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bicycle4two · 1 year

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built to love, but broken now || Arkhamverse!Jason Todd x F!Reader || soulmate au

Summary:

"-you had your monsters. I only had this connection to you." . . . or Jason and you are soulmates but the connection you share has done more harm than good and maybe the universe is wrong about this pairing, that maybe two people can be too broken to love.

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tags: soulmate au, hurt and comfort, healing, lonely characters, mentions of abuse and torture, reader blames jason for their pain at first, swearing, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, post-batman: arkham knight

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Read on AO3

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Word Count: 11K+

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Before

It had brought you some solace, the words on your skin.

They appeared suddenly, the letters slightly ticklish, like a ballpoint pen gliding across your skin, maybe even just a feather with how light and gentle it was. You’d been in class when you first felt the sensation, saw a list of food and toiletries being jotted down the palm of your hand. By your wrist, a quick computation followed by a couple of snacks being crossed out.

It was confusing, alarming, but at the same time, comforting.

Because these words, no matter how simple, how random, how inconsequential, kept you company in your loneliest moments.

In the darkness of your room, the ink on your arms, sometimes drawings, other times quotes from books you’ve never read before, made you feel like you were seen, that someone wanted to let you in.

And even when the ink was replaced by wounds, cuts, and bruises that you watched heal and fade, you weren’t scared. You felt the pain, the impact of the injuries, but instead of worrying about yourself, about how you were getting hurt without doing anything, you couldn’t help but think that this, this is only a fraction of what it felt like on the other end.

Because you aren’t alone in this. There’s someone out there who used to write poetry for you, lyrics of songs that you’d hum to yourself on the school bus, and that person is fighting and hurting, and how can you feel anything but worry, sympathy, for the person whose scars now litter your own body.

There’s a story out there of pain and suffering, maybe even triumph, and you can do nothing but read between the lines on your skin, piece together the clues it gives you, how the skin hardens to protect itself and how ugly it can get the more its torn apart.

…

You wake up in the hospital and for once, you don’t panic. By now, it’s a familiar, almost like home. The white walls, the steady beeping of a monitor, the murmured chatter. In a twisted way, you feel calm, relaxed, peaceful. Because no matter how isolated you are, how lonely it is when no one is there to welcome you back, at least you are no longer in pain.

Maybe it’s the drugs they’re pumping into your blood stream or maybe, maybe you’ve been out for so long that you’ve healed, come back to earth good as new, or as good as you can be. Chipped, cracked, but not broken beyond repair, not yet.

But you know it won’t last long, that the pain always comes back.

If you didn’t know the cause of it, you’d almost think you were cursed, that maybe you had offended some deity or witch. Because this pain is different from before. Before, the pain only took your breath away, stopped you in your tracks. Sometimes, it knocked you out, but you’ve only ever woken up with a headache after. Nothing some Advil couldn’t fix. But now, now it feels like a joke, like you’re somebody’s plaything. The pain inflicted is like a test—a little experiment to see how much you can take, how far the human body can go before it gives up.

There were days when it felt like you were being electrocuted, your body crumbling to the ground, convulsing, and you’re left with nothing to do but scream while the people around you call for help, watch in horror as you’re attacked by an invisible force. Other times, you’re knocked out of your seat, head flung back, nose bleeding, jaw aching.

And maybe if it was just that, shocks to your system, blows to your face, your gut, that would be okay, because if the scars on your body had anything to say, it would show that you’ve survived at least that much.

But this, this constant torture, makes you think that you only have so much fight in you, and you’re tired and afraid. You’re scared to leave your room, scared that some outside factor could hurt you, too. That maybe you’d feel a hit in the ribs so hard, so strong, that you’d trip down the stairs, fall into traffic.

And maybe the impact on your side would push the other person over the edge, aggravate what already fatal injuries they have, and it could be the last straw.

Because this, this phenomenon—blessing? miracle? voodoo? curse?—is rare, almost unheard of, a fairytale, and there’s no telling how it works, the extent of it, the connection. What once was just simple doodles across your skin was now a black eye, broken bones, a burst appendix, internal bleeding.

And from the pain in your chest, the way it’s become so obvious to you that you’re breathing, that something that’s supposed to be reflex, natural, now feels like a great effort to do, you think that this, this could be the end. That any more of this and you’re not going to make it to tomorrow.

“Do you want us to call somebody?”

“It’s alright. I can make it back on my own.”

“No, I mean, should we get someone from the police to come? Are you safe at home?”

The doctors and nurses look at you in sympathy, concern, making up their own stories in their head. You tell them that you’re clumsy, that you were probably born under an unlucky star, but there’s only so many injuries that you can pass of as consequence of losing your balance, of not looking where you were going, of the natural misfortunes of living in Gotham City.

You don’t want to get anyone involved, don’t even know what to say to the police if they asked, even the doctors can’t figure it out, how a person’s body can just hurt itself the way yours does. How can you explain the scars around your chest, wrists, and legs, the way it looks like you’d been tied down with rope and barbed wire? The bruises on your back? The way it looks like you’d been beaten with a bat, maybe even something stronger, with sharper edges? The scar on your check, the raised skin spelling the letter J?

Even you don’t know how to cover that up, in all sense of the word. You stare at it in the mirror and somehow it glares back at you as if it’s supposed to mean something, remind you of something. It feels like a label of sorts, a brand.

And of all the stories the scars on your skin can tell, this is the one you want to hear the most. And yet, you’re scared to know what’s behind it. Because it can’t be good. Surprisingly, it’s the worse of the marks on your skin, worse than the gash down your leg, the new bullet sized one on your chest.

Because this, this simple letter, somehow carries a weight to it. It’s heavy on your face, distorts your features. And maybe that’s why it’s ugly. Because it’s taken something from you, made it difficult to recognize yourself, to remember the person you were before it was forced upon you.

And it’s this stupid J that made a connection that once brought you comfort, made you feel less lonely, dirty, tainted it in ways that you feel like it will never be clean again, never be the same, never be beautiful again.

_____________________________________________________________

After Part I

Jason knows what to expect with cheap apartments in Gotham City—a shitty living experience.

The shower water is cold, if there is even any coming through the pipes at all, the floorboards are creaky, and the walls are thin. Which is fine. Jason prefers that he knows what the people around him are doing anyway, would hate to be caught by surprise. And, he won’t admit it, but nowadays, silence unnerves him, leaves him with his thoughts, which, haven’t been good to him recently, for a while now.

And frankly, it’s entertaining, listening to the petty squabbles happening in the apartment to his right, how they argue over the trash piling up, and why the TV only seems to be broadcasting porn. The drug dealers living above him were a talkative bunch, too, always laughing, bragging about some kid they recruited last week, how fast he was, how easy it was for him to get away from the cops. There were talks about bringing along his sister, someone less inconspicuous. At least, that was before Jason took care of them.

Again, there is some benefit to the lack of privacy his apartment building provides. In this part of Gotham, people tend to keep to themselves anyway, have learned that it’s better to mind your own business. So, the other tenants may choose to ignore the kind of activity that happens in the back alley, turn a blind eye at sketchy neighbors, the kind that walk funny, smell a little weird, but Jason’s always been able to handle himself, always knew how to fight people so much bigger than him.

All things considered, after everything, Jason has been doing okay for himself.

Sure, he isn’t great. He still has his nightmares to keep him company at night, still has this rage bubbling inside him, the feelings of hurt and betrayal still leave a bad taste in his mouth, but he’s okay. He’s alive, at least.

It helps that he can keep himself busy. That the criminals on the street, no matter how many guns they carry on them, no matter how much armor they have on, are still scared of things that go bump in the night. And Jason has been trained to work in the shadows, knows how to use them to his advantage.

…

It was like a mouse was living next door.

Jason knows that the apartment to his left is occupied, hears the quiet signs of life through his living room wall, but he’s never seen them. They shuffle around their room, their footsteps light, careful, almost deliberately silent, the music they play is always just a soft hum, gentle vibrations that lulls Jason to sleep when he’s staying on his sofa, beat from the night out. Sometimes he hears them when they’re about to cook, pots and pans being placed on the stove. Other times, he hears them rearrange the books on their shelf, the sound almost therapeutic, and in the early hours of the morning, he can hear the typing of a keyboard, the clicking of, well, a mouse.

But other than that, Jason’s never heard them speak, never heard the front door open the entirety of his stay. Chances are their times have never matched up, that they leave and come back while Jason’s out, but still. If Jason didn’t know better, he would think that maybe the apartment next door was haunted by a ghost cursed to go about the motions of its previous life.

Which is why, he’s uncharacteristically caught by surprise when he sees his neighbor in the hallway, arms wrapped tightly around a brown grocery bag. It’s late, Jason’s just about to head out to follow up on a lead, and his neighbor, a girl no older than he is, is just coming in.

She looks up at him when she feels his stare and the first thing he notices is that half her face is covered by a surgical mask. The light blue fabric somehow highlighting the dark circles under her eyes, the fading bruise on her temple. Jason thinks he should probably avert his eyes now, go back to what he was doing, leave before she does something he’ll regret, like strike a conversation.

But something about her keeps Jason in his place.

It’s probably because she’s looking him over too, her tired eyes studying him from head to toe. And Jason has to wonder what she sees. Because like everyone else, she looks at him warily, sees his large size, the scowl on his face, the bruises on his knuckles, and knows that he’s bad news. There’s this aura about him that tells people that they should keep their distance, to mind their own business. And somehow the scar on his face helps seal the deal, makes him look like someone you don’t want to associate with.

And people in the halls, on the street tend to look away once they see the pale, puckered flesh, their eyes twitching to look at anything but him. And he waits for her to do the exact same, waits for the widening of her eyes, the sharp intake of breath before she scrambles to get back into her apartment, away from him.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, the moment her eyes land on the J, a series of emotions play on her face, and none of them fear. He doesn’t have much to go on, the mask obscuring most of her tells, but her eyes, her eyes are expressive despite being worn out. They’re sad at first, almost weepy, and Jason knows this look, loathes being pitied, but in the next second, there’s a fire in them, anger. And that’s familiar, he’s seen that same look in the mirror more than once, which is probably why he should have seen it coming.

But honestly who would have expected his mouse like neighbor to attack? To go absolutely feral?

…

There was so much you wanted to say, to ask, and you always thought that when you meet them, you’ll know the exact words that would come out of your mouth. You figured you’d introduce yourself, maybe even explain this connection you have, ask if they want to be friends because something as special as this cannot be ignored, dismissed.

But what comes out is a snarl, a sort of inhuman noise that perfectly fits your actions.

You didn’t think you could actually take him down, he’s so much bigger than you and obviously stronger, but if you could maybe get a scratch in, wrinkle his clothes, rip a bigger hole in his jeans, then you’d feel better. Never mind the fact that whatever pain you inflict on him would come back to you, at least this time, you tell yourself, this time you’ll see it coming, this time it’s going to be your choice.

But of course, things don’t go your way. Because of course this man’s reflexes were quick, catching you and twisting your arms in such a way that they were now behind your back, immobilizing you. His grip is strong, almost painful, but you don’t care. You’ve had worse and frankly if he hurts you, then that would be the best wakeup call he could have. Because you’ve been so careful over the years and he probably didn’t even know you existed, how strong this link between you two is, and if he breaks your arm then you’ll get to laugh in his face when the same thing happens to him.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He growls out.

“You are!” You bark back, pulling against his hold. He only tightens his grip to an almost bruising extent, and you feel yourself smile when he lets out a hiss. “Painful, isn’t it?”

“What the heck are you doing?”

“Pretty sure you did that, big guy.”

And he’s quiet after that, probably confused, you can’t tell with him standing behind you, but you feel him test his hold on your arms, varying the strength of it. And it hurts, sometimes, but you let him figure that out on his own. When it goes on for too long, you take matters into your own hands. You twist your wrist so that you can pinch the skin of your forearm and he yelps, releasing you.

“Stop that.” He says with a sour look on his face.

“You stop it,” you retort childishly. He obviously doesn’t appreciate your tone, but you don’t care. You have bigger problems, like the fact that he looks like he’s leaving for the night. Which isn’t good news. “You’re going out again aren’t you.”

