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dominicfikue · 2 months

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⃗ ❪ ATTENTION SEEKER ! ࣪ ❫ — m. sturniolo

starring. brat tamer!matt & spoiled!reader. | wc. 2,164

includes. smut. unprotected sex. oral ( m!receiving ). reader being the biggest brat in los angeles. semi-public sex? pet names. cutsie domestic stuff at the start. orgasm denial. dirty talk. daddy kink. that’s it … i think

storyline. you let your words get a little too reckless towards matt. what happens when he finally puts you in your place?

⌖.˚◌ to say you’re spoiled is an understatement. matt gave you any and everything you wanted without question. you had all the latest purses , any expensive makeup product known to man, clothes on top of clothes. he pays for your hair appointments, your nail trips, everything. name it and he’d buy it with no hesitation. he makes it his mission that you know nothing but princess treatment. he’d do anything for you. all for his angel.

the cool morning air that seeps in through the cracked window hits your bare body as you flutter your eyes open. you snuggle further into the brunette next to you, his arm draped over your waist. you place wet opened-mouth kisses on his shoulder causing him to stir in his sleep. matt lets out a groan, his eyes fluttering open just like yours did a couple seconds ago. when his eyes land on you, a sheepish grin takes over his features as he pulls you in closer.

“good morning princess. you sleep good?” his morning voice deep and raspy. you mumble a soft “yes” against his chest, your fingers drawing hearts on his skin. you both sit in comfortable silence, the birds chirping outside quickly becoming the only noise. after a while, you speak up. “you got any plans for today?” you question , tilting your head up to look at him. matt licks over his dry lips before answering. “yeah, i gotta run some errands. you wanna come?” he mumbles as he presses a kiss onto your plump ones.

your freshly manicured acrylics find their way into his curls , softy scratching at his scalp. he lets out a sigh , his eyes trained on yours. you nod your head to answer his previous question as you get out of bed , your naked body on display. matt’s lips curl into a smirk before he sits up on his elbow and reaches over to connect his hand with your left ass cheek. you yelp in surprise as you turn around to give him a glare. he throws his hands up in surrender before laughing and throwing his head back into the pillows.

⌖.˚◌ bodies by dominic fike echoes from the television as you sit at your vanity , applying a clear gloss to your perfectly lined lips. the smell of marijuana fills up your nostrils as matt walks into your shared bedroom. you glance up at him through the vanity mirror as you dust your bake off. he stands over you in a plain white tee and a lit blunt in between his lips. the two of you make eye contact as he takes a drag from the drug.

“you look good. fuck… a little too good.” he says lowly, taking the blunt into his other hand to grab your jaw and lean down to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss, the gloss you just applied to your lips all over his now. when he pulls away, you give him a pout.

you had finally perfected your makeup and he comes in here, all sexy and high, ready to ruin your art. it’s not fair. he seems to catch onto what you’re trying to say because he takes his thumb to carefully wipe off the lip gloss that dripped down your chin. he mutters a quick “such a baby.” before sitting on the edge of the bed , continuing to smoke on the blunt. you once again place the clear gloss on your lips before getting up from your seat.

you have on a brown fresh love set with your panda dunks , the shoes going with everything. you quickly spray on your favorite perfume and put on your accessories before matt tells you it’s time to go as he puts the weed out. you look at yourself one last time in the mirror before walking out to the car with your boyfriend.

⌖.˚◌ seven hours. you and matt had been out for seven hours. when he said errands, you didn’t think he meant around the word tour. so far you guys have been to the car wash, best buy to get a new camera, the car dealership to get an oil change, best buy again to get something for his gaming set-up. i mean, the list could go on for days. as much as you loved being around him, this was not fun at all.

you guys walk into target, matt on the hunt for yet another thing you couldn’t remember. you drag your sore feet against the store floor, trying to keep up with matt. your lips are stuck in a permanent pout as you whine. matt turns around to look at you, his eyebrows furrowed. “what’s the matter? hm?” he asks, scouting the shelves for his mystery item.

“my feet hurt. i just wanna go home and sleep.” you pray that he gives in and bring you back to the apartment. unfortunately, he does the complete opposite. “i’m almost done, alright? just be patient for me.” he gives you a sympathetic smile before continuing his search. you roll your eyes before pulling out your phone and opening tiktok.

the first video that pops up on your for you page is a girl trying out a new blush. the perfect dusty rose color. you’re running out of the one you have at home so why not hurry and get a new one? you walk a couple steps over to matt who is yet again, looking at the shelves and glancing down at his phone. you tug on his t-shirt to catch his attention. “can we please go to ulta? pretty please?” you beg, giving him your best puppy dog eyes. he immediately shakes his head.

“you literally just said your feet hurt. no not today, baby. maybe tomorrow.” he explains. you feel like you’ve been stabbed in the chest. first, he takes you to all these boring places to grab boring things and now, he won’t treat you to the blush of your dreams? he’s so evil. “but why? why can’t we just go, matt?” you pester. matt lets out a deep sigh, rubbing a hand over his face.

“because i said no. don’t ask me again , y/n.” he says sternly. you groan loudly before crossing your arms over your chest. the pout from before becomes even deeper now. bratty tears start to pool in your eyes as you sniffle to try and keep them in. you knew you were acting like a child but you didn’t care. it just wasn’t fair how you always had to listen to him. so instead of communicating like a human being, you cry and stomp in the middle of target. if you weren’t getting this blush, you were making it everyone’s problem.

the look on matt’s face is unreadable as he watches you have your temper tantrum, silently waiting for you to finish. when you find yourself still complaining after five minutes, he takes it upon himself to interrupt you. “are you serious right now? get your fucking act together.” he whisper shouts. another five minutes pass and you’re still crying. he slams the object in his hand back down onto the shelf before harshly grabbing your arm and dragging you towards the exit.

when you get outside, you squirm against him as you try and get him to let go of you. him obviously being stronger than you makes this severely impossible. as you walk to the car, you can feel the anger radiating from his body. he swiftly opens the passenger side before throwing you inside, not caring if you hit your head. “fucking attention seeker.” he says under his breath. he quickly makes his way towards the driver side before getting in, starting the car and driving away.

⌖.˚◌ this was the worst car ride imaginable. there was nothing but pure silence. he didn’t even bother turning on the radio. he hasn’t looked at you once since he got in the car. usually he’d rest a hand on your thigh but not tonight. his arm laid on top of the console, not daring to move anywhere near yours. the vein on the side of his neck got more and more visible as the minutes passed. you couldn’t lie, he looked sexy.

you tried to ease the tension by letting your hand rest in his lap , inching closer and closer to his inner thigh. once he noticed what you were doing, he grabbed your hand and shoved it back into your bubble. you scoff at him, genuinely not seeing any flaws in the stunt you pulled earlier. “i don’t even know why you’re so mad. i’ve been following you around all day and the second i want something, yo—” you’re cut off by matt slamming on the brakes. you thank god that there wasn’t many people in the streets. he pulls over to park before speaking.

“get in the back right now. i swear y/n, if i have to repeat myself.” he mutters. you stare at him for a moment before complying, climbing into the back seat. he quickly follows suit, slightly pushing you over so he could sit comfortably. his hands work on his belt, quickly taking it off and pulling down his pants.

he slips out of his red plaid boxers, jerking himself like he had no time to waste. he grabs the back of your neck, nothing but darkness behind his eyes. “open.” he instructs as he gathers saliva in his mouth. you easily do as he asks, opening your mouth wide enough. he watches as his spit drips into your mouth before pulling you in for a quick, sloppy kiss. you quickly replace his hand with yours, stroking him slowly. he breaks away from your lips to throw his head back against the seat. you get on your knees next to him before leaning down and swirling your warm tongue over his pink tip.

“there ya go. always talking to me like you’re crazy, angel. try talking now.” he breathes out, pushing your head down further onto his length. you gag around him as his large hand keeps you still. he squirms in his seat for a moment before thrusting his hips up into your mouth repeatedly. deep groans and moans are heard from the boy above you as he gets closer and closer to his release.

“s-shit. im gonna cum. y’better swallow it all too. every last drop, you hear me?” he stutters. you try your best to nod around him. he thrusts into your mouth one last time before spilling his seed down your throat. you swallow all he has to give before lifting your head up and flashing him your tongue. he sends you a grin before softly kissing you, tasting himself on your tongue. his hands find their way to the waistband of your sweats, quickly tugging them down. you slump back in your seat to help him.

⌖.˚◌ once they’re finally off, he moves you onto his lap, making you straddle him. the kiss becomes more heated as he moves your pink lacy underwear to the side. he breaks the kiss before looking down and lining himself up with your entrance. he thrusts himself in and out of your velvety walls, his grip on your hip getting tighter. you let out a sigh, the stress from earlier leaving entirely.

“mmm matt. you feel so good! don’t stop.” you moan out. he attacks your neck, sucking dark bruises along the skin. his pace gets more rough by the second, basically knocking the wind out of your lungs. he reaches a hand down in between the both of you to rub your clit in sweet , short circles. “this was all you wanted huh? making a scene n shit so daddy could fuck the attitude outta you?” he shakes his head , faux disappointment on his face. you nod your head but that wasn’t enough for him. “use your fucking words. if you can talk shit, you can answer my question.” he says, his other hand now squeezing your cheeks together.

“mhm, t-that’s all i wanted.” you hiccup as his pace becomes even more relentless. he breathes a “good girl” before letting go of your face. you feel your orgasm approaching, the band in your stomach about to snap. your cunt clenches around him uncontrollably, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips. “gonna cum!” you basically scream out.

“don’t even think about it. you pull some shit like that n think i’m gonna let it slide?” he chuckles, his hips stuttering as he approaches his second orgasm of the night. he stills his movements, his cum filling you up to the brim. tears threaten to fall from your eyes again as he pulls out, pulling his underwear and pants back up. he moves your panties back to their original spot before speaking.

“think before you speak to me, yeah?” he smiles, kissing your forehead before climbing back into the front.

lai speaks. me after pushing the sturniolo stoner agenda… IM SORRY I HAD TO!!! i kinda actually hate this fic but who cares. i pray you can’t tell that i stopped trying at the end 😭😭😭. also honorable dominic fike mention …. i was gonna put she wants my money but we are not gold diggers over here!!!!

taglist. @fawnchives @prettyvyll @trickywritters @breeloveschris @sturniolho @lorarri @vickyzloserz @gnxosblog @firexovni @tylerstacobell @ivonchetooo1239 @bernardsgf @dracoflaco @strniolo @frankdelrayy @ilovethesturniolotriplets @paibey @hearts4chris @sturniololol @rootbeerworshiper @tillies33ssss @writtenbywonyoung @katluckybear @realuvrrr @junnniiieee07

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urdepressedslut · 10 months

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Tears of an Angel ❝part two❞

♡ Pairing: The Winter Soldier/Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Summary: Unbeknownst to you, lots of time has passed and Bucky still hasn’t come back. You begin to wonder if he was ever real in the first place. There’s someone new. The Soldat— who is he?

♡ Warnings: HEAVY ANGST, some fluff, hydra, bucky’s trauma, torture, needles, abuse, hints to sexual assault

part one ✧ main masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | 18+

You wondered how many times you could count the amount of stones on the walls before a guard approached your cell again— dragging you into the horrific room. The room that only held vile memories— ones that had you shuddering.

Ever since you had been left alone again— ever since Bucky was gone— you had lost track of time completely. Everyday blurring into one another, there wasn’t a pause in time. Every morning leaked into the night without recognition. It was disorienting and made you feel out of touch.

You rarely talked— the only sound of your screams ever escaping your lips. You would go so many days without uttering a sound— the slightest talking ached your throat. Your voice hoarse at the end of the day, with only six words leaving your lips.

You could hear the manic laughter as the guards teased you about being mute. Cackling sinisterly at the idea that they had broken you. In a way they had.

You weren’t sure why you were still here, and what your purpose was. You were sure you had an idea one time in your life— but with how things are now. You remember nothing, know nothing— are nothing. Well, you remember nothing but him.

Even after all this time, you still pathetically clung to Bucky. Hoping in your sick and demented mind that he’d come back for you one day— that he’d remember you just as you had him. But as the days melted into the other, you weren’t sure if that would ever be the case. But what harm would it bring you to hold onto the tiny hope.

The door unlocking to your cell had you jumping in surprise, having been lost in your head it spooked you. But otherwise, you sat still— even if the pain didn’t even start, you wished for it to end already.

You heard the door open completely and the sound of two footsteps enter.

“Soldat— take her to Room C.” One of the guards instructed, and you wanted to furrow your brows at the name.

Soldat?

“да сэр (yes sir).” A thick russian accent answered, and you risked a glance up.

You were disappointed to meet a half covered face, forehead curtained by thick brunette locks. It was definitely a man considering how deep the voice was. His lower half was muzzled— like a dog. But the look was certainly intimidating.

The Soldat grabbed your arm harshly, yanking you up— not giving you a second to steady yourself. You whined, the bruise on your collarbone shifting from the movement.

Ignoring your sounds, he dragged you out of your cell and down the hall towards the room of nightmares. You weren’t sure how much more pain you could take— you wish the darkness would just consume you already.

The guard had disappeared by now, leaving you and the Soldat alone. You weren’t sure if you should celebrate or not. The guards were harsh— mean. The Soldat so far has been aggressive— but you guessed that was nothing new.

“Please— don’t!” You whimpered when you could see the door to the room ahead.

You felt eyes on you, and you glanced to the side— your glossy eyes meeting with his dull ones. His stare gave you goosebumps, the fury hidden behind his eyes. Towards you? You weren’t sure— if so, why?

He didn’t respond, snapping his focus back ahead of him. Pulling you more aggressively towards the doorway. You could smell the room from here— even many steps away. You felt sick to your stomach, knowing what was to come.

“I’ll do anything, please! Don’t take me in there!” You cried quietly, as you tried to pull away from him— your feet attempting to plant you in your spot.

The Soldat whipped his muzzled face to you, his eyes wide with anger and something else. He wastes no time in trying to come up with a response— instead scooping you into his arms.

You gasped at the sudden movement, and didn’t try to wiggle out of his hold— as he was much stronger than you. You crying and walking to the room was already draining you of all your energy. With your weeks spent sitting in your cell— the walk from your cell to your room was tiring.

You continued to cry quietly, and noticed how close you were to him. He smelled of sweat and gunpowder— but also a familiar musk. A particular gust of the scent wafted into your face. It had you stopping your cries, looking up at him. At the same time he glanced down.

You blamed it on your delirious state— but you swore you saw his eyes.

Bucky.

Your mind wandered to the memories of his face through the gap. The way he held onto your hand— the feeling of comfort in this hell. The way you believed he was going to save you. Fuck— he couldn’t even save himself. You hated him, but you missed him more.

All too soon, the flashes of memories faded away into the abyss that was your mind. Coming back to reality, you felt the Soldat lower you onto the steel table. You immediately panicked, thrashing your limbs about.

“No! Please please!” You begged, grabbing his wrist in a tight grip. “Don’t leave me here!”

You weren’t sure why you begged this man for help when he was the one who brought you here. Meanwhile, the Soldat was confused. Your begging was sparking something inside of him. Something foreign yet familiar— it made him uncomfortable.

You watched as the Soldat grabbed your wrist— to the hand that held onto him tightly. He squeezed painfully, prying your hand off him. With a cry you had released him— your wrist throbbing from his hold.

He escaped your hold, turning to the right to exit the room— and that’s when you saw it. The sickly familiar flash of silver— his metal arm.

It’s Bucky… it has to be. Bucky.

Your cries went silent, your body going into shock that Bucky was so close. He was standing in front of you, in the flesh. He had held you— touched you. You were right when you had seen his eyes— you knew it was his eyes. The familiar smell. The familiarity that was his whole aura. He was here… so why was he treating you like a prisoner?

“Bucky?” You tried, desperate for his comfort as you had back in your cell.

He didn’t budge, simply continuing to walk out of the room. Leaving you alone in the torturous space. Your heart broke at him ignoring you— if he had heard you.

You wanted to call out again, but was interrupted by the door slamming shut. It was Bucky— he was here. You just needed to know what happened to him. Why he was acting like he didn’t know you.

You were left in shock, unaware of the scrawny doctors entering the room. You were stuck in a state of confusion— but also knowing just what was going on.

You didn’t want to believe it, he wouldn’t. Hydra wouldn’t. Yeah right.

A prick into your arm had you jumping, whipping your wide eyes to the doctors.

“Sleep now— you’ll wake soon.” The nasal voice whispered to you.

You weren’t sure if the fact that you’d be unconscious during your torture would be worse— not knowing what body part they’d be prodding. A part of you knew this was a true gift— not being able to feel and experience the pain. You’d be violated, yes. But you’d escape the agony— and that’s all you cared about.

The room spun for a little bit, until everything faded into darkness. You could only hope that it was the permanent darkness you’d been praying for— but you were never that lucky.

The sounds of metal clinking together had you jolting in your sleep hazed mind, the fog heavy in your brain. Your limbs felt heavy, like someone had tied weights onto your arms and legs. Your body was sore, even the slightest movement uncomfortable.

The metal clinking had you jumping again, and it was the sound of shoes shuffling against the floor that made you realize that you weren’t alone. Forcing your eyelids to lift, you could only see a blurry silhouette of someone standing over you.

You groaned in pain, as your body shook violently in agony.

What had they done to you?

The thought of not knowing had your skin crawling, the same feeling of wanting to rip your flesh off— coming back full force.

The longer you kept your eyes open, the blurriness started to clear, and soon you were staring into the eyes of him. Bucky.

But was it really him? You had assumed it was a him because of the metal arm— as no one else had one in this facility. Or so you knew of. But you still had that sliver of unknowing with him wearing the mask

His gaze was intense, his eyes full of a certain fury— but it wasn't towards you. His eyebrows were almost stuck in a furrowed manner, like he was always disturbed. He didn't shy away from your stare, if anything he held your gaze in a pleading manner— almost like he wanted you to see something hidden behind the striking blue.

"Bu—" You attempted but broke out into a cough, caused by the dryness in your throat, " Bucky... it's you."

His blues darted down to your mouth, watching the words slip past your lips. His eyes burned with confusion, like the simple spoken words were so confusing.

To you, it wasn't confusing. To him— he couldn't quite understand this nagging feeling that threatened to split his brain apart.

Who was Bucky? He thought.

It was a mixture of fear of the unknown feeling, but with that came an odd wave of comfort. He didn't understand why a prisoner like you would bring him anything of comfort.

You watched the war enrage in his mind, and you could almost hear the internal battle happening. His eyes flashed with pain, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips frantically.

"Bucky, please stop acting like you don't remember me— I'm scared! Please!" You begged, forgetting your condition. You'd be nothing but dead weight with your limp body, as you were unable to sit up by yourself.

His eyes grew practically red with anger, and turned away towards the cell door. His metal arm whirred by his side, his flesh hand twitching in frustration. You felt the fear fill your body as he turned away, his body facing the door— you didn't want him to leave you.

"Don't leave... please." You whispered, your voice breaking at the end.

He slowly turned his body to face you, the desperation in your voice sparking something yet again within him. He hated it but clung to it at the same time. Without controlling himself, he had kneeled in front of you. Without uttering a word— he stared. Taking in every detail etched into your face. Your skin, the lines, the indents— everything that he was sure he'd forget by the next mission.

He found himself memorizing your features, and he wasn't sure why. He was shocked to find your features familiar— the nagging feeling coming full force. Knocking the air from his lungs as he struggled to breathe through the muzzle.

"Thank you." You whispered, your eyelids feeling heavy again and you were afraid to shut them— worried he'd be gone the next time you open them.

He didn't say anything back as he just stared at you with a longing gaze— his breathing heavy and fanning through the muzzle.

You wanted to ask him why he was here with you in your cell, seeing as there was no point. But instead, you found yourself lifting your frail hand— hovering your fingertips above the mask.

He instinctively flinched away, his head jolting back from your reach. You paused your hand in mid air— staring at him with glossy eyes. Watching him cower away from your touch, the way his eyes held fear. The blue in his eyes stormy— haunted.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you— don't think I could if I tried." You tried to joke through the tightness in your throat.

His eyes widened slightly at your words, and you quickly clarified.

"But I won't hurt you— I won't even try." You promised to him, holding his eyes with such genuineness it had shocked him.

He sucked in a quiet breath, easing his head back to your hand. You kept your hand still, waiting patiently as he leaned into your fingertips— deepening his push until your entire hand palmed his muzzled face.

As he waited for the pain to come from your touch— he found the pain had never come. He was leaned against you and he felt comforted. Your touch was soft, and even through the muzzle he could feel the warmth coming from your clammy hand.

"See... I'm not hurting you." You whispered weakly, your body curling inwards— throbbing with a wave of pain.

The brunette's eyes widened in panic, darting all over your body— frantically searching your being for the cause of your pain.

You recovered quickly, the pain passing as fast as it had arrived. Now it had left you weak and sluggish— the tensing of your muscles tiring your already frail body. You met his worried eyes again, the sight refreshing— to know he had a soul after all. His empty behavior was worrying you for the longest time— unsure if he was even your Bucky still.

"M'fine... just tired." You mumbled, unsure if he could even understand you— but you were too tired to care.

Your eyes shut only for a few seconds, and thats when you heard the sound of buckles unfastening. The sound had you cracking your eyes back open, a gasp of surprise escaping your lips at the sight of his fully exposed face. He had taken off the muzzle.

It was your Bucky.

Your dry and cracked lips broke into a smile, one that would never reach your eyes. Despite the hollow look he sported, and the way he didn't even look like himself in little glimpses— you were happy to see him. Enjoying the quiet moment— the peace that came with his company. It all came flooding back into this cell as it did in the last one. The gap in the wall that had you two connecting— clinging to each other.

A sharp inhale had you snapping from your daydream, your eyes focusing back on his face. His blues were shining with unshed tears— almost like he was unable to let them fall. He crawled closer to your crumpled form on the bench in the cell— his hands resting near your body, but just enough where his knuckles could brush against you.

His lip quivered in frustration, needing to say so much— but knowing he didn't have enough time.

"It's okay... I've got you." You mirrored from the very first time he had comforted you through the gap.

His breathing slowed and he looked like he had instantly relaxed— letting his guard just slightly. But with that, came the flood of tears that ached to be freed. The emotions he had muted, painfully burning from him. It was too much and not enough at the same time.

He sobbed, leaning his forehead down to your arm. Bowing before you in a way— hiding his face away by smushing into you.

You just sat still, keeping your arms by your side— unsure if your affection would be welcomed. His cries broke your heart— his whimpers making your stomach knot up. You were broken beyond repair, but if you could you'd take away all his pain.

Both of you were stuck— trapped in what felt like an enteral hell. There was no end to the tortuous tunnel and you both knew that.

At least with each other— you wouldn't suffer alone.

A/N: sorry if there is spelling errors, i did a quick proof read once but it was awhile ago🤍

If you want to be added

TAGLIST: @ghostofwinter @silverfire13 @goldylions @potatothots @billy-reads @hanihoney88 @skittle479 @hereticdance @mentalidrainedfangirl @natashassandwich @marvelogic @soul-system @alinasmcu @almosttoopizza @lilbabygirll @sebastiansstanswhore @yujyujj @jasminocano

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your-soup-overlord · 4 months

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A tiny look into one of the fics called It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To)!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Why don’t you just tell them?” Jazz asks Danny once she sits down on his bed, pushing aside his blankets and patting beside her.

“Mom and Dad love you, metagene or not.” She continues.

“Seriously, Jazz, we’ve been over this.” Danny sighs, sitting next to his sister as she turns to face him better, “They hate ghosts, and have threatened to rip phantom apart molecule by molecule. If they’re willing to do that, then what makes you think they’ll stop once they find out their son is a ghost?”

Jazz frowns, “Danny, I know the accident was terrible and horrifying for you, but you’re not a ghost. You need to accept the fact that it simply activated your dormant metagene and gave you ghost adjacent powers.”

“How can I have a metagene when both mom and dad don’t have one! Jazz, I know you don’t want to believe it but-“

“No Danny,” Jazz exclaims as she cuts him off, “ You’re alive. You can’t be a ghost, because ghosts are unfeeling and-“

“Jazz, just stop!” Danny yells, slightly teary. He stands up off the bed, putting some place between him and Jazz as she also stands up with a deepening frown.

“I know you don’t want to believe it but I am a ghost, I died in that accident. I know you don’t want to believe it, but if I can somehow come to terms with it then why can’t you?”

Jazz just stares him down with her disappointed stare. After a few quiet seconds she then sighs, looking exasperated and somehow even more disappointed as she levels him with a harsh glare.

“Even Sam and Tuck agree, Danny. You’re going to far with this ghost thing! I don’t care what that yeti says, or any of those other creatures! You’re not dead. You have a heartbeat and most importantly, you care. You’re not evil, and all this death talk is beginning to freak Tucker out! And you especially need to stop around Sam. They’ve begun talking to me about it, and about how you’re scaring them. And, well, we’ve all agree that you need to stop fighting those ghosts. Mom and Dad are perfectly capable of getting them, so from now on you’re benched. Those horrible things have been filling your head with lies, and it’s becoming a problem.”

Jazz declares before she walks out, keeping that awful disappointed glare on him.

Danny slams the door behind her, silently seething and holding back tears. They talk about his death so easily! Yet they don’t care to acknowledge it. Danny died, whether they want to accept it or not, and there was nothing they could do about it.

#the small excerpt!#dc x dp #danny phantom #i might post more parts #not sure yet #but the angst i could do!#like I love jazz but #the stories i've read where danny's friends and family just #dont accept that he is dead?#and adding dc means the meta gene!!#maybe i just want to make danny suffer #give him the worst experience and then add fluff later #It's My Party (And I'll Cry If I Want To)#also yes melanie martinez themed title!

