking point, but then walked in Christopher Bang Chan, all smiles and laughter. He recruited you to be in his group as one of the first, right after Han. From then on, you had another reason to keep going, to keep fighting.

You've never told the guys this. You have always been a more reserved member, keeping all of your personal life out of the spotlight. While the boys never heard you talk much about your family, really only knowing you have a brother, they always thought that, when you went home for the holidays, you went home to a nice big house filled with love. They thought when you walked in the doors to your childhood home, you were welcomed in by your parents with opened arms, beckoning you in. They thought you spent your Christmas mornings opening nicely wrapped presents, followed by a home-cooked breakfast that'd be shared amongst your family.

They didn't know of the single bedroom apartment you called yours. They didn't know of the bareness that captured your living room, baren of all things Christmas and the lack of Christmas cookies and presents on Christmas Day. They didn't know you've always spent your holidays alone.

Honestly, you were completely fine with their assumptions. You didn't need nor want their pity. Your family was still an incredibly sensitive topic to you. Before their passing, you were so very close. You'd spent every holiday together, enjoying your time as a family, doing all the cliche things. You'd even gone caroling a few times, walking around your childhood neighborhood singing the classic Christmas songs off-key to your friendly neighbors.

Afraid you'd spiral, leading you right back to how you'd been before Chan found you, you never brought it up, and the boys never pushed you to talk about your family. They figured you were normal with a mom, dad, and a loving brother-so what's to talk about?

The holidays have never felt the same; you knew they wouldn't. So why try? Why go through the effort of making yourself a nice Christmas dinner, attending church on Christmas eve and waking up early Christmas morning, when you knew your parents wouldn't be there to greet you. When you knew your grandmother wouldn't be there to give you the biggest hug she could muster in her old age. When your grandfather wouldn't be there to give you a hearty pat on the back, his only true form of physical affection you'd ever experienced in all your years with him.

A quiet knock pulls you out of your thoughts, and in walks Felix with a glass of milk in hand. You quickly set down the picture frame you didn't realize you were still holding and give him a warm smile.

"Hey, what's up?" you ask him, taking the glass from him and sipping on the cold beverage.

"I just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright. You've been pretty distant for a couple weeks now. Is everything ok?"

You're a little caught off guard, this being the first time anyone's noticed your pulling back since the beginning of December. You honesty didn't even realize anyone was paying attention to you, all of them too caught up in the festive activities and excitement of the season.

"Yea, I mean, I'm fine. Just a bit of seasonal depression," you write off his concerns.

"I didn't know you had that," Felix ponders his thoughts for a minute, giving you a loving look. "Is there anything I can do to help? Have you always had seasonal depression?"

While looking into Felix's warm, brown eyes, you decide that keeping all these things from them all these years has been unfair. They're never afraid of sharing their personal struggles with you. You think back to all the times Han's came to you with anxiety, and how you've wanted nothing more than to take away all his worry and pain. How Seungmin's came to you with his insecurities, and you always hyping him up, calling him the most beautiful boy. If any of them had kept their struggling to themselves, it'd crush you. How dare they feel like they couldn't come to you? Why would they want to struggle alone?

You realize that these feelings are most definitely reciprocated by the guys. Now, feeling vulnerable after being left alone with your thoughts for so long, you have the dire urge to come clean about your family.

"Actually Felix, I've been struggling with this for quite some time now. Can you, maybe just, listen? I've never talked to anyone about this, but I want to now. I want you guys to know," you fiddle with your hands, sliding one of your rings on and off your finger.

"Of course! You can always talk to me. Go ahead, I'm listening." He grabs your hand, halting your fidgeting. You look up at him, take a deep breath, and let it all out. Everything you've been holding onto these last few years. It probably sounds like word vomit, all your feelings and hardships falling out of your mouth at lightning speed. You finish your rambling, and you finally have the courage to look up at his face again.

He's crying. Equipped with all the theatrics, the wobbly lip and rosy cheeks. You made Felix cry with all your problems. You reach up to his cheek, wiping a few of his falling tears.

"Ok, I think I'm done," you freeze as Felix also brings his index finger up to your cheek. You flinch when he pulls away, seeing the dampness of it.

You're crying, too. You didn't even realize. I mean, it makes sense. You just trauma dumped all of your troubles onto Felix, the world's most renowned empath, of course you'd be crying.

You guys sit in silence for a minute, before Felix's whimpers become audible. He's so visibly distraught, and your heart breaks even more just at the mere sight of him.

He launches himself at you, clinging to you so tightly you think your ribs may crack. He tackles you back onto the bed, resting on top of you.

"Why did you never tell us this?" his sobs wreck through his body, his arms trembling around you, "We could've helped you."

"I was scared," you wriggle one of your arms free of his embrace, using it to affectionately run your hand through his hair. Your sobs join together as one, both of you a mess. "I was scared you guys would pity me, or look at me less. I was scared that I'd spiral again if I talked about it."

"Well, we're here now, Jagiya." He sits up after a few minutes. His cries have quieted, and so have yours. "We aren't going to let you continue going through this alone, ya know. We are one, and if one of us is hurting, we're all hurting. Please don't keep things like this from us anymore." He begs, standing from the bed. He grabs your hand and pulls you up, making his way towards the door.

"Where are we going?" your voice shakes and you pull away from Felix, standing in the middle of Chan's room. You wrap your arms around your middle, feeling more exposed than you ever have before.