He turns his nose up. “What’s it to you?”

And you really want to hurt him, but again, you can’t, which is getting more frustrating the longer you’re in the same vicinity.

“Do us both a favor and don’t get your ass kicked, will ya?” You gesture to the bruise on the side of your temple, the hit you felt knocking you out of your seat while you were working. You had seen stars, almost missed a deadline because of it.

You don’t give him a chance to respond, reveling in the almost guilty look on his face, and you march back to your door, unlocking it with little difficulty, thankfully. You don’t know what you’d do if you somehow messed that up in front of him.

It’s only when you’re in the comfort of your living room that you realize that you left your groceries on the floor outside.

“Asshole.”

…

Jason doesn’t realize how lonely he’s been until he had someone else’s welfare to think about.

Back then, before…before, he had a partner, a family, and he made sure they didn’t get hurt, tried his best not to get hurt either if only just so they don’t worry about him, have to take care of him when he can’t do it himself. And, it was good, back then, he remembers how nice it felt to have people to depend on and to be depended on as well.

But it’s been so long. And he’s been on his own for years, the people he worked with were nothing more than colleagues, employees, only there because they were beneficial to him and vice versa. Now, recently, he’s been going out without caring about what happens to him, not really. Yes, he’ll make damn sure that no low-level goon gets the best of him, and he won’t let the likes of Batman’s ex-rogues get away without a fight, would make damn sure that if he’s going down, they’re going down with him, but he’s only human and although there was a time he felt like after all he’s been through, he was invincible, maybe even thought that he could live forever, he has a clearer mind now, a better grasp at reality.

Not the best, but thankfully better than before.

Which is why after a moment of confusion, of disbelief, of denial, he can now admit what his mouse of a neighbor is to him, what she’s supposed to be, and he’s trying to be better now, doesn’t want to hurt innocent people, so he’s a little more careful at his job because of it, because of her.

Which is a good thing, all things considered. He dodges quicker, that’s for sure, thinks of better, sneakier ways to subdue criminals, to keep the fight from getting too big, too chaotic, and really, it’s all he can do to avoid the worst of injuries. He really can’t say the same for his fists. The guns are more efficient, sends a better message, but really, when someone gets too close, punching the daylights out of them is more of a reflex than anything.

Bruised knuckles are ten times better than a black eye or a shot to the knee so he’s not going to be picky about it, tells himself that she would know that it could be worse.

And for the past few weeks he’s been good, comes home whole, the heavy-duty stuff in his first aid kit mostly untouched, but he’s not made of stone. When he gets shot in the arm, he bleeds. A lot.

It’s really the voice of Alfred in his head that forces him out of his sofa to get the first aid kit from the bathroom. It says a lot about his injury, the amount of blood he’s lost, that that wasn’t his first instinct when he got back. Really, he’s just so tired that all he wants to do is go back to sleep.

And although he isn’t psychic, doesn’t know shit about what his future holds, he knows that this isn’t how he’s going to die, alone in his apartment, swimming in his own blood, so, he moves, sluggishly, but he’s further from the sofa than he once was so that’s progress.

It’s the series of knocks on his door that stops him halfway through his journey. He thinks to ignore them, that whoever’s outside is going to grow tired, probably think that he’s not even home, but the knocks continue, there’s an insistence to them, a demand that he open the door.

And Jason would hate for that noise to be in the background while he patches himself up, thinks that it would probably make things worse somehow, agitate him. So, he drags himself over, angles his arm in a way that the person on the other side won’t see it, and opens the door with a glare.

It’s her. The mouse.

“About time,” she says by way of greeting, pushing past him easily. Jason sees that she has her own first aid kit in her hand and her arm is wrapped in bandages. It’s the same arm as his, almost like looking in the mirror, only he’s still bleeding all over his floor.

And maybe, maybe that’s why she’s here. She knows he needs help, knew the minute he got hurt, and she could have ignored it, dealt with her own injury, and call it a day. Yet she’s here now.

And Jason sags in relief, glad to know that he isn’t alone tonight.

…

It would have been easier to pretend he was still some stranger on the other side of your link, some faceless figure, if he wasn’t so nice to you.

But he just had to leave new groceries by your front door. He just had to fix your broken lock when he saw you struggling with it the other day. He just had to glare down the creepy tenant on the fifth floor, the one who looked at you for too long whenever you passed by, threatened him, told him to mind his own business, to not bother you.

He just had to be careful.

It doesn’t escape your notice that it’s been a while since you’ve been hurt, since you’ve felt a punch in the gut, a hit to the head. So long that your bruises have finally had the chance to fade and your skin looks almost like it did before. It’s never going to be the same, time cannot heal the scars, but at least you’re no longer black and blue.

That’s why when you’re jolted out of sleep with a scream inducing pain, you know something’s wrong. The blood no longer scares you, no longer makes you sick, but your hands still shake when you gage the damage, clean it up, and wrap it. And it’s supposed to end here. There’s nothing you can do now but go back to sleep, hope that you’re not woken up by another mystical attack.

But you can’t. The apartment next door is quiet, empty, and you find that you won’t be able to rest until you know he’s back.

So, you don’t care about the ruckus you’re making in the early hours of the morning. You don’t care that the parents down the hall are glaring at you through the crack of their door, the sounds of a baby crying are quiet compared to your knocking. You don’t care. Because he’s on the other side of this door and he could be dying and no matter how angry you were, are at him for getting the both of you hurt, you can’t just leave him now that you know he’s right there.

“I have so many questions,” you say when you’ve finished your wrapping. It took longer than you would have liked, but he aggravated it on his way back from wherever he was, and you had to make sure that it wouldn’t get infected. You don’t know what would happen to you if it did. “But something tells me I won’t like the answer.”

“Smart girl,” he rasps out. He’s tired, that much is obvious, but he doesn’t let himself rest. He watched you the whole time you worked, probably making sure that you did it correctly.

“But I feel like I deserve it. You don’t know how it was like, getting hurt without seeing what it was that was attacking you.”

And it’s obviously the wrong thing to say. Because although he wasn’t relaxed, at least he wasn’t angry. He seemed all too happy to let you patch him up, probably delirious from the blood loss, unable to turn you away, but now that he’s no longer bleeding all over the floor, he has the strength to glare, to scowl. And you should probably be scared. But you know he won’t hurt you. Can’t. So, you stand your ground.

“Are you in some sort of gang?”

“I don’t have to answer you.”

“I don’t think you work for the police. You have that lawlessness to you. So, what is it? Drugs? Mafia? One of those costumed freaks outside on the street?”

“Shut up.”

“You don’t look like a follower though. I doubt you’re some goon. Maybe you’re new, been training for this moment. Are you some up and coming villain here to take over Gotham now that Batman’s de—”

And you choke, his hands wrapped around your neck, squeezing. It’s not enough to kill you, no, of course not, because then that would be counterproductive on his part. It’s just supposed to scare you, to keep you quiet, the way his fingers tighten. And you think that the connection you share somehow dampens the effects the receiver gets from the original source because he doesn’t look the least bit affected by his hold. That, or he’s been through worse. Which wouldn’t surprise you.

You really should have kept your mouth shut. The original plan was just to take care of him and leave, a sort of repayment for the groceries, the door, the creepy tenant, but you’re angry, have been angry for so long. Because all his good deeds these past few weeks don’t erase the hurt you’ve experienced the past two years. Old feelings of resentment bubble to the surface and you don’t care that your life is in his hands right now.

“You don’t know anything, little mouse.” His words are low but the stillness in his apartment makes it easy to hear him, to feel the impact. “You think just because we have some voodoo link, I won’t hurt you?”

“You won’t kill me.”

“No, of course not, mouse. But I can make you regret ever speaking to me like that.” His grip tightens slightly. “You think I’m scared of a little pain? I’ve crawled out of hell myself.”

And you imagine that this sneer shakes people to the core, the way it twists the simple letter on his face. But you have the same thing on yours and you feel pity instead. Because along with all the anger, there is hurt, and sadness, and confusion, and loneliness.

Because this link was supposed to be a gift, a miracle. At least that’s what the books said, the old folktales, and it was, it was something to celebrate, to cherish. Until the years tainted it, mangled its magic in such a way that something that was supposed to be, had potential to be, love left you broken.

“D-don’t underes-estimate me.” You say between struggled breaths. “Y-you may not ha-have se-en me b-but I, I was there, t-too.”

You don’t expect to be let go so you crumble to the floor, knees taking the brunt of your fall. You see him twitch slightly but other than that, he seems fine. Physically. He’s staring you down like he doesn’t know what to do with you, what to make of you, and you can’t blame him. You don’t know what’s happening either, what’s going to happen. Because everything’s a mess and you don’t know if the two of you are tied together because you’re supposed to be together or you’re supposed to ruin each other.

“It—It wasn’t my fault.” He grits out like the words are painful to say, like they’re tearing through his vocal cords. “I, I didn’t choose to be tortured.”

And you want to say that neither did you, but you have enough tact to keep quiet because this, this is one of those things that you’ve wondered about for so long.

“You think you understand, but you weren’t there, not really. You didn’t see these monsters, what they did to me. You didn’t see the looks on their faces. They—they were angry with me, hurt me for things I didn’t do. And for the things I did, they did so much worse. And, and they were happy to do it. Glad that I couldn’t fight back, that I wasn’t in my right mind, that I was bound. Helpless. For all my training, I couldn’t do shit.”

“So don’t you dare put this on me, mouse. I’m not to blame here. I’m as much a, a victim as you are.” he spits the word out like he hates the fact that it’s the truth, that it’s a part of him as much as anything. Because you can see now that he’s built to fight and although you don’t know him, not really, not at all, you know that he was made to protect. That for all his anger, his glares, his scowls, his brute nature, he was someone who could do so much more, that he was someone who once never thought of hurting anyone who didn’t deserve it.

And maybe it’s the link, maybe it’s the way you can see him clearly now that his walls have been kicked down, burned, but you can see why his presence, the very idea of him existing somewhere in this world, once brought you comfort, peace.

And you remember.

You remember the writings on your skin, the way they tickled with every stroke that appeared on your your arms, the palm of your hands. You remembered the lists he’d make, the little reminders. The doodles you can imagine him doing in class when he simply couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. You remember the quotes, the poems, the song lyrics. And you wonder how you could ever think that someone who was so gentle, who seemed so kind, could ever think to hurt you. And you think that you always knew about him, but never once did you make yourself known. You never wrote back to him, never completed his songs, never drew anything for him.

And you think that although he had kept you company, you had left him alone.

…

Jason expected the tears. He has that effect on people he’s threatened, verbally attacked. But this, this is different.

Because there’s something almost childlike to her crying, the way she curls up and just sobs, screaming like she can’t find the words to express whatever it is that she’s feeling inside, the frustration, the hurt, the anger. And, Jason understands, knows what it’s like to just want to scream at the world because it’s done nothing but hurt him. But he’s never had to luxury to do so, not really, could never bring himself to openly sob, let his emotions out as freely as she does.

Because it’s a sign of weakness. It shows that there’s a breaking point. That some things can be too much.

And he’s jealous. Jealous that she can be weak, that she can break, that she can show that there is only so much she can take. So, he lets her. He lets her cry in the middle of his apartment until she goes hoarse, until there’s no voice left in her, no tears, only harsh breathing, and the shudder of her shoulders to show that she’s hasn’t passed out on him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers when she’s finally calmed down. She hasn’t moved from her spot, from the little ball she’s made herself into, and Jason thinks that maybe she can’t look at him.

“You’re not the one who did this to us,” Jason says, feeling exhausted. It’s been a long night and all he wants is to just go to sleep. Lately he’s been too tired to dream or, at least, too tired to remember his nightmares, so he’s been getting some rest. It’s not much, but it’s better than before.

“Neither did you. So, I’m sorry I blamed you.” She looks at him now. Her cheeks are soaked, her hair and the mask stick to her skin but she doesn’t do anything about it. “This link, this connection, I thought it was like a fairytale come true.”

