#really getting into the sensations of what it means to be human and occupying a body

[psalmsofpsychosis]

✨️tidbit time ✨️

so i mean, one particular Bruce Wayne isn't feeling too good about The Passage Of Time TM on this lovely fine Friday of our lord.

time sinks in the dip of his tongue, sour and sordid. he could pretend, he could spit it out and tell himself that the sauntering and setting of the sun across the skies does not affect him, but the truth is, he has his gut twisting and clenching around the taste of it. time is rotting his lungs from the inside.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Crush Symptoms

idea, but no pressure: Touch-starved analogical? Maybe a bit of hurt/comfort where they both think the other doesn’t like hugs/other touch, but really they just don’t know how to ask? love your work! – amateurmasksmith

I was wondering if you could do a fic with Virgil as the comforter, since he’s rarely in that role. I was thinking Logan starts working more and taking worse care of himself, and instead of processing his stress and feelings he holds the stress in his body, which combined with sitting more and shit is causing him physical pain, and Virgil, being anxiety, helps him relax and relieves the pain. No pressure tho lol I just thought it’d be interesting to see some physical comfort since you write mental comfort so well – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: chronic pain, not-actually unrequited love

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 3306

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' This does not prevent him from developing quite the crush on Virgil. Now, if only he could find a way to talk about it that didn't involve having s mental breakdown...

Logan is aware that he is what some people might call 'standoffish.' He does not invite the same camaraderie that a few of the other Sides do, nor does he make himself approachable for things such as hugs or other forms of physical affection. By and large, he is content to remain this way, as it allows him to perform his duties and adhere to his schedule without being waylaid by those who will not be named that are quite fond of occupying laps or other physical spaces as would a particularly affectionate pet. That is, offended by any sort of dislodging or movement that impedes their ability to use him as a pillow.

Now, this does not mean that he is averse to offering physical affection, far from it. If Patton is in need of a hug, or if Roman insists on sweeping them all into some form of ballroom dance, he will oblige. Firstly because often it is no hardship, secondly because if it is a hardship, complying usually gets it over with a little quicker. However, there are certain forms that he resists wholeheartedly, namely being tackled onto the nearest surface, soft or otherwise. He has several bruises from the trial and error period of figuring out how best to avoid such circumstances.

While this serves him perfectly well the majority of the time, he would be remiss in his conclusions to say that it works out all the time. He is still human, metaphysical or otherwise, and as such, is subject to the same things that all humans are when it comes to his health. He must still endeavor to eat relatively healthily, he must get an adequate amount of sleep, and yes, he must socialize. This can typically be achieved by attending the 'family dinners,' as Patton is fond of calling them, regularly scheduling movie nights for everyone, and partaking in whatever events the twins conjure in the Imagination for them to enjoy. Recently, however, he's been noticing something amiss.

He's begun to get quite cold. At first, he ascribed it to the changing seasons; despite the fact that Thomas lives in Florida, the coming of the winter months is accompanied by some decrease in average temperature. It made sense, then, that he would be colder if it were colder outside. However, the general feeling of the Mindscape did not alter significantly, nor did adding sweaters or cardigans make any sort of meaningful difference. He tried switching his water intake with hot tea, keeping a blanket on hand to drape over his lap when he worked, even trying to make his room warmer using a few extra heat lamps Janus deemed insufficient. Nothing worked, in fact it made it worse. Now he felt both too warm and too cold at the same time, which was endlessly perplexing. How could he be sweating and still feel cold?

It became clear this was not a typical issue of temperature. There is something else at work here, clearly, that is giving him the sensation of being cold without the physical symptoms present. Perhaps some sort of latent emotional response due to something happening in Thomas's life. But as much as he tries to investigate that avenue, he fails to find anything significant enough to warrant this sudden feeling. None of the others imply that anything's wrong, Thomas isn't undergoing any significant struggle, and even checking in on the status of his own work fails to result in anything useful.

The last option, then, is that the problem is entirely internal.

At first, the conclusion makes Logan scoff. What could he be doing or not doing that would result in him feeling cold? He was maintaining his physical fitness, his general health, even his social requirements. He'd just come from movie night, after all, where all of them ended up on one of the large mattresses the twins could summon, huddled under blankets while some generic action movie played on the TV. He hadn't felt cold during that, had he?

Logan sits down at his desk, fingers steepled in concentration. He closes his eyes, trying to remember how he felt a few minutes ago. He'd been sitting with his back against the couch, yes, with Roman and Remus cuddled up near the edge of the mattress as Janus quietly explained to Patton what was going on. Virgil had been on the other side, twisting his hoodie strings back and forth as he watched. Logan hadn't been cold, how could he have been, what with the twins acting as space heaters under the blankets? The only time that he had even approached getting cold had been when Remus got up to use the bathroom, pushing his way through the pile of them and the blanket had flipped up. Virgil had leaned forward to pull it back down and brushed against Logan's arm.

Logan blinks.

Virgil's arm had been warm. Distressingly so. As though someone had taken a hot water bottle and pressed it against him. It had lasted barely a second, as Virgil had quickly pulled away with a muttered apology. But that is, to date, the only memory Logan has of actually feeling warm instead of cold.

Glancing at the clock, he sighs and opens his laptop, quickly typing something in and adjusting his glasses. The cold feeling reemerges as he reads, one hand unconsciously going to the front of his chest as he takes in the words on the screen. He amends his conclusion about what's going on both too quickly and too slowly.

He's touch starved.

Had someone brought up the possibility even an hour earlier, he would have scoffed. He wasn't the type of person to become touch starved. He had all the options for physical affection he would want, how could he be touch starved? His role didn't give him any sort of predisposition to it either, that was reserved for Patton, Roman, Remus, even Janus. Logic, touch starved? The very notion was preposterous.

And yet, once you have eliminated the impossible…

He closes the laptop again and sits back, the hand still on his chest now feeling woefully inadequate. There are solutions to this problem, obviously, his disbelief at its existence signifies as such. He would be able to receive assistance from at least three Sides if he went to them right this moment and informed them of his predicament.

He sits in the chair, unmoving.

Patton would baby him. Treat him as though he were a child, someone to be smothered and cooed at, perhaps even forbid him from being on his own for a while until it was solved. That in and of itself might have the complete opposite effect and make him resent the idea of touch altogether.

Remus would be more aggressive. He might be wrestled down and held until Remus deemed it alright to let him up, which wouldn't be for a considerable amount of time. Besides, he's seen Remus's choice of affection and he's not sure such treatment would work to resolve the problem.

Janus would tease him. Or at the very least, hold it over his head in some way, no matter how innocent or playful it would be, in exchange for his help. He's embarrassed enough as it is, he can only imagine that having to watch Janus smirk and chuckle at him as he tried—badly, because that is all he can do at the moment—to make himself ask for physical comfort.

Roman…might be alright. Out of all of the Sides, Roman is perhaps the only one who Logan can actually imagine struggling with touch starvation. Roman would understand and probably wouldn't hold it over him in any way, or make him uncomfortable about it. He would understand the severity of the situation and the significance of Logan coming to him for help, but…but…

But if Logan is being very honest with himself in this moment, there is only one Side he truly wants to go to and ask for help, and it isn't Roman.

He gets up then, going to the bathroom to finish his nighttime routine, turning off the light and settling into bed. He sets his glasses on the side table and turns over. After a moment, he takes one of the spare pillows and tucks it against his chest. If he closes his eyes, he can attempt to imagine someone else here.

His crush on Virgil is an open secret between him and Roman at this point. Ironically enough, it was one of the first things that solidified this new friendship between them. Roman wouldn't betray his trust, he knows, nor would he actually bother him about it if he knew it was causing him this much distress. Sure, he'd coaxed Logan into doing one of those horrifically cliched rants about how much he liked Virgil once or twice under the justification that it was better to get it out in some way before it spilled out uncontrollably, but other than that, he left it alone. Which was excellent, because then there's a smaller chance that Virgil will find out, but also, that almost definitely rules out going to Roman for any sort of help.

Because Roman is, contrary to Logan's insistence, quite sensible, and he will no doubt suggest that Logan go and actually talk to Virgil.

Even the thought crossing his mind is enough to make him scoff again, burying his face in the pillow. Virgil is not one for physical affection either, which renders the entire solution pointless. If by some miracle he actually accepted Logan's affections—he does not dare give himself the hope that Virgil would return them—that was no guarantee that anything beneficial would become of it. He would simply have to deal with this on his own, or find some way to achieve a solution that would stem the worst of it until he thought of something better.

The cold feeling in his chest spreads a little bit as he falls asleep.

He does not, in fact, succeed at doing either of these things. Instead, he decides that the best way to avoid dealing with this problem is to devote himself to his projects, reasoning that if he has less brain space to worry about it and dwell on his inability to resolve it, it will become less of a problem. In doing so, he forgets three key things: one, you cannot reason or think your way out of being in pain, two, ignoring a problem does not make it go away, and three, ignoring this particular problem makes it much worse.

Much, much worse.

The first time he tries to get up and has to wince at the pull in his shoulders, he doesn't think anything of it. Perhaps he was sitting for too long. He rolls them a few times to stretch them out and continues about his day as though nothing's gone wrong.

The first time he gets up and has to immediately sit back down, he has the thought of reaching for his water bottle and a snack. He looks at the clock and realizes he's been working far longer than he anticipated. Perhaps that was it, just losing track of time.

The first time he wakes up and every single muscle in his body aches, he knows he's gone too far.

He has half a mind to scold himself the way he does the twins for neglecting his physical health in favor of his work, but just as soon as the thought crosses his mind, another pushes itself to the forefront. The physical manifestation of stress has not only caused him to become virtually immobile, but it has a high likelihood of directly alerting the one person Logan would really rather not know about any of this.

A dread that is instantly realized when he feels something soft and warm brushing his hair back from his face.

"Hey, L? L, can you hear me?"

"Virgil?"

"Yeah, it's me." He must be imagining the relief in Virgil's voice, why else would he sound like that? "Sorry to come in without asking, but it seems like you're really not having a good time right now."

He manages to pry his eyes open and sure enough, there is Virgil, looking down at him with concern written plainly across his face. He swallows and his throat protests. Virgil seems to take that as an answer.

"I think you've overworked yourself a bit," he says in that soft way that isn't teasing, not really, but enough to make Logan flush, "can I help you figure out something else?"

"Like what?"

"You're in pain right now, yeah? Shh, hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like a bad thing—I mean, it's a bad thing you're in pain, but I'm here to help you not be in pain, not make fun of you for being in pain."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize for reacting like you're hurt when you are." His hand cards through Logan's hair again and he has to bite his lip at how warm the touch is. "Can I help, though? I know a bit about making this sort of pain go away."

This is a bad idea. This is in fact a terrible idea. This is not something Logan should agree too.

"Okay," Virgil says, when Logan nods because of course he does, why should he stop making bad decisions now, "here's what we're gonna do, okay? I'm guessing there's a lot of pain just sort of in your limbs, am I right?"

"Yes."

"Got it. I'm gonna start stretching them out, okay? You let me know if anything hurts too much and I'll stop right away."

"Okay."

"I'm gonna start with your arm." Virgil's hands are so warm and solid on his arm that he almost bites back a whine. "That okay? Not hurting too much?"

"N-no."

"Okay. Let me know if that changes."

He starts lifting and rotating Logan's arm, bending and straightening it and massaging the tender skin. Some part in the back of Logan's brain recognizes he's trying to restore regular blood flow and a decent range of movement, but the rest of him is currently swallowed in the dry warmth of Virgil's touch. He lays that arm down after a while and moves to the other one. But this has him leaning over Logan with his shadow falling across Logan's face and he can't stop the slight rush of breath that escapes him.

"Hey," comes the gentle voice and that isn't helping matters at all, "hey, what's wrong, bud? You doing okay? Am I being too much?"

"No," he says far too quickly, "no, you're…you're fine."

A bemused smile comes to his face and he nods, continuing to work on the other arm. Logan's torn between letting his eyes fall shut to enjoy the sensation of just someone else touching him and keeping them open so as not to miss a second. Virgil seems mostly oblivious to his dilemma, patiently working his way up and down the arm until he lays it flat once more. He sits back on his haunches, a hand resting on Logan's knee. Even through the covers, the touch burns.

"How're your legs doing, bud? They hurt too?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm gonna need to take the covers off so I can see 'em, is that okay?" Logan nods, but as soon as the cool air hits him, the swelling sensation in his chest buckles and he's gasping for air in the next second. "Whoa, whoa, hey, hey, shh, shh, L, it's okay, look, there, the blanket's all back, see? Shh, it's okay, you're okay."

"Sorry," Logan gasps out, "sorry, I'm so sorry."

Virgil shuffles closer, a furrow between his eyebrows. "You've got nothing to apologize for, L, I mean it. I'm here to help, okay? If something I'm doing isn't helping, then you tell me and I stop it. That's what you did, you're doing great."

"N-no, I'm sorry you—you have to help me like—help me like this."

"Like what?"

"You have to—to touch me."

Virgil goes quiet. Logan squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the telltale noise of sinking out. Instead, he almost loses his entire composure when a hand gently cups his cheek.

"Logan," comes the voice, soft, too soft, too sweet, "open your eyes, look at me, sweetheart."

Oh, no. Not the pet names. Literally anything but that.

But Logan is weak and already doing what Virgil asked. The thumb brushing his cheek does make him want to shut his eyes again, because this cannot be real, but Virgil is smiling at him.

"I don't mind touching you," he murmurs, "that's not a hardship for me. Is it that you don't like being touched? Is that the problem?"

"You…" None of his brain wants to work so long as that hand is on his face. "Can't think."

The hand leaves and the cold makes him whimper. Virgil's hand touches his knee again. He blinks.

"You don't like being touched."

"What makes you think that?" Logan just stares at him. "Just because I don't like being tackled by Remus doesn't mean I don't like being touched."

"O-oh."

"Besides, if it were you, I don't think I'd have any problem with it at all." Virgil chuckles when a flush decides that now is the perfect time to spread all over Logan's face. "Wow, okay, I wasn't expecting that."

"You—you—what?"

He leans forward, both hands reaching this time, and they fit gently around the curve of Logan's neck. The rush of warmth is staggering, not helped at all by Virgil's soft voice still murmuring to him. "I thought you didn't like to be touched, sweetheart, that's it. I'm happy to help you, I promise. And Princey's definitely gonna tease the hell out of me when he hears about this."

"Wait, why?"

"Because he knows about the big fat crush I have on you and if he could see me right now…" Virgil trails off when he notices Logan's eyes brimming with tears. "Hey, hey, sweetheart, don't cry, I'm sorry, that was too much to dump on you right now, here, let me help you with your legs and you can—"

Logan doesn't let him finish, surging forward to clumsily press his mouth to Virgil's. The hands cradling his face stutter and for a moment, he thinks he's made the worst mistake of his life, but then Virgil sighs and kisses him back like it's the only thing he wants to do.

"Well," he says softly when they break apart, "I think Princey's gonna be teasing both of us, then?"

"Probably."

Virgil chuckles and rubs their noses together. "How about this, then: let me help stretch your legs out, get you some painkillers, then we'll cuddle in bed and not worry about how smug Princey's gonna be until later?"

"That sounds perfectly adequate."

"'Perfectly adequate,' alright, I can work with that."

Roman does indeed end up being very smug, but he's quietly smug about it, which Logan will take as a win.

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[thatguywhodoesstuff]

Kinger, Queenie, & My Thoughts

I may be a bit late to the party, but after mulling it over for a while, I’ve got some thoughts on Kinger (who is my favorite of the cast) that I want to share:

-Now, the consensus is that Kinger and Queenie were romantically involved and served as one another’s support systems before Queenie Abstracted, which had a major role in Kinger’s decent into madness. I like to think that even after getting stuck in the circus, the two for the most part stayed rational (at least on a surface level) for a while before the stress of everything started wearing down on them. The two more than likely desired to stay strong for the other and tried to for a time, before tragedy inevitably struck. With this in consideration, I found myself with two distinct thoughts: was Queenie the first in a long line of losses that Kinger experienced that slowly drove him closer and closer to the edge or was her Abstracting the straw that broke the camel’s back, sending Kinger into a breakdown that had been culminating since he entered the circus? Either way you look at it, Kinger had to suffer tremendously before and especially after he lost his lover, the only thing keeping him from crossing the threshold into complete insanity and Abstraction more than likely being a promise he had made to her a long time ago. One that just keeps getting more difficult to keep as he soldiers on in a timeless digital world he has no meaningful control over. This would also play into their chess motif rather well, given that, while the queen is no longer in play, the king still is, and the trapped humans may have some hope of a better existence, even if there isn’t a chance of them truly being free.

-Another thought (or maybe it’s a head canon?) I had was that mentioning Queenie’s name can temporarily snap Kinger out of his detached mental state, making him more lucid and less high strung, but at the same time far more somber and depressed, before he inevitably returns to “normal”, either from his madness inevitably reasserting itself or Kinger actively trying to occupy his mind and bury painful memories of comparatively happier times that have long since passed. Building off of this, I think it would be interesting and rather sad if speaking ill of Queenie would have similar mind clearing effects, but at the same time also sending Kinger into a fit of manic rage. She may not have been perfect, let alone a great person, but Kinger would rather be damned than let anyone badmouth the woman he loved. I mean, just imagine the normally detached and skittish Kinger blowing up at the other humans, and possibly even intimidating them.

-Given that Kinger has been in the circus the longest, it isn’t unreasonable to assume that he may have a better understanding of its machinations, even if it is only comparatively so. This is backed up, if only slightly so, considering how eloquently he explains the sensation of eating in the VR world of the circus, it could be a subtle clue that, despite his poor mental state, Kinger understands how things work on a deeper level then the others. This could lead to some interesting plot points and progression, as the others could occasionally look to him for insight, which would typically be rather hit or miss. Overall, it would be really neat to have a character who is both completely checked out mentally, but at the same time the most aware of what all is going on, even if it isn’t readily apparent or even conscious on their part.

-I know that Kinger and Queenie always had uneven/askew eyes as part of their avatars, but I’ve always liked the idea of them having even eyes, with Kinger’s eyes becoming progressively more unaligned as his mind deteriorated. This isn’t me trying to badmouth Gooseworx’s style (which I think is phenomenal and better then anything I could ever manage artistically) or Kinger’s design, it’s just a long-standing thought/idea I’ve had in the back of my mind since he was revealed.

-Does anyone else get serious Ice King/Simon Petrikov and Betty vibes regarding Kinger and Queenie, or is it just me?

TLDR, these old chess pieces basically have a whole chunk of my brain dedicated to them. Comments, Likes, and Reblogs are all appreciated and I really want to know what others think.

[tklpilled]

(sorry this took a min, ngl i zoned tf out and did the aranara quests LMAO. also my bad if this sucks its been for ever since i've actually written XD)

“Your latest report was very well done, you’ve improved greatly in these past months!” Nahida praised, smiling sweetly at the former harbinger. “...Thank you, Buer. Now-” Scaramouche begins, only for the young god to begin speaking again. “I think you’ve earned a reward! How about a small break? Come, sit with me. I have some of that bitter tea you enjoy already prepared.” Nahida pats the seat next to her, inviting him down into the pile of cushions she was occupying. Scaramouche raises an unimpressed eyebrow, to which Nahida only responds by tilting her head and smiling once more. He sighs, and trudges his way next to the god to sit down. While he makes himself comfortable on the mountain of plush, Nahida busies herself pouring them both a cup of tea. Finally, they both settle down and quietly begin to sip their tea. Nahida glances over, which immediately makes Scaramouche curious — typically she is one to speak her mind around him, finding no need to hold her tongue. He ultimately pays it no mind, however, chalking it up to him having actually acquiesced to her request of joining her. It’s not particularly rare for him to accept, but it is far more common for him to scoff the offer away and leave her presence as quickly as possible. When she glances his way once more, though, he decides to ask. If nothing else, it might stop her from continuing on like he can’t see her. “Spit it out, already.” He grumbles. Nahida does not startle, but she does seem a little embarrassed. She places her cup down, prompting the puppet to do the same. She takes a little breath before speaking. “I learned something new about humans. Or rather, something they do.” “Oh? Do tell.” Scaramouche snorts. “It’s called tickling! Do you know about it?” She inquires, ignoring the male’s clear attempt at derision. “I have heard about it, but why bring it up with me?” Scaramouche responds, actual confusion gracing his features. “Because of your unique anatomy! Being a divine puppet, you have no need for physical feeling and sensation, and yet you feel pain. You can drink. I was simply curious as to whether or not other physical stimuli would register? Ones unrelated to pain?” Nahida explains, turning fully to face the other. “We’re not testing that.” Scaramouche deadpans, also turning to face her. “Come on now, it shouldn’t hurt! Aren’t you a little curious? Or is my own personal student truly saying he has no desire to even try learning about this new thing?” Nahida goads, flashing a grin full of reassurance and promise to the puppet.

“Shouldn’t hurt doesn’t mean it won’t.” He grouches. “What if we tried but I stop immediately when you say?” The god proposes. “...You’re not letting this go, are you?”

Nahida smiles and wriggles her fingers teasingly towards the puppet. He turns his head away, seeming embarrassed by the gesture alone, but not making any moves to actually get away. She scoots closer, and places a hand on his knee. Scaramouche twitches, pressing his lips together. 

“May I, then?” Nahida asks, tapping her fingers one by one on his knee. 

“If you muHUST-” Scaramouche laughs as the god starts spidering her fingers gently across his knee.

“Oh? So your joints are sensitive? And there doesn’t seem to be any pain…” Nahida trails off, curiosity lacing her tone — all the while, she traces her fingers along his knees. She then grabs one of his hands, which had been hovering over her own, to try the joints there.

“NAHIHIDA WAITWAITWAIT!” Scaramouche cackles, squirming but ultimately not trying to escape Nahida’s grasp. He starts really giggling when Nahida obeys his squirming and moves onto his neck. He scrunches up, inadvertently trapping her hands right there. She lets out a giggle of her own, moving her fingers while they’re still trapped.

“OKAY OKAHAHAY STAHAHAP!” He shouts, to which Nahida gently and quickly removes her hands. She watches amusedly as he hunches over, quietly giggling into the cushions. He takes a moment to compose himself before sitting back up.

“Are you alright?” She asks.

“I’m fihine.” Scaramouche confirms quietly, through the residual giggles. Even when his laughter dies out fully, the smile on his face remains.

“Well, I think that was a very fruitful experiment, perhaps a couple more tries would give us the most accu-”

“You’re pushing it, Buer.” - Z

OHMY GOD I WAS NOT EXPECTING THIS I LOVE THIS .. SOBBING CRYING SCREAMING

[jademint2581]

Ranger has the ability to perceive taste but he has no real need to eat. His equivalent of a GI tract isn't even functional enough to handle anything but the odd splashes of tasty liquids he might consume for fun. Which he sometimes does, just to get the full flavour profile of something interesting, such as bitter melon soda or laundry detergents mixed into water. Ranger would like to try gasoline one day.

Food is another story, though. If anything gets stuck in his body, it needs to be completely gotten out before it starts to smell rancid. A nasty bit of hassle Ranger doesn't want to put himself through, so he's sworn off of human foods for good.

His tongue is laced with artificial tastebuds that are designed to be sensitive enough to pick up even the most miniscule traces of poison. A completely useless trait for a superior being incapable of succumbing to any toxic means.

Once he gets a good taste of something, the taste is like an exciting rollercoaster, a welcome sensory distraction. A condensed little adventure to alleviate his suffering with a problem he keeps having.

A specific problem he's begged for Gashu to have fixed.

There's a constant, distinct taste lingering in his mouth. Well, not just his mouth, but every bit of his neural build to do with gustatory and oral sensory processing.

It never leaves him alone, and sometimes it gets worse. It gets worse and worse. It drowns out everything else and he can do nothing about it. It's sweet and it's bitter and it's lovely, layered and creamy. His mouth craves the texture, he wants to have it yield and come apart on his tongue.

Ranger's chips and circuits fire away as he wracks his mind trying to figure out where to find that taste. Where? Where? Where can I find it? Tell me, dad, please. What is it?

Alas, there's never a relief.

It comes and goes in waves, the heights reducing Ranger into a roaring, explosive catastrophe. A potentially deadly working hazard to his creator's fellow scientists, really.

Gashu seemingly doesn't quite understand what Ranger is trying to describe, but he listens attentively and takes notes, paying attention to the evolution of these sensations as well as the obvious strain they put on Ranger's system. Moments like this with Gashu occupy Ranger just enough for him not to suffer as much.

But as soon as the interviews are over, Ranger is alone and back to the world of these incomprehensible, involuntary, intolerable sensations.

Anger. Anger anger anger.

Just... fix me already, dad...!

[nitewrighter]

JSGWJB PLEASE THAT WOULD BE SO GOOD I BEG YOU PLEASE WRITE THIS

File this under “Fics that have been in my WIPs for 47 years that I finally got the weird burst of energy to complete today.”

I also dedicate this to the neurodivergent “Oh my god I have been a vulnerable human for entirely too long and I need to leave” instinct. Satya, I understand completely. ADHD-Autism solidarity.

----

Satya woke with the easy, comfortable weight of Pharah's arm curled across her collarbone. She imagined it was about the same kind of weight a shark or a mermaid might know from snuggling under a sunken piece of wood. The sunlight slatted in through the venetian blinds and Satya glanced over at Pharah, half her face obscured by a pillow. There was, briefly, an instinct to go back to sleep, to ride out this vague pleasantness as long as possible, but, already the sensations and realizations were creeping in. Her mind, against her own will, was piecing together why she was where she was. Satya’s eyes flicked to both of their clothes on the floor, to the holo-clock displaying ‘07:09′ in a soft peachy color that was designed to coordinate with the rising sun, again to Pharah’s arm draped across her, to her own lack of clothes, to Pharah’s lack of clothes, to Pharah’s lack of clothes (continued), to---

Satya forced her eyes to the ceiling of the room. What would Sanjay say? Sanjay wasn’t here now--she was away from Vishkar, she had to keep reminding herself she was away from Vishkar, that she was now opposed to Vishkar--God, she was going against Vishkar--had she completely lost her mind? No--no, no, this morning was the result of weeks of conscious decisions. Decisions leading into decisions, leading into more decisions, leading into training and conditioning sessions with Fareeha, leading into afternoons drinking tea with Fareeha, leading into missions with Fareeha, leading into adrenaline-soaked entirely too emotional close calls with Fareeha, leading to long nights talking in the mess hall with Fareeha, leading to long evening walks around the watchpoint with Fareeha, leading to some late-night tea with Fareeha, leading to here.

Leading to here.

With Fareeha.

Satya kept her gaze fixed on the ceiling and tried (and failed) to will all of weight of the last few weeks and its culmination in this morning, this moment, out of her mind. At the time it had all felt so natural--but then what would happen after this? Breakfast? Leaving a toothbrush here? Small talk? Her eyes flicked back to Pharah, who continued to sleep like a rock.

I just need to think, she thought, as she slipped out from under Pharah’s arm.

I just need to think, she kept thinking as she shimmied into her leggings and pulled on her tunic, toeing into her shoes.

I just need to think, she thought as she was speed-walking out the door.

She wasn’t really sure when the thinking would start--really the next thing she knew she was speed-walking and fidgeting with her fingers nearly halfway across the watchpoint with her mind a buzzing blank of continually starting and self-aborting sentences, seemingly none of them able to muster themselves into a complete concept. There was the still-fresh memory of skin on skin and fingers tickling through her hair and the sensations of Pharah’s body hefting against her own--the push and the weight and the warmth. The air off the sea was cold that morning in comparison.

That was not a hookup, Satya finally thought, speed-walking, A Vishkar architech does not ‘hook-up.’ Wait, I’m not an architech anymore-- I mean, I am, just not for Vishkar. I don’t think Fareeha saw it as a hookup--did she? Oh god, I’m an idiot. I’m on a watchpoint occupied by squatting mercenaries--of course they’re--they’re cavorting every chance they get--no, no, she took me to dinner. And to movie night. And she left those little notes-- Then again, she probably goes out with all sorts of people--No, that doesn’t seem right. Given the amount of resources--I mean it’s not like I would know, would I? I’ve hardly gone out--I should have asked--no, I should have--how would I even start that conversation? Do I even want to start that conversation? Oh no she’s going to wake up and I’m going to be gone and what is she going to think but--”

Satya tripped and was nearly sent sprawling onto the tarmac when a metal hand caught her arm.

“Satya,” Zenyatta said warmly, “So good to see you.”

Oh--it was him she nearly tripped over. Had he been meditating or had she simply been so caught up in her head that she didn’t even register him in her visual field?

“Tekhartha...” the name came out of her throatier than she had anticipated as he gently supported her as she pushed back to her usual arrow-straight posture, “It-it’s good to see you too, my friend.”

“You enjoy a morning walk on the watchpoint as well?” Zenyatta tilted his head at her, pleasantly.

“Buh--Yes!” Satya blurted out, “Y-yes,” she said, trying to compose herself. Her hair--she hadn’t brushed her hair.

“It is good that you are settling in and taking moments like this to embrace the space around you,” Zenyatta went on, glancing around, “I find walks in particular are very helpful for--”

“Satya!” A voice called from a few yards behind Satya and she flinched hard. There was a slap-slap-slap of plastic shower sandals on the pavement and Pharah suddenly ran up alongside her, buckling over to catch her breath. She was only wearing workout shorts and a crew neck sweatshirt, “I--You were gone--” Pharah was panting, unusual, given her impressive athletic ability.

 Oh she was panicking, Satya realized.

“If I made you uncomfortable---” Pharah started, “I really didn’t mean--”

“No! No!” Satya was talking over her, “You were wonderful! Last night was--” Satya caught herself and both she and Pharah glanced over at Zenyatta, who was looking at them with his usual benign lack-of-expression. He knew. Satya knew he knew. She wasn’t sure why him having about as much reaction to it as if she had simply gotten a new shirt was making her more nervous, but it was. Pharah had become starkly aware of Zenyatta’s presence as well and glanced down at her crewneck + workout shorts +socks with shower sandals outfit, before jutting her chin back up and also trying to recover some normalcy.

“...Hello,” Pharah said, half-automatically.

“Good morning, Fareeha,” said Zenyatta.

A long, awkward pause passed between the three of them.

“I can leave, if you two require--” Zenyatta looked between them.

“We’re fine--!” Satya started on reflex.

“It’s fine--” Pharah’s voice overlapped with hers, and then they both looked at each other. 

“I--” Pharah started, and then rubbed the back of her neck, “I probably should have just comm’d you or something--”

“I’m sorry,” Satya started, “I didn’t mean for you to worry. I was just...” she was fidgeting with her fingers, “That is-- I only left because---”

“Ah, my apologies--” Zenyatta said easily, “Satya was on her way to retrieve breakfast for you both at the mess hall, when I ran into her. She would have probably been on her way back had I not delayed her.”

“Eh--” Pharah made a short sound and then swallowed, “I--I could have cooked you something...”

Satya felt her ears burning. “I’m... I can be a picky eater,” she said, and a nervous laugh fell out of her, “And the mood seemed so lovely--I just thought it might be easier if I...got us something.”

“I can handle picky,” a smile tugged at the corner of Pharah’s mouth, “But... I do appreciate the thought.” 

Satya smiled and bit her own lip, tucking a bit of hair back, and realizing her hair was still very much a mess.

“Well, I’m very glad that confusion is out of the way,” Zenyatta spoke up at last and both Satya and Fareeha flinched slightly to remember he was there, but he was already floating off, “I hope you both have a wonderful breakfast.”

“You as well!” Satya called after him and then cringed, pressing her hand against her forehead, “...omnics don’t eat...” she muttered under her breath.

Pharah snorted next to her, and Satya peered through her fingers at her.

“He seems nice,” said Pharah, “To be honest, I didn’t talk to him all that much before because it felt awkward with the whole... monk versus soldier thing. But he seems... nice.”

“He is,” said Satya offhandedly. Another long pause passed between them.

“I am new to this and I am bad at it,” Satya said thickly, her hand still pressed on her forehead.

“Oh I wouldn’t say you’re bad at it,” said Pharah, putting her hands on her hips with an arched eyebrow.

Satya pressed her lips thin and side-eyed Pharah.

“...okay poor taste,” Pharah glanced off, “...don’t suppose I can actually take you up on that breakfast?”

“That... would be nice,” said Satya, tucking her hair back again and realizing, again that it was still a mess, “If--I could get a chance to freshen up first--” 

“Oh--” Pharah glanced down at herself, “Right... right.” 

“I’ll comm you--” Satya started, fingers gesturing nervously in front of herself, but Pharah gently took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“Take all the time you need,” she said, letting Satya’s hand slip from her own.