"You know we have to tell the rest of them. They deserve to know, too."

"Felix, I don't think I can tell the story again. Once was enough for a lifetime."

"OK, do you feel comfortable with me telling them? I'll tell them exactly what you told me, no more, no less, ok?"

You frantically nod your head, grateful for Felix's suggestion.

He blows you a playful kiss, no doubt trying to make you feel better, and he leaves to go to the living room. You take your seat back down on the side of the bed and wait patiently for Felix to finish.

You don't hear much for the next few minutes, but you're startled by the swinging open of the door, the handle cracking against Chan's poor wall. Han stands there, a dazed look on his face. His glassy eyes meet yours, and you shriek when he takes off, leaping onto the bed onto your small frame. He wraps you up in a big hug, squeezing the life out of you.

"We love you, and we'd never want you to struggle alone. We're in this life together."

One by one, the rest of the guys make their way into the room onto the bed. We're haphazardly thrown into a cuddle pile of sorts. A cuddle pile filled with the love and adoration you've been missing during the holidays.

You all lay in each other's arms, and you feel incredibly comfortable and safe. Chan's the first to break the silence, "We have five days left until Christmas. What do you say we make some new Christmas traditions? We don't want to replace what you used to have, and you’re entitled to spend your Christmas season as you'd like. But, if you'll let us, we’ll give you something to look forward to about the holidays again. Please?" The guys are all looking at you now, each of them displaying a face that could rival a sad puppy.

You realize now that there's nothing to be scared of. These are your best friends you're talking about, who want nothing but to shower you in love and happiness.

"I'd love that."

Part 2

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz 9th member #stray kids ninth member #stray kids 9th member #skz ninth member #part 1/2

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 7 months ago

Text

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 6 ]

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Blame my obsession with K-dramas for how dramatic this last angsty part is. Also, to be clear, I do know some of you head-cannon Alastor as a ‘charismatic psychopath’ because of the way he acts in the show but personally I see him as more of a ‘dynamic sociopath’ while he was alive. I’m telling you this because I know authors tend to depict their faves so out of character just to progress the plot of their stories without any logical reasoning behind it. I am not that type of writer and therefore I don’t think my perception of (Human) Alastor is strange. Anyways, enough from me. Let’s get back to our regularly scheduled broadcast shall we?

WARNINGS: [ MDNI ] + [ MENTIONS & DESCRIPTIONS OF BLOOD / HORROR ] + [ PREGNANCY TROPE…it’ll be over soon I swear…] + [ IMPLICATIONS OF A MISCARRIAGE ] + [ DESCRIPTIONS OF A DEAD BODY ] + [ HEAVY ANGST ]

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On a cozy November evening, the Garden District of New Orleans bloomed with life. Its magnificent houses and mansions stood tall in the late-day sun, and the woeful winter breeze passing through the dazzling neighborhood rustled the greenery lining each home.

Many of the Jazz City’s locals regarded the area as an affluent attraction for outsiders to gawk and marvel at, while those who resided there took pride in its beauty.

You considered yourself fortunate to be a part of such a gleaming community, living a subtle life of luxury due to Alastor's wild success, but not entirely involved with other well-kept wives of similar influential figures.

Socializing had never been your forte; though it was required of you in mannerable situations, the constant exchange of loose friendships with strangers never entirely appealed to you.

Although, being married to a renowned public figure with an image to uphold puts you in compliance with the aversion.

Parties, local events, and even headlining musical performances became your routine social appearance.

Alastor was immensely proud to have you on his arm, charming the masses with your soft approach, swooning the newspapers with your angelic appearance and kind public gestures.

You did your best to make a lovely impression on anyone you encountered, wordlessly adhering to Alastor’s commanding ego and polishing the rough edges of his public image with practiced selflessness.

Few knew you personally, and even fewer saw you as a socialite.

Sure, you'd been polite to anyone who passed on the street, made small talk with neighbors, did charity work for those who thought to ask, and even donated effort towards Rosies spontaneous book club meetings every other weekend -though they were thinly veiled gossip sessions she'd orchestrate with fellow homemakers.

There wasn't a single person you could call a 'friend' who wasn't already close to your husband…

How Rosie had managed to crowd her stunning home with so many familiar yet strange faces, claiming to be precisely that -your friend- baffled you in more ways than one.

Yes, these people were acquaintances and admirers to some degree, but your friends?…

You had none besides Alastor, willing to remain by his side in matrimony just as you had from the moment you met him, reluctant to make any other connections since your shared childhood.

It didn’t help that Alastor developed a habit of scaring away new acquaintances behind your back and even resorted to violent acts of service to keep other suitors at bay before your shared vows.

As a result, the happy faces you saw now felt fabricated; every congratulatory remark didn't resonate with your heart, and the more people that arrived to celebrate you and Alastor, the more lost you felt.

They didn't know you.

No one knew you, but they adored your husband and, in turn, fawned over you.

Liars.

Everyone spouted half-truths, mirroring the ones Alastor had been telling you for months, and your heart grew heavier with each one told.

You could manage seeing him falsify his real identity to the public, to unsuspecting strangers, and to posh parasites.

You could handle being put on a pedestal, seen as the perfect wife, and expected to echo his ideal perception.

Lying to others was child's play, a game you two had grown to love, but Alastor developing the need to lie to you wasn't a tolerable offense.