And Jason snorts. Because he once thought so, too. When he was younger, he had found a book in Bruce’s library about links like this, the different varieties, the way it brought people together. It was nice knowing that there could be someone out there specially for him, someone who would love him. Because for so long he went without anyone on his side, without anyone who wanted him. And the idea that someone in the universe was made to love him? Well, he couldn’t be that lucky.

But he wished he was. He really wished that he was part of that one percent that had this link.

And here she is, his little mouse, and he’s done nothing but hurt her. Even if he didn’t want to, didn’t mean to, the damage was done. To both of them. And Jason has to wonder if a link can break, if the people on either side were too hurt, too angry, too broken to be put together.

“I bet it looks like a horror story right now.”

“I think I could have loved you,” she begins, and Jason feels what little of his heart that’s left twinge, ache. “I wanted to love you. But, but the pain…it was so much. I was so scared. And I didn’t know what was causing it, not really. You had your monsters. I only had this connection to you.”

She pushes herself up to sit, to look at him without her hair in her face, without tears in her eyes. And Jason, Jason doesn’t know what to do. Because what can you do when someone tells you that they wanted to love you, that the thing you wanted the most, the thing you prayed for as a child, was right there in front of you, broken?

“I’m, I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, not knowing what else to say. He’s sorry that he wasn’t careful when he was Robin, he’s sorry that the Joker put them through torture, he’s sorry that even when he got out, he only fought harder, didn’t care what happened to him as long as he got his revenge. But again, it wasn’t, isn’t his fault. Not all of it, really. He didn’t know she was there, that she existed. “Why…why didn’t you try to contact me? If, if I knew you were there… I…”

I would have been careful. I would have fought harder. For the right thing. I wouldn’t have been alone.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t, don’t apologize. I…I should say sorry—I am sorry.” She traces the skin of her arm with her fingers in an almost comforting manner. Like how you’d stroke a puppy, lightly, gently, with love.

“When you grow up and no one wants to listen to you, you start to think you don’t have anything important to say at all,” she explains. “I was happy when I found out you existed. I, I didn’t know who you were, of course, but I was happy you were somewhere out there, you know? I just, I didn’t want to scare you away with…me. No one really wants to stay with me.”

“What was the universe thinking, putting us together?” Jason breathes out. “What? We’re both fucked up that’s why we’re perfect for each other?”

“Misery does love company,” she says with a shrug.

But she doesn’t look as hopeless as Jason feels right now, doesn’t look betrayed. Because Jason thought this link was supposed to be good, pair him with someone who was going to love him in a way that he’s never felt before. Unconditionally. But how can she love him when he’s hurt her? How can he love her when there’s no love in him to give?

It all just seemed like another middle finger the world just loved to send his way.

“Maybe we aren’t supposed to be fucked up together,” she says breaking the silence, taking Jason out of his thoughts. “Maybe, maybe we’re supposed to heal. Together.”

And Jason hasn’t been one half of a duo in so long and, and he’s so tired. So tired of all the pain, the anger, the loneliness. And here’s someone the universe is saying could love him, is supposed to love him, and all Jason really wanted was to be loved, to be seen, and he’s broken, she crumbled to pieces right before his eyes, but maybe together, they can build something, make something that would turn all the ugliness they have into something beautiful.

_____________________________________________________________

After Part II

No matter how magical the link seemed, how the stories described it as something that brought two people together, made people fall in love, you and Jason aren’t friends. Not yet.

You don’t hate each other, don’t glare, or spit out poisonous words at one another, but you aren’t friends. It’s hard, after everything, to be anything more than neighbors, but at least you aren’t strangers. Not anymore. You can’t pour your heart out, scream into the heavens in someone’s apartment and remain strangers.

So, neighbors.

It’s an interesting relationship to have. In all your years living in Gotham City, you don’t think you’ve ever looked at your neighbors let alone talk to them in the hallway, have them help you bring your things up the staircase when you run into each other in the lobby. And. It’s nice. After being on your own for so long, it’s nice to have someone welcome you back when you’ve been gone, to ask how you’ve been even if it’s just a question to fill the silence, to seem polite.

It's nice to know Jason, to have someone make you feel that you aren’t alone.

…

It’s late.

You’ve always found that you work better in the night, that editing videos with all the lights turned off, with nothing but Gotham’s city noise to keep you company, was so much easier than it was in the daytime. Maybe it’s because you know no one would disturb you this late, that you wouldn’t receive any phone calls or expect to answer emails at this time so you can work uninterrupted, get into the zone of putting videos together, find out the best transition between clips, to make them more interesting, more engaging. Or maybe it’s the aesthetic of being dressed in your pajamas, headphones on, sitting on your swivel chair in a way that you can’t do in an office that makes you think that this, this is how an editor should work.

Either way, the point is that you’re awake and maybe that’s why he comes to you, drags himself through your open window, landing on your floor in a heap.

It’s a miracle that you don’t scream.

“Jason?” You ask dumbly, scrambling to grab your mask from your table, hiding your face from him. It seems almost fair seeing as he’s currently concealed by a red helmet. “Is that you?”

“Hi there, mouse,” he groans, stretching out on your floor, hands petting your fluffy rug. “This is nice. Where’d you get this?”

“I ordered it online—What’s happening? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Just took care of some business. Nothing to worry about.” But the way he hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor makes you worry anyway. “You got some ice here?”

“Sure, let me—” And it hurts. You feel it when you stand, the way your ankle throbs when you put your weight on it. You didn’t notice while you worked, too focused on adding animation to the video to make it funny, to emphasis a joke, but now, now it hurts. It’s not blinding, not to the point that you can’t walk. It’s the link, you think. Whatever injury Jason has, you get the dampened version of it, which says a lot about how much pain he’s really in, what he isn’t showing you. “It’s broken, isn’t it?”

“Nah. I doubt it. I just landed wrong.”

“You don’t normally make that mistake,” you say.

“I’m only human.”

And it’s the way that he says it, the edge in his tone, that makes you drop the subject. You limp out your room and make quick work getting the things you need to ice and wrap both your ankles. When you pass by the mirror outside your room, you pull your mask down to check if Jason has any other injuries he isn’t telling you about. Luckily his helmet shielded him from most of the damage, but it seems like he’s bit his lip. You lick the blood off your own before slipping your mask back on.

“I can do it myself,” Jason says when you reach for the clasps of his boots. You see the guns he has strapped to his thighs but think that like any gun wielding person you see in Gotham, it’s none of your business. “Mouse. Stop.”

“Let me help you.” you say, suddenly tired. Your own ankle is nagging at you now, your position on the floor isn’t doing it any favors, and you wish you had at least finished your draft because you don’t think you’ll be getting back to your computer tonight. “Please, Jason, let me at least do this.”

“You’re hurt, too.”

“Not as bad as you.”

And, finally, he lets you take care of him. And you think that it’s been a long time coming. That you were always the first person to know when he was hurt, when he needed help, and finally, finally you’re here to do so. It’s not much, he’ll definitely be better off at a hospital, but something tells you that he isn’t going to go to one even you have to drag him there yourself. So, you do your best. He helps you remove his heavy-duty footwear, and you wince at the swelling.

“This is more than a bad landing,” you say, icing the ankle. You have a timer for twenty minutes already counting down on your phone.

“It’s two years’ worth of bad landings.”

You know that can’t be true, that there’s more to that statement. That the weeks you’ve been bedridden because you couldn’t walk was because of his monsters. That wherever they kept him, they made sure he couldn’t leave. But you keep quiet, knowing that Jason doesn’t do well when prodded for answers, that he’ll tell you things on his own time.

“Well, you better decide what we’re watching this week because we’re not leaving the bed for some time.”

And Jason laughs, a low chuckle that makes a shiver run down your spine. You look at him through your lashes and you hate that you can’t see his face right now, that you don’t know what he looks like when he laughs.

“Now, mouse, if you wanted to get me into bed, you only had to ask.”

“Oh my God. Shut up. You’re the worst.” And your glad that he can’t see your face either. That he doesn’t see how affected you are by him.

“You love me.”

He doesn’t mean to say it. You see the way he stiffens after the words leave his mouth and you don’t have to see his face to know that he’s cringing, grimacing. And you should ignore it. Act like you didn’t hear him. It’s the polite thing to do. You’d probably want him to do the same if the tables were turned.

But, at the same time, you think that maybe, just maybe, this is a chance. That maybe this link between the two of you hasn’t twisted in such a way that it can’t go back to how it was before, that it can still be fixed, cleaned, brought back to its former glory.

“Not yet,” you tell him quietly, almost like it’s a secret, something that only the two of you should know. “But I could, Jason Todd. I want to.”

…

“Hey, you didn’t forget the dog food, did you?”

“How could I? Your reminder took up my entire forearm.”

“I wanted to make sure you got my message!”

“Well, I did. So, congrats. What do you need dog food for? I thought mice only ate cheese.”

“Haha. Very funny. It’s for the puppy that stays by the back door. She makes me want to cry.”

“Oh. You should have said so. I could have gotten some toys, too.”

“And a bed? And treats? Wait, I’ll write it down.”

“Paper! Write it on paper!”

…

Jason hears the scream in his dream.

It breaks through the scene, distracts him from what’s happening, and it tears him out of the dream almost violently. He shoots up from his place on his living room floor, his breathing quick, gasping, almost panicked, and he has to tell himself—out loud so that it’s real, that it’s not just wistful thinking—that it’s over, that it’s all over and he’s free. That by some miracle he’s okay, he’s safe.

But the screams weren’t from him, weren’t caused by his nightmares. It’s coming from next door, his little mouse’s apartment, and he’s moving before he knows it, practically tearing out his door in the process to get to her.

(It’s a good thing that her apartment is practically baby proofed, her table’s corners guarded with soft padding, because Jason hip checks into one in his rush. It’s something he’s been meaning to bring up for a while, how her apartment is carefully designed to keep her safe from those small accidents people have with their furniture—stubbed toes, bumped hips, pinched fingers. He doesn’t want to be cocky, to think that this thing between them is more than it is, that the link is just that, a connection, doesn’t dictate what they are to each other, not really, but he wants to think, believe that maybe, just maybe, she did it for him. That she tries her best to not get hurt so that he wouldn’t either.)

She’s awake when he reaches her room, knees to her chest, hands covering her face, shoulders shuddering with every exhale. She looks smaller like this, somehow, more vulnerable, and Jason, Jason has never been good at handling things that were fragile, breakable, but he wants to try.

He thinks that she was with him in hell, and she survived, so she won’t fall into pieces just from his touch.

But honestly, it’s Jason who’s having a hard time reaching out. It feels like he’s going to fall into pieces because it’s been so long, too long since he’s touched somebody without it hurting. And maybe, maybe it would be the same for her, maybe she’d rather he just stay in the same room, comfort her with his presence, maybe he’ll even find the right words to say.

But he remembers the way her fingers trace over her skin when something’s bothering her, when she’s distressed. Thinks about how she grabs hold of her own hand, squeezing it to ground herself. And he thinks about how his writings used to bring her comfort, how she said they always made her feel less alone.

So, he grabs a pen from her table and slowly, carefully, writes the first thing he thinks of on his arm.

I’m here for you

I’ll always be here

…

“So, you edit videos for…vloggers?”

“I do commercials for small businesses, too. But yeah, vloggers.”

“Vlog…gers. Video bloggers.”

“It’s not that strange.”

“Why would you want to watch what people do in their life?”

“I don’t know… maybe it’s entertaining to see how people live outside Gotham City? I edit for a Metropolis vlogger. I saw Superman in the background of some of her shots.”

“I just don’t get it.”

“You watch reality TV.”

“That’s only because I lost the remote and you know it.”

…

It’s easy to forget with how he carries himself, confidently, dangerously, like he’s bigger than everyone else, that Jason slouches, that he walks with a hunch in his shoulders, that his back curves in a way that can’t be comfortable.