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fraugwinska · 5 days

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Hhggffffffgg… pweasd.. pweasd more Leap of Faith. Part two of them meeting each other in hell. Pretty sure they’d end up in hell since suicide is a sin, iirc?

Uweh wahhhh. Felt it real deep of losing the only meaningful connection, the big sadness taking over. I’m sobbing. My heart—

Your writing is amazing as always. I eat that shit up.

...The people have spoken. I am your humble servant. Please accept this offering...

Heavy themes, religious trauma, mental/physical torture Minors please DNI

❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️🦌❤️

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Like a shooting star.

You looked like a shooting star against the purple, starless sky of the pride ring, a glowing gold and teal line trailing behind you like a tail.

Alastor pushed his shadows faster through the streets of the pentagram, not a care who he pushed, sliced or scared out of the way - he had to get to you, had to catch you and not let you crash into unforgiving ground, like it was mundane, like you were any other meaningless, unimportant, goddamned sinner.

He couldn't allow it. Wouldn't allow it.

Faster and faster your form grew shape, and he realized that the big, heavy radio that was still in your arms - still pressed tightly to your chest - acted like an anchor, accelerating your plunge, threatening to shatter you into the hard, stony streets underneath, or worse: Through.

"Let go!", he hissed desperately to himself, pulling and yanking and gnashing and urging his shadows to work to their limit, whipping them into a speed that could break both, him and the damned radio, if need be, if you would just slow down and gain him a few more crucial seconds to get to you. The distance between you and him shrunk until your fall felt close, so close, too close, as though if you'd only be conscious to just reach out and outstretch a hand to him, his eldritch tendrils could grab it.

"Come on." His dark silhouette growled, partly manifesting and elongating himself more to maneuver around the last alley corner. "Almost... THERE!"

As a streak of blinding light, like a lightning bolt, and with the force of a crashing plane, you smashed into his solid, physical demonic form, as Alastor manifested into an extension of flesh and limbs right beneath your descending trajectory, and swallowed you right there in his arms before both of you hit the ground.

***

The void around you was dark. Quiet. Endless and expanding. You couldn't feel anything other than the feeling of nothingness surrounding you, floating but at the same time... not. No ground beneath, no sky above - you didn't even know when you hit the water. Was it even water anymore? Did it matter?

In the blindness, you registered the vanta black around you fading into white, bright and scorching. And that feeling you previously lacked bloomed to the front of your consciousness: Pain. Like a thousand needles poking out from every corner of your skull, making you yelp out and whimper. You shifted your body, or at least tried, only to cry out and curl up into yourself, clutching whatever the big and heavy thing was in your arms, tight as the muscles in your upper body convulsed, twitched and trembled at the burning pain. Where the hell were you?

"𝓦𝓮'𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮'𝓼 𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽.""

A voice made out of a thousand voices spoke, and it resonated from within you – amplified through every cell of your body, booming and mighty and utterly inhumane. You screamed out the pressure it put on your brain, cried as it felt as though something was pouring into you and flowing out all at once, burning, devouring and replacing every fiber, every strand of DNA. You writhed in agony, wanting to beg for whatever it was to stop, but you were in the hands of an infinite power above you, and so, all you could do was howl and weep.

"𝓘𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓪 𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓯𝓮𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓲𝓵."

It was men and women and children, high and deep and loud and quiet and screams and whispers and it overwhelmed you to listen to it.

"𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝔀𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓬𝓲𝓯𝓾𝓵. 𝓘𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓽𝓸 𝓻𝓲𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼𝓮𝓵𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵 𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮, 𝔀𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓲𝓹 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝔂 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷."

Your throbbing hands cramped around the object in your arms, nails scratching on the surface. Wood. Soft wood, warm beneath your fingertips.

"Alastor...", you sobbed through clenched teeth, memories slowly pushing through the pain to the front of your mind, clawing their way through the thick haze of the booming voice of the entity. "I want to go to Alastor..."

"𝓜𝔂 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭, 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓱𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮. 𝓓𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵."

"He's not..." A low moan spilled past your dry, bitten lips as another wave of excruciating pain crashed down your spine. Tears stained your cheeks as the radio in your arms felt heavier and heavier, dangerously close to slip from your grip.

"𝓣𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷, 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓾𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓵𝓾𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾."

The voice was patient, neutral, not showing any sign of rage or warmth or even condescension. It only held a commanding power, like a pull from gravity, unintentional, elemental, to give in, to accept, to repent. But you couldn't. Couldn't even if you tried. The tears that came to your eyes now weren't out of pain alone, but because you couldn't help the insurmountable longing to leave, to not be held back any longer.

"Alastor isn't evil or wicked...", your cracked voice whispered. "Not to me..."

"𝓓𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓬𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽, 𝓸𝓯 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓑𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓯 𝓭𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂, 𝓽𝓸𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓪 𝓽𝔀𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓪 𝓸𝓯 𝓪𝓯𝓯𝓮𝓬𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓽𝔂. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓶𝓮𝓪𝓷, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

Torture. It felt as though someone was physically digging through you with dull claws, sawing into your very soul, bending, ripping, breaking and rearranging, molding the picture you had of Alastor to a villain, a torturer, a destroyer, a greedy animal without reason, feasting upon human despair and wailing screams, wreaking havoc and taking lives laughing along the way as he rips fangs into flesh that looked like your own.

"That... isn't him.", you mouthed breathlessly, forcing yourself to focus. "You're a liar."

You fought to come back, with the sound of Alastor's smiling voice, molten with static and spoken with feeling. 'And I can most assure you... pretty is a well fitting word to describe you.'.

"Liar... liar... LIAR!"

The illusion the entity conjured around you began to shatter, as did the images it showed you, breaking and tearing away like rotten paper from the ones you wanted to hold on to... The hours and days and nights spent together, the long and entertaining conversations over meals, his teasing comments and your quick-wit responses, the little things that made his voice lift an octave and a tiny huff, which you learned over the weeks was him trying not to chuckle at your banter. The softness in his tune when he realized you were drifting into slumber. The way he called you his dove.

"𝓦𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮. 𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼 𝓼𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭."

the entity said, though their tone had begun to waver, echoing withing the faint sound of breaking glass.

"𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭. 𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓭𝓮𝓶𝓸𝓷 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓪𝓬𝓬𝓮𝓹𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓼𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷, 𝓸𝓻 𝓫𝓮, 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻, 𝓪 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓽 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓵 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓰𝓸𝓭."

You felt heat creeping up your legs, as if your skin was bubbling, burning and it was hard to speak, as the smell of cauterized flesh and blood filled your nose. Bones were shifting, limbs trembling and twisting as if they wanted to turn you inside out, skin color changing and fading into palish white, nails growing into slender blue talons, something rough and rigid sprouting from your back and shoulders. But you only tightened your arms around the radio, eyes pressed close and teeth grit together.

You've had enough.

"Fuck your lies, fuck your salvation and FUCK. YOUR. GOD."

Gravity returned in an instant, like someone cut a hole through space, the air and heat from your lungs gone as it ripped you from the strange white with unexpected violence – malevolence even - body flaying in the sudden wind of the descend.

Purple and red shades swirled before your eyes, wild strands of glittering golden hair fluttered in and out of your vision, barely recognizing them as your own. The heat of the air and the sight of a black pentagram on a red sun, sinking slowly beyond a tumbling horizon were the last things you noticed before unconsciousness reached mercifully out to claim you again.#

***

“Angel! Get Charlie over here, I found 'im!”

Husk stared down the crater, trying to wrap his head around the sight before him. His ears flicked as he heard Angel shouting something unintelligible to the girls, his footsteps quickly nearing the place where he stood.

“She's comin' in a sec, she and Vagina ran ova' to the maneater colony to get Rosie and... what in Satans left ballsack?!”

The spiders' eyes widened when he saw what Husk saw - Down the deep and wide cavity, right in the middle, was a twitching, faintly green glowing mass of tentacles and limbs. A distorted groan rumbled from below, thick and riddled with static feedback as Alastor's corrupted form slowly receded to normalcy – as normal as he was. He was lying on his back, curled around the motionless form of a naked female demon. Her legs were pulled up, a limp hand with short, teal talons pressed against the side of the radio demons wild, madly grinning face, while the other was trapped and hidden in between both bodies.

Both Angel and Husks hairs stood on ends at the sound he made, not daring to move or draw attention to themselves until Alastor had regained full consciousness and, most of all, reason back. The unknown sinner that was pressed against Alastor's chest had gray, crooked looking wings sprouting from her back, various shades of teal staining the ragged tips. Her skin was white, bordering on cream with some spruce and azure specks that traveled over her neck and shoulders. From where they stood they could see blonde locks tangled in Alastor's claws, shimmering in hell's twilight as if they were made out of real gold.

Angel gave his partner a nervous side glance, as if expecting him to say or do something. "Should we... holy mother of shitballs, this is so fucked up... umm... should we get them out of..."

"̷S̷̷ T̷̷ A̷̷ Y̷ ̷W̷̷ H̷̷ E̷̷ R̷̷ E̷ ̷Y̷̷ O̷̷ U̷ ̷A̷̷ R̷̷ E̷."

Husk had only heard Alastor's voice like this on a few occasions and those instances had almost always ended in bloodshed. He shook his head at Angel in a silent warning, gripping one of his wrists when the blackened pits of the radio demon found his, glaring at him with glowing crimson iris'. It sent a shiver down the cat's back, and Angel, feeling the tremble of his partner and sensing that this was a rare occasion where he should keep his usual, lewd remarks to himself, cleared his throat.

"I-Is a'ight Smiles, we're not movin'. Charlies' comin, and she's bringin' Rosie, so just... chill, okay? No one's gonna hurt y-your uh... girlfriend?" Angel forced himself to remain eye contact, swallowing against the growing lump in his throat.

Alastor didn't answer for a good minute or two, eyes shifting over Husks' grim, but wary face and Angels worried one, before looking back down, the flames of anger and fear dying as soon as his gaze fell on the woman cradled in his lap. Her pale, motionless face was partially hidden by her hair, but the features he recognized were much like the ones she had before she did the unthinkable. Her breathing was slow and shallow - but, above all, she was here, right here, next to him, unbroken from the fall, safe in his arms...

He brushed a few stray strands of her golden mane aside, watching closely as her chest barely heaved and fell, transfixed at the movement, the guarantee that she lived. He lifted one his hands to caress her cheek, the motion much more careful and tender than either Angel or Husk thought him capable of, wiping off tiny pieces of debris from the radio she had carried like a lifeline. It had been burst by the impact, splinters of mahogany wood and shards of metal wiring scattered around them both. The top of her left wing had suffered some damage, no doubt the result of the force of his grip as he caught her, little cuts and smears of dried blood covering her sides.

"My dove. My foolish, silly, lonely girl.", his strained voice breathed, his usual filter missing, as he turned her unresponsive face gently with the tip of his claw, hoping to see any indication that the girl that he had driven to the lengths of sheer, reckless stupidity was still here with him.

The sound of steps on the broken concrete made his head turn with a sickening crack. Alastor was now curled completely over you, his arms wrapped tightly around your figure, hiding your vulnerable and exposed body from view. Rosie had arrived alongside the princess and her partner, all of them short of breath and as shocked and confused as the other two demons to find the radio demon and a freshly fallen sinner, locked into an awkward embrace.

He watched her kneeling next to him, her expression was best described as compassionate curiosity. When he didn't move, didn't talk, didn't acknowledge her presence around him, his form only slightly moving to shield your motionless frame away, Rosie, ever the understanding and pragmatic lady she was, carefully reached over to him and set a gloved hand onto his shoulder in reassurance. Her razor sharp smile was soft as she held his blackened gaze for a heartbeat.

"Seems like I will meet your little dove after all, my dearest friend. But now, let's get you both somewhere safe."

***

You opened your eyes to red. All red. Everywhere red. Warm and bright and comforting.

A sensation tickled your head and nose, feathers, brushing the top of them with a barely there touch. You wanted to brush them away, but your arms felt heavy and warped and strange, unable to be lifted. Slow blinks put your eyes into focus, like the lens of a camera that was getting adjusted on it's intended shot.

You were looking at a red painted ceiling, and when you strained your aching head to tilt a little your eyes slowly wandered over luscious, ornate wallpaper in burgundy's and scarlet's, morbid looking horns and skulls mounted on the walls next to slightly askew, empty picture frames. A heavy, dark bookcase on your right was full of tattered tombs, books and magazines, small models of twisted looking skeletons and an old, vintage... radio...

Everything clicked back into place.

Alastor, gone.

The bridge, dark over the water.

The black and the white.

The voice and the pain and the lies and the fall...

Your breath hitched, and your heart started to pound faster and louder, thrumming violently in your ears as you fell into panic, eyes frantically forcing your body to move, to search, until you realized you were stuck underneath the weighted presence of a head that rested upon your sternum, tufts of soft black and red hair draped over your chest, slightly covering a face hidden away in the crook of your neck. A low, quiet hum of white noise came from the person the head belonged to, sitting at your bedside and upper body half-slumped over you... a sound resonating deep within you, stirring up all too familiar feelings.

He was still, but clearly breathing, and he hadn't moved even though your pulse must've skyrocketed. A raspy gasp of relief and astonishment escaped you. It had worked. You really had done it. And Alastor...

You started to sob, loud and violent, your chest burning and heavy, but not out of fear or panic anymore but the impact of a thousand feelings of pure happiness. The sounds woke the creature slumbering on your shoulder, his shoulders twitched, and you could see him lift his head to slowly look up, dark circles under his crimson eyes.

Your name rolled over this demons lips, not a word, no greeting, only a longingly whispered name, spoken with a broken, ragged, familiar voice. It made you finally cry, tears spilling from you uncontrollably, unable to stop, unable to think. You heard him call your name again, saw the widening grin of his mouth through watery eyes, his arm reaching out to brush your tear-stained cheek. He didn't manage to even fully extend his fingers when your shaking hands reached out to grab his lapels, pulling him into you so that you could finally touch him, feel him instead of just hearing him. Finally tangible, finally underneath your fingers as well as your skin.

"It's you... i-it's you right?", you stammered breathlessly, voice wrought with tears of happiness. "A-Alastor. I found you, I'm not dreaming, You're Alastor..."

"At your service, my dear...", Alastor shushed softly, one hand gently caressing your hair as you leaned into the warmth of the touch. His wide smile wavered for a moment, gaze shifting to something sad and mournful as he pulled himself away to look at you.

"But you shouldn't be here, my dove." He sighed, but as he looked back to you and saw the frightened, horrified expression on your face he shook his head, leaning his brow against your own, a gesture of assurance.

"I never intended for you to be here. You didn't deserve this death, and hell doesn't deserve you."

"H-Heaven can take a long walk off a short pier..." You tried to speak with a steady voice, but failed, as your whole body began to shudder in bubbling anger at the mere implication of this cursed entity. The one that claimed to be merciful salvation but had no problem with cruel manipulation. You blinked a couple of tears away, drawing a trembling breath, before meeting his tired eyes.

"I was... in some strange place. I was offered redemption, if I..."

You frowned, sitting up slowly, careful not to make him withdraw more, holding onto the sleeves of his jacket with stiff, aching hands.

"They wanted me to denounce you. If I renounced you they... would've let me enter heaven. When I didn't want to, when I said I wanted to go to you... They showed me things while hurting me. Horrible, disgusting lies."

Your breath quickened and the corners of your vision darkened, and you realized with a shuddering panic that you were close, way too close to breaking down into sobs again. Your claw-like nails dug into the material of his sleeve as you struggled to compose yourself, ripping tiny cuts into it. You took a deep breath, pushing through the memory, reliving it until...

Your shoulders shook. For a moment, you felt him shifting, as if he'd expected you to burst into tears again. Instead, you laughed. You laughed despite your chest hurt, and even harder when you saw his floored, surprised face.

"I basically told god to go fuck himself."

For a heartbeat or two, silence enveloped both of you. Alastor blinked once, then twice, the third time his grin fell slowly. Another beat later he buried his face in the crook of your neck and...

...the boisterous, unmuted laughter, roaring, insane cackling, so deep and resounding, you could feel it in your stomach, erupted from him. Alastor almost toppled over as he tore himself from you, raking a hand trough his hair as his head shook, a manic, wonderfully impish grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

"You know I don't think you were honest with me about your name, dove. Your initial answer of 'crazy' seems much more fitting."

Alastor was laughing so hard, his whole body was trembling with the effort. You felt yourself giggle, then unrestrained laughing along, but it died in your throat when his lips found yours in a sudden swift moment. It was full of everything. Full of curiosity, of promises and hope, it was the saving grace you sacrificed heaven for. You smiled into it, moved your lips against his, gentle and chaste, before he pulled away too soon and pressed his forehead against yours. You could feel his warm, slow breathing against your cheeks.

"How fortunate for you that I work best with 'crazy'."

Your beaming smile slowly faded, your hands finding his face to make him look at you. There was one more weight you had to lift off.

"I'm sorry.", you whispered, closing your eyes. “I'm sorry for...”

"Don't be, dear. I was at fault, fearing our connection would... weaken me." He sighed. "You might not understand it right now, but I will tell you everything, once you're fully recovered. Can you wait for that?"

You nodded, a small, grateful curl forming on your lips. You opened your eyes to stare into his, crimson, bright and intense, and yet soft and affectionate. Eyes you always tried to envision, although nothing you imagined came close to the real thing.

"Do you... still think it?", you asked, voice shaking slightly.

Alastor hummed a questioning noise, prompting you to continue, which you did, after a second of hesitation. "Me, weakening you. Do you still think it?"

His quiet laughter resounded in your ears, filling you with warmth and making your heart skip a beat.

"My silly, darling dove. With the woman on my side who dared to throw curses at the face of our very creator - What could ever stop me now?"

And, as Alastor's smile grew wide, and your own mirrored it, you were claimed by red claws and a hot, eager mouth once again, kissed again by those soft, sinful lips, the lips of your friend, your savior, your love - the devil himself, whispering the answer to his question unspoken through your skin right into your heart.

Nothing could stop the both of you now.

Nothing at all.

Taglist for the most awsome people that walk the earth: @littledolly2345 @sleepywritersworld @crescentparadise @rapturenyx-blog @phisen @alastorsgirl48 @mullet-mother @sirens-and-moonflowers

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin husk #rosie hazbin hotel #angst #fluff #happy ending because WE NEEDED IT #TW: dark themes #religious trauma #for the frauchen #I almost died writing this what even is sleep

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eksvaized · 2 months

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Part One König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist: - (if you want to be added - let me know!)

since I finished editing 'just friends', I decided to rewrite & edit this story, so I hope you'll enjoy the new version! <3

Each morning, you awaken alone. The enormous bed, once filled with warmth, now cold and empty. Today, your morning isn't any different from the countless ones that have come before. As you roll onto your side, your hand stretches out, tracing the cool, empty expanse of the mattress. Your fingers curl around the frosty pillow, its fabric still bearing the faintest scent of him. You draw it closer to you, clutching at it in a futile attempt to fill the void that is left by your boyfriend and his lack of presence.

A sigh, barely audible, escapes your lips as a wave of loneliness engulfs you. Its icy tendrils wrap tightly around your heart, constricting it in a bitter reminder of your solitude. You yearn for a morning where you can flutter open your eyes to find König next to you, his arms securely wrapped around your body, his breath warm against your skin. You long to see him still sleeping, his face relaxed in peaceful slumber, instead of disappearing and getting out of bed as soon as the first rays of sunshine peek through the window. A longing for the soft whispers of "good morning" and the gentle comfort of his embrace fills you, making the emptiness of the bed all the more pathetic.

The first two years of your relationship with König were great. You were happy, genuinely happy, and over the moon because you finally had someone in your life, who truly cared about you, who showered you with attention and affection, and even lavished you with expensive gifts. You felt cherished and valued, and it was a feeling unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

However, as of late, König has transformed into someone unrecognizable. He is still your boyfriend; you love him very much, and he probably loves you even more. Yet, his demeanour, his behaviour, and the manner in which he has started to conduct himself have left you in a state of constant questioning. The love you once never doubted now seems uncertain, as his actions and attitude have begun to paint a different picture—he's not the man you met and fell in love with two years ago.

Sometimes, usually after a couple glasses of wine when you've gathered the courage, you dare to confront him about his nonchalant attitude towards you. In these moments of newfound bravery, you bombard him with questions, desperately seeking to understand if it's something you are doing that causes him to act as if he couldn't care less about you or your feelings. But no matter how earnestly you implore, he never gives you the answers you're looking for. He never provides any concrete explanations or reasons for his indifference.

He has a myriad of excuses for why he doesn't want to engage with you about your concerns. The reasons are countless and they change each time, just like shifting sands, always elusive and never consistent. You've heard a variety of them. For instance, he might dismiss your confrontation because of you being wine drunk, suggesting that you should go to bed. Another time, he might say he's too tired to engage in a deep conversation and promise to talk with you in the morning.

But perhaps the one that stings the most, your least favourite, is when he pretends he didn't hear you. Even when you're standing directly in front of him, looking at him with teary eyes, and pouring out your heart, he chooses to feign ignorance and act as though he didn't hear a single word. This cold dismissal is far worse than any words he could say.

Although he's cold with you, he never never displays any outright cruelty. Still, you can't help but notice the chilly detachment that has creeps into his voice when he talks with you. It's as if a frost has settled over your conversations, making each word feel like a shard of ice. Or the flicker of irritation that now seems to have taken up permanent residence in his eyes whenever he comes home and sees you. It's as if he's looking through you rather than at you, seeing not the person you are but the person he wishes you were.

König has constructed around himself an impenetrable wall. A wall so thick and so high that no matter how much you chip away at it, no matter how hard you try to scale its heights, it remains steadfast. It stands there as a constant reminder of the gulf that has opened up between you two—a gulf that seems to widen with each passing day.

You find yourself continuously attempting to convince your own mind that this is merely a fleeting phase, a temporary hiccup in your relationship. Every relationship, after all, has its own set of struggles and hurdles to overcome. It's normal, you tell yourself, maybe all you need to do is to be patient and wait it out. Time has a way of healing wounds and mending bridges, and perhaps a little more of it could be the magic potion that brings everything back to the way it used to be - normal and simple.

However, despite your best efforts to suppress it, there's a harsh, cruel voice that resides in the deepest recesses of your mind, nagging persistently. It casts a dark shadow of doubt over your thoughts, suggesting with an unsettling certainty that maybe, just maybe, the once deep love that existed between you and him is gradually, and painfully, fading away into oblivion.

You are brewing coffee, desperately hoping that the invigorating aroma and the caffeine would help to dissipate the remnants of sleep that linger stubbornly within you. The quiet solitude of the early morning embraces you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the brewing machine and the occasional chirping of a bird outside.

But suddenly, the tranquillity of the moment shatters like glass as the front door swings open with a force that rings through the house. This abrupt entrance is quickly followed by the distinct, rhythmic thud of heavy boots making their way down the lengthy corridor. Each footfall sends a reverberation through the floorboards. The sound is so familiar, yet it sends a jolt through your heart. You don't even need to turn around to know - König has returned home.

Over the past few weeks, you've found yourself walking on eggshells around him. It feels as though the surrounding air has become thin and brittle, ready to shatter at the slightest misstep. You've been constantly monitoring your words and actions, choosing them with careful deliberation so as not to accidentally exacerbate his increasingly volatile mood, which has been fluctuating more frequently as days pass. But when he finally appears in the doorway of the kitchen, his face etched with deep lines of exhaustion and his eyes vacant, you find the words tumbling out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"What's wrong?"

His response is curt, delivered with an air of finality that leaves no room for further questions. "Nothing you need to worry about, liebling," he says, attempting to alleviate the palpable tension in the kitchen with a smile. But it's strained, fragile, like a piece of glass that's on the verge of shattering. The corners of his lips quiver slightly, an involuntary reaction betraying his inner turmoil. The frown lines etched deep on his forehead refuse to disappear, stubbornly present even as he tries to mask his emotions.

He closes the distance between you, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He leans in to plant a brief, fleeting kiss on your forehead, his lips colder than you remember, their warmth replaced by a chill that sends a shiver down your spine. As he continues his task, his hand reaches up to retrieve a cup from the cupboard above your head. You can't help but notice the new changes in him. His movements lack their usual grace, his touch feels mechanical, and his caresses are devoid of the genuine affection you've grown accustomed to. It's as if he's simply operating on autopilot, his mind evidently elsewhere.

You yearn for him to confide in you, to share his burdens and let you in on the whirlwind of thoughts that seem to be plaguing him. You wish to be his solace, to help him navigate through his sea of worries. More than anything, you want to help him, to alleviate his worries and bring back the man you know and love. But how can you do that if he refuses to let you in, if he remains so stubbornly silent, his emotions locked up tighter than a fortress?

"I'm leaving tomorrow. Have another mission. It's going to be a short one," König finally says, his gaze piercing you with an intensity that suggests he's expecting you to blow up.

However, you strive to maintain your composure. You have no intention of descending into another fruitless argument; every time he leaves after a fight, you feel awful for the way you acted.

"It's only been a week since you've returned home," you say, your eyes focused on the steaming cup cradled in your hands. The heat radiating from the cup is causing your fingertips to tingle, and the steam is lightly brushing against your skin. Despite the discomfort, you hold on to it with a firm grip. "I thought you were going to stay for at least another week. We had plans, remember? You gave me your word—."

He cuts you off before you can complete your sentence. "Plans have changed."

There have been countless times when you've wanted to confront König, to ask him directly why he finds it so challenging to uphold the promises that he so confidently makes. Yet each time you find yourself holding back, fully aware that such a conversation would be futile and would only result in both of you raising your voices in frustration. It has become painfully clear that he has no intention of discussing work-related matters with you.

König has a habit of offering reassurances that are devoid of any real comfort. He frequently insists that it's silly for you to burden your mind with matters that, in his opinion, do not directly concern you. This line of reasoning, though flawed, he presents as if it were an undeniable truth. And if, despite his attempts to dissuade you, you still muster the courage to press further, he always has a fallback. He always abruptly ends the conversation, leaving you hanging with a parting remark that it would be safer, better for you, if you remained ignorant.