“Y-yes. I will. I--I mean I’ll get back to you soon! I--” Satya took a short, balancing breath through her nostrils, her ears still burning, “I’m going to go shower.” 

“Mm-hm,” Pharah folded her arms and watched as Satya pivoted and walked off, nervously running her fingers down a messy strand of hair.

[14sunnyfly]

How Can I Escape This Inescapable Feeling Without You?

Stories of angels and demons always describe them as purely good or purely evil, but God doesn't see them as such. Frankly she's quite insulted that anyone believes she would create anything so utterly, boring. 

No, despite what the creatures themselves might believe, if they looked a little further into their own hearts and minds, they would find someone just a little more human. 

That humanity is nuanced and beautiful and everything she ever wanted, but it is also susceptible. It is weak to the terrors of the world, the faults of hubris and the grief of an all consuming loss. 

Most supernatural beings find it a foreign concept, but for those who live on earth, it is a constant fact of life. That means that all angels and demons who live above the mortal plane will never experience the sensation. 

No, only two of the holy and unholy armies have experienced the pain. 

Aziraphels first was quite early on in his life on earth, the death of Abel. 

He was a kind young man, and often could be found sharing his ideas with the heavens, and Aziraphel. They grew in friendship over their shared loyalty to God and love of knowledge. Abel actually wrote the first letter, over 3900 years before the other guy. 

It was a letter to his brother, Cain. He just wanted to let him know that he made him a nice fur coat. Unfortunately it never got delivered, said brother beat Abel’s head in with a rock that same day. 

The loss broke Aziraphale, this was the first time he had known death, and how it could take someone too soon. He burned Abel's body on an altar that night, hoping that head office could take him in. 

Though this loss was painful, it was a learning lesson for Aziraphale. He learned how fragile life on earth was and how to pick up the pieces of himself left when it got taken away. 

The angel broke quite often after that, his heart being kind and latching onto any living thing that caught his attention. He got quite adept at gluing it back together so that it was almost perfect until it could heal. He learned to enjoy the times he had with them a little bit more, savor their words just a little bit longer, and to hug them a bit tighter before they go. 

Crowley on the other hand was a whole different situation. He witnessed how loss broke others so many times before ever experiencing the feeling himself. 

  The first time Crowley ever saw how loss affected others, was actually with Aziraphale. 

The Demon was not the one who convinced a brother to kill a brother, that was humanity all on its own. 

No, at the time he was occupied with trying to get Adam to swear. He had already gotten them to eat the forbidden fruit, now he just has to secure their souls for head office and he can take the next few decades off. 

He morphed into a crow and sat on the first man’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. 

“Go away Crawley. I do not wish to hear your foul words." The first man was getting old, his voice cracking with pain as he spoke, "You already got me and my wife kicked out of paradise, haven’t you done enough?” The man looked at the bird, pleading with his eyes for the demon to go bother anyone else but himself. 

Fine, he’ll go away, not like he really wanted to talk to the dumb thing anyway, just there weren't too many other options, beginning of the world and all. 

The demon bristled his feathers, cawed loudly in the human’s ear just for good measure, then took off and flew away. He should go and find the young boy Cain. 

The angel loved his brother Abel so obviously the demon should hang out with the slightly broodier brother. 

That was the only option. 

So Crawley flew to find the other brother, really if he was going to be flying as a Crow, his name should be Crowley not Crawley. Never much like being a snake anyway, he much prefers the freedom of flying than being forced to travel around on his stomach in the dirt. 

The demon didn’t find the boy anywhere in the house, so he flew out to the fields. Both of the boys worked too much if you asked him, honestly he doesn’t even think God received the sacrifices. 

She didn't like them even if she did get them, she much preferred flowers and fruits to corn and slaughtered goats and lambs. At least, those were her favorite to create. 

He was lurched from his thoughts when he came upon the person he was searching for. Oh great, goody two shoes was there too, so the angel couldn't be that far behind. 

Later the demon would recall a look in his boy’s eyes that he didn’t recognize, an aggression in his stance similar to the one he used while hunting, but currently all he could feel was an extreme annoyance at how hard it was going to be to corrupt anyone with a messenger of the Lord nearby.

Crowley was still grumbling about this when Cain threw the first punch. There truly was no warning, one minute they were talking, the next Abel had a bloody nose and Cain a bloody hand. The sight was the first thing to truly shock the Demon. 

He didn’t yet know that humans could do so much evil without him. 

It didn’t stop with one punch, no there was second, and a third, and a fourth and on and on until Abel was on the ground. 

That was when Cain grabbed the rock. It was a good rock for smashing heads in as far as rocks go, not too round and easy to hold on to even with its above average size. There was a good point on it that Crowley observed making holes in Abel's head as it was repeatedly smashed down. 

The boy tried to defend himself, he truly did but there was no competition. One party aimed to kill while the other aimed to subdue, one feat is much harder than the other. This is especially certain when the killer had the advantage of surprise and the defender was still holding onto the hope that his brother loved him enough not to end his life. 

It was a foolish hope. 

As quickly as it had started, it had ended. The screaming and fighting back stopped, and after a few more blows to his brother's head with the rock that made a sickening squelch each time, Cain stood up covered in blood. The boy calmly walked over to the river and cleaned himself off. There was no remorse on his face, only solemn acceptance. 

After the human had left, the demon watched as the angel showed up. 

His enemy had some thinly shaved pieces of wood in his hand, bound together to form something similar to a stack of wooden leaves that were stuck together on one end. If the demon looked hard enough, he swore he could've saw some faint marks on the first page that seemed intentional. 

Aziraphale walked onto the scene with no idea of the horrors that had happened not moments ago, but as soon as the angel saw the body he dropped the strange object and fell to his knees. He crawled over to the corpse, and dipped his hand down to try and cradle the boy's head. 

The angel's hand just pushed the bloody mush around, staining his white robe a deep red. 

Crowley watched curiously as his enemy continued to try and find the boy’s head in the pile of flesh. The attempts were futile, but the supernatural being didn’t seem to realize it. 

Honestly, Crowley thought it was embarrassing for them both at this point, making the forces of heaven and hell look pathetic. He took pity– He went over and grabbed the angel harshly by the shoulders, causing the other to give a full body flinch in return. He loosened his grip slightly before trying to snap the other being out of whatever trance he was in. 

"Aziraphale, enough of this. I'm sure your head office won't be happy if you return these robes stained with blood." The angel made no reaction so he shook him a little to try and get his attention. When he got no reaction, he shook him a little harder. When it became clear the other being was in some sort of state that made him seemingly unconscious Crowley's annoyance dimmed. Unable to fix the big issue, the demon decided to fix what he could. 

“C’mon angel, let's get you cleaned up.” He led the other man by the wrist to the same river the human had washed himself in, though the traces of the other being were all gone by now. 

Crowley led the angel into the water up to his waist, letting himself get wet as well. He tried to rinse the other being’s sleeves by just letting them sit in the rushing water but the blood had already begun to dry. 

Chunks of flesh and bone that had stuck to the angel’s clothes came loose in the flowing water, and drifted slowly down stream. The angel had made no reaction to the demon still and honestly it was starting to worry  annoy him. He was just staring into the red ring forming around his body as the blood that had soaked into the lower-half of his robe slowly started to come off in the water. 

Not quite knowing what to do, Crowley stayed silent, and started to wash the blood from Aziraphale's sleeves. Once he got it almost back to the white it was before, the demon used a miracle to clear away the remaining stain. 

The angel had still not reacted, but that was fine by Crowley, he still had work to do. There were splashes of blood dotting all over the angel’s robe around his torso and neck. 

Crowley reached for the edge of a reed that was hanging over the river. When he picked the plant it died in his hands, becoming rough and scratchy. He used another miracle to increase the durability of the plant so that it would not crumble in his hands. 

The demon held the dead reed in his mouth as he cupped the water in his hands and poured it over the blood stains on the angel’s robe. He used the reed to scrub at the stains, paying little mind to the other’s comfort. 

Maybe some of the pain will clear the haunted look in his eyes. 

He continued in the same process he used to cleanse the sleeves on the rest of the robe. The demon poured water on then scrubbed the red marks until they were nothing more than a faint ghost of what they used to be, then moved onto the next. 

The angel had not been clean in his mourning, getting drops of blood up and down his chest and near his neck. Crowley took care of them all, scrubbing until they were all but gone. He got every tiny little splash of red or brown that stained the pure white fabric until there were nothing but the faint stains of orange. 

Then he snapped his fingers and those were gone too. 

Crowley looked the angel over and noticed that there were a few flecks of red on the angel’s face and in his hair. Not wanting to ruin all his hard work by using the rough reed on his face and making the angel bleed(No doubt he would let it drip back onto his clean robe in his delirious state), the demon grabbed another reed from the bank.

This time instead of killing it instantly in his hand, he imbued the plant with fear, so that it used its own willpower to hang onto the last threads of life in his hand and remain soft. He brushed the new plant delicately against the angel’s soft skin, careful to avoid his eyes. 

Finally the angel reacted, eyes darting up to meet Crowley’s as the plant brushed against his face. The demon paused, eyes questioning if he should continue. After a slight pause, Aziraphale nodded, but now his eyes trailed the other man’s every move. 

Crowley continued to clean his face, worry subsided by the presence of his new observer. Now that the angel was conscious, he was gentler with his movements. He didn’t want to spook him and have him fly away, getting himself even more wet. 

Once the red droplets on the angel’s face had been brushed away, he dropped the reed into the river in favor of using his hands for the hair. 

Crowley cupped more water in his hands and poured it over the angel’s head. His eyes closed when the cold water washed over them, but shot back open the moment they were clear. 

The demon thread his long, bony fingers into the angel's hair, weaving them in and out of the soft material. He pulled slightly at the curls to detangle the knots and remove the small amount of blood staining the white strands. He massaged the angel’s scalp as well, removing dirt that had accumulated there thanks to the desert winds. 

The tension in Aziraphale's shoulders finally began to disappear. His eyes softened with a unique euphoria, and a moment later he closed his eyes and leaned into the demon’s touch. 

A small smile broke through Crowley’s normally scowling face as he looked at the angel. He reminded him of one of the animals he had seen in the garden, a baby wolf. What had the women called it? Oh right, a puppy. 

The angel who had come down from heaven to guard the garden of God with a flaming sword, looked like a cute puppy. 

What a strange world this Earth is. 

After a few minutes of massaging the other’s scalp, Crowley's hands were getting tired, and the cold from the river was starting to get annoying. He untangled and removed his fingers from the angel’s hair, but he didn’t miss how the man's head tried to follow the sensation of his hands, almost as if he had wanted it to continue longer. 

Crowley almost put his hands back. Almost

Instead, he brought his hands down to Aziraphel's elbows. He looked him in the eyes and nodded his head toward the bank opposite to the side with the corpse. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “I– I want to give him a proper send off… Maybe, if we treat him like one of the goats, she will take him up and take care of him now that he’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, choking on a small sob. 

Crowley looked at the crumbling man. He didn’t understand his grief, but he did understand that the man in front of him was breaking. 

How can one feeling so utterly destroy a powerful being such as Aziraphale? It's not like the angel has to worry about dying himself. It's also not as if the being is gone forever, Armageddon will be here before they know it then they both will be off the clock for the foreseeable future, and angel here can reunite with his pet. 

How one being can have such control over another was beyond comprehension for Crowley, but the tears now freely falling down Aziraphale’s face caused him to put his own confusion aside.

Taking a deep breath he made his decision. 

“Ok.” 

There wasn’t a light in the angel’s eyes, but the darkness of grief that had consumed them since he found the body receded just a little, and that made the whole ordeal worth it. 

They drug themselves through the river, back towards the bank, towards the corpse. About an hour had passed since the demon led the angel into the river, now they trace their footsteps back to the horrific site. 

It was almost worse than Crowley remembered, the smell had definitely gotten worse. 

Aziraphale look at the scene, eyes beginning to cloud over once again. Crowley was close enough that he was able to grip onto the angel’s shoulder, digging his nails into his flesh. The demon did it just hard enough not to draw blood, the effect was instant. 

The holy man yelped and threw a scandalized look at the demon, but the dark clouds in his eyes and receded once again and he was here. 

“You didn’t need to do it that hard.” He said, rubbing his shoulder with a slight grimace on his face. 

The demon only smirked, “It worked, didn’t it?” He said with a small chuckle. 

Aziraphale glared at him, but solemnly turned back to the task at hand. He went over to what used to be Abel and bent down to try to start gathering up the body. Before his knees could even fully bend, Crowley growled. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.” 

The demon's pupils had narrowed into paper thin slits and his eyes were blown wide showing off his haunted yellow irises. Fear was rolling off him in waves, even the wind seemed to tremble on the edge of his word. 

Aziraphale’s holy confidence shielded him from the worst of it, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t affected at all. Angels don’t lie so he chose to remain silent. 

“I just spent thirty minutes cleaning those dreadful white robes, and you go and try to stain them again the first second you are out of the river? No, you go prepare your altar thing or whatever, I’ll deal with the… clean up.” The demon said, dropping his intimidation. 

At that, Aziraphale stood up. He wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up his friend so he was glad the demon had spoken up, even if it was for selfish reasons. Though, the reasoning did seem weak, even too him. If he weren’t an angel and the man across from him not a demon, he would dare to say Crawley was trying to be… kind… 

A demon being kind, what a thought? 

The angel smiled, and manners perfect as ever, he uttered a simple “Thank you Crawley.” and turned away to go find what he needed for the altar. 

The angel left the demon stunned. 

He had not been thanked in a long time. 

He’s a demon, he’s not supposed to get thanked for anything. Ever. 

Suddenly he was filled with the overwhelming need to defend his wicked and selfish intent to the world. 

“I’m not doing this for you!” He shouted, but the angel was gone, so he continued on even louder. 

“I’m doing it because you are making supernatural beings look bad! If people realize that they can walk all over YOU they might try and walk all over ME, so actually I’m being super selfish right now, this is all about me and not about you at all! You hear me angel!!” He screamed so loud that his voice was raw, but Aziraphale never heard, to focused on trying to find the best for the altar to his friend. 

Crowley breathed hard for a moment, attempting to recover his breath. Looking over to the body he realized that this task was going to be harder than he might have first assumed when he took it on. 

Maybe he should’ve let the angel do it, blood stained robes be damned. 

But now the angel was gone, and it was only him and the corpse, and maybe god if she was deciding to be an all seeing creep at the moment. 

Crowley looked around himself for something to put the pieces in, and settled once again upon the reeds. They haven’t failed him yet and he is sure that with his display from earlier, they know not to fail him now. 

The demon gathered several large reeds and started weaving them into a basket as he had seen Eve do hundreds of times since they left the garden. 

As he was weaving Crowley continued to grumble to himself. “Probably couldn’t even gather stuff for the altar anyway, most of it was probably holy items that would have burned me.” 

The repetitve action for his hands helped him to sort through his thoughts and process them better, coming up with all sorts of excuses for why he assisting the angel “I’m just doing this because knowing him it would’ve take all night and he probably would have woken me up with the fire.” he said as he was finishing up weaving the last row. 

After Crowley was done with the weaving he went back to the river and grabbed some sediment from the bank to rub on the inside of the basket creating a watertight seal. “Just doing this so that the blood won’t drip on me when I have to carry this thing to that damned holy altar.” he muttered under his breath. 

Crowley went back to the murder scene and saw the blood covered stone. Near it was another slightly flatter stone of roughly the same size. The demon picked up the murder stone and began chipping away at the flatter stone. He was attempting to cave it in so that it would be a better tool suited for scooping up skull-mush. “Stupid angel having a stupid friend who got his stupid head smashed in.” 

His demonic strength sped up the process, and only fifteen minutes later he had a spoon-like shovel that was perfect for scooping up the mess that was Abel’s body. “Not even nice enough to stick around and help out, could’ve at least miracled a tool for me, but nooo I had to make it myself.” 

Crowley began scooping up the mess into his woven basket. He made sure the reed’s he had used were completely dead so that it would burn nicely for the angel on the altar. He continued to complain, and justify his actions under his breath as he worked, but the excuses sounded weak, even to himself. 

Finally, after about two and a half hours of labor, he was done. The angel still wasn’t back yet so he sat down on a nearby log to admire his work. The body was fully in the basket and coerced with a lid to try and tamper down on the smell. The soil where the body had been was thoroughly mixed up, showing no visible signs of the blood that had stained its ground not ten minutes ago.

It was a nice area, Crowley can see why the angel and Abel had enjoyed hanging out here. He’ll have to put a tree here, something to come back to in a hundred years. Just as he was thinking about this, Aziraphale stumbled back out through the tall grass. 

The angel looked the demon in the eyes, taking a shaky breath, he said, 

“It's ready.” 

Crowley nodded once at the other man before walking over and picking up the basket. He hefted it up to his chest with a small grunt, before turning to Aziraphale with a solemn look on his face. 

“Lead the way.” he said neutrally. 

The angel gave a quick nod before turning back the way he came and trudging through the grass. Crowley followed close behind, trying to keep up so that he didn’t lose the angel in the brush. 

They walked for a good twenty minutes, and just when Crowley was about to start complaining, they arrived. 

The altar was simple, but extravagant. The demon recognized it as Abel’s old altar as the base for the display, but the angel had carved a beautiful mosaic all across the three stones. 

The mosaic was full of designs and depictions of all the good things the boy had done, from illustrations of his brilliant sacrifices to the times he helped out baby animals, to conversations he had with Aziraphale himself. All were shown. Around the altar were bouquets of the prettiest flowers Crowley had ever seen. Explosions of pink, yellow and purple interlaced with green and brown surrounded the stones, giving the whole area the feeling of spring incarnate. 

The altar was also covered with food. Vegetables and fruits were laid in a way that they did not obstruct any of the designs of the mosaic, but instead added to it. There was a blank hole in the center, the exact size of the basket Crowley was holding in his hands. How the angel knew the exact dimensions of the basket brought so many questions to the demon’s head but as soon as he looked at Aziraphale they all left. 

He was staring at the altar, shoulder still slumped giving away his grief, but a small proud smile on his face in sight of his work. 

“Its beautiful Aziraphale, he would be proud.” The out of character words escaped the demon’s mouth before he could stop them, but Aziraphale was too caught up in the moment to notice. 

“Thank you.” They stood there for a minute, one awed at the beauty of the scene, and the other preparing for what had to come next.

Unfortunately, the moment couldn’t last forever. 

The angel moved first, taking a step towards the altar. Crowley followed him, but his feet started burning. 

“Ah, eeh, ooh, hot hot hot hot. Holy ground, holy ground, holy ground.” He was hopping from one foot to the other as he advanced towards the altar, aiming to have his feet contact the ground as little as possible. 

“Oh my word, Crowley, are you all right?” Aziraphale was alarmed, having forgotten for a moment that the two of them were genetically opposed. 

“Yeahhhh, I’m-Ah! Fine-ooh!, Just gonna. Move past ya– Ow! – real quick.” He hopped past the angel, skipping towards the altar. He avoided the flowers just barely but he got the body on the altar then immediately transformed into a crow.

The demon flew over and landed on the angel’s shoulder, releasing a deep sigh. “Sorry about that, should’ve figured an altar set up by an angel would constitute as holy ground, but the thought didn’t cross my mind.” 

Aziraphale chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the situation. A demon, helping an angel set up an altar for a dead human. The world was ending when it had just barely begun!

His chuckles eventually evolved into full on hysterical laughter. The faint mix of fear and wrong that he knows should be there mixed with his feelings of belonging and safety with the demon next to him into a crazed hysteria. 

Crow-Crowley just looked at him quizzically, not understanding how the being could be broken by grief one moment, then laughing until he was crying at seemingly nothing the next. 

It only took five minutes for Aziraphale’s laughter to die in his throat, his reason for being there sobering him from the absurd release. 

He stared at the altar after that, contemplating how to do this. 

She wanted humans to pray right? That’s what she told them in the garden. 

So, for the first time in history, an Angel closed his eyes and began to pray.

 Hey, God. It’s me, Aziraphale, but you already knew that, didn't you? 

…

Right anyway, I was hoping you can keep Abel safe? Until the rapture at least? He was a good kid and I’m sure he will have plenty to discuss with you if you keep him in your presence. 

Anyway, Thank you. 

 The angel opened his eyes feeling quite calm, he could see why the humans had been so eager to do it. Well, maybe that and the threat of an eternity spent in an eternal burning pit of torture. 

Aziraphale once again looked at the altar, and his breath caught in his throat. Abel was really gone wasn’t he? He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t bring himself to burn his friend, let alone their body. 

“I-I can’t, I can’t do this.” The angel breathed out, sobs caught on the edge of his breath. 

Crowley was given whiplash by the abrupt changing of emotion. A moment ago the angel was laughing so hard that tears were coming to his eyes, now he was choking on sobs. 

Fearing that the angel would retreat back to the state he was when he found the body, Crowley did something he’s never done before and only done once or twice since: 

He offered to help. 

“I could burn the body.” The demon didn’t think about what he was saying, he didn’t even question it. It just felt.. right. 

This time the character slip-up didn't go unnoticed by the angel, who flinched at the words from the being beside him. He had forgotten he was there. Aziraphale’s eyes blew wide with shock as he stared at the demon in the body of a crow. 

He looked in those beady black eyes for some type of hidden motive, but even for a bird his body language was genuine. So the angel did something very human of him. Aziraphale trusted someone who he had every reason to believe would stab him in the back. 

Crow-Crowley nodded and flew away. He went back to the river and once again plucked the tip of one of the reeds. In his hands it dried out instantly and became brittle and hard. A second later it combusted in a brilliant flash of red and white. The demon watched as the fire danced over the reed without destroying it, just as he willed. 

Crowley had made the first burning bush about 2000 years before Moses had stumbled upon it. 

The demon once again became a bird and flew back to the altar, drawing a trail to the dead man with the burning plant through the sky. When he arrived he circled down toward the wicker basket, creating a spiral trail of smoke. When he was about 3 feet up from the altar, he swooped down and dropped the branch, coasting over to reclaim his spot on the angel's shoulder. 

Aziraphale watched the bird solemnly. He did not understand how something that hurt so much could be so beautiful. He watched as Crawley spiraled down and couldn’t help but think that the smoke trail he was leaving behind would help Abel to reach the heavens. 

When the deed was done, he nodded to the bird that was on his shoulder and watched the altar. 

The flames did not explode around the stones in a brilliant explosion worthy of a man such as Abel, nor did they come up in artistic displays that would confirm his soul was on its path to her side. Instead it burned slowly, just as a regular group of reeds and other flora would burn on top of stone. 

The fire slowly consumed every bit of beauty and work that Aziraphale had put into the display without discrimination. It destroyed the magnificent colors and foods that the angel had pain-stakingly collected. The red and yellow plasma left scorch marks that marred the beautiful murals that had taken him hours to carve out. 

On top of it all was Abel's body, slowly crackling into ash and dust. 

The altar took three hours and seventeen minutes to burn, the angel and the demon stood there watching the entire time. 

As the fire was fading out and the smoke was beginning to clear, Crowley did something that he wouldn’t do again until the end of the world. He prayed. 

Hey… your majesty? Is that what you go by? I don’t know, anyway god. I know we aren’t on the best of terms right now, my side having tried to overthrow your side and everything but despite our differences I just wanted to let you know… Abel was a good kid. 

A good human in fact, definitely harder to tempt than the rest of his family. Though, maybe that is because he never met a woman… 

That's besides the point, what I’m trying to say is, whatever expectations or rules that you are putting on these creatures, this one soared above and beyond them and then some. 

Do with that what you will. 

And though Crowley’s first prayer was more of a report than a spiritual experience it was still the first time a demon had prayed. 

The embers of the wicker basket finally fizzled out and died, leaving nothing behind of the ceremony but the marred murals and ash. With that, the first funeral ever, was over, and the relationship between a demon and an angel became just a little bit more human.

[greetingfromthedead]

C36: Sign of Appreciation

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Series Rating: 18+ / Explicit

Chapter: 36/84

Words: 1.9k

No particular warnings for this chapter.

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"Would you mind staying here?" Vash asks you carefully as he finishes his breakfast. "I mean, at the inn, you can go back to our room."

"What? Why?" Your eyebrows move into a frown.

"Don't ask me that! Just... stay put for like half an hour!" He blinks his puppy-dog eyes at you.

"Every time I let you out of my sight, you end up getting shot at." You don't give in.

"I won't, I promise!" His voice is still pleading, and his hands gently squeeze yours under the table. His eyes are nailed to yours; they are so expressive and full of hope.

"No!" you say firmly, not falling for his tricks.

"Pleaseeeee! Do it for me? I promise, I'll start screaming really loudly if I get shot at, so you can come and rescue me!" His face creeps closer to yours, as if to make sure you don't miss the act he's putting on.

"Argh, fine!" You turn your face away, acting angry, but he sees right through it and places a light kiss on your cheek. "But I won't patch you up this time!"

He lets out a light laugh as he stands up. He can't contain his excitement; he looks like he'll start jumping around any second. He helps you up too and gives your hand another squeeze.

"I'll go to our room. Half an hour! If you're late, I'll come and haul your ass back myself!" You point your finger at him. You really don't feel comfortable being separated; it feels like something horrible is lurking around the corner every time you don't have tabs on him. You're convinced he could get himself killed at any moment between his self-sacrificing personality and inability to stay out of trouble.

He smiles brightly at you as an answer and gives you a light wave of his left hand before leaving the inn. You leave the money for the food and go upstairs into the dingy little room you share with Vash. The house is small, so to make sure they can house as many guests as possible, the rooms themselves are tiny too. As a result, it is less popular than the bigger hotel in town, but you don't mind; it's more secluded here, and you feel like you can keep an eye on everything.

You open the window to let in some air and lay on the bed. Your body feels heavy and tired, a very strange sensation for you to have. Sure, you haven't slept much as of late since you've been in the desert; the voices kept you up the last two nights in the inn too, even in Vash's arms. But none of it matters; you don't need sleep just like you don't need other human things like food, water, or even air. You stretch out and realize it's all coming from your head. Your mind is tired; the relentless voices haunt you day in and day out. The headaches have also become more frequent, but you try to brave through them; you don't want to burden Vash with something he can't do anything about. Days spent in hotels or inns are easier; there are more distractions to keep you occupied, and Vash has more things to talk about. The empty desert makes it very hard for your mind to stay with you and it keeps wandering off.

"Don't panic, love! I'm back!" Vash storms through the door. "Sorry, I'm late!"

You look over to him; he has only just left. He is out of breath and is leaning against the door he closed. You sit up on the bed, your legs criss-crossed. As you lean forward, you look at him, confused. What has he gone out to do, and how is he already back? You notice a lump under his jacket, and you stare at it. His hand goes onto his chest, covering the lump.

"Hey now! My eyes are up here!" He exclaims, and you see him pointing to his eyes with his free hand.

You chuckle, curiosity taking hold of you. You lean further, trying to catch a peek of whatever he's hiding. He pushes himself off the door and comes closer. His free hand reaches out to you.

"Come, come! Stand up!" He smiles brightly; he seems just as excited as he was before he left. His fingers curl up, signaling for you to grab hold of them. As you place your hand in his, he pulls you out of bed, a bit rougher and more hasty than you expected, and as you get your feet onto the floor, his arm wraps around your waist, not letting you stumble for even a second.

"What has gotten into you?" you laugh.

"Close your eyes!" his excited voice says by your ear.

"Bossy!" you tease him, but do as he says. He lets go, his hand moves away from your body, and you hear the rustling of cloth, some metallic clinks, and a little thud on the bed. He takes one of your hands, and you feel something brushing against your skin; it seems a bit stiff and smooth. He pulls it more upwards before doing the same with your other arm and settling what feels like straps onto your shoulders. You feel something similar on your back through your shirt. Part of it seems to lightly touch your sides under your arms, and the sensation confuses you. A desire to peek through your eyelashes takes over, but it would break your heart to ruin Vash's surprise, which he seems so excited about. His hand tracks through under your arms, his touch gentle against your ribs, and you feel the material against your skin a bit better. It reminds you of the knife sheath around your thigh, but it's bigger and on both sides.

Vash takes hold of something connected to the straps. As you feel a slight tug and hear metal clinks, you feel another strap move in under your bust. Vash's fingers are fiddling with something.

"Hey now. It's rude to feel me up like this!" You joke, your hands finding his arms, feeling the muscles move before he lets go of you. He ignores your words and touches, taking your shoulders, turning you around, and leading a few steps forward. You feel him behind you as he leans closer.

"You can look now!" His voice is dripping with happiness.

As you open your eyes, you see he has faced you towards the old and dirty mirror on the wall. It shows you and him behind you, a wide smile plastered on his face. As you pay closer attention to yourself, you see the black straps running over you, one under your chest with a silver buckle in the middle; two more come over your shoulders and disappear under your arms. The black leather isn't too noticeable over your black shirt, but it looks like a curious detail. You lift your arm and turn around a bit. You see something like holsters or sheaths under there on a larger piece of material. As you turn more, you see that the strap on your front runs around your torso to a metal ring in the middle of your back. Another band goes straight up to another ring, from which your shoulder belts start.

"What is this?" you ask as you turn towards Vash with a smile. You don't quite understand what this is supposed to be. He picks up a metal box from the bed, placing one of his hands over the lid.

"Well, you said it's too soon for a ring, but you definitely deserve something special—for everything you have done for me... and for simply being this remarkable yourself. So..." He moves in an exaggerated flourish, his gestures as large as his spindly limbs allow, as he gets down on a knee, head bowed low, hands holding up the box that he opens. "Here you are, my sweet lady!"

You are still smiling as you look at Vash and the content of the box. You see six throwing knives in it. They are beautifully made, with a ring at the end of the handle. You pick one up to inspect it. The blade is sharp and symmetrical, as it tapers into a point. They are black, with the exception of the ring. Your finger fits into it perfectly, and you twirl it around.

"Get up, dummy!" you chuckle as he is still bowing down, facing the floor. Vash shoots up a cheeky smile and gets on his feet again. "Thank you! They are beautiful!"

"I hoped you'd like them. That way, next time, you won't have to grab the butter knives. Just... you know... keep going like you have; don't do too much harm." He tries to seem serious.

"You don't have to tell me that." You sound disappointed as you look at him, the knife twirling around your finger.

He puts the open box on the bed and takes two of the knives. He gently pulls your arm out and slides the knives carefully into the sheaths. He does the same with the other three knives, sliding them into their spots on your other side, only leaving you with the one in your hand.

"How did you even get this?" you ask him, realizing this is not something you can buy from just anywhere. You slide the knife into its sheath; the sensation is strange; it goes in well, and you can probably pull it out in a flash, but it doesn't feel loose or like it would fall out on accident.

"I knew there was a good smith here specializing in knives, so I put in an order." He looks smug and very proud of himself.

"When did you put in that order?" You are still lost; his explanation only confuses you more.

"The day before yesterday, when we got here, I thought we might have to wait for longer, but since he had the base stuff ready, he told me to pick it up today," he beams.

"So that explains why you chose to stay here for four days... But when did you go to the smith? I still don't understand; you were with me the whole time."

"You went to wash almost as soon as we got here," he smirks again.

"Is that why you chose this inn instead of the hotel? Because it doesn't even have a proper shower, just a washbasin... cause you know otherwise you would have been invited into the shower too..." You start piecing things together.

"I will neither confirm nor deny any of that!" he laughs, his hands tracking along your elbows.

"Well... thank you again. I love it." You smile up at him, not minding his shenanigans at all.

"It has another welcome feature..." The look in his eyes gets even more cheeky, and his hands move up to grab the belts running over your shoulders, and he pulls you closer.

"Oh my!" you exclaim, surprised as you are drawn into him, Vash lifting you nearly off the ground by the harness, your toes still on the floor. "Careful, I'm even more armed now than I was before."

His head leans closer, the soft blond hair tickling your skin as his face finds your neck.

"I love for my woman to have an edge! Turns me on!" His words tingle against you, and your hands grab onto his coat as you lean back a bit.

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[cratlord]

Prince of the Seas - Chapter 15

Pairing: Bucky x Ruby / Some Bucky x Killian

Summary: Things did not get better for Bucky Barnes after he and Sam had their adventure. They got worse. After years of living only through stolen moments of his own life, he is given a chance to build a life in a whole new world. The catch? That life is going to be a very, very long one. This is the tale of the life built in the Realm that will one day be known as Misthaven, or the Enchanted Forest.

Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, Sexual content

The body had long ago dispersed into ashes.  There was nothing left of the woman who had given her every moment to him.  He stood next to the stone, staring at the fire which refused to go out, despite having run out of flesh to consume.  The flames continued to lick up the side of the sacrificial alter before flickering up into the air where the breeze carried them up and out of town, where they twinkled a rainbow of colors amongst the stars.  

There was nothing left.  She was gone.  