It’s not so bad when he wears his brace, when there’s something to support him, but some days, some days he can’t bring himself to put it on. That he’s just so tired from the night before—maybe even consecutive nights when things in Gotham City get too hectic, when the bad people get cocky, in over the heads— that he just chooses to be in pain. Or he just can’t help it. That maybe staying on the floor, on top of his new rug that you ordered for him, was better than moving.

Which is frustrating. But it’s not like you can wrestle him into one when he doesn’t want to wear it. You learned quickly that you can’t force Jason to do anything, that it’s a surefire way to end the day in a bad mood, so you think that there must be another way to help him because no matter how much he brushes it off, no matter the fact that pain is something he’s used to, he doesn’t have to deal with it.

“No, mouse. No drugs.” Jason says weakly when you kneel beside him, warm compress, massage oil, and some pain relievers in your hands. The internet said it should help. You even looked up some stretching exercises.

“You sure?”

“Definitely. I hate that shit.”

And you don’t ask. You think that it’s related to his monsters, to those two years, so you tuck the pills into your pocket and gently coax Jason back on his stomach. It would probably be better if he were on a bed, someplace more comfortable, but he’s never been able to relax on one, not really. He’ll sit with you, sometimes long enough to finish a movie, but he’ll never stay, never let the pillows cushion his head, never tuck himself under the duvet.

Jason visibly sags in relief when you apply the warm compress on his back, lets out a low groan. His eyes flutter close, and you think this, this is what he looks like when he’s at peace, when he feels safe and, well, warm. You think that Jason Todd deserves to rest, that he of all people needs a break.

“How is it you’re not in pain?” He mutters out after a few minutes, one eye cracking open to look at you.

“Maybe it’s like a loophole in the link,” you say. You move the warm compress away when the timer rings. “Like how you don’t feel my period cramps.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Nothing compared to what we’ve been though, no. But they’re inconvenient. How are you feeling?”

Jason stretches a bit, and you hear a pop. He lets out a sign, melting into the rug once more. “Better.”

“You think you can get up? Want to put on your brace?”

“It’s better if I do.”

“I’ll go get it.”

You don’t remember when Jason’s apartment started becoming familiar. You think that it’s normal to think so, that your apartment has the same layout, but it’s different. You know Jason’s apartment, every nook and cranny of it, the things he keeps on display and the things he prefers you don’t know about, or at least see.

You know where he keeps his medical equipment, all the places where he’s tucked a first aid kit, where he keeps his everyday braces, the ones he has for his back, his knees, his bad ankle. They’re different from the ones he wears to “work.” The more heavy-duty ones are in the room you try to stay away from, scared that you might touch something the wrong way, set something off.

You know how he likes to keep his books organized, putting away the paperbacks he’s forgotten to tidy up when he leaves, making sure the bookmarks don’t slip through the pages. You know how he likes to put his groceries away, how he organizes his pantry so that the items close to expiring are in the front, so they don’t get forgotten, don’t go to waste.

What you don’t know is how long ago you and Jason have moved on from simply being neighbors, how long it took for you to know his life as intimately as you do now, to know how he lives in his little world on the other side of yours.

“What do you say we get out of here?”

Jason asks when you come return to the living room, still lying on his stomach, not in a rush to move, to disturb the comfort he’s found himself in.

“Like, outside?” You look out his open window, see that the sun’s behind the clouds but it’s still bright. It’s been a while since you thought Gotham as bright, having lived in its shadows for so long. “I heard the park has been renovated.”

It reopened last week and you’ve seen nothing but good news about it online. People were excited to see something nice, something new, untouched by the incident.

“We can,” Jason begins, pushing himself off the floor. You reach out to help him, but he holds up his hand, stopping you. Somethings, he prefers to do by himself. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

He looks nervous. Almost shy. Which is cute if not a little unnerving.

“How about we move? Move out of this apartment?”

“Together?” You’re surprised that you’re not opposed to this idea. In fact, you like it. A lot. “That’s, uh, are we ready for that?”

“We’re at each other’s place all the time anyway and I’ll feel better knowing you’re safe. With me.” He scratches the back of his head, eyes darting away from you, blush crawling up his neck. “This place is a shithole, mouse. We can get some place better—better plumbing, better ventilation, better security.”

And you smile. “Getting sick of the cold showers, huh?”

“I just wanna feel clean, mouse. I miss hot water.”

“Well, if you put it that way.”

And Jason, you always thought Jason was good-looking, beautiful in that rugged way of his, but when he smiles, looks at you like you’ve given him something he’s always wanted, he’s breathtaking.

…

“So, how do you propose we move our things?”

“You have a car in the garage don’t you? Why don’t we just use that?”

“Oh yeah? Who’s going to drive it?”

“You? Mouse, it’s your car.”

“No. It was my dad’s. I don’t know how to drive.”

“How can you not know how to drive?”

“I’m barely out of high school, Jason. Why can’t you drive?”

“Bruce and Alfred never got around to teaching me.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to look up moving companies then.”

“…You’re, you’re not underage, are you, mouse?”

“I’m nineteen. Twenty this August.”

“Oh. Good, good. Same.”

…

This, this is difficult.

The bed. He’s not used to it. There was a time when he was excited about it, after living on the streets for so long, the bed at the Manor was godsend, never believed he’d ever touch something so soft yet firm with such a high thread count. He imagined that his old bed was something Goldilocks looked for, the exact bed baby bear had.

And there’s no doubt about it. This bed in their new apartment is good, comfortable, one of the best that they could afford. It’s just, Jason can’t sleep on it, can’t get himself to relax, to allow his body to accept the comfort. Because it’s been a long two years with nothing but wood or concrete to pass out on. Jason’s even found himself hanging on a meat hook once or twice, dozing off from the blood loss, the beatings. And maybe back then he’d give anything to be back on his bed, even the one he had before he was on the streets, the old lumpy mattress with the springs sticking out.

But now, now all Jason wants is to move to the living room floor, to sleep on the rug they brought over.

“Jason?” She asks from outside her bedroom door, voice sleepy, barely above a whisper. She has her hands up to cover the lower half of her face, probably not expecting to see Jason out this late at night. “Is that you?”

“I have to ask, mouse, what would you do if it wasn’t me?” Jason asks from the shadows, from his place on the floor in front of their sofa.

“Scream. Then you’ll come out and beat the intruder’s ass.” She shuffles closer, her bedroom slippers muting her footsteps. “Are you okay?”

And isn’t that the million-dollar question? Jason thought he was. He thought he was getting better. He thought he’s moved on from the worst of what’s happened in the abandoned wing in Arkham Asylum. He thought he’s moved on from that Halloween, moved on from the Arkham Knight. Yet here he is, on the cold living room floor, unable to fall asleep in his own goddamn bed.

“Y’know, I never thought about it, but this is pretty comfy.”

All of a sudden, she’s next to him, the throw blanket over her shoulders, corners held up to cover her face. She’s made sure that there’s still space between them, that she doesn’t sit too close, but it’s enough, enough to feel her warmth, to know that she’s there.

“It sort of feels like a sleepover, doesn’t it?”

“Have you ever been to a sleepover, mouse?”

“Don’t be rude. You know how much people scare me.”

“Not so much anymore though, right?”

And although he can’t see it, he knows she smiles. Because she’s still his little mouse, still a bit skittish around strangers, but she’s trying, she’s getting better at meeting people’s eye, at returning greetings. She’s even made friends with the kid across the hall, helps her with her homework sometimes.

“Not so much, no, but I live in fear of the water bowl trick.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s the worst. I see it in movies all the time. So, you wait for someone to fall asleep first, right? And you warm some water…”

Jason doesn’t realize what she’s doing until it’s too late. Doesn’t realize the way the gentle tone of her voice lulls him to sleep, her steady speech providing some comfort he didn’t know he needed, wanted. And Jason never really liked the silence, not like before, no longer found comfort when all he could hear were his own thoughts. So, this little story, some nonsensical tale about warm water and waking up in a wet bed, allows Jason to relax, allows him to succumb to his exhaustions, allows him to sleep.

…

When Jason wakes in the morning, the first thing he realizes is that he feels well rested, his nightmares decided to give him a break for once, finally let him experience what it’s like to not wake up tired. The next, the blanket she was using was now thrown over him, tangled in his legs. Last, she’s cooking.

It’s nothing extravagant, nothing like the breakfasts he’s had at the Manor once upon a time. But it’s enough. Jason’s been having trouble with food again. Some days it’s hard to stomach the heavy stuff, the greasy kind of food he used to salivate over when he was younger. He’s glad that she somehow knew this, predicted that he needed something light after last night.

And he’s grateful. Thankful. Thinks that this, this is what he read about in those books all those years ago. Thinks that this is what the link promised him.

…

“I know it’s none of my business but…”

“But?”

“But you should know that, that it’s okay. It’s okay to show your face around me.”

“I, I didn’t think you’d want to see it.”

“I have it on my own face, mouse. It’s not like it’s going to surprise me.”

“I know. I, I just thought it would be harder to look at when it’s on me.”

“Mouse. You’re always going to be easy on the eyes.”

“Flatterer.”

“It’s true. Just, think about it, okay? I mean, I’m no stranger to masks. I get it. I just wanted you to know that it’s okay. You’re okay. With me. I, I’d like to see your face if you’d let me.”

…

It’s quiet tonight.

Gotham, for once, is quiet in a good way.

It’s almost like everyone decided that tonight, tonight was going to be a break from, well, everything, and for that, Jason is grateful.

He’s tired. He’s been tired for so long. And it’s nice that he gets this moment of peace. With her. In the quiet.

And it’s different than usual. Because although it’s quiet, Jason’s thoughts aren’t hounding on him, aren’t reminding him of what he’s done, what’s been done to him, aren’t telling him that this peace he’s found with her is temporary, that this link they have is too weak after all its been through, that sooner or later it’s going to break and she’s going to leave. Because of course she’s going to leave him if there’s nothing tying them together. Because they always leave. Because why would anyone want to stay—

And.

And Jason can finally tell his thoughts to shove it, to go back in that dark corner of his mind and to stay there. Because he knows, he knows now that this connection is stronger than they thought, that no matter how much they went through, no matter the bruises, the scars, the trauma, it only got stronger, only held them that much tighter. And Jason knows that she isn’t going anywhere, that she’s here to stay. With him.

“I think this link is getting stronger,” she says in a whisper, almost like she’s afraid to disturb the quiet. “I can hear your thoughts from here.”

“Oh yeah? What am I thinking?”

And she smiles, a shy little quirk of her lips that makes Jason want to shield her from anything and everything that can threaten to take it away from him. Because he earned that smile, longed to see it, and if he could keep her smiling, keep her happy, keep her at peace, then he’ll know he’s doing something right.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll let you know if it’s the same thing I know.”

And what is Jason supposed to say? Is he supposed to tell her that after so long he now feels safe? Warm? Wanted? Is he supposed to tell her that he’s dreamed of her since he was a child, that he’s longed to have someone out there who was meant for just him? That the universe saw the two of them and thought that there is no way that they should not be together?

And Jason thinks that the answer is yes, yes, he should tell her that. Because she deserves to know. But, but can he really? Is he really capable of the feelings he has swirling inside of him? He’s been angry for so long, hurt for even longer, believed that he was broken. Could someone like him feel this way about her?

“Hey, Jason, why are you crying?”

He thinks of the way she was once curled up in his living room, screaming, tears running down her face. He remembers thinking that she cried in almost a childlike way, the kind of cry you do when you don’t have the words to express everything that’s in your heart. He remembers being jealous. Jealous that he couldn’t do the same.

But maybe, maybe he can. Maybe that’s what he’s doing right now. Maybe the child in him just couldn’t sob openly the way she could. Maybe, just maybe, the child in Jason could only cry quietly, could only cry without gaining attention so he wouldn’t get into trouble.

And isn’t it a relief that when the tears slide down his cheeks, wet the pillow he’s lying on, she doesn’t scream, doesn’t get angry. She only coos, speaks to him in a gentle way, in a way that makes him know that this, this is okay.

“It’s okay, Jason. You’ll be okay.”

“Can, can I, is it okay for me to feel this?”

“Feel what?”