* * *

As dawn breaks, you stir from your slumber only to find yourself enveloped once again by the cold emptiness of the bed beside you. The dreary grey skies outside mirror your inner turmoil. Raindrops pitter-patter gently against the windowpane. König didn't even bother waking you up before leaving. Yet, his absence is punctuated by a hastily scrawled note left carelessly on the nightstand. The message is brief and impersonal, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth: 'had to get up early, didn't want to wake you up. see you soon.'

Was it really so difficult to scribble three more words?

With a soft sigh, you whisper into the stillness of the bedroom, "I love you, too." The words, left unsaid by him, hang heavy in the air. You clutch the note in your hand before crumpling it and aimlessly tossing it onto the mattress.

With a great deal of effort, you pull yourself from the warm embrace of the bed, your feet reluctantly making contact with the icy floor beneath. You pause for a second, collecting your scattered thoughts, allowing the remnants of sleep to fade away as you mentally prepare yourself for yet another day.

Slowly, you venture through the hauntingly silent house, each step echoing through the stillness of the early morning. Each room you pass through seems to reverberate with echoes of a thousand memories that seem to cling to the walls and linger in the air. Yet amidst the symphony of remembrances, there's one memory that stands out from the rest, a memory that refuses to be drowned out by the others. It's that heated argument with König, a fiery exchange of words and emotions that took place just a few months ago.

You vividly recall the sting of his dismissive attitude on that day when you bared your soul to him, accusing him bitterly of not taking your relationship as seriously as you did, accusing him of taking your love, your commitment, for granted as if it were an inconsequential thing.

In the depths of your heart, you wished fervently, desperately even, for him to just be honest with you if his feelings for you were slowly fading away, like the last embers of a once roaring fire. You wanted him to admit it if he no longer felt the same passion, the same affection that once seemed to radiate from him like a comforting warmth.

But instead of providing the honesty you craved, he had merely dismissed your concerns, brushed them aside like dust. He told you that you were imagining things, that it was all just a figment of your overactive imagination, assuring you with words that felt hollow, that nothing between you two had changed.

But by the day's end, he had taken a step that had left you reeling in confusion. He had asked you to move in with him, a grand gesture that he believed would dispel your doubts and insecurities, a gesture that he thought would reassure you of his commitment. But instead of providing the comfort he hoped it would, it merely added another layer of complexity to the turbulent sea of emotions within you.

Initially, there was a glimmer of hope, a faint belief that things were on the verge of improving. You harboured the thought that perhaps the physical distance, the living apart, had been the catalyst that dimmed the once vibrant flame of your relationship. However, as each day bled into the next, and weeks morphed into seemingly interminable months, the solitary confinement within these walls began to weigh heavily on you.

The more time you spent alone in this house, the more you found yourself yearning for the familiar corners of your old apartment, regretting the decision to sell it to relocate here. After all, you pondered, what difference does it make where you live? The four walls of a room are just that, and the absence of König made this house feel no different than your old apartment.

What was the point of moving in together if König was always away, prioritising his work and his duty as a soldier above you?

You shake your head, as if physically trying to dispel the thoughts that have begun to creep into your mind. You can't allow yourself to dwell on them any longer, to let them take root and cast a shadow over your day. After all, the day has only just begun and you don't want to end up sulking on the couch, a prisoner in your own home, wallowing in a sea of regret and loneliness.

You stroll into the kitchen. As you slowly approach the counter, your fingers lightly graze the cool, granite surface, your mind whirling with the endless possibilities of what to make for breakfast. Your gaze wanders aimlessly, eventually settling on the window that provides a picturesque view of the neighbourhood.

You squint against the bright sun, your eyes catching an unusual sight - a man, his face damp with sweat under the morning sun, is engaged in an arduous task of moving boxes from a truck to the house across the street. His movements are slow and meticulous, each box handled with care as if they contain something precious.

A new neighbour.

A sense of intrigue washes over you, an irresistible curiosity that grips your very being. It's a magnetic pull that holds your attention captive, rendering you incapable of tearing your gaze away from the scene unfolding before your eyes.

His house lies across the street, a good distance away, yet his features are strikingly apparent and impossible to ignore even from your secluded vantage point in the cosy confines of your kitchen. His stature is tall and imposing, a figure that commands attention. His shoulders are broad, his hair is a dishevelled mess of rich blond locks.

As the day wears on, you find yourself repeatedly drawn to the kitchen window. Every so often, the man would step outside to retrieve yet another box from his truck, providing you with fleeting glimpses of him.

You remind yourself that you are in a committed relationship. You know that ogling other men is not something you should be doing. It's not something you usually do, and it's certainly not something you want to make a habit of.

However, in the recesses of your mind, a voice tries to justify your actions. It whispers, seeking to ease your guilt. You're just looking. That's not really doing anything wrong, right? It's a feeble attempt at rationalizing, but it works nonetheless.

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lexiene · 6 months

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[ ✧ ° : thoughts 23 # : ° ✧ ]

Got inspired this twt art because I cried when he...bcame vessel he needs fcking comfort _(:_」∠)_

His spark in your heart will never vanish because of the bond you spend together from years of hardwork and gave the strongest commitment to be officially his.

He was the first person who you trully believed and captured the tingling feeling of wanted to be with him forever and together for a life time.

And it came true.

Snow falls, the chills of the breeze flow, as cold new season embraces the room where the couple rests in the warmth of their home.

Megumi is laying on top of your chest as he hears your heartbeat flutter in calming and relaxed beating while you caresses his soft unruly mane that was truly remarkable that made you swooned, eyes of emerald or ocean blues the represents both of nature and gemstones that made you fall in love even more.

There are moments that you won't realize and unexpected to see him shed tears from his mesmerizing pupils.

Asking why is he crying?

He answered nothing, leading you bit confused so you wiped the tears away from his beautiful lashes.

He follow up, he was having another painful breakdown on losing you out from his sight and that scared him most.

You shushed him and kisses his forehead whispering nothing but 'I will always be here, I love you' and then you begin to hum a sweet lullaby to him for he to rest and forget the things make him feel down.

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june-again · 4 months

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Sometimes, your favourite thing about the Eleventh Harbinger was his childlike attitude. His strange tendency for joy. His fascination with the world and zeal for battle. His juvenile front. On days like today, however, you hated him for it. You hated him for storming off after an argument, and you hated him for how you knew he’d never be the one to come back and apologize. It would be your job to be the bigger person, as always.

Or so you’d thought. Before you’d finished your own sulking, a knock came on your door. A tear-stained face clustered in windswept ginger hair exclaimed apology after apology to you. You thought you ought to recognize this man, but he was not the Childe you knew. This was the Childe who loved you.

#a lil somethin somethin #favoniuslibrary #tartaglia x reader #childe angst #ajax fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x gn!reader #new theme slay!!!!!!

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siriusly-parker · 1 year

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ʚ neteyam sully icons, avatar

﹡ ꜝdo y’all know how hard it is to find good quality pics from the second movie still?? 😭ꜝ

﹡ let me know if you’d like more + for other characters!! 🫐

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viixen01 · 4 months

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𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍

☁️ - fluff 🎀 - smut 🕷️ - angst 🌑 - dark

⚫️ - really dark

☙ — 𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ☁️

⤷ Toji fushiguro x reader

Little megumi get into an accident while with his dad.

☙ — 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐅𝐓. 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐓𝟏 🎀

⤷ jjk men x reader

jjk with breeding kinks knocking reader up

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍 ..

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selarina · 9 months

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Ode to Psyche

The King's Gambit

-> Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Summary: A fallen Princess battles against her captivity in a tower pitted against the usurper Gojo Satoru, but soon their relationship shifts from hostility to a delicate alliance.

Content Warnings: usurper gojo, war, gothic au, politics, power dynamics, isolation, manipulation, forced marriage, psychological drama, enemies to lovers, dubious morality, beauty and the beast motif, implied sexual undertones, violence (non-graphic), feelings of inferiority, infidelity (but not really), suicidal thoughts, mention of death

Read on AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3

You're a member of the Royal Family, and after a lengthy and frankly boring fight against the enemy, they emerge victorious. They're led to glory by a few distant allies, clans to be precise, who seemed to have turned against your family.

At the front of this alliance stands a man called Gojo Satoru — with otherworldly features like white hair, and a general tall looming presence that you can't fully explain. His eyes seem to have never seen the light of day for you to even place color to them. It's always tightly wrapped with a gray or eggshell white cloth, and yet he moves the same as any other able person if not better. He seems to be faster and stronger than anyone else in this entire kingdom.

Some days you find yourself believing this yourself. You hate him but he is strong, and a strategist at heart. When you play chess with him, he's always playing the Closed Ruy Lopez, the Slav Defense, and of course, the Queen's Gambit — your personal favorite. He's always playing the long game and alas, always winning.

But mostly you think you hate him because he makes you feel less than what you were, less than god to be precise. You are Royalty — were — it's complex, but you were once always bathed in gold, and your hands were always soft because you never had to lift a single thing in your life unless it was you who wanted. But now they bear a calloused nature with bruises because you are stubborn and will not let these foreign hands touch your skin. But mostly, you hate him because you were smart. You were smart because you could be — I mean, who's to question a Princess?

But now you're talked over — walked over — by men and women alike who were previously less than dirt to you, and it leaves you reeling with enormous sadness and pure unbridled rage.

You want it back, you want it all back.

You're still a Princess, you think as you're trapped in the tall tower. You will feign incompetence, and they will believe you because who's to question a mere Princess? And then you will strategize, and you can marry or slit all of their throats — whatever works out faster, you will do.

But Gojo Satoru is cruel at heart. It may be a game of strategy that you know to play all too well, but it twinges something in you. He refuses to let you bury your father in your family grounds that have been told to hold a divine link between Heaven and Hell themselves, all because he needed to make a message and couldn't be seen to show empathy to your family — even in death.

And you're almost certain he considered just killing you but kept you strategically alive because the very first time you sneaked out of your tower before you realized you could never truly escape his eyes, you realized that his hold on this kingdom wavers greatly, and you could easily find a few allies and win the kingdom over yourself.

But it seems Gojo Satoru knew this all too well, because now you stand to be forever betrothed to the man. He announces this the very first time you win against him at chess. Maybe he knew of this and let you have a small victory as comeuppance. Now your gloating seems to akin to a player gloating over collecting pawns on the board.

After refusing to let you leave the tower, refusing to make your marriage a real one, after he married and brought in another mistress to further strengthen the kingdom after he killed your brother — your only remaining family — you think you've had enough of this indignation. You don't just feel less than god, you feel less than human, less than mere dirt.

As the days turned into weeks and then months, almost nearing a year after the war, you found yourself increasingly trapped in a peculiar dance with Gojo Satoru. His visits became a regular occurrence, and he no longer visits just for intel on the proceedings of the kingdom. Each time he entered the tower, he brought with him an array of gifts. His gifts varied from rare and exotic books to delicate trinkets from distant lands. You couldn't help but wonder if these offerings were genuine gestures of goodwill or just another move on his intricate board.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Gojo Satoru walked into the tower. The golden hue cast across his face as he carried a small, intricately carved box. He placed it before you, and as you opened it, you saw a delicate silver pendant, a radiant sapphire at its center.

"It belonged to my mother," he said softly, his eyes betraying a hint of melancholy. "She once told me that it held a piece of the night sky within it."

You casually dismissed the pendant, fully aware of the history it carried. Throughout the kingdom, the tales of Gojo's tumultuous relationship with his mother were well-known—filled with heated arguments that culminated in her tragic demise, a victim of a mysterious poison. With a derisive snort, you sneered, "And what of it?"

"Perhaps nothing," he replied. He smirked. "Merely a token of my appreciation for our… ongoing conversations."

As the pendant lay discarded on the table, Gojo's smirk only seemed to grow. His eyes appeared to study you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The year at this tower and his occasional company have driven you a bit insane. If only you could unravel the cloth that hides his eyes. You would be content. You think you could fling yourself off this tower, and you would be okay in Hell with the company of his eyes and only his eyes. You think again.

"What do you want, Gojo?" you finally spat out, breaking the tense silence. "Your trinkets mean nothing to me."

He chuckled. A low and slightly chilling sound that reverberated through the room. "Oh! But isn't that where you're wrong, my Queen?"

He stepped closer, his presence seemingly filling every inch of the space around you. You clenched your fists. His presence never intimidated you before, not when he treated you with disdain or mere dismissiveness. But now that he's trying to show and have the first conversation that holds something real, it's scaring you. It makes you want to go hide under your bed.

"I won't be swayed by whatever this is, Gojo. You should stop, and we should be as we are."

"Hmm?" He bends to look straight in your face. You wonder if he even sees you, even from under the cloth. "But I wonder, have you truly considered your situation? You're alone in this tower, isolated from the world, and your kingdom is under my control. You may resist now, and the next year, and maybe for the next 10 years after that. But what will you do when the weight of your isolation becomes too much to bear?"

He steps in closer, and closer until you’re backed up against the stone walls of your castle, “What if you go absolutely bonkers and off yourself as your mother did?”

At that, you snap, punching his chest, over and over, and yet, he remained unmoving, an unyielding monolith. You continue your trivial rampage until you grow tired, your eyes weeping blood, and your hands aching for more, but falling against your side — you’re only human and he’s — you’re not sure what he is.

He doesn’t say anything as you you fall against his chest, your forehead resting as you think about nothing. He merely picks you up, placing you under your sheets as he kisses your forehead. His lips were as strangely tender, an unsettling contrast to the turmoil he had wrought.

In your weariness, your eyes half-lidded. You speak up but your voice comes out as a soft whisper, “Why are you doing this?”

"We are more alike than you care to admit," Gojo remarked. “I guess I want you to understand me as I understand you,” he replied, his voice mirroring your softness.

After that, you change. Your heart remains unwavering and loyal to yourself but you try with him, if only to unravel the cloth around his eyes. You take his gifts, with the occasional thanks. You start making requests, requests he fulfilled in excess. One time, you asked him for a rare book – one that only had about 11 copies in the world, and he got you all 11. Plus, a 12th one that seemed to have been hidden from conversations.

And on one fateful night, that you still can’t seem to forget — a storm raged right outside the tower, casting an eerie glow through the windows that you left ajar on purpose. Satoru decided to accompany you, and the two of you found a comfortable tune in the silence.

You turn as you feel him shuffle to sit closer to you, and as a bolt of lightning split the heavens above, he reaches up to his eyes as he slowly unwound the cloth from his eyes, revealing eyes that held the same depth as the sapphire that sits in your bureau.

You reach up before it fully unveils his eyes to assist him, your hand sitting on his cheek as you’re halfway done.

“Do you see me as I finally am?” He implored his question lingering in the charged air.

But you don’t respond, merely a puppet to the moment as you inch closer and closer and closer until you feel his breath against your lips.

That night, he lays against your body, awake as his hand caress the slope of your hip, as you finally don the sapphire he got for you as your eyes come to close.

You wake the following morning greeted with the sight of the same man offering breakfast, and as your gaze entwines with his, his eyes no longer obscured by cloth, you're uncertain how to confess to the dreams that have been haunting your sleep — dreams of a raven-haired phantom. With black eyes that seemed to eclipse his blue.

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imagine-darksiders · 1 year

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The Human Influence.

Samael X Reader.

This is a 10,000 word continuation from this little ask I received a while ago.

Summary: Lilith brings her Prince a 'gift,' all trussed up in a silver chain and collar. To her credit, if anyone were to ask her if she thought Samael had a soft spot, she would never in a million eons dream that the answer might be 'yes.' Unfortunately for the demon queen, Samael's little 'soft spot' just so happens to be attached to the chain she grasps in her sleek, black claws.

-----

Samael won’t even vaguely pretend that he’s pleased to see Lilith when she comes strutting with a purpose through the doors to his throne room, her pretty, painted lips black as night and twisted into that self-assured grin he so detests.

The demon prince’s cragged chin sits perched upon his knuckles as he lounges inattentively in the seat of his throne, tracing Lilith’s sauntered path towards him over the black, basalt floor.

Neither of them bothers to pretend they’re especially pleased to see the other, even if it has been several months since Lilith set foot in Shadow’s Edge. She, however, puts in just slightly more effort than Samael, lifting her lips into a sultry smile when she catches him looking her way.

Just as he begins to wonder what kind of favour she might try to curry from him today, something glints in the light cast by the moat of lava that surrounds the room, and he drops his gaze slightly to find a silver chain clutched between his mistress’s talons.

Thick and cumbersome, it disappears behind her inverted wings, pulled ever so taut, doubtlessly locked fast around the neck of her latest little plaything.

Heaving a great sigh through his nostrils, the prince casts a bored glance between Lilith’s coiled horns in an idle attempt to catch a glimpse of the unfortunate creature that’s stumbling along in tow.

If he weren’t such an expert in maintaining his impenetrable countenance, he might have lurched forwards in his seat and crushed the armrests beneath his claws at what, or rather who he spies at the end of his mistress’s chain.

As it is, Samael’s only outward reaction is in the barest twitch of his pointed tail and the quirk of a scaly brow.

Inwardly however, a spark ignites.

‘She didn’t,’ he seethes to himself as an ugly, howling rage begins to stir in his belly, whipped up like flames in the wind, ‘Not this human… Any human but-…’

You.

His little storyteller…

It can’t be you. Not so soon after the Horsemen took you back from him the first time.

Questions fly around his skull like rapid, biting gnats. It’s hardly been a full Earth month since you were here last. He’s been keeping close tabs on your movements, not to mention the Four have barely let you out of their sight for a moment – How could Lilith have sunk her claws into you!?

Mistaking the subtle shift of his attention as a show of interest, the demoness’s lips carve upwards into a sharper smile as she blows a lustful breath between her fangs, prowling to a halt at the foot of Samael’s throne with her hips cocked.

“My Lord,” she all but purrs, dipping into a low bow and very deliberately exposing more of her chest than Samael finds either tasteful or necessary, “It has been far too long~.”

Alluring, golden eyes flick up to peer at him through her lashes, yet her smile wavers ever so slightly when she finds that his attention is fixed elsewhere.

He can’t tear his eyes from your face.

Samael’s nostrils flare wide to inhale the tangy scent of iron on the air. He’d know that smell a mile off. After all, he’s well acquainted with blood. It rises above the chamber’s usual aroma of brimstone and dank moisture, with a source that his well-trained nose can trace directly back to you.

Lilith, it would seem, hasn’t brought you to him unscathed.

Even the Prince of Hell himself is taken aback as the anger churning in his guts starts to boil, bubbling up from his stomach like putrid smoke and rising to fill the crevices of his chest.

A trickle of scarlet blood runs a track from your swollen, purpling nose down over quivering lips to gather at the bottom of your chin, where it drips steadily to the ground by your feet with soft, little splats that permeate the silence sitting like a smog between you.

One of your captivating eyes has swelled shut behind a dark bruise, and from your other eye – the one he tries and fails to meet – streams a veritable river of tears, cutting a path through the dirt on your cheek and mingling with the blood in the dip of your chin.

Like an ancient building falling to ruin, Samael’s unshakable composure slowly starts to crumble. Lowering his fearsome, yellow eyes to your neck, he locks his sights on the metal collar that Lilith must have fastened tightly around your throat, causing every breath to leave you in tiny, pitiable wheezes.

The delicate skin below it has been rubbed red and raw…

Inhaling sharply through his nose, Samael barely manages to compose himself, ducking his head and attempting to catch your eye again. And yet, your gaze slides away from his, fixing itself resolutely on the ground below your bare feet.

Lilith must have snatched you away in the dead of night, if the white, cotton sleepshirt hanging from your frame is any indication.

She stole you when you were at your most vulnerable…

Coward.

Easing his clenched jaws apart, the prince aims a poisonous glare over at his queen, his lips curling down at their corners. “Lilith,” he utters, his voice like tar moving under the earth, low and dangerous, “What… is the meaning of-?”

“- A gift, my Lord,” she interrupts smoothly, proud as a cat with a dove in its jaws, “A present, in part, to…. apologise for the time I’ve spent absent from your side…”

Frankly, he muses, her absence in itself has been gift enough.

Twitching her head sideways to peer over her shoulder at you, Lilith’s expression suddenly contorts into a snarl that mars her attractive features as she gives the end of your chain a jarring, vicious yank.

Samael’s spine snaps straight as you’re wrenched forwards by the neck with a strangled croak, collapsing onto your knees and throwing your trembling hands up to claw feebly at the collar, but the hateful piece of silver has been cinched so tightly around your throat, you can’t even squeeze your fingertips beneath it to relieve some of the pressure.

Curling his enormous hand into a fist, Samael raises his chin and stares down at you, his burning, fire-laden stare aflame with anticipation.

As much as he dreads the thought, he half expects a groan of pleasure to tumble from your lips.

Lilith’s… obscene influence is as powerful as it is repulsive. It’s an ancient, inherent magic that can pervert the mind of even the most pious angel and turn them into just another of the demoness’s depraved and lustful thralls.

She’s tainted the sanity of far more powerful souls than yours, through no effort at all on her part. And yet…

And yet, to the prince’s astonishment – and surprisingly, his relief - there are no needy moans, no adoring looks at his mistress, no grasping hands that stretch out across the space between you and her skin as if you couldn’t possibly live for another second without feeling her scales roll beneath your fingertips.

All Samael can see in your eye is a bone deep terror, all he can hear from your lips are quiet, wheezing breaths. Your hands are still your own, still clutching and scrabbling at the collar locked around your throat.

As twisted as it seems, he’s glad to see your terror, but… How are you still in your right mind?

“Bow before your betters, Ape!” Lilith spits, hauling on the chain once more so that you’re yanked forwards, thrown off balance and landing harshly on your hands and knees beside her with a strangled sob, “Or else I shall feed your legs to the Hell hounds!”

Now, Samael is the furthest thing from a saint. His cruelty, depravity and occasional grabs for power might be considered by many to be on par with Lilith’s own, craven deeds.

He’s a Prince of Hell, after all. The enemies he’s slain could fill all the rivers of Eden with their blood.

But… you’re not one of Samael’s enemies…

You’re not even a political target, despite your affiliation with the Four Horsemen.

You’re just…

You’re you.

For what you’ve had to endure, during the Apocalypse and your journey alongside the Horseman, Death, to bring your species back from extinction, for being the foremost intermediary between Humanity and the rest of Creation, you’re worthy of respect. Not… this.

Seeing his little storyteller bloodied and broken, bound on your knees in front of him doesn’t stir anything in the demon except a… a heaviness in his chest. He’s never once given his cold, ancient heart much consideration, but he certainly notices it now when it gives a sudden and unexpected twist.

He can only think to attribute such a sensation to the rage swelling behind his ribs.

Fire ignites beneath his scales and burns a path through his veins until he’s contemplating simply tearing Lilith to pieces for laying her vile claws on you. But… that would be showing his hand…

And Samael hasn’t been on the throne this long by showing his hand…

If Lilith catches the slightest whiff of a weakness in him, she’ll try to exploit that weakness to her own advantage.

She could kill you if she thought for a moment that your death would get to him.

As much as he’s loathe to admit it, it would.

Unfortunately for her, Samael was always better at playing high-stakes games than she ever was…

Plastering a sultry grin on her lips, she watches as her Prince leans himself forwards in the throne, balancing his chin atop steepled fingertips.

She must think him a fool…

You were never intended to be a gift for him.

This isn’t her attempting to win her way between his sheets after several months spent away from his fortress.

All this is, is Lilith drawing the Four Horsemen right to his doorstep.

When he brought you here the first time and the Horsemen arrived to rescue you, the only reason he came out unscathed was because you yourself were unscathed. Unharmed. Untouched. He’d kept his word to you, and never once laid a finger on you in malice.

You’d even vouched for him when War exploded into his all-powerful Chaos Form and charged hell-for-leather at the demon.

“War! Don’t!” you’d pleaded shrilly, hurling yourself between the charging behemoth and a bemused Samael, “He didn’t hurt me! Look at me! I’m fine! Please, just… just take me home…”

You knew the demon wielded powers that could easily match those of the Horsemen, and you weren’t willing to risk the safety of your friends.

Samael had been counting on your intervention. Without it, he’s sure his fortress wouldn’t have been left standing in once piece after an all-out battle between himself and the Four.

But if the Horsemen were to turn up now to find you in this state…? And they surely will, because Death won’t neglect to investigate the prince’s involvement for a second time.

Well… Samael is sure to come out of it losing something, even if not his life.

The tenuous reinstatement of peace between Hell and the other realms would no doubt be ripped up.

The Horsemen would declare war on him in your name. You’re one of theirs, after all.

And Lilith knows that.

“Let me see if I understand your intentions here,” Samael rumbles, planting his massive palms on each of the throne’s armrests and curling his black claws into the stone, “You have brought me.. this human…“

He has to bite his tongue before he almost says your name, though Lilith gives no indication that she’s noticed the near miss.

Sweat has begun to bead between her scales, and the stench of it drifts into his nose.

She’s nervous.

“Not just any human,” she rushes to assure him, twisting her fist into the chain and hauling you -hacking and spluttering – back up onto your feet, “Allow me to introduce you to the little pest that belongs to those treacherous Horsemen.”

Samael’s fangs grind together as she extends a sleek, ebony claw and slides its point beneath your chin, pushing your head back, and for the first time since she brought you before him, your eyes finally lock with his.

He almost wishes they hadn’t.

Samael must favour you more than he assumed, because the look you’re sending him empties the fury in his chest until it merely feels hollow and cold.

Even with one eye wedged shut and blood painting your lips crimson, he can easily make out the betrayal pinching your expression. It’s an expression he’s well-accustomed to.

