#hm. that feels like an omen

[hyperbali]

Well this feels a little foreboding

[watchingwisteria]

im so sorry i get it now i really do, the gay angels have me shaking screaming crying at all hours of the day and night, they mean everything to me i am literally thinking about them all the time and what it would mean to love someone steadily and silently through eternity, what it would mean to love across the lines of a divine war of supposed good and evil, what it would mean to carve out a space for oneself and ones lover in no man’s land, in the grey and moral ambiguity when you were created to be black and white without blemish. god i love them so much i just

[microwavetoaster-selfships]

Clicking on a M.oshi Monsters iceberg video that I didn't care much for but decided to click on the person's channel to see if they uploaded a video afterwards cause at the end of the video they jokingly said "100 likes and I'll buy my weight in merch" and haha that's funny, just to see five days ago they posted a teaser about whether M.oshi Monsters was up to something or not because apperently they released Moshi Play on the app store(which as far as I'm aware is just the same minigames in Moshi Sleep) and got a Tiktok account that they started putting videos on and rereleased the music Rox album on their socials and are making a bunch of teasing comment replies about being up to making something wasnt. I wasnt ready for that. Where did that come from. Hm. They. They even commented on said video taht i just watched. Which was released like five days ago and only has like 500 views.

[badgerswake]

Everyone compares Ed to Crowley and Stede to Aziraphale because of how they are, what they start out as, but I think Ed and Aziraphale are more alike than we think.

Something about ‘you go to fast for me’ and the 'let's take this slow'. The Bookshop Keeper and Fisherman. The desire for retirement. The cottage and the inn. Hosting a ball and going to a party. The softness of Aziraphale indulging in food, and Ed's meaning for life being warmth and good food; an appreciation of the finer things. They're tired of a life of giving and taking orders from others; keeping up the ruse - being exhausted with it. Having to do, do, do, and figuring out already that happiness comes from the peaceful, quiet, still moments.

[honeyviscera]

omg seeing u react to go s2 makes me so excited/nervous for it i was OBSESSED with it a few years ago like genuinely crazy abt it... and now it is back....!!!! throwing up screaming, sobs, etc

I KNOW LITERALLY IM GOING INSANE good omens was my number one main obsession like 3-4 years ago i was so insane about it literally every waking moment i spent thinking about it the only reason that hasn't been apparent Here on tumblr is bc i got an account riiight as my obsession was fading a bit and went dormant but the brainrot is back and im going insane. literally i watched good omens s1 around 15 times in total i did a school project on it (part of which was a presentation i did a whole presentation. at school. about this show) it made me so crazy. and now WE'RE BACK BAYBEEEE so far i have avoided most spoilers but some ppl have said the ending hurts and so im scared. but i also eat tragedy up lol why else would my header image be a stsg gif DFKHDGKJD;LJKG AAAAUGH i love good omens.

[daughterwifed]

SOFTER, SOFTEST !

ft. curly x fem!reader

tags. piv, body worship sort of, rimming, big dick, tit job for like 2 seconds, creampie, size kink, scent kink, balls…

note. hai.. will get back to leon soon and I think mw fandom is lacking noncon and incest fics severely.. so i will get on that with jimmy. don’t know how to characterise him yet so ooc .. just infatuated with his breasts tbh i don’t know anything works in this universe LMFAO like idk just take this with a grain of salt.. please ignore typos !! unedited :3

You miss Curly.

You miss him more than you did yesterday, more than an idiot misses the point, like a dick misses a wet pussy–You just miss him.

It has been four months. Twenty-one weeks. One-hundred and forty days. Three-thousand, five-hundred and twenty hours. Too many minutes, a hell of a lot more seconds, the closer he gets the further he seems to be.

Big numbers make it feel like you’re getting nowhere so you cut those twenty-fours into one day. One day and he’ll be home. One day and you’ll be in bed with his stomach crushed against yours, the warmth of his flesh searing yours, fucking him into next year, until he loses his halo.

Videos aren’t enough, photos don’t do him justice, toys don’t live up to the feel of a real dick. You miss that face he makes when he cums - it’s a block away from his crying face. You miss him face down, ass up, punching holes into his dignity one thrust at a time. God, you miss that dick, how he goes red all over, him in nothing but that stupid fucking smile.

One day, you tell yourself in the mirror that morning. One day, you tell yourself when you take your lunch break. One day, one more microwaved meal for one, one more lonely night.

It used to be a big deal, you think. The whole going to space thing. Curly says it’s no big deal, but you’re pretty sure that in your great-grandpa’s heyday it was impressive. You’ve seen videos of hoards gathering to watch a ship take off, to greet crews when they landed. Today, it’s you and a plump, older woman in her bathrobe waiting in the cold.

You could spot him in any crowd, glowing like a ray of light, mostly because he’s tall, partly because everything fades into abstraction when you notice how tight his uniform is. Good god. Did he get bigger? You’re starting to sweat, it’s hard to focus when your boyfriend is making a long-sleeved jumpsuit look naughty.

Curly’s hair is a little longer, blond curls licking the nape of his neck, falling onto his forehead, his eyes are so bright and his smile is white. He looks like a policeman’s emotional support dog. A really busty support dog. He scans the sad scattering of friends, family and drivers. You’re so taken off guard by the sight of his buttons popping you almost forget to wave at him.

He beams when you spot him, suitcase dragging behind him as he jogs over. Everything is in slow motion. Like that old movie - Baywatch. He’s so excited to see you, taking you into his big arms, shoving your face in his chest like he knows just where you’d like to be. You’re disappointed in your lungs when they beg for air, lifting your head and placing it on his shoulder instead. He smells like sweat, hotel shampoo and something metallic.

“Oh.” You open your eyes and spot Jimmy skulking behind him, an unlit cigarette between his lips. You narrow your eyes at him, and Jimmy does the same. Real shady guy, the type you’d cross the street to avoid. He’s always trailing after Curly like a bad omen. “He can’t come home with us, honey,” you tell him gently, not wanting to sound like a bitch.

Which you are.

You don’t want him smoking in your car, you don’t want Curly to invite him over for takeout because that means it’ll go on for hours and you won’t get your mouth on his big, stupid dick for another day.

“Hm? Why not?” Curly asks, pressing a kiss into your hairline, the tip of his nose bumping yours tenderly.

“I don’t have space in my car for both of you and the luggage, she’s small. What if she tips over? You’re heavy enough as it is.” You smile at him, cheekily, giving his newfound hips a squeeze. They’ve always been there, but now they’re like wow. It’s only been four months, is he on steroids? Did he get pregnant? He is glowing… God knows what’s up there in the atmosphere, some cosmic horror waiting to knock up your poor boyfriend.

Curly shrugs, offering an apologetic smile to his friend. “You heard the lady.”

Jimmy’s permanent scowl seems to deepen, cementing itself in his dermal layer. “Whatever, man.” He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumped as he makes a beeline for the phonebox.

He lifts his suitcase and loads it into your car and you watch his biceps flex. You see through his clothes, you remember every freckle on his back, mapping them out like stars, leading to those dimples low on his back, the perfect resting spot for your thumbs when you grab his ass. His body is so convenient. Like he was made to be fucked every which way.

“I missed you, I thought about you everyday,” he says against your lips, leaning in to kiss you over the gearshift. “I put your picture in the cockpit actually, Jim didn’t like it, but it kept me going.”

Always so earnest. You almost feel bad for missing his body more than him.

“Aww, Curly, honey,” you coo, pinching his cheek and cupping the other, “I missed you even more.” He nuzzles into your hand, eyes closed as you comb your fingers through his messy hair.

As much as you would like to indulge his sentimentality, you have no patience to spare. If you sit here any longer, you’re going to soak through your jeans and onto your leather seat.

You put the car in drive—

“Captain? Open up!” There’s a younger man knocking on the window, leaving his grubby handprints behind. “I wanted you to meet my mom!” His voice is muffled through the glass.

You lock the windows.

“Did you lock the windows?” Curly asks, lips downturned like he’s about to pout.

You unlock the windows.

“Of course not, baby.” You pat his head and grit your teeth.

They talk for fifteen whole minutes.

Thank you for taking care of him, he can be such a handful—Oh no, not at all, he was a joy to have—I’m glad he came back in one piece—He’s a good kid—Oh, I don’t know about that—Mooom—I’d be happy to have him back for our next long haul—Seriously, Captain?—

You squirm in place, shifting from side to side, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to your core. When Curly introduces you to his crew mate, you offer a strained smile and nothing more.

The window whirs shut. You make it home in record breaking time with four tickets and only a few points taken off your license. It doesn’t matter. You’re home, inside with the curtains drawn and Curly still has clothes on.

That’s not right.

“Take it off.”

“Huh?” Curly pushes his luggage into the corner, the top few buttons of his jumpsuit have come undone and you see the tuft of blond hair on his chest.

“Take it off, please?”

“My clothes?”

“No, your wig, baby.”

He laughs, good-natured, mild-mannered, and so fucking hot.

If he won’t do it then you will.

“I haven’t even showered—“ He starts, but you shush him with a kiss, murmuring a ‘good’ against his pink mouth.

When you part, spit keeps your lips connected, the string of fate or whatever. You go in for another, hands fisting the fabric of his collar, forcing him down towards you. Curly lets out a keening noise somewhere in the back of his throat like a dog scratching at the bathroom door.

“I know, my baby, I’ll give it to you.” You pout at him, thumbing his kiss-swollen lips and watching his eyes droop. “Oh no…” The buttons on his uniform when you try to open them.

“It’s okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of his own spit, “cheap stuff.”

“I know, but you looked so good in it.” It’s a shame, but you need to see him bare, sweat as his only accessory.

“You think?” He near bats his lashes at you, stepping out of his uniform, and you swoon.

“God, yeah.” You push him down on the couch, Curly falls back with a soft grunt. It’s not very big, especially for a man of his size, but it’ll do for now.

His cock swells in his boxers, you feel it beneath you as you sit atop him, admiring the view below. The wide expanse of his chest, the sweat pooling in his collarbones, those tits. You don’t know what else they could be.

“Wow.” You take a handful of his chest, plucking his puffy pink nipple. “Look at these, I might have some competition.”

“Shut it,” he huffs out a laugh through his nose, and the tips of ears redden.

“I’m serious, baby, you’re, like, huge.” You can’t tear your eyes away from his soft flesh, moulding beneath your fingertips like dough, you could fuck them if you really wanted. “What happened out there?”

“Had a lot of spare time, I guess.” Curly smiles sheepishly, expression contorting when you bend your neck to suck his nipple into your mouth with a wet pop! His jaw slackens, and his cock jumps like it’s been given quite the fright.

You only have one complaint. His tan lines have faded. Floating through the galaxy for months on end can do that to you. You miss them, but you missed Curly more, so you’ll make do with what you have.

And you have more than enough. More than you can handle really. You can’t even get a grasp on his bicep, he’s stupidly big and your hand is on the smaller side.

You shift backwards, wet cunt dragging over his impossibly big bulge where only his underwear keeps you from him - you kind of admire your pussy for being able to take it. Your mouth moves on, hands still groping as much as you can of his chest as you lick the ridges of his stomach, it’s like he’s forged out of marble.

Softly, Curly rubs the back of your head, trying his very best to keep his eyes on you and not let them fall shut. You feel his stomach muscles rippling under your tongue. They contract when you trace around his navel, placing a sloppy kiss just below it, where a patch of curly hair leads to his wet cock.

His cock is drooling through the white fabric of his boxers, they’re soaked enough to be see-through, you spot the fat, pink head that has been missing your kisses. “You’re so wet, baby, is it all for me?”

