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candy69gurl · 6 months ago

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𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄- HOW YOU MET THEM

WARNING: mentions of violence (Toji and Sukuna), flulff SYNOPSIS: Introductory post of my HYBRID JJK VERSE NOTE: Upcoming- Mating season (smut)

ᯓ★ 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎- BAT HYBRID

THUD

You jolt up from bed, heart racing, as the sound pierces the silence of the night. Throwing off the covers, you leap out of bed, curiosity mingled with concern driving you to investigate. Creeping to the window, you cautiously peek outside, squinting into the darkness.

There, sprawled on the ground below, lies a figure, human in form but distinctly different. Your breath catches in your throat as you discern the shape of black wings and pointed ears against the dim moonlight. With a rush of adrenaline, you dash downstairs, your mind racing with questions and apprehension.

Approaching the fallen being, you notice the unmistakable mark of fear etched on his face, accentuated by the ominous black mark on his nose. "Hey?" you call out tentatively, your voice barely above a whisper.

Startled, the creature turns to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of fright and pain. His deep, resonant voice trembles as he speaks, "Please… help me. My wings… I think they're broken."

Your initial shock gives way to empathy as you realize the gravity of his plight. "Are you… a vampire?" you inquire, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

He shakes his head slowly, strands of black hair falling across his pale, gaunt face. "No," he replies, his voice heavy with sorrow. "I am half-human, half-bat."

With a surge of determination, you extend a helping hand, offering to assist him to his feet. As he rises, you catch a clearer glimpse of his features - his ebony hair tied back in two distinctive edges, his pallid complexion, and the weary, haunted look in his baggy eyes.

Without hesitation, you guide him back inside your home, the weight of his brokenness heavy on your shoulders. As you lead him inside, you vow to help this mysterious being, to mend his shattered wings and perhaps, in doing so, to heal the wounds of his troubled soul.

You carefully bandage his broken wings, but upon closer inspection, you realize the damage is more severe than initially thought. With a heavy heart, you express your concern, "They don't look too good… I suppose you can't fly for a while."

He meets your gaze with pleading eyes, a silent plea for compassion. "Can I stay with you until then?" he asks, his voice tinged with vulnerability.

You pause, contemplating the implications of inviting this enigmatic being into your life. After a moment of reflection, you reply, "Fine… you can stay. It will take time for you to adjust with me."

A mixture of relief and gratitude wash over him as he pulls you into a heartfelt embrace, craving the warmth of connection. You can't help but smile at his earnestness, understanding the yearning for companionship hidden beneath his otherworldly exterior.

ᯓ★ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 & 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔- CAT HYBRIDS

You wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of chattering coming from your kitchen. Groggy and confused, you sit up in bed.

Something is definitely wrong.

You wobble on unsteady legs as you make your way to the kitchen to find out what’s causing the noise.

The kitchen light is off, but you can hear some rustling sounds. You flip on the light switch, and the noise stops. As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you see them—two large cat-human hybrids, one white and one black, wrestling on the floor.

Their eyes immediately meet yours. Milk is spilled all over the floor, adding to the chaos.

Their gazes lock onto yours as spilled milk creates chaos on the floor.

You're stunned, unable to move. The black one gestures at the white one and accuses, "It's all his fault," his voice smooth as velvet. He leans towards the white one, nudging him gently with his muzzle, provoking a growl from the white hybrid. In the dimly lit room, his eyes shine brightly, though slightly smaller than the white one, he carries a similar aura of power. His tail wags eagerly, tapping the floor with excitement.

The white one pushes his muzzle away with a paw, his white-pinkish ears constantly twitching; the action is gentle, the two clearly having a good relationship despite the light teasing, "No, this is Suguru's fault."

Confused and overwhelmed, you blurt out, "Get out of my house!"

They both give you pleading looks. The black one speaks again, "W-We just wanted some milk... We were hungry, and... your windows were unlocked... Please, can we stay here for a few days? We have nowhere else to go."

Exasperated, you sigh. "Fine, but only one of you can stay. I can't take care of both."

They cling to each other, pleading desperately. "Please, we can't be apart."

Rubbing your forehead, you relent. "Okay, but no causing trouble. Both of you can stay."

Instantly, they pounce on you, showering you with joyful licks as they express their gratitude.

ᯓ★ 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀- TIGER HYBRID

"Come out of that cave for god's sake," you call out, waiting for the creature to emerge so you can snap a good picture. You've always enjoyed photographing animals, so when you heard about the new tiger-human hybrid at the zoo, you were eager to capture it on film. Choosing the evening when the area is deserted, you head to the enclosure, hoping for uninterrupted photography.

"Oh... Oh, I see it," you mutter, attempting to zoom in with your camera. A glimpse of pink hair catches your eye, but it's not clear. Then disaster strikes. Your camera slips from your grasp, and in your attempt to catch it, you lose your balance and tumble into the cage.

As you hit the ground, the tigers in the cage swarm around you. Panic sets in as you realize there's no one nearby to help. You curse your own recklessness as the tigers prepare to attack. But then, the pink-haired hybrid steps forward, his voice deep and commanding.

"Brave of you to jump into the tiger's cage," he remarks. The other tigers seem to cower in his presence. He kneels down to your level, his tongue darting out, saliva glistening.

"Finally, a good meal," he says, a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Desperately, you plead for mercy. "P-please, let me go. I'll do anything."

He chuckles darkly which sounds more like a roar. "Anything, you say? Hmm... Then get me out of this cage," he demands. Fear grips you as you realize the gravity of the situation.

"H-how... I don't..." you stammer, but he interrupts, seizing your throat with a deadly grip.

"Then be my meal," he growls.

Frantically, you agree to help. "F-fine... I'll help," you manage to choke out, hoping it's enough to spare your life.

With the hybrid's grip loosening slightly, you scramble to gather your wits. Your mind races as you try to devise a plan to fulfill his demand.

How can I possibly get him out of this cage? you think, panic rising like bile in your throat.

Suddenly, a thought strikes you. The gate! If I can somehow open the gate... With newfound determination, you manage to croak out, "I need... the keys... to open the gate."

The hybrid regards you with a mixture of amusement and suspicion. "Keys, huh? You expect me to believe that?" he snarls.

You nod frantically, your heart pounding in your chest. "Yes, yes! The keys! They're... they're with the zookeeper. I am thinking of a way. Just let go off me!"

The hybrid eyes you warily, then releases his grip on your throat. "Fine," he grumbles. "But make one wrong move, and I'll finish what I started."

As you struggle to come up with a plan to escape the dangerous situation you've found yourself in, you spot movement outside the enclosure. With a surge of hope, you see a zoo staff member approaching. Frantically, you wave and call out for help.

The staff member's eyes widen in shock as they spot you inside the cage. "What on earth are you doing in there?" they exclaim, hurrying over to the gate.

You quickly concoct a story, trying to keep your voice steady despite the fear coursing through you. "Someone locked me in here! I'm the vet, and I was checking on the hybrid when the gate closed behind me. Please, hurry and bring the keys!"

The staff member looks hesitant, clearly taken aback by the situation, but they nod and rush off to retrieve the keys.

Meanwhile, the hybrid eyes you with suspicion, his predatory instincts on high alert.

"Just make him faint when he brings the key. Don't hurt him, okay?" you plead, hoping to appeal to his sense of self-preservation.

"Why should I listen to you?" he roars, his patience wearing thin.

"Because I'm helping you escape," you reason, desperation creeping into your voice.

Grumbling, the hybrid reluctantly agrees, his gaze never leaving the approaching staff member.

When the staff member returns with the keys, the hybrid pounces without hesitation, pinning the unsuspecting individual to the ground. A deafening roar echoes through the enclosure, and the staff member faints from sheer terror.

Quickly, you snatch the keys from the fallen staff member's hand and unlock the gate. The hybrid bounds out of the cage, his powerful form moving with grace and speed.

As you both make your escape, the other tigers seem almost relieved to see you go, as if they're eager for the chaos to end.

Once you're safely outside the enclosure, you lock the gate behind you and return the keys to the unconscious staff member's hand. Then, under the cover of darkness, you and the hybrid make your way out of the zoo.

But just when you think you're in the clear, the hybrid pounces on you once again, a hungry gleam in his eyes. "Time for my dinner, don't you think?" he growls.

"W-wait! You told me you wouldn't hurt me! I helped you escape!" you cry out, tears welling in your eyes.

He licks your cheek with a smirk. "Well, when Sukuna is hungry, he eats anything that's in front of him."

You try to wriggle free from his grasp, but his paw-like hand holds you firmly in place. "Please... I have food at home. Don't eat me! I'm not tasty!" you plead desperately.

"Do you have meat at your home?" he asks, his tone surprisingly calm.

You nod frantically, hoping beyond hope that he'll spare you.

"Fine. I'll follow you to your home. But if you're lying, I'll eat you right there," he warns, his gaze unwavering.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you lead him to your home, each step heavier than the last. When you arrive, you quickly retrieve some meat from your fridge and offer it to him.

He seems content for the moment, but then he declares, "Very well. This is my new home."

You try to protest, but he cuts you off with a dismissive snort. "As long as you don't tell anybody I'm here, everything will be fine. You know what will happen if you do."

ᯓ★ 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎- BLACK PANTHER HYBRID

Sweat drips down your forehead as you run through the dense woods, your heart pounding in your chest. You hear the loud growls and snarls of the tiger getting closer and closer. The adrenaline rushes through your veins as you trip over a fallen log. You hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of you. You look up to see the tiger bearing down on you, its yellow eyes full of hunger.

As your fear intensifies, you can't help but think how you ended up in this situation. Why did you decide to take the shortcut through the woods instead of sticking to the paved streets? Now you're about to become a meal for a wild beast. Your mind races through all the things you could've done differently, the choices that led you here. If only you had taken a different route, your life might be different now.

Your eyes squeeze shut, preparing yourself to face your fate but soon enough an unexpected event unfolds. A massive, black form leaps onto the tiger, sending it tumbling away. The two animals engage in a furious battle, the sound of snapping teeth and growls deafening.

Your body aches and your feet throb, the injury bleeding profusely. The adrenaline is quickly waning, and you can feel your consciousness beginning to slip away. You try to run, but your body won't cooperate. The throbbing in your head intensifies, and the world starts to fade to black.

As your eyelids fall shut, you're left with the knowledge that your life hangs in the balance, an unwitting pawn in this primal struggle. The two animals continue their violent dance, oblivious to the fact that the prize they both seek is barely clinging to life mere feet away. Your breaths come in shallow, ragged gasps as blackness engulfs you, consuming your senses, and you slip into the abyss of unconsciousness.

You stir and slowly awaken in a pitch-black space. Your injured foot tingling, and you realize that a warm, rough tongue is lapping at your wound. With your heart pounding and your eyes adapting to the low light, you leap up in surprise to see a big, hybrid figure standing in front of you. Part panther, part man, his muscular form is a testament to its feline heritage. His deep green eyes pierce into you, holding an air of mystery. A scar etches a jagged line along the right side of his mouth, giving his face a dangerous edge.

Despite his menacing demeanour, there is tenderness in the way he looks at you. With a deep, velvety voice, he replies, "I don't eat humans, so don't be afraid."

Your voice trembles as you ask, "W-why did you save me?"

He responds with a casual air, "Ah, that tiger was a menace, always trying to feed on humans. Thought I'd teach him a good lesson." A flick of his panther-like tongue gently traces your cheek, as if silently asking for your trust.

Overwhelmed by the turn of events, you manage to stammer, "Can I go home now?" His face softens, and it's clear that he's reluctant to let you go. He's developed a connection with you, but yea he has to let you go so he eventually nods with a heavy heart.

"Fine, you don't look too good to go by your own. Your foot is injured, and other animals can hurt you." He looks at you with concern, his green eyes fixed on your bleedings. "I will help you return home."

With an unspoken bond formed between the two of you, he gently lifts you onto his back, using his strong, muscular arms to support you. The warmth of his body offers comfort, and you can't help but feel safe and protected, even as you're carried through the still-dangerous woods. He moves with the agility of a panther, his steps sure and confident.

His panther-like ears twitch with each new sound, alert to any potential dangers. He dashes through the woods at a breakneck speed, your directions guiding him towards the safety of your home. Your heart races in your chest as you cling tightly to his neck, grateful for his strength and protection.

The journey seems to go by in a blur, the whirlwind of events leaving you shaken. But, with every passing second, the comforting thought of returning to familiar surroundings grows stronger. The sight of your home, drawing nearer, brings a sense of relief, and you can't help but let out a breath you' have been holding. You slide off his back onto the pavement, the familiar crunch of gravel underfoot a stark contrast to the softness of the woods. You turn to face your savior, words of gratitude tumbling from your lips.

The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, casting a soft, golden glow over the landscape. Your savior begins to turn away, the time for him to leave drawing near. Panic wells up inside you, and without thinking, you reach out and cling to him. The thought of him departing too much to bear. Your voice quivers as you plead, "Please, don't leave. Can you stay with me for a few days?"

He regards you with a mixture of surprise and concern, his green eyes holding a wealth of emotions. "I can't," he responds but your pleading eyes seem to have an effect on him, and after a moment of hesitation, he relents slightly, "All right, just for a day. After that, I'll have to return to my place."

His agreement brings a wave of relief, and you cling to him for a moment longer before stepping back, offering him a grateful smile. "Thank you," you breathe, leading the way inside your home..

Little did he know, the decision he made to spend a day at your house would change everything. As the hours pass and the day turns into night, the sense of comfort and safety he provides begins to weave its way into your heart. You find yourself growing increasingly reluctant to let him go, his presence now a much-needed source of calm amidst the chaos of your life.

ᯓ★ 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐔 𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐆- BEAR HYBRID

As you walk down the street, the cold winds bite at your skin, creating an eerie atmosphere. Suddenly, you notice several men trailing behind you. Panic sets in, and you break into a sprint, ducking into an empty alleyway. But as you reach the end of the alley, you realize there's no way out. They've surrounded you.

Alone and terrified, you feel like your luck has run out. But then, a noise startles everyone. Heavy footsteps echo in the alley, and all heads turn. A massive creature lumbers toward you, sending the men into a frenzy. "A bear!" they cry, scrambling to escape over the alley walls. Left behind, you remember a tale about playing dead to evade a bear's wrath. With trembling body, you collapse to the ground, feigning unconsciousness.

As the creature draws closer, it speaks in a human voice, catching you off guard. "Either you're playing dumb or you think I am," it remarks, its features coming into focus. It's a peculiar sight – a man with an average build, sporting short black hair styled longer on top, dark eyes, and a thin mustache. But atop his head are unmistakable brown bear-like ears, and his stature is massive, resembling that of a human-bear hybrid.

Confusion swirls in your mind. Could such a creature exist? Before you can ponder further, he chuckles and remarks, "You owe me a jar of honey."

Bewildered, you sit up, daring to ask, "What are you?"

His response is gentle, "A bear hybrid, I suppose."

You speak again, "I.. don't have any honey with me."

"Too bad," he replies with a smirk, "You seem like honey to me." Fear still grips you, but he reassures, "Don't worry, I won't eat you... yet." His mischievous grin sends shivers down your spine. Uncertain of what to make of this bizarre encounter, you cautiously accept his offer to escort you home.

Despite your initial trepidation, you find yourself trusting him, if only because he saved you from a perilous situation. And so, with this creature by your side, you embark on the journey home, your mind buzzing with questions and disbelief.

As you reach your home, his presence is somehow comforting. "My honey... dear?..." he murmurs softly, and you fidget with your fingers, trying to find an answer. "I don't have it. I will have to buy and then..."

Before you can complete your sentence, he leans in, cupping your cheeks, his lips find yours. Your eyes widen in shock at his sudden, electrifying kiss. It sends a shiver down your spine, grounded by his arrogant proclamation.

"Mhm, you are sweeter than honey," he whispers, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Bet I'm gonna stay with you until my one jar is complete."

You stutter, taken aback by the unanticipated intimacy. "U-until what's complete?" You question, still trying to fully process the bizarre encounter.

The bear-man, now seemingly confident in his claim, swaggers into your home as if he owns the place. You follow hesitantly, lingering at the door.

"Until I get one jar of honey," he clarifies, sitting down on the couch, "But I bet it won't take long. Just the sight of you alone is sweet enough." His voice drips with innuendo, and you blush furiously, unsure how to respond.

"Y-you can't just barge into someone's home," you stammer.

"My apologies, but the circumstances call for it," he responds nonchalantly.

You are stunned by his boldness, yet you cannot overlook the fact that he saved you from those men. Maybe it's the thrill of this wild encounter, but you can't deny that he's charming. "I-I.. I don't know," you reply, unsure of whether you're ready to have your world turned upside down by this enigmatic creature.

ᯓ★ 𝐘𝐔𝐉𝐈, 𝐌𝐄𝐆𝐔𝐌𝐈, 𝐘𝐔𝐓𝐀 & 𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐄- BUNNY HYBRIDS

"This white one, this black one, this brown one, and this grey one... YEYYYY!" you exclaimed in pure delight as you gazed upon the adorable human-bunny hybrids in front of you. Their fluffy ears twitched, their small tails twitched, and their eyes sparkled with curiosity.

"I WANT ALL OF THEM!" you declared, unable to contain your excitement. But your parents, standing nearby, didn't seem as enthusiastic about the idea of bringing home four new additions to the family.

"Y/N, choose only two," they urged, trying to reason with you.

But you weren't having it. You wanted all of those charming creatures, each with their unique color and personality. "No, I WANT ALL OF THEM!" you insisted, jumping up and down and throwing a small tantrum.

"All four will be trouble," one of your parents sighed, exchanging a knowing look with the other. "I don't think your kid is going to listen," the latter chuckled.

ᯓ★ 𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈, 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 & 𝐊𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐊𝐀𝐁𝐄 - DOG HYBRIDS

Before you were born, three special beings were already part of your family: Hiromi, Nanami, and Kusakabe. They're dogs mixed with humans, each with their own unique qualities. Hiromi is the oldest and wisest, Nanami is gentle but strong, and Kusakabe is full of energy and happiness.

In one word- they're family. They were already part of the family long before you arrived. When you were born, they were already there, part of the household. When they first saw you, they felt a strong connection with you, even though you're a bit different from them.

ᯓ★ 𝐌𝐀𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎- SNAKE HYBRID (NAG)

"Big News! The nag broke free from the lab! If you spot it, call this number: 69696969696969."

You switch off the TV, muttering, "Why can't they keep a better eye on animals? They don't deserve this. But I wanna see what it looks like" You head to the kitchen for some food. Suddenly, you hear a hissing noise. "I need to clear my mind. I'm even hearing snake sounds," you smile to yourself, and then you freeze. "Wait... hissing sound?" You turn around to see a huge snake with a human-like upper body and a snake-like lower half—typically mythological character like.

You find yourself in the midst of a gripping situation. The room feels charged with tension as you stand face to face with the escaped nag. Its presence is both captivating and terrifying.

The nag towers over you, its imposing figure a stark contrast against the mundane surroundings of your home. Its upper body bears a resemblance to that of a human, but its lower half is unmistakably serpentine, coiled and ready to strike.

Its face, marked with intricate patchwork patterns, holds an otherworldly allure. Its eyes, one a deep, mysterious blue and the other a haunting shade of gray, seem to pierce through your very soul.

Long strands of grayish-blue hair cascade down its back, swaying with each subtle movement. They are neatly sectioned into three thick strands, each tied off at the end, adding to the creature's enigmatic appearance.

As it grins, you can't help but notice its fangs—two of them, each as large as a snake's, gleaming ominously in the dim light of the room.

But perhaps the most chilling sight is its tail, which coils around your body with a vice-like grip, constricting your every movement and leaving you gasping for air.

In this moment, fear and disbelief course through you as you realize the gravity of the situation. You are face to face with a creature straight out of myth and legend, and it has you firmly in its grasp.

You try to scream, but the nag's grip around your waist is too tight, choking off the sound. You can feel your breathing becoming labored, your chest constricted, the nag's tail seemingly tightening with each panicked attempt to draw in air.

Your heart races as you wait for the jagged teeth to sink into your flesh, but instead of biting, the nag's forked tongue darts out licking your teary cheek. The contrast between anticipating excruciating pain and gentle caress makes your blood run cold.

Your whimpers fade as you gaze into the creature's heterochromia eyes. "Hooman~" Its voice is like the rustling of autumn leaves, soft yet unsettling. "Not gonna hurt you if you don't hurt me."

A look of confusion crosses your face as he releases you, still gripped by confusion as to why a creature capable of such destruction is harming you not. "You escaped from the lab, right?" you ask tentatively.

The nag lets out a small pout, "They treated me very bad..." Tears begin to stream down its patchwork face, and you're left wondering if the display is genuine or nothing more than an act. "I want to be taken care of... Do I not deserve it?"

You find yourself grappling with your own emotions, the nag's pleading expression tugging at your heartstrings. You're still scared of it but somehow, you can't seem to resist its charms. Biting your lip in indecision, you finally reply, "I will tell them to take care of you in a good way. You should return there."

He shakes his head vehemently as his tail coils even tighter around you this time, almost comforting. "No... Not gonna go there AGAIN!" he protests, his voice laced with desperation. "Please... You look like a good hooman... Please take care of mee~" It presses its face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. The nag's cold touch adds to the unsettling atmosphere.

"Are you sure... you can stay with me?" you ask, mindful of the consequences but feeling a strange kinship forming. The nag's face lights up, and you can see how desperately it wants this. "Yes... yes, please."

Given the situation, you sigh and agree to the nag's request. You realize that it's not going to leave you alone anyway. Plus, it's not like having a nag as a house pet is an everyday occurrence.

ᯓ★ 𝐀𝐎𝐈 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐎- GORILLA HYBRID

As the sun shone down on the lush greenery of the picnic area, innocent you sat with your family, enjoying a delightful family picnic. Amidst the laughter and chatter, you decided to indulge in one of your favorite snacks - bananas. Grabbing one from the fruit basket, you eagerly peeled it open and devoured it in no time, savoring its sweet flavor.

Bananas Bananas Bananas, I LOVE BANANAS

But one banana was not enough to satisfy your craving, and you reached for another. As you peeled it open, a sudden poke on your shoulder startled you. Whipping around, you found nobody there. Shrugging off the odd sensation, you turned back to your banana, only to find it mysteriously missing, leaving only the peel in your hand.

Confused and slightly unnerved, you grabbed another banana from the basket, determined to enjoy it without any interruptions. Yet, once again, a poke on your shoulder disrupted your moment, and when you looked back, the banana was gone, just like before.

Frustration mounting, you stood up and scanned the surroundings, searching for the prankster responsible for the disappearing bananas. Your eyes fell upon a figure giggling mischievously nearby.

"You did it!" you accused, rushing towards the person, but it darted away with surprising agility, effortlessly climbing up a nearby tree.

In your attempt to follow, you ended up stumbling and falling, landing with a painful thud. As you winced in pain, the laughter ceased, replaced by a sense of guilt. The figure descended from the tree and approached you cautiously.

"Sorry," he muttered, extending a hand to help you up. Looking up, you found yourself face-to-face with an unusual sight - a hybrid creature with a big body and chest like a gorilla but the face and features of a human. Despite his intimidating physique, he seemed of your age.