“Because, for…for so long, all I wanted was to be loved. And, and I thought that I didn’t deserve it, that after everything I’ve done, no one could love me and…” The words are difficult, almost painful to say, but he has to, he has to try because she has to know. “And I thought maybe, maybe I was too fucked up, too broken to love, but mouse. This, this feeling. These feelings I have for you, what else could it be? How can someone like me feel this way? How is it even possible?”

And she’s quiet. Thinking. She wipes his tears with the soft pad of her thumb, traces his cheeks like he could break if she pressed too strongly. And it took a while before he allowed her to touch him like this, allowed her to treat him with such kindness. Because he’s gone too long without it and it scared him. But now, now he looks for it some days. Craves her touch, the warmth, the kindness. And he revels in it.

“I think,” she begins, her voice shaky, like the words are trying to come out all at once and she’s trying to get control of them. “I think you are love, Jason. For so long you had to be tough, you had to be cold and hard and unfeeling, but I think, I think if you were only given the chance, you would have been nothing but love.”

“I was made to fight. To protect.”

“No, Jason, you were built to love.”

And there’s no way he can keep it to himself now. No way that he can keep it from pouring out when she tells him that, looks at him like that.

“I love you,” he rasps out. “Is that okay? Is it okay to love you?”

“It’s more than okay, Jason. I love you, too. So much.” And she laughs, a weepy sort of laugh, but she looks happy, so happy, and Jason has a hard time believing that it’s because of him, that he can make someone as happy as she is right now. “Even without the link I think I would have found you and I would have loved you. You make it so easy to love you, Jason. And I love you. I love you. I love you.”

…

When Jason wakes up, the first thing he realizes is that he’s in bed. He’d fallen asleep next to her, wrapped his arms around her in his sleep, pulled her close so that her back was pressed against his chest. It’s a first. Sleeping in bed. Sleeping with her. The next, he realizes that he’s in love. So, in love that it almost feels like a dream, but he knows dreams and this, this isn’t one of them. This is real. Last, he’s okay. More than okay, really. He’s finally happy.

...

author’s note: the conversation about jason not knowing how to drive is inspired by scaryscarecrows post. also jason's broken ankle and bad back is from lananiscorner

ps. want to see more of these two? check them out here

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syntia13treeman · 3 months

Text

Case files 06.01

We've got a new monster! I repeat, we've got a new monster! Also this call was made just 3 days before Sam heard it! The monster is roaming the streets as we speak!

Ahem. Let us begin.

What I think happened in:

Case 06.01, the case of "Prickly Hugger – a cautionary tale for muggers" or

"I'm scary and pointy!"

We've gathered here today to talk about Mr. Needles.

Who is Mr. Needles? Mr. Needles is a local. He grew up here (somewhere in London), and he'd seen the neighbourhood go from 'nice' to 'dreadful' over the years. (He had a hand in that, though he won't say how). He used to feel lonely and hollow, but has found something to remedy that. Some kind of mark. Don't worry about it.

Mr. Needles does not look dangerous. On the contrary, he seems like an easy mark, a perfect victim (a perfect lure). This particular night, some knife-wielding ruffian fell for it and tried to mug him. Mr. Needles let the mugger get very close, before deploying needles (they come out from under his skin from thousands of tiny holes). (…does it hurt? Every time. Mr. Needles doesn't mind. He's experimented with BDSM before).

He happily glomped the mugger and made sure to position himself over muggers face (and his eyes). The needles broke off after digging into the mugger's flesh. (It's OK. They grow back).

When the mugger was already on the ground, moaning and bleeding, Mr. Needles decided to call emergency service. This was not his first hmugger, but his first emergency call - he's not very clear on how exactly they work, but he does know where the local contact centres are located.

After a little bit of back-and-forth with the dying mugger and the various operators, Mr. Needles ended the call without actually stating their location, so it will probably be some time before somebody stumbles upon a body full of needles, lying in a pool of blood.

Somewhere in Lambeth, a police operator is feeling rather unsettled and will be looking over his shoulder on his way home for at least few days. (And maybe he'll meet an unassuming little man fond of hugging).

Other important things to know about Mr. Needles: Mr. Needles is a very scary monster.

He can smell fear. He can smell fear even over the phone (which probably means it's not actually scent he's perceiving, but that's just a technical detail).

If his scare-factor is challenged, Mr. Needles becomes agitated and rattles his needles like an angry metal rattlesnake. It is not advisable to question his scariness. He WILL take offence and threaten to stalk you.

What we don't know about Mr. Needles:

Sewing needles or syringe needles? I've seen fanart depicting classic hand-sewing needles, but I don't think that works for the simple reason that the mugger is said to be bleeding to death rather quickly, while the needles are still in him. Every stab-wound PSA reminds us to leave the 'weapon' in, because it slows the bleeding. So I posit that Needle's needles are hollow, promoting fast blood-loss. He even says "This isn’t some poxy blood test," when arguing his scariness, which I think supports this.

What is Mr. Needles? A monster-ified human, or a human-shaped monster? He says he grew up here – does it mean: - he was just regular boring human before he grew prickly (how did it happen?), - or was he once just a tiny itty bitty prickle of unease in the back of somebody's brain, before feeding on collective fear of the locals, and growing big and fearsome, until he could manifest as a fully fledged, physical monster (what prompted it?). - Or was he once a tiny baby monster, toddling underfoot and biting ankles? (kidding ;) Smart money is on the first option, but I rather like the idea of the second. We'll have to wait and see, I guess.

How old is he? He seems to be rather new to the whole 'being a monster' thing, so whatever he was in his youth, I think he became Mr. Needles fairly recently. Like maybe...hm, about a year ago? When some other things started happening for no apparent reason?

Are muggers his usual prey? I doubt it. The line "once they realize their mistake" could mean "they thought I'd be easy mark – oops, surprise!", but it could just as easily apply to "this good Samaritan though I needed help," or "this random passer-by thought I was harmless and not danger to them". He also says he's proud of making the streets unsafe at night, so I think he is a predator that just also happens to eat other predators. Top of the foodchain kind of deal (or at least he likes to think of himself as such).

What is his name? The transcript says 'Needles' and I'm calling him this for now, but I don't believe it's what he calls himself. I bet when we meet him and he introduces himself, it will be with an overly long, pretentious edgy name, sth like Dr. Sharp, the Terror that Stabs in the Night, or similar.

What does he mean by "the land is marked now, same as me"? What happened to the land? Too much man-made destruction (physical mark)? Too many man-made tragedies (metaphysical mark)? An apocalypse seeping in from a nearby universe (eldrich mark)? Something else? All of them at once? What? *gnawing at my keyboard over a tiny inconspicuous remark*

#the magnus protocol #tmagp 06 #tmagp case files #tmagp case 06.01 #Mr. Needles #ep. written by Jonathan Sims #ep. written by J.S.+ A.J.N #Needles

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 2 years

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[Nsfw?] How the heck does one deal with intense shame and guilt w/r/t sexuality esp if you grew up lgbt in a hardcore repressive household. esp if you want to remain Christian. I'm deeply afraid of disappointing God and going to hell. Like it's such a deep and involuntary fear which produces so much anxiety within me.

Idk what to do and honestly it's killing me

cw: shame & guilt, fear of hell

Dear anon, I am so sorry that you are going through this pain. Your body and sexuality are gifts from the God who created us as embodied beings and called us good. I am so sorry human beings have taken those gifts and twisted them, made you feel shame and guilt around them. You are absolutely not alone in this struggle.

The fear of hell is also one that so many of us struggle with at some point in our lives. It makes my blood boil that so many Christians turn Jesus's Good News of liberation for all into bad news of torture and punishment for many. The way many churches teach Christianity, the only way they can keep people in the pews is to scare them into staying. But Jesus didn't fearmonger like that; he brought healing and hope and wholeness to those he ministered to.

Ultimately, my response to you is to encourage you to seek professionals who can support you far better than I can. If at all possible, I highly recommend finding a counselor or therapist who specializes in helping people with sexual trauma or who are recovering from anti-sex sentiments, anti-LGBT rhetoric, etc.

Make sure that anyone you decide to try out is in favor of undoing purity-culture-type shame and guilt around sexuality, rather than reinforcing it. If you need help finding someone who seems like a good fit for you, please feel free to private message me with your general location and I can try to search for you; or send me the websites of anyone you find and I can see if they're on the anti-shame side of things.

So yeah, I want that disclaimer out there that the best things for you are more long-term support than I can offer, as well as the simple passage of time. Still, I do have a few things that may help guide you as you go; I'll share them below.

I have a post here responding to someone else who struggles to let go of the fear that God will send them to hell for being gay & trans. They're Catholic, which may or may not be your own background, but even if the Catholic stuff doesn't fit your situation, most of the stuff in my reply can fit a more general Christian background.

One thing I emphasize in that post is that heaven is a gift given freely by the God who loves us. That means that even if it turned out that people like me who believe wholeheartedly that God affirms LGBTQA+ identities were wrong, God's response to our mistake would not be to fling us to hell — God would enfold us in Their love. As I write in that post,

Heaven isn’t a reward for getting the best grade on a theology test: heaven is a gift from God to us, pure and simple. That can be hard to digest, but it’s the core of Jesus’s message: we don’t earn salvation; it’s given freely and joyfully to us by the God who longs to be with us forever. There is nothing you can be or do to cancel out that gift.

I end that post with links to further discussions on hell, including the suggestion that hell may not be real at all — or if it is, it's not a place packed with souls being punished for all time. God's justice is not human justice; it's not punitive and vengeful like that.

I say all that while also emphasizing that I do firmly believe that God intends and affirms a diversity of sexuality, gender, and so on. God is not disappointed in you for being your beautiful self! Jesus came to liberate us to live fully into those unique selves.

My #affirmation tag is full of stuff on that topic;

and my #rebuttals tag responds to common arguments made against LGBTQA+ persons.

For more on sexuality:

This post responds to someone who grew up steeped in purity culture and felt "defiled" after having sex. I respond with assurance that human beings cannot be "damaged goods"; information about how sexuality is depicted in the Bible; and an example of a faithful sexual ethic that makes room for far more sex than just "between one cis man and one cis woman who are married."

Other resources that might help you as you work through your fears and shame:

I really love this "blessing for our bodies" by Nadia Bolz-Weber. .

For a longer work by the same author, check out Shameless: A Sexual Reformation. If you can't buy the book, it's available in many libraries; it's also available as an audiobook. If you're looking for a book-length exploration of how much of Christianity has used shame around sex to oppress and control various marginalized groups, and how God has a better way, this is my top recommendation. .

Bad Theology Kills by Kevin Garcia is another great book that unpacks the bad fruits of shame and good fruits of affirmation. .

Queer Theology puts out online resources on the topic of sex. Click here for their full webpage of resources.

Or click here for their article "What to Do with Shame, Sex, and Jesus." .

Finally, my FAQ has a section of links to posts about "guilt and fear around sex," including questions about pre-marital sex & masturbation.

Sending you love, anon. May the God who made you as you are and delights in you ease your fears and guide you towards the people and places that can help you find peace and joy. <3

If anyone else has resources or encouragement for anon, please share.

#sex tag #shame #guilt #recovery #long post #fear of hell

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eldritch-spouse · 2 years

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heya boss lady, im fuckin sick how would the bois take care of/neglect me

~mommy milkers annon~

How would they treat a sick s/o?

Breg is going to get so many blankets. Too many. You're cold, aren't you? You're so cold! What do you mean a fever? Huh?? That doesn't make sense. Oh God, he's not prepared for this- You're gonna die! Holy shit- Calm him down. Immediately. He's going to stress out, which will stress you out, and that's the last thing you need. You're better off calling someone else or giving Breg very simple instructions while he reads up online. What he can anyway.

Fasma, while he may not look like it, is old enough to know how to take care of a sick human. He'll actually go through the effort of staying mostly sober while you're like this. But not because he cares, he just doesn't feel like hiding the body if you kick the bucket (lies).He can have dumb conversations with your fever-fried self and help you fall asleep by retelling some stories from his past.