With a pitiful noise, he tosses his head back and nods sadly. It’s funny to hear a man of his stature whine, but it suits Curly so well.

Your fingers hook in the waistband, tugging his underwear downwards until his fat cock springs out, it’s so fucking fat it weighs itself down. The leaky head twitches, pre dripping down his thick shaft, leaving a moonlit trail to his heavy balls. So full of seed they might burst.

“Oh… Poor baby.” You give them a gentle squeeze, and Curly’s eyes roll back into his skull, hips jolting upwards.

The urge to take it into your mouth right then and there is tempting, you hold back, you want to take your time with him. Make him feel special. You seat yourself between his thighs, one leg thrown over your shoulder so it’s easier to fit on the sofa. Your thumb runs along his pink slit, dribbling out pearly strands of pre that web between your fingers. Curly whimpers, biting down on his fist.

“These are cute.” You take note of his meaty thighs, how they’ve only gotten bigger, a comfier place to sit. The stretch marks don’t go unnoticed, streaking purple and pink along the milky flesh of his inner thighs like faded brushstrokes.

“Mmmph.” He blinks at you, pouty, lashes wet with impatient tears.

“Yeah, mmmph, I know, baby, be patient.” You’re a big, fat hypocrite.

His scent is stronger down here, clean and soapy, but the tang of sweat prospers, and the underlying smell of him. The smell of his pillow, the smell of his few-days old clothes, the smell of his towel after he works out.

A few more kisses here and there, using the flat of your tongue to lave over strips of his sinewy skin, leaving him spit-slicked and breathless and flushed. You hoist his other leg over your shoulder, he’s heavy, but you’re horny and it’s given you a sudden burst of vitality.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, gripping the top of the couch, one arm over his face as you lick up the seam of his balls, mouth latching to the swollen underside, where they feel heaviest.

Curly’s cock leaks into your hair, the weight brings it down to rest on your face, tip pressed into your hairline, dripping down the bridge of your nose like sweat while you make a mess of his balls. Stuffing them into your mouth one at a time, using your hand to give the lonelier one a squeeze when your lips are kissing up on another.

The kiss to his perineum is enough to make him moan. Curly knows what’s coming. You go lower, nose nestled into his balls, breathing him while your hands spread his ass cheeks apart to get to the spot you love most.

Curly’s hole is darker than the rest of him, not quite pink like his cock, ruddier. He’s tight and he smells good. So good. You’ve never minded the hair, you think it’s pretty cute. Curtains match the drapes.

Affectionately, you kiss his puffy rim, and it throbs.

He lets out a groan that is half mortified and half ready-to-blow-his-load.

“Sure,” Curly says, voice breaking as you circle his hole with the tip of your tongue. He tastes like him, musky and sweet and coppery. Curly is home and your tongue is in his ass where it belongs, wriggling its way past his pulsing rim, hopefully all the way up into his heart.

Your thumb and middle finger stretch to meet around the girth of his cock, stroking him slowly as you work open his asshole, tongue pushing back in when he pushes you out. Once you deem him wet enough, you push a single finger knuckle-deep and he cries out, hips bucking up off the couch.

Much to his dismay, which he shows in the form of a pained whimper, your hand leaves his cock to splay over his stomach and hold him down to the best of your abilities. “You have to stay still, honey.”

You feed a second finger into him, his hole squelching as you curl them inside of him. Curly clenches tight enough to cut off your blood circulation, sucking you back in when you ultimately pull them out with a lewd noise. He opens his mouth on instinct, pupils so blown out his light eyes seem dark, you push your fingers down his throat and he sucks.

“You’re so cute,” you mumble, watching him intently, he’s like a pin-up model of some sort. An X-rated action figure. “Taste good?”

“Not really,” Curly says. He’s so honest it makes you laugh. He shuffles back to rest his head on the arm of the couch, cock bobbing, still leaking like nobody’s business, leaving little droplets of wet in its wake.

It’s ready to burst, but you’re not done with him yet. You haven’t had your fill. When you spend half your time with your head between his thighs, you miss out on all the faces he pulls. So you spit on your tits to get them wet, his cock is slick enough, nothing should chafe when you squeeze his cock between them.

“Christ,” Curly grits out, brows knitting together, the second coming and he hasn’t even had his first.

“You wanna cum like this?” You ask, kneading your tits on either side of his cock, each time the tip pops up past your cleavage, it bumps your chin and leaves it slick.

“No…” He shakes his head, curls bouncing, sticking to his forehead, the hair near his nose is curlier with the added sweat. “Inside.”

“I can do that for you, babe.” You smile at him, acting like that wasn’t your plan in the first place, like you haven’t been dying for a warm creampie since he landed back on earth. You give the fat head of his dick one sloppy kiss, making sure to tongue his slit before you clamber on top of him.

It should be an easy task to get him inside, you’ve been wet for the last twenty-four hours, your pussy is throbbing like it’s got a heartbeat. Slick dries on your inner thighs and your clit is buzzing, a rush of arousal passes over you like a cold wave when you lift your hips to guide his dick into you.

Oh. Wow. That’s a stretch. 

In theory, you know big Curly’s dick is. It’s a fucking horsecock, and you have eyes bigger than your stomach. You always overestimate yourself. You think you’re gonna be just fine, then his fat tip breaches your little hole, no matter how wet, and you lose it, scrambling to grasp his shoulders as your body is racked with shivers.

Curly’s kind enough to steady you, big hands finding purchase on your hips. His needy noises get through to you, and you push on, sliding down and taking him to the hilt. His dick curves upwards into your cervix, rubbing the fleshy opening as you adjust to his dick after four whole months of nothing worthwhile.

He’s so big. You’re so wet, slippery pussy slicking up his cock, and making things easier for the both of you.

“I love you.” Curly shudders, looking right into your eyes like he’s afraid to blink and miss a single thing.

“I love you too,” you tell him, eyes on his tits.

He’s so deep, feet planted on the couch as he fucks into you, unable to help himself. You get it. You’re tight, warm, and wet. Better than his fist. Your pussy is noisy, squelching each time you bottom you, grinding your clit into his pelvis, feeling his cock twitch each time you tighten around him. The plap of his balls hitting your ass when enough momentum is built up.

Curly’s helpful, when he sees you tense up, throwing your head back and rolling your hips over and over, you want him deeper and deeper, he wets his fingers with your slick and rubs figure eights into your clit.

It’s just enough to make your toes curl—Oh, who are you kidding? You near blackout when you cum, moaning so loud you scare yourself. You see black. Like someone’s drawn the curtains in your mind, ending the show. Your nails dig into his skin, but he’s always put up with that like a champ.

“Holy fuck.” Shaking still, you blink to clear your vision, you’ve wet his navel and his tummy and the couch might be ruined. You don’t even remember when he came inside you. What a shame. Feels good though, still warm. Sighing, you lay against his chest, Curly’s soft cock slips out of your hole, resting on his thigh. “Welcome home, Captain.”

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

THE GIRL FROM THE CROSSROADS.

AUTHOR NOTE! just thought of this @somnolenthour, what do you think? i haven't seen any writing with this plot yet and feel like it would slap in a fic <3 P.S.S. plz, don't send me hate for this. ( i know and fully acknowledge the context of Sinners and writing x Reader stuff is kinda a heated topic to touch - no shame to others who do.. ) i'm just sharing a idea that popped in my head to a friend cuz dm messages ain't enough.. pairing: Remmick x Crossroad Demon! Reader prompt : There's far worse things lurking in the dark than Remmick. word count: 1, 000+ words

There was always folklore and stories that rumbled around of men selling their souls to a crossroad demon⎯for fame, money, power. Hell, even stupid shit like an extra three inches downstairs. It was meant to be a warning, an omen to never strike a deal with evil or else you’d pay a unpleasant price. Of course, as time past, roads being renamed, and demon deal’s became less and less made⎯a demon had to evolve with the times. It was in your nature of course.

At first, it was changing the way you looked⎯choosing more appealing and comforting appearances to lurk them in⎯someone who looked like their Mother, someone they loved, someone they lost, someone they lusted for. Then, came the wandering just a little from the crossroad to make a deal⎯dive bars being built on back roads and crossroads became a gold mine. The final change was how the deals were made. You couldn’t just bluntly make a deal anymore. People weren’t coming to you already knowing what they were stepping into. So, you went to them. 

The Juke Joint. Now, it was the perfect place to make deals. The people. They came here to dance, to drink, to gamble, to lust, to have fun. No one would bat an eye if you made a deal under the guise of playful banter during a card game. Humans..they were just so stupid, so trusting, so wanting to connect with one another, too willing to see the good in each other. It wasn’t hard to blend in. You were once human and could fake emotions, the fake connections that they sought out within each other. It was a bonus that it was close to a crossroad, any deal would be valid and hard to break. 

Leaning back in your seat, you fake a groan of displeasure, dropping down your cards. The table letting out scoffs and protests. You had been playing for hours, meticulously feeding them rounds of gin and packs of cigarettes to loosen them up. Tucking back a strand of hair from your face, you cross your legs, pulling down your skirt to maintain a false sense of modesty. 

You’d been playing the role of some poor maid for some stuck up hotel, just wanting to play a card game after a rough week. Shifting your eyes to each man, you had yet to make a deal, waiting for the right moment to steer the conversation in that way. It had to be natural, so natural that they would forget how the conversation even started in the first place. 

"Oh, that ain't fair! That some bullshit!"

“Read em’ and weep boys. I do believe that is my third royal flush, now.” You joke, grabbing the pile of cash from the center of the table.

“How the hell did ya’ do that?” 

“Ya’ know, I've been playing this game for a long time. How the hell am I getting my ass handed to me by a girl half my damn age?” 

Shaking your head with a fake chuckle, you slide your cards down to Bo Chow, letting him shuffle them. Lingering your eyes on him, you knew that you wanted him, he had more openings to make deals on than the others at the table. His wife, his daughter, his shop. Plus, he was on his third cigarette of the night, he was all loosened up. Taking a sip of your glass of gin, there was no taste to it, your tastebud's dead from years of never touching food or drinking. You fake a grimace, pretending like it gave a burn as it went down.

“Say, I’ll tell ya’ what, how about you and I make a deal, hm?” You smile friendly, “Let’s say, a ten year deal, just for now. Unless you wanna make it shorter.”

“About what?”

“I help ya’ expand the shop, get more profits in. Won’t that be good for Grace and ya’ little girl?” You hums, "Think about it. Better life for them, get to stick to em' snobs in town."

“What do you get from it?”

“A good feeling in my gut for making a good deal, and I’ll collect what is due later on. Don't ya' worry about it right now.” You extend your hand out to shake, “What ya’ say, hm? Shake on it?”

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek with your teeth, you try to be patient, to let him think it over, to not show your restlessness. But, it was hard to do so. It was like there was an insatiable itch spreading throughout your body, the only cure being a deal. Tasting blood in your mouth, you swear sweat started to trickle down your temple, the anticipation nearly killing you for a second time. You needed this deal. Fuck, you needed it so badly. 

You needed it like a sinner needed church, like an alcoholic needed liquor. You needed him to shake your hand, to say those sweet little words, ‘I accept’. You’d get on your knees and sob, beg, say whatever he wanted to hear to get him to accept it. Zoning in on his hand, he puts down the playing cards, fingers drumming over the table. Thump. Thump. Thump. Was it your heartbeat or the sound of his fingers drumming, you didn't know, didn’t care.

“Ten years?” He raises a brow, humming.

“Mm-hm, I’ll see ya’ in ten years from now. You’ll know when I’m coming, so don’t fret on it.” You smile, “I just wanna help ya’. I seen how good ya’ are, providing for ya’ family. Help me help ya’ provide so much more for them.”