But on you, it’s hard to look at. Predominantly because there was a moment, however briefly, where you seemed to trust him, if only a little – which was a damn sight more than anyone ever has before.

It wasn’t… an unwelcome feeling, to have someone believe him at his word. Not even his own troops would trust him. Lilith – the very demoness who used to share his bed – knows better than to trust him. And, yes, while it was terribly naïve of you, Samael had ended up proving you right, in some small way.

You trusted him when he said he wouldn’t hurt you, and he hadn’t.

Until now, evidently.

He can understand why he’s getting this look from you now.

He once swore you’d never come to harm within his walls, not by his hand nor any of his ilk’s.

Of course, it would be Lilith who shattered what fragile and hesitant faith you’ve granted him. In your eyes, by mere affiliation, Samael is responsible for his former mistress’s actions.

“You’ve brought the Horsemen’s human right to my doorstep?” he growls heavily, pushing himself up onto his taloned feet.

His chest gives an unexpected twinge when you take a step back, though he’ll admit it’s gratifying to see the confidence drain from Lilith’s face as he rises to his full, imposing height.

“And what do you suppose they’ll do, Lilith,” he adds, “When they find their precious friend in this condition, hm?”

A heavy, thundering step carries him down the stone staircase towards her.

The demoness’s forked tongue darts out to moisten her lips. She matches his advancement with a backwards step that brings her up alongside you. “This,” she starts apprehensively, “This is your chance… to take revenge on-!”

“-Revenge!?” Samael’s thunderclap of an interruption stifles the last remnants of cockiness in her tone and she hastily retreats as he draws closer, letting a few links of the chain slip through her slender fingers.

As soon as it goes slack, you take the opportunity to stagger sideways, putting as much distance between yourself and the two, massive demons as the chain will allow, your wary eye affixed on Samael, as if he’s the greater threat.

“And what offence have the Horsemen cause me that would warrant revenge?” the demon prince demands, endeavouring to keep his gaze trained on Lilith.

Her slitted pupils shrink as badly concealed irritation flashes across her face and her lips twitch with the beginnings of a snarl. It must have occurred to her, at last, that she isn’t fooling anyone.

This was never about Samael’s tenuous alliance with the Horsemen. It’s only ever been about Lilith, as always. Once again, her desire for vengeance for what the Four did to her Nephilim children has superseded her common sense.

Even thousands of years after the massacre at Eden, she still seeks retribution.

She always has been a master of manipulation - Pit the Horsemen against the Prince of Darkness, and no matter which of them emerges the victor, it’s Lilith who ends up reaping the spoils.

If Samael succeeds, she’ll have finally had her revenge on the Horsemen, but if the Four succeed, she’ll be free to move in and take the prince’s throne.

She certainly knows how to play the game.

It’s just unfortunate for her that he’s been playing it a whole Hell of a lot longer, and he always has so hated to lose.

Her first mistake was taking him for a fool.

Her second, and far more grievous, was taking you at all.

She’ll face retribution, for that he’ll make certain, though her punishment won’t necessarily be for the reason she expects.

Lilith’s mouth twists. He can already hear the venomous words curdling on her tongue, no doubt readying a jab at his cowardice for being unwilling to face the Horsemen’s wrath. She never gets the chance to voice whatever cruel sentiment rises behind her gorge.

Without warning, Samael’s hand snaps out, his fingers curled over and aimed straight at his former mistress. Before she can even utter a squawk of alarm, a dark, festering tendril of magic slithers into existence, ripped from between the fabrics of space itself and sent to coil around her neck like a serpent, crushing in on her throat with a pressure that only increases with every flex of Samael’s fingers.

At once, and as he’d hoped, Lilith drops your chain to throw her hands up and scrabble uselessly at the magic strangling her. But magic, by nature, is intangible. Her claws can’t make purchase.

“What say you, Lilith?” he growls, a vindictive smirk revealing two rows of gleaming, wicked fangs, “Is this still as gratifying as you remember?”

The demoness’s mouth hangs agape as she collapses heavily onto her knees. ‘There,’ he muses, letting a wave of sick satisfaction roll over him, ‘At last.’

Poetic justice if he’s ever seen it.

The feeblest sound twitches his ear, and he stills, flicking his gaze down to the human in their midst.

A single, undamaged eye shines back up at him, sparkling in the firelight that glints off the tears rolling down sodden cheeks. In a lone blink, Samael’s dark magic falters and the snarl on his lips withers as he studies your face.

You’re still crying… A sight that should have gladdened and satisfied him only renders the demon unpleasantly hollow. Perturbed, Samael tries to shake off the unexpected weight of your distress piling up on his shoulders… He soon finds, however, that he can’t.

Lilith’s wheezing gargle that sounds a little too much laughter snaps his attention back onto her and he growls, his fingers quivering with the pressure of closing the magic coil even more firmly around her throat to cut off any other, sinful sound she tries to make.

Sudden movement to his right draws his scorching glare down to the spot you’d been hunching in mere seconds ago, only to find it empty.

Inverted, leathery wings stiffen as he whips his gaze up and finds you stumbling away from him as fast as your wobbly legs can carry you, heading in a backwards run for the exit of his throne room to the corridors beyond. The silver chain rattles along in your wake.

It’s only by a fraction... just a fraction… but Samael’s wild and wrathful gaze starts to soften.

Heaving a sigh, he turns his focus back to Lilith once more.

She’s still on her knees, still choking on the magic locked tight around her throat, but her eyes are fixed coldly on the prince’s, her pupils narrowed to thin, catlike slits.

He knows then that she saw it. She saw the malice fade from his snarl as he looked at you…

Bristling, Samael peels his lips back and bares his teeth down at her. He can tell she’s trying to do the same, throwing as much hatred into her glare as she can, despite the agony that no longer seems to bring her any semblance of sick pleasure.

Right now though, he has more important matters to attend to.

“Begone from my sight,” he hisses. And with a final, dismissive flick of his wrist, he disperses the band around her neck.

Lilith’s gasp is loud enough to echo through the cavernous chamber.

Crumpling forwards onto her hands and knees – just as you had only moments ago – she greedily sucks down several lungfuls of air as Samael sweeps past her, his nostrils flaring, hoping he’ll catch your scent before you can run too far.

He barely makes it to the entrance before a cold, breathless chuckle reaches his ears.

“Oh~” she rasps in a haggard voice, “Oh, isn’t that precious…..”

Like a dark moonrise, Lilith picks her head up and spins it over a shoulder, glaring maniacally after his retreating back.

Samael doesn’t linger to hear what else she has to say, but the fortress rings with the shrillness of her cackles, her voice chasing his shadow as he in turn follows after the trail of blood droplets you’ve left to seep into the cracks of the basalt floor.

“The Horsemen will hear of this, my love! They will know! Who would have guessed that a human will be your doom!?”

-----

If nothing else, at least the stench of blood is easy enough to track.

Samael is not the kind of demon to hurry, but he’s well aware that his fellow demonic hordes can sniff out a wounded human from a mile away. So, if his thundering footsteps fall a little more hastily that usual… well, that’s his business.

For someone so injured, you’ve made good ground.

Unrelenting in his pursuit, the prince follows your scent up a winding, spiralling staircase and along a vast corridor all the way to a room that had seen much use just last month.

“Ah,” he muses aloud. Of course, it would make sense you’d come back here.

He finds himself standing outside the doors to your old prison.

The bed chambers he’d kept you in after he stole you from Earth.

His fortress is large and labyrinthian. It’s likely you fled along the only path you could recognise.

The moment he ducks his horns through the entrance and steps into the dimly lit room, he’s struck by an acrid concoction of blood and terror.

The bed to his left sits innocuous and innocent, perfectly unassuming.

But he’s the one who had it put there, so he knows of the small space between the springs and the floor, just enough of a gap for a human to squeeze themselves into, should they be so inclined.

Turning towards it, he carefully lowers himself onto a knee, breathing a sigh as he reaches for the silken, burgundy sheets that hang over the side and drape all the way to the ground.

“I wish I could tell you I’m not glad to see you again so soon, little one,” he rumbles, pinching the sheets between his thumb and forefinger and raising them slowly off the ground, “But in truth, I’ve been hoping our paths would cross again, though perhaps not under these circumstances…”

Stooping low, his burning gaze illuminates the dark, dusty space between the mattress and the ground, and there, in the shadows, he finds you.

“There you are…”

Curled into a tiny ball, you peer up at the demon’s colossal face, your pretty eyes blown wide with horror. That wretched, silver chain is still digging like teeth into your neck, rendering each breath that passes your lips small and lacking.

The prince’s browbones dip into a frown. “Come here…” he utters, neither commanding, nor passive. Just a request.

Yet still, you flinch at it despite its gentleness.

The smell of liquid iron – once so tantalising – now itches at the insides of his nostrils. You’re still bleeding freely, but…

That isn’t all that troubles Samael.

He doesn’t know how long Lilith has held you, and you haven’t yet said a single word to him.

He doesn’t like this silence, not from you.

A sudden urgency strikes him in the chest, though he mistakes it for impatience, and he emits a low growl from his throat, a sound of frustration, not anger.

Without giving you a moment to prepare, he promptly slides one, enormous paw beneath the bed frame and simply tips the entire thing up onto two of its legs, exposing you completely to his searching glare.

Recoiling in shock, you immediately heave yourself off your stomach and try to get your feet underneath you, only to find the escape attempt thwarted by a gigantic, leathery hand that closes swiftly, yet gingerly around your torso, plucking you up off the cold ground.

Samael’s shoulders drain of tension once he has you safe in his clutches. Swallowing back a throaty rumble, he raises you towards his chest and stoops to lower the bed once again, all the while subjecting you to his unflinching scrutiny.

The demon’s lips peel back to reveal his teeth as he takes a closer look at the swelling around your eye and the crookedness of your bleeding nose. At the sight of his fangs lingering dangerously close to your face, you utter a pitiable whimper and clutch frantically at the fingers circling your waist, making a valiant, yet futile attempt to shove them away from your night shirt.

You may as well be trying to bend steel beams.

“Did she touch you?” he suddenly urges, his voice strangely thin and ragged.

He needs to know… He needs to confirm for himself that Lilith hasn’t spoiled his little storyteller’s soul.

Your struggling pauses briefly as you tip your head back and fix him with an incredulous, pinched look, your bruised eyelid twitching as if to say, ‘What the Hell do you think?’

‘Ah…’ he realises, ‘You misunderstand.’

“I can see she has hurt you,” he elaborates with an uncharacteristic patience, lowering his gaze to that intimate place that’s safely hidden behind his fingers, just below your naval, “I need to know if she touched you…”

Perhaps the angle of his stare is a little crass, but at least you catch on swiftly, and begin to squirm unhappily in his grip.

The fact that the fierce shake of your head is delayed does little to ease his flaring temper.

“I need to hear your words, little storyteller,” he murmurs in his low, resonant timbre.

Your good eye grows wide as he raises the forefinger of his free hand and brushes it over the silver collar wound around your neck.

The anticipation screws your face up tight and you flinch back, eye squeezing shut. Yet rather than pain, you’re instead hit with shocking and blessed relief.

At the demon’s touch, the collar comes apart with a jarring snap and the whole thing slides from your throat, rattling down to the ground below your dangling feet.

A gasping breath is sucked down into your lungs too quickly, causing you to lurch forwards over his thumb with a grating cough, lifting your hands up and stroking at the tender, red flesh left behind with trembling fingers.

Without the chain obscuring them, Samael is given an uninterrupted view of the dark band of bruises that have been burned like a brand around the circumference of your throat.

Sparks of white-hot fire burst from his lips as he spits a curse in the demonic tongue.

You’re still breathing raggedly, choking on each grateful sip of the tepid air.

Samael’s tail coils and lashes as he waits for you to catch your breath before his patience runs thin and he bites out, “Do not make me ask you a third time…” Raising you up to dangle in front of his fiery eyes, he makes sure you meet them. “Did she touch you?”

“N-No!” you finally manage to gasp, watery and weak, thumping at your sternum, “Jesus, not… not like that.”

You shrink as best you can within his fingers as a hot breath washes across your face, averting your attention to the ground beneath him when he spins himself about and sinks down on his haunches, lowering you both onto the bed. The demon’s tail drapes across the silken sheets and a tension he hadn’t yet acknowledged drops from his mighty shoulders.

Mortified at the relief your words lend him, he furrows his brows into a scowl, his eyes fixed on your neck.

“You… lied…”

He blinks at your words, flicking his gaze to your face as a sardonic laugh, devoid of humour, bubbles up and falls out of your mouth. “Of course… you did,” you continue, shaking your head, “Prince of Lies, right? Can’t believe I trusted you…”

It’s an expected remark, but it still hits the demon like a hammer to the chest.

He’d worked damn hard to maintain that tiny little flicker of innocence. To have lost it feels like a devastating blow.

A prince of Hell never apologises, not even to the object of his… concern. But he will at least try to explain himself.

“If I had known what she planned,” Samael begins, carefully lowering you down to his bent knee and settling you onto it as gently as a brute like him ever could, keeping his fingers coiled securely around you lest you try to wriggle free, “I would have tried to stop her.”

You snort sceptically, though you soon cut yourself off with a gasp as the motion sends a shock of burning agony shooting through your nose bone. “Ah! Shit,” you hiss, tugging an arm out from the cage of his fingers and dabbing your own underneath your nostrils, feeling about tentatively for fresh blood.

The most abnormal urge nearly seizes him then, an impulse to bend down and brush his lips tenderly against the skin below your broken nose, using his coarse tongue to wash you clean of blood as he might have done when he first begun courting Lilith, aiming to show her that she’d be well-taken care of should she choose him.

That was, of course, before he discovered how much she abhorred a gentle lover.

Which was a pity. For all his strength and power, Samael rather prides himself on his ability and inclination to remain gentle between the sheets.

Still, he can’t imagine you’ll appreciate the gesture of a cleaning, regardless of his benign intentions.

As swiftly as the urge arrives, he’s beaten it back and sealed it behind a wall of stoic self-restraint.

Perhaps he ought to be less concerned with how you’d react to his courtship, and more concerned with why he’s considering courting a human at all.

A conundrum, he decides, that can wait for another day.

Right now, there’s damage to be undone, not least that which afflicts your nose, eye and neck.

Samael would rather not have you despise him, not after he’s had the fleeting taste of what a cordial rapport with you could feel like…

He begrudgingly finds himself shying away from the term ‘friendship’ because demon lords don’t have friends, especially a lord with his grim and destructive duties.

Absently, he lifts his unoccupied hand up and aims to crook a long, warm finger beneath your chin. His movements pause however, once you catch sight of the claw in your peripheral vision and throw your hands up, catching the tip of his approaching finger before it can come anywhere near your throat.

“Don’t!” you snap, aiming for stern but landing on squeaky.

Samael’s pupils expand to soft, round pits of darkness in a sea of gold as he takes in the miracle of your comparatively tiny hands pushing back against just one of his fingers. A wayward rumble sputters to life in his chest and threatens to travel up his throat where you’re sure to hear it, but with a hard swallow, he smothers the sound of contentment before it can gain traction.

That could have been embarrassing.

He presses his finger closer.

“Don’t touch me!” you reiterate with a particularly hard shove that gets you nowhere.

It’s almost a relief to see the spark of fire behind your eyes. There’s still fight in you. Lilith hadn’t managed to snuff that out either.

“You think I mean to hurt you?” he hums curiously.

Quick as a flash, you retort, “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Hm. He supposes that would be fair… if it were anyone other than yourself.

Scolding eyes flare with dangerous luminosity as they scan across your face, and the damage his former bed mate has left behind like cruel reminders of his failure.

“Contrary to popular belief, I hold very little sway over Lilith’s actions,” he points out, “I did not orchestrate what she’s done to you.”

With a resentful huff, your arms sag and he’s allowed to freely bring his fingertip to your chin, tilting your head back to take some of the pressure off your nose. You’ve been hurt – badly – because of him, which is……

… disquieting.

“Perhaps,” he begins slowly in that bone deep murmur, “You would allow me to amend her transgressions against you.”

Suddenly, you grow very still between his fingers, sitting rigidly as suspicion creeps into your brows. Squinting up at him dubiously, you ask, “Why… would you do that?”

Honesty has never been Samael’s favourite policy, and even now, he avoids answering you directly, instead opting to tell you just a fraction of the truth.

“You were not hers to take,” he growls, the undertones of a possessive prince almost broiling up to the surface. He can see your brow furrow even further as you no doubt try to read his expression in that way humans are so adept at, but Samael won’t allow you to ponder too long.

“Do you know any healers?”

Blinking, you fling your eyebrows up at his unexpected query. “Do I…. I’m sorry? What?”

By way of an explanation, the demon flexes his hand on the bed sheet and flicks his tail, grumbling, “I imagine it won’t surprise you to learn that I’m not well-versed in healing magic… So, if you can think of someone who is, I’ll…”

His statement remains unfinished, hanging like a hushed confession, bright and glaring in the air between you.

He’ll take you where you want to go. All you need to do is ask.

What you can’t figure out is why.

There’s a reason the Horsemen are so wary of Samael, why they were all so agitated when they got you back from him the first time. He’s dangerous. You knew that when he took you, and you still know it now.

What does he have to gain by letting you go?

Peeling your tongue from the roof of your mouth, you decide to ask him as much. “You’re… gonna let me leave?” Though you tremble in his grasp, you manage to jut your chin out at him in what little defiance you dare to show.

Samael has always privately commended you for your courage, or at least, your ability to pretend that you’re brave. He knows you’re afraid of him.

Wise. And yet, ironically, you’re perhaps the sole human in existence who has the least reason to fear him.

His great, horned head dips slightly and you don’t miss the throaty hum that sounds far too much like a purr to suit such a brute.

“If that is your wish,” he breathes across your face, raising the hairs on the back of your neck.

His gargantuan face looms even closer, unblinking, yellow eyes peering into your own with unnerving scrutiny that renders you suddenly and painfully shy, enough that you drop your gaze to the massive expanse of scarred flesh that stretches over his chest.

“I… don’t need a healer,” you mutter, “I just want to go home. Please?”

‘Please.’

How could he refuse you when you continue to be so genial with him, despite your pain, despite being back here in this dreary place? He’s never been granted kindness so freely before - kindness without an ulterior motive hidden behind it like the blade beneath a matador’s cape.

You are… an interesting change to the monotony of his gloomy existence.

It isn’t a change he doesn’t intend to lose.

While he’d much prefer to keep you in his fortress a little longer and let your laughter and stories chase away the lonely shadows, Samael’s pragmatic side reminds him resolutely that it would be far more beneficial in the long run to return you to your true home on Earth before the Horseman come kicking his door down.

The demon’s nostrils widen and close as he draws in a long, lazy breath, inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo that sits just below the smell of blood… You must have bathed only a few hours before Lilith took you...

If home is where you want to be, then that’s where he’ll take you.

“Very well,” he announces, raising his unoccupied hand and turning his palm to face the wall nearby.

He doesn’t need to look at your face to know it’s fallen slack with shock. Apparently, his easy acquiescence wasn’t expected.

Smirking to himself, he concentrates on pulling the threads of the Universe apart at their seams to create a hole – a doorway.

Deep in the depths of his mind, an image of your house emerges – your second house, the one the Horsemen had hurriedly moved you into because they thought the old one was compromised with his knowledge of it.

He latches onto the image fast, feeding powerful and ancient magics into the tips of his fingers, sensing the air around him grow hot and charged with energy.

After another moment of letting his magic build, he finally releases it in a rush.

The portal swirls into life right in front of him. One moment, there was nothing, and the next, a large, glassy surface ripples and hums gently on the opposite side of the room, beyond it, the unmoving image of your den beckons.

The change in you is immediate.

“That- that’s my house!” you exclaim in disbelief, leaning forwards over the demon’s thumb to stare gobsmacked at the view beyond the portal.

Flicking his gaze down at you, Samael grants himself the luxury of a rare, genuine smile.

By the time you twist around in his grasp to peer up at him, his usual frown is back in place.

“Shall we?” he asks.

-----------

“Samael?”

“Mm?”

“How’d you know they moved me here?”

All at once, the demon’s long tail ceases to drag itself back and forth across the plush carpet of your bedroom, plunging everything into a heavy silence.

He doesn’t turn to face you, though he can feel your eyes drilling a hole into the back of his skull.

Samael’s own gaze stays adhered to the little bookcase that sits proudly in the corner of your room, its shelves filled to bursting with dog-eared tomes and well-loved stories you couldn’t part with for all the world.

He should have known you wouldn’t miss such a glaringly obvious detail.

The Horsemen had moved you to a new house a little further out from Haven’s suburbs after they got you back from Shadow’s Edge last month. It was laughably easy for your former captor to track you down again – solely for the purpose of keeping a watchful eye on you, of course…. Though look at the good that had done, in the end…

Still, for once, he doesn’t think it’ll make much difference if you know the truth.

“I’ve been watching you,” he hums casually, swinging his clawed hands behind his back, clasping them together just below the juncture of his wings. As he starts to haul his body around to face you, the tips of his spiralling horns scape the ceiling, forcing him to duck his head a little to spare the plaster.

He’d asked, upon setting foot inside for the first time, why it seemed a place more adequately suited to accommodate a maker than a human. It came as little surprise for him to learn that it was, in fact, makers who built the place, and it had been at your own request that they fashioned a home that could easily fit all manner of guests, regardless of their size or species. All of your usual amenities – your bed, your kitchen, are perfectly suited for human use. But the ceilings, doorways and even the windows are grand enough that even Samael can move almost entirely freely inside without having to bend-double to avoid piercing the ceiling with his horns and leathery wings.

Once he’s turned towards the sound of your voice, he has to suppress a smirk at what he sees.

You’ve just emerged from your adjoining washroom, face clean of blood and dressed in a new set of fluffy, blue sleep clothes. In addition to your fresh ensemble, you’ve slapped a bag of frozen vegetables over your bad eye, apparently to relieve the swelling, or so you claim.

And yet, despite the amusing state of dress, you somehow still find it in you to look downright affronted.

“You’ve been watching me?” you echo accusingly, taking a bold step across the room towards him before you seem to think better of squaring up to a prince of Hell and halting in your tracks, “What, it isn’t bad enough you kidnapped me, now you’re keeping tabs on me too?”

A look of abject horror passes across your visible eye and you hasten to glance at each corner of your room as if you’re going to find something heinous lurking in the shadows. “Oh god, have you bugged the whole place?”

Samael hasn’t heard the term, but he can connect the dots.

“I can assure you,” he says, “I have only caught the occasional glimpse of your home from the outside…”

A half-truth. Those ‘occasional glimpses’ had turned into hours of lounging on his throne whilst gazing through a window into your world as you pottered around it. When the weather was fair, he’d see you in the allotment beside the house.

He found it restful to watch you go about your tasks, digging your trowel into the soil, gasping in delight if a bird were to land on the fence nearby.

You’re his own little taste of nepenthe.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you huff, pulling the bag of vegetables away with a grimace, “God… why are you even… Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Watching me!” you wheeze, throwing a hand up in exasperation.

You may have gulped down a couple of painkillers the moment you got back, but straining your voice still twinges your damaged neck. “Why bother!? I’m not a threat to you! Or are you just keeping an eye on me because you plan to steal me again?”

Admittedly, he’s been tempted to do just that several times, but each time, he’s refrained, if not to spare himself from the Horsemen’s wrath, then to keep himself as endeared to you as possible.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he hums.

“That’s not what I asked.”

You stare him down for several seconds through one, narrowed eye, when all of a sudden, your face breaks apart into a wide yawn that seems to catch you wildly off guard.

Throwing a hand up to cover your gaping mouth from view, you half turn from the demon, fighting off the uninvited wave of fatigue.

With the grace of a predator but not the intent of one, Samael pads towards you over the carpeted floor. “You’re exhausted,” he remarks coolly.

Giving your head a rough shake, you sigh and grumble, “Yeah, well… It’s been a long night…”

His encompassing shadow falls across you, blocking out the light from the fixture overhead. Whipping your head around, you glance up and blanch upon realising he’s crept close enough to snatch you.

However, rather than make a move to sweep you off your feet, Samael only flicks a pointed glance down at your cozy, inviting bed. “You should rest.”

“I’ll rest when you’re gone,” you retort, crossing your arms.

‘Fine,’ he snorts to himself. And that’s when he finally makes a move.

All at once, you’re sent stumbling backwards towards the bed as he drops onto his large hands with a thud and begins to prowl towards you like a wolf stalking a doe.

“Woah! Hey!” you bleat, all bravado vanishing in an instant, “What’re you doing!? Stop that!”

The backs of your knees hit the bed and you tumble backwards onto it, dropping the vegetable bag in the process as you scramble to pull yourself upright again, raising your legs off the ground and retreating towards the headboard.

“Perhaps…” Samael growls – or does he purr? “… I am not yet ready to leave…”

He lays one, colossal paw on top of the mattress.

The bed groans suddenly under his weight as he pulls his upper body onto it and begins to settle down amongst the crumpled duvet. Letting out a rumble of contentment, he folds his arms beneath his chin and slumps heavily onto the mattress, causing the springs below you to buckle and screech in protest while he merely gives you a lazy blink.

The sight is so strikingly familiar, you feel the fear drain out of you with a whoosh.

‘Son of a bitch…’ you gripe to yourself, ‘The overgrown lizard’s just getting comfortable for story time…’

Slowly, your brows ease into a flat, unimpressed frown. “Are you serious? Right now?”

Samael only offers a warm chuff and sticks his nose into your heaped duvet, drawing a massive lungful of your smell into his airways.

‘Ah…. There you are…’ he muses.

It seems you’re the only one to have slept here, which he’s glad for. The sheets don’t stink of another’s flesh, nor can he detect the scent of sex…

The prince’s pleased hum is powerful enough to rattle the bed knobs against the wall.

“Don’t you dare start getting comfortable,” your voice pipes up warningly, and he drags a half-lidded eye up to meet your defiant glare.