Bucky felt his knees hit the ground, the impact creating a jolt of sensation which shattered every vestige of calm carefully built up around his heart.  His ribs felt like they were trying to suffocate him.  Every gasp of breath only served to stoke the flames pouring out his eyes in time with the sobs they pushed out his throat.  Every feeling he had pushed aside regurgitated itself all at once, leaving him feeling somehow like he was burning away to nothing but freezing to death at the same time.  

Blue was the only one left by his side.  The townsfolk had long since gone home for the night, tactful enough to give the grieving god space once the last of his wife burned away into the heavens.  Even his children had gone reluctantly back to their home, the Inn their mother had so loved, at the Fairy Queen’s quiet insistence.  Blue had known Bucky long enough to know what her friend needed.  

She kept her movements slow and predictable as she approached him, finally kneeling so she could hold him in her arms.  And she held him.  And he cried.  

When the sun finally rose, he barely noticed.  His head was cradled in his friend’s lap with his eyes still glued to the white fire.  His tears had slowed, more from dehydration than any relief in the unrelenting pain.  The fluffy blue dress Blue wore was softer than he had ever really expected, even now, crusted as it was with his tears and less savory fluids.  

“I am the goddess of hope,” the gentle fairy said softly as she carded her fingers through Bucky’s hair.  “These last decades though, I must admit that it has been you who has given me hope.”

The raising sun cast the sky in innumerable hues as the townsfolk began to stir again.  The sounds of them raising and beginning their days floated through the town commons and to the two still next to the burning stone.

“Long ago,” she continued quietly, “my name was Reul Ghorm.  When I arrived in this world, the primordial forces from the sundering had not yet settled.  Somehow, it had ended up with myself in the position I now occupy, though there were many I arrived with.  I fear I am the only one now who still remembers those times.”

There was no rush between the two immortal gods in the grass.  Both of them could feel the eyes of the curious townsfolk on them.  Both of them could hear the gossip of the people discussing the still flaming stone and what it could mean.  

“I was never one really for the desires of the flesh, but that doesn’t mean I am immune to the need for companionship.  To see you down here, living in such bliss with people you love, people who love you…  it has rekindled my own love for the people of this world.

“It’s hard though.  I am torn, because to love these humans is to want to help them.  To use my power though, I must feel my sorrow at their pain.  It feels sometimes like it is the price of my godhood to suffer this way, and it feels particularly unfair sometimes when I consider it is a burden I never asked for.”  

Bucky rolled onto his back so he could look up at Reul.  “It’s grief for me,” he rasped up to her.  “My flame burns on the pain of all I have lost.”

They were quiet for several minutes while they both just watched the sun rise.  Their conversations often went like this.  Little bubbles of words with stretches of silence between.  

“When I was a young man I wanted a family more than anything.”  

His eyes were so dry.  He closed them to keep the sandy feeling from burning even more.  

“As I grew older, and the world grew darker, I lost hope that true love was ever something I could have,” he whispered into the warm morning air.  

Reul turned her curious gaze down to him.  “You mean your old world?”  She kept carding her fingers soothingly through his hair.  “You never talk about it.  I didn’t want to ask if it brought up bad memories.”

“That whole world is a bad memory,” he said, his voice tight with emotion.  “I probably should talk about it though.  I got too much pain, I don’t know what to do with it.”

Blue smiled sadly down at him.  “I’m here to listen.”  

Bucky thought back to all of the therapists over the decades who had pestered him to talk.  It had always seemed like a fun game to tell them to fuck themselves, or feed them some line of bullshit.  The well intentioned friends over the years asking him to talk had been harder to blow off.  He’d never intended to keep Sam, Yelena, and so many others at arms length, it was just… he’d always known deep down that unloading on them wouldn’t fix it.  Not when so much of his problem was how he had a nasty habit of outliving everyone, no matter how much he’d wanted to die at times.

Reul was different though.  She was actually older than him.  She wasn’t someone he would ever watch die.  There weren’t any painful feelings when it came to her.  She would never judge him.  

“Would you mind if we had this conversation with a drink?” he asked.  “I’m parched, and to be honest, if I’m going to talk about this I’d rather do it with a beer.”

Reul nodded, and they both pushed themselves up (her far more gracefully).  Fifteen minutes later they were in the White Candle, sitting at the bar with a foaming mug of ale in each of their hands.  The tavern was closed, considering nobody in their family was really up for keeping it opened at them moment, but Elanor and Teddy were still downstairs, looking about as put together as Bucky did.  She was in a stool next to Bucky while Teddy was behind the bar, his own mug in hand half empty.  

Nobody spoke for some time.  The kids seemed to be in a silent sort of shock, with their mother being their first family member lost to death.  His heart ached to know that it was a feeling they would likely experience many more times, if their lingering youth was anything to go by.  

“I was born in a world called Midgard,” he began, his tone loud enough to signal to the kids that he didn’t mind if they heard.  

Elanor blinked rapidly and turned her head to him.  Teddy’s eyes widened and he abandoned taking a drink of his ale with the mug hanging halfway there.  He couldn’t blame them for their surprise.  He’d never told them anything before.

He took a gulp of his own ale and pushed himself to keep going.  “I was born in the middle of the greatest war my world had ever seen.  Ma told me it had felt like the whole damn world was tearing itself apart.  I was still a baby when it ended, but I still remember how for the first years of my life, people were acting like the world was cursed, like they needed to get theirs before it all went to shit again.  I didn’t really get it, cause my family was too poor to be acting foolish and taking risks like that.  We didn’t have the luxury of bargaining the future.

“One thing my Ma wouldn’t compromise on was my education.  Our government provided schools for all the kids if they wanted it, but that wasn’t good enough for my Ma.  She wanted me to go to the same school she did.  It was run by a Church and taught very particular views on how a person should be.  As a kid, I didn’t really know any better, so I just took their word for it.”

Teddy seemed to snap out of his shock at hearing Bucky actually talking about his past and furrowed his brow.  “Is that place why you don’t like churches?” he asked.

Bucky nodded.  “It’s one of the reasons.  I didn’t hate that place so bad though.  It’s where I met Steve…” he trailed off wistfully as the memories of getting into trouble with his best friend reeled across his minds eye.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” roared Sister Mabel.  

James sent one last mean mug to the boy on the ground who now had a satisfying trickle of blood dripping down his face from his nose before turning to look at the irate nun.  His chest was still heaving from the fight and his knuckles stung from hitting the older boy, but he didn’t regret a thing.  

Sister Mabel looked less than impressed.  Of course, the fact that he was barely fifty pounds and only six was certainly a factor.  “You can rest assured that your mother will be hearing about this.  Brawling in the schoolyard is unacceptable behavior.  There is never a reason to turn to violence!”

“But Sister Mabel,” piped in the small blond boy who sat next to him in class, “Billy was being mean.”

“That is enough from you, Steven.  Don’t think I didn’t see you’re part in this,” the nun hissed at the smaller boy who had planted himself by James’ side.  

James glared up at the woman scolding them.  “If you could see his part, then how come you didn’t do nothing to stop Billy from pushing Mary?”

Several of the kids still standing in a loose ring around the spectacle chorused an ‘ooo’ at his declaration.

Sister Mabel’s finger waggled down at them.  “Now don’t you talk back, Mr. Barnes.  You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

“And how come Billy ain’t in trouble?  He’s the one who was being and asshole,” James sputtered out indignantly.  

His head spun as a sharp slap echoed through the school yard.  His cheek burned with the sting of the strike.  “I said that is enough out of you, boy.”  The nun stepped around the boys and grabbed an ear of each of them.  “It’s to Father Donovan with both of you.”

James knew he was going to ask Steve to play with him later when he heard the smaller boy mutter from the other side of Sister Mabel.  

“I thought there was never a reason to turn to violence.”

“Who’s Steve?” Elanor asked, speaking for the first time since the previous morning.

He smiled at her sadly.  “My first love.”

Blue hummed softly under hear breath.  “I didn’t know that about you,” she said before taking a drink of her mead.  “He must have been something quite special.  You always had an eye for quality people.”

“I met Steven Grant Rogers in first grade when I was six years old.  Even at that age, that scrawny, sickly little fuck managed to find every single bully’s fist within six blocks with his face.  He had a real talent for pissing people off.”  

He chuckled to himself.  He could still see Steve wiping his bloody lip saying ‘I had them on the ropes’ after the countless times Bucky had bailed his ass out of the fire.  He shook his head and took another drink.  

“I had to learn how to win all his fights just so he wouldn’t keep getting his ass kicked.  Even after school, when we were full grown, he was barely 90 pounds soaking wet.  He’d had asthma his whole damn life, and scarlet fever twice.”  He smiled fondly.  “Even so, he was always willing to fight if he thought it was the right thing to do.  That puny little shit had more balls than any man I ever met.  Between that and his gorgeous blue eyes, I was sunk.”  

“Steve,” he whined.  “Come on!  We’re gonna miss the start of the picture!”

It was Friday, and for some reason, Steve was loitering by the gates to the school instead of fleeing with the rest of the sane kids eager to start their weekend.  Bucky just shook his head at his friends odd behavior.

“Just a minute, Bucky,” Steve replied, as if every 8th grade boy just loved standing by a fence and doing nothing on a Friday afternoon.

No sooner had Steve said that than the Bucky realized exactly what stupid reason Steve had for wanting to stand next to the damn gate for ten minutes.  The classes for the day had been let out an hour ago, and now the last of the clubs were getting released.  The doors to the chapel opened and the girls choir bustled out.  

Bucky let his eyes pass leisurely over the girls, flashing a cocky grin at a few of them as they passed by and dispersed onto the sidewalks into the city.  He got a smug satisfaction when a few of them actually batted their lashes and giggled back at him.  

He turned a snarky grin at his friend which faded the moment he caught the look on Steve’s face.  It was a particular dopey eyed look he’d seen on any number of their classmates right before they’d gone all girl crazy and been absolutely insufferable.  His stomach fell.  Steve had a crush on a girl.  Suzie by the looks of it, based on where his eyes were glued.  

Why did it hurt so bad?

His expression fell.  “Course, two men loving each other was frowned upon on my world.  Seen as a perversion.  Between that and the fact that Steve only like girls, I just kept it to myself.  It wasn’t so bad at first.  I just pretended I didn’t feel anything, and tried my best to find a nice girl.  I never really wanted to string a dame along though, and it didn’t really feel right trying to use them to forget about him.  Eventually, I tried just avoiding him.”  

Bucky closed the door behind himself as he let himself out of Steve’s room.  The little punk had finally gotten to sleep.  It had taken a few hours, but Bucky had patiently read to him until he nodded off.  The damn cough didn’t help.  

He set the dreadfully boring philosophy book from the library onto the table in front of the short couch.  Sarah Rogers was sitting tiredly on the couch reading a book of her own, a steaming mug of tea in a cup on the side table next to her.  She set her bookmark and closed her book as he approached and patted the couch next to herself.

As soon as he sat down, she leaned over and leaned her head on his shoulder.  “I take it he’s finally asleep,” she whispered into the silence of the room.  

Even the clock had been stopped because the ticking had irritated Steve’s migraine.  The windows were all tightly curtained and the radiator was on as warm as it would go to fight off the early spring cold snap. The room was as clean as Bucky had ever seen it, as Sarah had obsessed over getting rid of the dust just in case it helped with Steve’s cough.  

He wrapped an arm around the woman he considered an aunt after all these years.  “He’s out like a light.”

Sarah fidgeted her fingers as tension rolled through her body.  Finally she shifted away from him and looked up into his eyes.  “I remember a time when I had to look down to talk to you.”  She gave him a sad smile.  “You’re all grown up now.  In a few months you’ll graduate and go out into the world and make your fortunes.”  

A tear escaped her eye.  

“Hey, Aunt Sarah, none of that.  Steve will bounce back from this.  No problem,” he said with a gentle smile, doing his best to sound like he believed it.  He looked slightly down at the kind face of the short woman who by this point had basically half raised him.  She wasn’t looking at her son’s room.  She was crying while she looked at him.  “What’s the matter?”

She bit her lip, her strong eyebrows so like her son’s when they bunched up in the middle of her face.  Another tear slid out.  

“Bucky, I would like to say something to you, but I want you to promise you won’t flip your lid, and that you’ll listen till I’m done before you interrupt.”

It was clear in every terse line of her body that she was very serious about whatever she wanted to say.  Bucky had no tolerance for crying dames, especially Steve’s Ma, who was about the sweetest lady he’d ever met.  He nodded, then wiggled his butt on the couch to signify he wasn’t going anywhere while he mimed zipping his lips.

She collected herself before she finally reached forward and grabbed his hand which was closest to her with both of hers.  She met his gaze earnestly.  “Buck, I know you’re in love with my son,” she started.  

He instantly made to pull his hand back but she only tightened her grip.  Tension roiled through his back and abdomen.  His eyes felt like they were going to burst out of his face and his ribs seemed unwilling to expand to facilitate any sort of meaningful breathing.  

More tears slipped out of her eyes as she saw what he knew was a clear confirmation of her statement in his reaction.  

“Thank you.”

The statement only confused him.  His mind didn’t seem to want to comprehend that she had just thanked him for… he opened his mouth.  He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say.  About a million thoughts were jumbling themselves in a heap between his ears.  Before he could say anything, she held up a hand.

“I’m not done yet.”  

She carefully wiped the wetness from her eyes then held his eyes hostage with the kindness in her own.  Despite himself, he felt his shoulders begin to droop as his chest finally loosened up enough to let a shuddering breath in.  His own eyes began to burn with the complicated mix of shame, guilt, and grief that so often plagued him when he thought about his feelings for too long.  

“Thank you for seeing in my boy what I do, for recognizing what a great man he could be, the strength in his heart.  You’re a good man, which for a man as young as you is no small thing,” she said with confidence, even if it was barely above a whisper.  “You’re a good friend to Steve, and just good for him in general.  Nevertheless, I wish you would stop doing this to yourself.”

He couldn’t keep holding her gaze anymore.  He turned away and looked at his own knees.  He didn’t try to escape again, knowing she would only pull on his hand if he did, but that didn’t mean he would be a willing participant in this conversation.  

She wasn’t willing to stop though.  She took a breath and forced herself to continue.  “I’m not upset with you.  I’m honored that a man like you would take such and interest in my son.”  

She reached a hand forward and hooked her fingers around his jaw so she could pull his face around again to look at her.  “Bucky, there is nothing wrong with you, no matter what those blowhards at that school say.  You are not broken, you are not a perversion, and you are not unnatural.  This sort of thing ain’t nearly as uncommon as people like to say.”

Everything she said sounded so nice.  So tempting.  It felt like a knife slipping slowly into his chest.  For the first time in years, he felt tears falling down his face.

She continued relentlessly on.  “But just because it’s not wrong, doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”  

She let go of his hand completely and grabbed his face with both of her hand, pulling him forward until she was certain he couldn’t avoid her words.  “Steve is going to die.”

He pulled back out of her hands and stood up, retreating several steps away from her.  More tears poured down his face as he shook his head.  

Sarah was crying freely, but in a way that sent shards through his heart.  Her shoulders were slumped and her hands collapsed in her lap.  The grief pouring out of her expression said everything he needed to know.  

She had lost hope.  

“Bucky, there is no point denying it,” she said softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.  “Even if he makes it through this, he will never get any stronger.  His heart is weak, his lungs barely work, his spine is curved, and he’s half the weight he should be.  His list of ailments is longer than most seventy year olds.”  

“On top of that,” she paused and bit her lip for a moment.  She took a fortifying breath then continued on.  “On top of that, he will never love you the way you love him, and you deserve better than that.”

Her words carved out a hollow place inside him.  He knew she was right.  The tears kept coming, but he couldn’t come up with an argument against what she was saying. Steve liked girls.  Only girls.  He had never once even entertained the notion that he’d ever thought about the idea of men being attracted to men, let alone shown any attraction to one himself.

And he was dying.  It would be a miracle if he saw twenty-five.

Sarah crossed the room while he was having his internal meltdown.  Her hands delicately framed his face, letting her thumbs wipe his tears away.  “You’re a good man, and you deserve to be loved by someone as fully and deeply as you love them, and I’ve seen how deeply you love people.”  She sniffled wetly.  “Nobody would blame you if you took a step back, gave yourself some space.  Broken hearts hurt real bad, but they do heal if you allow them to.”

“How?” he whispered brokenly.

She patted his cheeks.  “You just leave.  I love you like a second son, Bucky, and I want what’s best for you.  I want you to leave, and not talk to Steve for a while.”

He licked his lips.  “But…”

She shushed him.  “I am his mother, and I will take care of him.  And you need to take care of yourself for once.”

He nodded silently.  She shooed him and without another word he left with nothing more than one last brief glance back.  

“Did it work?” Elanor asked, blinking innocently at him.

He pursed his lips.  Both of his kids had never really shown any interest in settling down.  He wasn’t sure either one of them had ever had more than a passing crush on someone.  It was odd considering how he was… but it could just be that they were normal and he was the odd one.  He did tend to hold onto people a little too tightly.  

“Not as well as I’d have hoped,” he said before downing the rest of his beer and gesturing for Teddy to pour him another.  His throat finally a bit wetted, he continued on with his story.

It had been eight months since a classmate named Sal had invited him to his uncle’s boxing gym.  Apparently it had gotten around the school that he hadn’t been in a fight in a few months, and Sal figured he’d want to keep up his form.  

Turns out, he was pretty good.  Sal’s uncle Tommy was a trainer and took an instant shine to Bucky, said he had a lot of raw talent.  As he sat on the bench unwrapping his hands, he pondered what it meant to have talent at this sort of thing.  He hit hard, fast, and with an accuracy that belied the number of times he’d been in fights with fellas way bigger than himself.  He was also very good at dodging.  

More than that though, he had anger.  And grief.  It had been nearly a year since he stopped hanging out with Steve.  Almost a year and he wasn’t sure if he was getting any better.  Every attempt at relationships had flopped pretty miserably, to the point that he had started going out to get laid more than to actually make any real efforts.  

He had made a lot of new friends, something that had been more difficult when he hung out with Steve considering Steve’s habit of pissing people off by pointing out all their hypocrisies.  His new friends didn’t really feel like friends.  He knew if he told them something about himself they didn’t like, they would be out the door faster than he could blink.  He was starved for good conversation too.  Turns out, most men didn’t really talk about anything of substance.

He could play the part of vapid playboy well enough, but it was kind of exhausting.  It didn’t really feel like anybody knew him anymore.  It felt like all he did was work, read, and hit things.  And now Sal was asking if he would consider hitting things for money.  

He put his bandage ball in his bag and pulled out his fresh clothes to hit the showers.  He pondered everything that had happened in the last year as he washed the sweat away in the frigid water.  The cold never really seemed to sink in.  Or maybe he just already felt cold.  It was hard to tell.

After a quick bye to Tommy and the boys, he slipped out into the cold winter evening.  He hustled down the sidewalk in the direction of home, head down and collar up like everyone else on the street.  He barely saw the others on the sidewalk as people.  It kind of felt like nobody was a real person anymore.  Or maybe they were real people, but he didn’t feel like one.  All he did was work and hit things.  

He was jolted out of his thoughts by a dark little miserable lump on his stoop.  The lump looked up at him with familiar big blue eyes as he approached.  He looked like absolute shit.  He was even thinner than he had been when he was sick and his eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed.  His hand was clenched around a bottle shaped paper bag.  

“Becky told me where you lived,” he rasped out.  “I didn’t know you’d moved out.”

Bucky nodded and gestured to the door.  “Yeah, several months ago.  Lets get inside before you catch a cold.”

Steve pried himself up off the cold steps then shivered as a frozen gust of wind pierced his shoddy thermal defenses.  They both meandered through the door then Bucky led the way up the creaking stairs slowly, knowing Steve wasn’t much for cardio.  He was on the fourth floor and he didn’t want him to keel over before they got there.  

Steve stood listlessly behind him as he got the door open.  Neither one of them spoke as they entered the shit hole apartment.  

“It’s not much…” he trailed off, trying to think of some way he could build on that statement.  “Yeah.  It’s not much.”

And it wasn’t.  It was a studio with barely enough space to be considered more than a closet.  There were two cabinets and a counter with a sink next to an old fashioned ice box and oven.  He hadn’t used either much and the dust on them showed.  There was a single radiator next to the bathroom door, with his small single sized bed on the other side of the door.  His clothes were at least kept up, with the clean ones hung neatly, the folded ones in a medium sized chest next to the rack his shirts and pants were on.  In the center of it all, pushed up against the foot of his bed, was a small two person couch that had really seen better days with a stack of library books beside it.  It was off green with the fabric near worn through in a few places, and so lumpy you could see the dips and bulges long before you experienced them.  

“Why?” Steve asked, finally breaking his thousand yard gaze to look into Bucky’s eyes.  

The overwhelming grief in Steve’s eyes left little room to pretend he didn’t know what the vague question was referring to.  Bucky’s shoulders slumped and he gestured to the couch as he made his way into the room and tossed his shed coat onto the bed.  Steve kept his on for the moment, but still made his way to the lumpy couch.  He sat, then shifted several times attempting to find a comfortable position, gave up, and just leaned his head back miserably to stare at the dingy ceiling.  

“You’re couch is shit,” he mumbled.  

Bucky didn’t bother commenting.  The couch really was shit.  He sat next to Steve and grabbed the bottle, popping the cork out and taking a swig.  He shuddered and had to force himself to finish swallowing.  “This gin is shit.”

Steve shrugged.  “It was cheap.”

They were both quiet for several minutes.  Just when Steve was ready to give up on this whole thing, Bucky finally spoke.  

“You were asleep.  Your mom and I had a…” he trailed off.  There was a lump in his throat thinking about it.  He swallowed it down and continued, ignoring the sting in his eyes, pretending he couldn’t feel the cold tracks down his face.  “Tough conversation,” he finished delicately.

At Steve’s curious glance, he clarified.

“She verbalized a few things I’d been avoiding thinking about for a while.”

Steve looked away and bit his lip.  His eyes followed the line of a crack through the plaster wall all the way to the ceiling.  He looked back when he heard Bucky sniffle.  His stomach sank.  He’d kind of suspected but they’d never really discussed it.  

He grabbed the bottle from Bucky’s hand and took a swig himself, forcing the foul swill to stay down.  “So all those girls, were they just for show?”

Bucky wilted even further into the couch, becoming one with the lumps.  “No.  I do like girls.  I just…” he shrugged, “also like fellas.  It’s more like, I’m more attracted to the whole person instead of only the equipment.”

He turned the full force of his own puppy dog eyes on Steve.  “How long did you know?”

“Puberty,” Steve replied crisply.  He shrugged.  “I could never prove it.  You were always more subtle than most people, but we’ve been friends a long time.  I suspected.”

Bucky’s chest felt like it was going to cave in.  Steve knew.  He’d basically always known.  

“You don’t hate me?” he asked in a quivering voice.

The sounds of his neighbors fighting drifted through the silence between them.  They could make out a few of the words and neither party sounded like they were behaving like they wanted a resolution.  

Steve brushed off the vulgarities drifting in from the wall and turned back to Bucky.  “You’ve been my best friend since first grade.  There’s not much that would make me hate you, and even less that I would believe you actually did, if that makes sense.  I don’t care if you like men.  I know you would never force yourself on someone who didn’t want it, and that’s all that matters to me.”

He reached over with the bottle offering it back to Bucky.  “What happened to you?”

Bucky grabbed the bottle and took a healthy swig, the third one going down far smoother than the first had.  “I made it home after talking to your mom.  Dad could tell I’d been crying.  We got into a fight.  He said he didn’t have a son.  I only got my stuff cause Becky packed it for me and carried it out into the hall while Mom told him I at least needed some clothes so I could hide my shameful nature.”

“Your own parents kicked you out?” Steve said indignantly, his usual passion shining through his expression for the first time in their discussion.

Bucky’s voice sounded flat, despite the tears running down his face again.  “Downstairs neighbor heard the whole thing.  Had a fella over at the time who’d had a similar experience when he’d been my age.  He let me crash on his couch for a few weeks while I got some scratch together for this dump.  They didn’t unenroll me, so I just kept going to school and pretended like everything was normal.  Becky covered for me a few times till graduation, then I went to working full time.  Haven’t talked to them since.”

Steve tightened his fists in his lap.  He bit his lip and looked down to his own knees.  “They shipped Mom off to Riverhold last week.  She died this morning.”

The next morning, Steve helped Bucky pack up his apartment of his scant few possessions so they could move him into Sarah’s old room.

El’s head gently rested on his shoulder and he lifted his arm to wrap around her.  “Papa, that wasn’t fair for you.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head then leaned his own head on it.  “My love life hurt, but it was the least of my worries.  When I was twelve, the global economy collapsed.  The reasons are complicated, but that didn’t make the hunger any harder to understand.  There just wasn’t enough to go around, and even years later, keeping enough food on the table for me and Steve, especially when he was sick, was almost more than I could handle.  I ended up boxing professionally for a while on the weekends just to make some extra cash.  I was actually a champion.  The money helped, but it always managed to get sucked up in bills or food or something.

“To top it off, the whole world was going to shit.  After over a decade of desolation, people snapped, and another war started.  My country was deciding still if they wanted to join with their allies or try and stay out of it.  I read about the invasion just a few days before my title match.  I remember cause that was the day I found out my Ma was going to die.  She got cancer.”

The bell rang.  

He stood looking down at his opponent.  Hank was a good guy.  He felt a little guilty for the concussion he clearly had.  He was writhing on the floor completely unaware of his surroundings.  He’d get better… probably.

He felt his arm lifted and the world suddenly hit his senses again.  The crowd was screaming their heads off and Dizzy’s voice was echoing through the arena announcing his win by KO.  Tommy would certainly be giving him an earful about his lack of showmanship on this one.

Usually he was one to give the crowd a show, but today his heart just hadn’t been in it. The last few days had barely felt real.  Everything seemed to be happening all at once, and it left him feeling disconnected.  He knew this was just the quiet in his head before the oncoming fist collided with his face.  He felt a lot like… like Hank, writhing on the floor unaware of where he was.  

At least he’d made a bet on this one.  He locked eyes with his bookie as he felt the robe being placed over his shoulders.  Tommy was holding up his new trophy.  Third one Bucky had brought to Tommy’s gym.  Bucky was more excited about that payout.  He’d get a bonus for winning the Championship, then he’d get that sweet cash from the long shot bet he’d placed that he would KO Hank before the end of the third round.  

He stood there while Tommy grandstanded for a minute, going through the motions.  He smiled for the camera, cracked a few shitty jokes, smoozed a bit.  Finally, Tommy threw his arm around his shoulders and started leading him out of the crowd and in the directions of the showers.  

The noise of the crowd crested again as they hit the door out of the arena show floor as Dizzy started talking again.  Winning the world championship in his class was great and  all, but it didn’t change the fact that all most people cared about was the heavyweight class.  He could win three championships in a row and most people still didn’t know who he was.  That bet though.  That bet was real money.  That money would spend well.  All Steve’s doctor bills would get paid, rent was taken care of for the month, and there would still be a few dollars left over.  

For one brief moment, they were caught up on everything.  He wished he was in a state to appreciate this rare event.  Instead, everything only felt more surreal as the doors closed behind them and the noise diminished even further.  Everything got more quiet as they made their way down the stark white hall towards the furthest locker room.  

Tommy pushed his shoulder down guiding him to sit on a bench across from the showers.  He looked Bucky up and down then squatted down in front of him to put his face in Bucky’s line of sight.  

“Hey Kid,” he started in a subdued tone.  He sighed and ran his fingers through his graying hair.  “I know shit’s rough for you right now, so I get why you ended that so quickly.  I ain’t mad.”  He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with his fist.  “Don’t keep all that bottled up, kid.  Come by the gym and hit the bag for a bit.  Let it all out.  That shit will kill you otherwise.”

He gave his mentor and coach a weak smile.  “Thanks, Sal.  I’m gonna get cleaned up and head out of here.  I got work tomorrow still, and we’re three hours from Brooklyn.”

Sal nodded and pushed himself up from his knees, then left the room.

It was silent in the locker room.  Quiet enough to hear a dripping faucet in the showers.  He leaned forward and let the quiet sink into his bones.  Everything had been so loud lately.  Europe at war.  Title match.  Other things.  

He felt the tension cinch his back and took a deep breath to try and head it off.  He was still in the damn arena.  Not the location to fall apart.  He undid the straps holding his right glove on with his teeth then pulled it off in the crook of his elbow.  With one hand free, he took off the other glove and set them aside.  He rested his elbows on his knees and began the slow ritual of rolling up his hand bindings.  The familiar motions soothed him better than anybody’s words could.  

“For a three time world Champ, you don’t look too thrilled,” came a cocky, but mildly familiar voice, followed by the creak of very nice shoes on the smooth concrete floors.

Bucky looked up to see two men file into the locker rooms whose very appearance made his gut plummet.  One was an older gentleman, clean shaved, a touch of gray at his temples.  His crisp dark green uniform showcased the bars of a colonel, and his eyes betrayed his years of experience. His expression was neutral, but it was clear he was focusing intently on taking everything in.  

The other man, the one who had spoken, was Howard Stark, genius millionaire weapons developer, scientist, and owner of Stark Industries.  His dark hair was perfectly coiffed, with a well shaped and uniform length mustache and big, dark eyes which were an endless fountain of curiosity and energy.  All that sitting on top of a perfectly tailored suit and shoes so shiny they looked entirely out of place in a grimy locker room in Philly.  

Bucky took all this in with a stoic gaze before going back to unwrapping his hands.  “What can I do for you fellas?”

The older man stepped forward and extended a hand down to Bucky to shake, which he did.  

“My name is Colonel Chester J Phillips.  I’d like to speak with you privately regarding a job offer.”

Mr. Stark bounced on his toes in his position behind the colonel.  “Yeah, so get cleaned up and we’ll give you a ride back to New York if you like.”

He untucked the end of the wrap on his other hand and started the process of rolling it up.  “Okay.  I’ll just take a shower and meet you in the hall.”

He listened to the two men exit the room and sighed as he tucked the rolled bandages into his bag.  He pulled out his street clothes and hit the showers.  

Barely twenty minutes later he was opening the door to the hall, bag in hand, to meet the two men who were, unfortunately, still waiting for him.  They looked up at him as he walked through the door and stopped their whispered conversation.  

“I gotta grab some cash from my bookie, then I’ll be your captive audience till we get back home,” he said with a twitch of a smile.  With that, he led the way back down the hall and through the arena, now filled with fans screaming Joe’s name.  Bucky ignored all that and made a beeline for Ken.  One hushed conversation later, and he was carefully tucking a sizable wad of bills into his jacket pocket.  

He nodded to the Colonel, who was surprisingly waiting patiently.  As soon as he got a signal, Colonel Phillips turned and led the way out a side door where a long black car was waiting.  A well dressed gentleman inclined his head as they approached and opened the door to the back for them.  The two other men nodded their heads in thanks as they slid in, then Bucky followed, tossing his bag in first to the seat facing backwards across from where Phillips and Stark were.  He slid in next to his bag and waited quietly for the two of them to say their peace.  

“You know, there are guys who say you might be the best fighter the ring’s ever seen,” said the Colonel as the car started and began to pull forward onto the street.  “Between your speed and power, you also got accuracy and a flawless form.  I can tell by watching you though, the real reason you’re so good is cause you learned to fight before you learned to box.  You got the instincts of a man used to fighting with higher stakes than a trophy.”

Bucky shrugged.  “You got good eyes, Colonel.”

The older man leaned back and narrowed his eyes.  “We did some digging on you.”  He reached his hand to the side and Mr. Stark handed him a manila folder.  He opened it to a details page with a picture of Bucky at the front.  “Graduated from St. Mary’s top of your class on a school granted scholarship.  Tell me son, why did your parents stop paying for school?  It was one of the best in the state, and I know they could afford it still.”

Bucky forced himself to breath through the sudden sharp pain through his chest.  “We had a philosophical disagreement, and I was disowned.  I haven’t spoken with them since.”

Stark looked at him curiously.  “About that.  Your whole building knows about some big fight you had with them, but nobody would say what it was about.”

“It’s because I like fucking men,” he stated bluntly, too tired to beat around the bush.  “My parents are very Catholic.  I’d already strained our relationship by coming out as an atheist.  Then I had the audacity to actually read Marx and develop an opinion on socialism that didn’t stop at saying it was evil.  Them realizing I was in love with a man was the last straw, and now I have no parents.”

Colonel Phillips pulled a pen out of his pocket and started taking some notes on the paper in the folder.  “So, you’re a homosexual?” he asked casually, holding his pen steady and waiting for an answer.

Bucky froze.  He’d never actually used that word out loud about himself.  He’d never really used any label.  He licked his lip and bit it while he considered what he would describe him as.  