“I..” He hesitates, reaching his hand out to yours.

You could feel his fingertips brush against yours, the hairs on your whole body stand alert. Yes. Yes. Yes. He pauses, as if thinking over what you had just said. Come on, Bo. Don’t fail you now. Nodding his head as he grins slowly, he leans forward in his seat to reach your hand better, the glimmer in his eyes clear that he was accepting. Come on, say those sweet little words, ‘I accept’, and all was done.

“Bo, we leavin’. Finish ya' game up.” Grace cuts in, causing his hand to pull away at the last second. 

“But⎯” He tries to protest, but still complies with her order.

“We leavin’ now.” She argues, making your recoil back.

No. No. No. That bitch. That vicious little bitch. She was cheating you out of a deal. Holding back the urge to lunge forward and rip her throat out with your nails, you let out a soft nervous chuckle, the persistent itch returning back. You needed this deal. Fuck, you were gonna make this happen. 

“Bo, what about our deal?” You stand up with him, “I’ll give ya’ what I earned tonight, and plenty more tomorrow. Ya’ just need to accept.”

“I can’t, ya’ know how Grace gets when I keep her waiting⎯” He tries to protest, but you cut him off.

“Come on, now, just shake on it, accept it.” You try to pressure, “Before ya’ go. Ya’ can’t just leave me hanging here.”

“Bo!” Grace calls, her voice stern.

“Look, how about you come around tomorrow at the store and we talk, hm?” He shakes his head, leaving you behind.

“Ya’ can’t just walk out of deal like that⎯” You shake your head, desperation seeping in. 

Clenching your jaw tight enough to make your teeth crack, your eye twitches, nails digging into the palms of your hands. It took everything in your willpower to not explode, to burn the whole damn Juke Joint down to the ground and make deals to save their lives as they burnt. You wanted to deal with him. Married men⎯good men⎯like him were always the sweetest to trick and oh so rewarding when you collected. Sucking in air through your teeth, you abandon the table, leaving the cash behind. You didn’t need it, you had no use for human money. You needed their souls.

“Aww, shame, he had to leave. Was just about to start another game..”

“You can always play with me.” 

“No, no.” You shake your head, “No need, I’m done playing for the night.”

Walking out one of the open back doors without a second glance, you kick a rock hard, running fingers through your hair. A frustrated grunt escapes your lips, anger so hot it makes your blood boil. You needed a new plan. A better one. You couldn’t wait until sunrise to make one. 

“Stupid fuckin’ little bitch!” You curse under your breath, “Fuckin’ up my god damn deal!”

A beat of silence fills the air, crickets softly chirping. 

“I oughta’ gut her and feed her god damn heart to her!”

Taking a deep breath to try to calm yourself, you pace back and forth, mind spiraling to try to find who else to target. You could try a drunk in the parking lot. Fuck, maybe Stack or Smoke. Nah, those boys were too smart for their own good. Maybe, Mary? Play on her feelings for a while.The sound of a twig snapping, halts another string of curses from escaping your lips. 

Snapping your head in direction of it, your eyes flash a pitch black, senses on high alert. Something was out here with you. Tilting your head to the side, the shadows of the night were enough to hide your eyes, making it look like a trick of the lack of proper light. A man emerges from the woods, banjo in hand, eyes glowing a dark red. A little vampire, how pathetic. 

“Back off, buddy. This is my joint.” You snap back, voice harsh. 

“Now, now, no need to be rude, Miss.” He chuckles, drool trickling down from the corner of his lip.

“Oh, but I have plenty of reasons to be.” You sass back provokingly, “Why don’t you tap dance your way back to where you came from, buddy? These suckers are mine tonight.” 

“Now, that’s not kind.” He forces a smile, the darkness clear in his tone.

“Neither is stalking my prey for the night. So why don’t you scram, before I have to make you uglier than you already are.” You mocking motion from him to walk away.

You didn’t like his kind, the undead. Not because of some stupid superiority complex or anything like that. But, because he was of no use to you. No soul, no deal. No deal, no use to you. Hearing two more footsteps come from around the corner, you don’t flinch, amused by their little attempts to intimidate you. You’d lived a thousand lives before this one, they were babies compared to what you’ve endured⎯what you’ve seen. A slow grin spreads on your lips, hands twitching at your side.

“You..You ain’t living, are ya’?” 

“Me?” You chuckle tauntingly, “Oh, honey, you’ve got no clue what else lurks in the dark alongside ya’, do ya’, hm?”

---

once again, plz, don't send me hate for this. ( i know and fully acknowledge the context of Sinners and writing x Reader stuff is kinda a heated topic to touch - no shame to others who do.. )

i'm just sharing a idea that popped in my head to a friend cuz dm messages ain't enough..

[bxeckersz]

My yapper | Paige Bueckers x Female reader

based on this request: Paige x reader | the reader is just yapping and realizes Paige is just staring at her in admiration

warnings: none idk

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

“Paige” I say, looking at the sunset. Me and Paige are on a beach date right now. “hm?” She hums, looking over at me. “Did you know that our immune system doesn’t know our eyes exist. If it did it would attack our eyes and we would give blind” I say.

“Wow, that’s a really cool fact” Paige says, looking at me intently. “i learned that from tiktok” I laugh. “mhm” Paige mumbles, analyzing me.

“Did you also know that bats are the inly flying mammals? I learned that in High school. God, I miss High school. Such a fun era” I giggle. I see Paige nod beside me.

“Oh my god, I just remembered i’m almost out of my billie eilish perfume and my dior lipgloss.” I say. “I’ll get you some more” Paige offers, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

“No, baby that’s okay. Oh my god I watched this movie last night called The First Omen while you were sleeping and it was so good. It was kinda scary but it was really good.” I ramble, eating a strawberry.

“i’m gonna make that TikTok that goes ‘you and me belong together’ with us it’s gonna be so cute” I add

“Okay, baby” Paige whispers. “Am i talking too much? I feel like i’m just sitting here yapping up a storm and you’re just sitting there admiring me or something” I say

Paige chuckles, looking at me once more. “You’re just really pretty. Besides, you’re my yapper, I don’t mind listening to you talk” Paige says, kissing me on the cheek softly.

I roll my eyes playfully, turning my attention back to the sky. “Is that a new perfume? you smell really good” Paige says. “Yeah, I got it a couple days ago” I reply.

“mm” Paige hums, looking up at the sky with me.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

thanks for reading!

this is really short and rushed idk 😭.

[bamgyw]

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ the third night ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

until she met a boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he snorted out a laugh, then followed after.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

or at least it had been enough, before beomgyu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you didn't look back.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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

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

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

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

anyone. the devil. him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"what else, then?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

you raised an eyebrow, "the useful ones?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"sorry," you whispered softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"of course i am," he growled through gritted teeth, "shit– how could i not be?" his greedy lips traveled down from your neck, your throat, tour clavicles, leaving a trail of spit on your skin, icy against the air. 

"you were like this yesterday, too." you pressed your fingers against his tense jawline, feeling the strain in his muscles. “let me help you out, please, teach me how."

he hesitated. his baby princess was too pure to stain herself with his dirty self. he was just a ravenous dog, hungry, flushed and beastly turned on, but you were his little dove, his angel, you–

you took your shy hand down to his crotch.

you did so while looking him in the eye, firm but awfully nervous. trembling, experimental. you brushed against the throbbing bulge with your palm.

he drew his head back. holy mary mother of god, pray for us sinners. chewed on his lip. now and at the hour of our death. he was all in.

he put his hand over yours with the intention of teaching you, like you had asked for, but you stopped him. with a timid voice and a slight stutter, you requested, "m-mouth."

a hitched breath. then a heavy one. "you shouldn’t," he whispered huskily, “with those pretty angel lips…” 

you stirred on his lap, making him shudder with the slight brush of your covered pussy against his desperately hard self. "i have this friend from school," you began. "he’s not all that poetic, but today he said something… " you said, voice whispery. "said that having a girl on her knees for him made him feel like a king. i want to make you feel like that, too.” 

beomgyu's silence was charged, his gazy stormy. the heavenly image flashed before his eyes. his baby angel down on her knees for him. the blushing tint on her sinless cheeks. virginal hibiscus lips wrapped around his cock. all sweet, all fucking gorgeous.

he then said, "open your mouth for me,”

you did as he commanded. you parted your lips for a shy communion, reception of the body of christ. your tongue rested plump and glistening on your lower lip. pretty, pretty, pretty.

with one hand he held your chin. the other one he raised with his index and middle fingers extended, thumb holding the ring and little fingers down. he slid them inside your mouth, their sinewy length slipping past your lips, taste of salt, skin and wine.

he grunted when your plump lips closed around his fingers. gulped down his libido, his adam’s apple prominently bobbing up and down. soon enough —he told himself— be gentle.

guiding your head with a steady rhythm, he began to move his fingers in and out, the wetness of your tongue sloppy against them. "no teeth," he commanded. 

he entered a third finger in, stuffing your cheeks. the thrust got more forceful, his hand reaching deeper. you began to salivate, making a mess on his wet skin, unable to swallow.

you gagged when he pushed against your throat. then looked up at him, a glint of fear in your eyes.

“that choking feeling. it's gonna be like that.” he said in a sweet tone. “you think you can take it?”

you nodded eagerly, your voice coming out muffled in a throaty moan against his hand. it was a new feeling, but so sinfully delicious. a deep hot sweetness that got you helplessly soaked with its glowing tingle.

"use your tongue," he growled, his voice thick. you obeyed, letting it swirl around his skin. “such a good girl.” he said. your body quivered all over.

when he finally withdrew his hand, a glistening saliva trail draped down, connecting his fingers to your tongue. lewdy spiderweb of silver. without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to each gleaming digit.

then, as light as a floating bubble, you slid off the bed and guided him to sit at the edge. but instead of sitting, he stood up, looming over you. he was so tall, and for the first time, his height didn't feel protective but imposing, towering over you like a temple.

you gazed up at him with pleading eyes, silently for a kiss. he granted it to you. he could have been a giant, a monster, beastly like a wild bear, and he still would have brushed your hair behind your ear with all the softness in the world and leaned down to kiss you.

kneeling before him made you feel small, exposed, shrinking under his devouring gaze. but there was something thrilling in being so vulnerable to him.

your hands were shaking as you reached for the waistband of his pants. a ritualistic undressing of him, an unveiling of sacred flesh that you were terrified to ruin by being clumsy and uncoordinated.

his hand wrapped around your wrist. "are you sure about this?" he asked for the last time with a tender stroke at your head.

"yes," you whispered back, your voice barely audible over the thunderous beating of your heart. there was a shyness that coiled tightly around your spine, eating you alive, but there was also eagerness—the want to make him feel good.

you pulled down his pants, the big bulge in his underwear imposing, daunting. you pressed your lips tentatively against the taut fabric, the only thing you were certain you would do well, a slight whisper of a kiss that left behind a cold, wet spots.

the dampness seeped through the cotton, a chaste baptism of his aching cock. "pretty," he murmured above you, hand tracing your cheek.

a little more bolstered by his praise, your hands reached out and hooked into the elastic band, pulling it down with reverence. his cock was thick and pulsing, begging for your touch. rosy, gold-dusted. you gulped. this was him, purely in the flesh.

you leaned in, trailing soft kisses along its length and leaving small burning marks on his skin. his hand gripped your hair tight as he groaned. "you're gonna feel so good, shit."

with a hesitant exhale, you parted your lips, allowing the tip of his cock to brush against them. he tasted of musk and urgency. you struggled, trying to fit him all the way into your mouth. he was so big, so overwhelming for virgin stupid you. 

as soon as he felt your lips around him he winced and his hand gripped your hair, tugging sharply and sending a jolt of electric sensation down your spine. you felt a protectiveness in his touch, there was no force, only unreleased tension.