"You could have asked me," you scolded, rubbing your sore limbs.

He hung his head in apology once more, explaining that he couldn't resist the opportunity to play a harmless prank.

As you talked, you realized that despite his unusual appearance, you felt a strange connection with him. He was just like you, craving friendship and acceptance.

When it was time to leave, you hesitated, not wanting to part ways with your newfound friend. Gathering your courage, you introduced him to your parents, who were taken aback by the sight of the hybrid creature.

"That's not a human," they exclaimed, exchanging worried glances.

But as you pleaded with them to let your new friend come home with you, they relented, touched by your earnestness and compassion.

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mooooonnnzz · 3 months ago

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holy shit world/insure made me sob. would you consider doing a part two ? i’m imagining stan and ford telling dipper and mable childhood stories with the reader. they’re vague about it, saying stuff like “they aren’t here anymore” so the twins just think read died. then reading coming back through the portal and they connect the dots. omfg i’m obsessed with this concept.

Word/Insured Part 2

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ GUESS WHO FINISSHHHEDDDD!!!

☆ this'll have 2 parts so it's easier to digest, since it's lawnngg so if it abruptly ends, that's just me splitting it

☆ 4,5k words

☆ gender-neutral reader

☆ possible tw: drinking to cope, mentions of suicide, gagging and descriptive chewing? and just angst

☆ srry this lowk kinda took long to write both keyboard and mouse just died on me when i was writing this so i had to find an old keyboard oops

☆ if this does well, i'm considering on making hcs of reader adjusting back to their home dimensions and diving deep into the twins n their trauma !!

☆ that's all. i hope you all enjoy! :3

✶ Stan and Ford hadn’t talked to each other since your disappearance. The anger and hatred that Stan held onto was enough to deter him from even granting a glance at Ford who tirelessly tried to get Stan to talk to him. He’d begin the conversation with ideas he’s thought through the night prior, ideas that most likely secured a chance on bringing you back. But Stan wanted nothing to do with him. His head was shrouded with your screams, the way you yelled out for Stan instilled such a soul-crushing guilt on Stan; he wasn’t sure he’d properly function as a normal human being after this. Not to mention, you and Stan were two peas in a pod, spending 10 years together after the collapse of their family truly brought the pair together, closer than they’d ever thought they would be. And now Stan is going through the same grief he felt when he was kicked out of the house, Ford doing nothing but sparing a sorrowful glance to him as he shouted for his brother, anticipating Ford to do something; to clean his name and everything would go back to normal. But instead, he turned his back on him. The situations were massively different but the pain was eerily still the same.

✶ Stan would spend majority of his nights clutching your belongings close to his chest. He didn’t care if it looked weird, those were the only things that he had left of you at the moment. Nights were spent crying himself to sleep, envisioning different scenarios where he had caught onto your wrist and pulled you back to the ground, where it was safe, where he was there to protect you. He couldn’t let his mind linger on the idea of you being stranded in another dimension, helpless and lost, not knowing what to do or where to go. The mere thought of it sends his heart crumbling down to his palms, all shredded and shattered beyond repair. He was your big brother, he was supposed to protect you. To keep you safe from harm's way, he betrayed that very promise by leading you to the place where you were taken away from him too soon. And that alone gutted him. Ford would hear Stan sobbing into the night and all he did was lay there in his bed, submitting himself to the torture to hear his brother’s wretched cries. Because, this was his fault. Stan wasn’t shy to tell him that almost every waking moment of the day when he has the chance. The guilt haunts him.

✶ Verbal arguments were pretty common between the pair. Stan mainly started them when he was pulled out of the haze he was in and roughly back to reality. A reality where you weren’t around anymore and that irked him, because who else was at fault other than his idiotic brother? “Do you ever wonder how more lively this house would have been if ya hadn’t pushed [Name] inside the portal?” His tone was harsh. They carried thick venom to them, his words permanently burning their way into Ford’s brain. “Not this again,” Ford’s heart quivered. He had just recollected himself from yesterday's fight and now Stan wants to barrel through another one? Ford avoided Stan’s glaring eye contact. “Stanley, I told you many times before. I’m sorry! I’m sorry for screwing up, I’m sorry for being the reason why [Name] isn’t here anymore.” Ford’s head tilted back, his eyes staring longingly at the ceiling. “You don’t know how much this eats at me, Stanley.” He blinks away the tears threatening to escape, his head lowering back down to meet Stan’s fiery stare. “But I beg of you, please. Don’t hate me for it. I can’t lose you again, not after losing [Name].” The look in Ford’s eyes was something Stan would never be able to forget, no matter how hard he tried. He looked so broken, so shattered, the shell of someone who once was a prodigy at everything he touched was now crushed to bits; pieces of him scattered, lost to time. Stanley’s anger faded into a mellow irritation. Shifting his hands awkwardly on his chest, his face softened ever so slightly. “Fine,” He grumbled, rushing past Ford, their shoulders roughly rocking against each other. Ford sniffed, wiping the tears off his face. This was a new development. A spark of hope flickered in Ford.

✶ Alcohol and cigars were Stan’s life vest. He’d rob a few packs of beer and down them within two days. It wasn’t healthy, but at least it distracted him from everything that was happening, right? Stan was pretty much drunk every day, and if he wasn’t, he was out on the porch smoking cigars, hoping that one day Ford would find him dead on the floor with beer cans surrounding him, his last moments spent thinking about how much he missed you. Stan wasn’t an angry drunk much to Ford’s surprise, considering how he spent his times where he was sober yelling at Ford, rather he’d rot away on the couch or floor, silently crying to himself in a puddle of his own tears. Many times Ford would have to pick up Stan, rest him on the couch and try to sober him up. And it wasn’t an easy task to do, picking up Stan with his weak arms was a workout for Ford. “Why couldn’t I save them?” Stank drunkenly babbled out, his head swaying side to side. “Don’t move too much, Stanley. You’ll give yourself a headache.” Ford warned, propping his head up with a pillow. “If I wasn’t so slow, [Name] would still be here.” Stan hiccups, his eyes glistening with tears. No matter how many times Ford hears Stan painfully talking about you, it still hurts the same and even more. “It’s not your fault, Stan.” Ford said, pulling a blanket up to his chest. “It’s not yours either.” Stan’s hand patted Ford on his face, thinking that it was his head. When Stan pulled his hands away, tears were streaking down Ford’s cheek. Hearing Stan tell him that it wasn’t his fault healed a piece of him and that quickly triggered the waterworks. “There, there, brother.” Stan patted Ford’s back as he sobbed into his hands. “It’s not my fault,” He repeated in loud sobs. “It’s not your fault.” Stan echoes.

✶ Ford handled his grief and stress by huddling himself in the lab, isolating himself from Stan’s drunken state and researching his work. Trying to find loopholes that he can tie them close with a workaround, with a quick fix that would bring you back. Cans of beer were discarded around his lab, just the same as upstairs. But he wasn’t downing beers like Stan, he chugged one or two to dull out the ache in his heart, to keep it from distracting him. He knew when to stop and limit himself. He wasn’t dependent on alcohol. Sleep was something Ford considered useless. That would only distract him from his work, from his progress. Stan walked into the lab, puffing a gray smoke of air out onto the air. Your absence has bestowed so much despair onto the pair and he hadn’t realized until this very moment. Walking over to Ford, he placed a hand on his back. He was messily sleeping on top of his work, glasses hanging off his face, mouth open, drool dribbling down to his arms and paper. His dark circles were so dark and he was unshaven, chin stubbly with hair. Has he been getting any sleep? He wouldn’t know because he’s always drinking the day away. Stan internally groaned at himself. Not only has been neglecting himself, he’s been neglecting his brother. Burning out the cigar, he grabbed a blanket from upstairs and draped it over Ford. “Sleep tight, Stanford.” He said, gingerly squeezing his arm. Stan sat right next to him, wanting to keep him company and dozed off. When morning came, Ford awoke to Stan’s head colliding with his chair. For that one morning, Stan’s snores were music to his ears.

✶ “S-Stanley!” Ford’s body lunges up from the couch when he sees Stan briskly pass by him and into the kitchen. “I-I’ve done some research and I-I think I found a way to get [Name] back!” He stumbles over his words, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on his foggy brain. The only thing that is keeping him up as of now is coffee he had been taking in shots for the past few days. The way he moves is fidgety and erratically and Stan takes notice of that. Pouring a cup of coffee for himself in a mug, he leans his back against the counter. “You need sleep, Stanford.” He brings the rim of the mug to his lips, his eyes never leaving Ford’s trembling figure as he takes a big gulp from his coffee. Ford couldn’t believe what he had just heard. Stan spoke to him! It was measly four words, but that’s more than he has ever said in the past five months, that wasn’t angry nonsensical words that were being thrown at him or depressing drunken babbling. “No, there’s so much to be done.” Ford runs a hand through his unkempt hair. “You need to hear me out. We need to find the other two–” Stan shushes him. “I won’t talk to you until ya sleep, Stanford. Don’t you bother trying to back out from this.” He looks at Ford with a stern expression, almost the same one Mom wore whenever he warned Ford to not do anything stupid in the backyard with Stan. “B-But!” Stan doesn’t hear his weak objections, he’s already out of the kitchen before Ford can conjure a good enough excuse. With a groan, Ford trips over his own feet while he makes his way back to the couch. Pushing all his research and books off the couch and onto the floor, he topples over the couch. When his head crashes on the soft plush of his sofa, his body automatically shuts off, revealing how dangerously tired he was. His eyes fluttered close and it didn’t take long for him to crash out on the couch. Stan came in to check on Ford and was pleasantly pleased to see his twin at last getting the rest he deserved.

✶ Clinking his fork idly on the ceramic plate, Stan watched Ford make breakfast. Originally Stan was going to prepare breakfast, but Ford saw he was cooking and pushed him out of the kitchen, telling him that it was “his treat,” Stan couldn’t even utter a single word to him. He just wanted simple scrambled eggs and toast and now he’s left to fear for his life as Ford concocts a science experiment for his breakfast. “And for you breakfast, Stanley.” Ford swoops in, leaning forward as he shuffles the plate of food onto the table. “Scrambled eggs and buttered toast,” Ford smiles knowingly, placing his breakfast down. He had the same breakfast but the crust of his toast was cut off. “I don’t even know why I doubted you.” Stan scoops up the scrambled eggs with his fork and shoves it in his mouth with giddy excitement, a display of emotions Ford hadn’t seen in over 10 years. Who knew a simple breakfast would get him so happy? “Still being a baby about the crust?” He points to Ford’s crustless buttered toast with his fork, mouth muffled with food still being chewed in his mouth. Ford cringes at the sight of mashed up food in Stan’s mouth, suppressing a gag as he nods his head. “Chew your food before talking, Stanley! We’re not kids anymore.” He rasps out, his palm covering his mouth, his body shuddering with full body heaves. “Alright, alright!” With a loud gulp, he swallows his scrambled eggs. “Happy now?” Said Stan with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe not,” Using his other hand, Ford pushes the plate of eggs away. “Don’t want to eat anymore,” Stan shrugs, pouring the scrambled eggs on the plate. “More for me!” As Stan is chowing down on his eggs, Ford regains his composure. Though, he couldn’t watch Stan eat his eggs without the image of the yellow goopy food in his mouth so he averted his gaze to his hands.

✶ “[Name] sure had grown up the last time I saw them.” This was Ford’s feeble attempt at sprouting a conversation with Stan, but he soon regretted what he said when he realized the fragility of the topic. Stan blinks, stunned. A beat passes and Ford’s ready to divert the conversation to another topic when Stan replies with a weird look on his face Ford can’t quite catch. “Well, yeah,” Stan looks off to the side. Ford lets out a breath of relief, Stan wasn’t upset at the mention of you. “They left with me when you and Dad kicked me out and we haven’t seen each other since then.” There’s a distant look in his eyes when he speaks, his words carrying a light anger to them ever so slightly. “How were th–” Stan shoots up, the chair skidding behind him. “Just because we’re all chummy now doesn’t mean you get to ask all about [Name].” The sudden shift in his emotions slapped Ford right in his face. “I’m sorry.” Ford whispers. Stan clicks his tongue, uttering to himself before shaking his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Stan rubs the sides of his head with his fingers. “Let’s not talk about them right now, okay? I don’t think I’m ready yet.” Stan pulls the chair to him and sits down. He rests his head on his fist, eyebrows pinched together with a long frown on his face. “I didn’t mean to blow up on ya like that.” Stan looks Ford in the eyes, and he could see the sincere sadness swimming in his eyes. “It’s okay, Stanley. Why don’t we talk about what you do for a living?” With that, they eased themselves into a comfortable conversation, with a few hiccups here and there, but in the end, the twins both had a soft smile adoring their faces.

✶ The repairing of the portal was a stepping stone that repaired Ford’s and Stan’s relationship. They weren’t going to lie and say that their relationship now was perfect, they still had their moments of anger and differences, but with a lot and a lot of patience, their bond was soon regaining its spark. “Whaddya think, poindexter?” Stan slapped a sloppily written plan on how to fix the portal in front of Ford. “What is this?” Ford looked at the piece of paper like it was garbage. “A plan to fix the portal, isn’t it obvious?” Stan snatched his paper back up, eyes speedily reading his work, doubting his work. “Stanley, that is unnecessary. I have the blueprints to fix the portal.” Discarding his plan, he slapped his hands enthusiastically, rubbing them together. “Alright! So where are they?” Ford sucks in a breath. “In the other journals.” Stan nodded his head slowly, as if that information was already obvious. “And where are the other journals?” Ford coughs into his fist, speedily saying; “I hid them.” Stan looks at him weirdly. “Can’t we just unhide them?” Ford rubs a hand up against his prickly cheek. “That’s the thing. I may or may not remember where I hid them.” Closing his eyes, he braced for the gust of angry yelling. “you WHAT?!” Stan’s hands flew to the side of his head. “How do you forget where you put them?!” Stan made a mental note to mark down how many times Ford screwed up, so far he has two. He has a long way to go before he could be anywhere near Stan’s record. “I was in a flurry of panic! I wasn’t thinking straight.” Stan groaned, smacking his face with his hand. “Was it at least in Gravity Falls?” Stan had his fingers crossed. “Yes, obviously.” A triumph “Yes!” leaves Stan. “Okay, let’s get digging then!”

✶ Stan severely underestimated how truly difficult it would be finding one of the books in a forest that seemed like it stretched out for miles. Every turn looks the same and whenever he’d think he’s making progress, he’s right back where he started, at least he thinks he is. Frustrated, he bangs his head on a tree. The sound of metal clanging rang in his ears and shook through the tree. He groaned, holding his head with one hand as he curiously examined the possible metal tree. “Stanley!” Ford came running to Stan’s side, panting heavily. He wasn’t used to running for more than 5 seconds, and that was evidently proven with his flushed face and out of breath wheezes. “This tree is metal,” Stan notes, taking a few steps back, winding his leg back and hammering his shoe into the tree. The tree simply shook, the metal sound nowhere to be heard. “What?” Stan can feel his brain heating up, he couldn’t make any sense of this. The tree he kicked felt like a tree, not some metal contraption. It was only when he knocked his head—An idea springs to mind. Leaning his head back, he slammed his head on the tree. Shocked noises sputter out of Ford as he watches Stan rub the sore spot in his head. “There’s something here,” He gestures to the general area where he smashed his head in. “I can see that!” Ford walks up to the tree, knuckles gently knocking on the metal plate that was disguised as a tree. His hands move around the tree, searching for a way to open the plate. His fingers snag on an elevated piece of tree and with his fingertips, he swings it open, revealing a control panel. The memories of constructing this rush to his mind. “I remember now!” He flips a switch, his head turning over to where the large log rested. In front of it, a patch of grass was pulled back to unravel the hidden place where book three was. Ford eagerly snatched the book in his hands, showcasing it to Stan. “Great job, Stanford!” He claps Ford’s back. “So where’s the other one, you remember?” Unfortunately for the both of them, Ford doesn’t remember. He had seemed to bury most of his memories after meeting Bill Cipher, anything beyond that point was an empty mess for him.

✶ With the two books in hand, they managed to tinker and repair the damage to their best efforts. After each exhausting night in the lab, he’d attempt to pull the lever in hopes that whatever they did that day would work and to their utter disappointment, it never dislodge from its spot. “Man,” Stan wipes his forehead with his forearm, sweat glistening on his arm. “For a brainiac like you, I would’ve never imagined you being terrible at building this!” Stan barked with a laugh. Ford scoffed, his attention laser focused on fixing a part of the machine. “How did you manage to build the portal in the first place?” Stan wondered, the flashlight he was using to help Ford see what he was doing began to steer away. “Stanley,” Ford snapped. “The light!” Stan jolted up in surprise, the light quickly going back to Ford. “Sorry,” He sheepishly said. “But seriously, how did you build this?” He looked at Ford curiously. “I had an assistant.” Ford mumbled, a leak of oil dotting his clothes. He hissed, grabbing a tool off the ground to fix whatever started leaking. “Had? What happened?” Ford hummed happily. He had fixed the leak. Placing the tool back down to the floor, he directed his attention to Stan. “He quit.” Ford scratched his head, unintentionally smearing oil on his cheek with his hand. “Why?” Stan tossed him a piece of clean cloth, silently motioning to his cheek. Ford took it, wiping his cheek with the cloth. “He, uh,” If Ford told Stan that he went inside the portal momentarily and came out completely traumatized, Stan would go berserk on him knowing that you went inside the exact portal that mentally ruined Fiddleford. Ford did not want to go back to the arguing and suffocating silence so he lied. “He just thought what I was doing was unethical.” That wasn’t a complete and total lie, but it was far from the truth. Stan bought the lie fortunately for Ford. “Glad at least someone had the brain to call a quits!”

✶ Before they knew it, they were tremendously low on money. Stan was the unfortunate one to discover this revelation. On a quick supply run, Stan had gone to the grocery store and stock up on some food. When the cashier rang up him, totaling his price to 30 dollars, Stan had pulled out a penny, paper clip and a wrapper. Mentally cursing Ford for spending all his money on unnecessary science stuff, he weakly smiled at the cashier. “Can you hold onto my groceries for a quick second?” The cashier nodded their, a big bright smile on their face. “Of course, stranger!” And right when Stan was going to snag the groceries bags in his hurried rush, a woman spoke from behind him. “Hey, that’s no stranger! That must be the mysterious science guy in the woods!” She points, gathering a crowd around Stan. “Ah, no. That’s my nerdy twin brother.” Stan says, causing the crowd to coo in interest. “There’s two of them?” Someone in the crowd asked. “He probably cloned himself just so he could do two things at once!” Someone else said. “That’s probably what happened. I’ve heard strange stories about that old shack.” Toby Determined spoke up. “Yeah! Mysterious lights and spooky experiments!” Daryl added. “Gosh, I’d pay anything to see what kind of shenanigans you get up in there!” Pa said. Susan perked up at that. “Oh, me too! Do you ever give tours?”

✶ A sly smirked pulled to Stan’s face. He had the perfect idea. “Yes, I do give tours! Ten…no-no fifteen bucks a person!” The crowd erupts in cheers, waving their green bills around. “Is it possible we get to see the man of mystery himself?” Susan questions. “Hmm, I’m not sure.” Stan eluded them to think that there was no possible way to get to Ford to gauge their reactions. And what they gave him sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. “You know what?” The crowd lightens up with hope. “Fifty bucks if you all want to see the man of mystery himself!” Another boisterous cheer from the crowd. “And what did you say your name was, twin of mister mystery?” Stan smiled proudly. “Stanley, Stanley Pines.”

✶ The crowd bustles into the shack, ooo’s and aaa’a left their mouths in awe of the place. “Step right up folks to a world of,” he pauses for a moment thinking. “A world of enchantment!” He gestures to all the wild findings. Grabbing a dial box with two antennae, he showcases it to the crowd. “Behold! The um, nerdy science box.” Susan looked at it with interest. The device rumbled to life and zapped her in the eye, rendering it closed. “Ah, my eye!” She covers her closed eye, stumbling back. “Uh, I can assure you, that is no way permanent!” He offers an uneasy smile. “I paid sixty five dollars for this!?” With Susan’s comment, the whole crowd erupted in complaints. Quickly thinking, he grabs a skeleton and makes a half-assed joke where the last customers didn’t make it out alive. The crowd laughs at his horrible joke and Stan smiles. “What is with all this ruckus?” Ford walks in, irritation evident on his face. “Is that him?” Someone excitedly shrieks from the crowd. “Oh my god, it is! Take my money!” Wads of dollar bills get thrown at Stan who was making a great effort to make sure he caught all of them. “Stanley, what did you do!”

✶ After answering a few questions he was coaxed into, (they stroked his ego), he kicked them out, accidentally saying that they could return another time before closing the door, smacking himself in the head. “What was that?” Stan turned over to Ford, buckets of money shoved inside into his shirt. “I got us money! And look how much we got!” He pulls a ten dollar bill from his stack in his shirt. “Stanford, this the best thing that’s ever happened to us so far.” Ford looks at him, unsure. “I’m not a fan of ripping people off,” Stan’s hands fall to his sides. “It’s their choice to throw money at me like a madman. Listen, if we get more money, we can stock up on good materials to fix the portal, like really good parts and we can finally bring [Name] back.” Ford stewed in his thoughts for a little more. He hated to admit, but Stan was right. With a little more money, they could be sailing straight to victory with a higher chance of your return. Ford let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, but I don’t want you to mess with my stuff, got it?” Stan beamed brightly. “I promise!” He broke that later on.

✶ Gradually, the scary shed in the woods turned into a tourist spot people would frequent. Together, they advertised the shack by plastering various signs and posters all over the woods. They even went as far to tape advertisements onto people’s windows. Ford wanted to use actual beasts he had found in the woods to show to people, but in the end they all ran away, horrified for their lives. Ford was respectfully peeved because when he’d glance over to Stan, he had somehow had the crowd hanging on to every word that spilled out of his mouth. And when he’d show the crudely sewed animal he had made within five minutes before the tour started, they all gasped in delight, their money flying to him. “How do you do it?” Ford asks as Stan closes the door, reveling in the pool of money he had made. “I just say whatever comes to mind.” Stan shrugs. “But none of your stories make any sense logically! How did they believe in a half beaver half bat?” He gestures to the taxidermy animal. The beady eyes were slowly sliding off its face, leaving a trail of glue. “Hey, the people love to spend their money on things that are obviously fake, weirdly enough.” The door rattles with a knock. “Wanna take this next crowd? I gotta sort this money.” Against his will, not really, Ford opens the door and flashes an award winning smile he had learned from Stan. Cash was already being shoved in his face. At least he earns money for looking good. Ford attempted Stan’s whole shtick and to his very surprise it worked! It wasn’t as good as Stan’s performance, but it worked well enough that people were swarming him with cash. His bitterness from before was quickly washed over and he continued on his act. When the crowd dispersed, satisfied with their tour. Stan was there in the middle, clapping widely. “That was some good acting there, Ford!” Ford smiled, waving him off. “Yeah, yeah. I’m only doing this cause we need the money.”