The party began smoothly; guests swooped in with delightful gifts, either handmade or recently bought from the showcases of New Orleans's finest shops; gentle swing music wafted through the air of Rosie’s lavish two-story home that sat only a block away from your own.

She'd gone to the extreme for the whole ordeal: live music, tantalizing food laid out on tables in the parlor, decorations befitting a small ball neatly adorning the house exterior, and the creme de le creme of Louisiana's socialites filling the guest list.

Alastor uttered nothing but praise for his dearest friend's efforts, thanking her for the collaborative success with a broad smile and chaste kiss.

You followed his gratitude with a gracious nod, content with sitting at your designated table now lined with small gifts from an array of affluent attendees.

"My, Rosie, you've outdone yourself again! You even got Anthony and that grump Husk to show face," Alastor chuckled, eyeing the chattering crowd carefully until his gaze landed on the two opposing men.

Rosie hummed triumphantly, champagne flutes in one hand as the other flicked off an imaginary offense, "Oh, come now, Alastor, you know I'd do my best for the occasion! Everyone in town begged to be here. Not every day they get to meet radio's biggest star and his wife!"

She flashed a genuine grin at you, noting the slight glare on your face as you returned it, but said nothing.

Her attention reverted to the man beside her, who continued observing the crowd, sharing passing remarks with Rosie when a person of interest appeared.

You oversaw their exchange, deliberately soft-spoken the whole evening, often having to avert your focus to converse with a couple who'd come to give their gift and admiration.

Still, the minute the guests left to join the party again, you'd zero in on them.

Alastor felt your eyes on him, burning holes into the back of his head despite you sitting down to rest as the party moved along.

He refused to acknowledge your staring, patiently waiting for you to call for his attention rather than assume you needed it.

After ten minutes of idle chit-chat, he was obliged to give it to you, as Rosie excused herself for the time being.

You said nothing as he peered down at you over his shoulder, amber eyes glinting gold under the lowering sunlight pouring in from the opened bay windows behind you, lips curled into a familiar smile that you considered returning for a moment.

It was hard for you to deny how magnificent Alastor looked in the thrall of pride, dressed in a Burgundy suit with cream accents, hair neatly styled to hide his natural brown curls from the eye of others, and his skin glimmering under natural light.

He was beautiful, deceptively desirable even in your eyes filled with one-sided hurt, and you wished to let go and stand by his side with the utmost confidence in him just as you'd done so many times before.

It would be so easy to forget his transgressions then, to fully enjoy the celebration of your children's oncoming arrival together, but as he elegantly turned on his heel to approach you, splinters of suspicion pricked through your forgiving nature.

You wouldn't t let him charm his way out of this.

Enough was enough.

Alastor watched as your expression grew hard, hidden from the festive crowd by his lean frame as he knelt at eye level with you.

To those around you, the gesture came off as romantic, an endearing sight of a husband tending to his pregnant wife, and not the unspoken detachment of trust between a loyal lover and her predatory protector.

Alastor reached for one of your hands, subtly tugging it from resting on your stomach to resting in his palm.

A sickeningly sweet smile plastered his face as he placed a ginger kiss on your gloved knuckles.

His eyes never left yours as he enacted the loving gesture, swirling with unabashed mischief as you dug your nails into his skin, and the slight pain beckoned him to hum with delight.

You were angry and even enraged with him, but you showed it subtly and practiced, and if he were an ordinary man, Alastor would've considered feeling guilty for it.

But your husband was far from average, far from the definition of guilt, and you wouldn't have him any other way because, despite all his faults and evils, you loved him.

You loved him, felt loyal to him, would do anything for him, yet he lied.

He carried on belittling your trust to mere innocence.

Resentment radiated off you in waves, barely drowned out by the party's happenings but settling on Alastor's shoulders with force.

"Is there something troubling you, my dear?" he asks lowly, eyes steady on you as your smile tightens.

"You." is the only word that leaves your lips, laced with lethal rage in the softest tone, and the contrast elicits a rare frown from him.

He lets your response linger, tangling with laughter and music but remaining in his consciousness as he rises to his feet.

A specific anger curls in Alastor's chest, one he seldomly felt for himself, but the look on your face as he rose to his full height above you made it potent.

Something was different; that sweet girl he'd grown to cherish now looked tainted, and now he knew it was his fault.

"Darling…" he began to formulate an inquiry, faltering in his well-tailored demeanor to conjure a suitable remedy for your anger, but his excuses weren't quick enough.

You carefully stood to your feet, forcing a smile before raising on your tip toes to kiss his cheek, smoothing a hand over his suit until it rested where his heart was.

Your lips neared his ear, whispering spiteful words that didn't match the loving aura you showcased to the onlooking guests.

"You, my love, are a heartless lying bastard. Keeping secrets from me, your wife, of all people? Is that what your devotion to me means? Not trusting the woman who loves you? The mother of your children? If it is, then you can burn in hell with satan himself..'

The strain of smiling through your pain began to take its toll.

Tears welled in your eyes as each hurtful word fell on his ears, but you refused to cause a scene at such a lovely event and resorted to walking away from him as swiftly as you could manage.

Alastor was left to stand alone, his jaw clenched and his control wavering as he heard your heels click further away.

A few guests tried to gain your attention, but you quickly and respectfully declined their engagements, barely making it out of their view as tears streamed down your face, but by fate's grace, you found solace in Rosie's kitchen.