"you're so fucking beautiful like that,” beomgyu rasped, his voice thick. you leaked heplessly at his words. "be careful, alright, angel? stop whenever you need to." he said.

you pulled out for a second, just to answer to him. your lips closing at his tip, pouty. spit glistened all over his lenght like the glinting mix of melted ice and saliva on fruit flavored ice-cream. "don't hold back." you simply said.

beomgyu let out a grumbled groan as he watched take him in your mouth again, the plush walls of your cheeks hugging so beautifully around his cock.

slow and timid, you began the back and forth motion. the flow you managed was awkward at first, clumsy and arrhythmic. but with just a little silent steadying of his hand in your hair, you found the right pace.

“j-just like that, shit,” beomgyu groaned, his voice a low thrum that resonated through your ribcage.

the wetter you got, the more shame swirled like eddies in the depths. you knew she was waiting for you with her sinister glare, ready to and ambush and churn at your insides when beomgyu was gone.

but shame was titillating when your lower belly burned and your needy clit throbbed helplessly. shame leaked out in the form of arousal, pouring syroupy glitter. 

whenever you dared look up at him, you'd see the godlike vision of a strained, sweating beomgyu. his head was drawn back in pleasure and his adam’s apple bobbing up and down, escaping a profane mess of heavy breaths and lewd sounds.

his voice was so beautiful, too, you kept thinking. low and mellow, incese and wood. he sounded so good, with his raspy “ahs,” and roaring moans. you did everything in your power to keep him panting like that.

with every flick of your tongue and suckle of your lips, you could feel him twitch and tense. as you took him further into your mouth, his thick and veiny shaft hit the back of your throat. 

a surprining rush of excitement surged through you when i you gagged, tightening your core. that lewd retched sound of the choking turned into a cried out moan of pleasure.

you salivated against his cock, the mixture of his salty precum, your spit, and the tears that came out of your eyes from the asphyxiation making a mess that kept dripping down your chin. 

you took him deeper, revelling in your own gagged-out sputters. "y-you're taking me in so good," he praised between clenched teeth. “my baby, you sound so fucking perfect choking on me.” 

but then you noticed. the way he remained still, fighting every instinct to move. the exaggerated tension in his body from doing so. he was holding back. lacerating self-control.

you pulled out, finding no resistence from him. he immediately leaned down, loving concern in his eyes, but his breathing still heavy and messy, and asked "are you alright?" he asked, gently gripping your jaw.

and though he was trying just so hard to focus on your well-being, he mouthed out a strained “shit, baby angel...” in pure awe upon seeing you all covered in the mouth-watering mixture of glinting fluids.

"b-beomgyu," you gulped, voice broken. "don´t hold back. i... like the choking."

he bit his lip so hard he almost drew blood. "i don’t wanna hurt you," he said. a gentlemanly formality.

"i know.” you smiled faintly. “but i like the pain, i promise."

eyes round and doe-like, lips soaked in delightful filth, swollen and gleaming. a wet dream of a girl, you were. sweet dainty angel who just kept saying gut-wrenchingly hot words.

he traced one finger along your jawline, just one, all feathery. "you have no idea how perfect you are." he whispered. but his caress turned a firm grip on your jaw. big strong hand, poking fingers. he said, "you want it rough? then i’m gonna fuck your cute little mouth raw.”

he tightened his hadn't around your hair in a way that immediately let you know he wasn't grabbing you for guidance, no massages, no caresses. he wasn't playing anymore.

the first thrust back in was paced, but painfully deep. you let out a delighted whine around him, having craved the sensation of being filled by him again. then he lived up to his promise.

he pumped his cock into your mouth, thrusts steady and violent. that you liked the pain he took it religiously, believed it in heart and soul. and you revelled on it. sacrificial angel, dirty slut with needs.

but it was all you wanted from him, really. to pound his love into you, ruthlessly. to wreck you with his own hands and pick up the pieces after, kissing the scars. to carve in your skin a yearning so big and monstrous it could only be spiritualised in pain, only could be satisfied in flesh and blood.

his grip in your hair tightened into a makeshift ponytail as he urged you deeper, pushing you to the brink of what you could withstand. your eyes were so glassy you almost couldn’t see, holy lack of air that got your cunt trembling with want. 

a violent dance of pushing and pulling, giving and taking. with each thrust, you were the victim of his self-control slipping like sand through desperate fingers. his words became abstract, senseless, angel, and baby, and beautiful melted into one until all he could do was cry out.

never in a million years would you have been able to rationalise how you could've have gotten such harrowing pleasure, such a tear-jerking sense of utter love, from such a forceful act. but you felt it, everywhere in your body. in your whitening knuckles, in your sore scalp, in the ruthless thrusts that got you trembling, leaking, terminally ill in lust.

beomgyu got beautifully lightheaded. his every molecule trembled, his every nerve ending felt numb and petty compared the scorching beautiful fire there where your mouth brazed his cock, soon to explode.

"s-so fucking close." his body trembled with the strain, severing the bond of flesh and hunger. "h-hand– fuck, y-your hand." he struggled out.

he desperately fumbled for your hand, and when he found it, he guided it to the stem of his length, showing you how to stroke him, pushing him over his peak. you knew, you felt him tense up, get breathier, more desperate.

but he pulled out of your mouth. he grabbed onto your hair and pulled your head back roughly. neck strained, you let out a confused whimper. good little puppy.

that did it for him. he gave you one last awestruck look, and jerked himself off with your hand getting himself to cum all over your face with a shaky groan. 

warm liquid dripped down from his still-throbbing cock, landing on your quivering lips and streaming down to your cheeks.

he urged you to keep stroking him through his most sensitive, his whole body twitching and contracting under your touch. "ah, f-fuck. keep going like that, just a little more," he said.

he pushed through, your hand only a tool confined between his own hand and his cock. you were barely a puppet here, the symbolic means of lewdness, a kink.

you got to watch him attentively. his gorgeous hair shaking with him, his teeth almost peeling the skin on his bottom lip, the strained muscles of his neck. lusty frown, wax light skin, pearly sweat. your beautiful boy.

the oversensitivity caused his body to helplessly quiver and spasm all over, increasingly until it became too much and he doubled, finally letting go, his body folding in two. he let himself fall to his knees.

his eyes were glassy and rimmed with redness, his breath gradually steadying. he looked at you and whispered "fuck, look at that...", his eyebrows furrowed, as he reached up to wipe some of the cum off your cheek with his thumb.

the world went silent. tinnitus in your ears. breathe in. breathe out. breath not. shame arrived and choked you.

your bottom lip quivered. a round tear formed at the corner of your eye. shame gnawed at you with her ghostly voice of ice. slut, nympho, mary magdalene, whore.

beomgyu immediately helped you up, perching on the bed and sitting you on his lap. "what is it, baby?" he muttered against the shell of your ear, cradling you. "are you feeling guilty?" he asked.

your words tumbled out between sobs, raw and revealing. "it's the filthiest thing i've ever done." your gaze refused to meet his. "but i liked it so much, i'm so wet."

he reached out to cup your cheek, brushing away the tears with his thumb. "it's okay, you were such a perfect fucking girl, my baby. you did nothing wrong." he reassured you in a soothing tone. "let's get you cleaned up, alright?" 

you nodded softly. you still avoided his gaze, but your shame felt finite. he was there. you would be fine. 

he got up to get dressed, but he quickly returned to your side, not wanting to leave you alone even for a second. so invested in the caretaker roll he was, he insisted on carrying you to the bathroom himself.

“what are you doing? i’m fine.” you chuckled softly when he tried to pick you up, wiping away the tears that had fallen from your eyes, feeling their warmth against your fingertips. 

"i wanted to carry you," he replied with a pout.

he was determined, but you managed to convince him that it was better if you led the way. you were good at roaming around the house in the dark, a silent nightjar that could only get a semblance of freedom when everyone else was asleep. 

and so you exited your room in hushed silence, tiptoeing through the gloom, beomgyu’s hand securely wrapped in yours.

the coming light from your bedroom door cast eerie elongated shadows on the walls of the corridor. hazy and enthralled as you were with one another, you had forgotten to close the door, only leaving it ajar. big mistake. 

the bathroom was virginal with the scent of soap and piety—the place where absolution and sin mingled in the steam that rised from the heart of the house of god. 

beomgyu's eyes narrowed at the sight of the framed stamp of a female saint, perched on the sink. with a creeped out grimace, he plucked it from its spot and flipped it over, as if silencing an unwanted voice. the house was full of hidden eyes and he couldn't stand the feeling of constant surveillance.

you both settled onto the narrow edge of the porcelain tub, the coolness of the ceramic sending shivers down your back when it touched the fevered bare flesh of the back of your thighs. 

beomgyu fumbled for a towel, and with reverent hands, he turned on the faucet and laid it under the warm water flow until it soaked.

the water was a baptismal font, powerful enough to wash away almost any sin. but beomgyu wasn’t one to care about the religious symbolism. he just wanted to take care of you, gently wiping your face with each stroke, cleansing away the remnants of his cum.

"beomgyu," you whispered. the towel was warm against your face. it felt nice, hushed. 

“yeah?” he murmured, his voice barely audible as he focused on his task.

"…was i any good?" you tentatively asked, nervously looking down at your fingers.

with a mellow smile, he leaned in to give you a soft kiss before answering, "my baby angel. you did so well… so, so well" he said. "i’m sorry if i was too rough."

you shook your head slightly, unable to hide the smile that formed on your lips at his concern. "it's okay," you told him, your mouth curving into a bashful v shape.

as he pressed the towel against your neck, it felt like a wrung-out sponge. a few droplets of water managed to make their way into your shirt, sending a shiver down your spine. the dampness slowly crept through the fabric of your pajama shirt, the chilly embrace from a ghost hand.

"should we take this off?" he asked, not a trace of suggestion in his eyes, only care. “so you can wash well.” he added.

you hugged yourself self-consciously. "no... i-" you trailed off, voice barely above a whisper. “no.”

his gaze melted into yours, as if trying to ease your discomfort. "you shouldn't be uncomfortable with me," he insisted. "every little thing you do is pretty to me. you know that, right?"

he gave you a kiss that was simple and easy. not the blooming, lush cascades of perfumed lust you were used to, but steady and reassuring like soft moss. a tender formality of intimacy. a kind kiss, a kiss to trust him.

you slowly released your arms from their protective embrace, letting them hang limply at your sides, surrendering control to him.

"stand up for me," he demanded. and as you obeyed, he crouched down, his knees meeting the cold, unforgiving tiles. he reached out with steady hands to support you. "let me see just how soaked you are." 

a crimson blush spread across your cheeks. your fingers shyly reached out for the the elastic of your shorts, beomgyu’s hands intercepting them to gently pull down together.

your cotton shorts gone, all that was left to cover your pussy was an embarrassingly dampened pair of pinkish panties. the type that puritanical moms buy for their daughters at haberdashery stores - cheap, thin lace trimming the edges and a small embroidered rose at the center. 

the fabric felt cold against your exposed skin as the air grazed the darkened wet stain. embarrassing.but beomgyu's breath nearly caught in his throat as he laid eyes on the dainty cloth, delicate like wax flower, all soaked for him. 