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 1 month ago

Text

Whispers of Him

Or the shadows of Jason Todd always seem to linger. Hurt/Comfort ~2.8k words

Jason Todd's death changed you irrevocably. It was the ache in your bones, the pounding of your veins, the dull throb in your heart that never seemed to leave.

It was a weight on your mind, and it wore away at everything you were, until you weren't sure what was grief and what was you.

The doctors tried to help, the therapists and all their medications that made your head foggy and your body sluggish.

It's not like you didn't want to get better, you did, but the agonizing guilt and despair always seemed to rise in your throat.

They told you it wasn't healthy to constantly mourn, and maybe they were right. Well, they were right, but even knowing that little fact couldn't seem to help you find your way out of the sorrow in your soul.

They said that's why you started to see him. Not just in dreams or visions, but really see him. Hallucinations, they diagnosed you with, your mind and heart desperately trying to cope with a loss you shouldn't have experienced so young.

It scared you at first, seeing him around and in your space like he belonged there. Then you were excited, hopeful, that somehow they were wrong and he was alive. But then you blinked. And he was gone.

It shattered you all over again.

The second time, you were more prepared, and just as hopeful. It was delusional, you knew, to believe he was some kind of ghost, some figment of magic you don't understand. At least, then, he would be real.

(It was Bruce, stony faced and cold, who told you it wasn't possible. That Jason was really, truly gone.)

You learned to take it as it was. A comfort. A solace when you had no other.

The Jason your head conjured never spoke, but he always listened. He never got close, but he always hovered. It became reassuring, to see him in the corner of your vision while you went about your day.

Sometimes, he wore a hoodie, an ever-present sly smile painted on his face and pointed at you.

Sometimes, he wore his Robin suit, practically glowing as you rambled idly to something that wasn't really there.

Not all of the hallucinations were a relief to see, though.

Sometimes your mind would conjure him at his worst. Bloody hair. Bruised face. Torn costume. Twisted limbs.

No matter how hard you squeezed your eyes shut and willed your mind to fix it, the truth of what happened didn't change. You knew he was there. Waiting for you to open your eyes.

You always did.

Even after all the years after his death, years of illusions of him, you still haven't managed to let go.

The delusions change, as you grow older. Sometimes, your head creates visions of what he would have looked like, what he could have been if he had gotten to grow at your side.

It wasn't common, though. At least, it wasn't until last week.

The same hallucination had been visiting you on your fire escape nearly every night.

At first, you weren't even convinced he was an illusion. But he just stared at you, and when you stared back, you began to recognize him.

The same eyes that haunt your every day, the familiar, and unfamiliar, scars that cover his skin, the steadiness in his gaze, all things your brain had created for you to see before.

So you treated him like all the other visions, only noting half-heartedly that he's not completely like the other Jason's.

He's always silent, always watchful, just like others, but his appearance never changes. He doesn't exactly move like all the rest either.

He stays still, tense, careful, while the others always seem to be swaying or rocking. But he tilts his head towards you when you talk the same as they do, picks at the ends of his clothes the same way the real Jason did when he was alive.

His constant presence, always after the sun goes down, is honestly the most routine you've had in years.

You told him that, a day or two ago, and he seemed to stiffen. None of your hallucinations had ever done that before, and you told him that, too.

It's just– you really can't get over how alive he seems. You think it's somewhat cruel of your brain to have created such a perfect image of him, but you can't help but relish in it, spilling your secrets and feelings to your quiet companion.

"I think I was in love with you," You say into the cold, Gotham air. The illusion flinches at the edge of your vision, but you don't turn to look, half afraid he'll fade into nothingness in front of you.

"Maybe that's why I never really moved on," You ramble, words you've never admitted before spilling off your tongue, "We were just kids, ya know? But, you were special. Always were. Guess that's why my brain keeps doing this."

You shift your weight, almost embarrassed to be confessing to no one but yourself, "Isn't that sad? That I can't move on? People die all the time," Your voice breaks a little at your own words, misery making its way onto your face, "Especially in Gotham."

"There's no timeline on grief."

Your head snaps towards him. That– that's never happened before. They've never spoken to you, not once, not ever. He's not supposed to talk.

Your chest tightens, and you jump through scenarios, that you've been talking to some random stranger on your fire escape for a week, that you're going crazy (crazier at least) and need to be put into arkham, or that he's really Jason.

"What," You stutter out, eyes wide and locked on him.

He leans back against the wall, eyes focused somewhere in the distance, "Everyone grieves differently. What you feel isn't any less just because other people cope faster."

You blink, half expecting him to disappear, "What are you saying?"

"You're too hard on yourself," he mutters, lacing his fingers behind your head, "that's all I'm saying."

You blink again, hard, willing him to disappear this time, to show that this is all in your head. But he's still there when you open your eyes, "Okay."

You both fall silent. You want to talk, to hear his voice, to pretend he got to grow up. Maybe the two of you would sit out here like this, find safety in the mundane of just being together.

But a part of you knows it would only hurt more to pretend. So you stay quiet.

You're not sure how long you sit there, but it's long enough you start to yawn.

"Go on inside," he suggests, voice even and soft.

You nod, as much as you don't want to break the moment, to stay with the Jason that actually talks to you, to hear more of his steady, gravelly tone, you know falling asleep out here would be dangerous, "Can you come back?"

You know it's a farfetched request, to ask your own hallucination to return, but the tension leaves your body when he nods.

You tug your window open, shooting him one last glance before he calls your name.

"Yeah," You breathe out, halfway inside your apartment.

"Were– are you sure? You loved..." his voice trails off, and you think it's a bit strange of him to ask.

"I'm sure," You tell him, firm and without a hint of doubt.

He doesn't respond, but something in your chest seems to fix itself.

You thought maybe that it was some kind of breakthrough, opening up to yourself, hearing him speak. Maybe you would get better, maybe you wouldn't see him again.

But as you're getting ready to sit on the fire escape the next night, Jason, dressed in the bright colors of Robin, appears at your side.

You're strangely disappointed, as he waves at you. A part of you hoped the illusion that talked to you would come back. You slip outside anyway, Robin practically on your heels as he settles on the railing, kicking his legs and showing off his handstands.

You don't bother hiding a giggle, even if you were well practiced in not reacting to the illusions in public.

"What's so funny," a voice asks lazily.

Jason's there. The older one. But that can't be right. You've never seen two of them at once.

Your gaze flicks between Robin balancing on the railing and the man pulling himself up on the edge of the fire escape, "I– um, you can't see him," You ask dumbly, half considering making an emergency call to your therapist.

He quirks an eyebrow at you before his face grows more serious, "It's just us here. Promise."

You take in a slow breath. Us. Us implies more than you're ready to deal with. Us implies that he's real.

You're not thinking when you reach out to grab the sleeve of his jacket. He doesn't pull away, doesn't even flinch, only cocks his head at you in a way that's so Jason it nearly makes you sick.

You rub the rough leather between your fingers for a moment, grappling with the stark realization that you've been trauma dumping on this stranger, on the person who reminds you so much of the boy you lost, for the past week.

You tug a little at his sleeve, weighing the facts. Jason is dead. The man in front of you acts like him, looks like him. You've been taking your medication. Nothing worse has happened this week to have set off your brain to create something like this.

So that leaves three options. There's a random stranger letting you touch him outside your apartment window. You're actually doing so poorly that you can't tell the difference between reality and fantasy. Or Jason is alive, and he hasn't felt the need to explain that to you for the past week.

You drop his sleeve. A part of you doesn't want to know. It would be easier to stay in the limbo you've created, to settle against the cold grating of the fire escape and pretend nothing has changed while you talk about your day.

The Robin your brain created waves at you again, catching your eye. He twists in the air, shooting a line that attaches to nothing before disappearing into thin air.

The man calls your name, soft and careful, as you draw your attention back to him, "You still with me?"

"I– feel kinda lightheaded," You admit, and you do. Your heart feels like it's in your throat and in your stomach at the same time. Because this can't be real, can't be right.

Jason is dead. It's been drilled into your head at every therapy session, by everyone you've ever known. Jason is dead, and you've been making him up.

So why is this Jason hooking his arm around your waist? Why is he helping you into your apartment? Squeezing you to his side when you stumble? Helping you sit on the couch as your vision gets darker and your head spins faster?

You want to cry when he brushes his fingers over your jaw, "I'm sorry," he mumbles, "I don't know how to do this. I thought this would be easier."

His eyebrows knit together when you shudder, and he drops his hand, "I shouldn't have– this was selfish of me."

"Don't," You plead, panic lacing your features as you reach for him, "Don't go. Don't leave me alone."

He looks conflicted, but grabs your hand, threading his fingers with yours. They're rough, calloused. And they're warm.

It makes you hold him all the more tighter.

"I'll only make things worse," he warns you, but there's no malice in his tone, only an emotion you can't quite pick up on.

You shake your head, trying to steady yourself, "You won't. You help. You always help."

He frowns, eyes dropping to your linked hands, "I did this to you."

"No," You breathe out, squeezing his fingers.

He doesn't respond, just stares at your hands like he's scared that they'll break, like he's waiting for you to come to your senses and rip yourself away from him.

He eventually nods a little, and settles himself against the edge of the couch, "Just get some rest," he sighs out, idly tracing your knuckles with his thumb.

"I don't want to," You protest, not wanting him to disappear once you've fallen asleep, "I want– I want–" You stutter over your words.

You don't know what you want. Answers? Maybe, but it's clearly something he's not willing to give. To talk to him? Sure, but you don't even know where to begin.

"We can figure it out later," he says, trying to soothe you into sleeping.

It frustrates you, and you confront him through the heaviness threatening to close your eyes for you, "You'll leave."

He presses his mouth into a tight line, unable to deny your accusation, his thumb stilling its motions over your knuckles, "I would come back."

"And if you don't," You choke out, tense and almost afraid to ask.

"I came back today, didn't I," he murmurs, seemingly unbothered by your anxious state.

"Jason," You plead, almost begging, but you're not even sure what you're asking for anymore. You think you want proof. To know that this isn't something you're making up. To know that he's real.

He freezes at his name on your tongue, the air leaving his lungs. You have the distinct feeling that he would run if your fingers weren't curled around his.

"I would come back," he says, voice growing stronger, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, "Okay?"

"Okay," You echo. For some reason, you believe him, and that belief lets you succumb to the exhaustion that's settled over your body. You close your eyes, pushing back the gnawing feeling that falling asleep would be a mistake.

Dreams win you over fast enough. The drowsiness so heavy, you miss it when he starts to trace his thumb over the back of your hand again.

He's gone when you wake up.

You wake up dazed, the events feeling like a dream, and you inspect your apartment in a near frenzy, looking for any signs that he was actually there.

You find none.

No visions of Jason visit you that day, and neither does he. You wait on the fire escape as the sun sets.

He doesn't show.

Even as the hours grow late and the air chills, he still doesn't show.

But when you fall asleep on the cold metal, you find yourself curled in your bed in the morning. It almost makes you angry. No, it does make you angry, that he didn't wake you up.

Another part of you thinks that you messed up. Asked for too much. Told him too many things. The thought hangs heavy as you make your way to the kitchen.

You guess your brain tries to make up for it, because there's a Jason sitting at the counter and a paper bag resting in front of him.

You can tell he's not real by the way he fidgets when you walk in. So, you ignore him, more focused on figuring out breakfast.

"I got you food," he says, hesitant.

You nearly trip over yourself as you twist to face him.

"From that spot we liked when we were kids," he continues, clearly unsure of himself as he pushes the bag towards you, "I just– I don't know if you still like it, but I ordered your favorite."

"It's still my favorite," You tell him softly. The fact that he remembered, the fact that he's here and equally as unconfident as you are, it strokes at your heart, makes your anger and hurt evaporate into nothing.

He almost smiles, relaxing under your awestruck gaze.

You pick up the bag, feeling its weight in your hands grounds you as your gaze darts over him, "Are you going to stay?"

"If you'll let me," he says, voice pitching to a question.

"I– yeah. I want you to," you affirm, moving to sit next to him.

He knocks his knee against yours when you do, something so familiar it nauseates you and soothes you all at once, "We're gonna be okay. You know that, right? We'll figure it out."

He sounds confident, so self-assured that you immediately believe him. You fumble with the paper bag, pulling out your breakfast, "I know," you relent.

You eat your breakfast in between quiet, easy conversation, his thigh pressed along the length of yours.

Only one Jason stays by your side that day. His presence steady and warm and real. And for the first time in a long time, the claws of grief seemed to ease their hold on your heart.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

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mide404 · 5 months ago

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Greetings,

I write this plea with a heavy heart, burdened by the tragedy that has befallen my family in the war-torn land of Gaza. I am Mahmoud Saleh, a soul ensnared in the cruel grip of despair, clinging to a glimmer of hope.

Today, I implore you to witness the shattered remnants of my once-happy family. My father, a beacon of strength, has been cruelly extinguished, and the innocent lives of my niece and nephew have been seized by the relentless grip of conflict. Now, my family, torn and disfigured, has sought refuge in the desolate south.

In the bleak shadows of despair, I beg for your compassion to save my family from the misery engulfing Gaza. Stranded in Gaza, deprived of the most basic necessities, they endure the harsh mockery of life without water or sustenance.

I appeal to you, with a heart heavy with sorrow, to be the lifeline my family so desperately needs.

I kneel before you, not as a supplicant, but as a broken soul yearning to avert further loss. Save my family from the clutches of despair so they can rebuild their shattered lives. The specter of losing them, as I lost my father and relatives, haunts me in every waking moment. I beseech you, kind souls, to respond to this cry for help and rescue my family from the abyss of suffering.

Please donate if you can and share our story widely as you're able to🙏🙏

#palestine #save 🍉#all eyes on rafah #🍉

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vaile-elenya · 5 months ago

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listen... i have been thinking a lot about this post:

i don't know what it is exactly, but something about a frustrated Elrond almost yelling out, still gently, that he'd live for his love instead of dying for it, is very very touching for me.

last night i might have gotten a bit carried away, and i wrote a little something about that. it's my very first shot at writing a fanfic of my own so please bear with me!

it's under the break and on AO3 if anyone wants to read 🫶🏻

In the twilight of Imladris, as the stars began their nightly vigil, you stood on the balcony of Elrond’s chamber, your heart heavy with frustration and hurt. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of evening blooms, but tonight, the beauty of the valley seemed distant, overshadowed by the turmoil within.

Elrond stood a few paces away, his serene demeanor a stark contrast to the storm that brewed in your soul. The gentle sound of the Bruinen river, usually a source of comfort, now seemed to mock the tension between you.

“Do you truly hold me in such low regard?” you challenged, your voice trembling with emotion. “Am I of such little consequence to you that you can remain unmoved as I bare my soul?”

Elrond’s eyes widened, a flicker of pain crossing his usually composed features. “You misunderstand me,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.

“No, I understand all too well,” you interrupted, your words cutting like a sharpened blade. “You, with your timeless wisdom and boundless patience, have already revealed your true feelings. I ask again: would you be willing to lay down your life for me, for all of us, or does fear restrain you?”

For a moment, there was silence, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths. Then, as if a dam had broken, Elrond’s composure shattered. His eyes filled with unshed tears, his voice rising in desperation. How could you not see? How could you not know that every moment with you was etched into his very soul? He could no longer hold back the torrent of emotions.

“To die for love is simple!” he nearly screamed, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of longing and regret. “A brief surrender of mortal coil to the embrace of eternity,” he added while the soft moonlight cast shadows upon his features, accentuating the lines of sorrow etched upon his noble visage.

“But to live, to truly live, is so much greater! For you, I would live instead of die,” he looked at you, his gaze piercing through your soul, laying bare his raw emotions. You felt the depth of his admission, each syllable heavy with the burden of his unspoken devotion, and the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if bearing witness to his words.

“Do you not see the love, as brilliant as the leaves of Laurelin, that shines forth from my eyes each time I cast them upon you?” he asked desperately, on the edge of weeping. Elrond’s voice cracked, his eyes brimming with sorrow. “Are you blinded to it?”

Not awaiting your response, Elrond turned his gaze towards the lofty trees, their branches murmuring in the gentle breeze. As the night deepened, Imladris lay shrouded in a serene glow, its gardens veiled in shadows that swayed gently in the flickering dance of firelight and the soft embrace of starlight. The fading remnants of daylight whispered their farewell, surrendering to the celestial canvas unfurling above, adorned with the sparkling jewels of the heavens. The tranquility of the valley belied the weight of its history, a history that Elrond bore witness to through the ages. Memories of battles fought, kingdoms risen and fallen, and the relentless march of time haunted his thoughts.

Torches blazed brightly, casting dancing shadows upon the ancient stone, their fiery tongues licking at the velvety darkness with a fierce determination as Elrond’s mind drifted back to the tumultuous events of the Second Age, a time of great upheaval and sorrow.

“I have seen the glory of Númenor crumble beneath the weight of its own pride. Powerless I have stood as the Last Alliance marched to the very gates of Mordor, and I have borne witness to evils so immense that even the stoutest of our warriors could not withstand them,” he said, desperation building in his voice; his silvery eyes now shone with something you could not decipher. “I have gazed into the eyes of death countless times, her blades twisting within the depths of my wounded heart. So many of my kin have I lost to the ravages of war, their lives laid to rest in pursuit of a noble yet hopeless cause,” he took a step closer, his face now inches away from your own. “It is not the fear of death that prevents me from yielding to its embrace for you, meleth nîn.”

“You awaken within me the very spirit of endurance that Eru bestowed upon his children,” he paused, his gaze turning towards the fire illuminating the terrace. “A spirit that has waned over the long ages of my dwelling, and yet... your mere existence rekindles it.

“In your presence, I find a light that guides me, a reason to embrace each new dawn. My heart, though burdened with the weight of ages, finds solace and renewal in your faintest smile. To live for you is not a burden but a blessing, a path I would tread willingly, every day anew.”

Elrond’s hands delicately encompassed your face, and you felt the gentle pressure of his fingertips, each point of contact a deliberate caress. There was a steadiness to his touch, a silent reassurance as if he sought to convey a message that words alone could not express.

“For you I would find joy in the simple pleasures that weave the intricate tapestry of our days. Through the darkest of hours, I shall cling onto hope, tending to each seedling of kindness as a gardener tends to his beloved blossoms. For you, I would dive willingly into that terrifying inkwell known as existence, with all its uncertainties and fears.”

“I would live for you.”

#elrond x reader #elrond peredhel x reader #elrond x female reader #elrond peredhel x female reader #elrond #elrond peredhel #elrond peredhel imagine #elrond imagine #elrond peredhel fanfic #elrond fanfic #rings of power #tolkien #trop #young elrond #vaile-elenya

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missnightshade · 3 days ago

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❝ TO MEND A SOUL ❞

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Requested: Yes! (I combined two requests into this.)

Summary: When her girlfriend starts to feel uneasy about herself and her place in their relationship, Agatha takes it into her own hands to ensure that her pretty girl is happy again.

Warnings: Hurt/comfort. Mentions of se!f-harm and anxiety (if this is a trigger for you, please, beware. ) Also: english is not my first language.

Word count: 861 (The next one will be bigger.)

The faint but comforting smell of lavender on her clothes were the only thing grounding the young woman's minds. As Agatha's slender fingers traveled down your scalp, the nails running against the top of your head made the dizziness subside. A shaky breath was taken and your whole body shook violently from the mental inflicted pain, taking her piercing blue eyes away from the book she settled on reading for the night.

"Something's brothering you, dear?"

The past few weeks were a plain confusion to her. After three and something years by your side, Agatha has never felt you so far away. And for someone who almost died in the hands of death herself, the situation was too unnerving. Maybe it was because she cared more about you than she cared for her own life. Maybe, the this "maybe" was a certainty, something she had few in her lifetime. She reveled in your happiness, one of the only things that made her truly enjoy life after her son's passing.

And for you, well...Agatha Harkness was no ordinary woman. You knew that coming in. Right of the bat, when she herself was only Agnes, her energywas unmatched. Sure, that version of Agatha was easier to fall in steps with your simple life. A suburban woman from Westview. And now you sat there, cuddle with the bundle of stories that the wordly Salem witch was. Agatha was exceptional in everything. In all the angles you took to merely eye at her, there was something so enlightening to see. How powerful she was. How beautifully those brown cascades would always flow behind her, framing the strong but feminine traits of her face. How those blue eyes could see miles and miles into your soul was a mystery you weren't sure you ready to dissect.

How could she settled with you was a completely unanswered question. One that gained a new depth with her present almost death experience.

You tried to hide your emotions from her, yet again, always. Shaking your head, the smile you gave was far from comfortable. Agatha moved and pulled you gently as you sat upright.

"Your lying abilities have gotten worse." the playfulness was there, but the attention she gave was heartbreaking. "Tell me, pretty girl. What is going on inside this precious mind of yours."

You gaped, words not coming out. The anxiety sunk in, heart hamming against your chest, vibrating in your head. The breath was short, and your lungs ached for more. Her hands rested upon yours, her nails grasping against your skin. Looking at her, you saw her eyes glued to your arms. Your long nails, mindlessly, maimed yourself as deeply as they could. There, along your veins, she recognized the faint lines from your past. Hurtful ones that only she knew about. Never again you tried, not until you draw blood from them again, right in front of her.

It wasn't that bad. Blood didn't scare Agatha, but the fear and sorrow she held as her hand gently parted you from yourself was devastating.

"Talk to me, my love.", she pleaded. "Please."

"I..dont know. It's just been too much." The voice coming from you was unsure, but the blured lines of that meaning had Agatha taken aback.

"What? Whats is?" her voice was gentle, but so much deeper than you've ever heard it.

"I...you. Not you but...me, to you."

As she heard your voice, shattered with a hint of stagnant cries, she held your face between her hands.

"Sweetie, breathe. Let it go. I'm right here to catch you." all the sweetness no one could have from her came crashing down.

"You...how can you be with me, Aggy?" She eyed you intently, thumb catching the first tears as they fell. "You're all - all everyone would ever want. And i'm just...me. Plain. Boring. "

The witch scoffed with a tearful laugh, as if you had the most idiot breakdown. But there was no judgment as she tugged you closer by the sleeves of her own shirt you were wearing.

"Oh, dear. You have no idea how amazing you are and how happy you make me. Y/N/N, look around. I'm building a life with you. After centuries of running, and ploting, scheming. This peace of mind...no one could ever give me that. No one could love me like you do."

The hiccups coming from your mouth made her eyes lock to yours.

"My pretty, pretty girl." her voice traced, full of love. "I love you. Remember, dear, that I've been around for ages. I've seen men rise and fall. I've met my share of people. Yet, I chose you. Y/N, I am choosing you at this moment. Everyday."

The weight of her words paired with how strong her gaze upon yourself was made you crumble. Your body gave into the pain as you were pulled into her. Almost straddling her lap, Agatha's warm embrace grounded you yet again. There were too many sorry you wanted to say, but as she shushed you into a lullaby meant only for your ears, the pieces were mended together. But as you lowered your face into her soft hair, her voice echoed against your left ear.

"Don't ever be afraid of telling me if something is bothering you. I'm yours and you're mine, my love." A soft kiss landed on your neck, lovingly. "You are safe."