“I’d like to go to bed,” you forge on, “And I’m not your prisoner anymore. I don’t have to tell you another story for as long as I live.”

You know this routine of his all too well.

When he’d held you captive, he’d often crawl up onto that gigantic bed and drape himself across it whilst you lay in your little corner beneath the silk sheets with his chin resting near your feet. For hours, he’d laze there like a massive, deadly lion, his tail flicking idly as he listened to the stories you’d spin for him, those you could remember from books you read and retained as a child.

You never thought, for one minute, that he’d want to continue that practice outside of his fortress walls.

“I mean it,” you hiss, shoving your legs under the covers and prodding his heavy arm with your toes, as if you might be able to nudge him off the bed, “Thank you for bringing me back, but I am still in a lot of pain, and I’m not in the mood to entertain you tonight.”

Blinking his luminous eyes at you slowly, Samael disregards your protests and utters, “You never finished your tale of the little monarchs by the creek…”

Something in your expression shifts at that, a mote of surprise soothing the wrinkle of your brows.

“You… you remember the Bridge to Terebithia?”

It was the last story you tried to tell him, recounted from memory on the night the Horsemen finally tore the doors down to save you.

“I remember every one of your stories,” he thrums deeply.

“Well… They’re not mine,” you point out, “I just told you what I could remember of the books I used to read…”

“Will you indulge me, little storyteller?” he presses, cocking his horned head sideways until his cheekbone rests upon a broad, scaly forearm, “The tale intrigued me. I’d like to hear how it ends.”

It’s selfish of him to do this, to stay when you’re in dire need of rest… but once the Horsemen see your injuries and inevitably convince you to tell them what happened to you, he anticipates that he won’t be seeing hide nor hair of you for a long, long time. If Death is sensible, he’ll take you off-world and stash you somewhere even Samael can’t reach you. Maybe to that family of makers you’re always gabbing on about.

This moment here and now may well be the last chance he has to speak with you until you persuade the Four to return you to your home on Earth.

“Tell you what,” you grumble, taking him off guard by kicking away the covers and sliding your legs over the side of the bed, “You can read what happens for yourself. I’ve got the book right here.”

The demon raises his head, watching as you cross the room to your bookcase. Drawing to a halt in front of it, you run a finger delicately along the collection of spines before you eventually stop and dig out a book that’s nestled snugly between a pair of thick, glossy tomes.

Flicking this pointed ears forwards, the prince chuffs softly in his throat - a sound born of instinct intended to call you back to the nest. He barely even registers having uttered it.

Soon enough, you’re slipping back underneath your duvet and retrieving the bag of not-so-frozen vegetables, pressing them tenderly to your eye once again.

As Samael lays his head back down, you toss the book across the bed where it lands with a dull thwack beside his chin.

“There,” you huff, sagging backwards into the pillows, “Happy?”

You nearly let out a loud groan when the book is promptly nudged back towards you with the tip of his forefinger.

“Oh, come on, big guy,” you complain, oblivious to how the impromptu nickname sends a spark of interest shooting up the demon’s spine.

“I want you to read to me,” he sighs and settles down again, allowing his eyelids to droop halfway shut, his pupils blown wide like black holes in a thin ring of gold.

“Ugh!” Exasperated, yet more than aware that the prince isn’t one to take no for an answer, you snatch the book off the duvet and start thumbing irritably through its pages. “Why do I have to be the one to read it?”

Your fingers pause briefly, however, when Samael shifts and a warm, solid knuckle suddenly alights upon your arm.

The breath catches in your throat. You hardly dare move. Frozen, you dart a glance down to see his colossal, red hand hovering beside you, the back of his forefinger stroking a gentle line down the bare skin of your shoulder.

His voice reverberates up through the bed, deeper than the purr of a motorcar.

“I like the sound of your voice,” he utters.

The words fall softly, like a prayer sliding off a sinner’s lips.

Hesitant, your gaze moves up to his cragged face and you have to swallow a gasp, admittedly startled by the look you’re receiving.

Why is he staring at me like that?

The demon’s knuckle rolls up to the top of your shoulder again, sending the hairs along your arms standing to attention.

He’s watching you closely through hooded eyes, his smile lopsided and his pupils abnormally large and round and...

Oh dear.

Oh dear, this… could be bad.

Perhaps it’s just your imagination, but… It might explain the gentle looks, the lingering stares, the rage in his eyes when he took in your bloodied face in the throne room… It would definitely explain why he’s still here in your room, and the slow stroke of his knuckle up and down your arm.

You don’t want to even entertain such a foolish notion.

‘I like the sound of your voice.’

Your stomach twists itself into anxious knots as you start to wonder if Samael likes more than just your voice…

Wetting your dry lips, you try to give your arm a slight shrug under the guise of opening the book, conveniently shifting backwards closer to the wall and pulling away from his tender strokes.

“Um, in that case, you’ll have to remind me where I left off…” you manage to eke out, clearing your throat.

If the prince of Hell is stung by your subtle rejection, he makes no mention of it, though his pupils shrink by a fraction as he lays his palm down on the mattress beside you, exhaling warmly across your face.

“The young human… Jess,” he mumbles into the scales on his arm, “He had just returned from the gallery with his tutor…”

Good memory.

“Yes,” you reply quietly, “Yes, that’s right.”

Trying desperately to ignore how suddenly suffocating the demon’s proximity has become, you prop the book up in your lap and start to read.

-------

“The boy was right.”

You startle awake from a light doze, jerking upright on your pillows with an undignified grunt.

‘Did I fall asleep?’

The book sits open in your lap, held loosely between limp fingers.

And Samael is-

You have to resist the urge to kick out your legs when you raise your eyes to find his colossal face resting peacefully between your parted knees. You’ve never been more thankful that you’d put your legs under the covers earlier, though suddenly the duvet doesn’t feel like such an adequate barrier against monsters as it used to be when you were young.

“Huh?” you blurt eloquently, still in the clutches of sleepiness.

Two walls of flesh shift on either side of you, and it’s only then that you realise you’ve been more or less surrounded on all fronts.

A pair of thick, muscle-bound arms are curled loosely on the bed to your left and right, close enough that you can feel the demon’s preternatural heat radiating off his skin. To your back is the bedroom wall, while ahead of you lays Samael’s red, rough-hewn face. The black horns jutting from his chin create deep divots in the mattress where they’re pressed.

“The boy,” he repeats, prying an eyelid apart and casting a yellow glow over your face, “He was right. She should not have trusted that rope.”

Oh… Right. The story…

Raising your hand, you nearly pinch the bridge of your nose before a painful throb reminds you not to do that. You’ll have to take some more painkillers soon…

Emitting a sleepy hum, you flop back down amongst the pillows and give a rough exhale. “Wasn’t the rope’s fault it snapped.”

“… Her caretakers did not blame him.”

Ugh. If this is going to turn into another long-winded discussion like the Rainbow Fish….

“Of course they didn’t,” you sigh, tilting your chin down to meet his gaze, “It wasn’t Jess’s fault either.”

“But he could have prevented her death.”

Samael’s probing insistence drags you a little further into the waking world and you start to sit up, propping your weight on your elbows to squint at him.

The demon’s face is like stone, hard and cold. “He could have asked her to accompany him,” he adds in a growl, “But his selfish infatuation with the older human kept him from doing so.”

A gentle frown tugs at your brows. “Jess wasn’t to know what would happen,” you point out, wondering why Samael seems so fixated on the matter.

Lifting his chin off the bed, his nostrils flare and his eyes flick down to the bruises on your neck, staring at them unblinkingly as he retorts, “He knew the rope was untrustworthy. He could have kept her away from it.”

“Well… Sure but… then it wouldn’t have been such an effective story.”

“Mph,” he grumbles, scowling at the wall behind your head, “I seem to recall telling you that I prefer stories with happy endings…”

You chew on that for a minute before closing your eye and offering him a drowsy shrug. “Good stories don’t always have to have a happy ending,” you tell him, your voice thick with fatigue, “Happy endings are nice, but it’s important that we’re told stories that… you know, like, challenge our morals and stuff.”

“… Go on,” he nudges when you fall silent.

Heaving a sigh, you whine, “I don’t know. I am way too tired to be having in-depth discussions like this at the crack of dawn.”

“Why read stories of tragedy and death? The tale only upset you.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper in exasperation, resigning yourself to the conversation, “I guess, because… if all we’re consuming is clean and good and happy, then when bad stuff does inevitably happen to us, I don’t think we’re ever really prepared for it. If that even makes sense.”

Samael’s lips quirk up at their corners, and he slides his gaze down to you again. “The way your mind works never fails to intrigue me.”

“Pft, it’s not working much at all at the moment,” you huff.

He hadn’t realised before meeting you, that this is what his relationships had always lacked. This is what he’s been missing.

Dialogue.

Nothing more than that. The simplest thing of all.

This sleepy conversation with you is ten thousand times more preferable to the cold, empty silences that would stretch across the massive void of bedsheets between he and Lilith.

His smile fades slowly as he finds himself drawn, as ever, to the band of bruises around your neck.

He knew not to trust Lilith. He should have kept you away from her. But he didn’t.

“The boy,” he murmurs deeply into the quiet of your room, “Do you suppose he was right to blame himself for what happened to her?”

“Right?” Humming, you lean back on one arm and exhale a slow breath. “No… Not right. Normal, though? Yeah. I reckon it’s normal that he’d blame himself. I think most people would do the same in his shoes.”

“Does that not then make them right?” he puts, “If that is the general consensus? To blame oneself?”

After a longer pause, you eventually shake your head and reply, “No.” Then, parting your jaw in another wide and toothy yawn, you add, “It just makes them human.”

Human…

How can blaming himself for what Lilith did to you make him like a human?

Hmm… While not the feel-good ending he’d been hoping for, it wasn’t necessarily a bad one either, and once again, whether knowingly or not, you’ve given him much to ponder over. He plans to do just that while you sleep. Already, those dainty eyelashes are fluttering against your cheeks as your head droops, exhaustion proving a fierce adversary on this long night.

Perhaps it’s time he let you rest. Of course, that doesn’t mean he’ll be leaving your side just yet.

Tyrants are seldom granted solace. Most would argue that they don’t deserve it.

Ironic, that it almost feels sacrilegious for Samael to be laying here on your bed with his mouth resting a mere foot from the most confidential part of you, and doing nothing but talking to you in soft, dulcet tones. Talking… it’s more intimate than the depravities he’s performed with his former mistress.

How laughable.

It’s inevitable, then, that the prince’s wonderous moment of peace should be so rudely shattered by the dull thud of a door closing downstairs.

Samael’s head shoots off the mattress with a snarl so quickly that it startles a yelp out of you.

Heavy footfalls – too heavy to belong to any human – pause in the room directly below your own. Then, all at once, there’s the unsettling sound of them starting up again at a far more urgent pace.

Your yelp hadn’t gone unnoticed.

The demon’s tail twitches irritably as he glares hard at the door.

… Just when he was really getting comfortable…

“War…”

The name whispered breathlessly from your lips draws Samael’s focus back down to you, silencing the growl in his throat. You’re staring at the bedroom door, brows screwed together in worry.

For the Horseman? Or for him?

Somewhere a few rooms away, metal boots begin to thunder up a flight of stairs.

Samael parts his lips and flicks a hot, red tongue over his canine, lowering his gaze to your exposed neck. He knows he has to leave. He isn’t about to let your night be ruined by a brawl in the middle of your bedroom. But… there’s one last thing he’s compelled to do.

Demons don’t apologise.

Not aloud, anyway.

Trapped below his bulk by enormous arms, you tear your eyes from the door and shakily raise them to his, swallowing a thick lump of apprehension that sends a dull ache through your bruises.

You don’t like the way he’s suddenly staring at your throat, the points of his fangs gleaming out from behind barely parted lips.

He looks agitated.

He looks hungry.

Your heartbeat steadily begins to reascend the mountain it had worked so hard to climb down from.

“Samael?” you peep.

The footsteps are on your landing now, shaking the foundations of your home with their weight.

Towering high above you, the demon’s fiery eyes flash with intent, like a predator tensing to pounce.

You aren’t even given a second to admonish yourself for letting your guard down before that mouthful of wicked, sharp teeth lunges for your neck, stealing a final cry of alarm.

It’s instinctive when you throw your head up and to the side so as to avoid having to see the enormous fangs flying in your direction.

You brace for agony.

However, what you feel instead is the furthest thing from it.

… The gentlest press of rough, warm lips lands upon the column of your throat, directly over the purpling bruises stained into the flesh.

Your good eye wrenches itself open like a shot.

You’re too stunned to turn your head, and your chest feels tight with the breath you’re keeping trapped inside it, afraid of what the slightest exhale might provoke.

The corner of your vision is almost entirely swallowed up by Samael’s head and horns. His flared nostrils glow with internal fire as he puffs swathes of hot air across your jaw, whilst the scratch of his lips tickles your skin when they seal together into a tender kiss just below your bobbing gorge - far too tender and painless to be given by a demon, let alone one of his size and reputation.

Up until now, you might have been able to convince yourself that the prince’s attentions had been born of mere curiosity.

Now though? The hope that you’ve just been misinterpreting his advances flies out of the proverbial window.

Samael, prince of Hell, Head of Satans and Chief of Devils… is placing a kiss on your bruised throat so gently that the only coherent thought flashing through your brain is that you must still be dreaming.

A resounding ‘boom’ alerts you to your bedroom door being kicked viciously off its hinges and the clank of metal announces War’s entrance.

The unswollen eye in your head swivels away from Samael and for one, damning moment, your fearful gaze locks onto the wild, infuriated blue shining out from beneath your Horseman’s crimson hood.

"Something to remember me by..."

The single lap of a scorching tongue coaxes a gasp from you when it eases over your bruised neck, and then, in a flash of fire that sends you screwing your eye shut against the intruding light, the pressure on your throat, and the weight on top of your bed vanishes, as if a demon prince had never been there at all.

371 notes · View notes

urdepressedslut · 11 months

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Stray (masterlist)♡

♡ Pairing: The Winter Soldier Fem!Reader/Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

♡ Series Summary: Just hours after the events in DC, you find The Winter Soldier unconscious, leaning against a gravestone in a cemetery near your home. Being sheltered you don't recognize who he is, and you care for him.

♡ Series Warnings: dark themes, heavy angst, fluff, vomiting, imprisonment, physical/emotional abuse, injuries, death, PTSD, hallucinations, self hate, murder, scars, violence, language, rituals, suicide, drowning, suicidal ideation, SLOW BURN 🔥

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT | SERIES 18+

(SERIES ONGOING)

⇨ Chapter One

↳ Just hours after the events in DC, you find The Winter Soldier unconscious, leaning against a gravestone in a cemetery near your home. Being sheltered you don't recognize who he is, and you care for him.

⇨ Chapter Two

↳ Bucky takes shelter in your house, waiting for the storm to pass. He notices something a little off about you.

⇨ Chapter Three

↳ A glimpse into your past is shown. You and Bucky seem to be getting a little closer, maybe even starting to trust each other.

⇨ Chapter Four

↳ It’s the next day and both you and Bucky don’t want things to change. He doesn’t want to leave, and you don’t want him to.

⇨ Chapter Five

↳ Time has passed, things are going well. You and Bucky get along, respecting each other’s space. Not always creating conversation, but appreciating the company.

⇨ Chapter Six

↳ You run into someone from the past, no way this can be real? Bucky finds you in distress, and is there to comfort you.

⇨ Chapter Seven

↳ You finally open up to Bucky about some of your past, your bond starts to grow stronger.

⇨ Chapter Eight

↳ An unexpected visitor comes knocking at the door, both you and Bucky freak out. Tension between the two continues to rise.

⇨ Chapter Nine

↳ You can’t ignore the tension anymore, will you both give in to the hunger you both have for each other? Bucky knows what he wants, while you are unsure. You’re scared.

⇨ Chapter Ten

↳ You have another scare, clinging to Bucky for comfort. Later, you get another surprise visit.

⇨ Chapter Eleven

↳ You run into a familiar face, who tries to convince you that you are truly a monster. The pieces are starting to come together, and the reveal is terrifying.

⇨ Chapter Twelve

↳ Your true self is slowly being revealed, what is this place you've been sent to? What happens when you return home, will Bucky still be there— or will he run?

⇨ Chapter Thirteen

↳ coming soon.

#reader insert #marvel cinematic universe #fluff #marvel imagines #the winter soldier #buckybarnes #bucky barnes #dark themes #slow burn #dark fic #angst #mini series #heavy angst

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d1ana-m0nd · 8 months

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╭─► ❝The Servant: Umbrella Academy's Servant❞

Five Hargreeves × Female! Reader || Written by Diana (d1ana-m0nd)

➢ Description : It's a well known fact that Sir. Reginald Hargreeves adopted 7 children to save the world from it's impending doom. Though, the number of children will change from 7 to 8 once a close friend of his, Rita Rossweisse was on her death bed and requested him to take in her child, who fortunately was born on October 1st 1989.

➢ Word Count : 9,537

➢ Links : Masterlist && Character Profile

➢ Note : I just wanted to give a heads up for people who like Luther, he's going to be a bit antagonistic towards the reader because she's an accomplice. Also, in S1 of TUA, the writers' focused on his mission driven trait which led to a snowball effect on his decisions and how he treated others (ex: Vanya), though that does not mean I will be writing him off as an antagonist throughout the whole series, just this season since he is still learning and growing. I mean no harm Luther simps / stans / fans. 🏳️

Also, it's been three years since I have done Wushu (Chinese martial arts) so the fighting scene might be crappy. It will be inaccurate as well since I never reached orange belt lol, I just watched YouTube videos of Agatha Wong and other Wushu martial artists. ;-;

Chapter 3: Extra Ordinary

Blue light streamed through the window as Allison sat on the windowsill, a cigarette in hand; she took in the scenery from the place she once considered home. The sound of car horns beeping accompanied the lively city atmosphere, whilst the lights of the streetlamps came off harshly. Oddly enough, this loud environment felt homely to her. The rumor inhaled the cigarette then exhaled it, letting the flares of the smoke blow out the window. She let herself be more immersed to the atmosphere, which led her unaware of someone else's presence in the room.

"Ah, Miss Allison." The advanced chimpanzee announced his arrival. Allison hurriedly put out the cigarette, leading it to fizzle out. She faced Pogo with a sheepish smile, as though she was not caught red-handed.

"I was looking for you." Pogo returned her smile, then took a small step towards her.

"How did you, uh… did you know I was up here?" The rumor scratched her nape. She really wasn't expecting anyone to walk in on her smoking and emoting to herself.

"Oh, it wasn't hard. This is always where you used to come when you were upset."

"Who told you I was…" The girl in curls paused, then sighed as a certain someone came to mind.

"Luther." She said fiddling with the aged locket that was given to her by the same person.

"Actually, it was Miss Vanya."

Allison was taken aback by his words. Vanya… cared about her? For a moment, she felt regret come over her because her sibling went out of her way to check on her… then she recalled the book. The rumor would have openly showed her grimace at the thought of her sister but, Pogo’s next words took her by surprise.

"She called to make sure you were okay and if it weren't for Y/N reminding me, I would have forgotten to check in on you." Pogo said with a small smile, as though he was silently thanking the girls for caring about Allison's well being.

The girl in curls stood up from the windowsill as she inhaled deeply, stuffing her hands into her pocket. "Yeah, I, um… said some pretty unkind things to her." Though it sounded like she said it out of defeat.

The well dressed chimpanzee frowned at her words, but tried to be optimistic. "She's your sister. She knows you didn't mean it."

Allison scoffed as she looked away. "Doubt it. She doesn't know anything about me, which is fine, cause I don't know shit about her either."

"Language." Pogo said which brought a small smile to the rumor's face followed by a soft chuckle. "Sorry."

"It's just…" The woman breathed through her nose. "It's been a while since we've all lived under the same roof."

"Almost 13 years." He added, which added onto the emotional baggage that Allison was carrying at the moment.

"How did you do it? Alone in this huge house for so long?"

"Well, one grows used to things, even if, sometimes… one shouldn't." The chimpanzee looked away, not wanting to give away the sadness in his eyes.

Wanting to divert the young lass’ attention to something else, Pogo decided it would be a great time to bring her over the CCTV room and to follow through with Master Hargreeves’ plan till the truth is finally revealed.

"Come with me. I want to show you something. It might just cheer you up." The advanced chimpanzee was about to head out the room but he suddenly turned to where Allison stamped out the cigarette earlier. "And make sure you fully extinguished that cigarette. Wouldn't want to start a fire."

The girl in curls chuckles to herself as she now recalled Pogo never lets his guard down, it’s almost like nothing goes under his radar, he acted more father-like than their own father. She then quickly extinguishes the fire and hurriedly catches up with Pogo. The two walked side by side towards the CCTV room, and entered the room together.

The chimpanzee approached the monitors and turned them on to show the familiar memories the academy created back in their youth. "Your father stopped recording years ago. But, I still come here from time to time. When I'm missing you kids."

"Pogo, this is…" The woman was too stunned to speak but she managed to choke out a few words. "Most families have home movies to look back on. We have surveillance footage."

"I hoped it might cheer you up."

"It does…" Allison laughed, letting her guard down and allowed her inner child to be lured in by the memories being replayed by the monitors.

Suddenly, Allison's gaze turns to a monitor of Vanya playing the violin as a smaller Y/N sat beside the violinist cheering her on, though it looked like Vanya wore a fake smile accepting every compliment you gave her.

"And Vanya…" Her smile fell. Vanya was telling the truth.

"Why didn't we include her? I mean, if anybody ever treated Claire like that, I can't even imagine…"

"You were a child, Miss Allison." Pogo pointed out but Allison rebutted. "Yeah… but I'm not anymore and neither is she."

"If you're not in a hurry. The rest of the tapes are in that cabinet." The advanced chimpanzee gestured to the nearby cabinet, while his other hand took out the keys and left it on the table. "Make sure you lock up when you go."

"Things have been disappearing lately. These are too important to lose." He added as Allison softly chuckled at his words. She has a feeling, she knows who might be responsible for it.

Whilst she was busy reminiscing, Pogo stood beside her, double checking at the breadcrumbs he left. He needed the secrets to be unraveled as soon as possible, he can only pray it wouldn’t be too late. The chimpanzee took one last look at Allison then left the room.

Once he left, the woman in curls rummaged through the tapes and found a tape that stood out. It was oddly placed, it even seemed like that it was purposely placed there. She played the footage not expecting much. To her surprise, her expectations were surpassed by the content of the footage.

Her eyes widened, then she straightened herself. "Oh, God. Dad…"

Allison paused the tape, without hesitation, she began to frantically look for Luther in the academy. She checked from door to door only to be frustrated that Luther wasn’t home. She was about to give up until she heard the front door open then ran - more like fast walking - to where the footsteps came from.

The woman in curls grabbed onto Luther’s arm. "There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you."

"What are you still doing here? I thought you were gone." He raised his brow in her presence.

"No, I was gonna go, and then Pogo showed me this -"

"Well, listen…" The larger male interrupted her with a defeated sigh. "I was wrong about Dad's death."

The woman was astonished by his words, it wasn’t like him. "What?"

"Yeah. I was wrong about Diego. You know, to accuse my own brother of that is just-"

"No, I, I know, I get it." The rumor tried to cut in but got interfered once again.

"- Seeing all of you and being back here… I should be the one who's trying to bring us back together, not tear us apart." Spaceboy said but it more or less it sounded like he was talking to himself in the mirror.

"Would you shut up?!" Allison shouted angrily.

"What?"

"You were right, about Dad." She stated, now it was the male’s turn to be confused by the sudden turn of events.

"Come on, I gotta show you something."

Even though the larger male was silent, she took his arm and guided him to the CCTV room. As they head to the CCTV room, they happen to passby Y/N and Five. Luther and Allison checked on you guys - since you guys looked kinda messed up - but Five had a sudden outburst and you had to make random excuses to bring him to his room, whilst juggling to not drop Delores. Once they were a bit far, Luther finally had the courage to speak up.

"Does Y/N having a mannequin have something to do with whatever you were going to show me?" He asked.

To which Allison threw a look at his direction. "No, and I have no idea where she got that. All I know is she's been glued to Five's side since he got back."

Once they had arrived, the rumor was quick to replay the footage. Luther couldn’t believe what he was watching. At first he was in denial but, as he replayed the clip again and again, he was able to digest the information but he still doesn’t understand… Why would their mother - er robot, rather, “Grace” kill their father? He kept replaying the scene trying to understand what occurred during the night of the murder but, got no answers in the end.

"Play it again." Number one ordered again…

Allison had to refrain herself from rolling her eyes because of how mind numbing it was to replay the same scene over and over again.

"We've watched it over and over, it's the same thing every time." She pointed out.

Luther sighs, she wasn’t wrong, they weren’t getting answers. Reluctantly, the rumor rewind the clip, the VCR whirred indicating it was being replayed.

"Er… what is she doing?" He asked, gesturing towards Grace on the monitor.

"The tea. Did she poison him?"

"Uh- I don't know." The woman in curly hair uncrossed her arms, unsure of what she was witnessing.

The larger male sighed exasperated then turned his gaze towards hers. "Where did you find this?" He gestured to the footage.

Allison stopped leaning against the cabinet then sat on the chair beside Luther's side, "I was looking at old footage of us as kids, and I just saw the footage sitting there."

"Yeah, Dad must have started using the security system again." There was a pregnant pause present in the room.

"He was getting more and more paranoid. He thought people were out to get him." He muttered, recalling the call he had with his dad a month prior.

Back then, He didn’t think much of it but it did worry him that Grace and Y/N weren’t taking care of him. However, after calling Y/N, he felt reassured by her words and assumed that their father was just becoming paranoid for nothing. Now, he regrets taking his words for granted.

"Well… I guess maybe he was right."