"god, this is so fucking pretty," he breathed against your belly, his fingers trailing over the damp patch. he planted a soft kiss against your trembling sex, sending shivers down your spine. a twitchy chill ran through you.

he reached for the hem of it, eager to expose you further, but you stopped him. “not yet,” you breathed out. “please.”

his eyes widened like a puppy's and he looked up at you pleadingly. "to clean you up?" he asked.

but you shook your head. he stood up again, wrapping one arm around your waist and pulling you close. "i won't look," he promised. "won't see a thing. just like yesterday." he said.

“fine.” you said, giving in to his gentle touch.

he expertly slipped off your underwear with one hand, holding onto you with the other. you knew you were soaked, but hadn't become fully aware of how much until you were exposed to the cold and what had been warm arousal turned iced water.

you were nervous, but his hot breath and balmy kisses on your forehead eased some of your tension.

“now this,” he tugged at your pajama top, his fingers like curious spiders crawling over the soft fabric.

you flinched, jabbed his hand away. beomgyu's eyes showed worry and a hint of hurt from your lack of trust in him. still, he had a plan.

no words were exchanged; he guided you to step into the bathtub with him, closing any existing distance. firm yet gentle, he pressed you against the wall, the cool tiles imprinting their pattern on the naked skin of your ass.

as he twisted the handle, a sudden rush of water burst from the showerhead like a geyser. "we wash together, alright?"

the droplets rained down on you, pelting against your bodies. he threw his head back with a soft, painfully cute chuckle, watching the water fall like it was the first winter snow. 

his drenched clothes clunged to his body, but he payed no mind. he kept smiling like a little kid, kissing you with satisfied nibbles and smooches, cheerful like you had never seen him.

but the fun ended quickly. a shadow crossed his expression, filling you with immediate concern. he drew in a deep, somber breath, fingers hesitating at the hem of his shirt. with a tug, he pulled it over his head, baring his skin before letting it fall. you instinctively brought a hand to your mouth, suppressing a horrified gasp.

swollen bruises, bloated and purplish-black, oozed cruelty as they sprawled across his abdomen, his ribcage, his chest. once elegant and pretty collarbones hid marred under stains like dark, spreading ink blots.

his father had completely shattered him and then discarded his body like rancid fruit left to rot in the sun.

he pressed his lips together, avoiding your eyes. there was embarrassment all over his face, hidden under a bitter defiance. "don't look at me like that," he muttered.

"like what?" you asked, not sure how to respond.

"like you feel sorry for me," he said, clenching his teeth. "i'd rather you were just grossed out."

"i'm not pitying you, i..." your hand reached out, gently lifting his chin to meet your gaze. he resisted a bit, looking sullen. "this shouldn't have happened to you, this–" you began to say softly, brushing your fingertips over the bruised skin with a light touch. "you can't be ashamed of this. you have to be mad. outraged. you– promise me you won't go back to him."

"i've got nowhere else to go," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible.

and you didn't know what to say, either. stay here was a stupid answer, unrealistic. you have me was even more stupid, as you didn't even have yourself. your existence together hanged on a fine thread. there was no better option, only prison cells and bloodthirsty gods.

"i–" you began to say, trying to arrange some, any, words in your head, but he stopped you.

"i don't want to think about it now, please," he said. "i'm happy when i'm with you because i forget about everything else. i like it that way."

he meant every word. he wasn't one to dwell on the future, he couldn't stand to throw away the counted minutes he had with you worrying. unlike soobin, he took pride in that.

he pressed a soothing kiss to your temple. "i'm going to clean you up now, okay?" he said softly. "and you'll go to bed feeling light and clean, no shame and burning in the flames of hell bullshit. you're gonna sleep so well and so peacefully without any of the wicked nonsense they've tried to brainwash you with."

a gentle smile from him, a thanking peck from you. the water cascaded on.

however, when beomgyu's hands reached for the top button of your pajama shirt, you couldn't help but flinch. a first fleeting thought told you it was uncalled for, but then it settled on you that letting him see your body was a stupidly obvious next step.

he had already shown you the body he was ashamed of, and now he was asking you to share in that vulnerability. "please," he said. "i showed you how shitty i look. i… really wanna see you.”

it was the desperation in his frown and the ominous presence of his bruises. with shaking hands, you undid the next button on your own.

the rest of the buttons you undid in gradual little steps, not daring to look him in the eye. he limited himself to watch with narrowed eyes and his heart in clenched in his fist.

the shirt fluttered opened, a central strip of your body in full view. collarbone, linea alba, belly button –all delicate and liturgical in the semi-darkness. but he didn't glance any lower. he promised he wouldn't.

he brought his hand to your waist, letting his thumb caress your ribcage. as he did, he drew the shirt away from your tit, displaying it for him. he shook his head, exhaled, "you're so fucking adorable."

with a delicate movement he gently flicked the other side of the shirt, your chest all to him. peaches and cream, lovely cottony candy. sweet, sweet, so sweet.

there was something so disarming about seeing you naked, too. a vulnerability in your eyes he couldn't resist.

your hands, trembling emissaries of modesty, moved instinctively to shield your breasts from his view. but beomgyu's touch halted their ascent; his fingers wrapped around your wrists, "don't hide from me," he whispered.

all he did next was to reverently lower himself and leave a kiss on the tender skin. the water was falling, and the effect he loved so much, that of his spit against your smooth waxen skin, was lost in the shower rain.

he left it there, diplomatically. he would come back tomorrow night. he would be back to touch you with all the calm of the universe, to experiment on your skin and discover the cause and effect of all the things he could dream of doing to you.

the next kiss returned to your lips. a voracious mouth-feeding on your flesh. sharp jaws strained and tensed for the pleasure of the plump hedonistic lips.

then came the washing, the cleansing, the radical eradication of your shame. he hugged your waist tight and loving, as if to save his own life, and took the almond soap without letting go of you for a moment.

it was the third time in that same day that the viscous liquid touched your skin. but this time it came from his hands, not yours. this time it was lukewarm, not icy and lonesome.

he scrubbed every corner of your body, and in every single place that was left cleansed he planted a chaste kiss. the rubbing of his hand against your groin might have been lascivious, it might have made angels and saints look away in shame and offense. but it felt not lewd, but kind. fatherly.

last came the rinsing of the soap, a removal of every last trace of foreign liquids –be it an industrial hygiene product, be it the worldly product of the body.– off came the guilt, too. the repentance and the shame, the homicidal shame.

under the water your soul was feathers, under the water the angel, the dove, the butterfly was light and untied.

once clean he hugged you in a towel like a baby, arms around your body, and caressed the damp hair that clung to your face. a light kiss on your hairline, a light kiss on your brow, a light kiss on your lashes.

"beomgyu," you talked under your breath, "i don't want you to leave."

a light kiss to your temple. “i really don’t wanna leave, either.” he said in helpless sincerity. then his eyes glinted playful. “but soobin misses me if i don't cuddle him to sleep. he’d get jealous." he smiled.

"he gets to sleep with you every night," you sulked in a pout that curled up at the corners of your mouth, "it’s not fair."

beomgyu chuckled against your skin, "i can wait for you to fall asleep, then i’ll go."

and the plan was perfect, and the world felt pink and glittery and like it existed for you and him and no one else. it wasn't your fault when you didn't notice. you were hazy fools in love, your minds too misty and cosy.

when he laid you on the bed in plumes and cottons and the sheets felt like clouds against your clean skin, neither him nor you noticed.

when you got in bed, him lying next to you and being physically unable to stop showering you with little kisses, neither him nor you noticed.

when he caressed your hair, your cheeks and the outline of your arm as he felt your breathing relax into deep sleep, your little heartbeat easing finally after a lifetime of guilt and agony, neither him nor you noticed.

not even when beomgyu reluctantly separated from you, planting one last kiss on your sleeping eyelids, "goodbye, my baby angel," and left the room without making a sound, not even then did he notice.

a fatal mistake.

not noticing that the door you had left ajar after leaving to the bathroom was wide open when you got back. that the overshirt beomgyu had tossed to the ground was nowhere to be seen. that someone else had been there.

a phosphorescent chesire grin. a stern boy in a charcoal gray sweater. or work of the holy spirit.

it was a faceless someone. but someone knew.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ next part.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ i took so long to update i am so sorry. ALSO. I INSERTED THE ETHEL CAIN LYRIC it fit so perfectly, i had to. there's a bts borrowed line, too. joon lyrical king. anyway. yeah.

[beanarie]

of course 3/3

1/3

2/3

entire fic on ao3

in which tommy finally admits he should maybe see a therapist.

thanks again to @mooshkat for the original concept

(tw: heart problems, hospitalization, self loathing)

~

Bobby is the next to show up.

"Hi," he says, disconcertingly tall as he stands over Tommy's bed with a small tupperware. "I figured you can't have anything we would normally bring for someone stuck here, but there's this recipe I liked after my heart attack. It's just chickpeas tossed with olive oil and a bit of curry powder."

"That's very thoughtful," Tommy says, touched and confused. He starts tucking in immediately. The food here could be worse, but he never has much appetite when he's unwell. Maybe eating something will make the nurses frown less often. They're very frowny in this unit. Makes sense, as they probably have the highest proportion of deaths in the building, but it's shit for patient morale.

Bobby's still standing, so Tommy tilts his head at the chair and continues eating.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, once Tommy has left the now half-empty container on his tray table.

"Fine? Tired, mostly." Which is probably for the best when the only change of scenery he gets is the regular trips to imaging. All the napping doesn't leave time to develop cabin fever. "You?"

"I'm good. A little concerned."

Shit. So he's just jumping right in. Tommy works on his breathing. "Oh?"

Bobby nods. "Buck is getting released in the next few hours. He'll probably be up here as soon as they hand over the discharge summary."

Tommy doesn't eye the monitors, but he has a brief fantasy about ripping the leads out and smashing everything on the ground. It's been a long time since he's felt this exposed for this long. "That's good."

Bobby puts his hands on the armrests of the chair. "Hen seems to think you don't want to see him, which is interesting since Buck is behaving like you're pretty much back together."

Keep him away. Do it so I don't have to see his face. "I- I'm-"

Bobby looks at him like he's a spooked horse. "I'm not just here for him, okay? I wanna help you get clarity on what you're actually looking for before it blows up in both your faces again."

It's such a brazen offer Tommy can't help but laugh. "You're welcome to try?"

Bobby smiles a little. "Kid's got a heart the size of Alaska, but--or maybe because of it--he's like the La Brea tar pits. Once you're in, that's all she wrote. It's fine, though, great even. If that's your choice."

Tommy tilts his head, reconciling this man with the friendly, new in town captain who had a veil behind his eyes. In the last eight years, everyone at the 118 figured out how to open a vein for each other, and here's Tommy. Out, flying, and only able to meet his own eyes in the mirror half the time. "What if I'm a bomb," he asks. "Or... whatever destroys tar."

"Is that how you want it to be?" Bobby presses gently.

Tommy rubs at the side of his neck. "I'd be a monster and an idiot if I said yes, wouldn't I?"

Bobby spreads his hands. "There's no relationship jail, Tommy. Doesn't matter to me if you're either or both those things. All I ask is that you keep it away from people I care about."

"No. It's-" Tommy shifts his gaze, his vision blurring. "It's not- That's not what I want. But it's not that easy, Bobby."

"Didn't say easy. Didn't even imply it." Bobby moves a box of tissues from the nightstand to the tray table. "You're no stranger to tackling something hard because you thought it would be worth the effort. Maybe give yourself a little credit."

There are oval-shaped bruises in a roughly circular pattern on Evan's forearm, resembling a school of fish. Those weren't there after the crash. Tommy flexes his right hand, which has been stiff and sore for no apparent reason. "I did that," he says.