#agatha x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha coven of chaos

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leftoverpages · 5 months ago

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Split Away

Pairing ✦ Qimir x Jedi!reader

Tags ✦ angst, reader uses she/her but no physical description, romantic subtext

Notes: Written while listening to Haunted by Taylor Swift

Wordcount ✦ 854

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the silent, forgotten halls of an ancient temple on the outskirts of the galaxy, Qimir stood amidst crumbling stone and the lingering whispers of forgotten lore. His journey had taken him far from the bustling centers of power, where he had immersed himself in the teachings of darkness and dominance. Yet, amidst the echoes of his training, there remained a haunting memory — the Jedi who had once crossed his path like a shimmering mirage.

Y/N, a Jedi Knight dedicated to the ideals of peace and justice, had encountered Qimir during a rare moment of truce amidst the galaxy's relentless conflicts. Her presence, a beacon of unwavering light, had sparked a tumultuous conflict within him. He had been drawn to her compassion, her steadfast belief in a goodness he believed himself unworthy of.

Tonight, as he knelt in contemplation before a pool of shimmering reflection crystals, he sensed her approach — a ripple in the Force that stirred the stagnant air of the ancient temple. She entered the chamber cautiously, her blue lightsaber casting a serene glow against the weathered stone walls.

"Qimir," her voice was soft yet firm, cutting through the silence. "I've been searching for you."

He turned to face her, his expression guarded yet betraying a flicker of turmoil. "And now that you've found me?" His tone was tinged with bitterness, a stark contrast to the curiosity that had once drawn him to her.

"I thought I had you figured out," she confessed quietly, her eyes searching his for a glimpse of hope she had believed in. "But something's changed. Something's made your eyes go cold."

Qimir's jaw clenched, the weight of his choices heavy upon his shoulders. "The darkness has always been a part of me," he admitted, his voice a mixture of defiance and resignation. "I cannot deny who I am."

She took a tentative step forward, her gaze a mixture of sorrow and determination. "You have a choice, Qimir," she urged gently, her words carrying a plea that echoed in the chamber's stillness. "You don't have to surrender to this path."

His resolve hardened, a mask of indifference settling over his features. "The dark side offers power beyond your comprehension," he countered, his voice a whisper that cut through the tension between them. "You Jedi are too blinded by your ideals to see the truth."

In that moment, Qimir made his choice — to embrace the darkness that had beckoned him since childhood, to forsake the fragile connection he had forged with this Jedi. He turned away, a testament to his newfound allegiance.

The reader's gaze faltered, betrayal etched across her features as she realized the depth of Qimir's descent into darkness. "I trusted you," she whispered, her voice cracking with the weight of shattered faith.

Qimir met her gaze with steely resolve, the echoes of their shared history drowned out by the thunderous beat of his own heart. "You thought you had me figured out," he echoed, his voice tinged with bitter irony. "But some paths lead only to darkness."

In the abandoned temple, where secrets whispered and alliances shattered like glass, he embraced his destiny as a Sith, leaving behind the echoes of a Jedi whose light had once illuminated the path he had forsaken.

As the darkness closed around them, the reader retreated with a heavy heart, leaving behind the shattered remnants of trust and hope. Qimir watched her departure with conflicted emotions, knowing that he had chosen a path that would forever divide them. Yet, in the depths of his soul, a seed of doubt lingered — a whisper of regret for the bond he had forsaken in pursuit of power.

Days turned into weeks, and the echoes of their encounter haunted Qimir's dreams. The allure of the dark side promised strength and mastery, yet the memory of the her unwavering gaze lingered like a ghost in the shadows of his consciousness. He immersed himself deeper into the teachings, honing his skills with ruthless determination, yet finding no solace in the victories that came at the cost of his soul.

Meanwhile, across the galaxy, Y/N grappled with the aftermath of Qimir's betrayal. Her faith in the Jedi Order remained unshaken, yet the sting of betrayal cut deep. She delved into her missions with renewed purpose, her resolve tempered by the lessons learned from their momentary but memorable encounters. The path of light remained her guiding star amidst the darkness that threatened to consume the galaxy.

In the quiet moments between battles, she reflected on him — torn between two worlds, the whisper of potential lost to the allure of power. She harbored no hatred for him, only a profound sadness for the choices that had driven them apart. As she meditated beneath the canopy of stars, she sent a silent prayer to the Force, hoping that one day, Qimir would find redemption and reclaim the light that had once burned within him.

And amidst the vast expanse of the galaxy, where destinies intertwined and conflicts raged, the echoes of their encounter continued to resonate, a testament to the enduring power of choices made and paths diverged.

#qimir #qimir the acolyte #qimir x reader #star wars #the acolyte #star wars x reader #star wars x you #the master #manny jacinto #the stranger

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biteofcherry · 9 months ago

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Echo that thunders

Bucky Barnes x female reader

summary: The life you and Bucky built has crumbled. Or so you think. But maybe some ruins can be reconstructed, if true love is given a chance?

warnings: angst; lots of feels; hurt/comfort; divorced couple; mention of past infidelity; marital problems; both Reader and Bucky are self-blaming and self-punishing idiots; and obviously are still deeply in love; they need therapy and I encourage that; reconciling intimacy (yes, I mean sex with feelings and tears); Alpine is almost squeezed to death with love (truly affectionately);

word count: 6k

Author's Note: This is my entry for Eight Types of Love challenge from @the-slumberparty. I took a twist on pragma: exes with feelings.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Every week the hollow in your chest would ache and you’d try to cram it with sweetness of fleeting moments: catching the pure joy and love on your little boy’s face, mulling your sorrow with pastries that you’d eat alone, then quiet your longing with laughter and shouts of your friends.

You made it look like it was easy, like you didn’t die a little every damn Friday when you drove your son to his father’s place.

Maybe you’d feel better if it was the mother missing her baby boy for the weekend, but the wounds opened not for the few days of empty nest, but because seeing Bucky ripped you to pieces.

You wouldn’t avoid it, though. He loved your son so much, was so happy to spend every possible day with him and you would never take that away from either of them.

Even if it hurt.

Truth be told, you wouldn’t let anyone take that away from you, either. Because the pain of seeing Bucky was also sprinkled with that fluttering, bittersweet feeling. Love that you still harbored.

You didn’t think it was possible to ever stop loving Bucky.

As you proved, it was possible to divorce him, but it didn’t sever the hold he had on your heart and soul.

So you welcomed the ache in your chest as an invisible iron fist clenched its cold claws around your heart, when Bucky smiled and waved at you from the sidewalk in front of his building. You knew he waved at your little boy, who was already bouncing in his seat, but you couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips in return.

“Hi, rascals!” Bucky greeted you, the same way he’s been greeting the both of you ever since your son was born.

He waited for you to round the car after you parked it, loosely wrapping an arm around your middle and giving you that awkward half-hug.

You assumed it was as awkward for him as it was for you, though for different reasons.

Bucky was simply nice, trying his hardest to maintain a good rapport with you for the sake of your son, while he had to be repulsed by you inwardly. For you, the hug was difficult, because you always craved to bury yourself within his arms and feel that protective, loving hold.

“Hi,” you smiled and ducked under his arm, before he noticed that pathetic longing shining in your eyes.

You went to retrieve a small bag and backpack with Stevie’s clothes and belongings, while Bucky unbuckled your son from the car seat and scooped the boy up in his arms. Joyous squeal “Daddy!” melted you all over again, reminding you how ecstatic the boy was every time Bucky returned home - no matter if he’s been gone a few days on a mission, or just an hour running errands.

When you turned to them, the sight of them grinning at each other froze you on the spot. You were aware that Stevie shared some of Bucky’s mimics, but it was that moment when your boy pressed his cheek to Bucky’s and they both looked your way with lopsided grins that shattered your heart into pieces.

You squashed the flare of sorrow inside, saving it for later when you’re alone with a pint of ice cream.

Bucky had suggested a couple of times that he could come pick Stevie up from your place, but you were too scared of seeing Bucky back in the apartment where you all used to live together. Where the love and happiness were supposed to be forever.

You were scared he’d come inside and see that you still had a few photographs of him on the shelves.

You reasoned that it was for the sake of your son, so that he felt his dad’s presence at all times, but you couldn’t fully let go of Bucky yourself.

“Hey,” Bucky took the bag from your hands, but left you holding Stevie’s backpack. “Can you come upstairs for a second? I wanted to talk something over.”

He always invited you under the pretext of talking over some details regarding Stevie, but ended up dealing with it in two sentences and then coaxing you into a neutral small talk that left you all the more missing him.

Yet you couldn’t force yourself to say no.

“Sure.” You nodded, squeezing the strap of the small, red backpack in your trembling fingers.

Bucky’s apartment, which he got after you filed for divorce, was small, but clean and spacious enough for a four year old and a cat.

Alpine stuck her head from behind a wall when you entered. She made a tiny meowing sound and walked forward, but the second Bucky put your son on his feet the cat bolted away. Stevie of course followed, running after the furball with glee.

“So I know there’s still plenty of time to plan summer vacation-” Bucky started, leading you toward the counter separating the kitchen from the living room- “but Sam invited us to Louisiana, to spend a few weeks at his sister’s place.”

“Oh.” It was instinctive, that very first thought about your baby boy being away for weeks. In a different state, nonetheless.

However, you promised yourself to not be an overprotective, controlling mother. And you trusted Bucky with your son at all times.

“That sounds fun.” You relaxed your shoulders and smiled. “I’m sure Stevie will love it. Especially if you take him on a boat.”

He was in a marine fascination phase. At least once every few weeks you had to go to the aquarium and turn on Discovery channel instead of morning cartoons.

“Maybe I’ll manage to re-do his bedroom, while he’s away with you,” cogs in your brain started turning. “It’d be a fun surprise when he gets back.”

“Won’t you need help with that?” Bucky asked, perking up. “We could do that on the weekend when he’s with your parents? You know I’d be happy to help. We can rope Sam into it, too.”

He sounded so eager. For a fleeting moment you enjoyed the warmth at the thought of the two of you doing something for your son together, but you quickly reminded yourself that Bucky would do absolutely anything for Stevie, including dealing with your presence.

“Umm, sure,” you swallowed nervously, “if you’re not on a mission.”

You regretted saying it, seeing a flash of guilt on Bucky’s face.

It was a sore subject and bringing it up hurt you both.

You always admired Bucky for what he did, how much he risked to save others. It didn’t change the fact, however, that saving the world meant neglecting you at times. He tried his best, you knew he did. Still, it hurt when you spent some nights and celebrations alone.

“We’ve made some changes on the rooster.” Bucky didn’t look at you as he talked, instead focusing on taking out ingredients from the fridge. “It’s doable to book some dates as non-active.”

“That’s good!” You tried to sound genuinely happy for him, while inside you felt a wave of rage that the accommodation wasn’t made when you needed it in the past. “All of you deserve rest and to, you know, live your private lives, too.”

“Yeah.” Bucky’s shoulders drove up in tension even as he nodded.

You stayed quiet for a long moment, the sound of your son’s giggles coming from the bedroom where he chased Alpine filled the space, but didn’t ease the sudden heaviness.

“I better-” you started at the same time that Bucky began:

“Do you want to-”

Both of you paused, but before either motioned at the other to finish, you were interrupted by a pitiful meow and soft paddle of your four year old’s feet.

You both turned and watched your son wobble as he carried Alpine. Though carried was a bit of a stretch to describe two tiny arms tightly wrapped around the upper half of the cat’s body, with its head barely sticking out and two front legs sticking upwards while the rest of the furry body dangled down.

You quickly covered your mouth to stifle the burst of laughter, but Bucky behind you couldn’t help the snort.

“Buddy.” He moved around the counter and crouched in front of Stevie. “Alpine knows you love her lots and want to play with her, but this is a bit uncomfortable for her.”

You thought the cat is an actual saint for not having yet scratched Stevie for all the love she was getting from him.

“Hey!” You chimed in, reaching for the small backpack. “You forgot about the present you have for Alpine.”

“Mousey!” Stevie dropped the cat almost instantly and ran towards you.

“A present, huh?” Bucky placated Alpine, scratching her behind the ear while she rubbed against his leg.

“Made it with mommy!” Your son beamed proudly after you fished out the small toy from his backpack. “For artses-” which was his version of saying art classes. “But mommy said it’s perfect for Apine.”

It was a bright blue, slightly askew, crocheted mouse. With a very, very long tail. You thought it would be perfect for Stevie to hold the end of the tail and slide the mouse across the floor, so Alpine could chase it.

“It really is,” Bucky nodded, noticing that the soft toy had caught Alpine’s attention. “Why don’t you run around with it, play nicely with Alpine, while I make us spaghetti?”

Stevie didn’t have to be told twice. Alpine seemed eager for this kind of play, as well. Chasing a new toy surely was more preferable than being squeezed to death.

Bucky straightened. His tall, broad figure filled your vision. He was much closer now, with no counter separating you. He looked after your son fondly, then his soft gaze switched to you. Not for a second did the affection fade in his eyes as he looked at you.

“Thank you,” he almost whispered, touching your shoulder gently.

You wanted to blurt out that there was nothing to thank for, but you understood what he meant. The same way you were grateful for his concern whenever you had a cold and he took Stevie so you could rest (bringing you some chicken broth on his way), or that he picked you up when your car died. The small gestures each of you displayed, that betrayed care neither of you seemed to be able to lose.

Bucky’s hand slowly slid down your arm and because you were so lost in the blue of his eyes and the tenderness of the moment, you forgot to brace yourself for the small sting that his touch brought when he passed your forearm.

You winced.

Unfortunately, Bucky noticed.

Instantly, he stilled. His hand remained on your forearm, but his touch eased. His gaze flicked from your face to the spot covered by your sleeve and up to your face again.

“What is it?” Worry pinched his features. “Are you injured?”

He moved even closer, angling his head so he could maintain eye contact with you, even though he towered over you. He gently took your wrist into his metal hand and carefully rolled your sleeve up.

“It’s nothing. It’s-”

Words died on your tongue when Bucky’s gaze hardened, a muscle in his jaw twitching, as his gaze landed on the injured spot.

There were no visible bruises. Not to you, anyway. You mostly felt the tenderness of that area than saw any marks. But Bucky’s senses were enhanced and he definitely could see the difference in the smallest changes of your skin, the barest hint of different pigmentation.

And, much to your dismay, you could never lie to him.

“Who did that?” Bucky kept calm, but you sensed the concern bursting into protective rage inside of him.

“Someone, who is no longer in the picture.” You replied, tilting your chin up. “I may have not expected it happening, but once it did, I wouldn’t chance it repeating.”

The whole attempt at dating was so uncomfortable for you, but seeing some pap pictures of Bucky with an unknown female had made you impulsively agree to the fifth invite from a guy from accountants.

It was irrational and irresponsible - as some of your past mistakes. There was nothing that suggested Bucky and that woman were connected in any way beside the work area. They weren’t even alone in that place. It’s just that he had his hand on her back and she was giving him a flirtatious smile.

Well, your jealous brain told you it’s flirtatious. The same brain that forgot to remind you that it was no longer your business if and whom Bucky was dating.

So you went on the stupid date yourself, feeling all kinds of wrong during it. Then got a glimpse of what shit you almost got yourself into, when you wanted to end your date short and the guy called you a tease. His hold on your forearm when you tried to leave was forceful enough to leave a painful reminder.

“I’d still like to know the name.” Bucky’s gaze shone a dark glint; plates in his metal arm moved in a reflection of muscles tensing.

“No need.” Placing your free hand on his chest to soothe him was a habit, you didn’t even realize you were doing it. “I promise you, he won’t ever find himself near Stevie.”

Bucky frowned at that. Suddenly, he was letting go of your arm and cupping the side of your face instead.

“Baby,” it slipped out of his mouth as mindlessly and naturally as you touched him.

“I know you’d never let anyone hurt our son. But no harm should come your way, either. The guy deserves having his fingers dislocated.”

Bucky wasn’t a violent person. His past, which was beyond his control, painted a certain picture that some people still believed in. But you knew how soft-hearted and kind he really was. He used force and combat in missions, but his teammates knew he would be the first one to show mercy and pull back his punches.

However, he was protective. And when he entered that mode, he could be very scary.

Your fingers on his chest clenched slightly, gripping the fabric of his soft, blue henley; as if you were trying to stop him from marching away and finding whoever posed as a threat.

You felt the steady thud of Bucky’s heartbeat beneath your palm, the rhythm of his breath. You sensed the moment his muscles slightly relaxed.

“How about-” hands cupping your face slowly slid down and away, but Bucky didn’t put any distance between you- “you stay for dinner and we’ll talk more about it later?”

There was nothing to talk about, really. Or maybe there was, but it shouldn’t be Bucky giving you the talk. His concern only messed with your head and your heart, leaving you with incomparable longing and aching solitude when you went back home.

You opened your mouth to refuse his proposal, but your son suddenly found himself nearby and torpedoed your resilience.

“You gonna stay mommy?” He looked up at you with big, hopeful eyes.

Bucky and you made sure to be together for important events like Stevie’s birthday, or kindergarten recitals, or even for the 4th of July. But day to day everything happened separately. You didn’t share meals, or walks, or trips the way you used to when you were married.

You were aware of the impact it had on your son, but one can’t be divorced and still spend every day with each other.

However, you couldn’t find the strength at the moment to crush your son’s unexpected spark of joy at the prospect of something so simple like spending the afternoon with both of his parents.

You couldn’t deny your deep, wallowing desire to spend some more time in Bucky’s presence, either. As self-harming as it could be.

“Um-” you swallowed nervously as you looked down at your little boy. “Yeah- yes, I’ll stay. You know I always liked your daddy’s cooking.”

Your heart nearly burst when Stevie launched himself forward, wrapping his small arms around yours and Bucky’s legs. Then he was running away, with even more bounce to his skip than before.

To your relief, Bucky easily switched the topic to casual conversation as you joined him in the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He told you a few latest, funny stories; gushed about a new book series he started reading; asked about your dad’s knee surgery.

Falling into this comfortable pattern of domesticity with him was too easy. Like you haven’t been living separately for the past year, nursing deeply hidden resentment (which you expected from Bucky) and heartbreak. You knew it would hit you harder when you got back home, step into that silent, empty bedroom, which once upon a time was your nest of safety, laughter and love.

All of which you blew up.

You didn’t protest too strongly when Bucky fed your son an extra portion of ice cream after dinner, you were too distracted with your own ache that was spreading its nasty vines over you.

You played with the melting scoops in your own bowl as Bucky picked up a half-asleep Stevie and carried him to the bedroom. Alpine trotter right after them. From the occasional pictures that Bucky sent you when Stevie was staying at his place, you knew that the cat would jump onto the bed next to your boy and fall asleep with him.

When Bucky returned and sat beside you on the couch, his presence almost toppled you into a sobbing fit.

Once upon a time, you’d cuddle on the sofa in your living room and talk for hours, or watch shows, or make out. Even sitting in silence, while Bucky read a book and you browsed social media, was comforting and easy.

There was nothing easy about it now. Because that desperate need to crawl into his arms and have him chase the sorrows away couldn’t be sated.

“I’m sorry about earlier.” Bucky’s quiet voice surprised you.

You blinked as you looked at him, slightly confused with what he was talking about.

“I know you’re responsible and very strong. You’re more than capable of looking after yourself and don’t need my meddling in your intimate life.” He said, staring down at some spot and not meeting your eyes.

The words intimate life sounded as if he almost choked on them.

“I know it’s too late to mend what I fucked up.” He sighed, bowing his head even lower.

Your heart ached, seeing him so resigned.

“James Buchanan Barnes, what the hell are you talking about?!” Instinct to rush to his aid kicked you from your stupor.

The anger at yourself heightened as once again you saw first hand how much you hurt him. Bucky wasn’t flawless, but he didn’t deserve what you’ve put him through. To know that your actions added to his tendency to self-blame, only made you hate yourself more.

“It was me who fucked everything up.” You countered, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a loud thud. You shifted on the couch, turning your body so that you could face Bucky directly.

“I broke what we had. I- I broke your heart and you never deserved such awful treatment!”

Neither of you deserved all that pain, but it was on you to take the responsibility for it.

“I’m not gonna lie, the divorce hurt more than falling off that damn train…” Bucky’s voice quivered with emotion; his fingers shook slightly as he wiped his palms on his thighs.

“Divorce?” You paused, slightly stunned. “I mean, I know it was hard. For both of us. But I knew I needed to set you free after what I’ve done.”

It was Bucky’s turn to frown, his muscles pinching in a quizzical look as if he didn't understand what you were aiming at, at all.

“Bucky, I cheated on you!” You hissed loudly, but minding your voice enough to not wake your son.

There it was. The heaviest of truths which triggered the whole domino effect and which both of you avoided naming directly.

But Bucky deserved it - you admitting your faults. There was enough on his shoulders and you couldn’t stand the thought of him taking this burden onto him as well, when it was yours to pay for.

Bucky’s face cleared of confusion, however his frown deepened.

“What I know is that you were hurt, alone and inebriated. A state some douchebag took advantage of.” There was an undertone of anger in his tone, but not directed at you.

You shook your head in exasperation.

Leave it to Bucky Barnes to be an understanding, chivalrous knight. It was a wonderful trait, but shouldn’t apply on all occasions, to all people. It definitely should be directed at you. As much as you’d love to follow that reasoning, you had enough self-awareness and responsibility to not go easy on yourself.

“Being drunk doesn’t excuse what I did.” You stated.

“It wouldn’t, if that was your aim.” Bucky argued. “But tell me, did you go to that bar because you were looking for a hookup? To get back at me?” He rushed with his counter arguments.

When you tried to turn your head slightly to avoid his gaze, he squeezed your chin between his fingers and gently guided you to look back at him.

It was hard. To face him when the memories of that awful evening replayed in your head, bringing back a wave of shame and regret. You vomited three days in a row after that night; and only the first half of the first day was due to the alcohol. All the rest was stress and guilt.

“No, you didn’t.” Bucky continued when you remained silent.

“You went there, because it was our anniversary and I wasn’t home. I was on a mission. Again,” he sighed regretfully, aware of how his absence weighed down on you. “You went to the bar which we often went to on our dates, before we got married. Probably cursing my ass for absence on another important day and drinking the pain away.”

That was true. Your parents took Stevie for the whole weekend, starting Friday. It was supposed to be a carefree, romantic time for you and Bucky. Even if he would need to just be lazy in bed for an entire day, to recharge after a mission, you still would be together.

While Bucky returned from one mission, he jumped onto another one right away. He called you to say that he’d be later than he first anticipated, but in the craze of it forgot what date exactly was it.

You were understanding. Or, well, you tried to be. There was a whole monologue you gave yourself as you paced the floor of your apartment, convincing yourself that your husband was saving someone. So that someone else could return to their family.

But you still felt bitter and angry that your husband didn’t return to you for something that was supposed to be important to the both of you.

When you went out to that bar, which wasn’t that far from your place, your plan was to have a drink or two and wallow in self-pity. Perhaps to be passive-aggressive, take a picture of yourself all dolled up and send it to Bucky with happy anniversary wishes.

That was it.

Then that man joined you. For a conversation, at first. Two drinks turned into four. Then five. To be honest, at some point his face got a little blurry. He had dark hair, like Bucky. Had his arm wrapped around your middle the way Bucky often did.