“Well…” he started, tone uncertain still, “I wouldn’t say that.  I do actually prefer dames, and I have been with a lot more dames than I have fellas.  Every now and then though, a fella just stands out.  More the exception than the rule.”

The Colonel just nodded, like he’d just shared his favorite color or brand of tea, then jotted down a quick note and looked back up at him.  “Would you call yourself a communist?”

“Eew,” he accidentally blurted without thinking.  He blushed slightly at his outburst and the smirk Stark gave it.  He cleared his throat.  “No, sir.  I do believe that Capitalism is a more feasible system, especially considering out cultural norms and diversity of our population.  I’m not sure communism could actually work in a population which wasn’t homogeneous, and I don’t believe there is any ethical way to take the steps which would be required to solve that dilemma.  But I do also believe there is a lot of middle ground between the two systems.  Some industries are just so cumbersome, yet essential, that in my opinion it just makes more sense to have them owned and ran by the government.  Things like the mail and the railroads.  I think an argument could be made for healthcare as well.”  

He was slightly confused at the calm and dignified way the man was just taking notes about his answers.  He wasn’t freaking out, making faces, scooting away from him, or making any indication that anything he’d said was abnormal at all.  He’d just blatantly admitted to being a man fucking socialistic atheist, and he was just calmly writing it down like this was a normal job interview.  

“What special skills to you have?” Phillips asked, again giving Bucky an emotionless and bland look.  “And please be specific.  All skills can be useful in the right context.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair and considered what would count as a skill.  He ignored the bumping of the car as it made the last turn till it entered the highway.  The road was still relatively new so once the driver had made it there, it was quite smooth still.  He looked back to the well dressed men across from him.  

“Well, boxing, obviously,” he said, watching as they both nodded and the colonel wrote it down.  “I’m a carpenter, real steady with a knife, and I got some mechanic skills for all the machines we use.  I have to fix them pretty often.  I play the piano, have since I was five.”  He thought about what else may be useful and shrugged.  “I’m a good endurance fighter, not that I really showed that tonight, but cardio is actually my strong suit.  Um… I am proficient in Italian.”

“Any other languages?” the colonel asked.

“No sir, but I would love to learn more.”  He twiddled his thumbs and readjusted his feet in the space between them.  “I’ve been working on my Italian for a few years now, and Sal and Tommy say I pick it up fast.  I always dreamed of being a polyglot someday.”

“Any other skills you can think of?”

Bucky looked out the window and began thinking several less appropriate thoughts.  “Not sure if I would brag about it, but I am good at blending in when I want to.  I got the ability to direct people’s attention where I want it usually.  Sounds kinda manipulative to word it like that…  And I’m pretty good at math.  Geometry and trig, to be specific.”

The colonel wrote that down, then asked the next question.  The questions ranged from broad, like asking his skills, to extremely specific, like asking his thought processes in very particular situations.  Sometimes the questions were very personal, like where he’d stayed when he’d been kicked out, and other times it had been his opinion on specific events or people.  He wasn’t entirely sure what the point of all of it was, or why he was bothering with it, when he didn’t even know what the damn job offer was.  He was far too tired to bother lying about anything though, so he just kept it brief and sometimes painfully honest.  

They were over two thirds of the way back to Brooklyn when the Colonel finally put the damn folder away.  Bucky breathed a sigh of relief.  All the questions had left him a bit off footed and raw, and he was very much looking forward to his bed.  Unfortunately, there was still nearly an hour left in their drive and was stuck in the car with these two nosy bastards.  

Phillips readjusted himself in his seat and kicked his feet forward, crossing them at the ankles and leaning back comfortably in the well padded seat.  “I know I mentioned this is a job offer, and that interview was the last step.  Congratulations, Mr. Barnes, you passed.”

Stark, who had been staring out the window looking miles away shook his head and turned to fact Phillips.  “Oh man, you’re finally done.  My turn?”

Phillips rolled his eyes, but gestured for Stark to go on.

Stark grinned.  “About time,” he muttered as he rubbed his hands together and leaned forward to peg Bucky with an intense stare.  “Let me tell you about our organization, then I’ll let you know about what I want you to do.”

Bucky gave him a quizzical look, but just rubbed his eyes and nodded politely.  

“We are starting an international intelligence organization, funded and manned by the US and her allies.  Our purpose is to discover, predict, and counter as many of our enemies scientific and intelligence advancements as possible.”  

Stark was well known for being a charismatic businessman on top of being a genius.  Bucky was two sentences into his pitch, and he already understood the man’s appeal.  The more interested he was in the subject, the more attractive he looked.  He did his best to ignore the thought and pay attention to what he was being told.

“In order to accomplish our goals, we need the best of the best. We need men and women with a variety of skills and abilities, to fill all roles.  Considering the complex and delicate nature of some of our specific objectives, we need people who are more than just brainless fighters.  We need smart people, who can think on their feet, and most importantly, stay alive to give their reports.”

His grin stretched even bigger and he was nearly bouncing on his seat.  “And we want you to help us build that team.”

“Build it?” Bucky replied, the skepticism clear in his tone.  “You sure I’m qualified for something like that?”

“Mr. Barnes,” interrupted the Colonel before Stark could get going again, “you may be one of the most qualified men your age I’ve ever seen.”  He laced his fingers together and looked intently forward at Bucky.  “You are the best fighter in any class, and I’m half convinced you could take down the damn heavywieghts.  On top of that, your academic record is impressive, even with your personal issues.  Your teachers, even after five years, still rave about how brilliant and quick witted you are.  Every man you have ever worked for has similarly enthusiastic compliments about your work ethic, problem solving, and leadership potential.  I don’t think you realize how rare all those qualities are in a man who can fight as well as you do.”

Bucky’s eyes couldn’t get any wider if he wanted them to.  That they had already talked to his teachers and bosses had him a bit floored.  He wondered at how long they had been watching him.  And they had gotten good reports from them.  Even his teachers.  His teachers who had regularly told him he would burn in hell.  Those teachers had told the army he was brilliant and quick.  

“Oh,” was what his stalled out brain came up with as a response.  He turned back to Stark who was giving him an encouraging look.  “So, what exactly would I be doing?”

And there was that million dollar Stark grin again.  “Officially, you would be part of the 107th, in the Army.  Really though, you and your immediate subordinates would travel with them regionally, blend in with them when you aren’t needed, but when you are, you would break off and fulfill missions for the SSR before returning back to the 107 to report.  The regular rank and file of the 107 wouldn’t know a thing, so you and your boys gotta blend in.  While you’re there, you need to work on making your boys as good in a fight as you are.  You got a leg up, and we need a combat specialist with your people skills.”

A bubbling suspicion rose in his gut.  “And what kinds of missions would these be?” he asked hesitantly.  

The colonel jumped in again.  “Mostly going behind enemy lines to acquire supplies, intel, or human resources.”

“It’s very dangerous work,” Stark conceded, “but it’s work that really needs doing.”  At Bucky’s uncertain look, he continued on.  “It ain’t like you’d be dodging bullets tomorrow.  We ain’t even in the war yet.  None of us are naive enough to think we won’t end up in it though, and you got till then to get your team as ready as they can be.”

Bucky was silent as he thought about it.  The Colonel and Stark seemed content to let him mull it over, so he did.  What followed was a rather depressing series of conclusions.  

First, Aunt Sarah had been right.  Distance would have been way better for getting over his feelings for Steve.  He’d been living in her old room for over three years now, and nothing had gotten any better.  If anything, he was even more hung up on the scrawny little fuck.  It hurt.  It hurt every day.

Second was the conclusion that he really didn’t have any real reason to stay.  His job was alright, but also something with consistent enough demand that he could pick it right back up.  More importantly though, nothing he made at work was really what he wanted to make.  He loved creating things, but most of what he made was plain and boring shit which took minimal skill and resources.  He had no family, or at least none that would be caught dead talking to him.  His friends felt more like acquaintances really.  The only thing he really gave a shit about in Brooklyn was Steve, and that was kind of the problem.

Third, he didn’t like what his life had become.  All he did was work, read, and hit things.  When he got home, the best he could hope for was that he would be too exhausted to think too much.  He wasn’t proud of his life or anything he’d accomplished.  Sure, he and Steve had plenty of good memories together, doing fun stuff and being mischievous hooligans, as single young men should, but when the time came every night to lie down in his bed, all those memories brought him was a deep aching pain.  Pain that he would never have what he wanted most.  Pain that he knew Steve was falling apart, getting more sickly every year.  Pain that his own parents didn’t love him.  

His mind flickered to the letter he knew was at the bottom of his bag.  The letter Becky had written to tell him that her mother was dying.  She had implied that the stress of his sinful ways and the shame it brought her had somehow contributed, but that was fucking stupid and he knew it.  Stress didn’t give a person cancer.  It hurt to know that Becky thought of him that way though.  He had hoped that someday his sister would grow out of the bullshit their parents spouted, but instead she had just fallen in line like a good little Catholic.

This job though… it could be a fresh start.  Something new, something different.  Maybe even something he could be proud of, if he survived.  If he didn’t, well, he’d be dead.  Dead men didn’t give a shit one way or another. If he survived though, being an officer could open a lot of doors for him.  Maybe he could leave Brooklyn, have a whole new life somewhere new.  Maybe this SSR would even go on past the war and he could do neat intelligence things, which sounded a whole lot like cool spy shit.  

It wasn’t really a choice.  He looked up to meet Stark’s eyes.  “Sure, why not.  I’m in.”

Bucky shrugged.  “I was shipped off to training within the week, and an officer on the front lines less than a year after that.”

His voice stuck there.  It was hard enough talking about Steve and his family.  Hydra was a dark place in his memory.  He turned his attention to his drink instead.  

Silence filled the room as everyone muddled their thoughts.  Outside he could hear the bustle of town, unchanged from the events of the previous day. It had been the same on Earth in that regard.  No matter how his world crashed in on itself, everything else just kept going relentlessly forward.  Time just kept marching on, leaving him further and further behind.

He pushed his freshly empty tankard forward and silently bid his son to fill it.  Teddy nodded and turned to refill it with Bucky’s preferred ale and set the foamy beverage back on the counter.  

Bucky was lost in memories of blood and mud.  “I made it through three battlefield promotions fighting through the closest thing to hell I think any man can get without dying first.  The weapons on Midgard had advanced to the point where they were almost too effective.  Everything died in their wake: the men, the trees, even the weeds.  Fire and explosions rained down from the sky and our enemies shot projectiles at us which could tear a man to pieces from hundreds of yards away.  Between battles, the pained cries of the wounded were even worse than the dying screams of the men left on the field.

“But our enemies were such that we couldn’t turn back.  Tyrants who saw people as obstacles in their path to a utopia where everyone left alive looked and thought exactly like them.  It was a war for the very soul of our world.”  

His words trailed off as his gaze lingered off into an invisible middle distance.  “I was captured for a while, but I’d rather not talk about that.”

Blue smiled at him, sensing that this was his limit for the night.  “Thanks for sharing, Bucky.”  

Teddy looked up at him with the same big eyes that always spelled disaster for Lis’ restraint.  “Will you tell us more later, Papa?”

He shook his head.  “Well, I don’t know why you would want to know.  It’s pretty ancient history.  Not even this world’s history.  Also, almost entirely depressing.”

“Please!” El begged, her own eyes getting big.  

Between the two of them, he knew it was only a matter of time.

Next Chapter

Chapter List

[justakitteh622]

Donnie x GN!OC

Chapter 1 of my slow burn Donnie fanfic is finally here! It took embarrassingly long for me to write Leon’s joke at the beginning.

Enjoy some leosagi content while you get to know the main character. Don’t worry! We’ll meet Donnie in the next chapter.

MINORS DNI! This fanfic has emotionally heavy themes and smut down the line.

TW: discussion of bigotry and discrimination, spiraling thoughts

Chapter 1: the booth

Word count: 3764

Soxx is a yokai not a mutant. They usually don’t correct anyone, but the word mutant comes with a slight air of bigotry that yokai doesn’t carry. They live as a nomad in the hidden city, traveling around with all their belongings and sleeping wherever they feel comfortable. It’s a personal choice, not out of necessity; though Soxx has befriended plenty of folk who are homeless for other reasons.

Despite finding safety in the hidden city, xe often sneaks up to explore the streets of New York for fun. The sights, the smells, the sounds, the food… oh how Soxx wants to try surface food. Unfortunately, appearances put up a solid barrier for that. Not everyone takes well to seeing a Lynx yokai, not to mention the wings. Soxx has never even tried, but just the fear of what a bigoted human might do is more than enough to keep xem away from surface establishments.

With the exception of one: Run of the Mill pizza. It’s a hidden restaurant on the surface, and one of the only ones that accepts yokai, mutants, and humans alike. It’s a safe space where anyone and everyone is welcome, something that can be difficult to find in New York. It’s as if just walking into the place sets you at ease.

So that’s where they are headed on this particular night. Soxx had gotten bored of sneaking through alleyways and spying on the humans going about their silly little lives. Some nice hot pizza is just what they need on a brisk night like this. The chill of the winter air nips through their fur as Soxx makes turn after turn in a practiced routine. A shiver runs down their back and across their wings; it’s a comforting, familiar sensation, but none the less Soxx wraps xer wings around them for extra warmth.

Arriving at the familiar brick wall riddled with graffiti, Soxx steps through it. Immediately the sharp bite of the wind is replaced with a toasty blanket of warmth. The tables are nearly barren tonight, which isn’t a surprise. It’s late on a Thursday night after all, there isn’t much business. It’s just the way they like it: quiet and empty.

Soxx happily approaches their booth; yes their booth. They always sit at the same one. It’s a force of habit; they like that booth. It’s small and off to the side so there isn’t a lot of disturbance. Soxx knows where every scratch and bump is on those cushions, including the popped spring in the back corner. Except this time within seconds it’s apparent that the booth is occupied.

Soxx stops in their tracks.

Someone is in their booth.

‘It’s not their booth. It’s not their booth. It’s not their booth.’

Soxx repeats the statement over and over in xer head. They can’t sit somewhere else, the idea of such sudden change causing them to mentally convulse and writhe.

It seems Soxx stands blankly in the walkway for a bit too long, because the yokai sitting at their table notices their convoluted staring.

“Hey there Gabriel! You new here?” There’s a soft chuckle hidden in there somewhere as the stranger catches their focus.

Soxx blinks, was the kappa referring to them? What do they mean by ‘Gabriel’? The confusion must be written on their face because the turtle yokai continues.

“Because your head’s really up in the clouds! Haha… Eugh… not my best line. You lost?” Soxx raises their eyebrows, letting their lips curl into a small smile. The kappa however, is brandishing a shit-eating grin at their own joke.

Soxx quickly pulls out their notepad and begins writing their response as they approach the booth. The turtle looks a little confused as they slide the pad across the table, but the emotion is quickly replaced by understanding as they read.

“I don’t speak, but I can hear. And I’m not lost, I just usually sit at this booth.” The kappa nods and gestures to the seat across from them.

“Well don’t let me stop you! I’m Leon by the way.” Leon smiles warmly and holds out a three fingered hand in greeting. Soxx contemplates again whether they want to sit somewhere else, before deciding against it and shaking Leon’s hand as they sit down.

Soxx takes this opportunity to get a better look at Leon’s appearance. Their face is wrapped with a bright blue mask, and their body is littered with scars. Their limbs are covered in black wraps that seem to be representative of some kind of martial art, but they aren’t really wearing much of anything else: perhaps some pants or shorts under the table. This kind of attire isn’t strange in the hidden city; some folks don’t wear anything at all. Soxx themself isn’t wearing too much clothing either, just some loose fitting pants and a scarf; shirts never fit comfortably over their wings. Over all the kappa seems fairly ordinary, but what isn’t lost to Soxx is the blue hilts of two swords sticking out from behind the shell on their back; it’s an odd choice for self defense.

“I’m Soxx. My pronouns are they/xe. What about you?” Xe writes confidently, before sliding the paper across the table again with a smile.

“Oh! Yeah I use he/him most of the time, but she/her when I listen to Beyoncé.” He giggles to himself before hastily backtracking. “I’m kidding!… mostly.” His face is bold, but its clear that he’s covering his anxiousness, so Soxx waves their hand, kindly urging him to continue.

“Well… I use she/her in like… specific circumstances? But only in a very flamboyant way.” Leon wiggles his eyebrows goofily, or rather, what would be his eyebrows if he had any. “My brothers don’t get it.” Leon shifts in his seat, resting an arm on the top of the booth and glancing away as Soxx writes down their response.

“Oh! I get it! It’s a queer culture thing.” Leon reads urgently, responding the second he finishes processing the words.

“Yes! Oh man somebody understands!” Leon chuckles with relief as if he had expected a harsher reaction.

“Well I’m not your average straight yokai.” Soxx smiles fondly as they write the words.

“Ha! Yeah you’ve got pronouns and everything.” Leon gleams with joy, seeming to relax quite a bit.

“Sorry to interrupt. I’m Usagi! I’ll be your waiter this evening.” A white rabbit yokai in a black uniform had briskly approached the table. His ears were tied behind his head with a red ribbon, and on the shoulder of his apron was a small he/him pin. Soxx looks up at him with a smile and leisurely writes down their order (one medium stuffed crust Hawaiian pizza with hot wings and an iced tea) on their note pad: including a note to say hi to Señor Hueso. He’s new; most employees know Soxx and their usual order very well. Upon finally looking at Leon again, they see that his jaw is agape and his gaze is fixed lazily on the waiter.

A mischievous smirk appears on their face as Soxx puts the pieces together. Xe glances back to the rabbit, watching his face as he finishes copying down the order. Usagi nods contently and pivots over to Leon with a smile; the simple movement alone causes a light pink to dust the turtle’s cheeks.

‘Oh this is gonna be fun.’ A wide smirk forms on Soxx’s face.

“And what would you like?” The waiter prods naturally. Soxx leans back into the booth; intently watching the show.

“Oh Uh… ah yeah… My-my order!” Leon stampers frantically and clears his throat. His hands find their way to rub at the seam of the booth cushion and back of his neck, but his gaze never wavers. “I’ll have m-my usual.” His grin is stained with anxious infatuation as he tries to recover from his clumsiness with some shred of wit.

“Your usual? I’m so sorry, but I’m new here so I don’t know what that is.” Usagi smiles nervously, at his own perceived ineptitude.

“Oh riiight!” He drags the word out, it seems intentional but Soxx can’t help but wonder if it was an unintentional slur. “I haven’t… uhh… seen you around before!” It’s a horrible excuse of a response. The wrinkles in his face prove that Leon knows it too, but his mind is running blank. “Ehem! The hamato special: That’s 4 large pizzas, one meat lovers, one four cheese, one Italian, and one Hawaiian.” Leon nervously chuckles, sweat dripping down his neck as Usagi carefully writes the order down.

“Perfect! I’ll be sure to remember that order for next time!” The rabbit grins, carefully clicking his pen. “Would you two like anything else?”

“N-no I think…” Leon quietly gulps down some saliva. “I think that’s it.” Soxx nods deviously in confirmation.

“Perfect! I’ll be back in a few minutes with that tea and some of our complementary bread.” With that, Usagi simply walks off.

The second the waiter is gone, Soxx begins scribbling on xer notepad.

“What was that! Are you actually drooling?” Soxx flicks their ear and slides the paper over to Leon, who is sweating profusely now. Just reading the words has his whole face lighting up bright red.

“I-I just! He’s… I mean you saw him too! This is definitely not my fault and I take no responsibility for my actions. He must be doing some kind of mystic yokai magic for extra tips!” Leon crosses his arms and stares at the carpet in embarrassment.

“He’s kinda cute sure, but you were literally drooling over him!” The handwriting is sloppy and careless but Leon doesn’t seem to pay attention to that.

“Augh! No! I was not drooling. Oh boy I’m so glad my brothers aren’t here. They would eat me alive over this.” Leon’s face falls into his hands as he leans onto the tabletop; his flushed skin is still visible despite him hiding his complexion.

“Oh really? Tell me more about these brothers you’ve been talking about. How many do you have?” Soxx still has that trickster’s smile plastered all over their face; Usagi will come back to the table eventually after all.

“Oh! I have three brothers.” He perks up right away at the topic change, recovering from his embarrassment in stride. “One older brother, Raph, one younger sibling, Mikey, and a twin, Donnie.”

While waiting for their food, Soxx enjoyed listening about how him and his brothers saved the world. He spoke highly of each of them, despite his teasing banter. He had nothing but praise for their abilities and family roles. Leon was in the middle of explaining how he came to be “leader” but sees himself as more of a strategist when Usagi returned to the table. Leon shut his mouth immediately to save face.

“Here’s your sweet tea, Señor Hueso said it’s just how you like it.” Soxx takes their drink and jots down a quick thank you. The rabbit yokai nods kindly while setting down the basket of fresh Italian bread. “You’re welcome! Would you like some oil or butter with your bread?” Soxx glances across the table at Leon who is practically fighting for his life, and gets an idea.

“I don’t know, Leon what do you think?” Soxx slides the paper slowly with wild eyes and a giant grin plastered on their face. He reads the words and grinds his canines together roughly.

“Ah-ha-hahh… yeah let’s do the oil.” Leon cringes at his own disheveled behavior and casually sets his hand over his snout, trying to cover his blush.

“Perfect! I’ll grab that right away for you.” As the waiter walks off, Leon shoots Soxx a nervous glare.

“Why do you enjoy watching me suffer?” The comment is loose and relaxed, indicating that he’s partially joking.

“You’re so obvious about it! It’s too easy. Be an adult and just ask him for his number or something.” Soxx rolls their eyes, resting their chin on the back of their hand.

“It’s not that easy! What if he’s not into guys like me! And… I’m a mutant.” Leon pauses to let the point sink in, staring at his hands. “What if he doesn’t like that? Nope I’d rather just enjoy window shopping.” Soxx rolls xer eyes, but does actually consider the point Leon is making.

“Window shopping? Come on, Leon. What are you afraid of? The worst he can say is no.” It seemed like the right comment to make, but Soxx isn’t exactly a matchmaker and xe hasn’t had the best track record xemself.

“It’s not worth the heartbreak honestly. This way I don’t get hurt ya know?” Leon gives a half-hearted smile, dismissing the question entirely.

“Suffer then.” Soxx smiles evilly as Usagi approaches with the seasoned oil. Leon again turns bright red, kicking himself internally for the display.

“Your food will be ready in just a few minutes. Feel free to call me over if you need anything else.” With that the waiter disappears again.

Soxx grabs a slice of bread, dipping it in the oil and munching on it contently. Leon however, deflates onto the tabletop.

“Ugh why is it so hard to talk to him?” Leon groans, his words muffled by his own arms. “I feel like a kid again.”

“If you’re gonna ruin my bread eating experience by complaining, then I’ll be sure to make it even worse for you.” Soxx finishes writing the sentence and punctuates it with another crunch of their bread.

“Heh… you sound like Donnie. I think the two of you would get along really well actually.” He sits up again, smiling fondly at the idea of his twin.

“That so?” Soxx is only half paying attention, very distracted by the soul cleansing taste of the bread.

“Yeah… You both like tormenting me!” Leon snatched a piece of bread from the basket, shoving the whole slice into his mouth without dipping it. “Oh I would never live it down if he saw me like this.” Now Soxx is interested, the conversation topic shifted to something far more entertaining.

“What? All goo-goo eyes? I have to admit, this is definitely tainting my first impression of you.”

“Of course it is.”

When Usagi finally brought out their food, the two at the booth were chatting like old friends. Leon adjusted so quickly to the alternative method of communication. Soxx reciprocated Leon’s wild energy; joking and teasing just as much as he did. And Both of them offered solidarity that the other needed so desperately.

Leon was just as nervous around the waiter each time, and Soxx ate it up. Every chance to have Usagi back at the table was taken. Soxx peppered in everything they could think of to pester Leon. They hadn’t had this much fun in years.

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink too?”

“What was that? I didn’t catch it.”

“Could you bring out some more bread please? It’s my favorite thing here.”

And a variety of similar statements were made before Leon took matters into his own hands.

“If I write my number down next to the tip will you PLEASE let up on this torture!” He’s practically begging. Soxx thinks about the offer, really considering the options.

“I will let up on my cruelty if you successfully use a pickup line. That seems up your ally.” Leon’s face twists into a definitive cringe.

“I’ll take anything at this point.” He sighs in defeat. “The next time he comes over, deal?” Soxx grins smugly and sticks out their paw to seal the metaphorical contract. The handshake is firm and determined on both their behalves.

When Usagi comes back to the table, (this time with Señor Hueso’s specialty hot sauce by request of Soxx) Leon starts sweating bullets again. Soxx can almost feel a feverish heat from across the table.

“Okay here’s that hot sauce. And I’m sure you know but please be *careful* that stuff is hot!” It’s the perfect set up. Soxx glances across the table in anticipation.

“Personally…” Leon catches the attention of the white rabbit, immediately feeling the confidence drain from his body. Letting a strangled giggle leave his throat, he continued. “Uhh… if you don’t m-mind my saying so… I-I think y-you’re hotter.”

Boom. Bullseye. Usagi’s whole face and ears turn bright red even through his fur. The delivery was scattered and clumsy, but it was endearing in its own way. Soxx sips smugly on the straw of their tea, watching the interaction go down.

“O-oh! Thank you!” Usagi’s work persona slips away for a brief second as his composure is also lost to the wind. The positive reaction seems to feed Leon’s ambition so he continues.

“Thank you for gracing me with your presence.” The massive grin that Leon brandishes could cure cancer. Usagi tries to stifle a giggle, and Soxx swears they can hear Leon swoon at the sound. They take another sip of xer tea.

“You’re very kind but I’m not all that special. I’m just a common rabbit.” Usagi reached back to pet one of his ears nervously, fundamentally driving Leon out of his mind. Soxx dips another slice of bread; it’s like watching a romcom.

“Common? I’ve never seen any rabbits like you before.” Leon’s demeanor changes quickly, as he regains his confidence.

“Oh, thats not strange. I’ve never seen a Kappa before now and they aren’t super rare.” Usagi waves his hand dismissively, not quite grasping the weight of his comment. Soxx glances back to Leon, watching his response carefully.

“Heh funny thing! I’m not actually a Kappa…” Leon shrinks down into his shell a bit, smiling nervously once again. “I’m a mutant. That’s why I prefer Hueso’s. Less stigma arou-” The waiter’s reaction throws any of Leon’s doubt out the window. Usagi cuts the turtle off by immediately leaning just a bit too close to his face, beaming excitedly.

“Woah! Did you get bit by one of those little bugs? I’ve heard so many stories! There aren’t any mutants where I’m from.” There’s a short beat of silence as the two hold a dazed eye contact, before Usagi’s eyes go wide. “Oh boy I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have… this is my first real job so I’m having a hard time staying professional.”

“No no no! Don’t stop!” Leon butts in with uncomfortable urgency. “I mean…” he clears his throat, glancing around anxiously. “Uhh, where are you from?”

“Japan. It’s got some of the most populated yokai cities in the world.” Usagi smiles at the thought of home.

“Ah! こんばんは!” (Good evening!) Leon says the word a little bit jokingly, but gets into more than he bargained for.

「こんばんは! 日本語は私の第一言語です。上手に話せますか？」(Good evening! Japanese is my first language. Do you speak it well?) The blank stare that Leon gives him says more than enough, as Usagi chuckles to himself.

“Well…” The rabbit sighs comfortably as he straightens his apron. “I’ll leave you two to finish your food. Flag me down whenever you’re ready for your checks.” Soxx watches Leon’s gaze follow Usagi until he’s out of sight. Soxx slurps xer tea loudly, eyes locked across the table.

“What?” Leon prompts, waiting for them to pick up the pensil. They don’t. Soxx just keeps staring, putting on the smallest sly smile. “Okay you want me to say it. I have too many infuriating brothers not to see right through you.” Leon’s eyes narrow in a mix of frustration and disgust. “You… were… euch!… right. Oh wow that was so hard to say.” Soxx gives a small nod, picking up their pensil.

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure doing business with you.” Soxx performs a mock bow, fluffing their feathers contently.

“I feel like I made a deal with the devil. What are you some kind of soul stealing Cupid?” Leon rolls his eyes in a similar kind of false irritation, waving a finger at their face accusingly.

“Something like that.” Soxx smiles up to their ears, shrugging as they finish their last slice of pizza.

Once both of them finish their food, Leon bashfully waves Usagi over; Soxx had refused to do it themself, opting to be entertained instead.

“Here are your checks! I hope you both enjoyed your time at Run of the Mill pizza. Especially you…” A light blush dusts the rabbit’s cheeks as he hands Leon his check. Leon smiles sheepishly and nods a quiet thank you. It isn’t until after Usagi walks off that Leon takes a look at the check.

“Oh my god.” Leon’s jaw drops, violently grabbing Soxx’s attention. “It’s his phone number!” Leon groans, flopping his face on the table. “That was supposed to be my move!” Soxx grins and rolls their eyes as they place down a handful of silver coins on the check. Leon opts instead for American bills, placing down an extra $20 for Usagi.

“Well, I don’t want anybody wondering where I am. Mikey should be getting home from culinary school right about now. Plus I don’t want the pizza to get cold.” Leon checks his phone leisurely, before standing from his seat and grabbing his stack of pizzas.

“Of course! It was really nice meeting you though.” Soxx pushes away the disappointment that creeps up at Leon needing to leave.

“Ya know you’re pretty cool. Wanna meet up again tomorrow night? I can bring my brothers so you can meet them too.” His tone and expression both indicate sincerity, but still Soxx hesitates.

‘Meet even more people? Are his brothers as energetic and loud as he is? Even if they are, Soxx could probably spend the first half of the day recharging in preparation and be okay. They would need -‘

“Soxx?” Leon interrupts their train of thought. Xe shakes their head a bit and shoots him an inquisitive look. “I was just saying there’s no pressure or anything. If you’re busy or just don’t want to that’s okay.” This time Soxx is far more sure of their answer.

“Yeah, let’s do it. It’ll be good to make some more friends.” The words seem awkward on paper, but the good intent is there.

“Yes!” Leon seems to have a more childish air about him upon hearing their response. “I’ll see you here at 6pm tomorrow then. I’ll bring my hermanos!” Leon draws one of his katanas and waves it in a fluid circular motion. Soxx jumps up in shock, only to see a glowing blue portal spinning into existence. Xe watches Leon disappear into the portal with his pizzas. They reached a hand out to get his attention but the portal was already closed by the time they had done so.

6pm is dinner rush.

[wri0thesley]

Could I get some Gojo face sitting please 👉🏻👈🏻🥺 Maybe with a chubby reader?

fool for love - gojo x reader (2.25k)

gojo asks you to try something, and you can never say no to him. 

(warnings: nsfw, afab reader, fem pronouns (pet names). explicitly chubby reader, mentions of worries about weight/body. cunnilingus/facesitting)

Sometimes you think it’s a good job that you and Satoru Gojo are a couple; you’re absolutely certain that nobody but you would put up with him. You’re totally convinced that you’re the only fool in the world who sees his arrogant smirk and the thrust of his chin and the cocky set of his shoulders, listens to him go on and on about himself and about his work and about his strength, and wants to kiss him instead of kill him.

You do kiss him, coincidentally. A lot. Partly because when he’s kissing you, he’s not running his mouth – partly because the taste of his lips on yours and the feel of his hands on your waist, pulling you in, is addictive. You can’t get enough of him – and luckily, it seems that he can’t get enough of you either.

So when Gojo had thrown out this suggestion, casually, as if he was asking you what you two were going to order for dinner that night (you’ve never seen Gojo make anything more complicated than a ramen cup), it had not taken you long to agree.

Faced with it, though – Gojo situated on the bed, arm stretched over his head, grin on his face – you begin to wonder if maybe it’s such a good idea.

“Don’t back out on me now,” he says, the cocky grin not leaving his face. “I’ve been dying to taste you for hours.”

You shift uncomfortably on the other side of the bed, suddenly horribly aware of the curves of your body. No matter how Gojo’s words send a thrill through you – you know from experience he’s good with his tongue – you can’t deny that you’re a little afraid.

It’s easy to forget the difference between the two of you when he’s got you pressed underneath him on the mattress, cock plunging in and out, mouth hungrily kissing every patch of skin he can get at. When Gojo looks at you with his hair falling in his face and his eyes like starlit galaxies, you feel beautiful – but you’re not sure if you’ll feel quite the same way straddling his face.

He sees the way you bite your lip, the anxiety beginning to show in your gaze – and Gojo softens. You see him like this rarely (he’s proud more than he’s caring), but he’s shown this side of him to you every so often, when something has made you draw in on yourself. One of his hands wraps around your bare shoulders, pulling you to face him.

“Hey, doll,” he says, pressing his nose against yours affectionately. “What’s got you pouting, huh?”