"Yeah?" Evan frowns in confusion. "You were suffocating. It wasn't on purpose."

It can be an omen if Tommy lets it.

"Tommy?" Evan says.

Omens are stupid. "Hm?"

Evan fidgets with his free hand, pulling at the edge of his sling. "You said of course you love me, like it was easy. Like it was a given. People don't- haven't said it like that."

"How did they say it?"

"Like they were surprised. Like it was the last thing they could've expected."

"I knew it was a possibility the first time I kissed you," Tommy says, tired of choosing between truths.

He looks up. "You did?"

"Evan," Tommy sighs, "you're the fucking sun."

His beautiful eyes widen and get wet at the corners. "I didn't want the first time I said it to be when- when you were dying in my arms." A shadow passes over his features and Tommy's fingers curl, gathering a handful of his blanket. "I wanted- needed to believe that I'd get another chance. I love you, too, Tommy."

Tommy is so grateful this conversation is taking place today, when he's recovered enough to not cause an international incident every time he does anything more stressful than looking at the color green. The specter of the alarm still looms, but he's done okay so far. "I might not have heard you, if you had said it then." Tommy gestures at his chest. "The wheezing, it was very loud."

"You heard some things, though? It felt like you- you were reacting."

"Yes, Evan. You kept me going."

Evan beams. Tommy aches from the inside like someone sprinkled salt in his IV bag.

"I need," he warns, "so much therapy."

Evan shifts forward in his seat, grunting softly in pain. "I can get you some recommendations."

"Of course you can." Tommy smiles.

Evan is inches away, practically falling out of the chair. "Can I touch you?"

"Do you have the slightest idea how many medications I'm on right now?"

He ducks his head and laughs. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, well, show me what you m-"

Evan lays his free hand lightly, ever so lightly, over Tommy's battered heart before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "I asked you not to run, and you stayed."

Right after the alarm goes off, Tommy pulls away just far enough to capture Evan's mouth with his own.

[od4saku]

Geto Suguru falls in love for the first time at 15.

He doesn’t know how he’s never seen you before— by the first time he sees you, he’s already halfway through his first year at Tokyo’s Prefectural Jujutsu high school. You’re a second year, and so, so cool. All loud laughter and confidence, sharp smiles and intelligence— he can’t help but admire you.

He likes to think that his status as a special grade sorcerer can separate him from being a cringey teenaged boy with a disastrous crush. In hindsight, it may have just made it worse. His attempts to impress you, constant and perpetual, never went quite right. Ever the gentleman, Geto would do all the chivalrous things. He would open doors for you, and then get hit in the face by them. He’d pull out your chair, and then trip over the legs. He tried, though, he really did. And you seemed to pick up on that.

Maybe you were simply entertaining his awkward attempts at being smooth. Maybe you were just playing along. But sometimes when he made a joke, you would laugh and touch his arm. And other times when he messed something up or did something stupid, you would call him ‘so cute’ which caused his friends to tease him and made him go red in the face. He had always thought of himself as smooth, calm, collected. You proved that everything could change.

At was almost the end of the school year when Gojo’d managed to rule Geto up enough to urge him to speak on his feelings. It’s February. A layer of frost encases the world, as if it was trying to preserve it, keep it that way forever. But the sun was suspended in the sky, chipping away at the icy covering. Change is coming, says the sky. Geto agrees. He will welcome it, even. It must be a good omen, he presumes, a sign of fortune to come.

You are knelt down by a small pond. With a stick in hand, he observes you for a moment as you appear to poke at the thinning sheet of ice covering the body of water.

“What are you doing?” He can see, he knows, but he asks anyways. You turn over your shoulder and give him a bright, bright smile. He feels himself melting inside.

“I was waiting for Mei Mei, for our assignment in Shibuya. But she’s going to be late, I think.” You frown a little, and he joins you on the ground in front of the little pond. The both of you watch as chunks of ice slowly decay into nothingness as the sunlight licks the surface. Greedy like a child with ice cream. Always taking more. (Change is coming.)

“So, this isn’t a bad time?”

You look at him again, shifting your body to face him rather than the pond. Soft beams of sunlight kiss your cheek, and he takes in every detail. How your eyes glow warm, bright, so bright, even though you have to squint a little. How your hair turns to fire. How you are looking at him and only him. “No. Is there something you need to say to me, Geto?”

He’s so confident. He will tell you that yes, he wants to ask you to lunch at a café he found in the city. He wants to pay for your food, and pull out a chair for you without falling over. He wants to take you on a date. He wants to tell you about how he likes you, why he likes you, and argue a thesis as to why you would be good together. So he opens his mouth.

None of that comes out.

“No. I was just curious,” he lies through his teeth, gesturing to the pond. Oh, he’s fucked this. Gojo and Shoko were most definitely going to get on his ass about this later. He grimaces a grin as you smile.

“Ah, don’t mind me! I was just killing time, you know?”

He’s 15, almost 16. He’s a special grade jujutsu sorcerer. He is one of the strongest. You made him so, so weak. He forgets himself, sometimes. That he is still a boy despite it all.

He hums conversationally, though he’s feeling particularly embarrassed internally. “So cold out. Do you think we’ll get snow?”

At least Geto is good with his words, good enough to cover up his lull, his fumble. At least you don’t notice anything wrong as you respond with a glance skyward, “hm. I doubt it. I wish, though.”

“Really? Don’t you want nicer weather?”

You tilt your head a little and he feels dizzy, and lightheaded. He isn’t paying much attention to what you’re saying even though he should be. Geto is more focused on the slope of your nose, the angle of your cheeks, the curve of your hand as it thrums against your thigh. “In my opinion, snow is the best kind of weather. I like how everything fits together. And I like when it melts. How it smells and all.”

He laughs. “You’re so weird.”

You punch his shoulder lightly. “Plus, snow reminds me of when I was younger. Snowball fights, shopping for scarves and coats and gloves, all that. So I guess it’s personal.”

He softens. You give him another smile but it’s melancholy this time. A nostalgia. He wants to engrave it into his memory. Keep you forever. “Do you wish you could go back ever?”

You would be lying if you said no, so you say yes instead. “But there’s no point in thinking about that, yeah? We can do all that now. Next winter. Let’s build an igloo or something, Geto.”

The smile is on his face before he knows it and he’s pried away from the emotional intimacy as soon as it’s shown itself. You are bright again and he is a moth. Enamoured by you, always. “Let’s.”

He bids you farewell a moment or so later when Mei Mei’s silhouette appears in the distance. He would be more upset, if he thought about his lack of confession. But as always, conversing with you is fulfillment enough. He can always ask when you get home, he thinks. He can ask, and you can say yes. And you can plan out the igloo you’re going to build, and he can map out the future house you’re going to share.

Except, the ice melts in the pond. And the frost turns to water permeating the soil. And you never come home.

This is Geto Suguru’s first taste of death. The impermanence of it all. The way that in less than a day, someone could be gone.

It was an oversight on the part of the initial reports. A special grade curse instead of two 1st grades. He knows because he is the one called in for backup, and he is the one who finds your body. You are cold like the snow by the time it is all over. Colder, even. And you’re still so pretty it hurts.

He’s never seen the body of a loved one before. He is so strangely detached and yet, at the same time, so full of anguish. Who could’ve stopped this? Could he have? What if you were alive? What would you say? Did it hurt? Were you going to be okay, wherever you were now? He thinks back to the conversation about the snow. He thinks back to the tripping over chairs, the way you always made space for anyone in any room. The way you loved so big in such little ways. The way it almost could’ve worked.

You taught Geto that change is inevitable. That death is always a part of life, especially for innocents, especially for those who deserve it the least. This is his beginning of the end. The way it will all begin to fall apart. Because he never got to know your favorite color. He never got to know how you like your coffee, or where you liked to shop. The only thing he knew is that you liked the cold. So next time it snowed, he would stay inside and lament the fact that if the world was a little different, and a lot kinder, you would be there with him.

You’d have said yes to his date, he believes. If you’d gotten the chance.

(Ice melts. The sun is hot, too hot. Change is coming.)

(Maybe it's already here.)

"Grief was a spare room where we put things." -Aimee Seu, Velvet Hounds

[blairboo]

FORGIVE ME!

Noah Sebastian X Fem! Reader

Summary: Noah being an idiot ;)

Warnings: A lot of angst

Word Count: 2k

We had been fighting for weeks, every day there was a reason for a fight.

Noah was currently on tour with Bad Omens, and now we were in New York.

The show was at eight o'clock, and I was sitting in the green room waiting for the boys to finish getting ready.

They knew about the fights, Jolly came to comfort me when Noah was very hard with his words.

I consider myself a calm person, especially with Noah, but my patience was running out, every day he found a stupid reason to fight with me. I knew the pressure he was feeling because of the tour, and I respected that, but he was crossing the limits.

"earth to y/n" Noah took me out of my thoughts

"Sorry, what were you talking about?" I asked

"Just letting you know that I was going up to the stage" his gaze was anywhere but on me.

"Hm okay, good luck" smiles weakly

He just passed by me and went on stage, Nick came after, I could see the sad smile towards me. I just nodded my head.

——————-

It had been 20 minutes since they had climbed to the board, I directed myself in the direction that Matt, who was at the sound station.

"Hi there y/n" Matt smiled at me

"Hey Matt, do you mind if I stay here?" I spoke in your ear because of the loud music.

"No problem, sit there" he said back.

I always stayed next to the stage when they were on stage. Noah always made a point of making me stay there. He liked to know that I was there.

Not anymore, I think. It has been some shows since the last time he asked me to stay there. And I also didn't ask if he wanted to, he clearly didn't care anymore.

My thoughts ran as they introduced themselves.

Will he break up with me?

What did I do wrong?

Am I not good enough?

The music was loud, everyone singing, smiling and dancing.

And me?

I felt tears coming down.

———————

The show was over. The boys were saying goodbye and playing the setlist in airplane format.

I had returned to the green room, I felt fear but I needed to ask what was wrong with us.

I heard laughter, and I saw them going down to the green room.

I just looked and smiled towards them.

Noah hadn't looked at me yet.

I heard my name being called and saw Nicholas smiling at me talking about something that at the moment, my anxiety did not allow me to care about.

I could only think of the way Noah didn't bother to talk to me.

All right. I'll talk to him.

I excused Nicholas and went towards Noah, who was taking a bottle of water.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I felt my heart beating 3 times faster

Noah just nodded his head.

He didn't care.

We went towards a running that was outside the room.

All right, now I needed to talk.

"What's going on?" My voice came out faster than I wanted

"What do you mean? Nothing is going on" there was no concern in his voice

"Cut the bullshit Noah, you know what I'm talking about, God, you can't even look at me!" There was a certain anger in my voice.

"There's nothing wrong! I don't know where you got it from that there's something going on with us!" He had increased his tone of voice

"You can't tell me that there's nothing wrong when in recent weeks the only words we've exchanged are "good morning and good night"!"

"My God, you're hallucinating, there's nothing wrong and maybe if you stopped being so clingy , you would know why I'm not close to you, you annoy me!" Now he was screaming and I was sure the boys were listening.

Clingy. I felt a pang of pain in my heart. Noah never complained about it. Most of the time he asked to stay close.

I felt tears burning in my eyes.

"So why don't you break up with me?" My voice failed

"Maybe I really should!!" He screamed passing by me and returning to the green room.

Your phrase echoed in my head.

"Maybe I really should"

"Maybe I really should"

"Maybe I really should"

I leaned against the wall behind me and released the tears that begged to be released.

I stayed there for a few minutes, just with my eyes closed and letting my thoughts consume me.