At some point your drunk brain was certain it was Bucky fucking you, not some stranger you just met at the bar.

“I could’ve chosen to stay at home.” You argued, clenching your fingers into fists so hard that your fingernails needled your skin.

“I could have drunk a bottle or two of wine alone in the safety of our home and sent you angry, slurred messages. Or wait for your return and throw something heavy at your head.” There were so many choices to be made that night.

“Instead, I made a mess of our lives…” the words fell out of your lips in a broken whisper, your eyes filling with tears.

“And I forgave you.” Bucky said softly as he released your chin.

“Hell, I don’t even think I was angry with you.” He huffed, running a hand through his hair in a nervous manner. “Oh, I was pissed and hurt!” He gave you a pointed look when you opened your mouth to protest. “I even tracked that man and… well, let’s not talk about things that thankfully didn’t happen once I saw him.”

“Most of all, I was angry with myself,” Bucky suddenly deflated.

“Why?” You frowned, barely stopping yourself from reaching out to caress his cheek.

“Because I let it happen.” Bucky sighed and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs. “It was my constant absence that started those clouds over our heads. I was so focused on redeeming myself that I took on more missions than I should.”

A part of you wanted to contradict him, to convince him that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. But there was also a part of you that was still resenting him for doing that, for constantly choosing others over you.

“I think I also wanted to feel needed, which is why I joined teams even though they could’ve handled things without my presence.” He shifted again, sitting across the couch with one leg bent, so he could face you fully.

He was more hesitant as he reached out for you again. Though you didn’t flinch away, he still dropped his hand as he revealed his own guilt:

“I forgot that you needed me, too.”

You still did. But you wouldn’t dare to tell him that.

“What you do is important. You save lives.” You said quietly, but there wasn’t as much heat to it as you’d like to present.

“I didn’t save us.” Bucky’s words opened the gate to the feelings you tried to stifle for many months.

You almost lifted your fist to angrily rub away the tears threatening to spill, but Bucky reached for you faster. His warm palms rested on your fists; he squeezed them gently.

“Baby, I remember when you mentioned therapy.” He admitted, wincing at the memory of signals which he ignored. “You tried to say it so casually, I know you were afraid of telling me directly that you needed me to save our marriage. I dismissed it.”

“You hate therapy. I didn’t want to force you into it.” There wouldn’t be any point in attending any sessions, if Bucky would stay guarded.

You understood his hesitance, too. The mandatory therapy he went to a few years back was hard for him, not only because of the topics he had to deal with, but he didn’t feel emotionally safe or comfortable with the appointed professional.

“I disliked my assigned therapist.” Bucky pointed out, with a slight eye roll. “There are hundreds of therapists in this city. I’m sure there’s at least one that I could connect with.” Suddenly, he shook his head. “Or hell with how much I like a therapist, it should be about me connecting with you!”

He let go of your hands and cupped your face instead.

“I wonder-” he leaned forward, closing the distance between you. “I’ve been wondering, if I didn’t fuck up by signing those divorce papers so easily.”

He did it without much questioning. Which only strengthened your notion that he was repulsed by you and couldn’t wait to be as far from you as possible. You didn’t blame him.

“I understood that. After what I’ve done.” You whispered.

A single tear rolled down your cheek, stopping on Bucky’s thumb.

“I couldn’t look you in the eye, because I was so ashamed. I wanted to give you a chance to find someone worthy of you.” More tears flowed.

Bucky tenderly wiped them away.

“I don’t think I’m worth a single hair on your pretty head.” He said, resting his forehead against yours. “I signed those papers, because I thought you were going to find happiness with someone else. That you wanted to build a life with someone else.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.” You would shake your head, if Bucky wasn’t holding you in place.

If his hold didn’t feel so overwhelmingly wonderful.

“Why not?” Bucky asked, incredulously. “You’re the most amazing, kind, smart, beautiful-”

“Because I’m in love with you.” You blurted out.

Your eyes widened when you realized what you said. Scorching shame mixed with a sudden wave of cold fear as Bucky slowly pulled away and stared at you in shock.

He was still cupping your face, though.

“Say that again, baby?” Bucky’s tone was a whisper, like he was afraid he’d burst some magical bubble if he moved or spoke louder. “Please,” he squeezed your cheeks slightly.

Maybe the best choice would be to take those words back. Or to start listing all the arguments to why it didn’t matter. But you couldn’t lie to Bucky. You never could. Especially not when he was looking at you with those beautiful blue eyes, filled with hope.

“I love you, Bucky,” you confessed. “I never stopped loving you.”

Tears streaming down your face were warm, but they felt much colder when compared to the warmth of Bucky’s lips on yours.

He kissed you with reverence and despair, like the first gulp of breath after drowning in murky waters for much too long. There was nothing but his closeness, beckoning you like a flare in the darkness. You followed the coaxing of his lips, the unspoken vows he sealed with his mouth.

You weren’t even fully aware of your body moving, yielding to Bucky’s smooth maneuvers. Until the full weight of him rested on top of you.

He provided both that shield of safety and heavy temptation that had your legs spreading to accommodate him.

“I never stopped, either.” Bucky croaked out as he broke the kiss; his lips still brushed against yours as he spoke.

“I love you so much. So much, baby.” It crushed your heart to see his own cheeks glistening with tears. “Please, can we try again? Let me mend it. Please.” He begged.

Bucky sounded so helpless and so hopeful at the same time. If your heart was set in cold stone, it would still shatter for him like a fragile glass.

“I should be the one mending it,” you pressed your fingertips to his cheek.

“Us. We’re going to do this together,” he briefly closed his eyes, leaning into your touch.

“Always together,” you agreed and tipped your lips upwards, tempting Bucky into another kiss.

Months of distance surely added fuel to the fire of need, but Bucky’s touch always had the power to ignite your desire. Him being on top of you, the kiss deepening, his hand traveling down your side - your body responded instantly.

You wrapped your arms around him; one hand combing through his hair, the other mapping his broad back. Your legs were already spread to accommodate his hips between yours, but as Bucky continued to kiss and touch you, your knees drew up higher and your hips rolled against him.

Bucky’s responding grinding was most welcome, but he suddenly froze.

“Baby,” he groaned, almost in pain. “I don’t want to ruin the moment, but if you keep doing that I’m going to lose it.”

“Need you,” you whined.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and slipped your other hand beneath his blue henley. You bit your bottom lip as you looked at him and rocked your hips into his once again.

“Need to feel you!”

For months you were deprived of any intimate touch, somehow not in the mood to even give yourself a release with your pitiful toys. To even think of anyone beside Bucky ever touching you like that made you nauseous. And you missed it so much!

Missed the way Bucky played your body. The way he felt inside of you.

“Bucky, please!” There was urgency in your tone that made Bucky snap to attention.

His gaze held yours for a moment longer, as if assessing that you were as sure as you sounded. A glint brightened his steel blue eyes and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip in the most sensual way. That had your clit pulsing wildly.

“You always beg so prettily,” he murmured against your skin as began chaining kisses along your jawline. “I’ve got you, baby.”

Bucky braced his weight on his metal arm as he used his other hand to pull up the layers of your tulle skirt. You shivered, nipples pebbling, as his touch shifted to the inside of your thigh and wandered upwards.

He pressed the pads of his fingers against your throbbing clit, finding your panties already damp. It wasn’t a novelty how quickly your body responded to Bucky’s ministrations, but it seemed that longing for him sped up the process.

Bucky swallowed your moan in a messy kiss as he pressed harder on your nub. While you loved the way he sometimes drew this pleasure out, how long he could spend just fingering and licking you, it wasn’t what you needed at the moment.

You dropped both of your hands to his hips then slid them between your bodies to fumble with Bucky’s zipper.

“Fuck!” He cursed, dropping more of his weight onto you when you freed his cock out and wrapped your fingers around him.

“I’m afraid I won’t last long this time,” he groaned, tugging the fabric of your panties aside. “I’ll make it up to you, baby, I promise. But, fuck, it’s been so long since I felt you-”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded fervently, not really listening to him.

All your focus was on that throbbing need that spiked even higher as you guided the tip of Bucky’s cock inside you.

It was everything - the stretch of his girth spearing through your neglected pussy, his scent and warmth, his mouth sucking on your neck, his moan at the feel of your tight walls gripping him - that had your body seizing in the most rushed climax. Already, while he was barely halfway in.

You dug your fingernails into Bucky’s hips as your legs shook; your upper half curling up, face buried in the crook of Bucky’s neck to muffle your cries of pleasure. Your walls clenched so hard it was almost painful, then fluttered in a crescendo of aftershocks.

“Sorry, sorry,” you babbled, falling onto your back and squirming as the orgasm continued to tingle in every part of your body.

“Sorry?” Bucky choked on breath. “My girl cumming for me so fast is an ego boost beyond any other,” he chuckled.

He always had the ability to make you fall apart rather quickly, but that was a new record. Provided by suppressed sexual tension and emotional connection you were deprived of for so long.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Bucky cooed as he continued to slide into your fluttering cunt, “I’ll give you more.”

He shifted his hand, so that his thumb brushed over your swollen clit. He moved with no rush, but each of his thrusts was deep, nearly painfully so. As if Bucky sought more of that connection; needed it as fiercely as you.

As promised, he made you cum again. Then shuddered within your embrace as he followed you over the edge. And though your heart was thundering in your chest from the exertion, it was the first time you felt complete and at peace since a very long time.

You welcomed Bucky’s full weight as you laid spent, your hands drawing soothing patterns on his back. His cock was still nestled inside of you; neither of you wanted to lose that intimate connection too soon. You rested, listening to each other’s breathing and soaking in the comfort of being together.

When Bucky fucked you again a while later, it was more languid and sensual. He made breathless vows of love, curling his metal fingers around your throat and squeezing just enough to spill more of your warm tears. He confessed his need for you in his life as he increased his pace, tilting your ass with his other hand, so he could spill deeper inside of you.

In the morning, as he woke up early with the intention of going to the bakery and getting fresh treats for your family breakfast, there was so much brightness in Bucky’s eyes. So much love and happiness, like on the day your son was born.

As you looked at your own reflection in the mirror in his bathroom, you saw the same spark in your own eyes.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #eight types of love challenge #the-slumberparty #navy and roo's slumber party #echo that thunders #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes imagine

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bamgyw · 5 months ago

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˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ the third night ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

"i gave myself to satan, i should be a wrinkly old witch by now. my hair a tangle of venomous serpents, my skin green like a toad, black flames coursing through my veins." - belladonna of sadness.

cw: +18 so. blowjob (main event). long ass aftercare. hm. pet names. i suck at adding the tags. anyway. themes of misogyny and parental abuse. catholic guilt (expected). i always end up becoming desensitized from reading and checking it so many times, so it’s probably much filthier to the common of mortals than to me. and what else. no i think that's it. a/n: i am so sorry for shamelessly lying to you, i'm never promising a fixed update time every again. i can't help it, i do be a perfectionist. anyway. this part is long as fuck, sorry about that too. hope u like it. hehe. kisses. this is a part of a longer work ♡ go to the beginning here

desire is sin, and sin is death. that was the grim truth that had sunk into your mind. a persistent, gnawing thought ever since beomgyu closed the door behind him. it was your only rule, how could you had forgotten? how could you have been so stupid?

shame and mud had taken root in your body, their claws perforating their way through your soul and clutching every rosy thought, choking them all into submission. slut, nympho, mary magdalene, whore.

you were haunted by the memory of his touch, the warmth of his breath against your skin, the whisper of his words in your ear and the pain of knowing it was all wrong, sinful and forbidden. it was a sweet torture, a reminder of what you had lost and what you could never have again. not if you wanted this shame to go away.

if he had stayed, perhaps his warmth could have filled the void within you, congesting your body with butterflies and hydrangea blooms before the self-condemnation had a chance to seep in, oozing out your mouth, your ears, your cunt like a gooey toxin.

but he left, and you were alone. in that icy isolation, you came to realise that you would always be alone. letting him in had been as mindless as it had been short-lived.

he was your foolish indulgence, a desire fragile like a stained glass window that your daddy would shatter the moment he found out. just like he had with soobin.

so the morning after, you woke with tear-streaked cheeks, the dried remnants of your sorrow clinging to your skin.

your eyes opened faintly and with trouble with the first sun ray. they were swollen, your vision blurry from the hours of crying. your body ached from the tension, muscles stiff and sore from the night spent curled up in a pathetic ball.

you sighed deeply, the exhale carrying with it a fraction of your guilt and mortification, but not nearly enough to ease the tightness in your chest. you were physically clean, but you felt stained to your core.

like lady macbeth, desperate to wash the non-existent blood from her hands, you felt that anyone could detect the evidences of your crime. your missing rosary beads, the slightly reddened neck, the scent of him on you. if daddy barely even looked you in the eye, you were certain he would know.

the scant sleep you managed to get was haunted by nightmares—daddy's cheshire grin glowing phosphorescent in the darkness, while you cried out in beastly moans against beomgyu's neck.

it felt like an omen, a premonition that if this continued, you would inevitably be discovered. desire is sin, and sin is death.

the sensation of your bare cunt against the sheets did nothing to alleviate the flesh-eating sadism of your shame. you lay there, feeling exposed and vulnerable, the absence of your underwear only amplifying your discomfort.

a chill ran through you, mingling with the dampness that clung to your groin. the moisture on your body had felt nurturing the night before, a sign that your were alive, that you had the capability to love. but now it felt foreign and intrusive.

you reached down to touch your cunt, feeling the sticky residue from the previous night. disgust gnawed at you.

you had cried yourself to sleep without cleaning yourself up and now your soggy, sickening cum clung to you like a noxious reminder of your sin. like you were rotten inside, leaking with venom. you buried your face in the pillow and cried again, your sobs muffled.

without his voice, that sticky liquid was just snot; without him there, the memory of his touch disfigured into that of a nameless hand of the devil fucking into you, and yourself feasting on it like a wild beast.

you rushed to the bathroom, driven by urgency. you felt like you were going to throw up, but you only gagged, your stomach empty. "it's all in your head," your body seemed to say. "we're fine, you're fine." but you couldn't comprehend the language. for all your life, you had only ever listened to your mind.

your reflection distorted in the mirror, a stranger in your own eyes. you were always poised, you were always composed. but the blood injected in your eyes, strained from the crying made you look like a madwoman. breath came in gasps as you stared at yourself, eyes wide with desperation.

your hands trembled as you turned on the faucet, the cold metal biting into your skin. water rushed out violently, crashing over you. each drop felt sharp, like tiny knives against your flesh.

with a desperate breathing, heavy like the room was devoid of oxygen, you attacked your skin, nails digging deep as you scrubbed. the water turned red. desire is sin, and sin is death. desire is sin, and sin is death.

desire is sin and sin is death, but like baptism washed away the original sin, water could purify you again, sterilise your body. clean his being off of you. with each scrub, you fought to erase his touch, leaving raw skin in your wake.

when you were done washing up, you hid it all the best way you knew; under layers of clothes, thick and opaque, not a visible centimetre of skin outside your face.

you walked through your house, eyes glued to the floor, as if you had stumbled into a cathedral bare naked. the saints and apostles on their holy cards stared down at you, their gazes heavy with sorrow. they had watched you grow up from a good little girl into a tainted whore.

even saint sebastian, the christian apollo, offered no mercy. the blood-stained arrows pierced his flesh, and his blood-thirsty eyes pierced you whole. a faint smell of incense lingered in the air, the ghostly reminder of daddy's morning prayers.

but there was one last saint to face, the most hurting martyr of them all. as you reached the bottom of the staircase, soobin stood in the hall, leaning against the front door.

he wore that same charcoal grey sweater he always wore to college, forever unchanged, like a character from an animated sitcom. and, as always, he was there waiting to drive you to school. but that morning, you wondered if he could smell your fear.

“you slept in?” soobin asked, his tone flat.

“y-yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible. “but i can skip breakfast. let’s just go.”

“you should eat something,” he insisted with a slight shrug. “you must be tired.”

your breath hitched, and a cold sweat formed at the back of your neck. “why do you say that?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“you never sleep in. you must’ve had a tough night,” he observed, his eyes searching yours for a moment before looking away.

“kind of, yeah.” you moved towards the kitchen, your steps hesitant. "i had nightmares. all night long."

he walked after you into the kitchen, silent and stealthy like a shadow. you grabbed a plain bagel from the counter, spreading a thin layer of cream cheese on it. your hands shook slightly, the knife slipping once, smearing the cream cheese unevenly.

he leaned against the opposite counter, watching you as you faced away from him, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. there was an unsettling calm about him, a relaxed stillness that would have been reassuring if it were anyone else, but not soobin. "beomgyu has trouble sleeping too," he said, his voice almost too soft, too casual.

you chewed your lip before turning to face him, trying to maintain a facade of calm. "and you do too. must be this house," you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper.

you took a swift turn and walked out of the kitchen, your head held high. but your heart pounded against your chest like a drum. he knows. he knows. he knows. or maybe he doesn’t.

desire is sin, and sin is death. and now you had to wait, trapped in the uncertainty of not knowing whether your brother, cain, would betray you and get you killed.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

there was always a puddle of muddy dirt at the entrance of the school. even if it didn't rain, the ground was perpetually wet. a slick, treacherous mess that swallowed feet and soiled shoes.

you couldn't trust that ground. you couldn't trust the school. a slip-up and the back of your neck would lie cracked and open on the soil, thick blood mingling with dirt.

you stepped carefully, feeling the mud clinging to your soles. that was the revolting start to each day.

there was a sign on the entrance gate, rusty and weathered, that looked like it could give you tetanus just by looking at it. it had always made your skin crawl.

the words "sacred heart catholic university" were printed in bold letters and they seemed to be smirking. they knew they were lying. there was nothing sacred about that school, not one thing.

if you looked into the eyes of almost any professor, you would see something rotten staring back at you. it was not as wicked as it was pathetic. not grand enough for a flaming crown of hell, but rather petty and small like a worm or bloodsucking lice.

you walked through them every day; rheumy gazes and moist smirks. old men leering at bodies they couldn't touch. or they could. they had. no one was stopping them, anyway. not the dean, not the bishop, not god.

every morning began with a mandatory service, the only time when the girls' and boys' sections were allowed to gather together. you arrived in mass to the chapel, and once inside, the path divided: the male wing at the right hand of the father, the female wing to the less prestigious left. you and soobin always separated there, each heading to your respective sides.

but morning services had one small perk: mandatory as they were, there was no attendance list.

so when soobin disappeared from view, you'd slip out of the chapel. alone, you might have not dared, but you had partner in mischief, a friend. the person who had walked you hand in hand through an uncanny semblance of girlhood. yeh shuhua.

shuhua wasn’t exactly an intellectual, but she had a sharp street-smart intelligence. a keen sense of the world. she had thought a backup plan for getting caught skipping church.

"here's what we'll do," she'd say, dropping to her knees, hands clasped in prayer. "oh, dear professor," she mimicked in a whiny tone. "how can a shy girl like me pray with so many people around? my thoughts are only for god, and i must speak to him privately for comfort." she cried out, then flashed a bright grin. "the nuttier we sound, the more likely they'll believe it. remember when that girl said she could talk to the virgin mary and they brought in a vatican official to check? we just have to play innocent..."

like a faint summer breeze, shuhua was fresh and witty, and she never let that dammned school, nor its metaphysical threats, nor all the ordained priests walking around earth to turn her cold.

she was pretty, too, a boy-candy type of beauty. with long black hair tinged with red highlights, cherry gloss-coated lips and porcelain-white skin. not a trace of catholicism tainting her youthful features.

shuhua made the world feel a little bit bigger. she always had news about celebrities you didn't know, their affairs and gossip, the pomp and glamour god rejected.

it was fun talking to her. she wasn't a remarkable friend, or what they call a soulmate. but she was there.

until she met a boy.

lee heeseung, from the male section. only one year older than shuhua and you, but with the distorted notion of being older than the world itself and knowing more than anyone.

it started with a few stolen glances during chapel services, innocent and demure, and escalated to shuhua going down on him in the non-functioning professor bathrooms during the easter vigil mass.

all proud and excited, shuhua had recounted every detail to you like she had just blowed jesus himself.

“you feel like choking… more so if he likes it rough. and they all do.” she said. you had never seen her act that sheepish, but there was a slutty glint of enjoyment in her eye that made it feel less out of character. “he pushed down on my head a lot, so i kept gagging,” she said. “it’s not like i loved it, but he liked it so much, my darling boy.”

you remained quiet, like you often did. it wasn’t the violence of the act what disturbed you, but the devotion in her eyes as she recounted her pain. maybe boys really were dangerous after all, slithery and deceiving.

they could get you to enjoy pleasing them even if it hurt in the flesh. they were gods, demanding piety, and fathers, exacting control.

heeseung and shuhua started using their time skipping service to be together. it wasn´t shuhua and you anymore. it was heeseung and shuhua, and the malleable puppet of your physical body.

they had asked you to stay with them as a sort of chaperone to mitigate the risk of getting caught. but at some point, heeseung began to pity you—or perhaps he found it too awkward to grope shuhua with you just standing there. so, he started bringing a friend to keep you entertained. you would have preferred he hadn’t.

choi yeonjun had beautiful flowy hair, and a charming smile, and he lived in a big vast playground he owned, called the world. his confidence bordered on tyranny, and that made him untouchable.

a disgustingly rich boy he was; the kind of rich that gets you into heaven. his father was a man who owned lands and homes, therefore owning other men. another dictator, just another man playing god.

"he's into you, you know?" shuhua's voice rang out as you both strolled through the tall grass toward your usual meeting spot. "you should cut the prude act and give him a chance." she said.

the blades brushed against your ankles, tickling your skin as they swayed gently in the breeze. the further away from school, the freer. even the landscape knew that.

"he's not worth a chance," you replied, stone-cold.

shuhua shot you a disapproving look and said, "you're beyond help, honestly." pausing to apply a fresh layer of gloss to her lips, the shimmer catching the light. "it's choi yeonjun. they don't make 'em better than that."

"he's cruel. and he acts like god’s favourite," you retorted, your voice definitive. "i don't like that."

the grass crunched underfoot, the rhythm of your steps a steady thrum against the silence. ahead, two human shapes, tall and slender took form—the two boys, blurred smudges sharpening into clarity as you drew closer.

the moment shuhua’s eyes landed on heeseung, she couldn't contain herself and broke into a sprint, her skirt flying up recklessly as her legs blurred in a skipping motion towards her darling boy. her arms clutched at his neck, desperate and clinging, while heeseung’s bold hand slipped beneath the fabric of her skirt to grasp flesh, squishing her ass like an anxiety toy.

even before dating heeseung, shuhua had always favored a smuttiness to her clothes. however, the style had transformed into a sort of charicature of a schoolgirl since they started seeing each other. there was some freudian notion to the flimsy short skirts paired with the nunnish argyle cardigans that drove heeseung insane.

the black cotton of your tapered slacks felt suddenly itchy against your legs. hot, suffocating.

"ice princess," yeonjun's voice broke through your thoughts, sharp, clear, uninvited. he stood slightly apart from the others, his eyes fixed on you with the usual blend of mocking and blatantly checking you out. "let me carry your bag."