All of the cooks, maids, and waiters were absent.

Everyone was upstairs enjoying the festivities, celebrating you and Alastor's happiest time, but here you were.

Alone.

Beside yourself and utterly alone.

You tried to sob quietly, choking back frustrated screams while pacing, but the look on Alastor's face after you'd confronted him about lying brought more tears.

You'd never seen him hurt, taken aback, guilty like that.

He'd always been so perfect in your eyes, composed and deliberate about his presence.

Now, you'd ruined that image, and at what cost?

Would he come clean now or shut you out even more?

Was your anger worth any of it? Was his lying worth it?

Your heart was a mess, desperate to connect with his, but reluctant to it all at once.

“….”

Maybe father was right…

The sound of quick footsteps approaching the kitchen didn't register to you, drowned about by your excessive crying, but another presence was made evident as two gentle arms wrapped you in a hug.

"Oh, honey, come here…" Rosie cooed into your hair, frowning as your cries became hysterical, muffled by the frilly fabric of her dress.

"H-he's been lying to me, Rosie! Alastor…..a-and everyone else in this decrepit city has been playing me like a fool!"

You shuddered violently, trying to breathe correctly despite a filled stomach and a rush of anger taking its toll.

Rosie hushed you gently, letting you cry in her arms until your breaths came steadily.

She ushered you to sit somewhere comfortable as she gathered a few items to help your nerves settle.

"He lied to me," you repeat tiredly, watching as she throws together a pot of tea, using herbs you know all too well.

A sprig of Lavender, sprinkle of cinnamon, bits of rosemary, and a few drops of honey. Finally, a dash of lemon for taste.

This a simple but potent recipe for a calming and effective cup of tea.

Rosie sighs, debating what to say as she lets the mixture steep in a porcelain cup of hot water.

You weren't wrong; Alastor was hiding things from you, and though she hated to see you so distraught because of his hidden deeds, the possibility of hurting you with the truth weighed on her.

Betray, her closest friend's trust, tell his wife the haunting truth and pray she still loves him after hearing it.

Or, keep up the charade he'd so carefully created to protect you, risk driving you mad with resentment, and contribute to the cycle of pain you felt?

Rosie had difficulty choosing which path to follow but soon made her decision as you spoke again.

"Rosie…tell me the truth. Is he…is he seeing another woman? Planning to leave me? To leave us?.." you glance at your stomach, fearful of her answer and terrified your assumptions might be right.

Oddly silent, she doesn't answer your questions immediately and finishes preparing your fresh cup of hot tea, "Rosie, please! Whatever Alastor is hiding from me, I need to know. I…I'm his wife, and I have the right to at least know what's being kept from me. What is he doing out so late all the time? Why can’t I leave the house without him anymore? And for goodness sake, why does he insist I don’t read the paper?!”

The blonde freezes where she stands, whipping her whole body around to stare at you intently, and you stop yourself from rambling seeing her serious so suddenly.

"Al isn't being unfaithful, dear. That I can tell you for certain.."

"Then what in god's name is he-"

Rosie drew closer to you, dawning an all-too-sweet smile you'd learned to dread.

That happy expression was practiced, used only to console your fears or quell any questions you had.

She'd gotten so well at fronting the mask that you nearly began to believe anything she said when it was on, but now you knew better.

You knew that smile meant more lying, and in that moment, you lost the will to trust anyone in Alastors' close circle.

Even Rosie.

"I think it's time you go home and rest, dear. All this stress and crying isn't good for the babies," the blonde moved you gently, helping you stand and walk the expanse of her kitchen, up the stairs, and down corridors until the ongoing party reached your ears again.

That entire trek back upstairs felt meaningless, a distant woeful memory you existed in just to be flung back into reality by Rosie's voice, "I'll go get Al and have him take you-"

Your head snapped up at the mention of the one man who'd caused so much sorrow, tongue poised to speak harshly about him, but your penchant for politeness tempered it.

"That won't be necessary, Rosie. I'll get home just fine on my own."

She balled, clutching the string of pearls around her neck, "Oh goodness no, dear! This may be uptown, but it is still no safe place to walk about all alone. And dare I say, Alastor’s just wouldn't have it-"

"Rosie. I don't wish to see or be near him!.." you hissed as quietly as possible, lips pursed and eyes glaring daggers into her crowded parlor room.

Despite her better judgment, Rosie let the matter go, frowning as she made a heady suggestion.

"Why don't I have a close friend walk you home then? Just in case. There is a murder running 'round, and we can't have you getting hurt or caught up."

There it was again…

We…

You knew she was referring to anyone but you. Alastor, Angelique, her.

Everyone but you seemed to have a significant stake or curious investment in your unborn children's well-being.

The eerie overprotectiveness always made you weary, but at this point, you found it alarming, to say the least.

However, Rosie was right to a point.

There'd been a murder -or several- running a muck in Louisiana’s deep south.

Specifically, New Orleans.

Although the gruesome crimes were frequent, morbidly committed, and consistently reported on by papers and radio shows alike…

No one, not even the expert authorities, seemed to pinpoint a suspect or apparent killer among the public.

All that they knew was the killer's intangible motives, their style, their choice of victims -but nothing substantial enough to apprehend them.

You couldn't care less about a possibility of the Bayou Butcher coming for your head.