I felt a pair of arms hugging me. A part of me expected it to be Noah and he would apologize to me and say that everything would be fine.

But another part of me didn't ignore the pain of his words.

I opened my eyes and saw Matt hugging me. For a moment I let myself be vulnerable there.

"He doesn't want me here anymore" I whispered

"It's not true, he's just being an idiot " Matt stroked my hair

"He doesn't want to. It's not from now that he's acting distant"

He didn't answer me, he just kept hugging me.

"I'm going home" I said after a few seconds

"Y/n...please" there was a tone of reprimand in his voice

"I won't disturb his career anymore Matt, he clearly doesn't want me here and I won't force anymore "

"Let me try, let's try to talk to him at least" he pleads

I denied it.

"No, my decision is made."

———————-

The next day, Noah and the boys had left for tourists to New York City.

I said I was tired and couldn't go. Lie.

My flight was scheduled for 11:30 am. Only Matt knew.

I had just packed my suitcase and all that was left was to pick up my cell phone that was charging.

My mind told me to leave a note for Noah. I ignored it.

——————-

I had just landed in Los Angeles. And again, only Matt knew.

A part of me was afraid of Noah's reaction when he realized that I had left.

Another part just told me that he wouldn't mind.

——————

Now it was 8:50 pm, so far no message from Noah.

I started to think he really didn't care.

I tried to distract myself by trying to do other things, but my heart still hurt to know that he didn't care.

I was finishing making my dinner and my cell phone started ringing.

I felt my heart drop.

I looked at the name on the receiver and mentally cursed.

It was Noah.

What would I say?

I took a deep breath and answered the phone.

"Hello?" I tried to keep my voice steady.

"Where are you?" I could hear a despair in his voice

I kept quiet.

"Matt said you went back home" he said after a few seconds

I cursed Matt mentally.

"I- I arrived a few hours ago" my voice weakened

After a moment, he spoke

"I want you to know that I didn't mean that. You're not sticky and I could never separate from you" my heart hurt.

"You wouldn't say that out of nowhere Noah, some part of your mind must think that." I Whispered

"Please don't! I was stressed, I took it out on you and please forgive me for that."

"It's not from now this behavior of yours Noah! It's been weeks since the last time you cared if I was at the show or not!" I exalted myself

He didn't answer.

And my head confirmed to me what I had said.

He doesn't care.

"We're done" I hung up.

And obviously tears fell.

——————

It had been 4 days since the last time I spoke to Noah, he had sent me many, many messages, not only from him.

Matt.

Nicholas

Nick

Jolly

Bryan

Davis

I hadn't answered any of them. My mind wasn't in the right space for that.

I was finishing making my coffee when the doorbell rang.

I took a deep breath.

It couldn't be Noah, he still had many shows before the tour ended.

I went towards the door and opened it.

Shit.

What the fuck was he doing here?

He still had shows to do.

And there was Noah, standing right in front of my door.

His eyes were red indicating that he had cried

Your deep dark circles indicating the lack of good sleep

Your messy hair indicating the lack of your self-care.

"Please give me 5 minutes to talk and if you don't change your mind, you never need to see me again" He said first.

I couldn't find a voice to answer and so I just nodded.

I gave him space to enter and soon after closing the door.

"Y/n, nothing I say here, you'll be able to show what a sorry I am, I know I acted like a terrible boyfriend in recent weeks and I was a big asshole with you" I just agreed in response

"I've always been very understanding with you Noah, I never fought when you were angry and discounted me" my voice finally came out.

He waved quickly.

"I know, I know, and that's why I'm feeling like crap, nothing I say could show how grateful I am for you and your patience with me, and I know I made a mistake, and I made bad mistakes with you, but I'm asking from the bottom of my heart that you don't break up with me" he pleaded

"I promise to change and promise to be a better boyfriend, I can't promise perfection but please don't break up with me."

His words were repeated in my mind

"You hurt me Noah, and my question remains, how do I know this won't happen again? That you won't just get tired of me and treat me like a complete stranger?"

"I have no form of guarantee other than my word, but please...." He had knelt in front of me.

Noah leaned his head against my belly, repeating the word "please" over and over again.

"Please get up Noah" I tried to pull your arms

"No, I would stay like this for hours and hours if it made me have you back" I closed my eyes.

"You have me. And my mind keeps telling me that I shouldn't forgive you so fast but I just can't. So please don't make me go through this pain again, don't make me question your love for me again." Noah tightened his arms around me.

"I promise, I promise." He looked at me.

"Now get up please, I need to look at you face to face" and he got up, still holding me by the waist.

Noah leaned his forehead against mine, our eyes completely aligned.

"I love you" he whispered

"I love you" I just whispered back.

But I still had a question.

"Don't you have a show in 50 minutes?" I asked curiously

"I canceled" he replied calmly

"What? What do you mean you canceled?" There were question marks in my head

"If I needed to, I would cancel the entire tour just to come after you" I felt tears burning in my eyes

"You canceled the show.... For me?"

He nodded his head

"I would do this as many times as necessary, to have you with me."

Maybe he would make a mistake again, again....

Maybe I would make a mistake….

After all, who cares? We're just two lovers trying to love each other properly.

——————-

lmk what you think :)

Blair👾

[tikkunolamresistance]

i feel like i’m losing my mind i, along with a great many other though mostly jews, have been sounding the fascism alarm literally for YEARS. we have been saying it and have been blatantly ignored and pushed aside by those that should be our allies. i don’t feel bad for whatever happens to the people that left us behind. literally go fuck yourself if you’re only thinking now, “hm maybe musk using the sieg heil is an omen” bitch the omen was trump winning in 2016 get your head out of your ass and pay the fuck attention. motherfucker.

[belit0]

Hello, I hope you're doing great. I'm new here and love your writings. Can you do how the Uchihas react to a reader who has Nezuko abilities? And her demon form.

Hello, love! Welcome to my blog, I hope you like it and stick around—your presence is truly appreciated!

Madara

The first time Madara sees (Y/N) transform, he doesn’t react with fear—he reacts with intrigue. Her claws elongate, her fangs glint under the moonlight, and the air thickens with the scent of something not quite human. Instead of stepping back, Madara steps closer.

His Sharingan spins, analyzing every detail, every twitch of muscle, every surge of chakra—or whatever force fuels her transformation.

-A demon, hm?- His voice is smooth, eyes gleaming. -No wonder I was drawn to you.-

He tests her strength relentlessly, provoking, pushing, daring her to go all out. If she loses control? Even better. He wants to see the full extent of her power, to know if she could stand by his side in battle—or if he’ll have to tame her himself.

And if anyone dares look at her with fear? If they whisper ‘monster’ behind her back? Madara only smirks, towering over them like an omen of war.

-She is mine,- he states, final and absolute. -If you value your life, you will speak of her with reverence.-

Izuna

Izuna? Oh, he loves it. He thrives off chaos, and (Y/N) in her demon form is just another beautiful disaster he can’t get enough of.

-Alright, I'll admit it,- he grins, dodging one of her clawed swipes with a teasing ease. -You just got ten times hotter.-

He pushes his luck constantly, poking at her sharp teeth, tugging at her claws, and casually throwing an arm over her shoulders like she isn’t a terrifying supernatural force that could rip him apart.

When she loses control, even for a second, Izuna doesn’t flinch. Instead, he grins, eyes alight with exhilaration.

-That all you got, demon girl?

And when someone insults her for what she is? Oh, that’s his cue to step in, twirling a kunai between his fingers, voice dangerously light.

-You've got two choices,- he says, smiling in a way that isn't friendly at all. -Apologize, or let’s see how fast I can make you regret it.-

Shisui

Shisui doesn’t fear her—not even when her demon form is fully unleashed, claws glinting, veins dark beneath her skin. No, he just looks at her with understanding.

-Must be exhausting,- he muses, offering a lopsided smile. -Always having to hold back, huh?-

Shisui treats her power like it’s just another part of her—neither good nor bad, just hers. He doesn't flinch when she loses control. He doesn’t panic when her instincts take over. He just stays, unwavering, speaking to the part of her still listening.

-You don’t scare me,- he tells her once, brushing a thumb over her bloodied cheek. -But if you ever need someone to keep you grounded, I got you.-

If she ever feels like she’s losing herself, all she has to do is meet Shisui’s eyes—steady, warm, unshaken—and remember that she’s not alone.

Itachi

Itachi watches. He analyzes. Every twitch of muscle, every flicker of suppressed rage—it’s all noted. He isn’t afraid, nor does he react with fascination like Madara or Izuna. He simply sees.

-You are not a monster,- he says one night, when he catches her avoiding people’s gazes.

She scoffs.

Itachi hums, thoughtful. -A monster wouldn't hesitate. You do.-

He doesn’t tell her it’ll be okay. He doesn’t feed her pretty lies. But he does stand beside her, offering his presence like an unspoken shield.

If she ever loses control, Itachi is the first to step in, calm and steady, never lifting a blade against her. Instead, his words cut through the haze—quiet, absolute.

-Come back to me.

And she does. Every time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fool's Game 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, stalking, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson

This AU is called Watcher Anonymous and will include different series for different characters. This is our introduction to Loki and Bugsy.

Summary: strangers on a train aren’t as strange as they seem.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

He doesn't see her on the platform. It's dismaying but not entirely unprecedented. She clearly wasn't faring well the day prior, perhaps she took some sick time. Funny, for so long as he's followed her, she's been there like clockwork. Just as he had. The few times he forwent the train for a ride with a colleague or instead clocked in late, he was still certain to see her home.

It unsettles Loki as the tracks scream with the arrival of his morning transport. She doesn't board. She simply isn't there.

He stares at the empty seat. Then he looks at his feet. Hers are usually there, sometimes even scuffing his toes as she squirms. It's quite unexciting without the mashing of buttons and the low hum of her headset. He is annoyed by the coughs and sighs of his fellow passengers. They are much more agitating than her addled grunts and groans as she fights her animated demons.

Hm. He can only hope she is taking time to recover from whatever had her so forlorn. He wonders if she discovered his little omen of comfort. Did she have it with tea?

Those thoughts only feed his restlessness. The commute drags on and he is want to shove past the rest of the passengers by the time he reaches his stop. The cramping of his long legs is more nagging that day as he disembarks. When he reaches his office, he finds his coworkers too loud and the lights too bright. He closes himself up behind his closed door and tuts.

He doesn't eat lunch. He has this bad feeling in his stomach. She's fine. He keeps telling himself so but it's hardly convincing.

The train ride home is just despairing. He keeps his leather bag in his lap, not even bothering to tuck it into the overhead. Her seat is filled by another. Not a regular. No, the man is squat and bald and keeps blowing his nose in his sleeve. Where is she?

It is only one day, good man. Settle. He girds himself as he nearly misses his stop.

He does not live far from the station. In the summers, he prefers the walk. The season is almost at an end, he should bask in it while he can. Besides, he needs to untie his nerves.

His condo waits for him in shadows. He flips on the entryway light and sets his bag on the side table. He unties his shoes and places them neatly on the rack. He slides his phone free of his jacket pocket and strides through the dark to his bedroom. He disposes of his blazer, tie, and belt. He undoes a button as he goes back down and enters the kitchen. The fixture above glows at the flick of his finger. He pours a glass of wine and his stomach growls monstrously. He should eat.

She will be back tomorrow. All will be as it should be. He takes out one of his prepped meals and lays it on a small metal tray. He heats it up in the toaster oven, it's always crisper that way. He eats between dry sips.

He doesn't sleep very much. Each time he closes his eyes, he thinks of her. When he opens them too. He rolls onto his side and runs his hand over the empty space. Foolish, he rebukes himself. How he imagines her there, beside him.