"But Mom?" Allison refused to accept this.

"I mean she's not capable of…" She gestured to the footage but as her eyes landed the footage she began to have second thoughts, she sighs. "Is she?"

Suddenly, a memory from the funeral played in Luther’s head.

"Then there's the issue of the missing monocle." The ape hybrid added to his conspiracy. Even though it was silent, you could hear the others internally groaning as more words came out of his mouth.

"Y/N, while you were cleaning up Dad's room, was the monocle still there?"

"Last night I wasn't assigned to give him medicine, it was Mrs. Grace's turn. So I can't be too sure if he wore the monocle. Though the crime scene cleaners and investigators did let me know that they made sure to keep everything in the same spot." You reported, as your thinking pose shifted into your default one.

"Make sure to check the cameras around the time they were cleaning." He commanded, you bowed in return to confirm you will do as he says.

Spaceboy’s eyes widened at the revelation… What if…

"Where was Y/N last night? Why didn't she inform me about the footage?" He bombarded.

"I already told you! Ever since Five came back she's been stuck to his side." The rumor answered not catching onto Luther’s wavelength.

"But, it doesn't make sense, she had the time to check the footage whilst they were preparing the funeral, and didn’t Pogo and her switch shifts in monitoring the CCTVs?”

Suddenly, Allison went silent, as she began to piece the puzzles and see where Luther was coming from, now that he pointed that out, Y/N could be a possible suspect and lately, she has been avoiding the academy for days, ever since Five came back, she could be using him as her alibi. Which makes her even more suspicious but she highly doubts she has something to do with it murdering their father.

After all, it is a well known fact that the servant has always been neutral, that’s why she is given a number that is neither a prime nor an odd number. It would be rare of her to step out of line. Plus, she only does what needs to be done, she wouldn’t do anything if it wasn’t under someone’s orders.

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

It was silent as the duo- trio rather, headed to Five’s room. Five’s head was flooded with ways on how he should retrieve the information to stop the apocalypse with Delores’ assistance. While Y/N’s head was filled with questions for Five, you wanted to ask him questions about the masked people and the people who tried to shoot them down at the doughnut shop but it didn’t feel like the right time to do so.

If only Five was open with you as he was to Vanya then you wouldn’t be reluctant to ask him questions… The only good thing that came out of this was that he trusted you enough to keep you around which made it easier to monitor him.

Once the three entered his room, you placed Delores on a nearby chair as Five stumbled his way to the bed. He fell face first onto the pillow; It sounded like a fart but you had to keep your lips pressed into a thin line or he’d bark at you. To distract yourself from laughing, you glanced at the mannequin, expecting it to do something. Alas, it did nothing but look into where it was painted to look at.

"It might be of use later…” You told yourself but you highly doubted it would be more useful than you.

The servant sighed then turned her gaze towards the boy. “Master Five, let me patch you up.”

“No, I can deal with this myself, I’ll just sleep it off.” He shrugged you off.

Unfortunately for him, you were determined, the look on your face supported that notion. “I’m afraid I won’t allow that. Your wound might get infected if you neglect it. Plus, seeing as you are hell bent on avoiding others, I am the only one who you can order around who wouldn’t try to look over your shoulder.”

Five’s thin lips were ready to bare the teeth that were hidden underneath his lips but his mind intervened before he could do so. You had a point, even though you were unexpectedly dragged into this, you could be of use to him -

"Hey, you know, I've just now realized why you're so uptight. You must be horny as hell!" He laughed then added, "All those years by yourself. It's gonna screw with your head being alone."

"If you want to let the stress out, why not ask Y/N for help?"

"Y/N seems like she'd be good in bed, if you're the type to have a corruption kink and all. I wouldn't be surprised if you have one because you seem the type-" Klaus snapped his finger, "And, andd~! She wouldn't get arrested for dating you."

Warmth creeped onto Five’s cheeks as he recalled Klaus’ words from earlier. He was lucky that his face fell first, you wouldn’t be able to see how much you - correction, how much Klaus’ words affected him. In case his ears were reddening as well, he decided to bury his face further into the pillow to hide it but it was a poor attempt on his part.

“Do whatever you want.” His words were muffled by the pillow.

“What?” You asked, unable to hear his words.

The brown haired boy sat up and glared at your direction, which made you regret your words. “Do whatever you want but don't even think of watching me sleep.”

You nodded then, left his room to go get the first aid kit from the infirmary. Which made the boy sigh in relief then returned to lying on the bed but, this time he made sure to avoid lying on his injured side. As he stared into space, he began to silently plan out how he would get more information only to be disturbed by his beloved, Delores.

“Others would take a rest the moment their body hits the mattress yet, here you are letting your thoughts consume you rather than exhaustion.” Delores mused as she laughed at Five's situation.

“I assumed you would be grateful that I took the time to take you out for a stroll. That was no easy task.” The boy retorted, he knew she was going to piss him off for fun, she’s always been like that since they got together.

“Yeah I am grateful but, I would rather get to know my in-laws than be stuck in this room all day.” The mannequin teased with a knowing smirk, she knew Five was easy to play with when he's needy for someone's attention.

“Getting tired of me already? I thought you loved me.” The brown haired boy joked with a grin on his face. It was a rare sight that only Delores got to witness more often than the others.

“I do love you but, I recall you numerous times telling me off that I shouldn’t disturb you when you’re at ‘work’.” She rebutted which made her beloved chuckle in response.

“Smartass.”

“Master Five is everything alright?” You tilted your head, confused by what you had just walked in. The brunette was talking to someone just earlier…

“Oh! Is she the one you mentioned that’s always stuck by Vanya’s side?” Delores was ecstatic to finally meet one of the people Five grew up with. Even though he wasn't fond of you, Delores grew to love you whenever you were brought up with Vanya. She thought you both had a cute dynamic.

The physically young man wordlessly nodded to Delores, which you mistook as him saying that everything was alright. Assuming that everything was alright, you were quick to settle down by his bed and prepared what you needed: bandages, a surgical needle, a synthetic suture, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a clean washcloth along with a small bowl of lukewarm water. Once prepared, you took care of his injured side. The room was silent as the boy let out small huffs and your breathing were the only thing audible but, Five was hearing other things besides your breathing.

"Sweetheart, why don't you introduce me to her? I'd love to get to know her. She seems like a nice girl." The mannequin requested.

The brunette could not tell if she was trying to press his buttons or not. They both knew perfectly well that Delores trying to interact with others would just cause confusion but, his beloved is quite a chatterbox. Five might as well play along, or she would make his ears bleed from constant pleading. The thought of doing so made him roll his eyes, which you caught.

Thinking you did something wrong, you raised a question. "Did I do something wrong, Master Five?"

"Nothing, Delores wants to get to know you." He reassured, as an imaginary grin on Delores’ face grew. If you were not so observant, he would have thrown a quick glare in the mannequin’s direction for her cheekiness.

The mannequin bursted out laughing which made the brown-haired male flustered. "AHAHAHA! We've been together for 31 years and I never knew you had this kink."

"Oh right!" The servant was weirded out by this. You knew that you had to play along if you didn’t want to be torn apart. "I didn't introduce myself. Hi Ms. Delores, I'm Y/N, also referred to as Number Zero."

"I won't lie, she is very adorable. I can see why you'd want to keep her around." Dolores added, a finger ghosting on her cheek that complimented that cheeky grin of hers.

"I'm not keeping her." He hissed at Dolores.

You didn't know what he meant by that so you ignored it, and decided to ask another question. "So uh, what did Ms. Delores say?"

"She said that you seem like someone she'd hang around." The boy lied through his teeth but the blush across his face said otherwise.

"That is a complete 180 from what I said Five~" The mannequin sang then giggled.

For a moment, the room went silent, you were busy with Five's wounds whilst the boy was busy keeping his eyes on the mannequin. Dolores watched from her chair, as though taunting the brunette. The silence was comfortable at first but then it began to grow awkward because it felt like you had to do something to fill in the silence.

Out of nowhere, you blurted out a stupid question. "So, Ms. Dolores, do you like cooking?"

The moment you were able to process what you just blurted out, you wanted to smash yourself into a bloody wall. How could you be so stupid? Who in their right mind would ask if a mannequin - a flammable object, mind you - if it loved to cook. Even if it did, how was it supposed to cook? It would make sense if you were asking a robot or an advanced mammal - actually, anything that is capable of mimicking human behavior - but, of all things you just had to ask, you asked a flammable object if it liked to cook!? You were on the verge of running away at this point and let Five deal with his injury.

"Is she serious?" Dolores asked, surprised by what she heard as well.

Five didn't know what to say to his beloved. Trying to look for confirmation of your sincerity, he turned to you and saw that you were covering your face out of embarrassment. It was kinda cute. Watching the usually blank-faced girl wear a different expression… it made you more human rather than a puppet that the other's usually claimed you to be.

To the other numbers (Five was no exception), the servant seemed inhumane, too perfect to be human, you were practically a doll. If we are talking about what kind of doll would describe you, then "barbie" would be a suitable description. A doll that every girl dreamed to be, a doll that was suitable for every job it came across.

However their assumption of you changed when they noticed the cracks you were trying to hide from them, like how you stiffened and forced yourself to smile despite the insults being hurled at you, how you did want to go against their father but decided against it because of hesitance, and how you try your best to not cry or scream whenever their father needed your blood or for experimentation.

You were just as messed up as them…

From that point on, they recognized that it didn't feel right to label you as a doll. Though it didn't diminish the fact that you acted like a puppet, how you wouldn't act unless someone pulled the strings, how you mimicked others to look natural, and how you spoke like it came out from a script instead of saying what you actually think or feel.

Though, Five supposes this is the reason why you were given the "Number 0", it is neither even or odd. A number that represents balance, you stood on neither side, you were just someone who’s responsible for neutralizing issues before things could escalate. Strangely enough, despite you trying to act normal, you were the one that stood out among the dysfunctional family, because of how mentally unaffected you were by the household. Even Vanya had difficulty expressing her anger for you in her memoir.

Whilst the two numbers were busy with their own thoughts, someone was watching the scenery before her, amused by the silence that settled within the room.

The mannequin internally laughed at what she was witnessing. She found it rather ironic that despite Five being blunt about his distaste for you, you kept chasing him and made sure if he was alright. It was even more hilarious that he was beginning to open up to you but his hostility is still present. He hated you, you disliked him yet, you both cared for each other in your own way.

Even though she didn't have a heart, she felt envious of you. To be able to hold Five, to be able to run after him, to be able to stop him from overworking. You had everything Dolores wanted. But, alas, those are merely musings of a soulless husk.

Although this was an unspoken truth, Five knew his beloved "Dolores" wasn't real, she was merely something that manifested out of thin air because he wanted to keep himself sane during the apocalypse. She even recalled that time when some people from the commission found out about Dolores' existence, and they judged Five's mental state for it, even though Five acted like it was nothing, She was worried for him. They both knew it was the truth but he refused to acknowledge the reality of her existence.

Putting aside her jealousy, the mannequin was glad that despite all the weirdness Five carried, he found someone who did try to understand him. The thought of your open-mindedness and kindness warmed Dolores' non-existent heart.

"Thanks." Five broke the silence, his gaze elsewhere.

"Huh?" You tilted your head, not expecting his words.

"I know you heard me, don't make me say it twice or I'll give you a reason to be deaf." The brunette threatened, usually his threats would make you flinch but, this time it made you smile, not a forced one.

Your genuine smile went unnoticed but the tone of your voice didn't fail to express your sincerity. "You're welcome, Five."

The boy froze up as he realized you were calling him by his name again. He didn't know whether to call you out on it or just let it go… In the end, he failed to notice you had already left his side.

"I didn't think you'd warm up to her considering you told me how much you disliked her." The mannequin teased a knowing look on her face.

The brunette merely rolled his eyes at her then laid down on the bed, avoiding to ruin the stitches you made. "She's one of the tolerable ones, I have no choice."

Dolores smiled to herself knowing that was a lie.

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

The next day, both the boy and the girl exited the house through the fire exit, with Dolores carefully placed into the duffle bag along with alcohol. The seance noticed you guys sneaking out and tried to join in but Five declined his offer. As Klaus was busy whining about how much he loved his 'little brother', you managed to hijack a nearby van and let Five drive to his desired location while you sat at the back with Dolores.

The brunette parked the van in front of the prosthetics building, watching people come and go while he fiddled with the glass eyeball in his hand. He mindlessly watched as a woman walked past the stolen van whilst a group of children played ball.

Seeing normalcy made Five sigh, he was envious of those people. People who lived a normal life had it better than him. He could not stop the feeling of envy creeping up on him. After all, they didn't have to worry about putting their lives on the line for others. Unlike them, the boy grew up in a dysfunctional household and got thrusted into the apocalypse at a young age. He was forced to grow up early and prioritize his life over others, which went against the old man's teachings.

As Five was busy with his own demons, he didn't notice you had let in uninvited guests.

You were bored out of your mind, and began to look out the window in hopes of finding something interesting, until you saw a familiar lanky figure heading towards the van. It was Klaus heading towards the van with Luther in tow, you opened the back door and waved at them to come in.

The lanky man skipped his way to the backdoor and began conversing with Dolores. As you tried your best to stop him from harassing it - because you had a feeling Five would rip him to pieces.

"I didn't think I would find a beauty like you in here." The seance whispered into Dolores' ear.

"Master Klaus you shouldn't-"

"Shh shh, let her speak." He said as he caressed the mannequin's cheek, even though it didn't say a word, Klaus giggled and started cradling Dolores in his arms.

"Does everyone in the Hargreeves family like talking to non-living things or something?" You questioned yourself as you bit the inside of your cheek.

At the front of the truck, it seemed like Luther was planning to sit in the passenger seat but it was locked. You unlocked the door for him since Five was unresponsive. You silently watched as the larger male struggled to enter the van due to his frame.

Suddenly, the brunette in the driver's seat screamed.

“No!” Five's scream caught you and Spaceboy's attention, you hurriedly went to his side and rubbed the small of his back.

“Five.” You murmured not wanting to overwhelm him with loud sounds.

“Five!” Luther called out, the volume of his voice made you flinch and cover the ear he screamed at.

“Hey Five!” The male shouted once again yet, it wasn't effective.

“NO!” The younger male screamed as he grabbed onto his hair whilst his eyes widened in fear, his breathing becoming ragged.

“Five!” You shook Five awake as the larger male shouted his brother's name like a mantra, trying to bring back the boy into reality.

When the brunette finally calmed down, you continued rubbing his back, concern etched into your features. “Are you alright, Master Five?”

He disregarded your words as he began to process the uninvited guest that sat on the passenger seat, "You shouldn’t be… How did you find me?”

“Um…” Space boy gestured to Klaus, who sat at the back of the van, cradling Five's beloved in his arms.

The seance murmured, “Hey baby…”

Once the lanky man noticed everyone's eyes were on him, he shooed away their lingering gazes. “Hey, a little privacy, guys. We’re really hitting it off back here.”

Out of irritation, the boy throws the nearest object at Klaus. The lanky man screamed and used the mannequin as a shield, in an attempt to protect himself. Luckily, you caught the object before Klaus got injured and threw Five a side eye, which made him roll his eyes.

“Get out! You can’t be here! I’m in the middle of something." The physically younger male hissed at his barely sober brother.

The seance dismissed his threat and approached his brothers who sat at the front of the van. “Any luck finding out your one-eyed man?”

“No.” Five whispered, internally groaning at the fact he even trusted his idiot of a brother with the secret of the apocalypse.

“What’s he talking about?” Luther brought up with a raised brow.

“Does it matter? It’s Klaus.” The boy quickly shot down.

At first, Klaus looked hurt but, he redirected his gaze to the larger male as though silently asking Luther to defend him but, nothing came out of Spaceboy's mouth. Defeated, the seance breathed through his nose and acted as though he wasn't hurt. Out of pity, you rubbed his back.

The small brunette sighed, “What do you want, Luther?”

“So…” Dirty blond male cautiously glanced at you, “So, Grace may have something to do with Dad’s death.” He paused and glanced at you again trying to read if you have a reaction. “I need you to come back to the academy, all right? It’s important.”

"Is something on my face?" You asked yourself as you started to feel your face if there was a bloodstain you forgot to wipe away from Five's wounds.

“It’s important.” Five mocked his brother’s words then scoffed. “You have no concept of what’s important.”

“Hey!” Klaus interrupted, “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding?”

The lanky man laughed his stomach out, sadly, the others weren't laughing along with him. “It was so painful!”

Luther and Five grimaced at their brother's words, while you looked at the seance as though he had committed a sin. Despite everyone's obvious disgust, someone else - besides Klaus - managed to laugh because of his shenanigans, it was Five. You witnessed the boy turn his head then hid his giggle underneath his breath. It was oddly adorable.

“What are you still doing here?” The larger man scrunched up his brows, his gaze on Klaus.

“I- What? I need an excuse to hang out with my family?” Klaus placed a hand on his chest, offended by the other male's choice of words.

“We’re trying to have a serious conversation here.”

“What, and I’m incapable of being serious? Is that what you’re saying?”

At this point, you couldn't help but frown and feel bad for Klaus. No one in the family took him seriously just like how they treated Vanya. He acts as though he isn't bothered but, you know it hurts him, just as much as how the others treated Vanya differently.

“Luther’s got a point, you should get out.” Five added.

“What?!"

Reluctantly, the lanky man crawls out of the van murmuring how it was unfair. Once he got out of the van, he screamed “FINE!” then slammed the door closed.

"I- I should go after Master Klaus…" You said quietly then followed Klaus to the convenience store. You had a feeling he'd cause trouble and it would be best someone would be there to prevent it.

Once you and Klaus left, the atmosphere in the van became tense. The unspoken rivalry, rather, the one sided rivalry between Luther and Five was becoming more evident to the naked eye. Since you left, Luther felt like he could finally bring up his suspicion of you to Five.

“What the hell are you up to?” Luther questioned whilst he observed the seance and the servant head to the convenience store together.

“You wouldn’t understand.” The younger male stated, his eyes narrowing at the prosthetics building across them.

“Try me. Last I checked, I’m still the leader of this family.”

“Well, last I checked. I’m 18 years older than you.”

The larger man inhaled deeply then turned to his 'younger' brother. “You know what your problem is?”

“Really hoping you’ll tell me.” Five sarcastically remarked, his hazel eyes never leaving the building across the van.

“You think you’re better than us. You always have. Even when we were kids. But the truth is, you’re just as messed up as the rest of us. We’re all you have and you know it.”

The brunette lets out a dejected sigh. “I don’t think I’m better than you, Number One. I know I am.”

Spaceboy chuckled at his words, Five just proved his point.

“I’ve done unimaginable things, things you couldn’t even comprehend.” the boy pointed out as his grip on the steering wheel tightened but it came off as an exaggeration to Luther, “Right…”

“Just to get back here and save you all.” Five added.

Unexpectedly, the convenience store from across the street was experiencing a commotion, catching the passersby's attention along with Five and Luther's. Out came Klaus carrying a huge amount of food in his arms followed by the security guard screaming for him to halt.

“Whoa!” The seance runs with the food he shoplifted as the security ran after him.

One of the security guards screamed with a baton in hand. “Stop!”

“Hey! Stop right now!”

The lanky man waves at the van, some of the food he stole fell behind. Due to his carelessness, he almost gets run over by a taxi, luckily it stopped halfway, though he managed to narrowly dodge the vehicle.

As for you, you were held back at the convenience store as you paid for the food your master shoplifted. You internally grumbled about regretting ever feeling pity for him and how you should have known he would have pulled a stunt like this.

After that whole fiasco, Luther was about to leave the van until he remembered something he had been planning to tell Five once you weren't around.

"Since you don't plan on showing up to the family meeting, I'll give you a heads up, Y/N might have something to do with dad's death." Luther said, his back against the boy.

Five's eyes widened and his grip on the steering wheel tightened as the puzzles in his head began to fall into pieces. "You have nothing to worry about. I've dealt with people like her."

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

Luther and Allison gathered every family member in the living room, except Five since he was being stubborn. The monitor that he and Allison were playing with last night, currently sat on the bar, the video tape already in it. All he needed to do was play the footage…

The large male took in a deep breath then played it. The monitor replayed the night of the murder, Grace was taking care of the Monocle's needs, suddenly he started twitching and fell on his back, amidst him experiencing a heart attack, Ms. Grace did nothing but look down at him instead of doing what she was programmed to do.

The whole room went silent, Luther observed the other's reactions and noticed that only Vanya and Klaus were mortified. Number one expected that he and Allison were the only ones who wouldn't be surprised but you and Diego didn't seem surprised by the footage. Diego seemed a little too satisfied whilst you looked away from the monitor.

The dirty blond male narrowed his brows, "Suspicious."

“I mean, do you really think that mom would hurt Dad?”, Vanya broke the silence.

“You haven’t been home in a long time, Vanya. Maybe you don’t know Grace anymore.”

“If he was poisoned, it would have shown up in the coroner’s report.” Diego remarked with a matter of factly tone.

“Well, I don’t need a report to tell me what I can see with my own eyes.”

“Maybe all that low gravity in space messed with your head.” The lad in black leather approached the monitor and replayed the footage. “Dad has his monocle. Grace stands up. Monocle’s gone.”

Klaus laughed, “Oh, yeah!”

The Latino turns his back, “She wasn’t poisoning him. She was… taking the monocle, to clean it.”

“Then where is it?”

Everyone went silent not having an answer to that question. You, even as an accomplice, didn't even know where it was. You were pretty sure disposing of the monocle was not part of the plan…

“No, I’ve searched the whole house, including her things. She doesn’t have it.”

The kraken looked down as he took out his knife and fidgeted with it, till his eyes met Luther's. “That’s because I took it from her. After the funeral.”

“You’ve had the monocle this whole time? What the hell, Diego!” Allison exclaimed.

“Give it to me.” Luther commanded, taking a few strides towards Diego, his hand out awaiting for the monocle to be returned.

“I threw it away.”

The rumor scoffed at her brother's admission.

“You what? ” Number one’s voice boomed.

“Look, I knew that if you found it on Mom, you’d lose your shit. Just like you are doing right now.” The latino menacingly pointed at Spaceboy's direction with the pointed edge of his dagger.

“Diego, you son of a bitch.” Luther walks over to Number two but Vanya interrupts him before another fight starts, you mirror her actions as well and walk in front of Diego to prevent him from doing anything reckless.

“Hey. no. calm down.” Vanya said, “Look, I know dad wasn’t exactly an open book. But, I do remember one thing. He said Mom was, well, designed to be a caretaker but also as a protector.”

“Well, if her hardware is degrading, then… We need to turn her off.”

"Oh no." You thought. This was definitely not part of Mr. Hargreeves' plan.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. She’s not just a vacuum you can throw into a closet. She feels things, I’ve seen it.” The kraken angrily said as his glare hardened, along with the finger pointing becoming more abundant.

“She stood there, and watched our father die.” The dirty blond male pointed out as he gestured to the footage.

“I’m with Luther.”

“Surprise, surprise.” Diego sarcastically retorted.

“Shut up.” The rumor barked back.

Suddenly, the whole room looked at Vanya, expecting an answer out of her. “I- I don't-”

"Yeah, she shouldn't get a vote." Diego interrupted her before she could decide but Vanya snapped back at him. "I was gonna say that I agree with you."

"Okay. She should get a vote."

The Latino turned to Klaus, "What about you, stoner boy? What are you thinking?"

"Oh, so, what? Do you need my help now? Oh 'Get out of the van, Klaus!', 'Well, welcome back to the van.' -

"What van?" The woman in curls interjected, not following through with this whole van thing. Fortunately for her, she wasn't alone as Vanya didn't know what the van metaphor was for.

The large male released a sigh and changed the topic, "What's it gonna be Klaus?"

“I’m with Diego because screw you Luther! And if Ben were here, he'd agree with me." The lanky man replied while looking Luther in the eye, as though to intimidate him.

"So, that's three to two."

"Vote's not final yet." The actress stated which caused the whole room to raise eyebrows.

"What?"

"Five's not here." She pointed out. You could hear everyone - except Luther who was silently thanking her - internally groan at her words. At this point, she was just stalling!

The lad in black leather scoffed and then argued, "You really think Five would show up to something as stupid as this?"

"Why don't we just let Y/N vote for him?" Klaus suggested as he pushed you forward like a sacrificial lamb.

"Master Klaus, I'm afraid I can't do that-"

"She doesn't have a say in this." You stiffened at Luther's words, "I don't like the sound of that."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? That she is not one of us? She is treated like an experiment and got traumatized because of that bastard! How is she any different from us?" Diego fought back on your steed, while you looked at him like he had grown another head.

"Because we-"

"Just you, Luther." Allison corrected, looking away from the scene before her.

"I think she might be an accomplice in Dad's death." The larger male finished her sentence which made the living room feel unwelcoming as dead silence followed.

The Latino scoffed then taunted the big man, "I'm surprised your mouth hasn't retired from carrying all that shit your ass couldn't handle."

"And here we go again." The rumor muttered under her breath.

Luther ignored his brother's taunts and began providing arguments, "During dad's funeral, Y/N was supposed to check on the footage and report to me if there was anything suspicious but she didn't inform me."

"That's because I was with Five, I'm supposed to be watching over him in case the effects of time traveling were kicking in." You hurriedly replied which unknowingly raised suspicion in Luther's eyes.

"Didn't you and Pogo switch shifts whilst monitoring the CCTVs?"

"Yes but, I didn't have time to check on the tapes-"

"You didn't have time yet the tape was conveniently placed on top of the cabinet." The dirty blond male pointed out, your eyes widened in fear because you didn't know how to defend yourself… You felt helpless.

You were well aware that you were not the one who placed the tape there, so it could have been Pogo. As much as you would love to defend yourself, you couldn't exactly speak out either since this would ruin the plan but you were itching to stand up for yourself. In the end, you sucked it up and didn't say a word.