Your anger towards Alastor proceeded your worries for personal safety.

Rosie didn't wait for you to come to reason with her observation, already scurrying into the parlor to find your husband and tell him of your wishes to leave.

It irritates you how fragile she, Alastor, and everyone else he knows treated you.

It was as if you couldn't fend for yourself, as if he was the only one capable of cognitive thought in your marriage, and to some degree, the realizations stung your pride.

Traces of anger grew in your heart towards him minute by minute, something you never dreamt of feeling for him, but dreams can quickly turn into nightmares as your father would say…

This moment was that turning point. You could feel the shift as you turned away from the packed parlor, ignoring those who gave greetings as you stalked toward the front door.

Some asked if you needed assistance, and others watched in confusion as you slipped out the door and let it slam shut behind you.

Not many people were on the front porch and lawn, and those who were let you pass through without saying a word.

You presumed they were just waiting for the moment to gossip again, whether it be about you or someone else.

The need to care wasn't one you had, taking brisk steps down the sidewalk under a setting sun as rare chilled breezes sweep the southern heat from your face.

It was convenient that Rosie only lived a block and a half away from you, and Alastor’s shared estate.

The semi-long walk gave you time to think, time to enjoy the scenery around you and get away from the suffocating expectations put on you simply by being the Radio Star's perfect wife.

You scoffed at the thought, trying not to get angry again as your steps took you around a familiar corner, but the negative feeling quickly lessened when you felt a gentle rap of kicks in your stomach.

The twins gave a subtle tussle, sensing their mother's distress, and to some degree, you believed they were trying to cheer you up.

Their tiny gestures worked, putting a smile on your solemn expression and keeping it there to your destination.

You shuffled up the steps to your home, tired, feet sore, and ready to cry again as the large structure reminded you of the man you'd left to endure the company of his admirers.

His.

Not yours.

That had always been the difference.

With a sigh, you unlocked the front double doors, shutting them swiftly as street lamps began to light up and locking the ornate wood panels right after.

It was a habit Alastor insisted on and one you didn't intend to break tonight.

He'd have to come through the back door, and as small as the hassle would be, you still found it a suitable enough sign of discontent from you to him.

With nothing but sleep on your mind, you trudged up the staircase, pulling your gloves off and preemptively pulling pins from your styled hair.

By the time you reached the bedroom, your hair flowed loosely down your back, and your dress zipper was pulled down (by some miracle, you managed to do it on your own).

You tossed the pins on your vanity, jewelry, gloves, and clutch purse, following suit.

Your shoes regained their spot in the closet, your clothes were thrown into the bathroom hamper, and your nightrobe was thrown over your arm as a replacement.

You were ready for bed after one hot shower, a face care routine, and a hair brushing session.

Alastor still isn't home yet…

The clock had struck midnight thirty minutes ago, and he'd yet to show his face.

You half expected him to, but after years of seeing him angry on very few occasions, you highly doubted he'd return without cooling himself down first.

He tended to go hunting as an alternative…which left you alone for hours on end.

Sadness and guilt crept into you as the argument replayed in your mind.

The emptiness of your shared bed did not help your aching heart, and the heavy silence of the house made it worse.

You may have gone too far.

Maybe he wasn't hiding anything, and I overreacted?

Maybe I was wrong to doubt him, to worry and fret over something trivial.

Your thoughts spiraled again, tears filling your eyes as regret got the best of you.

"What have I done…?" you mumbled in earnest, glancing around the room, wishing to apologize to Alastor or at least explain yourself in a better tone.

Sleeping without him felt foreign, unreal, and even like a self-inflicted punishment.

You saw no benefit to it, and you were consumed with worry.

I can’t do this…

With your mind racing but your body ready to rest, you decided that taking one of Angelique's tonics would soothe you enough to relax.

You left the room on a mission, carefully treading downstairs and into the kitchen, and with haste, you found the cabinet holding the container of vials she’d gifted to you every month.

You opened it swiftly, hoping to find what you needed, but the box was empty.

"Oh, for the love of!-" you hissed angrily, shoving the box away with a grimace, but the sour expression didn't last long as you remembered where to find extra tonics.

Angelique was an insightful woman, cautious enough to give you extra in case something like this happened.

Fortunately, Alastor insisted on putting the additional vials somewhere else so as not to mistake them for regular tonics.

You'd agreed to his idea, allowing him to keep them safely locked in the basement, but now you needed them.

Leaving the moonlit kitchen, you drifted into the second hallway, walking straight ahead to the basement door.

Its key hung on a hook to the left, a small silver trinket Alastor kept a tight watch on, and you tended not to mess with it.

That went for the basement as well.

It was his area of the house you stayed away from not only out of personal reluctance but also out of explicit instructions from him.

His reasons for your avoidance ranged from "Trust me, It's too dangerous for you, darling.." to "Just as you have the library as a safe haven, I have the basement as mine…"

You hadn’t thought to question him, having no reason to, but for once, you disregarded his wishes to grant your own.

He'd never know you went down there only to retrieve medicine. What harm could one peek do?

You plucked the key from its hook, unlocking the creaky black walnut door before reaching into the dark abyss for the lamp switch.

Your fingers found it on the left wall, flicking the switch to bring a warm golden light into the damp room.

The steps croaked under your slow footsteps, holding firm under your nearly doubled weight until you stepped onto the cold wooden flooring.