The morning rises and he stares at the corners of the room. Get up.

What is he doing? Spending all his time thinking about her? Doing nothing.

His brother might be a bit off with that group of his but they at least want to do something. They just haven't any good ideas. Well, what would he do?

Sweep her off her feet. Somehow. But he hasn't even told her his name. There was the time she caught his phone as he stood and she gave it back to him. He founds his tongue all tied up. Impotent! It is what he is. He cannot get over himself and for what? Look at her. She is so lost. She has only her games and her plushy sweaters and fuzzy bags. She needs guidance. She needs him.

He showers and readies to face the day. To see her. He dabs a bit of his favourite cologne behind his jaw. He doesn't know why. Ah, he is keen on this green tie.

He packs his lunch and shoulders his bag. He stops before he heads out. This place is big. Empty. He could make room. Her shoes would fit next to his. Her coats even. He'd make the space.

Go on, get out of here. Get out of your head.

He gets to the platform and twiddles his fingers. He searches for her. At his height, he can pick out most. His cheek twitches. She is not there. Again. Please, she must be late. Must be.

The train gets there before her. He hesitates. Perhaps he should wait and see if she is running behind. He could take the next, make it up by skipping lunch. Again.

No, he must be off. There is that rather important meeting. He sighs and climbs aboard.

He sits across from the empty seat. It stays that ray as the train lurches forward. Again, he is tormented. He cannot help but come back to that big question; where is she?

Another tedious day. Too many meetings, too much tea. He goes home. Alone. Once more. Like always. He tires of it. He is weary.

A glass of wine and no more sleep. She is not there again. He fidgets until he reaches his building. Then he paces in the privacy of his office.

He dials out to his brother. He does not pick up. No doubt distracted. By his own little hobby. Loki could laugh. The woman is sick, she has enough issues.

He wiles away his day with worry. His brother still will not answer. Hm. He does have that meeting today. He could seek him out there. Perhaps the others will have some advice, not that he would relish in sharing it all with them.

Damned too hell. He will take a half-day. He leaves and catches the train before it can barrel away. He's breathless. He hops off at his stop and nearly trips over himself. He's really doing this.

He is unfamiliar with the route. He knows her address but it is opposite his own. When he finds her building, he is not quite sure what to do with himself.

She's a few floors up. He supposes climbing onto the balcony is a bit much. He is as much a dolt as his brother. What is he doing?

Then he stops short. That bright purple cap assures him before he even sees her face. She crosses the street before she can spot him. He waits until a few cars pass before he follows.

She doesn't sense him. She shuffles along and finds a bench behind a large red building. Some community centre.

He feels ridiculous behind the tree as he leans and listens. She clears her throat. He peeks out as she puts her phone to her ear.

Her conversation is typical. 'Hi' and a few babbles here and there. He can hear the voice on the other end. Then she sniffles.

"I lost my job... dad, please--"

She huffs and he looks again. Her shoulders and head droop. Her phone is on the bench. The call is over.

That explains it. It isn't him at all. She only lost her job. Oh, my. How unfortunate.

Well, this could be an opportunity. For both of them. He just needs to figure how.

He checks his watch. The meeting...

[doodleimprovement]

Shiz Babysitters AU: The Aftermath of a Twister

Premise: How Fiyero found Dorothy

Characters: Fiyero, Dorothy, Boq

AO3 Link: Read Here!

Author Notes: It begiiiiiiiins :3c

If you asked Fiyero Tigelaar what his talents were, he’d tell you it was “enjoying life” 

If you tried instead to ask about his aptitude, he’d reply with a grin and a glib joke about his attitude. 

If, in your growing frustration, you ask him if he was good at anything that mattered, he’d say that nothing does. 

These were all lies, obviously, because everyone is good at something! 

Prince Fiyero however, preferred lowered expectations. Under-promise? Over-deliver!

That’s why he was skipping class! Not because math made him feel actually stupid

Nope. Not at all. 

Besides, he needed to see what the forest around Shiz looked like after that wild storm last night. 

His roommate said it was a rare phenomena called a “twister”, and that they were often omens - often carrying magic within them. 

And a part of Fiyero - the curious part he rarely indulged in - urged him to see whatever this so-called twitter had brought to Shiz. 

As he started his rather casual exploration, he took in what differences he could notice. There weren't a lot, but if you knew where to look, you could tell something blew through. 

Some trees were stripped of their leaves, a few branches hanging on by a thread, and - pointedly - a distinct lack of any lower-case animals wandering around. That meant the storm had gotten pretty nasty on the ground. 

Fiyero wondered if he should have brought Feldspur with him - if only for the company. 

But then his eyes caught something that definitely had not been there on his last nature walk. 

Wood - Planks - A Wall?

As it came into view, he realized it was some small shed-like structure. Two meters on one side, a little less on the other, with some splintered wood at the bottom, showing it was forcibly moved. Comically, the door was closed. 

“Huh… Did the twister bring this here?” He muttered to himself, before hearing something go THUNK! causing him to jump. 

Oh, sweet Oz, was there something inside??

There was a little noise, it didn’t sound like an animal, or an Animal… 

At a bit of a loss for what to do, he… knocked. 

“Uhm, hello? Is someone in here? Something?” 

The door rattled, and then slowly opened. 

There was nothing at Fiyero’s eye level. His eyes traveled down… down.. Until he made eye contact with a pair of brown, very human, eyes. 

Oh, oh there’s a child in here!! 

“Hello there! You probably shouldn’t be here, hm?” 

The little girl staring up at him looked rather disheveled, in a young child’s dress with a dirtied gingham pattern and high neckline. Her hair was in some unkempt braids tied with what looked like twine. She was only wearing one shoe. 

Fiyero didn’t need to use much deep thought to figure out that she wasn’t from around here. 

She wasn’t saying anything. He could see the fear in those big eyes. 

Taking a page from his nanny’s book, he took a second to get down on one knee so he was no longer towering over the girl. 

“You’re not from around here?” He offered, and she shook her head. “Well, do you know where you are?” She shook her head again “You’re near Shiz University, in Gillikin?” 

Her confused expression was not a good sign. 

“Huh, you’re a long way from home then! Shiz is all the way in Central Gillikin, so if you don’t even recognize that name you must be from far off!” He explained, keeping his tone light. “So, where are you from then? Vinkus?” 

She shook her head. 

“Munchkin Land?”

She shook her head again. 

“Quadling Country?”

She giggled a little at the name, expression seeming calmer as she shook her head once more. 

“Heh, it is a bit of a funny name, isn’t it?” He admitted “But those are all of the major provinces here in Oz… Where are you from then, if you don’t mind me asking?” He offered the little girl a smile, and her hands finally left the door, going to grab onto her dress 

“... Kansas” Her sweet little voice rung out, a little hoarse, a little nervous “Been raised in Topeka but I’d been moved t’Butler County” 

Oh. Wow. Fiyero hadn’t heard of any of those places. He pondered, briefly, if he shouldn’t have skipped geography, but then remembered that he knew every major province in Oz as a necessity of being a prince, and there was no way that if she was of Oz, that he wouldn’t have heard of at least one of those places. 

“Well… I’ve never been to this “Can-Sass” you speak of” He started “Nor of a “Toe-peek-ah” and the only butler I know is the one at my family castle in Vinkus” 

“... Castle?” 

Hah. Just as he planned. 

“Castle! I’m a prince, you know!” 

She shook her head “Uh-uh, I don’t know!” 

Happy to get her talking more, he took a chance to stand up “Well, that’s because I haven’t introduced myself!” He bowed as low as he could possibly go, comically so, and was pleased when he got his desired reaction of giggles. 

“Prince Fiyero Tigelaar of the Vinkus!” He popped his head back up to look at her “And to who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” 

She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, with a little - and very adorable - smile on her face “My - My name’s Dorothy” 

“Dorothy. Ah! What a lovely name! Dorothy of Kansas: has a ring to it, wouldn't you say?” 

Shrugging her one shoulder, she looked around the forest they were in, and Fiyero pointedly noticed that the animals were starting to return. While this forest was mostly harmless for the adult students at Shiz, it was no place for children. 

Fiyero may be a fool, but he was not heartless. 

“Now, Little Miss Dorothy!” He caught her full attention again “As a fancy prince with good manners, I cannot - In good conscience! - leave a fair young lady by herself!” He got another giggle from her as he waved his hand around before offering it “I’m sure you don’t wanna stay in the forest, do you?” 

She seemed to take a look around the fantastical forest, and gave a shake of her head again, taking his hand. Her little hand was completely enveloped in his. Fiyero wondered if all kids were this tiny and adorable - not like he spent a lot of time with children. 

“Wher’ we goin?” She asked meekly. 

“Well, I’m gonna walk you over to the school I'm going to!” He explained “There’s a lot of people there that can help you out. Certainly you would like to return to this “Can-Sass”” 

She nodded “Mhm, uh-huh. My Auntie Em gotta be lookin’ f’r me” She contemplated. 

“Your auntie? She watches you?” 

Dorothy nodded again as Fiyero started leading the way with her in hand “Her an’ my Uncle Henry” 

“Ahh aunt and uncle. Watching you for your parents - awful nice of them!” 

Dorothy went quiet at that, not responding to him. When he looked down at her, she was starting at the forest floor. Her hand was limp in his. 

Oh. Okay. Parents are a bad topic. Abort - Abort! 

“Say - does Can-sass have universities?” 

“Huh?” 

“Does your land have big schools like Shiz? Do you perhaps go to one?”

She looked back up at him at the question “I don’t go to school yet. Auntie Em says I don’t gotta go till next year. I was s’posed to go this year, but that was in Topeka…” 

“Is Topeka different from Butler County?” He questioned, and she nodded - sure did like to nod and shake her head, didn’t she?

“They’re very different, Mister Prince F’yero” 

“Care to try to explain to me? I know nothing of your strange foreign land!” He grinned “Please, do explain!!” 

“Uhh, uhm, well, Topeka…” 

She didn’t use a lot of big words, and there was some humming to fill space, but it got her talking, and that was what he wanted to get that sad little expression off of her face. 

Once they got to Shiz, he’d find a professor and hand her off so one of the faculty could get her taken care of. Easy! His good deed for today. 

It was a good thing the girl was so charming, he would certainly remember her fondly

--

Boq Woodsman had what could generously be called mixed feelings on his roommate. 

On the one hand, he was a prince, coasting through his life. 

On the other hand, he was actually a pretty decent friend, all things considered. 

He wasn’t being a good friend now, what with missing for most of the day, but that wasn’t currently relevant. 

What was relevant was his roommate, showing up wearing a hooded cape with a child clinging to his leg. 

“.... Hello there, Boq” Fiyero’s fake smile overtook his face “This is Dorothy!” 

The little girl, looking a little disheveled and missing a shoe (though she didn't seem bothered by it) gave him a shy wave from behind Fiyero’s leg. 

“.... Fiyero- Why is there a child here?” 

“Ah, yes, the why. Can I delay that question while we get out that cot under your bed?” The prince took off the cloak after he shut the door to their dorm room, and hung it up right on the hooks. “Dorothy could use a rest - we’ve had an eventful afternoon, haven’t we?” 

She nodded up to him, staring at the prince like he hung the moon, which made Boq roll his eyes. She did look tired, and clearly there was a story here. 

“Fine. Fine.”The munchkin stood up from his desk “But you better explain everything” 

“You have my word, friend - Are you ready for a little rest, Little Dot?” 

Boq sighed, marching over his bed and pulling the cot out, mentally preparing himself for whatever ridiculous story his roommate was about to tell him. 

It’d be interesting, if nothing else.