"it's not heavy," you answered curtly. heeseung and shuhua remained oblivious to the exchange, lost in their own world where the lines between love and possession blurred.

“oh, come on,” yeonjun's grin widened with a mischievous glint like sunlight flickering across the shards of broken glass, alluring yet sharp enough to cut. "let me take care of my pretty girl."

“i’m not your girl.” you clutched the strap of your bag tighter to your side. "and we’re not in high-school. i can carry my own stuff." you said before continuing to walk.

he snorted out a laugh, then followed after.

the usual hangout spot was just a collection of rocks aligned almost like a table, their jagged edges softened by the creeping moss that clung to them like a blanket. the air was cleaner there, untainted by the scent of trampled grass and stale corridors.

shuhua perched on those stony pews, her legs folding beneath her with ease. in her lap, heeseung found a cradle for his head, his hair spilling over her thighs like dark silk being tenderly spun by her fingertips.

you sat nearby, your knees drawn up tight to your chest, arms wrapped around them as if they could shield you from the cursed memory of the night you had spent with beomgyu from slipping out of you.

yeonjun hovered close, too close, as he usually did, his body heat radiating onto your skin in waves. at times, he'd lean back, propping himself on an arm just inches from you, his weight shifting the balance of your shared rock.

his hand would reach —a bird of prey circling before the dive—to toy with a lock of your hair. you felt the sweep of his fingertips, not quite touching the scalp, a ghostly sensation that prickled your neck.

and most times, you just let him do it. it was a twisted ritual of near-touches, the most explicit thing you would ever allow him to do to you.

sometimes he would lean into your ear and whisper “you're a cockteasing slut, you know?”, with words meant to burn. they tingled in your ears down to your pussy. then came in a nervous gaze you tried to hide, the redenning cheeks, and yeonjun’s stupid smirk when he noticed it all.

the attention you got from yeonjun was addictive and tingly like crystal meth. his warmth was a tepid thing, a sun struggling through winter clouds. it wasn't real, it wasn't love. barely even affection. just an obsession-driven lust. but it was enough for you not to die of hypothermia, frozen by your own frigidity.

or at least it had been enough, before beomgyu.

there was no room for yeonjun in yourself, not anymore. he didn't feel warm. he didn't feel like anything. not when every cell in your body thrummed with the echo of beomgyu's name.

that day, you kept batting yeonjun’s hand away from your hair, denying the only bit of you that had belonged to him. but he always reached out again, insistent, stubborn as weeds in cracked pavement.

"stop it," you told him under your breath, the whisper harsh against the backdrop of wet kissing sounds from the happy couple.

"what?" he asked with a shrug and a cocky pout. his feigned innocence was as thin as paper. "you have open ends…" he trailed off, fingers splitting an open-ended hair into two.

"i like them like that," you snapped, the words sharp. "just get away."

"playing hard to get?" he prodded, his grin all teeth and no humor.

"playing 'leave me alone,'" you shot back, wrapping your arms tighter around yourself.

a laugh bubbled up from shuhua's throat, rich and unbothered. she lounged like a cat in sunlight, her eyes half-lidded. "woah, feeling extra-prudish today, no?"

heeseung's gaze flickered with something akin to mischief. "she's probably scared because of the kim minjeong thing," he smirked.

"the kim minjeong thing?" you echoed. "what happened?"

heeseung stirred like a cat on shuhua’s lap with a shit-eating grin.

"her daddy found out she had a boyfriend. got real mad." he explained. "the man dragged her to the dean's office gripped by her hair. she kept ugly crying, it was freaky." his eyes didn't waver; they held the morbid fascination of one watching a car crash. "the dad kept going on and on about the school not being able to keep girls in line, shouting like a madman. they ran a virginity test on her to settle it.”

a gasp caught in your throat, strangled, "w-what's a virginity test?"

heeseung's grin sliced through, cruel and sharp as a kitchen knife. "they stick cloth up your pussy, and if it comes out with blood, you're safe. if not, well, the executioner will choose the punishment, i guess.”

you felt your face flush, heat creeping into your cheeks. this type of intrusion, a cruel infringement disguised as safeguarding, was the kind of love that fathers, kings, and gods like to exert.

"it's a twisted thing," came in shuhua, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear with a delicate flick of her wrist. "don't you get even more puritanical because of it, sweetie. it has no scientific avail. if we were underage or something like that… that would be one thing, but– i don’t know. it's just barbaric..."

heeseung replied in a mock stern tone, making the lazy impression of a war general, "age doesn't change anything.” he said. “no sex before marriage."

your hands were sweating against the fabric of your pants as you stammered out, "c-couldn't they tell if you...like, touch yourself?"

yeonjun's predatory smirk widened as he leaned in closer. his response was a simple question; "why, babygirl, would that worry you?" he kept his eyes locked on yours, waiting for your armour to break.

"of course not," you muttered, forcing out the lie through your dry throat. "just curious." you continued, trying to sound nonchalant, "i mean, it could get someone in trouble for virtually nothing."

"virtually indeed.” heeseung snorted with a laugh. he picked at the grass beneath him. “it all depends on how you define virginity," he said with a casual shrug. "for the salivating creeps who take those tests seriously, fucking only means sticking something inside of something else. so i guess that if you've only fucked yourself by… you know…” he made a crude gesture with a shit-eating grin. “then you’re still pure as virgin mary.”

“that doesn’t feel pure, either.” you said. you thought back to the previous night when beomgyu's fingers had teased your clit, and you couldn't help but feel a familiar twitch. you pushed the memory out of your mind, shaking your head as if trying to scare away a pesky bug.

“non-penetration sex is not pure, but it’s not patriarchal, either. so it doesn’t count.” shuhua said.

yeonjun’s next comment different in political aspiration. he leaned into your ear, "don't you ever go needy like that, baby" he said, his eyes fixed on you with a confidence you wished you could scrape off with your fingernails. “if it aches down there i can kiss it better.” he said. heeseung chuckled complicitly with a hollowed laugh.

"zip it, the both of you." shuhua's voice sliced through their banter, sharp and clear. such fierceness for a girl drowning in a pastel pink sweater. "honey, that test is total bullshit. it just checks if your hymen is torn or not. it’s this little membrane up your pussy which men have historically used to shame girls. it can tear riding a bike or with a tampon or whatever. it's stupid."

you nodded, but you weren’t convinced. you didn't think daddy would believe it. if they ran that test on you and you didn't bleed, what would you tell him? that you rode a bike too hard? he would never buy that.

heeseung snorted out a grating laugh. "she says it’s stupid now, but i survived the first month we were together off of blowjobs. she was scared stiff of anything going up there because of that damn test."

shuhua leaned in close, hed breath a warm whisper against heeseung’s ear, "like you can complain, you love it when i go down on you." her hand trailed along the sharp line of his jaw, fingertips barely grazing his skin before coming to rest at the dip of his throat.

heeseung's cocky smirk grew wider as he leaned back on his hands, the rocky ground beneath him serving as his makeshift throne. "you know," he drawled out, "there's something so fucking heavenly about having a girl on her knees for you. i dunno... you feel like a king."

a flicker of your lip gave away your true thoughts, an unintentional twitch. heeseung's language was coarse, but there was an odd poetry in the way he spoke this time.

you thought of beomgyu. beomgyu your king, beomgyu the only one you would ever want to crown like that. your lips around his dick, his low voice praising you. calling you his baby, his little angel.

slut, nympho, mary magdalene, whore. said shame.

a flush of heat crept up your cheeks, betraying the sudden surge of nerves that coursed through your body. "i...should get going," you blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. "service will be over soon," you added quickly, hoping to cut off any potential objections and make your escape before things became too awkward.

grabbing your bag, you hurried away from the group, taking quick and hurried steps. but it wasn't long before yeonjun caught up with you.

"wait!" his voice shattered the tense silence, causing you to stop mid-stride and turn to face him.

"what do you want?" you asked, tone curt.

"what do i have to do for you to stop giving me the cold shoulder?" he asked, his grin widening as he continued to close the distance between you.

your voice sliced through his hopes with practiced precision, a sharp edge honed by too many similar conversations. "nothing, really," you replied firmly. "but what you can do is stop deluding yourself into thinking that anything will ever happen between us.”

yeonjun's grin didn't falter, but something flickered in his gaze—a brief shadow of disappointment he quickly masked. he trailed behind you like a persistent breeze, impossible to shake off.

"don’t you think you overdid it today? the whole nun act?” he asked, the corners of his lips curling slightly. there was always malice behind his playfulness. "you can’t fool me, you know? girls who act all cold like you are always the filthiest.”

your muscles tensed. “is calling me a slut the best you've got?”

“come on, i know you're needy," yeonjun said confidently, taking a step closer to you. he reached for your hand, but you flinched it away before he could touch you. "you have to be… pretty girl like you, restraining yourself... i could make you feel so good. put that mouth of yours to good use.”

"seriously, will you ever cut it?" you spat out. "i don't want you. i don't care about you. just forget about me."

you saw his lips press, his nostrils flare. sick of him, you turned to walk away, but his voice cut through the air like a sharp blade.

"is there someone else?" he suddenly asked, and you could hear the hint of desperation in his voice.

you froze in your place. "w-what?"

"you always get all flushed and bothered when i say nasty shit to you." he said. "but you keep acting up today, like you don't need me anymore. are you seeing someone?"

"leave me alone, i never needed you." you said, shoving him hard in the chest. he stumbled back, surprise flickering in his eyes before it hardened into something darker.

"touchy, aren't we?" he regained his balance, his grin resembling shards of broken glass. "i liked you with the good little girl image, but it gets me so fucking hard when you say no to me like this, too."

you hissed, taking a step back. all you wanted was space, air, anything to cleanse yourself from the filth of his words. you turned around and left with quick, heavy steps.

yeonjun watched you go, satisfaction gleaming in his predatory gaze. "even if you don't tell me, i’ll find out!" he called after you, his voice carrying on the breeze, "and you're smart enough to know that secrets are only safe if everyone keeps their mouths shut."

you didn't look back.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

helios ploughed the sky with his chariot and night fell everywhere in the house of god except in your room.

it was a deliberate postponement the night-time. a way of protecting the sanctity of your holy prison cell. your safe, warm, constraining prison cell.

you had stood under the shower for a second time that day before climbing into bed, letting the scalding water clatter softly against your face for what felt like hours. you lingered there, breathing in the steam, until your were sure you had washed away any residual trace of lust

you dried your hair with rough, almost angry strokes until it was dehydrated and feathery, and brushed it until the strands, dampened into thick locks, turned soft enough that you wouldn't dare allow anyone to tangle it again.

anyone. the devil. him.

the nightdress you had worn the night before, the one he had touched, lay discarded on the floor. a fleeting thought of burning it crossed your mind. maybe you would do it the next day. integral purification. eradicate the slightest trace of him.

you changed into a cotton short set, one childish enough to be laughable. cute little lilies over a pinkish backcloth. and to further on that naive illusion of shelter, you wrapped yourself into a black hoodie that had once belonged to soobin, its oversized warmth swallowing you whole as you sought to disappear within it.

the scent of almond soap and sanctifying shampoo lingered in the air as you sat on the bed with the lights still on. daddy went to sleep, soobin inserted himself inside his bed for yet another night of staring at the ceiling. the house of god fell silent.

you hugged your legs, repeating to yourself that desire is sin, and sin is death as a nightly prayer. but when you finally turned off the light, the darkness only amplified the pounding of your heart. he would come. and you would have to ignore him.

maybe he had forgotten, even. maybe he had gotten bored of the toy and would just stand you up. that's what yeonjun would do if you ever gave him a chance. if the thread of unfulfilled yearning didn't tie him to you. or maybe it was that beomgyu hadn't really tried out the toy yet. barely even unwrapped it.

no. you had the gut-wrenching feeling that, for some god-awful reason, beomgyu cared about you. he had said he did, treated you like he did. if only he were more like yeonjun—more of a jerk, less needful and unhappy—maybe he would spare you the pain of sending him away. you weren't even sure you could.

in a desperate attempt to assert control over yourself, you had wedged a chair under the doorknob—a feeble barricade to separate you from your sin.

your door didn't lock from the inside, only from the outside. daddy had designed it that way, like a guardroom only he held the key to. the birdcage. the cushiony, secured birdcage you never should have corrupted.

that's how beomgyu had entered the previous night. the door had been open, a poetic invitation from fate. tonight, however, you closed it sealed and tight—poetically, physically, painfully.

but then he arrived. and he owned the magical key that was himself.

the first knock was faint as if the door could hurt. you remained still, every muscle tensed. a second knock followed, carrying a little more intent, a little more anxiety. panic coursed through your frozen veins. you wanted to hide in soobin's hoodie like a scared tortoise and never come out.

you squeezed your eyes shut, hoping that if you pressed your eyelids hard enough, you wouldn't want beomgyu so desperately. a hopeless wish to never had felt how your lips blazed against his, to erase him from your life entirely.

the doorknob rattled, the bolt clanking with an excruciating metallic sound and the safeguarding chair being the only thing keeping the door shut.

"please, leave," you whispered, your voice barely a breath. and maybe he heard. maybe a divine intervention carried your plea. he stopped.

silence stretched for agonizing minutes. your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out all other sounds. done. it wasn't that difficult. five minutes of agonising anxiety in exchange for a life of virtue. or so you thought.

you didn't even have time to cry his absence when his voice, haunting and mournful, pierced the quiet.

"remember, most gracious virgin mary," he began. he was praying. "that never was it known that anyone who fled to your protection, implored your help, or sought your intercession, was left unaided."

you perched on the bed's edge, hypnotized. he was asking for asylum in your prison cell. for you to let him lock himself with you in your birdcage. like the previous night, and for all nights to come.

he went on. "inspired by this confidence, i fly unto you, virgin of virgins, my mother. to you do i come, before you i stand, sinful and sorrowful." he said.

with each word, you took a frightful step toward the door. he was loud enough for everyone on the floor to hear him. but what was the harm, right? just the prodigal son praying to the virgin.

"mother of the word incarnate, despise not my petitions, but in your mercy, hear and answer me." he said. "amen."

your body trembled. every fiber of your being wanted to resist, but you had to let him in; you were to be full of grace—the mother of mothers, praying for the sinners at the hour of death. your hand moved to the chair, quietly setting it aside. you opened the door, opened the gates of the promised land.

beomgyu sunk there, small, slumped against the door. he startled by its sudden opening. his eyes, rich brown like fertile earth, looked up at you—pleading and desperate. his youthful cheeks, soft like a girl's, and his blessed lips had shown you more love in one night than anyone ever had. you never saw the trident, the wicked grin, the feathered black wings of satan.

he turned and knelt, clumsily, like a mistreated convict begging for food, clutching the rosary beads you had given him in one shivering hand. "i thought—" he stammered out. "i thought you didn't want me anymore."

with a pained expression etched on your face, you motioned for him to be silent. beomgyu could see the lamentable dye that stained your features, but he couldn't decipher if you were inviting him in or pushing him away. a part of him didn't want to find out.

when he began to crawl towards you, you recoiled as if he was a disease. and that's how he felt at his core –like a pest that you couldn't get rid of. your heart ached at the thought. just last night, he held you close and whispered honey into your ears. but now you blamed him for your own sins and treated him like the devil.

you extended your hand and helped him up. in a subtle motion you closed the door behind him, trying not to make any noise. relief flooded his features as he leaned closer to your ear. "do you want me to leave?"

you kissed his cheek softly, like only you knew how, the touch of a feather. he shivered. "stay," you breathed against his skin.

you had fallen again. he had prayed himself into heaven.

the first step he took inside was bashful, but you should have guessed from the red-hot gleam in his pupils that a hurricane-stricken soul kiss was coming. no build-up, no easing you into it. just crimson cannibalism.

he took two heavy breaths. one. i missed her. two. i want her. and the third one he took against your skin after lunging at your mouth, breathing in the soaps and the shampoos and all your foolish efforts to plasticize yourself against him.

he pushed you against the wall with a force that made a loud thud, but he didn't care about the noise. he needed to close every gap, to melt your body into his. "i missed you so much," he gasped between kisses, his voice laced with desperation. "i've been thinking about you all day, about what i wanted to do to you... i couldn't take it anymore."

he devoured your lips, his hands roaming over your body as if trying to memorize every inch of you. "you're so good for me," he murmured against your skin, his words muffled by the heat of his breath. "so fucking good around me."

beomgyu's hands were like molten lava, burning trails on your skin as he pulled you closer, and you wanted nothing more than to let him do. to have him burn you down to cinders, to give your neck to him as an offering and let him blood-suck you dry.

but you remembered. desire is sin, and sin is death. it echoed annoyingly this time. like a nagging school teacher, an irksome jiminy cricket that spoke in your own voice.

you tried to push him away, gasping for air like a diver drowning under the weight of the ocean. "wait," you panted desperately, trying to catch your breath. "beomgyu, please– wait." you said. you poured a bucket of iced water over the volcano.

the lava solidified under the ice. "why? what is it?" his eyes grew wide, concerned.

"i don't want to feel like a whore again." your eyes dropped, avoiding his gaze. "like i'm– cattle.”

lava rock turned pathetically mushy. "did i... make you feel that way?"

you shook your head quickly, feeling guilty for even thinking it. "no, no. you were so good to me." you reassured, hands gripping onto his shirt. "but we– we barely know each other. why would you want me other than..."

"just for sex?” he finished your sentence with a battered expression. “is that what you think?”

"what else, then?"

"no." he shook his head anxiously. "no, no. absolutely not. you're... you're like me. you understand. you get it. you feel good– in my soul. this is corny, i'm not good at– i... i just... this is the only way i know how to show it."

cute. you gently ran your fingers through his dark, tousled hair. he was fawn like everything nurturing, he was hazel all over. lush like freshly brewed coffee, mellow like a shot of baleys.

you let your hand trace from his hair to his chin, holding him closer. your noses met first, plumy. then the lips, just barely. they made a slight, dainty wet sound when they parted. "all the decisions i keep making because of you are so stupid. it’s embarrassing." you said. "i'm never like this."

"i'm..." the lava rock was now cotton, it was watercolour, it was baby powder. "sorry."

"where did you learn that prayer?" you asked, playing with his hair. he held you by your arms, trying his best to pretend that your lips didn't exist.

"i've been hanging around church," he confessed in a raspy whisper. "i never go inside, thoug. that would feel intrusive, i guess. i just hang around and listen to the services from the outside. i try to memorise the useful prayers," he said, "only that one stuck."

you raised an eyebrow, "the useful ones?"

"the ones that will get me what i want. isn’t that how praying works? and besides," he said with a sugary grin, holding the rosary beads up. he was sweet, so endearingly earnest. "you gave me this. i thought i should learn how to pray it properly."

"you weren't saying it correctly, though." you corrected him gently. "the first bead is supposed to be 'our father,' you were saying a memorare."

"who cares?" he shrugged, a teasing glint shining through. "it worked for me. it got me in here."

with a trembling hand, you reached out and grabbed the rosary hanging around his neck. your fingers closed around the cold metal, pulling it towards you. "take it off."

he clutched it tighter, his hand over yours, as if afraid to let go of it. "why?"

"i don't like you with it," you said. "i like you out of god. you're the only thing i have that's not corrupted by it."

"but i'm trying to be a little better for you. purer, or whatever the hell you call it. so that you'll feel less guilty when we're together." he said. then his brows furrowed with ache. "you regret me, don't you? that's why you weren't letting me in."

"it really hurt when you left," you admitted quietly. "all night long, i felt filthy and repulsive. like some..." you hesitated, embarrassed at your own words. "some wild animal in heat. but it goes away when you're here. it... it’s still there. but i forget about it. just a little."

a defiant look crossed his face. "then i'll never leave again."

"but you have to," you countered, letting go of his arms and turning way from him to walk toward the window. "or daddy will find out."

you heard beomgyu's footsteps approaching after you slowly, and you knew he was standing behind you now.

in haze and silk his hand found yours, which had been limp at your side. "but you like being close to me," he said softly, his arm wrapping around your waist, pressing your body against his. "and i like being close to you," he added, his nose tracing patterns along your neck. "you're warm."

"aren't you concerned at all? how can you not care about anything else?" you asked.

"because i'm crazy about you, you're my angel." he muttered as if it was obvious, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke. he buried his face deeper into your neck, breathing in your scent. "you smell so good."

"i just showered," you whispered, feeling yourself shivering under his touch. "it’s all i’ve done today, try to wash up."

"see?" he purred against your neck, with an amused smile that bordered on wicked. "you're a clean little angel. you have nothing to be ashamed of." he held you tight, arms forming a velvety belt around your waist. "i'm gonna be good for you tonight, take things slow. does that sound good?"

your nodded slightly, turning around to give him a soft kiss. though eager, there was uneasiness in your gaze, a loving intensity so hopeless it hurt.

he could take the hurt away, he was convinced. leave only the longing, the summery warmth and the tingling of the flesh. cupping your face with both hands he took your soft kiss and inflamed it into a fleshy bite, a mouthful of you. mine, mine, mine.

the room sweltered, wrapping you in a cloying embrace that thickened with the friction of the lips. with a deft movement he pulled away for a fleeting second, shrugging off his overshirt, the fabric fluttering to the ground like a lifeless body.

he saw your eyes widen, your muscles tense. the breath catching in your chest at the lost promise to take things slow. he lifted his palms like having been caught in the middle of a crime. "it’s– it’s hot in here," he murmured, trying to hush you. "just that."

you nodded. "yeah, yeah." you breathed out. stupid, wimpy, childish, prude, you thought to yourself. "i…" you started to unzip the hoodie, stripping away from your protective armor. "i probably don't look as good as yesterday," you said. "i'm sorry."

beomgyu exhaled a breathy chuckle, a laden smile tinged with affection. "what are you talking about?" he asked, shaking his head. "i look fucking gross in soobin’s old, borrowed clothes. these fit me like an elephant's skin, and you – you're… shit, you're so pretty – and you still apologize?"

he grasped your hand, tugged you towards him. he cherished and adored, and coated with his kisses and artisan lips the face of his angel. his little good girl who would sigh hummingbird whimpers against his lips as a warming, wordless praise.

he liked how you explored on him, too. how you seemed to prefer his upper lip and worked on it daintily, how you would pout when he pulled away, something he did just to indulge himself in the pleasure of staring at your lips get swollen and intumesced. how your eyes saddened, too, puppy-round and disquieted, silently asking if you had done something wrong.

gentle lips turned voracious, he couldn't help it. you were so tasty, so foamed textured, a favourite food.

letting his arm cradle you under your ass, he picked you up, weightless plush bear, your legs falling at both sides of his torso. you escaped a half-chuckled hum against his lips, a teenaged sound of cheeriness.

securely held like that, he walked you to the bed, where he let you fall softly, himself dropping after you. the weight of his body pressed you down against the plush duvet, but the suffocation felt good, the drowning in his oaky scent with no escape.

he focused on the fragility of your neck, silken, lovely swan’s arch. he pressed his unworthy mouth against it, nibbled at it, let his teeth sink in the skin, pushing the feeble line of pain and pleasure.

you shifted, rolling over together in a smooth, almost effortless motion. now, your were resting against his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you. you could hear his heartbeat, steady and deep.

he watched you hovering above him. your hair fell around your face, a dark frame for your flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips. fucking beautiful. he lifted his head slightly and gave your a quick, animalistic kiss, almost like a snake bite.

his teeth caught your lower lip, holding it for a heartbeat longer, before letting it slip free. your back spasmed, punctuated by an acute shiver.

you let out a low, throaty whimper that resonated against his mouth. your lips pressed back against his with increased urgency, your fingers digging into his hair as you deepened the kiss.