Alastor kept the space oddly clean; a chair sat in one corner, his hunting gear was neatly arranged on one of two long oak tables, and the walls held other hunting equipment.

You noticed most of the hanging instruments were carving aids, something your own father used to cut and properly clean his own game after he went hunting during your childhood.

Seeing the array of butcher knives and other tools did not frighten you; they were familiar and expected from your husband's choice of hobbies.

Nothing caught your attention at first, usual kickbacks and things tucked away in corners and a hefty radio set on the second table, but little stood out.

You treaded carefully though, peering curiously at different items as you searched for the spare box of tonics, but they were nowhere to be found at first glance.

You figured to look deeper, rummaging through cabinets and under the table, mindful of your swollen belly as you bent down or reached above.

The longer you searched, the more anxious you felt.

Somewhat afraid of being in the basement alone, and a little scared Alastor would find you down there, though he explicitly asked you not to be.

"I have to hurry.." you mumbled, eyes frantically searching the space again as the last cabinet you searched held nothing important to you.

A particular corner of the room caught your gaze. Right behind the armchair was a stack of boxes of different sizes.

You drew closer to them, spotting the extra medicine box on top, gently grabbing it from the pile, but you couldn't look away from the most enormous box sitting right at your feet.

It was huge and made of sturdy metal, unlike the rest, and you were sure a whole person could fit in it if they tried.

How odd…

You'd never seen it before but the box felt sorely out of place, among other things.

You couldn't peel your attention away from it, some invisible force urging you to look inside, and despite your better judgment, you gave into the desire.

Setting the medicine box down on the chair, you moved the other cases off the larger one, clearing it off before cautiously kneeling to open it.

There was no lock, only four bolt latches, which you found easy enough to undo, but the real task was lifting the heavy lid up high enough to see inside.

You managed it with a few determined huffs escaping your lips, letting the heavy lid hit the stone wall before taking a look inside.

You immediately wish you hadn't..…

"Oh God…" you whispered in utter shock and horror at the sight in front of you, feeling undeniably sick from it, mind racing to make up a rational reason for the vulgar sight.

But what rational reason on Earth could justify your beloved husband hiding a literal mutilated body in the basement.

Your heart sank seeing the poor souls' faces sunken in with dread, drowning in their blood, maned at various points as if an animal had mauled them.

Body parts were missing, skin had been flayed, and you almost couldn't tell if the person had any recognizable features left.

It was horrible…a brain-altering nightmare come to life before your very eyes, and it made you sick.

You began to cry, unconsciously sobbing hysterically as the dead body lifelessly peered back at you, terrified of it… slightly afraid of the man you presumed caused the damming scene.

With a sense of urgency, you reached to shut the lid, flinching as loose blood splattered onto you from the impact of the box closing, and the chill of red liquid dripping down your skin was enough to make you scream in pure disgust.

It was a guttural, frantic cry you'd only expressed in recent nightmares, but a deserved one.

Your body began to shake in peril, the gruesome image engraved into your mind as you scrambled to get to stand, but you weren't as composed as before and stumbled backwards haphazardly as a result.

Everything moved faster than you thought; your body had abandoned control, leaving you to fall without warning.

The room spun as your head collided with a table's edge, a dull pain erupting in your skull on impact, and your consciousness wholly disrupted.

The blinding pain of falling to the hard floor didn't register to you as panicked tears seeped down your face, screams you couldn't hear left your lips, and blood began to pool from your head and between your legs.

Shock, terror, helplessness, fear, and panic were all you could feel.

Intense pain in your stomach and head amplified the emotions but became distant sensations as your vision blurred and faded.

The very last words you remember speaking was a cry for help, a desperate plea for everything you'd seen to be a mistaken dream, a cry for anyone -no- your husband to save you from the terrible ordeal.

A plea for him to appear and tell you it's not true, that the body in the bolted box wasn't his doing, but your hope of him hearing you -anyone hearing you- dwindled rapidly as your concussion took hold.

---------- ----------- -------------- -----------

Rosie found Alastor quickly enough, merely having to spot his neatly styled curls drifting in the wind as he stood out on a balcony alone.

A drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

He blew smoke into the murky winter air, eyes dark and narrowed as he stared at the evening sky.

It was rare to see him frowning.

Alastor Hartifelt, of all people, not smiling?

Rosie nearly couldn't believe it the closer she drew to him.

He was…upset.

Irritated.

His smile was thoroughly washed away by your harsh words and prods for the truth.

You'd managed to take his cheer in one fail swoop, leaving him alone to think, and he couldn't blame you.

You, his ever-so-loving wife, his confidant, and his soon-to-be motherly doting doe, were rightfully at odds with him.

He'd hurt you, the very reason he'd began lying in the first place was to avoid doing so, but it'd happened anyway.

A genuinely ironic turn of events, in his opinion.

Alastor glared at the rising moon, cursing whatever higher power meddled dared to meddle in his life of all people, but his inner ranting was cut short as the sound of Rosie clearing her throat hit his ears.

The radio host spun on his heel to face her, fronting a slight smile to hide the agitation he felt at the moment, "Done socializing already, dear Rosie?"

He strived to sound polite and unbothered, but the edge in his tone showed through despite his best efforts.

Rosie paid no mind to his touchy attitude, knowing where it stemmed from.