“I . . .” You swallow. You feel so embarrassed admitting it! Gojo has never said anything about your body beyond how much he loves having your hips to hold onto, how he loves your thighs wrapped around his waist, how soft and warm you are tangled up beside him in bed – but your insecurities always seem to flash back up at the most inopportune of moments. “I’m just . . .” You blink, biting your lip. Your voice comes out in a soft breath. “I’m worried I’ll be too heavy.”

Gojo’s eyebrows draw in. You must have seen him without anything shading his eyes a hundred times now, when the two of you are in the bedroom, but you are still knocked back by just how pretty he is – the constellations in his irises, the fan of his white eyelashes against perfect skin. The expression makes his mouth jut out, so kissable that it takes your breath away.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” he says, as if the very idea is laughable. “I could lift you over my head right now--”

He reaches for you as if he’s going to do it, arms locking about your waist – the tension breaks as he effortlessly pulls you back, your body landing on top his. He doesn’t so much as let out a ‘whumph’ of air at the sensation of your body hitting his.

“I’m the strongest, remember?” There’s more than a note of swagger in his voice; he is so very proud of that accomplishment. You suppose he has every right to be.

“I guess,” you breathe, and he makes a soft harrumphing sound before his fingers twist into your hair, pulling you close to him to kiss you.

“You guess?” He sounds mock offended against your lips. “I guess that means I’ll have to show you exactly what I mean, huh?”

A nip at your lower lip; his hands roaming your bare back, stroking the curve of your ass and hips. Everywhere Gojo’s long fingers touch leaves a trail of fire behind, like he’s branding you with the pressure of his fingertips. You imagine them leaving glowing trails behind the colour of his eyes – but the coil of heat that they’re helping stoke, low in your belly, is more red than anything else.

“How’re you gonna do that?” You breathe against the softness of his mouth. He tastes like sugar; he always does. You can’t get enough of him, dizzy and breathless. You would gorge yourself on him if you could.

“Take a seat on your throne, princess,” he grins, letting his head hit the pillows hard. His pale hair spreads out all around him like a halo as he moves a hand from your hip to tap his mouth with his fingers. “And find out.”

You guess it would shut him up. Gojo’s mouth can’t keep moving if he’s got you occupying it. And you also can’t deny that the thought of it – riding his face – is more than half of the reason your inner thighs are slick with your arousal. Still . . . what if you really are too heavy for him?

Gojo murmurs your name softly – you meet his eyes again, and you see softness and tenderness reflected in them, despite the fact that his mouth is still shaped into a cocky smirk. You know if you say no, he probably won’t push you. But . . . you don’t want to say no. You push yourself up from his chest.

He’s still wearing his underwear, and you wonder if he can sense how damp you are where you briefly straddle him – because you can certainly feel how stiff he is, the outline of his cock pressing against silken boxer shorts (yeah, of course he’s a silk underwear kind of man – you���ve seen them countless times, but just how Gojo that particular detail of him is never fails to make you smile).

“Okay,” you breathe. “I hope you’re comfy.”

Gojo’s face splits into a grin as you move yourself, your knees suddenly either side of his face, his cheeks pressing against the softness of your thighs.

“Babe,” he starts to say, “I’m absolutely the com—mmppf--”

His gloating is cut off by you sitting on his face. The whisper of his breath across your heated folds as he’d spoken had been too tempting, your sex feeling like it was pulsing in time with your heartbeat – and so, you’d given in. Using your hands as leverage on the headboard of the bed, you’d sunk fully onto your knees and muffled Gojo’s words.

Oh, God.

Your mind blanks out at first, as Gojo’s tongue goes at you hungrily. For his first hungry licks at your core, he’s voracious – he seems to want to drink you up like fine wine. Gojo does not drink – you know this very well – but if he could get drunk on your slick, you think he’d already be unable to stand up. One of the hands on the headboard goes to tangle in the fluffy strands of his pale hair instead, and he looks up at you for a moment, pausing with the flat of his tongue pressed against the throbbing bud of your clit.

The sight of his eyes between your thighs almost pushes you over the edge there and then – looking down at him feels like tumbling down a rabbit hole, like you’ll never be able to pull yourself out of their lovely depths. He makes a soft noise against your folds that has you practically vibrating, your toes curling – and you realise it’s a question.

Maybe he’s asking you what’s wrong, maybe he’s asking you if you want to stop, but your mind is all hazy from the feeling of his mouth on you. So all you do is tug at his hair and gasp, your hips rolling forward against him to try and coax his tongue into flickering across your clit like you’re longing for it to do.

“Satoru,” you whimper, voice all thin and reedy like a prayer, and Gojo does not need any more encouragement than that to return to his work.

Gojo’s hands rest on your hips and even you feel small for a second, the length of his fingers and size of his palm almost overwhelming. There’s so much power in the way he holds you – so much strength behind the casual clench of his fingers into your plush. He keeps you anchored there as he uses the flat swathe of his tongue to lap at you all at once, briefly teasing your entrance before he twirls his tongue around your clit like someone licking whipped cream off of a fancy dessert--

He’s caught you watching him do exactly that out of the corner of your eye many times before, and grinned at you widely with a hungry murmur that he’ll devour you in exactly the same way if you want him too.

Does he not need to breathe?

You lose track of how long you’ve been sat on his face for. You can’t think of anything else with the warm, wet muscle of Gojo’s tongue teasing you. He thrusts it in and out of your entrance, making your entire body jerk and your walls try and cling to him, constrict around him. He flicks his tongue so fast over the bud of your clit that you can’t understand how he does it, it can’t be human to move that fast--

All through it, the tension tight in your stomach is getting hotter and tighter and needier, like a instrument's string being tuned to its breaking point.

You can barely breathe. There’s nothing but Gojo’s insistent lapping at your core, the thrust of his tongue in and out of your channel (has Gojo’s tongue always been so long? It feels just as good inside of you as his fingers always do, but different--). Your hips are rocking and grinding against his face against your will, your fingers twisting into his hair. You’ve lost your senses completely in the chase of your release, hovering tantalisingly close--

Gojo gives your clit one final, soft lap, the barest hint of his teeth against the hood and you burst into bloom for him like a flower. The string snaps and heat floods your body, Gojo’s name escaping you in a wail. Fireworks burst into being behind your eyelids.

Gojo’s tongue follows through, coaxing you through the soft, gentle aftershocks of your orgasm even as your thighs are trembling and your grip on the headboard is beginning to loosen. If it weren’t for his hands on your hips, you would probably fall forward and hit your head on the wall, passing out – but Gojo’s assessment of his strength wasn’t for naught, and your spent body is being pulled down so your heated cheeks are pressed against Gojo’s firm chest. You blink up at him in your exhausted, pleasure-drunk state--

The entire lower half of his mouth is dripping wet, glinting with your arousal and his own drool from how hungrily his tongue was going at you. But his eyes are as sharp as ever, drinking you in like you’re the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen – as if he can’t believe that you’d ever doubt yourself.

Nobody would believe you if you told them how Gojo gets, sometimes – if you told them about the smile-softened eyes and the softer words, the way he holds you like a precious treasure that might break at any moment. He leans down and strokes some hair from your eyes, almost lazy.

“I told you I was the strongest,” he says, and even though it’s a boast, his voice and manner is so soft that you barely register it. You’re smiling up at him like a fool. Maybe it’s foolish to love him as much as you do – but if it is, you don’t want to be clever. You don’t want to be anything but his, here, in his bed, sprawled out across him, lazy and sated.

You kiss the bit of his chest directly beneath your lips lazily, needing to express your affection for this arrogant, gorgeous, irrepressible (perfect) man.

He sighs at the contact, shifting – and you’re reminded of what’s currently lying beneath his own underwear, hot and needy and thick. It’s a testament to Gojo’s willpower he hasn’t mentioned it yet.

You smile at him. One more minute of relaxing on his chest – of having your hair played with, of getting to look at him . . . and then, you’ll see to that.

Gojo’s eyes are just as gorgeous when you’re knelt between his thighs as they are when he’s trapped between yours, after all.

[madametrashbin]

Timeless Emotions

This is probably shorter and this is self-indulgent because Guoba has all my attention during the Moonchase Event... LIKE LOOK AT HIM THROUGHOUT THE WHOLE EVENT! HE’S SO FUCKING ADORABLE AND I WILL DO EVERYTHING FOR HIM! AHHHHHH!!

Ahem, anyways... enjoy me wishing I could just hug him and have him as my cuddle/snacking buddy... I’mofficiallySAGAUobsessedskjskjskjskjs

Before I forget, I’m the type of person who won’t keep things the same in terms of timeline so it might be confusing to see like several thousand different manners of initial entry lmao.

Marchosius, just like all other Gods, loved and revered the faceless God that existed beyond the boundary of their fabricated world.

Even as time has passed, even after he had sacrificed his power and knowledge to quell the calamities that threatened the people of Liyue, his adoration for the faceless God has never waned.

So when he meets them, or rather, saw them from afar while they wandered around the Harbor alone, that forgotten part of him reignites back to life as he quickly made his way over to them. Of course, Xiangling noticed his departing figure and called out to him, but he was too occupied with the distant figure to hear it.

Only when he touched their hand did they notice him, and when he felt something so achingly familiar... like home... like the stars, he knew immediately that they were someone important.

Human they may appear, he could never really mistake this sensation as anything else.

The nostalgia that runs through his veins, the many faded memories in his mind that had lost their clarity through the years he had been asleep... he feels the happiest he’s ever been, seeing this person in front of him gave him the most joyful feeling that makes him feel so satisfied.

It was different from eating all the wonderful meals he was given, and different from watching people passionately cook to their heart’s content... but it was a wonderful feeling all the same.

Although Marchosius may no longer be present in these times, but he will always adore them no matter the form he takes or the current state he is in.

“Hmm?”

You looked down when you felt something- a paw, grab your hand. You were lost in Liyue Harbor, alone since you first woke up alone in the outskirts of Qingce Village. You spent some time there before leaving, wanting to see the rest of the world you once saw behind the screen of your monitor.

You arrived to Liyue Harbor after travelling for a week, surprisingly fortunate enough not to encounter any trouble on your way there.

Now you’re lost as hell since the city was much bigger in perso nthan you thought... and there was so much more people inside the city, making it so much more disorienting and likely that you’d get swept away and lost among the sea of people.

You had managed to get out of the bustling crowd to take a breather before you arrived at your current predicament... which honestly wasn’t that much of a problem, considering the cute little happy face you’re seeing right now.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You say mostly to yourself, crouching down and petting the former God who makes a happy noise from the touch.

“It’s nice to meet you, Marcho-- ah, I mean Guoba.”

You almost used his old name, mostly because you’re still trying to keep up with your current situation of being in a whole new world that you knew of as a game... plus his old name was pretty cool too, had a nice ring to it... but considering his situation, Guoba sounded much more fitting for the endearing character that he is now.

“Where is Xiangling? Shouldn’t you be with her?”

The little creature could not reply in words, having lost that in his time asleep, only making a few delighted noises before pointing over to Wanmin Restaurant at the distance.

This was how you ended up settling with Chef Mao, helping around with your surprising kitchen expertise (that you honestly were pretty sure you shouldn’t have since you were just a basic civilian that lives off of fast food and takeout) and pretty much integrated into the Wanmin Restaurant until the rest of the characters came across you.

Although the changes have grown to be more exhausting after each new revelation for your mental and emotional wellbeing, just having Guoba around grounded you... something that you were incredibly thankful for as you fed him homemade Chili-Mince Cornbread Buns while spending some time in the peaceful silence... even if you could feel the ever watchful eyes drilling into you from the shadows.

However, hearing Guoba’s joyful noises always brought a smile to your face, easily helping you get over the causes of your stress as you enjoy your snacks with him.

Ever since the day he met them, they’ve been living with him and the father-daughter duo he happily calls family, entertaining him when there wasn’t much to do and helping around the kitchen with him when it was busy. It was even better when they made all these wonderful food, both familiar and unfamiliar that made him feel better.

Many people came ever since they stayed, the restaurant is always busy and people seem happier and filled with so much more energy after eating meals they made. 

Even though he never truly understood the intense feeling of adoration he constantly felt around them, he knew that they were someone important to him and that he wanted to stay by their side forever... he does get concerned when they go traveling with Xiangling, very worried that they’ll get hurt while they were helping Xiangling find inspiration for a new dish.

Not to mention when he has to leave them, he feels an intense sensation of sadness of being away from them, the strong temptation to run back and stay by their side growing stronger the further he was from them. While he was very much curious about these feelings, he doesn’t dwell on them knowing that when he comes back to Wanmin Restaurant, they’ll always be there.

Even if more people, both familiar and unfamiliar come to flock around the restaurant and take up more of their time upon seemingly realizing something, he always knew that they would make time for him and relax alongside him when it was just the two of them.

They always smiled, happily indulging in his desires for hugs and sharing snacks together... even if there were some strange people staring at them from the shadows that he noticed from afar.

In the end, it didn’t matter what he or others thought... their desires and feelings mattered more than anything else, so he tries his best to make sure they would smile no matter what. 

Whether it would be by letting them hold him and carry him around when they travelled with Xiangling and her friends, or dine together in a rather secluded spot away from the loud noises, whatever makes them smile was all he seeks to see as the warm feelings within him would bloom into a rejuvenating sensations that leaves him satisfied much like the wonderful food he is fed.

Nothing beats the familiar sensation of home, after all.

[cinnamonest]

Xiao - Yandere Profile

Y’all big horny for yaksha boi too??? Excellent.

Remember how I said Kaeya and Diluc were like a game on hard mode? Xiao is Dark Souls on the 6th stacked difficulty of New Game Plus.

I really like Xiao on an analytical level because he's an excellent candidate for the debate some have as to the nature of selfless vs selfish love... He's a good one to analyze for that debate bc holy fuck does this man have some of the most selfish, inconsiderate love out there. He's brutal as fuck. I feel like his would be such an interesting balance of wanting returned affection and being really obsessive, yet being so uncompromising and not really at all hesitant to wreck your shit. This is the longest one I've made, too, I had a lot of thoughts lmao.

Fun fact, when I first heard his name was Xiao I assumed it would be the hanzi for "dawn" since I've seen that used in Chinese given names sometimes... Nope, I'd never seen the hanzi for his name before so I looked it up and it's like an impish demon creature lol

I had a dilemma between to go for tsunyandere or kuuyandere, but I was in a dark content mood so I kinda went kuuyandere route.

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tws: mentions of mutilation (on reader), mentions of violence and torture (on rivals), kidnapping, Xiao is very lacking in empathy and borders on sociopathic behavior (which can be triggering to some people), mentions of misogyny bc I'm just gross like that, generally dark and awful

tws (below cut): noncon, more mentions of mutilation goddammit Xiao, forced submission, also generally dark and awful

This is probably the darkest one I've written, so, that's a fair warning.

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What are they generally like? Lucid, aware? Obsessive? How do they behave?

Aware, over time, and very irritated by it, really. He's above... Feeling things. He changes with time. He starts off a bit irritated, flustered even, which is something he's never really experienced before. Honestly exemplifies the "boys are mean to you because they like you" trope, he will go out of his way to be harsher and colder towards you because how dare you make him... Feel things. He'll be exceptionally harsh in how he speaks to you, even more than others. But... once he realizes it drives you away, he'll realize that he actually wants you around him.

But that's the thing - Xiao doesn't normally go out of his way to do anything to anyone, really. He's cold and a bit aggressive because he's bothered by or just doesn't really enjoy people, but if they leave him alone, he leaves them alone. You're different - he feels a weird, uncomfortable feeling in your presence, but he still wants your presence anyway. It's a lot of new sensations for him, and it's overwhelming. So many new feelings.

One, he doesn't understand why his stomach flutters when you smile at him, why chills run down his spine when you accidentally brush your hand across his. Well, he understands what it usually means for humans - but he's not human, surely, there's no way he could possibly experience that same "love" humans do, right?

Love is horrible after all - he's seen how humans obsess over it, how much tragedy it can bring to their lives, and, in particular, how much of a fool of themselves humans often make when "in love", especially the men.

He thinks he's above the human feelings, so he'll deny it to himself at first. It will likely be some kind of breaking point for him, particularly one in which you're in danger. Normally, he couldn't care less about people in danger - if someone isn't strong enough to protect themselves, they die, that's just how the world works. But he sees you shoved down, another human looming over you with murderous intent in their eyes, he sees the fear on your face and the tears streaming down and something in him snaps and bursts and gives way to the intense emotions he's tried to shove down. He'll go wild, and make quick work of the offender. And you'll thank him for saving you of course, even if the display was a bit horrifying to see.

It's not only that intense nervousness in the others presence, but an enjoyment of their presence. It's so contradictory and he hates it - he feels so nervous, so jittery around you, yet at the same time, something about your presence, your smiles, your voice is addictive to him and he needs more of it. He enjoys spending time with you - a new sensation.

Over time, as he becomes aware of how he feels, he becomes less flustered, more stone-faced and matter of fact about it. He accepts that he feels a sense of affection, now his concern is how to handle it. He just has no idea how to begin going about it. Does he just try to suppress it? Act on it? He acknowledges the possibility of rejection, what then? Of course, rejection wouldn't make him stop wanting you with him, it wouldn't even really deter him, but it would make things more difficult than if you accepted it. He spends a while contemplating, just trying to make sense of it all.

He ends up laying awake at night with you in his mind - it's pathetic, it irritates him. No human is important enough to occupy his mind. And yet, even if he tries, he can't stop. And, as much as it disgusts him, he finds himself feeling very physical sensations when thinking about you. That's the most irritating part, to him. He's always viewed humans' drive to copulate as disgusting, and really a pathetic weakness - again, he's seen the absolutely foolish things human men do and the extensive lengths they go to for just a spare crumb of sex. So the first few times he ends up getting a physical reaction to those late night thoughts, he'll try to ignore the throbbing and just go about his night, but eventually it starts to get painful. That's the point at which he decides he can't just sit around and do nothing.

How likely are they to kidnap their darling? How quickly will they do so?

Unavoidable. But not the absolute fastest. He's far too confused by his feelings at first, and doesn't understand why he has the urge to do so. He'll experiment, spending time around you, trying to figure himself out. His prideful tsundere nature comes out then -- it's not like he enjoys your presence, no. He feels something very strange about you, and one of the possibilities in his mind is that perhaps he's being drawn to you because his subconscious perceives you as an enemy, perhaps. Something in him knows that you're up to no good, so he has to follow you, maybe. Those reasons are far more likely than actually enjoying being around you, he thinks.

As he comes to understand it better and is forced to acknowledge that he feels an affection for you, he begins to feel a darker urge. One of the things that forces him to recognize said affection is how much it irritates him to see you talk to others. He rationalizes this, as it is perfectly normal for humans to feel jealousy, isn't it? ... But are humans this upset when they see their beloved talk to their own family? Is it normal? Is it a thing with just the males, and that's why he feels that way? Surely the humans don't get this upset, or else they wouldn't let their beloveds have friends and speak to others, right? He doesn't really feel guilt for the urges, but he does feel bothered by the notion of having some abnormal desire, wonder if there's something wrong with him.

Well, he starts thinking back to history, and all the things he's witnessed, and that gives him... an idea. Teyvat has been around a long time. There have been several cultures and societies that did keep lovers... restrained. Confined to a house... forbidden from speaking to others... and that idea sounds nice, he thinks. Back in those days, no one would bat an eye at his desire to keep you away from the world, right? So really, it's not abnormal or weird at all. Things just change with time, but there's nothing abnormal about him, it's perfectly normal to want to prevent you from ever speaking to anyone else ever again. Sure, those cultures never went that far, but... it's the same idea, right?

So, he decides, there's nothing wrong with him, and in that case, he doesn't have any guilt or concern for your desires to hold him back. He's another one to take a fairly barbaric route -- he'll be one to show up while you sleep, clamp a hand over your mouth, gag you and tie you up, before leaving right out your window. He'll find an isolated, quiet, well-hidden place to reside, one with an enclosed, windowless room to keep you confined.

He doesn't like it, but he's not completely lacking in understanding human psychology. He wouldn't like to be in your shoes, wouldn't like if someone did to him what he's going to do to you, so he understands why you'll be upset, he prepares for it, even. He's not a delusional. So, from the beginning, he's already planning out how to make you compliant and love him. He settles on a simple tactic: utilize what he knows to force your human nature to love him.

How difficult is it to escape from them? How do they keep you restrained? How do they deal with attempted escape? 

Once you do get kidnapped, it's pretty tight security. Kind of like Albedo, he'll take you far away from society. Again, he's not super concerned with your desire on the matter, since this is about keeping you with him, it's about his imperatives. He doesn't really want to harm you, though, so there is a slight consideration. He's stuck on a balance of wanting to keep you agreeable and obedient, but keeping you confined is most important, so he'll try to keep it a bit comfortable. He'll get you a nice bed, very soft things. He's so nice, he'll even get you leather cuffs instead of metal ones. But you will be getting restrained, and no amount of begging will get him to take them off. He'll also give you nothing to do, and probably nothing to wear. Clothes are a waste and totally unnecessary when no one but him sees you. And the boredom will make you compliant. You'll be so unbearably bored that talking to him will be like a privilege. You'll start to look forward to it. You'll bond with him. He'll be your only source of mental stimulation. He's smart enough to figure that out when he's in the planning stages of your confinement, and already has this planned out.

Because he... struggles to feel high amounts of empathy when it's about what he wants, it's doubtful he'll ever really lighten up without incentive. Sure, he could lighten up on your restraints, but why should he? Sure, it would alleviate your suffering, but it would present the slightest chance of an escape. Your comfort isn't worth the insecurity and worry he'd have throughout the day. Why would he be so foolish as to feel that it was?

Escape attempts are an ultimate transgression to Xiao. He understands your stubbornness and anger to the extent that they don't hurt him too much, but an escape attempt is one of the few things you can do that make him feel genuine hurt. You won't get away for long, he will hunt you down in no time and he will ensure you're discouraged from ever attempting that again. He's not very hesitant to be brutal. Really, he doesn't want to hurt you just for the sake of it, but he knows how powerful fear and pain are. He'll make sure you are strongly dissuaded from another attempt. If you're, miraculously, brave enough to try again, he'll have to take a step further and make sure you can't.

How easy are they to trick, deceive, or manipulate?

Don't. He's not stupid, he tells you, the moment you try anything. And you really, really, really should be trying to avoid making him mad. Honestly, if you're at this point, you'd have to be either incredibly unafraid of pain, or just crazy to try and do anything that could result in his anger. He'll shut it down almost immediately, and tell you exactly that.

How lenient are they? What privileges can you have, and what will you be denied?

He knows you need food and all that, so he'll generally get you whatever you want to make for yourself. He's got a limited list of things he's willing to eat so you'll quickly find yourself asking for the privilege of getting different foods please I'm begging you for something other than almond tofu, and he'll get you whatever you ask for, at least in that regard. He's not going to starve you or anything. But you'll find it's probably one of the only things you get much of a choice on.

If you want any relief from the harsh restraint and boredom, you have one option: succumb.

No amount of disobedience or disagreeableness will have him letting up on you. You might think you can hold out and be stubborn long enough to get him to cave, but you'd be wrong. You will crack before he does, and he knows it. He'll simply punish your disobedience, and wait out a bit more. And wait, and wait, and wait, because you won't last long. It's inevitable that you will succumb to him, start to crave him, start to be sweet and affectionate, and bond with him. At that point, maybe he'll let you walk around - hey, getting your muscles back to normal from the atrophy can be a bonding activity. And he might give you some approved tasks or books or the like. But at the first sign of a regression, the first sign of disobedience, the first sign of rejection from you, that will be gone, and you'll have to earn it back, starting back at square one.

What kind of rules do they have? What kind of punishment would they use?

Don't run away. Obey everything he says.

He doesn't make a rule against fighting him, really, and he doesn't need to. You'll be far too terrified of him to try, and even if you did, it would be like swatting a fly, he could disarm and incapacitate you in seconds.

And now, we get into one of the darker yanderes. Once again, Xiao doesn't really get emotions too well, and doesn’t understand his own all that much. His brain thinks in actions and results. If you're trying to run away, he'll simply have to make it so that you can't... ever again. He is one of the most likely yanderes to be open to truly, permanently incapacitating you to a severe degree to keep you with him. He understands why you're upset, but surely you knew the consequences, right? You tried to run away, it only makes sense that he would do something like this, you should understand that, even if you don't like it. You're foolish to try and talk him out of it, what, do you think he's going to be persuaded by you crying? If you were that opposed to it, you shouldn't have tried to run. Really, he doesn't understand why you humans do things as if there's no consequences.

Xiao... doesn't feel guilt. When it's something unintentional, something he didn't mean to do, he can, but when it's about what he wants? There's none, really. He usually goes on what works best for him, and for the most part, that's keeping you happy. But when your happiness goes against keeping you with him, his imperative takes priority. You'll get over it eventually, and he'll help you. He can carry you wherever you need to go, you don't need to walk.

How do they deal with rivals, or perceived rivals? Will they get rid of them? Will they kill them themselves, or find another way?

Eek.

Yeah it won't be pretty. He gets mad about rivals, and he perceives everyone as one. He's another one that doesn't really distinguish between romantic rivals and rivals for attention - your family and friends are just as much of a problem as any love interests, because you smile at them, you pay attention to them, you like them, and just that knowledge makes an unbearable rage boil inside him.

He's desensitized to violence, and doesn't really understand how it affects normal people - he won't think of how it might affect you to see it, so slaughtering people in front of you comes naturally to him. He's actually one of the ones who might get angry enough to make it slow, making sure they know what they did wrong, even if that consisted of simply being a stranger who smiled at you. If you react negatively, he won't really understand. He has some, but doesn't possess a lot of empathy. He'll chalk it up to you being a hysterical, emotional human with your incapacitating aversion to violence. He's glad he doesn't have such a strong aversion. Would make his job rather difficult.

How easy is it to make them mad? What does their anger look like?

He's pretty easily set off. He gets frustrated because he thinks you're being unnecessarily difficult, and frankly he's very used to getting his way with things immediately. In his life, most of the things he wants are either given to him very easily, or are easily obtainable with a simple exertion of violence. Usually he can just, well, kill and slaughter and maim his way to any result he desires. This is one of the first issues he's dealt with that violence won't solve. Well... maybe not the extent he's used to. But nonetheless, perhaps a bit of controlled violence can solve his problems, at least to an extent.

His anger is, as you can imagine, terrifying. Sure, he'll reassure you that he won't kill you, but you can't get out of your head the images of the things you've seen him do by that point, the people you've undoubtedly seen die and suffer at his hands. He snarls and speaks in a deep, booming voice when he's at his angriest, and it's enough to make you panic. If he's angry enough, he knows he can't be around you, because he fears hurting you further than he means to, so he'll likely leave. If it's enough that he feels he can control it, though, it's not pretty. He's one to hold something in his hands and squeeze it to alleviate anger so hard it breaks. Just hope that doesn't happen to be your hand, arm, shoulder, or any other part of your person.

So they see you as above them, beneath them, or equal to them?

He doesn't... really care? I'm tempted to say far below, but really, the whole concept of relative value of humans and status and the like holds no meaning to him. He thinks it's foolish and pointless to even ponder such things.

As for his superiority in certain things, it's different. He's smarter than you. He's stronger than you. He's faster, he's more perceptive, he's more capable, he's wiser, he's more skilled. These things are just facts, they are the undeniable reality, he thinks. However, he doesn't really assign these things as having any ties to the relative value of an individual, and in his mind, humans don't really, either. Didn't they prioritize the lives of children? Children are far lesser in every way, but humans treat them as most important, even if they rightfully see them as inferior in every way. So it's the same with him, he thinks. In every field, you're inferior, but that doesn't really matter, worth and relative position are worthless human ideas.

As for treatment, however, he treats you as lower, which is all that really matters. He wants obedience and submission, and he'll get it, no matter what extent he has to go to.

How determined are they for you to love them? How hard will they try to make it happen? Or are they content just having you?

He's in the middle - one of the ones that would LIKE for you to love them, but in the end, even if they feel like you never will, they still want you anyway. He'll never stop trying, though.

He's got a lot of pride and wouldn't resort to groveling and desperately trying the way some would. Like a few others, he kinda automatically feels like he deserves the things he wants, including your love. But his unfamiliarity with human emotions leads him to be a little confused and unable to read you. He knows humans play "hard to get," and may assume that's what you're doing. And he recognizes that by kidnapping you, he is removing you from your friends and family, so he concludes that you're only mean to him because you're mad. And anger settles down with time, right? He also knows that, even if humans don't like someone, if they're forced to spend time around them, they'll form a bond. So what he concludes is that simply time is needed. Time to let anger simmer down, time to forget about those others, time to inevitably come to depend on him.

With his experimentation, what he discovers is that even if you aren't affectionate, he is still happier with your presence than without. So he'll keep you no matter what, he decides. You'll come around eventually. And gradually, even if it's ever so slow, you will. You will, no matter how hard you may fight it, the effects of such isolation are ultimately inevitable.

Some yanderes might be upset by the notion that they have to mentally deteriorate their darling to obtain love - they want you to love them "organically" and feel like love born from mindbreak and isolation isn't "real." You might think he'd be like that, due to his tendency to be prideful, but he's actually not. Xiao doesn't understand emotions well enough to distinguish little differences like that. Sure he had to use a strategy, but it's still love, isn't it? It's the same thing, so why should how it came about matter? It took a little bit of extra work, is all. And although he won't say so, he thinks you're worth it.

Bonus: Is there anything that makes them unique, in comparison to other yanderes?

Is somewhat reluctant to confess to you and may try to come up with some other reason as to why he did it, but it's kinda obvious when he's so concerned about you, so blushy and flustered in the beginning and the way he runs his hands through your hair when he thinks you're asleep. But yeah, initially he might try to think up some way to explain why your kidnapping is for some other weird complex reason he made up, and not just because he really REALLY wants you all to himself.

He's also very matter-of-fact about things. He says things with a straight face, no matter how horrifying, sweet, or inappropriate they may be. Doesn't matter if he's finally confessing his love, talking about how he wants to keep you locked away forever, or threatening to break your legs, it'll all generally be carried with the same facial expression and tone of voice. The only difference is the eye contact and slight blush if it's one of the former.

You may be able to catch moments of vulnerability, especially late-stage, months into your new life. If you've been highly affectionate, and he trusts you, he might seek some reassurance every now and then, in a soft, quiet voice, for a few precious moments of gentleness that don't come very often.

As aforementioned, Xiao has little to no sense of empathy nor guilt when it comes to obtaining the things he desires. What he does feel is wanting you to be happy... because it makes him feel good inside. In a way, you could say his love is incredibly selfish, because it's entirely about his happiness when it comes down to it. Normally, seeing you happy makes him happy, so your imperatives line up. And he's willing to maybe change some things to make you happier -- ok, fine, sure, he won't torture them to death, he'll just kill them. But he has limits to how much he'll compromise for you. Ultimately, when your imperatives don't align with his, he won't even consider yours for a mere moment. His brain just can't really consider anything but acting for his own desires. When he gets mad at people for hurting you, it's because it's an insult to him. It's part of why he's one that will settle for having you - ultimately, what he wants matters more than your happiness... but that's because he wants you, and loves you so, so much, you know? Don't think it's not love, though. It's incredibly selfish, self-serving, and inconsiderate, but it's hard to say it's not love.

Somewhat relating to the above, he realizes pretty quickly you're likely afraid of him, especially after what you've undoubtedly witnessed by that point. He doesn't want that, really. He wants a healthy level of fear, just enough to avoid running away, but he doesn't like seeing you cry and tremble because you're so afraid of his brutality. He doesn't help, though, because he thinks you fear death, and death alone, and in his lack of understanding, he will go through a very specific list of exactly what he will do, which frankly would only serve to make things worse.

"It's alright... I won't kill you, you know. You're foolish if you don't understand the difference... They only died because they wanted to take you away from me. You're the reason they died, so, I wouldn't kill you... I've already decided what to do at certain points. If you try to run away once or twice, I'll just break your legs, and if you try a third time, I can just take your legs off. That should prevent any further attempts, so I have no reason to kill you. So you shouldn't be so upset... don't look so afraid all the time. What? No, I don't mean your whole legs... just at the feet. Why are you still crying? I can just take off one if it's that upsetting... It's only if you run away."

You should probably know that he doesn't make empty promises, either.

General perverseness: how sexual of a person are they? What’s their drive like? How touchy do they get? Do they have any reservations about sexuality?

Boy has no idea what to do. He's only ever jerked off and always feels disgusted when he does, he only has anatomical knowledge of female bodies from medical diagrams he's seen once or twice.  Not that he'll tell you that. But you'll know, I mean, once he forces your legs open he's just staring in both awe and confusion, probably just sits there for a moment slightly flustered because?? Where's he supposed to put it in?? How does he do this? He'll figure it out, but it might take a few rough thrusts of him just rutting against you.