I hope you like soups, because Morell has so many ready... Open up, piglet. You're staying in bed and you better not whine about having no appetite- Tsk! You know, none of this would have happened if you listened to him. You're not like him, you're fragile and tiny and when Morell tells you not to run around outside like an idiot, you better listen. Or else you'll be sipping soup for the rest of your life!

Gallon is so out of his depth. Help bestie. He's not sure what to do to make you heal faster, so he just does everything for you. Chores, errands, cooking, everything and anything. You're constantly being poked so he can gouge your temperature or if anything hurts. It's going to get annoying real fast. No Gallon, this is not worth going to the hospital for- No, you're not chronically ill...

Santi knows he can't do much to help you, the incubus can't shag some strength into you, that's not how humans work. But he does know about common sickness medication, and that's what he's going to rely on first. What do you mean you won't just get better after one pill? Some doctors you humans have... Well, if nothing else, you'll get a lot of cuddling and comfort foods.

Grimbly's putting you to bed immediately. Stay. Do NOT get up. He's calling your doctor immediately. No, SHUT- If you get up, he's going to tape your wrists to the mattress. He's not having you go outside in this state. He's not the best cook either, so I hope you like salads... At least it's not junk food, right? You also need to tell the bat what you need, because he's not above getting distracted and offering you "top notch blood", or forgetting the sun won't make you get sicker.

Patches is totally convinced he can snap your sickness away with magic. And to be fair, he does have plenty of tricks up his sleeve. Problem is, he gets cocky. And he's stubborn. So if the first try doesn't work, you're better off not letting him continue, or he might try to give you something with significant side-effects. Jackass gets so focused he starts thinking of you as a test subject rather than his lover.

Vinnel is a sickness. His whole life is being sick. He's chronic illness incarnate. And therefore, probably the one that is most worried about you deep down. You're getting to a hospital immediately, no matter how mundane the symptoms. You're going, end of discussion. He doesn't show it, but he gets very emotional. He will not separate from you while you're sick, mostly out of past trauma. The jester was abandoned and left to die due to his illness, so you're going to get a lot of reassurance and not understand why.

Sybastian doesn't know what to do. At all. When he gets sick, he usually sleeps through it, so he's adamant that you get a lot of rest. Even if he has to hold you in his arms and keep you still so you don't try to wander off. Rest. After that, he's going to bother people who actually know what to do with a sick human. Probably scares the ever living shit out of some poor pharmacist... He's trying. Says one or two words and expects them to understand what he means.

Nebul, who has trained many a human before, is np stranger to the common sicknesses, and he's definitely one rigorous monster that can get you back on your feet in no time. Thing is, you're gonna follow his orders down to a T. Otherwise, you'll get punishment immediately after you're healed. You're constantly being surveillanced, even while he works. Purpur will be there to act as a splendid nurse and get you all the stuff you need. If Purpur is busy, another weirdass pet will be there to keep an eye, or several, on you.

If your partner happens to be Fank-e, please for the love of God, call a doctor and make them have a long talk with the robot. Otherwise, he's going to give you Monster drinks and put stickers on the boo-boos, generally make you sicker than you already are. He's already a hazard towards a normal person's health, stay away from the robot when you're sick please.

Ludwig mostly just helps you stay calm and content. He knows humans don't experience sickness the same way demons do, but some part of him still expects you to start fucking breaking shit and screaming bloody murder in frustration like your average wrathful folk. So he'll treat it as if you're in need of a really relaxing vacation, which is funny but still largely appreciated. Due to this irrational assumption that you'll get livid out of nowhere, Lud doesn't let other people near you too much.

Being Krulu's vessel implies that you are unaffected by most illnesses. If you ever do manage to fall sick, it's a very bad sign for you and an indicator that Krulu has weakened significantly. Be worried, mostly about them. Krulu's health is imperative to your own survival. Speak to him and gain information on how you can heal yourselves. Do not let anyone see you while you are vulnerable. There are vultures everywhere, the scent of a wounded god is like blood among sharks.

#Krulu oc #Bregory #Fasma oc #Morell oc #Vinnel oc #Gallon oc #Nebul oc #Ludwig oc #Patches oc #Fank-e oc #Santi oc #Grimbly oc #Sybastian oc

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orchid3a · 2 years

Text

I SEE RED - H. RINDOU

synopsis: Rindou is jealous and that’s your fault

pairing: Bonten!Haitani Rindou x f!reader

tw: swearing, mention of sex, implied friends with benefits, jealousy

wc: 786 words

tagging: @etheralyonn @eriskaitto @ahsrci

for the request click here!

sfw taglist click here to join!

note: so here we have the second drabble for the even, sorry for the wait anon, please let me know if you liked it <3

no proofreading

english isn’t my native language

reblogs and comments are appreciated

Haitani Rindou isn’t a jealous man, he doesn’t feel such a petty emotion like jealousy, no he’s too powerful and perfect to even know what that word means.

He doesn’t want to shoot Sanzu, who is too close to you, and splatter his brain on the club’s wall behind him.

No no Haitani Rindou doesn’t want to grab you by your wrist, take you from Sanzu’s lap, kiss your red lips and show the pink-haired man how he can make you run out of air with a simple kiss.

He rolls his eyes after he sees you giggling at whatever Sanzu said in your ear, his grip on the glass tightens, almost breaking it.

“Rin why are you so bothered? You aren’t her boyfriend.”

Ran’s words make him even more angry. His brother is right, you and him aren’t in a real relationship, you two just have casual sex and stop.

“You are in love, my dear little brother and you should tell her how you feel. It’s quite pathetic seeing you like this”

“Ran are you fucking kidding me? I was the first one to propose this relationship because I don’t want to have problems.”

“You are an idiot, brother.”

Rindou sighs and drinks his glass, turning his gaze towards you his blood runs cold.

You and that fucking junkie are fucking kissing in front of his eyes.

Ran whistles at the scene, while Rindou gets up and goes straight to them. He rudely grabs your wrist and exits from the room, ignoring your protests and your attempts to free your wrist.

He pins you at the wall the exact moment you two are out, his hands traps your face, one knee is between your legs to prevent you from escaping and his glare shows jealousy and anger.

“Rinnie you are rude, you know”

��Yeah I know”

You smirk at his reaction, Rindou isn’t the type to clearly express his emotion, preferring to maintain a neutral expression. That's why you wanted to test if he was really in love with you.

During the past few days you noticed how his behavior changed, he was trying to act more like you two have a normal relationship and not just a physical one.

You were the first to fall in love with him, how could you not? In your eyes, Haitani Rindou is the most perfect human being, even with his flaws, and he has many flaws.

At first you accepted Rindou's proposal of having a sex-only relationship, because it was better than nothing. It was better than seeing him with other girls.

But now you are tired, you want to have something other than just have a carnal relation with him, at the same time you don’t want to screw everything and make him leave you.

That’s why Sanzu offered his help. He proposed to help you by making the mullet man jealous so you can see if he is really in love with you or not.

And by how Rindou reacted, it seems that the experiment was a success.

“Still thinking about him?”

“You’re jealous that I was kissing Haru?”

“I don’t like sharing things you should know that, (y/n)”

“But I’m not yours”

“Yes you fucking are. He can’t love you like I can. I know every single thing about you, your likes and dislikes, your favorite food and how you like spending your time. He can’t understand how cute you are whenever you talk about what you like, or how your eyes shine when you eat your favorite dish. I fucking love you and I was dumb to not tell you soon…I didn’t realize it soon because I never thought about losing you to someone else. When I saw you kissing Sanzu, I felt so angry but scared, I was scared to lose you.”

You can’t believe what you just heard and saw. Haitani Rindou, one of the most prideful men you have ever met, is exposing his fears in front of you.

Your hand cups his cheek bringing him closer to your lips, his eyes widen and slowly his lips touch yours.

The kiss isn’t a lustful one, like how you usually kissed, instead it is gentle and chaste. His hands go to your waist and bring you closer, while your arms wrap around his neck.

“It took a while, right Rinnie”

“What do you mean? Wait…You love me ?”

“A kiss made you this dumb” You laugh “I love you Rindou”

“Then why did you kiss that junkie?”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold, Rinnie” you giggle and kiss him again.

“You will be the death of me”

“Gladly”

Rindou smiles a little knowing well you will maintain your promise.

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jackrrabbit · 3 years

Text

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“��Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: MC is struck with a deadly illness that is make their life extremely short within days. When Solomon says it’s so rare not even he knows what it is, more or less it doesn’t have a cure. Mammon can only be by their side while their life slips away, being there why more symptoms until their life finally runs out, leaving him with grief.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Mammon/GN!MC

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 16+

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐜: 5434

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: illness, blood, vomit, death, mentions of lesson 16

Day 1: 10/10

“OI! MC!” Mammon yelled as he called out for the human, which after a year of being in the exchange program the brothers managed to find a way to turn them back into a normal human rather than a fluffy pink sheep. “Did you need something Mammon?” MC asked, looking back at him.

“Well yeah, we’re having a movie night tonight. We didn’t know if you got the message since ya weren’t answering your D.D.D.” Mammon said with a shrug. “Oh, it’s over there charging. So no, I didn't get your guys' messages.” MC smiled. “Ah, cool. We’re having it in my room since it’s got the biggest screen to watch ‘em on! We even got Lucifer ta come!” Mammon smiled proudly.

“I’ll come and watch with you guys, so don’t worry about me skipping. Plus, whenever have I skipped?” MC asked. “Well never, we just had to pick ya up to make sure you could see the screen since ya used to be real tiny.” Mammon teased, which earned him a punch from the human.

“OW! Hey-!” He said before laughing. MC smiled before going back to what they were doing. Mammon patted their head before leaving their room.

– –

“AHHHHH!” “Mammon, that was the 4th scream in this entire movie.” MC covered their ears as they looked at him with annoyance. “It’s scary, come on aren’t you a little scared!?” Mammon asked.

“Mammon hush.” Satan said, not even looking at him. MC chuckled, “Come here, I’ll give you a hug if you’re that scared.” They whispered not to disturb the others. Mammon took the offer and quickly went into the safe and comforting arms of the human.

Mammon was scared during the rest of the movie, but he managed not to scream, unlike Levi. MC only laughed watching how scared both of them were of a simple human horror movie. Once it ended Levi and Mammon breathed heavily.

“I never thought that human world horror movies would be scarier than Devildom horror movies.” Levi said. “I’ll be sure to bring Friday the 13th full series next time, but we could only watch a few.” MC said.

“No! No please no!” Mammon pleaded. “Please do, I’m interested.” Belphegor said. “Even this movie had Lucifer startled a bit.” He chuckled. “There were sudden flashing lights and jumpscares, anyone would get startled at that.” Lucifer said, not even denying it.

— —

Day 2: 9/10; Loss of Appetite

MC woke up to being nudged. “Come on, you gotta get up MC!” Mammon’s voice was the first thing they heard, they lifted their head and looked at him. “Morning Mams.” MC hummed before sitting up and rubbing the back of their neck.

“Hurry up! We got an hour before class. You still need to eat breakfast before Beel eats it all!” Mammon said. “Yeah yeah…” MC grumbled, not being much of a morning human. They got up and just threw their blanket back onto the mattress, not caring about making the bed.

Hell be damned if Lucifer brings it up. Mammon left their room so they could get changed into their uniform. After a quick change MC went into the dining hall. “MC is 4 minutes and 53 seconds late to the table.” Satan chuckled.

“Hush, y’all know I’m not a morning person.” MC gently whacked him before sitting down. “Really? Normally you’re up around the time I get up, which is soon after Lucifer.” Satan said. “Lucifer isn’t a morning demon too, or have none of you realized that?” MC asked.

“How the hell do you know?” Asmodeus asked. “Have you noticed how irritable Lucifer is in the mornings?” MC asked, they grabbed a plate and slapped a couple pancakes on them. “You really like testing your luck MC.” Lucifer said as he was sitting at the front of the table.

“You think I didn’t know you were there?” MC asked. “MC is always living life on the edge.” Mammon laughed. “Mammon…” Lucifer glared at him. Mammon shut up. “See, grumpy non-morning demon.” MC teased as they took a bite of their pancakes.