She came to stand by his side, nodding in response to his question, "I didn't have much time to. I was with your lovely wife…trying to calm her nerves."

Alastor's frown returned at the mention of you, a thin line on his lips and a glint of guilt in his gaze.

"How is she?" he asks quietly, and Rosie's cheery expression falters hearing it.

"She insisted on returning home… by herself. Incredibly distraught on her way out.." She admits.

His chest tightened, heart sinking instantly picturing you at home alone, "Why didn't she-"

Rosie clicked her tongue dismissively, interrupting his line of questioning, "Al, she was severely distraught. Please let her be. I only know a fraction of what went on between you two, but it's obvious to her that you're hiding something. Not to intrude on your marriage, darling, but you must make a choice before something irreversible happens to it…to Y/n."

The blonde couldn't hide her somberness, staring at her long-time friend with a sense of earnest sincerity as she continued, "I shouldn't be the one to tell you this….but if you really do care for the girl, love her like you say you do, then you'll tell her the truth. You'll tell her, and she'll still be by your side…."

Alastor lowered his head, and for the first time in his adult life, he felt perplexed, stuck at impasss of foreign emotions.

He cared for you; some might call it love, and he'd been aware of it since childhood.

You'd told him all your secrets, good or bad, and trusted him.

You trusted him enough to reveal the mental abuse your father had put you through during childhood.

Trusted him enough to tell him how badly you wished you'd died instead of your mother to make your father somewhat happy again.

Alastor even knew of the times you'd been left completely alone as a child for weeks on end, how your father's neglect made you feel less than, and the permanent effect it had on you.

Your desire to fill a void, be loved without being shoved off, and be seen as more than a convenient soft-hearted person for someone to trifle with.

He knew every little thing about you, and it was because you had faith in his loyalty.

He found it easy to divulge his thoughts to you in the same manner, but allowing his secrets out into the open made him uneasy, even if you'd proven trustworthy from the beginning.

Then there was the matter of killing for you.

Alastor had done it so many times without your knowledge…

Stalking down men who stared at you too long for his liking, carving up anyone who spoke ill of you, happily taking the life of those who spoke down on your relationship.

Most of his murderous tendencies were purely driven by his obsession with you, a twisted kind of possessiveness he couldn't let go of, and one that made it easy for him to spill blood for you in the blink of an eye.

He did it to keep you safe…and that’d only be possible with him and no one else.

What stopped him from telling you how far he’d gone to do so, showing you that unnatural side of him only his victims saw, could only be described as fear.

Fear of losing you.

Fear of stripping the warmth from your heart.

Fear of losing the one thing, the one person who'd loved him despite all his flaws.

Fear of never truly smiling, never feeling a genuine emotion again because you -your presence in his life- allowed him to do just that.

Alastor hated to call it what it was, but as he was evading your attempts to understand, lying straight to your face and hoping you'd dilute your intuition was a way cowards way out of telling you the whole truth.

His pride dimmed, a frustrated grunt rumbling his chest as he glared at the drink in his hand.

Rosie sighed, flashing him a soft smile of pure reassurance, "Go to her, Al. Put a stop to her worries and relieve yourself of the burden. If not for your marriage, then for her sanity. She is too lovely of a girl to be treated so faithlessly."

He tongues his cheek at her words, a bitter burn of smoke and whiskey on it as he swallows thickly before nodding in agreement, "Seems I have no choice."

"You best head off. It's getting rather late, and I'm sure she misses you dearly, Al."

Alastor took one last drag of his cigarette, dropping it in his half-full bourbon glass before letting Rosie take it from him as he straightened his suit.

"I'll bid you good night then. You have my gratitude, Rosie, and the party was a splendid success, if I may add." His tone was back to normal, engaging, and mildly charismatic. Rosie smiled wide at his improving mood, accepting his thanks before shooting him off with a quick peck on his cheek.

“Au revoir monsieur!…”

“Au revoir mademoiselle..”

-------- ---------- ------------ --------------- -----------

Alastor made it home without trouble, humming a snappy tune to distract himself from the evening's progressing events.

However, as he reached the back door of your shared home, his shadows twinged with alertness.

His hand froze over the gold doorknob, a certain heaviness settling in his chest as the specters frantically twisted against the back porch walls.

Something is wrong. Can't hear Y/n. Can't hear their heartbeats. Can't feel them-

Alastor stiffened as his shadows enlarged, fueled by the panic he was resisting, "Find her!" he bellowed the order out on instinct, and the leering spirits dove into action as he barreled into the darkened home.

"Y/n!?" he yelled for you, head whipping in every direction as he searched the first floor, stomping up the stairs next to search the second floor but coming up empty.

He stood in your shared bedroom, remaining calm as he tried to figure out where you could be.

All your belongings were here, and you had readied for bed from the looks of your tampered vanity, but nothing else gave him a clue about your whereabouts.

That was until his shadows called to him; a certain bellow of wailing sounded from the lower part of the house, and one Alastor didn't like the sound of.

A warning.

A frenzied one at that.

Found her…hurry.

Without a second thought, Alastor bounded back downstairs, following the whips of his shadow self as it traveled through the halls, only to stop in front of a doorway he dreaded.

The basement. Its door was wide open, the lamp light eerily aglow as his shadows whirled past the steps to engulf the room.