Drive goes from non existent to highish, he's got what you call a reactive sexuality. Really, he used to just jerk off only to relieve the buildup, because he found it gross whenever it would happen in his sleep. Reactive sexualities are when a person doesn't have a super high drive on their own, but will react to stimuli from persons or sights around them, and will get significantly higher when around someone they love. Before, he never had anything to react to, so he rarely got horny, but now? He has you. And you... Trigger some reactions.

And that being said, he's so unfamiliar with horniness and sex that it's constantly an exploration process for him too. He'll spend some time just... learning. Touching here and there, figuring out what makes your breath hitch and toes curl. It's a fascinating thing to him, really.

He doesn't talk about it much, nor during, he just kind of... acts. You don't get much of a verbal warning, he'll just kind of pick you up and move you around to however he wants.

Pretty decently sized, but isn't aware of it. He hasn't had the opportunity to be around too many other people to know. If you try to tell him it's too big for you, he'll just be incredibly confused, isn't your body literally made to be able to do this? He's actually not going to get particularly smug or anything, he just sees it as an irritation that you're so reluctant and try to fight because of it, but he does like watching you convulse and squirm once he's already in you.

He's actually not that much of a sadist, so much as he likes power. Pain is par for the course, it's a part of every aspect of life and he's essentially desensitized to it. But power and control, now that does something for him.

How forceful are they? Do they care about your willingness?

Not particularly concerned with it. Once again, he's decided to utilize what he knows to maximize your acceptance and love. He knows that orgasms release a bunch of feel-good chemicals, that they cause bonding, that they make you more complacent, and, for the sake of submission, that it'll humiliate you and make you unable to really defy him, as he can hold it over your head, and with time you'll accept him. Over time, he knows, you'll come to crave any physical touch you can get. And while he's more than willing to hold you and sleep curled up with you, he'd be lying if he said this wasn't his favorite and preferred form of physical affection.

Besides, he's been fighting off the urges for forever at this point, he's not going to wait around. Pretty much will be ready to do it as soon as you wake up, and you'll probably already be bound up and lacking any clothes by the time you do. He's not very hesitant. It's yet another case of wanting what he wants and getting what he wants. He's one that will bound you up pretty heavily, hands tied above your head, legs pulled back and tied to the headboard, so it's not like you can do much against it anyway. He understands your hesitancy, be it out of anger or fear, but he's also hard and fast enough that you can't really form a lot of words, so it's not too discouraging.

What sort of kinks or fetishes do they have, or would they fill?

He's not really familiar with any at first, and he has to experiment around. You would think normally an inexperienced boy would want the female to take the lead, but noooo, he's way too proud for that.

Oral fixation

The most shameful one to him. It's disgusting, he thinks, it's unnatural, it goes against the very purpose of sex to procreate, but he knows it exists, he's heard of how it goes and God when you talk and smile he desperately wants to see your mouth wrapped around his dick. When you're laying under him he just has an uncontrollable urge to just buy his face between your legs and lick at everything he can, and eventually he'll cave to both of those urges. The latter will be very unprompted and unanticipated, probably you're not even getting it on at the moment - something like you're sleeping, you're just laying there, your legs open a bit and he just rips off whatever you have on and stuffs his head between your legs - he's not skilled by any means, but works with such an intensity and speed that you'll cum on his face anyway.

If he's mad, he can get rough with the former. Hearing you gag and choke, watching the tears run down your face helps satisfy his anger quite a bit. Unfortunately for you, he can last quite a while, and will grab your hair and force your face down, or really, he's one to lay you on the edge of a bed on your back and really fuck your throat out. And he won't let you spit it out either -- he'll hold your mouth shut with his hands and force you to swallow every little bit.

Finger-fucking

He was once told the trick of putting your fingers inside and curling them, and that's an easy instruction to follow. He'll try it out, and once he watches how it makes you gasp and whimper, he'll get addicted to it, moving his fingers harsh and fast. He likes it because he's not too distracted by his own physical sensations, other than the throbbing hard-on, and can really take in your faces, noises, and really watch you come undone. As an added bonus, he's definitely not going to just leave it at that, no, and he discovers very quickly you're particularly sensitive immediately after one orgasm, reacting with extra loud squeals and harsh clenching when he presses against your extremely sensitive insides. And he likes that quite a bit.

D/S dynamic / bondage

It helps him restore his damaged pride from his embarrassment over the fact that he even has sexual urges in the first place. He deserves to be worshipped, he deserves to have you on your knees in front of him. In particular, he loves to give you commands, see you follow through with them. It's empowering. It's reassuring. Probably the type to want to be called master. He feels its appropriate. And he'd definitely be one to make it an all-the-time, 24/7 sort of dynamic too. He can be gentle about it, too, and will reward you for being well-behaved. The dynamic, the rewards, the praise, all makes you all the more slowly, but surely, succumbing to him, giving in, and finally accepting him.

Tying you up prevents you from moving around too much, and that's the initial reason for it, but he realizes very very quickly that something about seeing you that way is very, very pleasing to him. It gives him a sense of power and control in addition to what he already has established. It also helps alleviate a bit of his nervousness surrounding the whole thing. When you're all tied up, probably blindfolded too, he can just run his hands up and down, stare at your body, figure out what's where and see everything without you squirming around.

Masturbation instruction/voyeurism

Something about just watching you touch yourself drives him up the wall with horniness. It also helps give him an idea of what the fuck he’s supposed to do (again, not that he’ll tell you that). But more importantly, it’s yet another control thing. He won’t just let you go at it, no, he’ll be very specific with his instructions, and expects you to follow them perfectly. He’ll make you edge yourself and even overstimulate yourself, demanding you keep going even after you cum, and even if you can’t, he’ll just swat your hand aside and do it himself.

How do they feel about pregnancy or babies? Do they want them?

He's... Not sure if it's even possible? If so, the whole idea makes him feel a bit odd. Small little beings, ones that look like him, ones that share his blood? The whole concept is so strange. He'd probably want to find out if such a thing is even possible, considering your differences, but he would likely be somewhat opposed to it, as it feels weird to him. He would become more accustomed to the idea with time, though. And one thing he neglects to remember, even if he knows, is that you have to pull out to avoid that, and he definitely doesn't.

What kind of (nsfw) punishments would they use?

Overstimulation is a go-to, as is forced orgasms. Tying back to his finger-fucking tendencies, he learns how sensitive orgasms make you, and how torturous it can be. Even if he can't keep going, after he fucks you a few times, he can still go with his mouth, fingers, over and over and over again, until you're sobbing and begging from the overstimulation. He thinks there's something weirdly beautiful about how something can bring you so much pleasure and pain, be so good yet so unbearable. Seeing you cry while you convulse, hiss from the pain when you're so sensitive that even the lightest touches are painful. Just watching it gives him an electrifying feeling. As a bonus, it will just make you more bonded, the overload of the positive chemicals in your body will bind you to the very person inflicting such a torture on your body. How ironic.

He'd be one for impact pain too, potentially with his hands, but he's one that's more likely to invest in something like a riding crop, or just a belt. He likes the fear of it, too, seeing how you wince and whimper just by hearing it crack before he even does anything to you.

What body parts of their darling do they like the most?

Hips and thighs. He likes grabbing, pulling you back onto him. Running his hands over them. He likes that when he's rough enough, his hands leave bruises on them. It's really pretty to him, and just an ever so blatant reminder of your place... to him, and, he knows, to you.

[lavishedinjimin]

all the good girls go to hell

— synopsis: The Angels made a deal with Jeon Jungkook, the son of Lucifer, to help them bring Y/n back to her good, prim and proper self. Even though Jungkook grants the atrocious plan, he leaves a lesson that no one should give their trust to a wicked devil like him.

↳ pairing: jungkook x f. reader

↳ genre: smut, very slight angst if you squint hard enough

↳ rating: m/18+

↳ word count: 10k

↳ warnings: religious themes, heaven and hell, angels, devils (this fic is not a correct representation of these figures and is purely fictional), alcohol intake, cursing, hard dom jk, daddy! jk, fingering, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, squirting, unprotected sex, breathplay, spanking, face fucking, filthy dirty talk, rough sex, jungkook and his demon cock ehe

a/n: title is inspired by billie eilish’s song all the good girls go to hell. her title inspired me to write this fic! please ignore if you find any errors <3

“You’re not good enough.” 

“You look so pathetic, really.”

“Can you at least try to look hot?” 

“This is why no one likes you.” 

These words will forever haunt you until the day you die. 

It wasn’t your fault that you were raised very strictly, your overly-protective parents treating you like some kind of rare treasure that no one, no man, can touch. The fact that your parents still had to drive you home from school even at an age like this always irritated you to the brim of your existence. So now you can’t even have the freedom, the life of a normal young girl can have. 

Being raised strictly with a heavy-handed family – not to mention religious, too – has taken a toll on your mental health. There’s always the feeling of pressure wherever you go and whatever you do. The fear of not succeeding and disappointing your mom and dad is the worst feeling, like the Devil punching your gut repeatedly, as many times as he likes. 

Plus, some students at your school know you for your lack of “personality”, the boring one, the killjoy. You can’t even refute because it was all true. You never experienced fun, parties, how to have interesting conversations, how to interact with a large crowd, all because of your parents being so uptight in you. 

“Y/n!” The high-pitched voice of your mother calls from downstairs, and you were quick to scurry outside your room and find where she was sitting on the couch. “Yes, mom?” You say. 

She was dressed in a royal-blue dress that goes up to her knees, her hair fixed perfectly and the hairspray is clearly doing a great job of keeping her updo in place. She grabs her purse while your dad walks into view, dressed up in a neat suit. “We’re leaving for our business trip, Y/n. Didn’t I tell you that?” 

“Ah.” You sort of forgot about that. 

Quickly nodding your head, you force a fake smile that you know all too well, “Yes.” 

She gives you a weird glance before she fixes her makeup in a mirror, and your dad decides to continue for her. “We’ve hired a nanny to look after you, so that you won’t go out and about going behind our backs—”

“But dad! I really don’t need someone to babysit me,” You scoff. You weren’t a child anymore, what are they thinking! “I’m an adult. I can handle myself. Don’t you trust me?” 

Trust. Something they don’t have with you, whether they admit it or not. 

Your dad just sighs deeply and starts to walk closer to you. He places a hand on your shoulder as he looks straight into your eyes, giving you an authoritarian look. “Y/n, just do as you’re told and be a good daughter.” 

“I’ve always been one,” you scorn. 

“A good daughter doesn’t talk back.” Your mother retorts. 

This is why you can never argue with them. They never let you speak your own opinion or have your own voice. 

Your parents left exactly at 5 PM as they went on their flight to Madrid, leaving the house all to yourself only for tonight.

It was the next day, and you were sitting on the dining table, eating your cereal peacefully as you watched Netflix on your phone – until the doorbell rings. 

You stand up and quickly make your way to the front door, pouting when you already know that it is the person that was supposed to look after you. 

This is ridiculous. 

“Hello!” A bright, short middle aged woman appears standing on the doorway, her bright energy startling you. “Y/n! I’m May, nice to meet you!” She lifts her hand in front for a handshake, and you chuckle nervously, accepting it. “I’m here to look after you for ten days, hm?” 

“Uh, ah, yeah. C-Come in!” You tried to sound as positive and energized as you could to match her own energy, but you couldn’t. You step aside to let her in, pulling her luggage with her and she immediately takes up the design of the house. She was nodding her head, her arms crossed together while you accompanied her little journeys throughout the whole ground floor. You found her weird. 

“Uh, come follow me, my dad says you’ll be staying here at the guest room —” 

“Wonderful! I thought I was sleeping on the couch!” She claps her hands, excited that she has her own room. 

You look at her with big, shocked eyes, yet you can’t say anything. 

“O-Okay…” you mumbled, “Here,” you helped her open the door and she immediately set her things up. “May?” 

“Yes, my dear?” She stops unpacking her bags to look up at you. “I’ll be at the kitchen, okay? If y-you wanna ask anything, I’m right over there.” 

“Ah, that’s okay, Y/n. Your mother told me everything I need to know. Your bedtime is at eight and no midnight snacks!” 

Your heart drops down to the floor as you immediately encountered a wave of emotions. Why did it matter?! Why did your mom had to apply all these stupid rules when she’s not even around? You thought at the start that you’ll have some kind of freedom when your parents aren’t here, thinking that your nanny might be easier, but perhaps not. 

“Okay.” You say simply. 

How else can you prove to people that you can be better? You're sick of everyone seeing you as the boring one, but your parents were the only thing that was keeping you from having fun. So you decide to be a little risky. 

Step one: Sneak out the house. 

Isn't that what people your age do? Usually they sneak out to party, to go hang out with their friends and have the time of their life. But you had none, no ‘best friend’, but a couple of lunch friends here and there. 

“I should try clubbing.” You mumble to yourself as you sit down on the plush comfort of your mattress. Until you hear your phone chimes, signalling a text. You grab your phone from the bedside table and frown when you see who the text was from. 

Mom: Remember to go to church later, Y/n. 

You didn't reply, instead, it got you thinking. 

Nothing will happen if you skip church, right? You've always attended Mass every Sunday with your parents, so there's absolutely nothing wrong with skipping at least once.

Besides, you need to plot your plans for tonight!

~

“What is this girl doing?” Armaros says in a deep whisper, his well-shaped eyebrows furrowing deeply while he watches Y/n on her phone, laying down on her bed as if church isn't just five minutes away from starting. 

Armaros rushes to the other side of the room to get a better view of her human who lays on her stomach, a white wisp of smoke trailing behind him. He shakes his head, crossing his arms together in front of his chest. “Y/n, Y/n,” he tuts, “What are you doing?!” 

He decides to step forward and reaches forward for his hand to caress the crown of your head. He chuckles when he sees your eyes expand in a quick second, your body abruptly sitting up straight from the tingling feeling in your neck. Your hairs stand up, a chill running down your spine. 

This was Armaros’ way of mustering his presence onto you. Your dad always taught that whenever you suddenly feel a chilling sensation out of nowhere, it means that your guardian angel is there with you and trying to send you a message. 

And you clearly know what he's trying to say. 

There was a slight feeling of guilt – uneasiness, even. But no. You've already decided that you weren't going to follow your old routine. 

Armaros’ jaw drops when you don't move from your position on the bed, only making yourself comfortable even further. ”Don’t you dare skip church...” he slowly whispers to himself. But he quickly shakes his head side to side, trying to be optimistic, “It's just one time. Just one time.” 

Time passes by faster than you think, you sink your teeth down on your bottom lip, chewing on it as you try to Google clubs near you. It was ridiculous, feeling so overwhelmed from all of the options the Internet is showing you. 

There was a generous list of bars and clubs with different ratings. It was a humane decision to choose the best one, right? So you went for a nightclub called ‘Soap Seoul’. Although, you feel your stomach churn when you scroll through the images attached to it; seeing all of the strange blue and red LED lights, big and tight crowds, and an HD picture of their bar. The bar was long and almost occupied the width of the whole club. You don't even know if you can stand such a place like that. 

But no. You can't back out now! You had to show yourself and to others that you can have some fun too. 

~ 

The club opens tonight at 8 pm, letting yourself have two hours to prepare. Rummaging through your garments of clothing, you try to find an appropriate outfit.

“I have nothing!” you whined, eyebrows furrowing in dismay. All you had were simple t-shirts and countless skinny jeans and leggings. Your dresses were almost knee-length and suitable for church – not for a nightclub! 

Armaros stands at a distance, shaking his head at you. 

Until, you heard a loud knock on the door, “Y/n!” May's voice shouts from the other side of the room, “Dinner's ready!” 

Oh no. 

Quickly opening the door, you stared at her with big, worried eyes. “May! I-uhh, I-I’m not gonna stay for dinner…” you mumbled, looking at the ground. 

“Oh, why is that?” she asks, a faint sad tone in her voice. You felt so sad and regretful that you didn't say anything to her because she already cooked your dinner. 

“I-I have plans for tonight,” you hold your hands behind your back, slightly getting embarrassed. 

“Are you going out with your friends?”

“Y-Yeah!” You lie. You've never lied before. 

“Ah, I understand. Have you told your mom?” 

She doesn't have to know. 

“Yup.” 

And there it was again, the chills in your neck appeared while your arm and leg hairs stood up. Armaros touches your scalp, desperate to seek your attention and bring you back to your old, good self. The angel didn't like that you were lying, for he was perpetually accustomed to your good deeds. It was making him anxious for what's about to come. 

But you ignored his message. May nods when you told her that she can have the food to herself. 

You feel a pang of guilt rush through your body when you shut the door behind you, your heartbeat suddenly racing faster. The nervousness in you made your head hurt. Is this the right thing to do? No. It wasn't. But you had to show people that you can be different. Will it be worth it? Of course. 

Thankfully, you spot a white dress that you've never worn before. It was a gift from your cousins that was supposed to be another addition to your collection of church dresses but it was too short for your liking. 

“Hm, maybe this will work…” you quietly mumble to yourself.

You tried the piece of clothing on, carefully examining your reflection in the full-length mirror. The hem of the skirt falls right above your mid-thigh, too high for your usual comfort but for the sake of dressing up for a nightclub — there was no problem. The dress was snug, hugging your body so that it accentuates your curves.

The dress was plain white and was relatively simple. You don't really know what people usually wear for nightclubs but you were certain that dresses were a part of the code. 

You looked for your black three-inch heel that you last wore during your highschool graduation, slipping it in carefully. Doing a little bit of makeup and applying a thin layer of lip gloss, you grabbed a purse and walked out of your room. 

“May, please don't wait for me, okay?” you say after walking past her. 

“W-Wait, I'm supposed to–”

“It's okay. I'll be okay.”

“She's not gonna be okay!” Armaros declares, kneeling on one knee before Archangel Michael – the protector and the spiritual warrior, as he mentions Y/n's recent mischiefs.

After you've been to the nightclub the first day, you've never stopped. You became addicted. 

Sometimes you don't even tell May that you're going out, you just sneak out of the window and let May worry about you. You've happened to know how to drink as you get wasted every single night, hanging around with people that you don't know, people that are a bad influence on your good side. These past few days had you acting up like you’ve never before. You longed for alcohol and the feeling of it numbing your nerves, and there’s not a day where you didn’t get drunk.

Armaros’ power wasn't enough to stop you. Every single day he's been drying his best to send signals, to make you feel certain ways and speak to your consciousness that what you are doing is by far dangerous and wrong. But you never listened. 

You've skipped church, stopped talking to God, ignoring your parents’ phone calls, not doing your homework just because you're busy either getting drunk or making out with someone at the club. It's like you have been addicted to misbehaving. 

But for you, you thought you’re doing the right thing. 

“Armaros, are you doubting your powers?” Archangel Michael replies, running his fingertips along the sharp blade of his sword. 

“N-No, but, nothing seems to work. She's been ignoring my calls for almost two weeks. I just want the best for her.” Armaros’ voice fades at the end of his sentence. He was speaking with such sincerity because he really cares for Y/n. He truly loves her. “Why is she doing this?” He asks for help.

“Because, my dear, she's trying to prove something she's not for other people.”

“What?” 

Archangel Michael laughs quietly, staring at him endearingly. He points his sword at him, “She obviously tries to be immoral to fit in. She's rarely praying to God like she used to, rarely respecting the people around her. Ever since humans bullied Y/n for being herself – she starts to change. But the question is…”

He walks around Armaros, his eyes never leaving his. “Is this making her happy?” 

Armaros lowers his head and shakes his head. “I don’t know.” 

The Archangel grins and returns his sword back on the scabbard attached to his belt. 

“If I can't warn her to stop, then who else can?” The angel asks. 

Michael lifts an eyebrow up, crossing his arms together as he stands right in front of him. His mouth draws into a slow smirk, a hint of playfulness in his eyes as if a lightbulb appeared on top of his head. 

“You wanna have some fun, Armaros?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Stand up, stand up.” Armaros quickly obeys his superior’s command. The Archangel places a hand on his right shoulder, preparing to speak. 

“I have an idea. We call Jeon Jungkook up and–” 

“No! Absolutely not! I will not allow Y/n to come face to face with the son of Lucifer!” Armaros bellows, instinctively pushes Michael's hand away from him. 

“Armaros! It's just an idea!” Michael chuckles, spreading his arms to the side as he shakes his head. “And besides, I have to ask permission from our Highness anyway.” 

“And what will he do? Taunt her? Provoke Y/n to be more sinful?” Y/n's guardian angel asks, referring to Jungkook. “We both know how manipulative and cunning he can be!”

“No, no. We'll make a deal with him, of course! No devil will do anything without receiving something in return.” 

“This idea of yours, not to be rude, but is really out of this world.”

Archangel Michael snorts from the out of the blue pun. 

“Do not be afraid. If our Lord agrees to our plan, I'll be watching. I always will. Give me your trust, Armaros.”

Armaros sighs deeply, yet smiles up at him right after. “Okay, I trust you.” 

“May, stop it,” you mutter angrily, pulling your arm away from her hold. May tries to block your way from going outside the house but you abruptly push her to the side. 

“Y/n! Your mom told you that–” 

“Told me what?! That I’m being independent? Unruly? That I should just stay home? I don’t give a fuck anymore, May. I’d rather hang out with friends than stay here and do nothing!” You bark at her. She was smaller than you and you were definitely giving off that intimidating vibes that you wanted to show. She isn’t the one wearing the pants in this house. You are. 

“Y/n, I will not tolerate this behavior!” May snaps, eyes glaring at you with her hands balled up into fists on her sides. 

Rolling your eyes, you let out a sour chuckle, “You sound like my mom.” 

May sighs deeply, the tiredness in her voice evident, “I’m just trying to keep you safe, Y/n. Just listen to me.” 

“I’m an adult. I can keep myself safe. Now, let me go and don’t wait for me.” 

“Y/n!” 

“Bye May! Have a nice sleep!” 

“Y/n! Where the fuck are you?!” Emilia, one of the new friends you've met no longer than three days ago shouts through the phone as loud, blazing music muffled her voice. “Sophia and I are waiting for you! Get your ass over here!”

“I'm almost there, save me a drink already!” you giggle, looking out from the taxi’s window. 

Sophia snatches the phone out of Emilia’s hand to speak to you, “Y/n, you still remember the bet we made, right?” 

“Of course! It's not a huge deal, c'mon now.” You roll your eyes, faking a laugh. 

“We'll see!” Emilia giggles. 

The driver drops you in front of the nightclub and you throw him a couple of dollars. Stepping out of the car, your high heels clicking on the cement. Upon entering the place, you were immediately greeted with your friends. They were both wearing a tight dress – glittery red and silver – whilst you wore a black one that reached down to your middle thigh. You bought the dress only a day ago, special thanks to your Amazon Prime account . 

“Hey! Here, drink this,” Sophia hands you a single malt whiskey and you swiftly drown it down your throat without any problem. You reminisce back to your first day where you can’t even take a sip of beer without gagging. Now look where you are. 

“Ahh fuck, that tastes good,” you mumble through gritted teeth. 

“Why are you late tonight, Y/n?” Emilia asks as she leads you to the bar to order more alcohol. Her high pitched voice mixing with the loud music,”You know it's always 9 PM. Sharp.” 

You breathe out heavily as you watch Sophia pour three shots of straight vodka into a shot glass. She distributes the beverage to the two of you. 

“Well, uh–” 

“What?” Emilia snaps.

“I couldn't find a goddamn cab, that's why!” you hide your falseness with laughter, hoping they won't sense your lie. 

“Alright anyway, let’s go get wasted and you, Y/n – will be our first player.” Emilia smirks as she crosses her arms together. She analyzes your body, eyeing you up and down. You didn’t like it, and you felt worried. 

Your eyebrows furrow, confused and slightly offended, “What, why me?” You take a sip of your newly-ordered beer, trying to get comfortable on the plush-covered stool. 

“Because,” Sophia answers for her, “we need to know your… capacities.” 

You snort, “Capacities of what? My capacity of having to get into a m-man’s bed? Pffft… easy!” 

Sophia’s forehead furrows, glancing at Emilia with a knowing look before focusing her attention back to you. “Sure. Anyway, let’s have fun first and then…” she leans closer to you, her face inches away from yours. You feel your face redden in embarrassment, “And then you can choose your man.” 

It wasn’t that bad. It isn’t bad dancing around the dance floor, beer in hand, as you danced all your worries away. Emilia and Sophia were out there – somewhere, but you didn’t care about them at this moment. You let your body go with the beat of the loud EDM music, holding your hands up in the air as you whipped your head left to right. You had a huge smile on your face, the alcohol kicking in like it was meant for your body to consume. 

Sweaty bodies were bumping each other from left and right, and you for sure stepped on someone’s toe with your pumps. Nevertheless, you didn’t care. You were having your fun. 

It was until the song changed from upbeat to a more sensual, heart-pumping song from the loud bass. As if there was a switch inside you, you turned into a sultry mess. 

Wasted. You were wasted like hell. 

Your eyes turn into little slits as you look around the dance floor to try and find someone to play with. Taking a huge sip of your drink, your throat burns yet you tried to ignore it. 

“Ah-hah!” you giggle, walking – or should we say, stumbling – towards a guy with black hair parted in the middle, nicely dressed in a black button up tucked in some skinny jeans. The man locks eyes with you, licking his plump lips as his eyes rake your body. 

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he smirks, making you blush in red as he holds your waist and tugs you closer to him. The song in the background was helping you a lot to get into that seductive, sexy mood that you planned to have. 

“Hey,” you smile up at him, “I’m Y/n.” 

“What a pretty name for a pretty lady.” He starts swaying your body to the beat, going along with you. “I’m Seokjin. Nice to meet you.” 

Seokjin tugs your body closer until he holds the back of your head with one hand, making you look deep into his dark eyes. “Y-You’re a new face,” you slur, “You don’t belong here.” 

Unexpectedly, your eyes grow big when Seokjin throws his head back as he laughs almost hysterically. “What?” you question. 

The man slightly leans down until his face draws near to yours, and you can immediately smell the alcohol in his breath. You didn’t judge though, you probably had beer-breath too. 

“Baby girl…” Seokjin suddenly speaks deeply, making your heart jump from the sudden change in his voice. There was a sultry look in his eyes that made it hard for you to keep eye contact. “Baby it’s you who doesn’t seem to belong. You don’t know who I am.” 

“Well y-you don’t know me e-either!” You try to retaliate, although it was messed up with your embarrassing stuttering.  

“You really wanna know?” he whispers, his lips right against your lips, almost touching yours. You couldn’t breathe properly, wanting to pull away but his intoxicating scent was forcing you to him. 

You nod your head, not trusting your voice. 

“I own this place, baby.” 

You almost tossed your cup right across the room from his sudden confession, totally not expecting such a young-looking man to own such a place like this. Your eyes expand, body staying still. 

’Wait! Be sexy… be sexy…’ you thought to yourself after an awkward five seconds of silence. 

You decide to chuckle, biting your bottom lip slowly as you draw yourself nearer to him. He lifts a brow up in surprise, wrapping his arms around your hips and he closes the distance between the two of you. 

“Really? Well then,” you mutter, “I want you to own me too.” 

“Oh, finally. Someone straightforward.” 

“Well I – oh!” Seokjin takes you by surprise when he quickly tugs your arm and leads you to the second floor of the club. You haven’t been in this area before, looking so luxurious and well decorated. Although what shocks you is the series of doors that passes through a long, wide hallway. 

“Seok...Seokjin,” you whisper, but he looks at you with a smirk, a playful glint in his eyes. 

“C’mon baby,” he opens a door and walks you inside, locking it behind him. “Let’s have a little fun.” 

Let’s have a little fun. 

Yeah. I should. 

This is fun, right? 

Before you can even process things, Seokjin shoves your body to a wall as his hands start to wander down your sides. With flushed cheeks, you look at him like you’ve just seen a ghost but he clearly doesn’t mind, grinding his hips into yours. 

“Mmm, what a cute babe I have in front of me,” he groans, leaning forward to pepper wet, gentle kisses all over your neck and down to your shoulders. 

Something feels off. 

“Y/n, right?” he asks, his forehead furrows and you nod. “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart starts to rapidly pump inside your chest, feeling as if it’ll burst at any minute. An uncomfortable feeling starts to overwhelm your system, sensing your palms getting sweaty. You can’t look at his eyes, looking anywhere but him. 

“Uh, o-okay,” you straighten your back as you try your best to look confident. 

This is the perfect opportunity to tell your friends. Having sex with someone like him will absolutely impress Emilia and Sophia. 

Seokjin chuckles, shrugging, “Alright then.” And without any warning, he throws you on the bed and he quickly hovers above your body. 

“Mmph–!” he immediately presses his lips into yours before you can even react to everything that had just happened. He caresses your cheeks with both hands, his lips moving softly with yours. You try your best to keep up with him and his pace, but you can’t. There was something stopping you from giving him your all. Seokjin grunts nevertheless, humping you. 

Seokjin’s right hand snakes down to grab the hem of your dress as he teasingly pulls the fabric up, then lets it snap back down. There was a weird feeling inside your stomach, and it did not feel good at all. 

His hand slowly starts creeping up your leg, and that’s where you couldn’t hold it back. 

“Mmm, n-no,” you mewl, pushing him away from you. Seokjin stares down at you with a frown, head tilted to the side. 

“Y/n?” 

Rapid heart rate, the back of your neck sweating, and chills all over your body occur all at the same time. You were panicking. 

“I-I…” immediately you stand up from the bed, hiking your stupid short dress down as much as you can. “S-Sorry,” furiously shaking your head from side to side, you stumble your way to the door. 

“Y/n, wait!” Seokjin yells, confused yet he felt sorry at the same time. “Let’s talk about it!” 

“No,” you whisper. You can’t do this anymore. There was no energy left in your body to talk, to process what just happened, to stand in this fucking club. Home. All you were thinking about was going home. 

You twist the doorknob open, trying to catch your breath as much as you can but you feel like you were going to pass out any minute. Making your way down the stairs, you run as fast as you can towards the exit of the nightclub yet a person catches your arm. 

“Y/n!” Your eyes widen when Emilia and Sophia stop you, observing your state. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“No…” you breathe tirelessly, “c-can’t do it…” 

“You failed?” Emilia snaps as she leans her body on one hip, resting her hands there. She looks at you with disgust, “But we saw the guy that you’re with! He was hot!” 

Sophia snorts, smirking as she stares at you sourly, “Proves our point. You’re nothing, Y/n. You had such an easy job, the guy’s already all over you and you just had to throw him? Where is he, let me get with him myself.” Sophia struts away, heels clicking as she flips her long hair over her shoulder, leaving you with Emilia. 

“What can I say, Y/n,” she smiles menacingly, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “You can never be like us.” 

Your whole body felt heavy, heavy like you were carrying a boulder behind your back. This isn’t what you had planned at all, everything was going so well until this! Your eyes started welling up with tears, blurring your sight. You had to go. 

Without saying a word, you quickly run away to the exit, ignoring Emilia’s insensitive laugh. 

What went wrong? Why did you feel that way? Negative thoughts were clouding your mind as you cried and cried to your poor, soaked pillow. 

Maybe you are just not enough. Perhaps you’re not meant to be like this. 

It was fun the first time around, and you were actually enjoying yourself. But the days passed and you sadly weren't doing this for your own pleasure anymore, but for the validation of other people. 

You should’ve stopped Seokjin from touching you when it clearly made you uncomfortable. There was a line and he crossed it, but you erased that line so you can finally say that you’ve slept with someone. But you guessed it wasn’t that easy. 

Grabbing your phone, you ignored all of the rude messages Emilia has sent you, blocking her and Sophia’s number. You turned off your phone, throwing it somewhere on the ground without care before you switched off your lamp. There was never a time that you’ve cried yourself to sleep, but tonight was your first. 

“And what do I get in return for this deal?” Jeon Jungkook purrs with a low, dark tone, crossing his legs together as he sits on his father’s fire-blazing throne. Even though he has his own throne for himself, thrones on fire were way cooler. He scans the frightened angel from head to toe through the strands that fell in front of his eyes. 

“The A-Archangel says you will obtain a soul. A soul that is longing for hell.” Armaros stutters as he tries to keep eye contact with the devil’s hard glare. 

Jungkook chuckles, hanging his head low. “You mean to tell me…” he starts to stand up and walks towards the angel. Armaros tries his best to keep his guard up and stand as tall as possible. 

Jungkook circles around him, arms crossed while his right hand plays with his bottom lip, “That I should convince this little girl to prevent doing bad, bad things to stop her from going to hell?” He laughs hysterically. “That’s quite… an unnatural job for a devil, isn’t it? It’s completely the opposite of what i’m supposed to do. Tell Michael that his plan is utter bullshit.”