"You even told me that I should 'broaden your scope, especially your list of suspects'. " Luther's eyes felt like lasers being burned through your skull.

You gulped, looking down at your feet as your tears were ready to cascade down your cheeks. You even regretted leaving those clues for him because you didn't think you would be put into this position, "I- I was… I was trying to cheer you up…"

"Is that the only excuse you can come up with?" Luther scoffed, he almost sounded like his father… It scares you.

"Vanya, please keep an eye on Y/N for now." The larger male ordered the petite woman.

Desperately, you walked up to him, "I know it looks bad but, Can I at least attempt to get Five back? His decision might help finalize what to do with Ms. Grace."

"His decision won't save you."

At this point, you were trembling. The ringing in your ears became louder, your mind zoning out until you felt a hand on your shoulder, you turned to see it was Klaus wearing a reassuring smile though it didn't do much.

"That's enough Luther, you're scaring her." Allison finally stepped in.

The violinist approached your side cautiously then gently whispered, "Y/N, I believe it's best you listen to Luther for now."

"For now, let's wait for Five to return. The whole family has to vote. We owe each other that." The rumor ended the discussion and everyone began to part their ways.

Once Vanya finished conversing with Diego about Ms. Grace, she - gently - took you by your wrist and headed to your room. You were so busy in your head that you didn't realize that Vanya was the one taking you to your room.

The violinist wore a concerned look on her face, "Hey, Y/N, you alright? You seem so out of it? It's very unusual for you… I'm assuming you are bothered by what Luther said? You looked like you were about to cry earlier."

"I'm not bothered, just worried about Five. I was supposed to be by his side but I ended up getting house arrest instead." You answered jokingly but you could not bring yourself to fake a smile.

Vanya laughed, not noticing that your energy didn't match your tone. "If it helps, I don't think you would kill dad."

"You wouldn't know that…" You wanted to say that but kept it to yourself.

"So don't beat yourself up over this, if you're innocent you have nothing to lose."

You briefly replied with a fake smile, "Yeah. Thanks."

The petite brunette noticed the brief reply but shrugged it off then changed topics. "So, I've heard from the others that you and Five have been hanging out, is that true?"

You nodded.

"I didn't think he'd open up to you… with how he openly hates you and all- Not saying that it's a bad thing that you guys are getting along now! It's just… unexpected is all."

You relaxed for a bit and chuckled. You knew for a fact neither of you guys were getting along. At most, you guys were just tolerating each other because you all saw how you guys benefited from each other.

"That's one way of putting it." You murmured.

You and Vanya arrived in your room and sat on your bed. In sync, you guys laid down on your backs and stared at the ceiling above you guys.

"So how's Five doing?" The brunette questioned, probably worried about his mental state considering what happened the day before… or was it earlier?

"Well, from what I can tell, he's getting used to people…" you answered, trying to evade the topic of the apocalypse when answering her question.

Vanya exhaled through her nostrils, "I really should have insisted for him to get help."

"I understand your concern Miss Vanya but, you can't help someone who doesn't recognize they need help. You would only be wasting your energy."

"I'm sorry," She murmured, a habit of hers that she never got over.

You smiled then added, "You have nothing to be sorry about, you're just doing what you think is right."

"Y/N can I ask you something?"

You nodded giving her the go signal.

"Why would you try to comfort Luther by advising him to look into other people as well?"

You froze up. You couldn't lie to Vanya, something was telling you that you couldn't go against someone's orders. "I can't-"

Unexpectedly, a myriad of gunshots were coming from the hallway.

"Hide!" You shouted, before Vanya could protest, you urgently hid her in your closet as you hid under the bed.

Once the sound of gunshots and blades clanking simmered down, you got out of your hiding spot and readied your retractable bo staff. Vanya got out of the closet as well once she heard you got out of your hiding spot.

"Miss Vanya, I will be heading out to assist the others," You grabbed a ballistic shield you have been hiding behind the closet, "I'll be giving you this ballistic shield for your protection. Please don't make any sound."

"Wait, Y/N you shouldn't-" Number seven grabbed your wrist in an attempt to stop you but the determined look on your face made her grip loosen.

"I have to Miss Vanya, I'm sorry. It's my responsibility to protect you- I mean, protect the academy. I can't just stand by and watch them throw away their lives like that."

Vanya was left speechless with your words. You did not outright say anything about her being ordinary or not having powers but, it felt like the term "responsibility" became synonymous with the word “power”. It made her think that she didn't have the power to protect others nor herself, that's why other people had to get themselves hurt to protect her.

"Remember, do not open the door for anyone even if you know it's someone you think you can trust; We don't know what the intruder is capable of, so trust no one. I will let you know if the coast is clear so keep a lookout for my messages." You told her then left your room, unknowingly leaving Vanya to her thoughts.

You cautiously surveyed the hallway, you held the bo staff's body with high alert including your other senses actively looking for the intruders that entered the academy. When you reached the stairs, you witnessed Diego and Allison simultaneously attacking a familiar pink masked person. You were about to jump into the action until you heard Vanya's voice from the living room.

ㅤㅤㅤ❲ T H E ☕ S E R V A N T ❳

"Hello?" Vanya went down the stairs, worry in her voice and facial features.

"Guys? Is everyone okay?"

"Hello? Guys?" She entered the living room unaware of the danger emanating from the lounge.

Once the violinist entered the room she tried to look for any signs of life but only saw the result of the fight, which was gun residue and bullet casings littering the area. As she was about to leave and investigate the other rooms, she heard chains rattling behind her.

The petite woman turned and was met with the intruder who wore a blue cartoony mask, who was wielding a morning star. He swung it towards Vanya but she ducked just in time. As he was about to hit her with his arm, a two-pronged spear stopped him midway, which created a distance between Vanya and the intruder.

The spear was a surprise to everyone in the living room except you, they turned their gaze and met your hues. Once the masked man's attention was set on you, Vanya quickly hid not wanting to be a liability.

"If you're looking for someone to fight, at least pick someone who can fight." You taunted the larger man.

With ease, you jumped from the second floor then dash towards the masked man, using the momentum you've picked up, you raised your foot and pushed kick his torso away. The impact made him stumble backwards and pause as he tried to gather his footing.

The spear that you threw at him earlier is now in your hands, you pressed the button that would retract the prongs and swung it towards the mask - his head was your main target - which made him stagger back again.

"This brat is too quick, I should've left her with Cha cha." Hazel grumbled to himself.

Despite the obvious large distance, you cautiously took a few steps backwards and used the staff as a boundary. An open hand supporting the head of the bo staff whilst a closed fist on the butt of the staff holding onto it with a strong grip.

Seeing as the double attack to his head was making him fall behind, you quickly withdrew from your defensive stance then, taunted the masked man by spinning your bo staff. Once he regained his footing, he swung the ball of spikes onto the body of the staff, so it would fall apart.

However, you decided to take a gamble and retract it. You dashed forward to tackle him but, due to the frame and weight differences, your attack didn't affect him. Unknown to him, this was all part of your plan, this was the distance you needed for your next move. You made the staff face upwards then unretracted it which propelled his chin thus leading him to fall backwards.

By now he was outside the living room, you were out of breath and so the masked man. Your main objective was achieved, Vanya wasn't within his reach but, you were not sure if you could hold him off any longer.

"Hey, asshole." Luther greeted. Despite what he did to you earlier, you were thankful for his presence.

"Y/N go look for Pogo and Grace!"

You nodded and headed off to where you usually see Pogo and Grace. Once you have met up with the advanced chimpanzee you guided him to the basement and reassured him that everything was under control. You were planning to go out and look for Grace this time but, curiosity got the better of you.

"Did you hire those people?" You questioned as your grip on the retractable bo staff tightening.

"Master Hargreeves never hired an outside party to get involved… It must be someone who knows what he is planning, or people after his fortune." He replied but you were not satisfied with his answer, it was evident on your face.

You scoffed then exclaimed, "What the hell is he planning?! Vanya almost got killed out there!"

"I'm afraid I can't tell you. Master Hargreeves made me swear to not speak of it, unless the truth is finally revealed to the whole academy."

You were livid but walked away from him with a huff, to go look for Ms. Grace. At this point, you have given up on trying to find out the truth. Even though you were one of the Monocle's loyal servants, he treated you like the other numbers and kept you in the dark despite his hesitancy to trust you, he gave you little to no information, so you would be left to figure it out yourself.

Once you received Vanya's text, you went out of the basement and surveyed the house if there were lingering intruders. Suddenly, you ran to where you heard the crash come from and saw a fallen chandelier along with the other numbers who looked like they were still processing what they witnessed.

"What happened?" You broke the silence, it seemed like they were hesitant to answer but Allison managed to speak. "A chandelier fell on Luther, please check on him."

You bowed to the rumor, as you were ready to leave Vanya, Allison and Diego to their own devices.

Suddenly, the violinist's question made you freeze, "Who were those people?"

You were well aware that the question was not directed towards you but, the instinct - a rumor - told you to answer her but, then you saw Diego narrowing his eyes at you, as though silently questioning why you haven't left. You tightened your lips into a line then silently went to the clinic to prep for Luther's wounds.

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kaiso-woo · 6 months

Text

Just Stay.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　

-> Masterlist

PART 1 of my ‘Stay Series’ - a long hypothesised journey of a relationship between Bang Chan and Reader.

WC: 6.8k | Overall ‘Stay Series’ Synopsis: Bang Chan experiences the suic!des of Stays, so when you lot choose to die, he dies right along with you. Reader is the “antidote” to this condition.

Notes: Second Person Narration, Skz Fluent in English, Swearing, CaféOwner!Reader, Fem!Reader, Idol!Chan, Barista!Chan, Suic!de (Strong Descriptions), ANGST (LITERALLY EVERYWHERE, NO NEED TO SQUINT), Fluff (At the End)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

PART 1

!!Casual reminder this is entirely fictitious - Chris/Christopher in my work does not represent the actual Bang Chan - this is purely my imagination and nothing more - this goes for all other SKZ-Members too!!

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

If this were the case, could you then be compared to a lonely garden gnome, fated to ponder life’s every aspect through a single perspective? Would you shrivel away from the light, choose to accept the pitiful concept of simply existing and allow your garden to wither; green to grey, flesh to bones, petals to stems? Perhaps your coping mechanism is to simply scream. Shut the doors. Close your blinds. Block your ears. Scream. Dry your eyes. Breathe…

Scream.

He does none of those. Instead, his eyes flutter closed momentarily, chest heaving, hands shaking, before he pulls himself away and picks up the computer mouse again. They’re becoming more frequent, or maybe he’s becoming more attune to them.

He doesn’t witness these deaths, exactly. He feels them; what it’s like to have the frigid wind tug at your hair, howling in your ears, the moment of impact with the blistering ground causing him to flinch violently, hand clamped over his mouth in a desperation to quell any yell; what it’s like to have your vision swim, blotting in and out of darkness, your throat constrict as though a pressure is forcing its way from inside out, desperate, erratic gulps for sweet sweet oxygen achieving nothing; what it feels like to stand there, shivering, your heart rate increasing tenfold, breaths quickening to mere pants, as you will every instinct in your body to remain still – ‘do not move’, you think, ‘it’ll be over soon’, you remind yourself, ‘the lights are closer now, and they’re fast, they won’t stop’.

How dearly he wishes for them to stop.

He’s better at dealing with them now, definitely more subtle. The panic that envelopes him every time he realises something is about to happen however, will never leave him. He’ll drop what he’s holding, frantically disappear into one of the empty rooms in the company building, lock the door and rake a hand through his hair. The number of times the stylists have grumbled at him for messing up his styled hair is limitless, but he doesn’t care, why should he?

The studio door clicks open, and his head snaps to the sound. Immediately, he attempts to steady his breath, and pulls his expression into his signature straight smile :] as Jisung enters the room, a plastic bag filled with takeaway containers in his hand.

“Eh? What’re you doing here…?” Chan grins, his eyes widening dramatically. Swiftly, he swipes his computer mouse to the top of the screen to check the time.

2.23am

“It’s so late Jisung, were you practicing choreo?” he continues, hitting save on his keyboard so he doesn’t accidentally delete his work while distracted. “I brought you food,” Jisung mumbles, lowering it onto the coffee table and carefully unpacking it all. Chan’s mouth begins to salivate excessively as the smell of chicken wafts towards him, but he rubs his face and resists the urge to sit down with Jisung and eat to his heart’s content.

Jisung plucks a drumstick from the box, “Why are you working here alone?” he questions, a sad pout on his chubby cheeks as he wanders over to the computer, careful not to drop any crumbs. Chan shrugs, hoping it’ll satiate Jisung’s concern.

It doesn’t, of course, and his pout morphs into a small frown. Jisung tries to shove the chicken into Chan’s mouth, offering it to him demandingly. “You eat, you eat,” Chan waves it away and turns back to his computer, “You wanna listen? I think it’s almost finished, something’s just not right with the auto tune… I think. It sounds off,” he picks the headphones off the desk and holds them out for Jisung, who has taken a bite of the chicken happily and is munching away. Again, he tries to give Chan the chicken drumstick, and refuses to take the headphones until Chan is eating the chicken.

As Jisung listens to the song, Chan’s mind drifts back to the corners of his thoughts, the shadows that have been swirling there for a long while now. He doesn’t know when it first began, doesn’t want to remember it to be honest. He was in his room, dozing off into a comfortable sleep, the purple LEDS providing a soft glow to the darkness.

It was abrupt, swinging into him out of nowhere, but he sat bolt upright, hands grappling with the sheets desperately. His vision swam, and he retched on dry air. He groaned and keeled forwards, hands suddenly clutching his chest as it tightened painfully – corkscrewing into his heart, but at the same time it was as though someone was trying to pry it open. He retched again, and he regretted in that moment that he had chosen purple to light his room earlier. The colour was making his head pound, his belongings swimming in and out of his vision, worsened by his unstable swaying.

In a panic, he crawled over to the side of his bed. Then with a last hacking cough, he vomited onto the floor, the acrid taste on his tongue causing him to recoil, the stinging burn in his throat making his eyes water. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t see shit anymore. A dry sob escaped his lips, as he desperately tried to fumble for something to ground him back to reality. He saw speckles – grainy, fuzzy, surreal.

The world tilts, and maybe he falls off the bed too. And he’s gone.

“It’s not the auto tune effect – it’s the timing of the bridge,” Jisung drags Chan back to reality, his head bopping slightly to the music. Chan blinks and scoots aside to allow the younger to fiddle with the computer mouse, rewinding the audio so he can listen again. Chan is finishing off the chicken drumstick, so he hums in acknowledgement instead to Jisung’s feedback. “Yeah, it’s the bridge. The vocals need to be delayed a little,” Jisung concludes, “Want me to fix it up?”

In the silence of the room, Jisung pulls over another chair and gets to work. Chan watches him contentedly for a while, happy to absorb himself in the clicking and tapping of his first child’s proceedings - watching him edit and perfect the track they’ve been working on for the past few months. Jisung glances at Chan, his concentration breaking, “You’re unusually quiet.”

Chan reaches over and squeezes his shoulder comfortingly, “Just thinking.” “Right... well, eat more. And then go to bed,” Jisung insists, briefly squeezing the hand on his shoulder in return. Chan sighs and hoists himself out of his chair, sinking back onto the couch so he can easily dig into the food. “Thanks mate,” he mumbles, and when the man makes no move of acknowledgement, Chan smiles softly and nibbles on some more chicken.

He woke that time, on the floor of his bedroom, dangerously close to the stinking heap that was his vomit. His head pounded, a dull ache ringing in his skull as he mustered all his strength to simply stand up and pull over the blinds.

“What the fuck was that?” He groaned, resting his head on the window and basking in the warmth of the early morning sun, so comforting, so full of life – a steady presence. After he spent the next ten minutes gathering his wits and cleaning up the mess, he brushed it off as food poisoning; maybe something in the food Hannah cooked last night (he’d never tell her that, of course).

On another day, in another place, maybe a few weeks from then, he had returned to Korea, jumping straight back into his busy schedule. They were in the middle of an interview, not the first, and certainly not the last. In hindsight, he was thankful he had chosen to stand in the back row. At first he thought he merely needed to cough, a ticklish sensation wrapping around his throat, a ghost of a hand caressing his neck. He swayed dangerously when he felt it tighten harshly, so suddenly, and his heartbeat escalated, his legs becoming jelly.

His head snapped back as his whole body teetered over the edge of the platform he was standing on. A searing pain blazed across his neck for a second, causing him to grapple with it in shock. Changbin grabbed his arm at that point, preventing him from completely falling over backwards.

“You okay?” he whispered, careful not to draw too much attention to the pair, professional as always. Chan corrected himself and tried to control his breathing, forcibly inhaling and exhaling through his nostrils. He pulled a face, his eyes wide, and waved his arms a little, “Thanks. Almost lost my balance there.”

Throughout the rest of the interview, he remained silent, thinking hard. What just happened? And why did it feel like… he had just been… hung?

It took him months to string two and two together, months of spontaneous moments of death, in which he remained alive. He’d be drowned countless times, be stabbed infinitely, shot in the head, electrocuted, run over by train… after train… after train, until he fully accepts that these were all connected.

As time wore on, he began to hear things too, inner monologues he supposed, of their voices. He figured if this condition, whatever it was, lasted long enough, he’d soon be able to see it too.

Stay. Just stay. Stay’s. It’s you. You’re not staying. He was burning in the middle of a fire. That much was obvious by the scorching pain on his skin, brutal enough that he just wished he couldn’t feel. He screamed into the couch pillows, knowing full well that the studio was soundproof, but paranoid all the same that any of his members would hear him.

‘Thank you Stray Kids, for everything.’

Stay. He couldn’t tell at this point whether the pain was his or from the person who was dying. Both, perhaps. All this time, the people who were dying, the people who were killing themselves, were Stay’s. Or maybe this time was a coincidence, maybe this person just happened to be a part of the fandom.

It wasn’t though.

More and more often, in the midst of some version of death, he heard thoughts, whispers:

“You got me this far Stray Kids.” “Skz you’re my everything.” “Keep fighting Stray Kids.”

“Chan, I love you.” “Thank you Chan.” “Life was good thanks to you, Chan.”

Fuck. This. Shit.

Stay.

His members were either dense, playing dumb or he was an incredible actor and the sneakiest being on all of planet earth. He had no idea how he had managed to hide this, for so long, and not hear a peep out of any of them.

Sure, he attributed his puffy eyes (from tears) to a lack of sleep, or too much time in front of a computer screen. Maybe his lack of sleep could be contributed to insomnia, not that he genuinely didn’t want to sleep with the fear that he might wake abruptly to a strangling death. Again.

More recently, in an attempt to be more cautious, when that panic settles in - a familiar feeling of fear, 'I can do this. I'm going to do it. I want to die. Do I want to die?' - he'd excuse himself to the bathroom.

“Chan hyung’s gone to the bathroom.” – posts Hyunjin.

Yeah. To die.

He yawns, stretching as he returns to the studio from a genuine bathroom break. He’s excited to return to his work; a sample he’d stumbled across waiting to be incorporated into a new song. After he shuts the door, he checks the time on his phone.

There’s an hour and a half until 12am– he needs to do Chan’s Room soon too, it’s Sunday. He was comforted by Chan’s Room, to see so many Stay’s on his lives, thankful to have them there, rather than at the top of a building, or sinking at the bottom of a river. He decides that the sample can wait – it’s saved anyway.

He flipped his black hood over the top of his cap, carefully adjusting it so it was presentable, and began to set up the live. He had a few songs in mind that he’d play for you all but was really hoping you’d contribute to the song suggestions too. He smiled, and he laughed, and he danced along to the songs, joyously reading your comments and responding with enthusiasm despite it getting later into the night.

Then the mood shifted when his eyes skimmed over a particular comment. He froze, and his bubble of security popped. He wasn’t sure if he had managed to blot you out, or if the fear had only crossed through after you had sent that message, but he was positive that the person who typed the question, was the person currently pressing a knife to his heart – a small, sharp prick on his chest.

Chan inhaled sharply and swivelled in his chair, “Yeah don’t… don’t hurt yourself, yeah?” The chat exploded with questions and comments, wondering why he was bringing it up and offering words of comfort. The sharp pain on his chest receded slightly, but the fear was still there, the emotional pain ever present. “Just because you have a lot of stress, it doesn’t mean that you have to relieve it by hurting yourself.”

There. Same user. New comment. ‘Your future isn’t worth living for’? Bullshit.

“If you think about the future… it’s best to just keep away from that and find different ways of relieving stress.” Self-consciously, he fiddles with his hoodie drawstrings and swivels in his chair again, desperate to hide the panic flicker across his features briefly. The knife was back.

“You never know what’s going to happen in the future. Something might go wrong, then there might be a turning point and then- from then on you feel really, really regretful,” he’s rambling at this point, thoughts unhinged, spluttering and mixing like mush in his brain. He just needs to get you to stay.

He takes a deep breath, and drills his eyes into the camera, pleading with what little he could offer, “If you really, really can’t help it or if you really just don’t know what to do or you’re really- really lost, as I’ve always said,” he smiles, eyes shimmering, “come here; look for me, ask me, talk with me.” He waits, praying, fiddling his thumbs below the desk.

And the agonising feeling fades, leaving him deflated, relieved.

“I’ll try my best to relieve your stress,” he concludes, then spreads his arms wide. He knows Stay didn’t ask for it, but he was offering one of his hugs more for himself than them.

His relief would be short-lived. He can’t save everyone.

I guess, it’s about time I introduce you. You, not as one of those who have given up. Not as one of those who have caused Chan’s suffering. I introduce you, as simply you. You, who carefully pulls your keys out of the café door. You, who draws down some of the shutters with a soft smile. You, as wonderful, loving, bubbly you.

You make your rounds around your haven, your café. It’s a combination of everything you could possibly imagine to be creative. It’s been your dream to create a safe hub for the public that incorporates a library, a café, study area, art studio, computer labs, rehearsal room and even a recording studio.

Pets were welcome, of all kinds, as long as they wouldn’t fight with each other, and you were open from 7.30am in the morning until 1am the following day.

If anyone fell asleep studying, working on music or reading, you’d leave them where they were and pull out the blankets you kept in storage. The policy for this was simply a bond of trust. Customers could stay working for the night as long as they didn’t mind watching you drift around in the morning in your bedhead and PJ’s, slowly beginning to set up for a new day.

You would always offer them a morning hot chocolate, coffee or tea, free of charge, but more often than not, they’d leave their money on the counter when you turned away, refusing to let you best them in a game of generosity.

Books could be borrowed, studios and study rooms booked, pets left in the backyard day/night day care. Equipment was supplied in all the rooms, instruments for loan, computers to log into, art tools for perusal. The rule for these? Don’t break them. If customers break them, they pay for them.

If something run’s out, let you know. You only offered the basic necessities anyways, so you restocked them yourself. Anything else customers bring for themselves. It was safe. It was cosy. It was yours. Yours to give. Admittedly, you still had to pay off the loan you took out to set up the place, and if time grew short you were considering shutting down the recording studio – it was the least used area.

You pushed the last few stray chairs in as you considered whether to make yourself a final cup of tea before settling down in your apartment upstairs. There were two people currently dozing in various locations of Café Studio, one of whom was a regular. A third customer was sipping the last dregs of his coffee, watching your humble movements out of the corner of his eye.

“Mind if I call it a night on one of your couches?” he asks, scraping back his chair to place his mug on the counter by the coffee machine. That’s James. James fucking Jamison. Always here for whatever reason, never not here, where you wanted him to be. You withhold a sigh and the temptation to pinch the bridge of your nose, “Yeah, go for it. You know the drill.”

You welcome all customers, all are valuable guests. Except for him. He just won’t take a hint.

He saunters idly over to you, hands in his pockets, and clears his throat, “So… are you sure you won’t be free any time this week?” You can feel his eyes drilling into your back and scrunch your nose distastefully, pulling out your phone as if to check something, “I can’t, I run this place.”

He’s still staring at you, so you whisk your earphones out from a pocket in your apron and plug them into your ears. It doesn’t take you long to press shuffle on your playlist, and immediately your current favourite song begins to play, as if it knows exactly what would help you through this situation, or maybe they knew.

“What if you just shut the place down for the day?” he asks with an awkward laugh, running his hand through his hair dramatically. So cool. You roll your eyes and turn around to face him, internally dancing to the song in your ears. You give him a once over, genuinely considering him, “I can’t shut down my only source of income for a day.” “Even for-”

“Especially not for you.” The two of you stare at each other and you can sense that somewhere in those blue eyes of his, you’ve angered him. He’s not pleased, and he never has been with your constant rejections, but so far he hasn’t tried anything. He would be stupid to do so, with surveillance cameras set up everywhere and two customers sleeping not far away.

Go kill yourself.

You wince as sharp pain crackles across your forehead, “Sorry what?” James blinks at you quizzically, his sizzling demeanour vanishing at your confusing outburst. “I didn’t say anything.”

Go. Kill yourself.

You hiss, hand clutching your forehead, and stumble into the nearest table. James is onto you in a second (“Woah there”) trying to support you, when the table was doing just fine. “Back off,” you snap, pushing him away, which causes you to stumble back into the window, the last one without its shutter pulled down, “and shut up.” Again, he blinks at you, ever the stupid dolt he is.

‘Heh… funny.’ Why’d I say that?

Desperately, you swivel and press your forehead to the cool of the glass window, groaning in agony. The music playing in your earphones becomes too much, so you tug them out of your ears, your phone lighting up on the paused song of “Silent Cry”, by Stray Kids.

I wonder if it’ll still be funny after- if I-

You crack your eyes open and peer outside, dimly trying to discern whether this was a voice in your head, or a voice in real life. It spoke with a pained clarity, exhaustion numbing what could have been a voice of laughter and passion. How you knew this, you had no idea.