Lucifer sighed, “I’m not awake enough for this.”. “Probably because you stay up all night doing unnecessary paperwork that isn’t due till next month.” MC said. “MC, you’re on thin ice.” Lucifer said. “I’m always on thin ice, are you just now noticing?” MC asked.

Lucifer stood, Mammon quickly grabbed the human. “We need to hurry to class-!” Mammon said pulling MC with them. “Class isn’t for another hour and I didn’t finish breakfast.” MC said. “We can eat breakfast in the café!” Mammon said quickly getting them out of the HOL.

“I completely forgot you’re a smartass in the morning sometimes.” Mammon chuckled. MC shrugged, they didn’t really care at this point. “Come on, let’s get to RAD since we’re already heading there.” MC said.

“We can eat breakfast at the cafè there. I heard they were making some good chocolate madame scream pancakes.” Mammon smiled while walking alongside MC. “Nah, I’ll head to class.” MC declined. “Hm? But you barely got ta eat breakfast.” Mammon questioned.

“Not really hungry anymore.” MC said, shrugging it off like it was nothing. “If ya don’t eat then you’re gonna pass out in class then Lucifer’s gonna get pissed.” Mammon said. “I’ll be fine, I did this a lot in high school.” MC said.

Mammon pouted a bit before waving it off, “Fine, I’ll see ya in class then MC.”. Once they got to RAD they split ways.

– –

“MC! Dinner’s done.” Satan called for them. They were sitting at their desk working on their History homework. Satan opened their door, “Hey, you coming to eat?” Satan asked. “Not hungry.” MC said, barely looked up from their homework.

“You didn’t eat lunch, and Mammon said you only ate a bit of breakfast. Don’t tell me you’re not hungry.” Satan said. MC shrugged, “I just haven’t had an appetite today.”. Satan frowned, “K…” Was all he muttered before leaving, finding it a bit suspicious.

— —

Day 3: 8/10; Loss of Focus

“Oiiiii, MC?” Mammon snapped his tan fingers in front of their face. MC looked up at him. “This is the 4th time you’ve lost focus since we started studying 30 minutes ago.” Lucifer sighed, rubbing his head. “This subject is just really boring, ok?”MC grumbled looking back at their textbook.

“It might be for some, but if you, and Mammon, fail this next test you’re failing the entire class.” Lucifer stated. “Bad news for Mammon, but why do I have to? I’m literally just an exchange student. It’s not like I’m going to use this information in the Human World am I?” MC asked.

“Fair point…” Lucifer sighed. “Just study enough to get a somewhat passing grade, a 40% will be sufficient.” Lucifer said. “Then I’ll be fine.” MC shrugged, “You barely got a 25% on your last test.” Mammon said. “You didn’t even get a 10% percent Mammon.” MC retorted.

“Enough, just both of you get back to studying.” Lucifer said with a heavy sigh. MC looked back at their textbook, and they seemed to lose concentration again after 5 minutes. Lucifer sighed before grabbing a notebook and whacking them upside the head.

“OW! What the hell!?” MC grumbled, rubbing their head. “Did you sleep last night?” Lucifer asked. “Of course I did. You even had to drag me out of bed this morning.” MC answered.

“Then why are you acting like you didn’t get any and keep dazing off?” Lucifer asked. MC shrugged, “I already told you.”. Lucifer sighed, before grabbing a packet of paper and slapping it in front of MC.

“If you can’t focus on reading then read and answer these questions, you don’t have to finish them all.” Lucifer said, seeing that this may be a compromise.

It worked…

For a solid 30 minutes.

MC couldn’t seem to keep their focus anymore. Lucifer and Mammon both found this oddly strange, normally MC was someone to focus on anything even if boring, normally how they kept up with Levi’s anime info drops.

– –

It only got worse throughout the day. They even lost focus during a conversation with Diavolo. Lost focus when eating dinner. Was even watching one of their favorite movies, lost focus 10 minutes in. Reading a book with Satan, no focus.

None of the demons knew what was making them lose focus. They could only assume they were tired, or it was just a weird human thing.

But Solomon said it wasn’t.

— —

Day 4: 7/10 ; Light Fever

“MC, you have a fever of 101 degrees.” Mammon said as he took the thermometer out of their mouth. MC hummed, “I’ll tell Lucifer, go ahead and stay in bed.” Mammon said. “K.” Was their only answer before laying down onto their bed and pulling the comforter over them.

Mammon walked out of their room, 15 minutes later he brought a bowl of cold water and a towel. Soaking it he placed it on MC’s head. MC grumbled before opening their eyes once more.

“It’s just a towel to help with the fever.” Mammon stated. MC only hummed before closing their eyes again. Mammon changed the towel every 10 minutes while making sure the water stayed cold. Mammon was only thinking about what was going on.

First it was loss of appetite, then a loss of focus, then a fever. Were they that sick? Were they not taking care of themselves? Mammon wanted to ask these questions, but he already knew the answers.

Yes, they were sick. Yes, they were taking care of themselves. Mammon knew because he was with them and they forced each other to take care of themselves more. Mammon frowned as he wanted to figure out what was wrong.

‘Hopefully… It’s just a cold.’ was all the demon was thinking. He knew nothing of human illnesses, then his mind snapped to someone. Solomon! If anyone, another human would know right?

He would have to wait until RAD ended for the day. He would miss the student council meeting, but Lucifer said he would oversee Mammon got informed once they got home.

MC was asleep for a few hours until they woke up, their e/c colored eyes looked at Mammon. “What are you still doing here?” MC asked, their voice a bit hoarse. “Taking care of you, if I don’t one of my brothers will.” Mammon said.

MC went to push themselves up, but Mammon placed his hand on their chest. “Lay back down, you don’t need to get up.” Mammon said. MC sighed, but followed his instruction. They laid flat on their back taking a few heavy and hot breaths.

“Imma ask Solomon later ta look over ya. Just to find out what's going on with ya.” Mammon said. “Cool.” MC muttered, they seemed to be dozing off again. “Just go ta sleep, no need for ya to be awake right now.” Mammon said quietly.

The fever lasted the entire day, went away during the night, but came back harder the next day.

— —

Day 5: 6/10; Harsh Cough

“MC!” Beel said a bit worried when he came to bring them some breakfast the next morning. They were hunched over with a harsh, loud, and rough cough. He had set the tray down and patted MC’s back, trying to help against the cough.

They finally stopped coughing after a minute, but were breathing heavily as they removed their hand from their mouth. A bit of mucus seemed to be on it. “MC? Are you ok? Do you need some water?” Beel asked. Mammon had rushed soon after. “Hey! What happened?” Mammon asked quickly.

“Water please…” MC muttered, they didn’t look up and grabbed a tissue to wipe the mucus from their hand and the little lips. Beel nodded and quickly left to grab some for them. Mammon took Beel’s place quickly, his tan hand gently rubbed in between their shoulder blades.

Beel came back with a cup of water holding it out to MC, they took it and took small sips of it. “Are ya going to be ok?” Mammon asked, MC only hummed. “Not sure.” They answered as they sat there on their bed.

“Mammon.” Lucifer stepped into the room. “We gotta get to class, let’s go.” He said. “I wanna stay with MC. Their fevers back and their coughing.” Mammon said. “I’ll stay with them, you need to get to class I can’t cover for you today.” Lucifer said.

“Lucifer, I can always make up later.” Mammon said. “I know, it’s just to get you a breather to keep you from panicking about how sick they’re getting. Now, go. You can stick back by their side when you get home.” Lucifer said.

Mammon didn’t move until he got a small 2 taps on his hand from MC. “It’s ok Mammon.” They said with a weak smile. Mammon frowned, but stood. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He said before leaving.

Lucifer sighed, “At least he listens to you, or it’s the fact he doesn’t want you using your pact.” Lucifer said. MC sighed as they leaned back, “I asked Solomon to come by during his lunch period.” Lucifer said.

“I’m surprised you even talked to him.” MC muttered before letting out a rough cough. “I put up with it, For you and Mammon.” Lucifer said, crossing his arms. “You need to get looked over and Mammon’s been freaking out about how sick you’ve been getting in the matter of days.”.

“Yeah, I know. I’m starting to get more worried about him than about me.” MC said, they weren’t able to speak more before another harsh cough came from their throat. Lucifer was by their side rubbing their back. It took about 4 minutes until it stopped.

– –

It was like that for most of the day, Solomon came during his lunch period via teleportation magic. Lucifer stood in the door frame as Solomon was using his magic to check MC over, who was currently sleeping.

He had a frown on his lips as he stood dropping his hand. He shook his head, “I’ve never seen anything like this. I don’t know what it is, Sorry Lucifer.” Solomon said. Lucifer sighed, he rubbed his temple, ‘How the hell am I gonna be telling Mammon this?’ Lucifer thought.

“All I can say though, is that it’s fast progressing.” Solomon stated. “That’s it?” Lucifer asked. Solomon nodded. “That means if it’s a deadly illness, it could take them within days.”. Lucifer froze, his lips pushed together.

“Could you try and find anything out?” Lucifer asked. “I could try, but if it’s something I’m not even aware of then it could be seriously rare. And I don’t even know if it’s a human disease or a Devildom one.” Solomon sighed.

“If so, then research could take days to weeks. Not even saying if it doesn’t have a cure.”. Lucifer put his hand up, “I got it, I got it.” Lucifer frowned. “I’ll get going do you want me to tell-” “I’ll tell Mammon when he gets home. I sent him to school to try and get him to chill out.” Lucifer said.

“I don’t want him to worry.” “He already is Lucifer, he’s been anxious since this morning and it’s only getting worse.” Solomon said. Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Just don’t say anything.” Lucifer said. “Fine.” Solomon said before leaving. “I’ll try to look into it. Don’t keep your hopes high.”.

Day 6: 5/10; Blindness

“I’m not going! I went yesterday and it didn’t help!” Mammon yelled at Lucifer, which was something he never did unless he wanted to get strung up, but Lucifer didn’t react. “Fine, I’m not fighting with you.” Lucifer gave up, which surprised the other brothers.

“Go check on them, half an hour ago they lost their breath, so go check on them.” Lucifer said. Mammon went straight to their room, a quick step in his stride. “Did you talk to Solomon?” Asmodeus asked. “He said he doesn’t know what it is.” Lucifer answered. “It’s fast progressing and if it’s deadly, it could take them in days.”.

Lucifer seemed a bit shaky, after those words all the brothers seemed to be upset. “Hopefully they’ll make it through it, they’re strong right?” Asmodeus said. Lucifer just walked out of the room with no answer, he had been like that since yesterday.

– –

MC was laying on their side on their bed, having a failed attempt of taking deep breaths. Mammon sat next to them gently rubbing their back and neck, hoping it would help in any way. MC glanced back at him weakly, “Mammon?” MC questioned. “Yeah, it’s me.” Mammon said they just looked at him but questioned if it was him.

MC looked forward again, or it seemed that way. But Mammon could see their right eye seemed a bit clouded. “MC?” Mammon asked. They only hummed. Mammon frowned, he hated seeing them like this, it only broke his heart more to know it could lead to inevitable death.

MC seemed to have fallen asleep as they caught their breath again. Mammon just stayed there, he saw them move and he moved a bit to lay their head on his lap. His tan fingers gently went through the sweaty strands of hair on their head.

“Please… Make it through this. I can’t lose you a second time knowing I can’t do anything.” Mammon muttered, his eyes watered before he wiped them away. “Mammon.” Satan opened the door to MC’s room. “What?” Mammon answered.

“How are they doing?” Satan asked. “I think they got ‘nother symptom.” Mammon said. “What?” “Their eyes were clouded, and they seemed like they couldn’t see me.” Mammon said. “Blindness.” Satan muttered. “Their fever is still high too.” Mammon said, his hand only gently touched MC’s cheek.

It was radiating heat off of it and they seemed a bit flushed. “When was the last time their temperature was checked?” Satan asked. “Not sure.” Mammon said, “I’ll wait until they’re awake till I check it again.”.