Armaros takes a deep sigh, closing his eyes for a brief second before replying. “Firstly, Y/n is not a little girl. And second, this job is easy. You have the skill to persuade humans to sin – what’s hard with doing the opposite? Besides, you’ll obtain a soul either way.” 

His words made Jungkook ponder and deliberate with himself. He stops in front of Armaros and shows him his signature imposing smile. “I can have my way with the girl, right?” He bites his lip, “Anyway I want?” 

This made Armaros’ eyes go wide, mouth opening but no words seem to come out properly, “I-I… w-well, um… yes? Yes? P-Perhaps? Just don’t do anything bad to her.” 

Jungkook scoffs, running his long tongue over his teeth as he smirks, “Define bad, Mr. Angel.” 

“You know… hurt her.” He gulps.

The devil squints his eyes, absolutely loving Armaros’ reactions. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not gonna kill her, if that’s what you mean.” 

“I’m done with this conversation.” Armaros quickly chirps as he unfolds his large, white wings. “Remember what your main goal is, Jungkook. I’m counting on you.” 

Jungkook stops him before he flies back up. “Armaros…” he says, dragging his name long in his tongue. Armaros looks at him, eyes impatient, arms crossed together. 

“You know I’m a devil, right?” 

The angel chuckles, scoffing, “Oh, I know that alright.” He scorns, eyeing Jungkook up and down. Although the devil in front of him looks intimidating and his eyes are jet black, Armaros keeps his calm. “I’m only following orders. I didn’t agree with The Archangel in the first place.” 

“Do you know what devils do to… humans?” 

Armaros nods fully. 

“And what I might do to… that precious little girl?” Jungkook growls deeply, walking closer to him. He tilts his head down, looking at him through his lashes, “There’s a huge chance that I might not control myself when I see her.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Suddenly, black smoke appears from Jungkook’s right hand, summoning something beside him. The smoke appears to subside and at once, Y/n’s appearance can be seen through the thin air. Jungkook rests his hips on one side, twirling his hand so that her image spins around. 

“This is Y/n, right?” Jungkook studies your face, watching you read a book inside your room. “I’ve never seen someone so beautiful before.” 

“Jeon Jungkook!” Armaros bellows, his tone loud yet sprinkled with fear. 

“I’m just saying, Angel. You can’t stop me from trying to do devilish things to her.” Jungkook smirks, prodding his tongue on the inside of his cheek. “You might have to reconsider this deal of yours if you don’t want me to have my way with that pretty little girl,” He taunts, already warning Armaros.

“Jungkook,” Armaros’ nerves seem to heat up, slowly getting irritated although he tries to calm himself. He looks down, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “There’s no point in doing that. You think she wants to have an affair with someone like you?” 

The devil laughs loudly as he twirls his hand until your image disappears. This conversation further proves Jungkook’s argument that angels are actually dumber than they realize. 

“If you want me to help you, I will have my way with her. My job, my rules. Understand?”

Armaros feels defeated, but he can’t say anything but nod and agree to him. He can’t fight him anyway. Jungkook dismisses him, and with that, the angel ascends back up to earth. 

Jungkook can’t wait to have his fun. 

~

Prancing around, making friends, getting to know each other – Jungkook doesn’t want to do that. Instead, he’s very straightforward, saying words that he probably shouldn’t, he likes to say what he thinks no matter how bad it’ll probably hurt. 

That’s what he plans to do with you. 

If he gets his point clear, make you frightened, scare the shit out of you, then the job would be complete. 

Easy! 

You were currently on your laptop, scrolling through your pinterest tabs until you hear loud and frantic knocks on your door. “Y/n!” May shrieks, her voice quivering. “Someone’s at the door!” 

Oh no, you thought. 

Immediately hopping out of bed, you went out to see who it was with May following behind you. You peak out through the windows and suddenly, you inhale sharply from the man that you see. 

He was unfamiliar. Thankfully, it wasn’t Seokjin or Sophia nor Emilia, but rather tall, might you say handsome looking man waiting outside your doorstep. He was dressed in all black, his hair covering his eyes. 

“Do you know him?” May asks quietly. You shake your head slowly, “N-No.” 

“Y/n… I think you should just leave him.” 

“May, I can handle it. You can go now.” You say softly to her. 

“Are you sure—”

“Yes.” You spat a little harshly, blazing your eyes at her. May nods, sighing as she walks away to her room. 

Gathering the courage to open the door, you took a deep inhale and exhale, calming your nerves. 

Once you open the door, your eyes immediately fly to his dark ones. Your whole body suddenly shivers, the air around the place somewhat getting cold as if it was winter. 

You can't take your eyes off of the man. You have never met him before but it felt like you've known him for too long. There was a strange aura surrounding the two of you that you can't explain. 

“Hello.” He speaks first, giving you a sly smile. 

His voice. You've never heard such a dark and menacing timbre before. 

“Hi,” you gulp, “Who are you?” 

“May I come in?” Jungkook snaps, ignoring your question. He doesn't want to waste any time, that's for sure. 

You furrow your brows as you shake your head, “Answer my question first.” You blurt, blocking the entrance by placing your hands on either side of the doorway. 

“Hm,” Jungkook slowly shows you a deadly smirk, eyeing your body up and down. “You really wanna know?” 

What kind of a question is that? 

You quickly got annoyed, looking at him with a scorn. “Obviously!”

Feisty, Jungkook thought. 

“I'm the devil.”

There was a long pause, silence filling the air. This man is too handsome to be this dumb. You laugh hysterically, bending over as you hold your aching stomach. “A-Are you… oh my god… please tell me you're fucking joking!” you say with creased eyes. 

Jungkook already expected this reaction, and he only rolls his eyes without you noticing. 

“Mhm. You don't believe me?” he slowly pronounces his words, voice deep and sinister. 

“Nah,” you shake your head, giggling. 

“Aren't you religious?” Jungkook pushes you to the side without hesitation and enters, your eyes expanding slowly as his body suddenly comes in contact with yours. “Don't you believe in your God? You believe in angels, right?” He backs your body up and shuts the door loudly behind him. 

You felt a series of chills erupt from your system, his gaze locked on yours. You wanted to look away from his intimidating gaze, but you can't, for some strange reason. “Huh, Y/n?”

You gasp. “Wait, h-how do you know my name!?” 

Jungkook smirks at you, tilting his head to the side as he ignores your question again. 

Your body seems to move by itself, like you can't control your own limbs. The air thickens around the two of you as you feel your body submit to the man in front of you. 

Sighing, with a shaky voice you answer. “I do. I do believe in them.”

Although what shocks you is the way his eyes suddenly turn a bright shade of red. From deep black to red, his irises glow. 

“What the fuck–” you quickly back away, body shivering in fear until your back hits a wall. You rub your eyes, trying to see if your mind was only playing tricks with you. 

Jungkook grins and chuckles darkly, clicking his tongue. “Then…” he draws, walking closer to your frightened figure, “Can this convince you enough?” 

“S-Stop… stop playing games with me!” you whimper, feeling your palms get sweaty. “Your eyes are red!” 

“Hmm, I wonder why,” Jungkook snarls, forehead creasing, “Maybe because I'm the fucking devil?” 

And in a flash, Jungkook’s appearance changes from a tall, handsome boy into a dark red figure. Black, bat-like wings sprout from his back, long horns appearing from his forehead, a spear-like tail behind him. His lips and the area around his eyes were tinted in black while his fingers grew longer, sharper. 

You almost fainted then and there. 

“Oh— p-please,” your eyes turn watery as tears start to fall down your cheek, lifting your hands up to your mouth in shock, “please d-don't kill me!” Shutting your eyes to avoid the frightening image in front of you, your knees drop down to the floor with a loud thud. “I'm sorry, please f-forgive me! Don't k-kill me! Please!” 

“Oh, what a cute pretty girl you are,” the devil grins, his voice more gravelly now. He looks down at your frail self, amused. “I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to teach you a lesson.” 

You start to sob as your body shakes, “No! Please d-don't…”  

“Do you believe me now?”

“Yes! Yes I do!” you quickly reply, voice cracking. “I’m sorry s-sir, don’t hurt me!” 

Jungkook, satisfied with your reaction, morphs back to his normal human look within a few seconds. “Look at me.”

Slowly, afraid to anger the devil in front of you, you obey his words. You sigh in relief when he finally looks normal again, but you can't look at him the same way. 

“Stand up.”

You do so with wobbly legs. You felt so weak with your energy quickly drained so quickly. Wiping your tear-stained cheeks, you try your best to keep your composure. 

“Anyway, I'm Jungkook,” he gives you an award-winning smile, “I'm sent here to supposedly warn you from doing bad things.” He cringes, shaking his head. “Which, honestly speaking, I think is atrocious.”

He scans your body, biting his lip right after. “A good looking girl like you should have her fun.” 

You try to regain your senses back. A devil — a real devil appeared right in front of you. You can't seem to shake the thought away while he’s there looking so handsome in his human form. 

With a shaky breath, you ask him, “J-Jungkook? I'm really sorry. I don't know what I'm doing.” 

He snorts. Brushing his black hair away from his face. “Wrong. You know what you're doing.” 

“W-What?” 

Something in the air changes when Jungkook snaps his fingers. A thick, black smoke appears, capsuling the both of you in. “What is this?!” you question, terror overtaking your face. You watch your surroundings getting blurry, blackness covering the area. 

“Oh nothing,” he gives you a lopsided grin, “just making sure that your little angels can't see us.” 

Jungkook's eyes shine and his pupils enlarge, smiling as you notice how his teeth grow sharper. There were veins popping out in his neck, grimacing at you in pure excitement.  

“We can't afford your poor, guardian angel to stop us now, can't we? I don't want him to see us…playing.” 

“Playing?!” You gasp, eyes expanding in shock.. 

“Yes, baby. Angels are so fucking dumb, aren't they? Asking a devil to do their own work? Isn't that pathetic.”

You were locked to him like a magnet as your body seems to fill with utter desire in such a quick time. 

Was he doing something to you?!

A series of pleasurable chills erupt from your body, mouth getting dry as you look up at Jungkook with big eyes. 

His hand suddenly touches your bare arm, making you silently mewl from his chilling touch. He smirks at your reaction, “How dumb of them to trust the son of Lucifer himself.”

“Y-You… you're…” your voice fades, trying to process his words. 

“Mhm. Aren't you excited to play with me?” 

Maybe he's doing tricks to your mind, controlling your body – or maybe you’re just fucked up. Either way, you want him. 

You lust for him. 

“Yes.”

Jungkook draws his lower lip between his teeth, his hands finding its way to your waist, holding you firmly until he unexpectedly pulls you to his body. He lifts a single eyebrow up, “Really?” 

Your heartbeat quickens. 

“I've… I’ve never been more sure.” Words seem to spill out of your mouth without your consent, as if it wasn’t you who’s speaking. But you don’t try to take your words back.  

Jungkook laughs and starts to lift you up without struggle, finding his way to your bedroom while the smoke follows the two of you. “Bad, bad girl you are.” He lowers you down on the mattress, sending you a seductive wink, “I'm so fucking proud.” 

He preps himself on his knees, capturing your thighs in between. His eyes run down your body, chills running down your spine from how hot he looks. His figure was so big and muscular, making you feel like he can destroy your frail self. 

“Look at this, you look so fucking delicious baby.” 

His hand suddenly flies down to your armpits, roughly handling you as he carries you up as he sits down on the bed, his back pressed against the headboard, as he places you in between his legs. 

You hold back a whimper as he pushes your body closer to him. Hearing him growl deeply made your cunt throb, feeling a strange wet feeling down there. 

“Demons can't help humans,” he mutters lowly, his lips right against the shell of your ear. “They want you to sin and sin and sin until the day you fucking die.” 

His hands play with your shirt until in a quick flash, he rips the cotton material in half, your body shivering as it has been exposed to the cold air. “Ohh,” you whimper, covering your body with your arms. 

“Nu-uh,” Jungkook grins behind you, “Don't do that, baby.” He leans down and starts pressing wet and sloppy kisses all over your shoulders, running his mouth up to your neck. “Don't try to hide away from me.”

He sucks on the soft skin of your neck, his big dick throbbing in his pants from the way you were constantly squirming. You were so sensitive, and it made him so horny. He hums, marking your skin in bright red and purple bruises. 

“Ahh, Jungkook,” you moan, throwing your head back until it rests right against his shoulder. 

His hands suddenly fly to your breasts, his long and slender fingers pinching and twisting your hardened nipples. You bite your bottom lip as you can't seem to open your eyes from the feeling. It was until Jungkook suddenly digs his nails into your nipples, pinching them roughly that made you jolt right up. 

“Oh, t-that hurts,” you cry, the stinging feeling of his sharp nails pinching your buds. Jungkook watches your face contort, digging his nails even harder. He feels your body twitch, hearing your gentle whines and mewls. 

“Ohhh you don't like it baby, does it hurt too much for your sensitive, precious body?” he mocks a concerned tone. “Hm?” 

He was playing games with you, that's for sure. You nod your head up and down, trying to push his hands away. “Mhm…” 

Thankfully, he does stop but he quickly cups your breasts with both hands. He feels your rock-hard nipples pushing against his rough palms, kneading your boobs until he finally lets go. 

“Take these off,” he instructs you to pull your shorts down, and you do so. With trembling hands, you swiftly tug them off of your legs. 

“Mmm, fuck,” he grunts behind you, his right hand lowering down from your stomach until it reaches the destination right against your clothed pussy. His fingers slowly trace down your slick, feeling how wet you are through your panties. 

He smirks cockily, “You're fucking drenched, baby. Are you this horny?” he rubs your clit in slow, circular motions with just the right amount of pressure with the tips of his two fingers, your legs shivering. “Want something to stuff that little hole of yours?” 

He pulls your underwear down to your thighs, and you instantly shake it off with your legs. Jungkook pushes your legs apart, forcing your knees up with your feet flat on the mattress. Your cunt flutters around air from the exposure. You whine when his left arm possessively wraps around your stomach, his biceps flexing when he holds you tightly. 

“Stay fucking still,” he growls, his warm hand cupping your bare cunt. He chuckles, prodding his tongue against his cheek as he plays with your folds. He uses two slender fingers to spread your labia apart and you can feel your glistening arousal drip from your hole down to your ass. 

Jungkook hums in satisfaction, spreading your lips wider, making you emit a moan. “Jungkook—”

“No. I want you to call me something…” he elongates the pause in his sentence to suddenly insert the tip of his middle finger in your pussy, causing you to jump. “Something else, baby.” 

“Ah-ahh, what?” your legs couldn't stop trembling as he pushes his finger deeper, your walls sucking it in deliciously. 

You can feel him smirk against the skin of your neck, he snickers, “Starts with the letter D.” 

Your eyes squint in confusion, tilting your head up to look at him. Jungkook, with his glowing red eyes, scans your face with a quirked eyebrow expectantly. 

“Devil?” 

Jungkook scoffs loudly and instantly pushes the rest of his finger in your cunt, immediately pumping in and out at a rapid pace. Your hands quickly hold onto his arm that was wrapped around you, mouth agape from the sudden thrusts. “Ohhh!” your body shakes, leaning your head against him. Electric waves of pleasure run through your body, being new to the sensation. 

He growls as he removes his finger out to slap your pussy harshly, hitting your sensitive clit. “Wrong.” 

“Oww…” you mewl, your hips bucking up from the sting. He does this again, and again, and again, making your eyes watery. He tightens his hold on you, stopping you from squirming too much. 

“Daddy.” He purrs. 

Your body instantly feel a series of shivers. 

“Call me daddy.” Jungkook bites your neck roughly while he inserts his digits back, this time using his middle and ring finger. You hiss in pleasure, eyes tempting to roll back when he brushes the sponge-like texture inside your pussy. 

“Shit, right there daddy,” you curse, rolling your hips against his hand for more. “Right there!” 

Jungkook feels his cock harden even more, precum dripping down his tip as it twitches against his clothes. The way you pronounce that certain word drove him crazy. Jungkook loves how your body easily crumbles beneath him as you allow him to have all the control. He pounds your pussy faster with his hand, putting his bicep to good use. 

You were about to cum, the feeling of a tightness inside your tummy, a ball about to burst at any second. You warn Jungkook, “Daddy, i-i think… I think I'm gonna c-cum,” you sob. 

“I know.” He says simply, fucking you harder. Suddenly, he pushes his index finger in, three digits stretching your walls out. You cry loudly, thrashing around him as high-pitched moans carelessly leave your mouth. “Shiiiiit, d-daddy!” 

“Need to stretch this little pussy out for my cock” he purrs, “cuz’ we don’t want that tiny hole of yours to split into two, right baby?” 

Your toes curl, nails digging into the skin of his arm as you fail to warn him that you're gonna cum any second now. Although he can feel the way your pussy was pulsing around his long fingers. He angled his hand until your clit was brushing against his palm, “Daddy! Ohh fuck, just l-like that!”

Until it all stops. 

All of the pleasure stops when Jungkook pulls his fingers out. 

“Fuuuuuuuck!” you yell, never been more frustrated before as he denies your orgasm. You were about to cum so hard. Your legs shake uncontrollably, scratching his arms as your body shudders. Your poor cunt pulsates rapidly from the sour loss. You were a whimpering, sobbing mess. 

Laughing dryly behind you was Jungkook, licking his fingers clean as he watches your dignity wash away right in front of his eyes. 

“Fuck you,” you scowl, pushing away his arms and turning to face him. “Fuck. You.” 

But he wasn't bothered at all, of course. He was the devil after all. He had no remorse.

Before you know it, Jungkook wraps his hand around your throat and swiftly pulls you close to his face. You gulp, terrified from the intimidating look in his eyes. 

Jungkook thinks that he can easily kill you then and there. If it were a different person, he wouldn't hesitate to snap their neck like a stick. Usually he would feel tempted to physically hurt a person in this kind of situation. But no. He likes you. He likes you too much to kill.

“Take my cock out.”

Even though you hate him for denying your orgasm so brutally like that, you nod your head. Jungkook removes his shirt as you scoot down. You were careful to unbutton his pants, heart rate going faster from the thought of seeing his cock right in front of your face. By the look of the large tent evident, he was gonna be huge. Jungkook watches you with heavy eyes, running his hand through your hair softly. 

You pull the garment down and your mouth visibly waters from the sight. The outline of his cock was evident from his briefs, long and thick and was certainly rock hard. You were so afraid to even touch it as you let your hands sit right on his thighs. 

“Haven't done this before?” he asks, rubbing your cheek with one hand. You shake your head, afraid to look at his glaring eyes. 

Jungkook chortles, quickly pulling his underwear down by himself.

His cock immediately springs out and rests on his abdomen. With wide, surprised eyes, you notice his red tip leaking so much precum, dripping down his abs. You involuntarily whine and wiggle your hips in need, your wetness dripping down your thigh. 

“Take it in your mouth.” He orders, voice strict and demanding. 

“But—” 

“Did I stutter?” 

“No daddy.” You whisper, looking away and finally gathering the courage to wrap your hands around his girth. You clench your thighs together when you feel him against your palm – warm and heavy, yet the skin was soft at the same time. When you stroke his shaft up and down watching how his precum pours down to your hands, providing you lubrication as it coats his cock. 

Jungkook throws his head back as he smiles down at you, feeling so good. He bucks his hips up repeatedly, meeting your timid strokes. 

His patience runs out and slaps your hand away, gripping his cock tightly. Suddenly, he slaps his dick on your cheek, making lewd and wet sounds. “Open your fuckin’ mouth.” 

Obeying his command, you wrap your lips around his leaking tip. You taste the saltiness of his seed on your tongue, trying your best to take more of him. His thick girth was making it hard for you as your jaw immediately feels sore. 

His hand flies to grip your hair, making you whine around his cock, causing vibrations. “Look at that pretty little mouth tryna’ take this cock,” he smirks, “Go deeper baby. Gag around my cock if you don't wanna be punished.” 

Your hips swivel in need from his words, pussy soaking like a river. You slack your jaw as you sink down on his cock, trying to ignore the harsh gags when his tip hits the back of your throat. Jungkook growls loudly above you, seeing that the corners of your mouth were dripping in saliva. 

He uses both of his hands to force you deeper. Your eyes start to water when you swallow just half of his big dick, already being too much for you. The harsh and wet gagging sounds were music to Jungkook's ear, loving to see you struggle. “Mhm, fuck yes,” he grunts, “Choke on that big dick.” 

He keeps you down there, feeling sinister as his devilish instincts get the best of him. He ignores your cries and pleads, only focusing on the feeling of the sweet vibrations whenever you moaned around him. Or whenever your throat closes around his shaft when you choked, it was all too good for him. 

You immediately tapped on his thighs furiously when you can't take it anymore, but what did he do? He starts fucking your mouth with sharp thrusts of his hips. You whimper, closing your eyes tight as your nails dig into the skin of his thighs. He grabs you by your head as he uses your poor mouth for pleasure. 

Trying to breathe through your nose, you ignore the burning sensation in your mouth yet it feels too good. “Ahhhh holy fucking shit,” he grunts, feeling your throat tighten, “Look at that – fuck. Bad little girl aren't you? Mhm? You're my bad, naughty girl.” Jungkook mocks, watching the stream of tears drip down your cheeks. 

Finally, he pulled out and there were thick strings of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. He groans loudly, his cock twitching as it lays back on his stomach. 

“Ohh, c'mere baby girl, come here.” Jungkook whispers and pulls your body close to him. You straddle his lap, feeling his cock beneath your folds that made you hiss. He wraps his strong arms around you, his face inches close to yours. You try not to be intimidated by his menacing eyes, but he notices this and clutches your throat with one hand, squeezing it again that made you inhale sharply. Jungkook sees your pout, your lips bruised from your numerous bites, and he chuckles. 

He tugs you until his lips are right upon your ear. “You wanna cum, baby?” 

Your body shivers from how deep and alluring his voice was, although you nod your head. “Please, daddy.” 

“Oh but do you deserve it? Do you even deserve a cock like mine?” 

You hate how frustrated he can make you. You punch your hands down on his chest, whining, “I-I do…” 

Jungkook quirks a brow up, immediately forcing your hands behind your back. He roughly grasps your wrists together with one hand, surely leaving a red bruise. He bites his lip, “You do?” He swiftly lands a spank on your right ass cheek, making you moan. “Then sink down on my cock.” 

With a puff of your breath, Jungkook helps you align his dick to your sopping entrance. You couldn’t breathe properly, anticipating what will happen as soon as you slowly sink yourself on his thick tip. 

“Ohhh daddy!” Your walls stretch out as you take his tip in, making you feel a harsh, stinging sensation as he rips your walls. If it wasn’t with his impressive girth, it probably wouldn’t hurt as much. Jungkook grunts, his cock throbbing from the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him. 

“Fuck yeah,” he watches your pussy take him further, your juices coating his shaft. He tightens his hold on your wrists, slightly bucking his hips up. Jungkook lands another hard, loud spank. 

“Daddy you're so b-big,” you moan, almost halfway down his dick but you can't take more of him anymore. Jungkook gets turned on from the sweet tone of your voice, the thought of tainting such a girl like you made him chuckle. 

Jungkook feeds himself from the idea of corrupting you, letting you know how it feels to truly rebel. Who the fuck cares about what your parents think? Humans are all going to die anyway, there’s nothing wrong with having a little fun. 

You start to bounce up and down slowly, your pussy rubbing against him, feeling the thick protruding veins upon your walls. You dig your nails onto your palm, eyes closed shut as you prop yourself up to your feet. 

“That's it, baby. Ride daddy's cock,” he insinuates, watching your face contort in pleasure. With your eyebrows knitted together, eyes shut and mouth wide open, Jungkook’s cock throbs inside of you.

“Look at that fucking face, cant take it?” he snickers. 

“I can, I can,” you pant tirelessly, legs getting sore. Your brows drew deeper as you concentrated on the feeling of his cock hitting your sensitive nerves so good, already so close to an orgasm from how big he is. 

But Jungkook wanted more. He wants it harder, rougher. He wants to shoot his hot cum so hard and deep inside your fresh womb, filling you up. He wants to wreck your body until you break. 

So he releases your hands free and instead grabs a hold of your waist firmly, keeping you still. He plants his feet on the bed and starts to thrust his hips up like crazy. 

Your jaw drops into an ‘o’ shape and you release a particular loud squeal. Your hands hold onto his broad shoulder, throwing your head back as he continues to drill your abused cunt. His balls slap against your ass, creating lewd slapping noises. 

“Dadddyyyyy!” you shriek, eyes expanding so wide from the unexpected bliss of electric currents shooting down your spine. You can't handle it, your orgasm snapping in a quick second. “I'm—!” 

Jungkook groans loudly when your pussy squirts your cum all over his dick and gushes all over his stomach. He fucks you through your mind-blowing orgasm, your eyes rolling back to your head as your legs shake from the unexpecting feeling. Your mind seems to cloud in lust as he doesn’t stop fucking you. 

“Shit,” he laughs, “look at this poor little girl.” Jungkook caresses your ass before he spanks it roughly, emitting a whimper from your mouth, kneading the bruised flesh right after. “Squirting all over daddy. You love my big cock so much, huh? You horny, desperate little slut.” 

Before you can even process what he just said, he flips you over until you lay down flat on your stomach. He hovers on top of you, keeping his dick in without pulling out. You yelp as he wraps his big hand around your throat, tightly squeezing your jugular without mercy. 

“A-ahhh oh—” you choke, letting your forehead down to rest on the sheets as he continues to pound you from behind. 

He had absolutely no mercy, using you as his little fucktoy for his pleasure, abusing your pussy like it was made for his demon cock. He chokes you harder, almost making you see stars. 

Your cunt throbs once again, signalling that another orgasm is coming near. “Ohhhh fuck fuck fuck fuck!” you moan, heavy puffs of breath coming out of your mouth every time he thrusts into you. 

Jungkook feels his nerves getting hotter and hotter, his cock aching to cum. He doesn't think of anything else but the way your walls clench so tightly around him. “Gonna break this motherfucking pussy of yours,” he growls, leaning down until his chest presses against your sweaty back. “I'm gonna fucking paint your walls with my cum, baby. You're gonna take all of it, you're gonna take all of daddy's cum in that tight cunt.”

Your legs squirm, hands closing into fists as you hit the bed over and over from how sensitive you become. Your hands claw the sheets tightly, back arching from the breathtaking pleasure. 

“Ahhhh daddy! Ohh my fucking— ahhh yes, yes yes!” your body crumbles, mouth wide open as you scream while you cum for the second time. Your pussy pulses so harshly around his dick, coating it with your juices, making it more wet for him. 

He groans, removing his hand from your throat and slaps your ass again. “Naughty little shit right here.” It was so messy, just how he likes it. His cum covered in your glistening arousal, fucking you through your high. 

He immediately flips you around again, making you face him. He smirks cockily from your flushed chest and face, noticing that you were having trouble opening your eyes. 

He leans down and rests his forearms beside your head, “Take it baby, take it.” he murmurs roughly, his balls getting heavier. “Take my fucking dick.”

Your legs never seem to stop quivering, everything around you seems blurry besides Jungkook's face. How does he still look so handsome and perfect? His black hair falls down his forehead, swaying with every hard thrust, his deep dimples peeking through when he bites his lower lip slowly while he savors the feeling of your warm, wet pussy. 

“Gonna cum in you baby,” he pants, holding your cheek in one hand. “Daddy’s gonna cum so fuckin’ hard for you.” You notice a dark, sinister forming his lips as he looks down at you. There it was again, that intimidating, almost teasing look. 

He growls roughly, hips staying still inside you as he dips down to gnaw at your shoulder. You hiss, whimpering when he sinks his teeth so harshly into your delicate skin, leaving an ugly mark. “Ah-ahh, daddy!” His cock spurts out warm strings of his seed, filling you up to the brim. 

“Mmm, mmm, fuck yeah,” he moans, “take it, Y/n.” 

When he pulls his cock out, his pupils enlarge as he sees your arousal dripping out of your cunt and onto your bed. He chuckles, stroking his cock a couple of times to milk himself furthermore, not wasting any of his sperm.

The two of you were breathless, breathing heavily. Your legs feel so sore and you can't feel them either, your ass stinging from his numerous rough spanks. 

“Clean yourself up, Y/n.” Jungkook suddenly throws you a wet towel, about to ask him where it came from, although he just stares at you blankly with a quirked brow. 

Gulping, you nod and start wiping yourself clean. 

~

He can't leave now. Not after all of this. 

There was something that attracted yourself to him. You can't seem to grasp what it is – but whenever Jungkook looks at you in the eyes, you feel like submitting. 

It was like your body doesn't belong to you anymore. He possesses your body now. 

“Crawl to me, my love.” He whispers, and you were easily drawn to his beautiful eyes. 

Still naked, you do as you're told and crawl towards the edge of the bed where he stands. He wears his pants, thankfully covering his goods. 

He sighs and softly caresses your cheek with a warm hand, making you flutter your eyes shut whilst leaning against his palm. He hums delightfully, smirking. 

“Surrender.” He purrs, eyes drooping down as he looks at you with such gentleness, almost with care. He leans down until your faces are mere inches away from each other. “Surrender to me, my love. And I’ll take you to somewhere you belong.”

Your eyes shimmer, batting your eyelashes as you gawk up at him with eagerness. “W-Where I belong?” you repeat in question.

“Yes, Y/n.” He smiles, showing you his perfect teeth. “Where no one will judge you, no one will criticize you for you. You can be whoever you want, you can do whatever you want. Isn’t that exciting, baby?”

Mouth getting dry, your nerves heat up once again, feeling nothing but anticipation. “Yes.”

Jungkook holds your face in two hands, compelling you to stare unswervingly at his red eyes. “Submit to me, Y/n, and you’ll never worry about this earth’s dreadful problems.” His voice gravelly yet dark, somehow different to his normal human speaking voice. 

You didn’t know what he really means by ‘submit’, or where he was supposed to take you. But your mind was telling you to go. Your consciousness speaks to you like someone was whispering in your ear what to do. You kneel before him, still keeping eye-contact. The air around the two of your shifts and it suddenly grows warm as your body starts to sweat.

“Where are…” your voice was breathy, “Where are you taking me?”

Jungkook starts to chuckle, brushing your hair back with his fingers. Suddenly, your heart races when he presses a tender, wet kiss on your forehead. Your eyes widen, heart beating out of your chest when he continues to kiss you down to the bridge of your nose, until it stops right upon your lips. He hovers his mouth right against yours, feeling his warm breath.

He whispers the words so ominously that goosebumps appear all over your arms and legs. “I’m gonna take you down to hell.” 

Jungkook watches your face go pale, all the blood leaving your face as you gaze at him with such big, surprised eyes. Without warning, he presses his lips against yours. You can’t keep up with him, his kiss rough and dominating. You whimper when his hand goes to wrap itself around your throat, pulling you closer. His tongue easily slips in your mouth, causing you to gasp. Jungkook smirks through the kiss as he controls the way your mouth moves. The two muscles dance together with such need and passion, hands getting sweaty. 

He bites your bottom lip, chewing on the soft flesh while he gently rolls it against his teeth. Jungkook growls, eyebrows furrowing. He can’t seem to get enough of you, wanting you all for himself. He’s addicted to you; your scent, your beautiful eyes, your body, he doesn’t want to leave this earth without you. 

He needs you down with him. 

Jungkook pulls out as he watches your flushed face, all out of breath. There was nothing else that you could do but whine about the loss of his lips. You were craving more of him. You pout, hoping that he’ll give in but Jungkook just shakes his head with a smirk. 

“Answer me, baby. Go down with me, and I’ll treat you so good.” He insinuates, “I’ll treat you like my own fucking queen. Don’t you want that?” 

You nod your head furiously, “I do want that,” you say softly. 

He clicks his tongue, “Tch, louder.” 

“I want it, please. Bring me with you.” Jungkook watches your pupils dilate, growing bigger as you speak. “Please.” 

Jungkook smiles. And within a flash, the black smoke that was encircling the two of you all this time thickens and starts to wash over the two of you. You cough uncontrollably yet Jungkook just stands there and watches. The smoke fills your lungs until you lose consciousness. 

~

Sounds of the crackling fire fills your eardrums, and your body tries to accommodate the scorching heat of your surroundings. 

Opening your eyes, you see that you’re nowhere in your room, or in the overworld. All that your eyes can see was miles and miles of dark red and black hills, huge torches of fire everywhere, scattered all over the place. There were girls and boys dressed in all black outfits, walking around the place with blank faces, eyes having stripped off of their emotions.

You look down on yourself and thankfully, you were wearing clothes. A tight red dress that hugs your body perfectly, enhancing your curves.

“Y/n.”