“Hey, are you good? Are you on your period or something?” James piped up helpfully, and if you weren’t so heavily concentrated on scanning your surroundings outside you might have kicked him out of your store right then and there.

Then you spotted someone. A lone figure, shrouded in the hazy glow of a streetlight, leaning over the bridge railing. Café Studio was located on the banks of the local river, wide enough for boats to barge through, deep enough to be terrified of the unknown creatures writhing within.

You watched, the incessant pounding in your head diminishing the longer you stared at the figure. If he wasn’t standing in the middle of the light, you wouldn’t have spotted him in his completely black outfit. Someone certainly wasn’t one for colour. He leaned further over the railing, clutching his beanie to his head as though afraid it would fall off in the wind.

In seconds, you had ripped your phone and headphones from your apron, leaving it on one of the tables, and fumbled with the key to unlock the café door. It was chilly out, but you ignored the goosebumps speckling your skin, and James’ confused fucking shouts – like would the guy stitch his mouth shut please.

That was him. The idiot leaning too far over the railing was the one whispering nonsense in your brain. How you came to this conclusion was to anyone’s guess, but it was him. In the seconds it had taken you to sprint over to him, he had clambered on top of the railing, balancing precariously, his hands in his hoodie pockets, gazing into the depths of the water.

Maybe in another life, if you weren’t out of breath trying to stop him from ending it all, you might have been enamoured by his features. As you drew closer, you could make out the defined cut of his jaw, his wide shoulders, plush lips tinged with pink from the cold, dark eyes alluringly intimidating. This wasn’t that life though, and you paid no attention to any of it really.

A dawning realisation settled on your features however, after a brief assessment of his face caused you to realise that you knew him, perhaps not personally, but still knew him. “Bang Chan?” you whisper, the name falling from your lips in a panicked whisper, “Chan no…” your legs work harder, and you pray almost deliriously that he doesn’t do it. Don’t do it. He can’t.

“Bang Chan!” you yell, losing all sense of discipline as he sways gently, contemplating, “Chan!!” he doesn’t appear to hear you, absorbed in his own mind. You’re there, you’re right there, and this time, when you call desperately, “Christopher!” his eyes snap up to meet yours.

It’s this particular moment, that will be ingrained in your mind in the following years. The way his eyes spark in shock at the sight of you, then relax, as though he understands, and has complete control over everything in his life.

Without hesitating, you snatch at his clothes and tug him backwards. His heavy body crashes into yours, but you don’t care. You wrap your arms safely around his waist as you tumble to the paved path in a heaped mess of clothes and limbs.

He wriggles around in your grasp, trying to position himself more comfortably, and eventually wind up staring each other dead in the face, blinking through your lashes up at him, his palms on either side of your head.

An uncomfortable silence settles between you, fizzing in the limited space between your faces. Then without warning, you roughly shove your hand behind his head and pull him down into a hug, tears beginning to stain your cheeks.

“What the fuck? What the fuck?” you croak, needlessly shoving your hand underneath his beanie so you can tangle it into his curled hair, “What the actual fuck, were you doing?!” you cling to him tighter, and your breath escapes in garbled gasps that quieten to silence when you feel the trickle of wet tears on your neck.

Gently, you remove your hand from his head and relax your body, allowing him to remove himself from you if he so wished. He burrows his face further however, his arms collapsing onto his elbows, and suddenly you can hear him sobbing.

The tears on your neck weren’t your own. He sounds so broken, crying his heart out as though he were a lost little child who dropped his ice cream. The raw emotion and lack of restraint in his sobbing scrapes at the threads of your heart, and again, you’re crying. Crying with him, for him – understanding everything, and nothing at the same time.

Eventually, you wipe the tears from your face, trying to figure out what to do next. You need to comfort him, talk to him, remind him that he’s worth this world, and the world doesn’t deserve him because by god- if anyone knew even a scrap of what this man meant- he’s laughing. Why is he laughing?

His warm breath tickles your neck as he chuckles, his sobs magically morphed into an amused laughter, which is the most concerning thing by far. Chan pulls away from you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he laughs and hastily dries the tears on his face.

“Sorry. I am so sorry you had to see that,” he grins, and you frown at him. “Sorry I had to see what? You almost jump off a fucking bridge, or your tears? It better not be the latter Christopher, or I’ll gladly rewind time and push you over myself.” Almost immediately, you regret the words tumbling out of your mouth when his face crumbles again, “Would you really?” he whispers, sitting up beside you.

“No. No I was kidding. I was just- you’re allowed to cry, Chan,” you sit up too, and then it’s just the both of you, sitting alone, a strange pair, by the railing of a bridge. “So you know who I am then?” he dutifully asks, gingerly fixing his beanie and offering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you take note of the way his posture deflates, and add quickly, “But it doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters is that you tried to…” your words die in your throat at the reproachful glint in his eyes, shimmering eerily in the lamplight. Instead, you stand up and offer him a hand. He cautiously accepts it, allowing you to help him stand with you. “Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you,” you smile, giving his hand a shake. He stares at you, bemused, and shakes your hand back. “Christopher Bahng. And… thanks.” You’re not sure if he’s thanking you for stopping his plummet to death, or for helping him sit up, or for letting him cry… he could be thanking you for a lot of things, so instead, you do the next best option.

“Want to head over to my café? I’ll make you a cup of coffee,” you offer, flicking your head to the still lit building, where fucking James is standing outside, ogling you from afar, his hands on his hips. “Sure… only… I assumed you’d know I don’t drink coffee,” he shoves his hands into his hoodie pockets again, and as your eyes slide from James and then back to the man in front of you, you suddenly struggle to process everything that’s just happened.

“Why would I? We just met,” you flash him a coy smile and lead the way. You stroll into the café, holding the door open for Chris so he can step through, his hands still in his pockets. James makes to follow, but you slam the door shut in his face and lock the door swiftly.

“Uh…” Chris begins, his eyes wide, asking for an explanation. “No questions. He won’t leave me alone, and that’s that,” you grin brightly, then rush to disappear behind the café bar and begin to prepare him a drink. He seats himself on a stool and tries to watch as you work. You grow uncomfortable in the silence, especially with him watching you so closely, so you instinctively begin to ramble.

“This is Café Studio. You might have noticed by the sign out front.” He nods, indicating he’s paying attention. “I run this place entirely myself, and I live above…” You tell him everything you can think of, from the studios attached to the café, to your favourite pets that frequently get dropped off for day care or overnight stays. His eyes light up when you mention the recording studio, and you have a feeling he’ll go back to the topic after.

In no time, you have two hazelnut croissants prepared, a steaming mug of white hot chocolate for yourself, and a mug of caramel hot chocolate with a dusting of cinnamon for him (you refuse to tell him what’s in his drink, which makes him pout sadly because he loves it). You lapse into silence as you eat and drink, and you know you need to breach the topic again, somehow, you can’t just leave it unattended.

“Can I ask…” you begin, but he interrupts you smoothly. “I just wanted to see what it would look like.”

Chan knew he could never tell you that he’d experienced death a hundred times over in the past months. You’d think him insane.

You knew you could never tell him you heard his voice, loud and clear in your head. He’d think you delusional.

“About that… recording studio… does anyone use it?” he inquisitively asks, and you shake your head sadly in response, wiping croissant crumbs off your face. “Not really… I’m considering selling it. I need to repay the loan I took out, and if the recording room is just dead weight then I don’t see why-” “Don’t. It won’t be dead weight,” he hurries, and is about to say more before he reconsiders, “Mind if I check it out?”

Of course you don’t.

Chris returns to his hotel later that morning. It’s 4am by the time you crawl into bed, recounting the events of the day in a sluggish fashion. Only 2 and a half hours ago you had pulled him away from certain death.

A shiver disturbs your spine as you replay the memory, and you curl tighter into your blankets. What if you hadn’t? His inner monologue certainly didn’t sound like he simply just “wanted to see what it looked like.”

Somehow, you manage to drag yourself through the rest of the morning, living off a few hours’ sleep at most. Thankfully, there aren’t many customers to begin with, giving you a chance to get organised a little later than usual. Chris had left with a small smile and a wave, and you watched him disappear down the street, a part of you worried he’d decide to try the bridge again.

He returns in the afternoon with the same small smile and wave, shocking you to the core. He’s got a cap pulled low over his eyes, hood pulled neatly up, and a black mask obscuring most of his face.

The only reason you recognise him this time is because of those actions, and the particular way his eyes crinkle, disappearing when he genuinely smiles. Quietly, he asks for the same drink you made him earlier that morning and asks to borrow the recording studio – “change of scenery,” he explains casually.

As the days go by, he visits as often as he can, always with those same twinkling eyes, and always still carefully covered up. You have no idea how he’s managed to convince his company to continuously let him out in public without staff, nor how long he’s staying here for.

He must be on vacation or something because this was certainly not Korea. You frequently check up on him too, never hesitating to ask whether he needs any support. He shakes his head every time and stares at you unblinkingly, trying to convey a message through only his eyes.

You’re already helping him. This haven, your haven, is helping him already. You don’t know this of course. Nor do you know that his odd connection to suicidal Stay’s has ceased. He hasn’t felt them in ages, and in a twisted way, he’s relieved – hasn’t felt this light in a while.

“Mind if I book the whole café out for a day?” he mumbles to you from your side, his hands nimbly working with the coffee machine to produce an order for a customer. One day he had asked if you could teach him a few things on the machine. Before long he knew how to make every drink, and happily watched underneath his mask as customers sipped his creations.

Every drink that is, except for the special one you made for him – it was actually your Mum’s recipe. You refused to teach him, but he could easily figure out the ingredients and method to make it for himself by now, if he really wanted to, which perplexed you every time he asked you to teach him.

Truthfully, he didn’t really want to know. He just liked seeing the tiny crease on your forehead and adorable smile whenever you refused. And now… he had even more reason to come back. For the hot chocolate. Definitely.

“The whole-? Library and everything?” you inquire, as you refill the jar of chai powder. “Mhm,” he hums, nodding to a regular as they float by, “Staff want us to film a Skz-Code Episode while we’re here, and they left it up to us to decide where.” “Oh. Sure. What do you need, for me to close up for the day?”

“I want you to stay though. Don’t disappear upstairs to your apartment… please. Can you stay and… watch?” he innocently asks, and you stare at him in surprise, clipping the jar in your hands shut with a snap, “Am I allowed to?”

It turns out that would be their last day. They returned to Korea on the following. In hindsight, you wish you had hugged Chris tighter when he tackled you with one before they left after filming, raising the eyes of several staff members and causing the Skz Members to chuckle with one another.

Chris was hugging you because he would miss you, and he was afraid that if he left, the traumatic episodes would return.

You were hugging him because you were full to the brim with Stray Kids’ warmth and happiness, but also because an unfamiliar safety nestled into your stomach as he hugged you, burying his face into your neck – the same place he had where he first met you.

“See ya soon, mate!” Felix called, carrying a box of your brownies. He had given you his recipe, and you eagerly followed its instructions while you watched them record their episode, smiling contentedly at their tinkering laughter, “These taste better than mine!”

“No one can beat Felix’s brownies,” Hyunjin muttered through a smile, but he’s happily munching on one of yours all the same. Jisung also has his mouth stuffed, his chubby cheeks wobbling as he nods his head. Seungmin offered you a polite handshake, and Jeongin an energetic round of high fives.

Somewhere in the distance, Changbin calls out your name, and performs a half heart above his head. You complete it, sticking your tongue out playfully. Not surprisingly, you and Chris have to duck back inside the café to hunt down Minho, who’s been playing with the cats left in your care for the day.

You didn’t find out that Stray Kids were leaving until that night when you spotted a live of them on your YouTube at the airport, and your heart plummeted with a sadness you couldn’t explain.

What… a strange… dream.

Everything become’s more surreal when you discover an envelope by the coffee machine the next morning, tucked neatly under the corner where Chris would usually stand to make his coffee’s. You pull it out carefully; there’s no name penned on the front. Curiously you pull out two sheets of paper. The first you open is in Chris’ handwriting (he had been leaving random notes and scribbling his signature wherever he could during his visits, so you were relatively familiar with it now),

A B C D E F G I wanna send my code to you Eight letters is all it takes And I’m gonna let you know

Lyrics. You flip over the paper and stare in a daze at the phone number scribbled there. Further down the page, there’s more lyrics, but from a different song.

Together, I feel time has flown so fast In my time, memories are crowded I didn’t know the sky was so clear like this until I met you I thought the sun was only scorching Thank you for coming to me And becoming the same shadow as mine before approaching the light

“Chris you cheesy ass,” you laugh, heartbeat thumping loudly in your chest.

You can STAY.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts that you almost forget about the second piece of paper. It’s a receipt. And on the bottom, are more words written in his handwriting.

The loan for Café Studio has been paid off, and the rent on your apartment. It’s all yours now. You can thank me when I come back.

Your eyes widen, and a small gasp leaves your lips. You fumble for your phone and add his number to your contacts. Then sparing no second, type out a message.

(A/N: When dialogue is in script format, it's meant to represent text messages)

You: “No you did not”

In the few seconds that you stare at your message, that you sent to Chris, disbelief written across your features, your phone buzzes with a response.

Chris: “Oh but I did”

You laugh, the sound gradually increasing as you throw your head back, giddy, a delicate pink tinge warming your cheeks.

“Something good happen?” James interrupts, rapping his knuckles on the counter to get your attention, “No side barista with you today? Who was he anyways, and what was with that mask?” “He’s… a good friend. Care for some tea?” “But I don’t like-” “Perfect.”

What should you do when you witness the end of a life? Cry and wallow in the darkest corners of disconsolation? Feel your heart shatter, a million fractals of sharply glittering reflections exploding in a mere fraction of a second? Some believe that time is nothing more than an illusion though – so should you instead decide to lie on your bed, a place of restless solace, and stare up at the empty ceiling?

Chris: “Are you awake?” You: “I am now” Chris: “Sorry go back to sleep” You: “I was kidding Christopher” You: “Of course I’m awake” Chris: “That’s not a good thing” You: “Look who’s talking” You: “Are you all good? Can’t sleep?” Chris: “Just felt like a chat”

They only visited him in nightmares, he discovered, which was still an improvement from before.

You: “Sure” You: “Care to explain your latest Insta post?” Chris: “No haha” You: “You burnt Stayville to the ground” You: “I think that deserves an explanation”

Chris smiles and flops back into his pillow. It certainly was an improvement from before. His mind was working over the possibilities, the many different choices he could make from here on out. Did you have something to do with this condition? Were you the solution to it all? What was it about you, exactly, that drew him to you?

You can thank me when I come back, he had written.

He thinks… he’ll be back for sure.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

-> PART 2 -> Masterlist

Yay! Milestone Event 1, Check!

Feedback is always appreciated, negative and positive alike. I apologise for any editing or formatting errors, I’m forever learning.

Until next read! - Kaisowoo

#bang chan #bang chan fluff #bang chan x reader #stray kids #bang chan angst #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x you #bang chan fic #suicide #feminine reader #cringecheeseycornycrap #swearing #wth idk what other tags to include #just don't read if you can't handle dark themes and SEVERE angst and strong descriptions of suicide :D #bang chan imagines #skz #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader

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aftgficrec · 3 months

Text

Literally anything and everything written by bazookajo94 - they write the funniest and most chaotic aftg fics

As you can see from the long list of their fics that we’ve previously rec’ed, we completely agree with you! - S

previously recommended:

‘stab me yourself u coward’ here

‘survive the night’ here

‘tit for tat’ here

‘definitely something’ here

‘eat the rich’ here

‘prove your love’ here

‘all that i’ve been dreaming of’ here

‘last piece of gold’ here

‘long journey home’ here

‘the prettiest blue’ here

‘dirty little secret’ series here

‘what’s yours is mine’ and ‘Crazy Rich Neil’ here

‘Go Team!’ here

‘we were together’ series here

‘most likely to commit crimes’ here

‘give or take’ here

‘cone sold stober’ here

‘spooky scary’ here

Here’s one that hasn’t appeared on our blog yet:

in another life by bazookajo94 [Rated T, 11506 words, complete, 2022]

Dear Andrew Doe,

I am not picking one of the pen pals that’s in California or whatever. I am going to write a fake name and a fake address and send this letter to a fake person. The teacher won’t let me leave until I send this to someone.

Bye

Alex

Neil Josten sent fake letters to Andrew Doe for years, thinking they disappeared into the void.

Andrew Minyard received every single one.

tw: implied/referenced torture

#rec #reader submission #neil josten/andrew minyard #au: college/university #au: no exy #theme: fluff & angst #theme: friends to lovers #theme: espistolary #theme: fluff & humour #theme: slow burn #theme: found families #theme: team bonding #theme: loneliness #tw: implied/referenced torture #hermy-stiles

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blueberrypancakesworld · 1 year

Note

Can you do charlie walker fluff alphabet? I love ur work :)

Thank you for the sweet request and kind words. It was really a cute time to write this one. Hope you like it ;)

Fluff Alphabet - Charlie Walker

warning : big fluff, one dark theme, angst, lots of cuddling&kissing, it's getting sweet and fluffy under the cut

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A = Worship (How does they bed you?)

°Charlie worships the ground you walk on. No really he worships you every day of the year. To him you are the most precious and best thing in his life. The best thing that ever happened to him. He loves everything about you and his heart beats only for you.

°,,I-I love you...so much".

══════════════════════

B = Best friends (What would they be like as best friends? How would the friendship start?)

°I think the friendship between you two would start at a film club meeting. Maybe you are new to the school and joined the club to make new friends. I think you have a wand charm on your backpack and Charlie sees it before you start talking.

°As best friends you not only join his group and get to know Robbie, Kirby and Jill but you also get to know the fun and the movie nights. It would be one of the most fun and exciting times together. But maybe he feels more about a random touch as you both reach for the popcorn...maybe love?

══════════════════════

C = Cuddling (do they like cuddling?How do they cuddle?)

°Charlie likes to cuddle to be more precise he loves it when he can just pull you into his arms. He can put his hands on you and just feel the peace and love between you. He especially loves it when you are watching a movie and he has his head leaning against you. Whether it's on your shoulder or on your lap. Bonus point, when you play with his hair, you smoosh.

°,,That's it...thank you very much"

══════════════════════

D = Domestic (how would they settle? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

°If your relationship lasts through high school and you both have part-time jobs or apprenticeships, I think you could get a small flat together near your work.

°As for cleaning, Charlie is surprisingly good. Believe me, he has everything planned out, not just his merch and camera equipment. He knows where things have to go and is meticulous if something is not in its place. I think you would do the cooking together and learn from each other.

°,,Who wants to try something new?"

══════════════════════

E = Ending (how would you break up with your partner if you had to?)

°It would hit him harder than hard. I think he would mourn you for a very, very, very long time. Crying and thinking about you every day. Especially if your relationship is separated by maybe a move and you just don't have time anymore. He would try to break it to you gently that he simply has to leave with his family. He would still try to call you every day but the guilt would hit him even harder.

°,,I-I'm so...sorry."

══════════════════════

F = Fiance(e) (how do you feel about agreement? How soon would they want to marry?

°Marry if you want to, definitely yes. It is for him the ultimate promise of faithfulness and love. Because for him it would finally prove that you have each other forever. A big wedding or a small one, he doesn't care as long as he has you with him.

══════════════════════

G = Gentle (how gentle are they mentally and physically?)

°Charlie is actually quite calm emotionally, although he can sometimes overreact when, for example, a new Stab film comes out. But emotionally in a relationship he would be calm and sweet he would listen to you and talk about everything.

°,,So what's new?"

°Physically he loves to be close to you. Whether it's cuddling, kissing, sleeping or just holding hands. He loves to just know you are there with him. When his hands join yours and he just listens to you while you both practically hold each other.

°,,A little more?"

══════════════════════

H = Hugs (do you like their hugs? How are your hugs?)

°Charlie loves hugs, whether it's a quick one in the hallway or in the morning before school. Or a long one when going out, before going to bed or whatever. He loves it whether he's holding you or you're holding him.

°His hugs are always loving and he will always hold your hand and whisper sweet words.

°So soft and sweet...I love you so much".

══════════════════════

I = I love you (how quickly would they say it?)

°He would take a long time to tell you. Not maybe on the first date, he would be too nervous and shy. But once he says it stuttering and with red cheeks, he will say it to you every day. In every spare second he will make you understand. That he loves you.

══════════════════════

J = Jealousy (how quickly are they jealous? What do they do when they are jealous)

°Charlie is not really jealous when you are among friends. He knows you love him and you know he loves you. Which is why he doesn't worry at all there. However, if you are out and about and you are attacked, he will intervene with a few warning words and glances and if that is not enough. A knife in his drawer and a mask will do the trick...only in an emergency of course.

°,,Don't worry, he won't bother you anymore".

══════════════════════

K = Kisses (how are their kisses? where do they love to kiss you?)

°His kisses are gentle he can't be rough with you. He will always kiss you gently and carefully even shyly. Note he loves it when you kiss him harder though, he melts away.

°He loves to kiss you all over your body. Just caressing every part with his kisses is the best thing for him. He can show you that you are beautiful and that he will always love you.

══════════════════════

L = Little ones (how are they with kids?)

°I don't think he's too good with kids. Don't get me wrong he likes kids especially if they are interested in comics he tries to find some he can recommend to them. But when they are younger, crying or screaming he is very quickly overwhelmed and doesn't know what to do.

°,,So who wants a new comic?"

══════════════════════

M = Morning (How do you spend your morning?)

°Mornings are slow and quiet sometimes he will get up and do something. Sometimes you will get up and do something. But most of the time you both just lie in bed together cuddling before you immediately fall asleep again. Before you jump into the car together in a panic and drive off to school.

°,,Oh fuck at the holy first staff film overslept again!"

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N = Night (how are nights spent with them?)

°If you're awake at night because of too many energy drinks or movies, you'll either spend it with more movies, a trip to fast food shops or playing a video game before falling into bed together, exhausted.

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O = Open (how quickly would they open)

°Charlie would open up to you relatively quickly. Especially if you have been together for a while, he would look for a quiet moment. If you are together and maybe cuddling, he would slowly start to tell you everything.

°,,I wanted to tell you something."

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P = Patience (how quickly do they get angry?)

°It takes something to get him angry, otherwise he is quite calm. However, the thing that would upset him is if you treated him the way Kirby treated him. Meaning you would only play with him and otherwise ignore him. Then he would be scared and get loud when he doesn't know what to do.

°,,Tell me what's wrong with you!"

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Q = Quizzes (how much would they know or remember about you?)

°Charlie remembers surprisingly much and not so much about you. When it comes to your personal things, he knows what you need to know. But when it comes to your interests, believe me, he remembers everything you told him about them.

°,,Oh, believe me, I remember everything."

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R = Remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

°The moment he would remember most would be if you surprised him with a trip to Comic Con over a long weekend. Because besides a successful day at the convention, you had another surprise. There was a beach next to the fairgrounds. At first he seemed surprised, but when the clouds cleared in the evening sky and the moon came out. He saw you slowly going into the sea. You looked beautiful between the sea and how the moon lit you up. It was the most beautiful thing to swim to you and just pull you into a kiss. It was the perfect day.

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S = safety (how protective are they? How would they protect you?)

°Charlie would be very protective over you. It would still depend a little on your confidence. If you are a little less confident (which is not bad) then he would come out from behind his camera and stand up for you. He would always stand up for you anyway. If you can stand up for yourself and be more confident, he would stay behind you and know that he doesn't have to worry much.

°However, if the situation escalates too quickly, he will make his threats.

°,,See, all good...I'm here"

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T = Try (how much would you invest in dates, anniversaries, gifts etc?)

°Charlie is the kind of guy who would probably give you something every day, every minute and every second. A kiss? Here we go, a kiss. A new bracelet? Boom, he's got three. Charlie would always get you something.

°If it was a special day, I think he'd throw you a little party. Just the two of you, a romantic movie night, pizza and a homemade video of the two of you would be one of the highlights.

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U = Ugly (what would be a bad habit of yours?)

°His obsession with horror movies and his film club. Leaves him alone on the couch or in bed more than once. Then he either sits with Robie and edits his live teams or watches the latest news about horror movies. He's totally focused on his interests and sometimes he just forgets about you.

°,,Sorry I have to go to Robbie again"

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V = Vanity (how much do they care about their appearance?)

°Not too much. Don't get me wrong in his shirts, jumpers, jumpers under shirts and t-shirts under shirts he looks perfect. However, he's not trying a new style either, so why should he care too much about it.

°What is important to him is his hair. Not only is it always nice and long, but also the slight waves need care. He knows how much you like it and he also likes his hair. So not a day goes by that he doesn't spend at least an hour in the bathroom keeping his hair fluffy.

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W = Whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

°Yes, Charlie would feel incomplete without you. Especially once you're together, it would hit him hard if you weren't there. Because you didn't just give him the confidence to be worth something. No, he really trusted you and didn't feel used like he did with Kirby.

°,,Please-Please stay with me"

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X = Xtra (a random headcanon for them)

°Charlie would never admit it, but if you were watching a rather children's and youth series and beckoned him to join you, he would refuse to watch it with you. But more and more often you would find him leaning against the couch, leaning against the door frame or sitting right next to you.

°,,What no? I don't like it at all....but when is the new season coming?"

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Y = Yuck (what is something he wouldn't like about his partner?)

°Charlie actually loves everything about you. I mean you are the love of his life he would love you forever. The only thing he wouldn't like that I think he'd dislike is disaster movies. It's always the same, America is the only zone that gets attacked and the main character always survives. The worst thing for him would be if you loved them and indirectly winked at him to watch with him. Believe me, he'll be on his knees begging you before you even get the DVD in.

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Z = Zzz (what is a sleeping habit of yours?)

°When Charlie's not having a horror movie marathon, he loves it when you hold him. Lightly playing with his hair and whispering sweet words until he falls asleep.

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