"needy baby," he murmured softly, his voice a husky breath against your lips. "you still want me to take things slow?"

your hips began to move on their own, rubbing against him, driven by an instinctive rhythm. his nails bit into the tender flesh of your thighs as though trying to rip off the peel of a tangerine, to skin you out and envelop you himself instead.

but you both moved together, and his shirt lifted slightly, revealing a dark bruise on his stomach. at first, it was just a shadow, barely noticeable in the dim light. but as your movements shifted and the fabric of his shirt rose higher, the bruise came into full view.

your breath caught in your throat—a deep, ugly purplish hue marring his skin. the color at the center of the bruise was nearly black, a grisly shade that made the surrounding skin look almost rotten. the edges of the bruise were tinged with a sickly yellow-green, the mark of an injury struggling to heal.

"beomgyu..." you paused, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the bruise, feeling the heat radiating from the inflamed skin. it was tender to the touch, and you could almost feel the pain he must have endured when he received it. "how did this happen?" you whispered, your voice a mix of worry and disbelief.

his eyes met yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. he seemed reluctant to answer, but the concern in your gaze softened his resolve.

"it’s nothing," he murmured, trying to dismiss it, but the tension in his voice betrayed him.

"nothing?" you echoed, your fingers still gently exploring the bruise. he winced at the touch. "your dad hurt you before you came here, didn't he? that's why you left home."

his hands moved to cover yours, stopping your gentle probing. "it’s just... it’s not as bad as it looks."

"does it still hurt?" you asked, searching for his eyes, but he was steadfastly avoiding your gaze.

"no," he said through gritted teeth. "stop looking at it." he pulled down his shirt to cover the bruise with a violent tug.

you tilted your head, scrutinizing his lie and his sudden flare of irritability. it was uncharacteristic, a side of him you had heard of but never had seen yourself.

slowly, you reached out and pressed your fingers against the fabric of his shirt, right over the hidden bruise. your touch went from gentle to stinging as you pushed down, observing his reaction.

he bit his lip, a futile attempt to conceal his pain with a stubbornness bordering on childlike. when it really began to hurt him he finally winced, a sharp breath escaping him. "well, of course it fucking hurts if you press it," he snapped.

"sorry," you whispered softly.

you stayed in silence for a few seconds. you didn't know what to do, what to say, how to tell him that he shouldn't be embarrassed that his father was a sadistic brute. so in a movement as smooth as melting butter, you eased yourself onto his lap, your limbs wrapping around him with the languid grace of entwining vines.

you said nothing at first, just peppered his face with kisses, each one a delicate brush of your lips, grazing the tip of his nose, the corners of his mouth, and that upper lip you adored so much.

"what was that for?" he asked, still trying to perform crankiness with a tiny pout, but with a flustered red coloring his cheeks.

he yielded, his hands finding a natural place on your hips. with a tender smile, you murmured, “you've been going on and on about taking care of me, but look at you. you need care, too.”

“no, i don’t,” he retorted, his tone edging on petulant. “i can handle myself and take care of you while at it.”

“sure,” you reassured him with a soft giggle, your breath warm against his lips. “but let me take care of you for once.”

the kiss you gave him was a smiled out version of the wettened bites he liked to take out of your lips. a somehow tender ferocity, adoring. a violent hunger, soft like rose petals.

he liked lingering touches, gentle and exploratory. those that made him quivery and trembling. the kind that traced but not prodded, only brushed. and so you gave him that.

he liked wet kisses, deep and honeyed. kisses that felt like sinking your teeth into a ripe peach and letting its amber juice drip down your chin. and so you gave him that.

"i... still remember how good you made me feel yesterday." you whispered against his lips. he watched you in silence, pupils dilating at how bashful you were, how much adoration your eyes carried for his foul self. "i really tried to, but i couldn't stop thinking about it all day. about... you. i... i wouldn’t even know how to–" you stopped, words piling up in your throat. "how to give back."

your voice washed over him like holy water. a shiver run through him, the stirring whip of a stingray, from the nape of his neck down to his hardening dick. his eyes lit up with something animalistic, dark, even. there was a subtle change in the tilt of his head, an eager forward lean.

his hands were two starved beasts, roaming freely and gripping your body. you guided his touch, enjoying the tension changes in his muscles when he grasped the parts he liked best.

his fingers tightened firmly on your thigh, a strong ache of lust pulsing through his veiny forearms. he hesitated, eager for permission before moving his hands up to your ass. when you allowed it with a mild nod, his grip clenched tightly like iron.

he let his hands trail up, crawling under the shorts, beneath the underwear. the skin was tender, sweet marshmallow flesh. he kissed you violently, just for the sake of groaning into your mouth, to tell you how bad he liked you without the need for words.

pulling you closer, he grabbed firmly, causing your straddling legs to spread wider against him. then you felt it. him growing harder against you, his bulge pressing insistently between your legs, "b-beomgyu you're,"

"of course i am," he growled through gritted teeth, "shit– how could i not be?" his greedy lips traveled down from your neck, your throat, tour clavicles, leaving a trail of spit on your skin, icy against the air.

"you were like this yesterday, too." you pressed your fingers against his tense jawline, feeling the strain in his muscles. “let me help you out, please, teach me how."

he hesitated. his baby princess was too pure to stain herself with his dirty self. he was just a ravenous dog, hungry, flushed and beastly turned on, but you were his little dove, his angel, you–

you took your shy hand down to his crotch.

you did so while looking him in the eye, firm but awfully nervous. trembling, experimental. you brushed against the throbbing bulge with your palm.

he drew his head back. holy mary mother of god, pray for us sinners. chewed on his lip. now and at the hour of our death. he was all in.

he put his hand over yours with the intention of teaching you, like you had asked for, but you stopped him. with a timid voice and a slight stutter, you requested, "m-mouth."

a hitched breath. then a heavy one. "you shouldn’t," he whispered huskily, “with those pretty angel lips…”

you stirred on his lap, making him shudder with the slight brush of your covered pussy against his desperately hard self. "i have this friend from school," you began. "he’s not all that poetic, but today he said something… " you said, voice whispery. "said that having a girl on her knees for him made him feel like a king. i want to make you feel like that, too.”

beomgyu's silence was charged, his gazy stormy. the heavenly image flashed before his eyes. his baby angel down on her knees for him. the blushing tint on her sinless cheeks. virginal hibiscus lips wrapped around his cock. all sweet, all fucking gorgeous.

he then said, "open your mouth for me,”

you did as he commanded. you parted your lips for a shy communion, reception of the body of christ. your tongue rested plump and glistening on your lower lip. pretty, pretty, pretty.

with one hand he held your chin. the other one he raised with his index and middle fingers extended, thumb holding the ring and little fingers down. he slid them inside your mouth, their sinewy length slipping past your lips, taste of salt, skin and wine.

he grunted when your plump lips closed around his fingers. gulped down his libido, his adam’s apple prominently bobbing up and down. soon enough —he told himself— be gentle.

guiding your head with a steady rhythm, he began to move his fingers in and out, the wetness of your tongue sloppy against them. "no teeth," he commanded.

he entered a third finger in, stuffing your cheeks. the thrust got more forceful, his hand reaching deeper. you began to salivate, making a mess on his wet skin, unable to swallow.

you gagged when he pushed against your throat. then looked up at him, a glint of fear in your eyes.

“that choking feeling. it's gonna be like that.” he said in a sweet tone. “you think you can take it?”

you nodded eagerly, your voice coming out muffled in a throaty moan against his hand. it was a new feeling, but so sinfully delicious. a deep hot sweetness that got you helplessly soaked with its glowing tingle.

"use your tongue," he growled, his voice thick. you obeyed, letting it swirl around his skin. “such a good girl.” he said. your body quivered all over.

when he finally withdrew his hand, a glistening saliva trail draped down, connecting his fingers to your tongue. lewdy spiderweb of silver. without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to each gleaming digit.

then, as light as a floating bubble, you slid off the bed and guided him to sit at the edge. but instead of sitting, he stood up, looming over you. he was so tall, and for the first time, his height didn't feel protective but imposing, towering over you like a temple.

you gazed up at him with pleading eyes, silently for a kiss. he granted it to you. he could have been a giant, a monster, beastly like a wild bear, and he still would have brushed your hair behind your ear with all the softness in the world and leaned down to kiss you.

kneeling before him made you feel small, exposed, shrinking under his devouring gaze. but there was something thrilling in being so vulnerable to him.

your hands were shaking as you reached for the waistband of his pants. a ritualistic undressing of him, an unveiling of sacred flesh that you were terrified to ruin by being clumsy and uncoordinated.

his hand wrapped around your wrist. "are you sure about this?" he asked for the last time with a tender stroke at your head.

"yes," you whispered back, your voice barely audible over the thunderous beating of your heart. there was a shyness that coiled tightly around your spine, eating you alive, but there was also eagerness—the want to make him feel good.

you pulled down his pants, the big bulge in his underwear imposing, daunting. you pressed your lips tentatively against the taut fabric, the only thing you were certain you would do well, a slight whisper of a kiss that left behind a cold, wet spots.

the dampness seeped through the cotton, a chaste baptism of his aching cock. "pretty," he murmured above you, hand tracing your cheek.

a little more bolstered by his praise, your hands reached out and hooked into the elastic band, pulling it down with reverence. his cock was thick and pulsing, begging for your touch. rosy, gold-dusted. you gulped. this was him, purely in the flesh.

you leaned in, trailing soft kisses along its length and leaving small burning marks on his skin. his hand gripped your hair tight as he groaned. "you're gonna feel so good, shit."

with a hesitant exhale, you parted your lips, allowing the tip of his cock to brush against them. he tasted of musk and urgency. you struggled, trying to fit him all the way into your mouth. he was so big, so overwhelming for virgin stupid you.

as soon as he felt your lips around him he winced and his hand gripped your hair, tugging sharply and sending a jolt of electric sensation down your spine. you felt a protectiveness in his touch, there was no force, only unreleased tension.

"you're so fucking beautiful like that,” beomgyu rasped, his voice thick. you leaked heplessly at his words. "be careful, alright, angel? stop whenever you need to." he said.

you pulled out for a second, just to answer to him. your lips closing at his tip, pouty. spit glistened all over his lenght like the glinting mix of melted ice and saliva on fruit flavored ice-cream. "don't hold back." you simply said.

beomgyu let out a grumbled groan as he watched take him in your mouth again, the plush walls of your cheeks hugging so beautifully around his cock.

slow and timid, you began the back and forth motion. the flow you managed was awkward at first, clumsy and arrhythmic. but with just a little silent steadying of his hand in your hair, you found the right pace.

“j-just like that, shit,” beomgyu groaned, his voice a low thrum that resonated through your ribcage.

the wetter you got, the more shame swirled like eddies in the depths. you knew she was waiting for you with her sinister glare, ready to and ambush and churn at your insides when beomgyu was gone.

but shame was titillating when your lower belly burned and your needy clit throbbed helplessly. shame leaked out in the form of arousal, pouring syroupy glitter.

whenever you dared look up at him, you'd see the godlike vision of a strained, sweating beomgyu. his head was drawn back in pleasure and his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, escaping a profane mess of heavy breaths and lewd sounds.

his voice was so beautiful, too, you kept thinking. low and mellow, incese and wood. he sounded so good, with his raspy “ahs,” and roaring moans. you did everything in your power to keep him panting like that.

with every flick of your tongue and suckle of your lips, you could feel him twitch and tense. as you took him further into your mouth, his thick and veiny shaft hit the back of your throat.

a surprining rush of excitement surged through you when i you gagged, tightening your core. that lewd retched sound of the choking turned into a cried out moan of pleasure.

you salivated against his cock, the mixture of his salty precum, your spit, and the tears that came out of your eyes from the asphyxiation making a mess that kept dripping down your chin.

you took him deeper, revelling in your own gagged-out sputters. "y-you're taking me in so good," he praised between clenched teeth. “my baby, you sound so fucking perfect choking on me.”

but then you noticed. the way he remained still, fighting every instinct to move. the exaggerated tension in his body from doing so. he was holding back. lacerating self-control.

you pulled out, finding no resistence from him. he immediately leaned down, loving concern in his eyes, but his breathing still heavy and messy, and asked "are you alright?" he asked, gently gripping your jaw.

and though he was trying just so hard to focus on your well-being, he mouthed out a strained “shit, baby angel...” in pure awe upon seeing you all covered in the mouth-watering mixture of glinting fluids.

"b-beomgyu," you gulped, voice broken. "don´t hold back. i... like the choking."

he bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood. "i don’t wanna hurt you," he said. a gentlemanly formality.

"i know.” you smiled faintly. “but i like the pain, i promise."

eyes round and doe-like, lips soaked in delightful filth, swollen and gleaming. a wet dream of a girl, you were. sweet dainty angel who just kept saying gut-wrenchingly hot words.

he traced one finger along your jawline, just one, all feathery. "you have no idea how perfect you are." he whispered. but his caress turned a firm grip on your jaw. big strong hand, poking fingers. he said, "you want it rough? then i’m gonna fuck your cute little mouth raw.”

he tightened his hadn't around your hair in a way that immediately let you know he wasn't grabbing you for guidance, no massages, no caresses. he wasn't playing anymore.

the first thrust back in was paced, but painfully deep. you let out a delighted whine around him, having craved the sensation of being filled by him again. then he lived up to his promise.

he pumped his cock into your mouth, thrusts steady and violent. that you liked the pain he took it religiously, believed it in heart and soul. and you revelled on it. sacrificial angel, dirty slut with needs.

but it was all you wanted from him, really. to pound his love into you, ruthlessly. to wreck you with his own hands and pick up the pieces after, kissing the scars. to carve in your skin a yearning so big and monstrous it could only be spiritualised in pain, only could be satisfied in flesh and blood.

his grip in your hair tightened into a makeshift ponytail as he urged you deeper, pushing you to the brink of what you could withstand. your eyes were so glassy you almost couldn’t see, holy lack of air that got your cunt trembling with want.

a violent dance of pushing and pulling, giving and taking. with each thrust, you were the victim of his self-control slipping like sand through desperate fingers. his words became abstract, senseless, angel, and baby, and beautiful melted into one until all he could do was cry out.

never in a million years would you have been able to rationalise how you could've have gotten such harrowing pleasure, such a tear-jerking sense of utter love, from such a forceful act. but you felt it, everywhere in your body. in your whitening knuckles, in your sore scalp, in the ruthless thrusts that got you trembling, leaking, terminally ill in lust.

beomgyu got beautifully lightheaded. his every molecule trembled, his every nerve ending felt numb and petty compared the scorching beautiful fire there where your mouth brazed his cock, soon to explode.

"s-so fucking close." his body trembled with the strain, severing the bond of flesh and hunger. "h-hand– fuck, y-your hand." he struggled out.

he desperately fumbled for your hand, and when he found it, he guided it to the stem of his length, showing you how to stroke him, pushing him over his peak. you knew, you felt him tense up, get breathier, more desperate.

but he pulled out of your mouth. he grabbed onto your hair and pulled your head back roughly. neck strained, you let out a confused whimper. good little puppy.

that did it for him. he gave you one last awestruck look, and jerked himself off with your hand getting himself to cum all over your face with a shaky groan.

warm liquid dripped down from his still-throbbing cock, landing on your quivering lips and streaming down to your cheeks.

he urged you to keep stroking him through his most sensitive, his whole body twitching and contracting under your touch. "ah, f-fuck. keep going like that, just a little more," he said.

he pushed through, your hand only a tool confined between his own hand and his cock. you were barely a puppet here, the symbolic means of lewdness, a kink.

you got to watch him attentively. his gorgeous hair shaking with him, his teeth almost peeling the skin on his bottom lip, the strained muscles of his neck. lusty frown, wax light skin, pearly sweat. your beautiful boy.

the oversensitivity caused his body to helplessly quiver and spasm all over, increasingly until it became too much and he doubled, finally letting go, his body folding in two. he let himself fall to his knees.

his eyes were glassy and rimmed with redness, his breath gradually steadying. he looked at you and whispered "fuck, look at that...", his eyebrows furrowed, as he reached up to wipe some of the cum off your cheek with his thumb.

the world went silent. tinnitus in your ears. breathe in. breathe out. breath not. shame arrived and choked you.

your bottom lip quivered. a round tear formed at the corner of your eye. shame gnawed at you with her ghostly voice of ice. slut, nympho, mary magdalene, whore.

beomgyu immediately helped you up, perching on the bed and sitting you on his lap. "what is it, baby?" he muttered against the shell of your ear, cradling you. "are you feeling guilty?" he asked.

your words tumbled out between sobs, raw and revealing. "it's the filthiest thing i've ever done." your gaze refused to meet his. "but i liked it so much, i'm so wet."

he reached out to cup your cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb. "it's okay, you were such a perfect fucking girl, my baby. you did nothing wrong." he reassured you in a soothing tone. "let's get you cleaned up, alright?"

you nodded softly. you still avoided his gaze, but your shame felt finite. he was there. you would be fine.

he got up to get dressed, but he quickly returned to your side, not wanting to leave you alone even for a second. so invested in the caretaker roll he was, he insisted on carrying you to the bathroom himself.

“what are you doing? i’m fine.” you chuckled softly when he tried to pick you up, wiping away the tears that had fallen from your eyes, feeling their warmth against your fingertips.

"i wanted to carry you," he replied with a pout.

he was determined, but you managed to convince him that it was better if you led the way. you were good at roaming around the house in the dark, a silent nightjar that could only get a semblance of freedom when everyone else was asleep.

and so you exited your room in hushed silence, tiptoeing through the gloom, beomgyu’s hand securely wrapped in yours.

the coming light from your bedroom door cast eerie elongated shadows on the walls of the corridor. hazy and enthralled as you were with one another, you had forgotten to close the door, only leaving it ajar. big mistake.

the bathroom was virginal with the scent of soap and piety—the place where absolution and sin mingled in the steam that rised from the heart of the house of god.

beomgyu's eyes narrowed at the sight of the framed stamp of a female saint, perched on the sink. with a creeped out grimace, he plucked it from its spot and flipped it over, as if silencing an unwanted voice. the house was full of hidden eyes and he couldn't stand the feeling of constant surveillance.

you both settled onto the narrow edge of the porcelain tub, the coolness of the ceramic sending shivers down your back when it touched the fevered bare flesh of the back of your thighs.

beomgyu fumbled for a towel, and with reverent hands, he turned on the faucet and laid it under the warm water flow until it soaked.

the water was a baptismal font, powerful enough to wash away almost any sin. but beomgyu wasn’t one to care about the religious symbolism. he just wanted to take care of you, gently wiping your face with each stroke, cleansing away the remnants of his cum.

"beomgyu," you whispered. the towel was warm against your face. it felt nice, hushed.

“yeah?” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he focused on his task.

"…was i any good?" you tentatively asked, nervously looking down at your fingers.

with a mellow smile, he leaned in to give you a soft kiss before answering, "my baby angel. you did so well… so, so well" he said. "i’m sorry if i was too rough."

you shook your head slightly, unable to hide the smile that formed on your lips at his concern. "it's okay," you told him, your mouth curving into a bashful v shape.

as he pressed the towel against your neck, it felt like a wrung-out sponge. a few droplets of water managed to make their way into your shirt, sending a shiver down your spine. the dampness slowly crept through the fabric of your pajama shirt, the chilly embrace from a ghost hand.

"should we take this off?" he asked, not a trace of suggestion in his eyes, only care. “so you can wash well.” he added.

you hugged yourself self-consciously. "no... i-" you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. “no.”

his gaze melted into yours, as if trying to ease your discomfort. "you shouldn't be uncomfortable with me," he insisted. "every little thing you do is pretty to me. you know that, right?"

he gave you a kiss that was simple and easy. not the blooming, lush cascades of perfumed lust you were used to, but steady and reassuring like soft moss. a tender formality of intimacy. a kind kiss, a kiss to trust him.

you slowly released your arms from their protective embrace, letting them hang limply at your sides, surrendering control to him.

"stand up for me," he demanded. and as you obeyed, he crouched down, his knees meeting the cold, unforgiving tiles. he reached out with steady hands to support you. "let me see just how soaked you are."

a crimson blush spread across your cheeks. your fingers shyly reached out for the the elastic of your shorts, beomgyu’s hands intercepting them to gently pull down together.

your cotton shorts gone, all that was left to cover your pussy was an embarrassingly dampened pair of pinkish panties. the type that puritanical moms buy for their daughters at haberdashery stores - cheap, thin lace trimming the edges and a small embroidered rose at the center.

the fabric felt cold against your exposed skin as the air grazed the darkened wet stain. embarrassing.but beomgyu's breath nearly caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the dainty cloth, delicate like wax flower, all soaked for him.

"god, this is so fucking pretty," he breathed against your belly, his fingers trailing over the damp patch. he planted a soft kiss against your trembling sex, sending shivers down your spine. a twitchy chill ran through you.

he reached for the hem of it, eager to expose you further, but you stopped him. “not yet,” you breathed out. “please.”

his eyes widened like a puppy's and he looked up at you pleadingly. "to clean you up?" he asked.

but you shook your head. he stood up again, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you close. "i won't look," he promised. "won't see a thing. just like yesterday." he said.

“fine.” you said, giving in to his gentle touch.

he expertly slipped off your underwear with one hand, holding onto you with the other. you knew you were soaked, but hadn't become fully aware of how much until you were exposed to the cold and what had been warm arousal turned iced water.

you were nervous, but his hot breath and balmy kisses on your forehead eased some of your tension.

“now this,” he tugged at your pajama top, his fingers like curious spiders crawling over the soft fabric.

you flinched, jabbed his hand away. beomgyu's eyes showed worry and a hint of hurt from your lack of trust in him. still, he had a plan.

no words were exchanged; he guided you to step into the bathtub with him, closing any existing distance. firm yet gentle, he pressed you against the wall, the cool tiles imprinting their pattern on the naked skin of your ass.

as he twisted the handle, a sudden rush of water burst from the showerhead like a geyser. "we wash together, alright?"

the droplets rained down on you, pelting against your bodies. he threw his head back with a soft, painfully cute chuckle, watching the water fall like it was the first winter snow.

his drenched clothes clunged to his body, but he payed no mind. he kept smiling like a little kid, kissing you with satisfied nibbles and smooches, cheerful like you had never seen him.

but the fun ended quickly. a shadow crossed his expression, filling you with immediate concern. he drew in a deep, somber breath, fingers hesitating at the hem of his shirt. with a tug, he pulled it over his head, baring his skin before letting it fall. you instinctively brought a hand to your mouth, suppressing a horrified gasp.

swollen bruises, bloated and purplish-black, oozed cruelty as they sprawled across his abdomen, his ribcage, his chest. once elegant and pretty collarbones hid marred under stains like dark, spreading ink blots.

his father had completely shattered him and then discarded his body like rancid fruit left to rot in the sun.

he pressed his lips together, avoiding your eyes. there was embarrassment all over his face, hidden under a bitter defiance. "don't look at me like that," he muttered.