“Y/n?!…” Alastor called for you again as he crept down the creaky wood steps, voice stiffer than he intended it to be, but its edge paled compared to the large lump forming in his throat when his eyes spotted you.

Splayed out on the floor, on your side, lying limp and motionless.

A small puddle of blood was forming near your head, another was quickly growing in between your legs, and splatters of it covered your face, hands, and nightgown.

For the second time in his life, Alastor felt true terror, bewildered by the sight of his darling wife in distress and paralyzed by the powerful possibility it was his fault.

He’d only felt this fearful once before, afraid his father would end his mother’s life right in front of him after a hefty night of drinking, but even then, he found the courage to act.

Merely killing his father out of pure rage-filled instinct, but now…how he would remedy your suffering alluded him completely.

She's barely breathing… Their heartbeats-

"That's quite enough from you!" Alastor roared in utter frustration, moving without thinking, willing himself to do anything but panic.

He worked as quickly as his mind would allow, trying not to break down as he knelt beside your still body, "Y/n…darling…wake up… please…" he begged quietly.

Being as cautious as ever, he cradled you close, praying to whatever cruel god there was that you'd respond or at least open your eyes while he carried you out of the haunting basement.

Your body twitched at the sound of a familiar voice, feeling lighter as solid arms lifted you from the cold floor and whisked you from the damp room.

The sound of a rapid heartbeat thundered in your ear as waves of coherence fought to establish itself in you, but the severity of your wounds made it a struggle to function.

You settled for listening to the heartbeat, the voice accompanying it a vague background noise but a comforting one.

Your vision wasn't any better, only allowing you to see a murky image of a man, one you knew well but couldn't determine was real or not in the moment.

“Al..astor?..”you whispered in awe, smiling sadly as he looked down at you, clearly worried.

“Stay with me, darling… Keep breathing, please…”

Alastor felt you shiver violently in his arms hearing him speak, racing up the stairs as cautiously as possible to avoid hurting you more, barging into your shared bedroom seconds later.

He laid you down on the bed, disregarding the blood and dirt staining the sheets as he tried to assess your injuries. "Fuck…fuck…fuck!" he rambled angrily, breaths coming quick, and his mind in a rare frenzy as a result.

Your eyes refused to stay open, an apparent wound was on the side of your head, and the impact of your fall had indeed done something to warrant your lower half bleeding.

He needed to stop the bleeding from both areas, keep you awake, and determine the twin's state all at once.

Alastor knew this but struggled to pull himself together, only able to grasp at one of your hands with both of his to ground himself as a frustrated smile adorned his face.

Pull it together, or she and your children die.

It's all my fault… it's all my fault…

She'll die if you don't act…

It's all my fucking fault…I-

She needs help! Wallowing in your depraved guilt won't change that!

His shadows chittered, reasoning with their host despite the panic they felt seeping off of him.

Alastor screwed his eyes shut, an anguished growl leaving his chest as he tried to think of a solution and push away his panicked state.

You remained still, on the verge of passing out again, trying to hold onto reality a little longer, squeezing your savior's hand back as a weak tether to it.

Alastor froze, feeling your gesture, head lifting swiftly as you attempted to speak, "It h-hurts.." you muttered painfully, acknowledging a new ache you'd only felt a few weeks prior.

Intense shocks of strain spread in your abdomen, noticeable contractions that felt different than previous ones, but as much as you wanted to articulate the agony they caused, you couldn't find the strength to.

You screamed instead, gripping Alastor’s hand hard as the constant pains grew more robust, making your cries grow louder.

The terror in your screeches struck him hard, an almost unnatural sound he'd never imagined coming from you, but your following words gave the sounds plausible clarity.

"Th-they're c-coming!" you choked between labored breaths, feeling dizzy as your blood loss took its toll, but the growing urge to push trumped your need to pass out.

Alastor came to his senses upon hearing your warning.

Fully aware that he couldn't handle this situation alone, he did the only thing that made sense to him.

Ask for help. Something he hated to do but saw no alternative for.

"Go get Rosie. Make it quick. Find my mother next and get her here as well…" he commanded his shadows quietly, heart still racing as he took solace in comforting you.

The bed dipped as he sat down, free hand cradling your head as the other raised yours to his lips.

He planted a kiss on your knuckles; brows furrowed as the feeling of your fingers gripping his slightly lessened, an indication of culminated exhaustion and blood loss.

"Stay with me, ma chere. Just a while longer, alright? Everything…everything’s going to be fine…" Alastor muttered soothing words into your ear, a ploy to keep you and himself calm, and to some extent, it worked.

You hung onto his every word, confused and alarmed by him but clinging to the safety his presence brought.

You couldn't forget what you saw in the basement, the horrid image still stuck in the back of your mind as you cried in agony and writhed in desperation for help.

You couldn't believe that Alastor, your perfect husband, the man watching over you now so fervently, had done something so horrible to another person.

You had many questions, fears, and even more confusion than before.

Nevertheless, your dire position now completely overshadowed the underlying nightmare that was your marriage.

Your children.

That's the only thing you could clearly envision, enduring the heartache, suffering through the genuine threat to your life, all for their sake.

Confronting Alastor could wait.

Surviving the night and bringing healthy twins into this world couldn't.

xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxx

I'm putting the reader through a lot...but you all will survive... Maybe. Also, the song choices for this one kind of hit just right. ;)

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette

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This edit is so fitting, I fear... Credits to creator ❤️

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