A soft voice calls out your name, and you whip around to see Jungkook in his demon form, smiling at you as he sits on his throne. You feel a warm, familiar feeling in your heart as if coming home and going to bed from a long trip. His blazing eyes lead you to a trance.

He beckons you to him for he lifts his right hand out to you. He eyes your body up and down, fixing his posture whilst he runs his tongue along his bottom lip. The way your hips gently sways as you make your way towards him – not losing eye contact – and how your irises burn in desire, it was all that Jungkook asks for.

Your legs move without your permission, leading you up the stone steps to his throne.

His hand was warm when you grasp it, although it was rough and almost hard unlike his human skin, you touch as if there was no difference. You weren’t afraid anymore. Jungkook signals you to sit on his lap, and you gladly obey. With legs on either side of his thigh, you straddle him.

“You’re mine, baby.” Jungkook snarls, “This is your place now.”

“I…” you speak for the first time, “I can’t see my friends and family anymore?”

He shakes his head no with a sly grin.

You exhale, a big smile painting your face. You’ve never felt so content and happy in your entire life.

“Then I love it here.”  

Jungkook makes sure that your angels can’t and won’t look for you anymore. He swears that he’ll protect you in every way possible, promising to shield you from anything that will hurt you. Jungkook looks at your beautiful red eyes, feeling your arms wrap around his neck as you pull him close. 

The last thing anyone should do is trust a devil — and that goes for your foolish angels. 

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Part 17

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

A/N: It is here! So sorry for the late update lovelies! I’ve been having really bad writers block lately and my job keeps switching my hours up so now my sleep schedule is all fucked up. And after writing this part I want to go stargazing so bad but the light pollution kind of sucks where I live. 🥲 Also this is my first time writing a steamy scene so I’m sorry if it’s awkward. Feedback is much appreciated and let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. 😊

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appears at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, angst, some foreplay and making out

You had still been wrapped in Zemo’s arms, the two of you indulging in each other’s presence in a silence, which combined with the faint beating of his heart, you only found to be comforting. The meteors still swept by the earth’s atmosphere above you in flashes that lit up the sky, leaving behind trails of white that resembled the strokes of a brush, as if your mother Asteria had painted the celestial bodies using diamonds onto a canvas that was the night sky. You could only make out the few stars and constellations that were scarcely scattered across the vastness above you, caused by the light pollution that unfortunately managed to mantle the wonders and beauty that settled just beyond, separating humanity from the marvels of the universe. The stars flickered like the diminishing of the flame of a candle, a farewell to the billions of years lived by the remnants of those enormous spheres of hot plasma, thus leaving behind the birth of other stars to fulfill their legacy. However, there was a certain star that did not flicker like the ones around it, a certain spectacle distant in time and space that still managed to burn bright despite the innumerable amount of light-years that separated Earth from it. The remaining light of your planet Olympus. You stared at that particular star, your brows knit together and your face etched with this certain melancholy that one could not explain. How could one thing be so near, within the reach of your fingertips, and yet be entirely outside the capacity of reach.

“Draga.” You heard Zemo softly speak, his chest slightly wavering beneath your cheek from his words.

“Hm?”

“Something troubles you.”

“What makes you say that?” You stared off, your eyes still fixated to the fading existence of your world.

“Your eyes draga.” Zemo looked down at you, his eyes scanning over the troubled creases that masked your features. “I have seen this shadow in your eyes that has seemed to occupy them as of recently. What troubles you?”

“…………You see that star there, right between those two constellations?” You pointed above you.

“Mhm.” Zemo nodded as he followed the line of your finger, his eyes now focused on the same exact star yours have not yet left.

“That’s my planet………Olympus.”

“You’re welcome to tell me about it if you’d like.”

“Well, when I was little, I used to live with my mother in this quaint cottage by the sea, similar to the one I live in now with my daughter. She used to bring me out most nights for stargazing. She had built this outdoor platform with bedding and blankets and we would have a small fire going to keep us warm as we watched the stars and constellations while she told me different tales and epic poetries. As silly as it sounds, she would make shooting stars appear in the sky for me knowing how much I loved them. Gods, I wish you could’ve seen my home back in its days, back when everything still remained. Everything was so…..beautiful, and the skies, gods the skies, you could see the different planets and galaxies as if they were only miles away. To this day, I have yet to see anything in my travels that compares.”

“I would have loved to seen it Schatzi. Your mother sounded like a wonderful person.”

“She was the kindest soul I knew.” You turned your body so that you could look up at him, resting your chin on your hand.

“You miss her.”

“There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss my family and planet.”

“I’m sorry about what happened to them Schatzi. I wish you never went through what you did.”

“If only I could bring them back. I’d do anything to be able to just see them again.”

Zemo was silent, believing that no amount of words could have provided you comfort, no matter how deep the meaning or how significant. He could not imagine what you went through. He had lost his country and his family, and you had lost your family as well, but you lost your world, your entire race, leaving you to be the last remaining entity of your people, the last Olympian and the last Chthonian. Words could not bring your family back, just as they could not with his. So he only did what he was able, making a silent unspoken promise within the abyss of his damaged heart to be there for you as he held you closer to him and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

A sudden feeling of guilt crawled up your spine like a venomous scorpion ready to sink its stinger in your skin with means to cause nothing but pain and suffering. You felt guilty for being here, lying next to Zemo wrapped in his arms like a pair of star-crossed lovers from the pages of a novel. A part of you felt selfish for what you did, undeserving of the affection that was bestowed upon you from a man who had suffered enough from the loss of his family. How much longer did you think you could give in to your mindless emotions without a single thought of the consequences it might bring about. Did you really think you could go on as if nothing is happening? As if you can conceal your true form from him forever. No. You could not. You did not have the heart to keep such knowledge from him. If you wanted to pursue what you had with him, you would have to tell him the truth when the time came.

“We should probably get back before Sam and Bucky notice.” You mumbled, blinking back the tears, your heart aching to go back to the way things used to be, wishing you could leave all of this and just be able to go back home. You didn’t belong here on earth, an immortal amongst mortals. At least on Olympus, if your titaness form had been revealed, many would not have bat an eye. They had already seen the likes of Titans before and the locals had become accustomed to you. But here on earth, you were nothing but a stranger, a drifter.

The two of you walked back to his place in silence, the only sounds being the whistling of the wind, the chirping of crickets, the voices of the few pedestrians and the humming of the cars that drove by. Your hands brushed against each other, craving to intertwine your fingers with his as you walked down the stone paved streets lit by the lamps that lined it, the two of you still withdrawn despite what occurred between you both. You felt it would have been silly, holding his hand like a couple of teenagers, though a century ago, you wouldn’t have gave it a second thought.

You arrived at his place, standing at the bottom of the steps in front of the double doors with Zemo opposite you, illuminated by the street lamp that stood just behind. Feelings of conflict washed over you, drowning you in waves of despair. As much as you wanted to be with him, a small part in the back of your mind kept telling you that it was wrong. Neither of you wanted to go through those doors just yet, wishing you could have spent the night under the stars. But life seems to have a way of working against your favor. The Wakandans would be here to collect him possibly tomorrow, and you would have to bid him farewell, separated from each other for what could be forever. As much as you did not look forward to that moment in having to turn him in and never see him again, you wouldn’t stop the Wakandans from what they were promised. And though you hadn’t said a word, Zemo had already knew what your decisions were regarding it, and he could not blame you for it. You were a woman of justice and you followed a code, and he respected that.

“Zemo.” A frown appeared on your face.

“Please,” Zemo whispered to you as he pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, “Call me Helmut.”

You looked at Zemo once more, a look of longing hidden behind your eyes as you unconsciously swiped your tongue across your mouth, watching how his eyes followed the movement before lingering on the wetness of your lips that resembled the petals of a rose after the pouring of cold rain in the midst of spring. Oh how he wished to be the drops of rain that were gifted the pleasure of grazing upon the velvety petals that belonged to such beauty of a flower, a symbol of union between the two domains in which the heavens came down to declare its love for the earth. A pulling sensation filled within your core, drawing yourself to Zemo as if he were the sweet berries of deadly nightshade that have lured many unfortunate souls. Banishing the thoughts of doubt that clouded your mind, you grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to you, crashing your lips against his in a heated kiss. Zemo was initially shocked by your bold gesture and stiffened from the way your mouth moved against his, surprised you would pull something like this when just a wall away Sam and Bucky were awaiting your arrival, before loosing himself into your embrace.

Your fingers clenched the collar of his sweater and your fingers grazed across the exposed skin of his neck while his hands went to your waist in a desperate attempt, fumbling to grab at anything and bunching up the bottom fabric of your sweater as he pulled you against him. The tips of his fingers brushed against the skin of your waist that was exposed below the hem of your sweater, leaving behind goosebumps in its trail. You smiled into the kiss from the way he completely melted under your touch, a part of you amused from the affect you held over him as you managed to elicit a moan from deep within his throat. Zemo’s brows were furrowed in the passionate moment, something you have noticed when you first kissed him, a small crease in the muscles of his face that showed just how lost he was when encased in this moment with you, and it absolutely melted you. He was addicted from the warm numbness, the ecstasy he felt from kissing you. Your lips were like heroin to him, leaving him yearning for more, and it didn’t ameliorate the fact that his years spent in a German prison had left him somewhat inexperienced and filled with a chasmic longing for touch and intimacy from the lack thereof. Deep within him, masked by his ideas and objectives, Zemo wanted to be able to love someone again, a chance at a new life and a family, and perhaps, he saw that possibility with you. But, behind the passion of the kiss you shared with him, there was something else, a poison that laced your lips with feelings of despair and forbidding that consumed you as if you had tasted those sweet berries of nightshade, slowly loosing yourself to its malice. His lips which were at first warm to the touch, now felt cold like ice and sent shivers of dread through your veins, as if this would be the last kiss you shared with him.

You pulled away from the kiss to catch your breath, your teeth softly grazing against his bottom lip as you did so. Both of you were left breathless as you rested your foreheads against each other, panting as your breaths fanned each other’s face as if you had just been trapped in the depths of the ocean before breaking through the surface to allow oxygen to fill your lungs.

“If you keep doing that Draga.” Zemo rasped between breaths, “I won’t be able to compose myself.”

“Good. Maybe I don’t want you too.” You smirked before placing a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. “But I really should go back inside, and you should do the same. Just make sure you go unnoticed.” You slipped his coat off your shoulders, his cologne that lingered on his fur collar leaving your senses with discontent as you returned his coat to him before going over to the doors, stopping to turn back to him with a smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Gods, what the hell did you do that for???? You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment as you wanted to slap yourself for pulling a move like that.

“Gods I’m stupid.” You muttered to yourself.

“Hey.” Bucky smiled once he spotted you, his voice soft as if he were afraid you would shatter at any moment from the discussion that took place earlier. “How was your walk?”

“It was nice, relaxing. I went to the park to stargaze.”

“That’s good. As long as you feel better.”

“I do, actually. Thanks Bucky.”

“You look flushed. You okay?” Sam noted as he stepped over to you.

“Huh?” You stopped short. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I just had to kind of uh power walk back here so you guys wouldn’t get worried. But I’m fine, yeah. Anyways, I’m going to hit the sack since I’m feeling a bit tired. Goodnight you guys.” You waved them off before going to your assigned room, making Sam and Bucky give each other questioning looks before they both shrugged it off.

You shut the door behind you, letting out a breath of relief that they had not caught on to anything and praying that Zemo had managed to sneak in. You had just gotten off the phone with Maze and your daughter, catching up on their activities after cleaning yourself up and changing into your nightgown. You had pulled up a chair next to the window that was in your room, your feet tucked underneath you and a warm cup of rose and blackberry tea in your hands. Your robe hung loosely off your shoulders as your index finger twirled above the small silver spoon that swirled in your cup, mists of violet wrapping around the handle of the spoon as you used your powers to stir the contents of the tea. You stared out the window onto the old streets of Latvia before glancing down at the teacup that was nestled in your hands, the glow of your eyes reflected off the window pane along with the tiny stars that swirled through the small globe of your necklace your mother gave you. You hadn’t stopped thinking about the moments that passed and the ones that have yet to come.

There was a knock on your door, interrupting you from the thoughts that had resided in your mind. “Come in.” You spoke as you looked through the reflection of the window and saw a figure step in. “Zemo?” You stopped using your powers, the clinking of the spoon scraping against the sides of the porcelain cup coming to a stop. “You know, you gotta stop sneaking into my room.” You teased before frowning, seeing the expression that sat on his face. “What’s wrong?” You got up from the chair, setting your cup down on the table before walking over to him.

“The Wakandans will…….be here for me tomorrow.” His eyes were lowered to the floor, the browns of his irises which reminded you of the dunes of the Sahara desert were whirling in thought, resembling the dunes caught in the midst of the fury of a sandstorm, as if searching for an answer to his troubles.

“Ze-Helmut, I………” You sighed, your tongue and mind lacking the ability to compose any words that might have provided some solace. “I’m sorry………..I don’t know what to say.”

“Y/n, schatzi” Zemo grabbed your hand, tracing his thumb over the bumps of your knuckles. “You don’t have to say a word. My actions………must be accounted for.”

You were silent, your brows knit together and your lips sealed as if your voice was ripped from your throat. Your heart wanted to tear itself from your chest, begging to be released from its cage so that it could be free to lament, so that it may be able to express the words that held it captive. But your tongue was tied, held back between the prison that was your teeth as you clenched your jaw. Zemo’s hand still held yours, stroking the soft skin on the back of your hand which were a contrast to the small rough patches on your palm, before you heard him speak again. “Can I kiss you?”

You blinked at him, lips parted in surprise that he would even ask such a question when you were honestly willing to kiss him any time of the day. The Zemo you had come to know was far different than the one you had heard about, his cold demeanor seemed to completely fade when he was around you, like a fog that dissipated with the coming of daylight. A part of you pondered whether this was how he used to be, before the events that happened. Though he hadn’t had a chance to share such affection with anyone and lost practice, you still found him to be great kisser and it always managed to leave you breathless. “Yes, please.” You whispered, your voice barely audible before you felt his lips brush against yours. What was sweet at first became more feverish and filled with hunger as an unfamiliar spirit seemed to possess your body, darkening the amethysts and golds of your eyes that resembled the galaxies, into the blackness of the abyss that swallowed the outer edges of space where not even the slightest bit of light could reach, almost as if you were sinking your claws into your prey.

A heat pooled in the pit of your stomach, filling your body with an electrifying warmth as his mouth moved against yours more confidently this time, catching you utterly by surprise and leaving your knees weak, a feeling similar to the stillness in the air a mere second before lightning strikes the ground beneath your feet. His hands slipped down to grab the flesh of your waist, dehydrated, and filled with an intense thirst that could only be quenched by your body that was the ocean, your skin separated by the silk fabric of your nightgown. Your hands went up to grip his shoulders as a gasp escaped your lips upon feeling him move down to your jaw and neck. Gods, since when was the last time you were touched like that?

“Helmut.” You rasped, struggling to hold back a moan as his lips sucked on the skin where your collarbone met your neck, making you lean your head back to allow him better access. Your robe had fell to the floor, leaving your arms completely bare while Zemo’s hands caressed the skin that lined them before resting on the dorsal part of your upper arms, the combination of the frigid air and his fingertips that felt like the touch of fire sending shivers through your body. “What if they hear?”

“Let them.”

“No……….I’m…….serious.”

“Well if you’re that worried Draga.” Zemo stopped to look at you. “The walls are thick enough.”

Gods that completely sent you over the edge. It felt as if you were on a high, your mind was not even within this dimension as Zemo met your lips again. You had to throw your arms around his neck to keep yourself from collapsing as the two of you shifted in the room, Zemo guiding your body before the back of your knees came in contact with the side of your bed. You let yourself fall back into the soft mattress, bringing Zemo down with you. You both were a mess, your hair disarray, the thin straps of your nightgown fallen past your shoulders had almost left your breasts exposed, and the skirt of your nightgown had ridden up to your thighs as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Zemo squeezed at the soft flesh of your thigh before attacking your neck again. He didn’t know how to describe it but you tasted absolutely divine. Perhaps being a goddess made you taste of ambrosia; the golden, honey-flavored fruit that grew on the trees of Olympus. You were in absolute bliss and thanked the gods he wouldn’t be able to leave a mark, at least you hoped not.

“Helmut.” You moaned, your nails digging into his biceps as his warm lips made a trail down your collarbone and lower to where the lace trim of your nightgown met just above the curve of your breasts, lingering on the space between, filling your mind with thoughts of a certain region you desired those lips to be. “Fuck.” You hissed from the contact, your hand moving its way to his head as you ran your fingers through his soft hair, your nails raking across the back of his scalp as the heat between your thighs only grew. You unconsciously pressed your heel to the lower part of his back, beckoning him closer to that heat between your thighs as you bucked your hips up. Zemo growled at the movement, slightly nipping at the skin where your breast had started to form, causing you to gasp and your eyes to fly open from the sensation.

“Apologies draga.” You heard him mutter before tenderly kissing the spot where his teeth had been.

Seeing Zemo in a close proximity above you in such a position had you dazed, wanting him to take you right then and there and not caring if the others heard you or not. And as your eyes wandered lazily over the sight of him, they widened in horror once they glimpsed at the image of your hands. Your nails became sharp, claw-like, and that deathly color had returned once again, slowly making its way up your arm like the tendrils of a shadow belonging to a demonic spirit.

“Helmut.” You whispered, your voice becoming panicked as you loosened your grip on his arms, being careful not to pierce his skin. “Helmut wait.”

Zemo stopped, pushing himself up to meet your eyes as his concern grew from seeing the frightened look that filled them. “Schatzi, what’s wrong?” He brought his hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair. “If you’re uncomfortable let me know.”

“No, gods no. If anything I don’t want you to stop.” You breathed out, trying to catch your breath. “It’s just that………….”

“What is it schatzi?” His voice was soft as his fingers caressed your cheek, afraid that he might have offended you in some way, afraid that he might have been too forward.

“I’m sorry Helmut. I want to, I really do, but not like this.” You shook your head as you got up, shifting over to where the dark shadows of the room fell on the bed to hide your arms, afraid to meet his eyes as if you had made a fool of yourself. “Not like this.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me y/n.” Zemo smiled at you. “If you’re not ready, than I’m not ready.”

“Thank you Helmut.” You smiled back before giving him a delicate kiss. “I’d………uh like to think some things through.” You prayed that he didn’t see your hands, hoping that the darkness of the room managed to disguise it.

“Of course draga.” Zemo placed a lingering kiss on your forehead before leaving your room, stopping at the door to give you a comforting smile as he carefully shut it behind him.

Your eyes still lingered on the door, waiting to make sure he didn’t come back before turning on the bedside lamp and staring down at your hands. You had managed to stop the color from spreading up your arm, yet it strangely still remained, stopping halfway up your forearm. This wasn’t good.

“What the hell?” You scrunched your nose, trying to use your powers once again to remove it but to no avail. Fear coursed through your veins as you attempted to remove the color, spell after spell, hoping those vine like tendrils would crawl back down your hands and disappear. You cursed under your breath as each attempt proved to be as futile as the one before. What the hell was going on? Why were your spells not working? It vanished before from your magic, why wasn’t it doing so now? You were struck with a sudden realization that perhaps this change would become permanent, that maybe suppressing your true form for all those years had caused it to spiral out of control and in turn try to overpower you as if it had a mind of its own. You growled through gritted teeth, the furniture around you shaking as your fists were clenched in frustration, the violet mists of your powers encompassing your hands and sparking with small bolts that corresponded with the vexation that overwhelmed you.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the mist around your hands disappearing and the shaking of the furniture coming to a stop. You had to work something out. You were left no choice but to keep your hands covered from now on until you found a solution. If any of them questioned it, you had to have a damn good lie. Getting up from the bed, you walked over to the double doors that led to the small balcony and opened them, your hands gripping the cold iron rail as you stared out at the view of the Latvian streets and buildings before you. Oh how you wished your sister Athena were here. She knew everything.

“Oh Athena.” You stifled a sob as you stared up at the stars, focusing on the light of your planet as if she could have heard you, a tear cascading down your cheek and dropping to the streets below. “Gods I wish you were here. I really need your help.”

Despite your pleas, you knew she wasn’t there, her existence only an artifact of the past. You were praying to nothing but a memory. It was extremely urgent that you got information on this matter of your form and the words of the prophecy that still threatened and echoed within the depths of your mind. And since you couldn’t obtain such knowledge from another Olympian, you would have to gather it from the old texts. Muttering a few words in Ancient Greek, you waited, searching, until a small white moth came into view, fluttering in your direction. You held out your finger, letting the tiny creature come to rest upon it.

“Hello little one.” You smiled at the moth as you gently stroked it in greeting, bringing it closer to your face so that you could speak to it in your language. “Please send word to my familiar and tell him to gather as much information he can on Titans and the prophecy. And tell him to come find me when he is done. Thank you.” The moth looked at you with understanding behind his tiny black eyes, it’s antennaes twitching before fluttering away into the moon. You sighed, watching it disappear into the night before giving your distant planet one last glance before shutting the doors and going back over to the bed. You laid down under the covers, your hands rested on your stomach as you stared up at the ceiling, dreading the day to come. How could you face Zemo? And however were you going to keep your hands a secret? Surely the three are bound to find out sooner or later? You just prayed that the message you sent would be returned in a short time. You needed to fix this before it would be considered too late. And the sooner you found Karli the better. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you closed your eyes, desperate to get some rest and forcing those thoughts away. Gods help you from this moment on.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thehornyles @awhorewithissues @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd @death-is-beautiful @ilovespideyyy @peakyrogers

[escher-room-with-a-view]

elaborating on my autism headcanons!!

- sarah -

her special interests are usually between one and three. once she develops a special interest, it stays with her for years; in fact, some of her interests, like reading and writing, have been with her for as long as she can remember. her other special interests are theatre and arts and crafts; the latter is quite a broad category, but it includes things like sewing, felting, embroidery, watercolor painting, book binding, and making collages. sarah delves further into her interests the more they’re encouraged, but she also uses them as coping mechanisms to feel better about or distract herself from the real world around her. in the cases of acting and crafts, she uses these to express how she feels, whereas reading and writing are used more as forms of escapism. her favorite genre of literature is fantasy, though she doesn’t mind any particular fantasy subgenres and is willing to broaden her knowledge of the genre by reading most of them. meanwhile, she isn’t anywhere near as selective when it comes to theatre. so long as there’s a soundtrack and cast that resonates with her, she doesn’t care if it’s opera or ballet, tragedy or comedy, contemporary or dating back thousands of years. indeed, she doesn’t ever feel like her knowledge of theatre is complete—and while it feels unattainable, she’d like to develop at least a cursory knowledge of every play there is.

sarah stims by talking to herself, chewing on her lips or hair, pacing, doing needlework, doodling, and absentmindedly writing. she also has echolalia, repeating the same word or phrase to herself either out loud or in her head; certain phrases can get stuck in her head for weeks on end. she’s rather quiet when she talks to herself—in fact, most of the time, she just whispers or mutters. furthermore, when pacing, she walks in circles or back and forth. she doesn’t use stim toys very much because they don’t appeal to her, though she does like the idea of making her own stim toys and other objects, such as slime or reversibles.

her relationship with routine is complicated. on the one hand, she doesn’t take change well and has difficulty adapting to new situations, especially those that are unfamiliar and stressful. this means that, to some extent, she prefers it when things stay the same. however, this is more of a general status quo sort of sameness that she likes to maintain. on a smaller level, she’s easily bored by sameness and likes it when at least one novel or interesting thing happens each day. for instance, if sarah has gone to the same school her entire life, she’s going to be upset—even devastated—if circumstances force her to change schools without any sort of preparation or warning. however, if her commute to the school every day is identical, she’ll grow bored of it easily and may one day consider taking a different path there just to see what happens.

sarah tends to struggle with eye contact and, on the rare occasions that she wants to maintain it, has to force herself to do so. it makes her immensely uncomfortable to look someone in the eye for an extended period of time. while irene sometimes mistakes this for her not listening, sarah is trying to explain that it’s not something within her control.

she is hyposensitive to (and indeed fascinated with) colors and lights. however, loud noises bother her and can be painful for her. sarah also prefers not to be touched unless she initiates the contact first. being touched without her permission startles her and makes her immensely uncomfortable, as does being surrounded or cornered; all of these can easily overwhelm her in the right circumstances. she hates haunted houses for this exact reason. her hyposensitivity also extends to texture and physical sensations, albeit not in the same way; rather than being obsessed with or actively seeking out sensations and textures, sarah is so hyposensitive to both of them that she sometimes doesn’t even notice sensory input unless it’s excruciatingly painful or needs constant adjusting. her senses of taste and smell are neither above nor below what’s considered average, though she has a preference for sweets, white meat, and anything crunchy. 

something else that she and jareth have in common is the fact that their living spaces, specifically their rooms, both have to be organized in a very specific way. any alterations in this organization are bothersome and overwhelming to the both of them; this includes rearranging or removing objects, changing the location of the room entirely, or changes in things like how much light or air the room receives. 

- jareth -

he tends to have a lot of special interests at a time, and they change often. his current ones are architecture, illusions, astronomy, fashion, humans/anthropology/sociology, various pseudosciences, and surrealist art. however, in the past he’s been interested in ornithology, geology, romanticism in art and literature, the labyrinth’s prehistory, wordplay and rhetorical/literary devices, cats, different types of governments, letter writing, collecting trinkets and antiques, choreography, and many, many more. living for such a long time has provided him with the opportunity to both develop and engage in a wide variety of passions. in fact, some of these past special interests still remain with him today and simply aren’t considered his “main” ones anymore because they’re not as strong.

his favorite pseudosciences are graphology, phrenology, and astrology. he also likes to try and determine the future via methods like alectromancy, astromancy, augury, scrying, and lithomancy.

he stims using crystals/via contact juggling. this is usually when he’s understimulated, absentminded, or just needs something to occupy himself with. it’s also enjoyable to him. he has other ways of stimming, though, many of which are meant to self-soothe. for instance, feeling nervous or excited might drive him to shake one leg or hand; he also feels compelled to chew on things in such instances. when overwhelmed, he scratches his arms as one would if they had an itch. jareth is trying to stop doing this and is thus looking for alternatives. he views stim toys as some of humanity’s greatest inventions. if he lived aboveground, i imagine he’d have different versions of the same stim toys for different purposes: neutral colors when he needs to prevent overstimulation, bright colors when he’s just stimming because it makes him happy.

he doesn’t mind loud noises, but he is sensitive to bright lights and colors. in fact, he’s so nonchalant toward noise that, when he listens to music, he likes for it to be as loud as possible. in his mind, good music is never quite loud enough. there are certain textures and tastes he doesn’t like, which drives him to be very selective with what he wears and what he eats. with regards to clothing, he likes silk and leather but can’t stand wool, denim, anything baggy or distressed, or velvet. because he conducts magic through his hands, he has sensitive palms; his gloves allow him to touch things without being bothered by them, while also allowing him to use magic undeterred. he’s especially sensitive around food, preferring things that are bland or savory and refusing to eat anything with a consistency that’s too soft. for instance, he finds eggs revolting in most forms.

without a routine, jareth tends to become dejected or burnt out. unfortunately, though, his frequent executive dysfunction makes it difficult for him to plan out and adhere to routines without frequent reminders—which, when they come in the form of goblins, usually annoy him more than anything else. this is why he hasn’t had a proper schedule in years. it’s a bit of a vicious cycle; his unhappiness has led to a lack of motivation, and his difficulty creating something he can stick to has made him even more unhappy. he works best with clear, written instructions that are placed where he can see them. he especially needs specific times to eat and sleep; without them, irritability and physical discomfort set in. in the event that he does have a routine, changes that might seem small to others are often nerve-racking to him.

though he sometimes uses eye contact and close proximity to others to intimidate, he genuinely feels uncomfortable without eye contact and has difficulty remembering to mind others’ personal space most of the time. he can be quite touchy-feely when he cares about someone—even platonically—and isn’t afraid of showing it, but he doesn’t really know when or if to back off unless explicitly told to.

- didymus -

when it comes to special interests, he and sarah have a lot in common. they both love drama and literature; however, didymus has a particular interest in folklore, both that of humans and that of the labyrinth. he only has two special interests: literature (including plays) and history. both of these influenced his desire to become a knight and continue to influence his behavior, as he seeks to emulate the idea of a noble and valiant knight to a T. he has some difficulty responding appropriately to or understanding various social cues. as a result, he spends most of his nights and some of his mornings scripting out how his day is going to go: how he’s going to speak to other people, how they might respond to him, and how he’s going to respond to their responses. whenever didymus makes a new friend, he puts effort into studying their mannerisms and personality so he can adequately pinpoint how they might behave toward him and thus figure out how he’s going to interact with them. furthermore, he speaks and acts like a gallant knight from a fairytale or play because of his constant reading. his consumption of literature provides him with a consistent model of behavior that’s bound by a set of rules, unlike the behavior of people in the real world—which can often be unpredictable, and whose rules are less coherent. as a result, didymus believes that emulating the kinds of characters he admires will make others admire him in turn, and make him easier to understand. 

his favorite earth authors are william shakespeare, miguel de cervantes, and alexandre dumas. he is also especially fond of arthurian legend and various human mythologies, such as norse, celtic, and japanese.

one of his favorite ways to stim is by chasing or wagging his tail. he also stims by absentmindedly practicing swordfighting moves with his cane, scratching behind his ear with a hind paw, pacing, and talking to himself. pacing is the only one out of all of these that doesn’t lift his spirits; rather, he does it when he’s thinking because it helps his ideas flow. didymus is most inclined to chase his tail or scratch his ears when he’s bored, practice his parries when excited, and talk to himself when he’s overwhelmed. in the last case, this is often combined with pacing; together, both stims provide a good release for emotions he has difficulty expressing otherwise. when didymus talks to himself, he is unlike sarah in that he doesn’t do so quietly. his volume remains the same as it usually is in a conversation; when he grows passionate, it raises accordingly. sarah introduced him to stim toys; his favorite ones are the ones that make noise, whether they click or woosh or do something else. he also uses dog toys as substitutes and enjoys the ones that squeak, though he has to keep his own set somewhere where ambrosius won’t find it.

his strongest sense by far is his sense of smell; it isn’t necessarily a lot of scents at once that can be upsetting for him, but rather scents that he finds unpleasant. these include sharp or chemical smells such as vinegar, ammonia, spices, perfume, citrus, alcohol, cleaning products, and herbs. aside from these, there aren’t any smells he can confidently say he doesn’t like. he also has hypersensitive hearing and prefers soft classical music, hymns and chants, or music that dates back thousands of years. he hates the sound of bells chiming, loud drums, or thunder; the last of these especially bothers him, though he would never admit it. he was once bothered by the sound of metal objects clanging together when he was a kit, but he appears to have outgrown that in particular. he has poor color vision, as do most canines, so bright colors don’t affect him at all. he finds flashing lights mildly frightening in some cases and annoying in others.

to didymus, routine is the thief of joy. he craves adventure every day and hates when things are the exact same; even having to do the same task in the same way as he did the day before, for instance, is enough to bore him out of his skull. as a result, he likes to mix up how he does things by placing his daily activities in different orders, doing them with his friends, or replacing some activities with others entirely. for instance, he, hoggle, and ludo take turns with household chores—not only so that they can share responsibilities, but so that didymus can have time to go off and pursue his knightly dreams. much of the time, his friends are willing to accompany him on his adventures so long as he’s able to keep them safe—and so long as they can be home by dinner.

he doesn’t really like eye contact, but he tries to maintain it because he thinks doing so is respectful. he does see one perk to his small stature; he’s too short to meet eyes with most people, so his lack of eye contact usually isn’t judged. it wouldn’t be either way because almost everyone in the labyrinth either is ND or knows someone who is ND, but he really does want to maintain eye contact because the books he reads make him think that it’s the proper thing to do. his friends are trying to convince him that he doesn’t need to make eye contact if it makes him uncomfortable; however, because he seems to believe that it’s a rule, he has difficulty convincing himself not to follow it. in fact, didymus is very much inclined to follow the rules that are provided to him and becomes anxious when encouraged or required to break them. without clear rules, the world becomes nonsensical and unpredictable—and therefore upsetting—to him. it was his idea to propose a set of rules for his friends’ home; they accepted and have worked together to write them down so that guests know how to behave.

he gets along really well with the wiseman; despite his typical impatience, didymus is one of few people who actually have the patience to listen to the wiseman. in fact, didymus isn’t just patient with him; his ramblings actively intrigue didymus, and whenever he has the opportunity he makes his contributions as big as he possibly can. didymus really appreciates it when his friends let him infodump, and he figures it’s only fair that he should let others do the same. in fact, didymus also places a lot of value on fairness; it’s the whole reason he opposes jareth in the first place.