"like what?" you asked, not sure how to respond.

"like you feel sorry for me," he said, clenching his teeth. "i'd rather you were just grossed out."

"i'm not pitying you, i..." your hand reached out, gently lifting his chin to meet your gaze. he resisted a bit, looking sullen. "this shouldn't have happened to you, this–" you began to say softly, brushing your fingertips over the bruised skin with a light touch. "you can't be ashamed of this. you have to be mad. outraged. you– promise me you won't go back to him."

"i've got nowhere else to go," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible.

and you didn't know what to say, either. stay here was a stupid answer, unrealistic. you have me was even more stupid, as you didn't even have yourself. your existence together hanged on a fine thread. there was no better option, only prison cells and bloodthirsty gods.

"i–" you began to say, trying to arrange some, any, words in your head, but he stopped you.

"i don't want to think about it now, please," he said. "i'm happy when i'm with you because i forget about everything else. i like it that way."

he meant every word. he wasn't one to dwell on the future, he couldn't stand to throw away the counted minutes he had with you worrying. unlike soobin, he took pride in that.

he pressed a soothing kiss to your temple. "i'm going to clean you up now, okay?" he said softly. "and you'll go to bed feeling light and clean, no shame and burning in the flames of hell bullshit. you're gonna sleep so well and so peacefully without any of the wicked nonsense they've tried to brainwash you with."

a gentle smile from him, a thanking peck from you. the water cascaded on.

however, when beomgyu's hands reached for the top button of your pajama shirt, you couldn't help but flinch. a first fleeting thought told you it was uncalled for, but then it settled on you that letting him see your body was a stupidly obvious next step.

he had already shown you the body he was ashamed of, and now he was asking you to share in that vulnerability. "please," he said. "i showed you how shitty i look. i… really wanna see you.”

it was the desperation in his frown and the ominous presence of his bruises. with shaking hands, you undid the next button on your own.

the rest of the buttons you undid in gradual little steps, not daring to look him in the eye. he limited himself to watch with narrowed eyes and his heart in clenched in his fist.

the shirt fluttered opened, a central strip of your body in full view. collarbone, linea alba, belly button –all delicate and liturgical in the semi-darkness. but he didn't glance any lower. he promised he wouldn't.

he brought his hand to your waist, letting his thumb caress your ribcage. as he did, he drew the shirt away from your tit, displaying it for him. he shook his head, exhaled, "you're so fucking adorable."

with a delicate movement he gently flicked the other side of the shirt, your chest all to him. peaches and cream, lovely cottony candy. sweet, sweet, so sweet.

there was something so disarming about seeing you naked, too. a vulnerability in your eyes he couldn't resist.

your hands, trembling emissaries of modesty, moved instinctively to shield your breasts from his view. but beomgyu's touch halted their ascent; his fingers wrapped around your wrists, "don't hide from me," he whispered.

all he did next was to reverently lower himself and leave a kiss on the tender skin. the water was falling, and the effect he loved so much, that of his spit against your smooth waxen skin, was lost in the shower rain.

he left it there, diplomatically. he would come back tomorrow night. he would be back to touch you with all the calm of the universe, to experiment on your skin and discover the cause and effect of all the things he could dream of doing to you.

the next kiss returned to your lips. a voracious mouth-feeding on your flesh. sharp jaws strained and tensed for the pleasure of the plump hedonistic lips.

then came the washing, the cleansing, the radical eradication of your shame. he hugged your waist tight and loving, as if to save his own life, and took the almond soap without letting go of you for a moment.

it was the third time in that same day that the viscous liquid touched your skin. but this time it came from his hands, not yours. this time it was lukewarm, not icy and lonesome.

he scrubbed every corner of your body, and in every single place that was left cleansed he planted a chaste kiss. the rubbing of his hand against your groin might have been lascivious, it might have made angels and saints look away in shame and offense. but it felt not lewd, but kind. fatherly.

last came the rinsing of the soap, a removal of every last trace of foreign liquids –be it an industrial hygiene product, be it the worldly product of the body.– off came the guilt, too. the repentance and the shame, the homicidal shame.

under the water your soul was feathers, under the water the angel, the dove, the butterfly was light and untied.

once clean he hugged you in a towel like a baby, arms around your body, and caressed the damp hair that clung to your face. a light kiss on your hairline, a light kiss on your brow, a light kiss on your lashes.

"beomgyu," you talked under your breath, "i don't want you to leave."

a light kiss to your temple. “i really don’t wanna leave, either.” he said in helpless sincerity. then his eyes glinted playful. “but soobin misses me if i don't cuddle him to sleep. he’d get jealous." he smiled.

"he gets to sleep with you every night," you sulked in a pout that curled up at the corners of your mouth, "it’s not fair."

beomgyu chuckled against your skin, "i can wait for you to fall asleep, then i’ll go."

and the plan was perfect, and the world felt pink and glittery and like it existed for you and him and no one else. it wasn't your fault when you didn't notice. you were hazy fools in love, your minds too misty and cosy.

when he laid you on the bed in plumes and cottons and the sheets felt like clouds against your clean skin, neither him nor you noticed.

when you got in bed, him lying next to you and being physically unable to stop showering you with little kisses, neither him nor you noticed.

when he caressed your hair, your cheeks and the outline of your arm as he felt your breathing relax into deep sleep, your little heartbeat easing finally after a lifetime of guilt and agony, neither him nor you noticed.

not even when beomgyu reluctantly separated from you, planting one last kiss on your sleeping eyelids, "goodbye, my baby angel," and left the room without making a sound, not even then did he notice.

a fatal mistake.

not noticing that the door you had left ajar after leaving to the bathroom was wide open when you got back. that the overshirt beomgyu had tossed to the ground was nowhere to be seen. that someone else had been there.

a phosphorescent chesire grin. a stern boy in a charcoal gray sweater. or work of the holy spirit.

it was a faceless someone. but someone knew.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i took so long to update i am so sorry. ALSO. I INSERTED THE ETHEL CAIN LYRIC it fit so perfectly, i had to. there's a bts borrowed line, too. joon lyrical king. anyway. yeah.

#this was so fucking long omg #and there was no pussy action i am truly sorry #beomgyu #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fic #beomgyu hard thoughts #beomgyu smut #beomgyu x reader #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #txt x reader #beomgyu reader #txt reader

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oofthwoods · 9 months ago

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CHAPTER ONE! ── ˙ ̟ bring home the glory !!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 :: "what is a legacy? it's planting seeds in a garden you never get to see. i wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me". | a victorious journey always begins with a death and an offer.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :: funerals, grief and death. if you don't feel comfortable with these themes, go straight to the part after 2023. you won't lose much, i promise! the second part is somehow based on right hand man from hamilton, don't ask about it. this is pretty much a prologue number two tbh, but i still hope you enjoy it.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 :: 3.2k

⭠ previous masterlist next ‭→

2021

In the solemn setting of the cemetery, the sun hung in the sky, seemingly unaware of the grief below. Its golden rays contrasted sharply with the darkness consuming your soul, each beam of light piercing through the heavy clouds of sorrow. As tears streaked your face, the warmth of the sun felt out of place, a painful reminder of the world's indifference to your shattered heart.

Standing beside the graveside, you looked up to the sky, seeking solace in its vastness. But the heavens offered no comfort, no relief from the ache within. You wondered why the sky remained clear, why it didn't reflect the storm of emotions raging inside you. Its serene blue expanse seemed to mock your devastation, its unwavering indifference amplifying your pain.

Your mother and her siblings stood ahead, their shoulders bowed under the weight of grief, their sobs a haunting melody that echoed through the air. But you stood alone, isolated in your sorrow, drowning in memories that threatened to consume you whole.

Memories of your grandfather flooded your mind like a deluge, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had lost. His laughter, once a source of joy and comfort, now felt distant and painful, a cruel reminder of all that had been taken from you. His stories, his wisdom, his gentle touch — they all seemed like distant echoes of a life that was slipping further and further away with each passing moment.

You recalled his final moments, the frailty of his form, the sadness in his eyes as he whispered his last words to you. "Be proud of who you are," he had said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath brushing against your cheek. "And never forget where you come from. Your roots are your strength, my dear." His words had been a lifeline in the storm of your grief, a reminder of the legacy he had left behind, of the love that would endure long after he was gone.

As you stood beside his grave, the words offered little solace. They felt empty, a faint reminder of the warmth once found in his embrace. You longed to reach out to him, to feel the warmth of his touch one last time, to beg for just a moment more in his comforting presence. But he was gone, lost to you forever in a world that seemed infinitely colder and darker without him.

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely as you whispered your silent goodbyes to him, each word a prayer for his eternal peace. But even as you spoke, you knew that no amount of tears could ever hope to fill the void he had left behind, that no words could ever hope to capture the depth of your loss.

As you stood there, lost in your grief, the soft sound of footsteps approached from behind. You turned to see your mother returning, her eyes red and swollen from tears, her expression etched with the same pain that weighed heavily on your own heart. For a moment, you simply stood there, sharing a silent understanding born from the depths of your shared sadness.

Without a word, she wrapped you in a gentle hug, her arms providing solace amidst the whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. "I'm not sure I can go on without him, Mom," you murmured, your voice barely audible as you buried your face against her shoulder.

Her embrace tightened, her fingers gently combing through your hair. "I feel the same way, sweetheart. But we have to find strength, for his sake," she whispered softly, her words tinged with a mixture of sadness and determination.

As you leaned into her embrace, the weight of your grief seemed to press down upon you, threatening to crush you beneath its relentless force. Your mother's presence briefly brought comfort, like a delicate lifeline amidst the stormy sea of emotions swirling inside you.

"I miss him so much already," you confessed with your voice trembling. "It feels like a part of me is missing, like I'll never be whole again."

Her arms tightened around you, a silent reassurance that you were not alone. "I know, my love. I do too," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears. "He was the heart of our family, the glue that held us together."

A bittersweet silence fell between you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze. Memories of your grandfather danced through your mind like flickering candle flames, casting shadows of laughter and love against the walls of your grief-stricken heart.

"Do you think he's watching over us?" you asked quietly, your voice barely a whisper in the stillness of the evening.

Her hand stilled against your hair. "I'd like to think so," she replied, her voice wavering with uncertainty. "I'd like to believe that he's found peace, that he's somewhere out there, looking down on us with love in his heart."

Tears welled in your eyes as you imagined him, a silent guardian in the heavens above, watching over you with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of life and death. "I hope he knows how much we love him," you whispered, your words a fervent prayer whispered into the vast expanse of the sky.

"I'm sure he does, my dear," she murmured, her voice soft with tenderness. "And I know that wherever he is, he'll always be with us, guiding us through the darkness, lighting our way with the love that he left behind."

As your mother's words gently washed over you, a sudden movement caught your eye. In the corner of your vision, a flash of royal blue fluttered amidst the solemn surroundings. You blinked, momentarily startled, before fixing your gaze on the delicate creature that alighted on a nearby branch.

A small gasp escaped your lips as you beheld the bird, its feathers shimmering like fragments of the sky woven into living form. With a heart full of wonder, you watched as it stretched its wings, basking in the fading light of the evening sun.

"We can leave now, if you're ready, sweetheart." her mother murmured, delicately turning her daughter's face to meet her own.

As your mother looked into your eyes, you could see the sadness reflecting in them, speaking volumes on its own. Although she softly hinted that you could go if you wished, it was evident that she longed for some respite from the weight of your mutual grief. Beneath her calm demeanor, you sensed her vulnerability, a silent plea to escape the overpowering sorrow surrounding you both. With a simple nod, you silently agreed.

With a mix of sadness and resolve, you followed your mother's lead, letting her guide you away from the graveside and back into the world. While you walked together, a quick look back caught your attention, drawing your eyes to the scene you were departing. And there, on top of the gravestone, sat the blue bird, its colorful feathers standing out against the solemn surroundings.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you watched the bird, a silent sentinel overlooking the final resting place of your beloved grandfather. He seemed to look at you, and, if birds could smile, you would swear he did.

2023

You find yourself standing outside a closed door, your hand hesitantly reaching out to lightly tap against the wood. The muffled voices from within only add to your uncertainty, but the urgency of speaking with the team principal before the Abu Dhabi sprint pushes you to take action. Whatever discussion awaits behind that door must be significant enough to pull you away from your pre-race meeting with the mechanics.

In the stillness of the hallway, time seems to stretch endlessly as you wait for a response that never comes. With a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins, you finally muster the courage to grasp the doorknob. Its cool metal provides a fleeting sense of reassurance as you turn it slowly, the hinges creaking softly in protest as the door swings open to reveal the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, seated at a table, is Mr. Vowles, engrossed in conversation. Your presence at the threshold goes unnoticed for a moment until you gather your resolve and speak up, your voice barely above a whisper as you address him.

"Mr. Vowles, did you need to see me?" you venture, your words hanging in the air with a hint of uncertainty.

At the sound of your voice, James looks up, his expression softening into a welcoming smile.

"Williams, come in," he says, his warm tone instantly easing your nerves as he gestures for you to enter. "Have you met Sargeant?" he continues, motioning towards a figure standing nearby, their presence previously hidden in the shadows of the room.

As James mentions Logan, it's like a floodgate of memories bursting open, whisking you back to the time when you and Logan shared an unbreakable bond. You were inseparable, navigating the twists and turns of life at the academy with laughter, support, and a shared vision of the future.

But as the competition for a spot in Formula One heated up, your friendship began to strain. What started as friendly competition slowly morphed into something more complicated. The pressure mounted, and with it came a subtle shift in your relationship. Each race seemed to drive a wedge between you, rather than bringing you closer.

It was at the peak of your rivalry that things started to unravel. Every little disagreement or perceived slight seemed to fester, poisoning the once vibrant atmosphere between you. Despite your efforts to keep up appearances, there was an underlying tension that threatened to fracture your bond.

When Logan secured a seat at Williams while you remained in F2, a whirlwind of emotions swept over you. Of course, you were genuinely happy for him, but there was also a pang of envy and disappointment gnawing at your heart. It felt like a piece of your own dream slipping away, leaving you grappling with a sense of loss you couldn't quite shake.

And then, just when you thought things couldn't get any more complicated, James hinted at the possibility of you stepping into Logan's shoes. The idea of replacing your friend-turned-competitor added another layer of complexity to an already tangled web of emotions. It was a constant battle between your ambition and the fear of losing the one person who had been by your side through it all.

"Yes, sir," you respond, choosing a simple response. Logan's gaze meets yours, seeming to ignite with intensity. "We keep on meeting"

In a deliberate choice of silence, Logan sidestepped any engagement with you, his eyes fixed on the team leader instead. "As I was just saying," he began, his voice brimming with confidence, "I truly believe that with these adjustments, I can improve my control over the car."

James reciprocated Logan's smile, though his gaze hinted at a wandering mind. "Sargeant?" he interrupted, signaling a shift in focus to another pressing matter.

"Yes, sir?" Sergeant replied promptly, ready for further instructions.

"We'll talk about this later. Close the door on your way out," James commanded, his tone decisive, drawing their exchange to a close.

As Logan's footsteps faltered on his way out, a pang of unease settled in your chest. You couldn't shake the guilt that crept in, knowing your success might come at the cost of his dreams.

In the relentless world of Formula One, sentimentality was a luxury few could afford. You grappled with the harsh reality that success often meant sacrificing the dreams of others. It was a something you had grappled with since the beginning of your journey, one that forced you to confront the truth that in this fiercely competitive arena, there would always be someone waiting in the wings to take your place if you faltered.

As you redirected your focus towards James, the man who now held the reins of your family's team, you couldn't help but reflect on the rarity of such a moment. Conversations with him had been few and far between, a testament to the typical hierarchy within Formula One teams where direct interaction between a team leader and a junior driver, especially mere hours before a pivotal race, was uncommon.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” You ventured, a tinge of uncertainty coloring your tone.

"Not at all, quite the opposite actually," James responded, rising from his seat and leaning casually against the table, his arms folded. "Your stats this season are impressive—seven wins, numerous podium finishes. You've got a bright future ahead of you. But here's the thing, every day I see offers come across my desk to buy out your contract, and frankly, I find it amusing."

"Uh, sorry, I'm not following," you admitted, furrowing your brow in confusion.

"Williams, why is it that no team seems to be able to snag you?" James clarified, a hint of curiosity lacing his words. "You're undeniably talented, but turning down offers from big names like Alpine and Alpha Tauri might not be the smartest move."

"To drive their tractor, or worse, become a reserve driver? I don't think so." you remarked with a disbelieving smirk.

"Think about it, a spot at Alpha Tauri could open doors at Red Bull down the line," James suggested, attempting to sway your perspective.

"Everyone knows they have their sights set on Daniel Ricciardo, or Liam Lawson at best" you countered, a note of frustration creeping into your voice. "I'm a bit lost here. Why are you laying all this out for me?" you questioned, a perplexed furrow creasing your brow. You knew full well the offers on the table and why you were declining them. James likely wasn't in the dark about your reasons either.

"I'm just being honest with you," He replied, his tone carrying a hint of earnestness. His hand reached up to rub his forehead, fingers tracing over the lines etched there as if seeking solace in the familiar. "We're on a tight budget," he explained, a touch of resignation in his voice. "We're short on engineers and mechanics compared to almost everyone else, except maybe Haas and Sauber. While we've made progress since last year, I can't promise our car will match up to the competition next season."

James lifted his gaze, fixing it upon you with a mixture of earnestness and concern. "I'm not one to squander talent. I know you've got your reasons for sticking with us, and I'm grateful for the opportunity to have you on board. But I can't move forward without ensuring you understand exactly what you're signing up for."

"I'm just asking for a shot, James. Just one chance to prove that we've still got what it takes," you implored, your words tinged with determination. Images of past triumphs flickered through your mind, a reminder of the team's glory days.

With a weary smile, James let out a soft sigh. "Seems like sheer tenacity runs in the family, huh?"

"They used to say I took after my grandmother," you remarked casually, a wistful grin playing on your lips.

Turning to the desk, the man retrieved a piece of paper from a drawer, his movements deliberate and measured. "What are the odds?"

You knew precisely what he was referring to. "Iwasa's already out of the running. If I take the sprint, I'll have enough points to clinch the championship."

Extending the contract towards you, James presented it as if unveiling a glimpse of what lay ahead. "Win this championship, and the seat is yours."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, mingling with the anticipation that crackled between you. With the contract poised like a tantalizing promise, the room seemed to hold its breath.

You reached out tentatively, fingers hovering over the document that held the potential to shape your future. The paper felt crisp beneath your touch.

"I know it's a risk, trading one rookie for another" James conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of apprehension. "But I believe in you, and I need someone who believes in this team."

A surge of determination coursed through your veins, bolstered by James's unwavering faith. "I won't let you down," you vowed, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in her chest.

"TO TOP OFF AN INCREDIBLE SEASON, Y/N WILLIAMS WINS THE ABU DHABI SPRINT AND HAS ENOUGH POINTS TO CROWN HERSELF A CHAMPION." The narrator's voice reverberated through the sprawling circuit, amplifying the momentous declaration that crowned your achievement.

The roar of victory surged through the airwaves as your race engineer's voice erupted over the radio, a symphony of celebration. "You did it, Williams! Formula 2 champion, with one race to spare!"

Amidst the cacophony of cheers echoing from Rodin Carlin's garage, you felt a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins, the weight of your accomplishment settling upon your shoulders like a mantle of triumph. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions, a torrent of exclamations, gratitude, and tears that threatened to overwhelm your senses.

As you gradually eased the car to a decelerating pace, you couldn't help but feel the swell of pride and disbelief wash over you. With trembling hands, you lifted them skyward in a gesture of reverence, a silent tribute to the one who had inspired you journey.

"This one's for you, grandpa," you murmured, your voice a whisper against the backdrop of roaring engines and jubilant cheers. "I hope you're proud up there."

Amidst the jubilant chaos enveloping the pit lane, your thoughts swirled like a tempestuous storm, each emotion vying for dominance in the tumult of your mind. As you joined in the exultant cheers of your team, a sense of disbelief mingled with elation, the reality of your victory sinking in with each heartbeat.

In the midst of the celebration, you couldn't help but steal a moment to glance towards the podium, where your destiny awaited. The anticipation pulsed within you, a heady mixture of excitement and nervous energy propelling youforward.

As you ascended to the highest step, each stride felt like a triumph, a testament to the countless hours of dedication and sacrifice that have led you to this pinnacle moment. Your mind hummed with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, a kaleidoscope of memories and aspirations swirling in the depths of your consciousness.

The thunderous roar of the crowd enveloped you like a tidal wave, the sound of applause echoing in your ears as you stand upon the podium, bathed in the radiant glow of the spotlight. Your chest swells with pride, your heart beating in time with the pulsating energy of the spectators.

Locking eyes with James amidst the sea of faces, you feel a surge of excitement washing over you. There's a silent understanding that passes between you, a shared recognition of the journey you will embark upon together. In that fleeting moment, as your gazes meet, you know with a certainty that transcends words— you'll be signing that contract.

With a triumphant smile, you raise the championship trophy high above your head, the weight of your accomplishment buoyed by the unwavering support of your team and your unyielding belief in yourself.

And in the middle of the bustling paddock, a blue bird chirped happily, swooping towards the girl as she lifted the trophy high. It appeared as though he'd be sticking around a while longer.

taglist (tell me if you want to be added or removed <3 | italic means i couldn't tag you) :: @formulanni @clownrrari @leilanixx @notyouraveragemochii @alliwantisadonut @oooom4rie @watermelon-sugars-things @glitterquadricorn @minkyungseokie @formulaal @itsjustkhaos @thebearchives @hiireadstuff @laura-naruto-fan1998 @cptg00s3 @welovediaaxx @eugene-emt-roe @cha-hot

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darkdevasofdestruction · 10 months ago

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𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.

It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.

A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.

He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...

Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.

If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.

"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"

"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.

"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"

Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?

Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.

"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.

Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.

Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...

"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."

He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.

At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.

Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.

"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.

"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.

"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.

"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."

"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.

"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."

"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.

"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"

He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."

"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."

The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."

"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.

"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."

"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.

"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.

"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.

"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"

Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.

They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.

"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.

"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."

"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.

"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"

The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.

Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.

Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.

That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.

"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?

"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.

Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.

With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.

Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.

That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.

She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"

"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.

How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?

He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...

...

Perhaps... She should stay with Al...

He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...

Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.

In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.

As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.

Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.

"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."

Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.

"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"

Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."

"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."

Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.

What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?

Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.

Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.

Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.

She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.

"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."

She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."

"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."

"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"

"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."

"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."

"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."

"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.

"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.

"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."

"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"

"Of course I do. What's that question?"

With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."

"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"

"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."

"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.

"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.

"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.

"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.

"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."

Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."

"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.

"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"

Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"

"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."

"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."

Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"

"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."

"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.

"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.

𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.

♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡

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