Satan nodded, he looked at his older brother. He had never seen Mammon look so upset before. Not even after everything. Satan looked away, “I’ll leave you be.” Satan said. He didn’t know what else to do. “You can stay if ya like Satan, I know yer worried about ‘em too.” Mammon said.

Satan glanced back at him, before nodding, he took a seat on the booth like couch. His green eyes watched as Mammon only gently moved the strands of hair from MC’s face, occasionally replacing the towel on their head, not like it was helping much.

After 15 minutes MC had woken up once more. Their eyes looked up at Mammon, but there didn’t seem to be any resemblance. “Ya can’t see me can ya?” Mammon asked. “Everything, it's blurry or really dark.” MC answered. Mammon didn’t like it, but he was a bit relieved that MC couldn’t see the pained look on his face.

MC only lightly chuckles then a cough. “Never thought about the day I would go blind, it’s weird, but everything is dark. But everything else seems to be alive around me.”. Mammon only pathetically let a small laugh out. “How can ya be joking at a time like this?” He asked.

“Just trying to make you laugh, even if I can’t see your face I can tell you’re upset. Our pact remember?” MC said, after a moment Mammon felt a weak connection through the pact they shared. “I know, Satan’s in the room too.” Mammon said.

“He is? He’s been silent.” MC moved their head despite not being able to see. But, their head turned in the right direction with Mammon’s guidance. Satan only sighed, “That’s like you MC, trying to lighten the mood during rough times.” he only gave a small smile.

There only seemed to be some small talk before MC dozed off again for the rest of the night.

— —

Day 7: 4/10; Vomiting

Mammon held the small trash can as what little was in MC’s system came up. It started in the early morning and since then it’s been on and off vomiting. Mammon was now even more worried. One question that he kept trying to push away since yesterday came back,

How much longer do they have?

It now came back as he rubbed their back gently. They were already 10 shades paler, lost too much weight and now whatever they could even eat or drink was coming back up. Making it where they couldn’t eat or drink much now.

It only made them weaker, to the point where MC could barely keep their eyes open or even speak. Mammon was on the verge of a breakdown, he barely even left their room, didn’t go to school, barely ate, barely talked to anyone besides when they talked to him first.

His entire priority was the human right next to him, he wasn’t going to leave them be. Not like any of his brothers would allow it. After MC lifted their head up weakly, Mammon made sure they laid down. MC had closed their eyes, but they seemed to be still awake.

“Mammon…” It was quiet and weak, but the demon could still make it out. He gently touched them to let them know he was there. “‘M right here. “M not going anywhere.” He assured them. “Why?” MC asked, their eyes looked at him, but they couldn’t see him.

“Because I love ya. ‘M not gonna leave ya, never.” Mammon said. MC’s eyelids lowered a bit. “Even though you know I’m going to day in only a few days.” They said.

“‘M staying, even if it’s only for a few more days.” Mammon said, it was the first time he said that, his mind came to realization that MC really only had a few days. His eyes watered and a few tears escaped his eyes.

“Mammon, don’t cry.” MC said, one dropped onto them. A weak, thin hand touched Mammon’s tan cheek. “How can I not?” Mammon felt their hand start to drop and he gently caught it holding up onto his cheek.

“Knowing that I’m going to lose you soon. How can I not cry?” Mammon questioned, but he didn’t expect an answer. Mammon saw they were out like a light. Mammon only gave a sad smile before setting their hand down onto the mattress.

“I’ll be here until you go.” He muttered.

— —

Day 8: 3/10; Coughing Blood

“MC!” Mammon quickly rushed to their side as he saw the blood drip from their mouth onto their comforter. Mammon panicked as he made them look at him. Their eyes were vacant, their body thin and frail, their lips cracked and covered with blood.

Mammon grabbed a tissue from their bedside and wiped the blood. But the harsh coughing only caused more to come out of their mouth. Mammon was frozen in place as he didn’t know what to do or how to help.

With his hand near the drop zone he could feel the warm blood on his tan fingertips. He just sat there until they stopped coughing. “MC…” Mammon muttered as he moved the bloody tissue to try and wipe some of it off of her face.

Tears rolled down his face as he wiped theirs. This was another sign to show their time was coming. MC didn’t speak, they weren't able to, their throat was so torn up they couldn’t.

MC laid down on their pillow, their eyes closed. Mammon sat there next to their bed, his hand still red with MC’s blood. His mind kept flashing back to that horrid scene.

MC’s cooling body, their bleeding wounds. Their vacant eyes. It was all too familiar to him and it was making him feel horrible. Just like before, Mammon could do nothing, but stand on the sideline watching them.

— —

Day 9: 2/10; Coma

“MC?” Mammon gently shook them, being gentle. They hadn’t woken up, nor were they responding to anything. Mammon panicked, placing his fingers against their neck.

There was a faint pulse.

Mammon bit his lip as it quivered, was this the final straw? Was this giving them a bit of painless peace before their final breath? Mammon cried as he took their frail hand. His mouth was shaky as he let his words leave his lips.

“Is this your punishment for rebelling Father? Taking them away? I don’t care what you do to me, but please… please father… Don’t take them away.” Mammon prayed, pleading with the Father he used to look up to.

But, his father. Would not hear his pleas, would not answer them. He knew that, after all, he's his fallen child. His disappointment. What would he have expected, his father to listen and answer his pleas? If only that was true.

Lucifer was standing at the door, the white-haired demon did not see him. Lucifer frowned, he hated seeing his brother look so much in pain. Lucifer moved and gently put his arms around his brother.

Mammon didn’t react, his eyes were squeezed shut, tears making trails down onto his face. “I’m so sorry Mammon.” Lucifer said in a hushed tone. The raven just hugged Mammon until he saw Mammon hunch over.

He fell asleep crying, Lucifer wasn’t surprised. Mammon hasn’t gotten much sleep, he refused too. Lucifer got Mammon’s hand to let go of MC’s hand as he made sure Mammon laid down onto the couch in MC’s room. He grabbed a blanket from their closet and threw it over Mammon.

Lucifer sat next to MC in case they woke up, he let Mammon sleep, he needed it. Lucifer sighed, he didn’t know what to do. He did know he had to be there for Mammon when they finally went. Lucifer looked at his brother, he knew out of everyone of the brothers.

Mammon would be the one grieving the most.

Day 10: 1/10; Final Breath

Mammon had woken up early the next morning, he stuck himself right by the human’s side. He held their hand, but it was feeling oddly cool. Mammon was watching their chest rise and fall slowly.

It was like that for a bit, he watched their chest, but around 5:17am it stopped. Mammon held onto their hand, it was cool but there was still a little warmth. Mammon stood and he moved one of his hands to touch their neck.

No pulse

He put his finger under their nose and in front of their mouth.

No air

Mammon felt his chest get heavy and his legs felt weak. His mind only flooded with one thing.

MC’s gone.

It was so silent in the room it could hardly tell if Mammon himself was breathing. Shaky sobs soon filled the room as he held onto their hand tightly. As the hours passed until each of the brothers woke up Mammon sat there.

He felt as their body cooled more and more during those hours. He didn’t want to let go yet. He didn’t want to let go of his human yet. The human he grew to love and trust. The one he would give his life for.

But, now he can’t. Because they’re gone. Mammon was quiet, his blue eyes low. Lucifer was the first to come in, he tried to talk to Mammon before he saw that MC was dead. He froze before leaving, he saw Mammon wasn’t ready to let go and he wasn’t going to force him either.

By late afternoon all of the brothers knew. The HOL was quiet and filled with despair. Noone talked, no one moved, all most did was cry.

Mammon, he sat there next to MC for hours. He didn’t eat, drink, or sleep. All he did was cry silently. None of the brothers tried to get him to either.

– –

It took a total of 3 days until they were allowed to take MC’s body. Mammon locked himself in his room, Beel or Lucifer had to get Mammon to eat and even then he ate very little.

They gave Mammon space, but did come to comfort him. Lucifer sat with him on his bed and pulled him into his chest. He would try to get him to eat, sometimes bringing him something to eat or he would try to feed him himself.

Leviathan brought some of his plushies for Mammon, and sometimes he hugged him and laid with him. He tried to do everything he could possibly think of to help Mammon.

Satan stayed with Mammon the most, either sitting with him. Letting Mammon cry on his shoulder, most of the time he would even do Mammon’s homework for him during his online classes.

Asmodeus would try to pamper Mammon every chance he got, he would even burn incense in his room to help Mammon get a better sleep.

Beelzebub was feeding Mammon most of the time besides Lucifer, he would even give Mammon hugs or just let Mammon cry into his younger brother. Beelzebub would always be there when Mammon needed someone, he barely left Mammon’s side unless another brother came.

Belphegor was always with Mammon within the night. Especially when he was sleeping. Due to Belphie’s power he could change dreams and such. He would make sure Mammon always had good dreams instead of bad nightmares. He even made Mammon sleep when he refused to fall asleep.

– –

Mammon was dozing off with Belphegor next to him. When he fell into a deep sleep his eyes opened where it was bright. He covered them for a moment until his eyes adjusted.

He looked around until he saw a familiar face. He shot up and quickly, while stumbling, ran over to the human. “MC!” He said while crying. He hugged them tightly like he was going to lose them if he let go for a moment.

He felt two arms wrap around him. They felt so real. “Mammon, it’s ok.” MC said, their voice light and feathery. “How is it ok? Yer gone.” Mammon said. “I’m not in any pain anymore am I?” MC asked. “Don’t worry, I’ll always be watching over you guys like Lilith.” MC said.

“So even if it feels like I’m not there, I’m still there, you just can’t see me.” MC said, a smile on their face. Mammon was still crying, “Promise?” Mammon asked. “Promise you’ll always be watching over us.”.

“I promise.” MC smiled, they gently put their hand on his tan cheek. “Take care of yourself for me, take care of your brothers. You’ll be grieving for a while, but don’t grieve your life away.” MC said.

Mammon nodded, “I gotta go now ok?” MC smiled, letting go of him. “Do you really?” Mammon asked. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll find a way to visit again soon.” MC smiled before they started disappearing again. “Bye bye for now Mammon.” they said before fully disappearing.

Mammon dropped crying, “I miss you. I really do.” he muttered.

His eyes opened up to see Belphegor shaking him a bit. “Mammon?” He said, a bit happy he finally woke up. “You ok?” Belphie asked. Mammon nodded, a smile on his lips. Something that hasn’t come back in a while.

“I just had a great dream, a really happy one.” Mammon smiled as he wiped his eyes. “At least I know MC is watching over us. They even said they would come and visit me from time to time.” Mammon laughed lightly.

“I really hope that wasn’t a dream and something real.”.

Belphie smiled shakily, “Well, at least if you’re feeling a bit better.” he said.

— —

It took years until Mammon healed enough to try and get back to his old life, but MC always was on his mind. He was always happy when they visited his dreams. The other brothers were healing slowly too, but it was going to take a while. Just like it had with Lilith.

Mammon was in his room listening to his radio when he heard a song flow through his headphones. One of the lyrics made him think of MC.

I close my eyes and the memories flood inside my headHow could I miss what was right thereThe party was bright, saw you there in the distanceDevilish smile and those starry eyes, I should've knownYou’d leave and I’d be all alone.

Mammon smiled and laughed lightly. He really didn’t think simple song lyrics would make memories of his human flood his mind. “You really did leave me alone didn’t ya MC..”

#obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon x gn!reader #mammon x reader #gender neutral mc!!#xreader self-indulge #blood #mentions of death #illness #obey me angst #obey me mammon angst #scxrletss

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lebenspurpur · 3 years

Text

{slashers x fem reader who has a blood kink? sorry if this is against ur boundaries u don’t have to if ur uncomfy!!!} submitted by anon but I accidentally deleted the original ask because I am an idiot.

Also darling, you're fine, all my boundaries got destroyed years ago.

Warnings: blood (duh), knives, a lot of cutting, mentions of self-harm and necrophilia.

Also a female reader this time.

Michael Myers

Oh Michael loves it.

Blood always gets this man going, I think we've established that.

Wait a second.

You want to cut him? *slowly backs off*

Yeah, he doesn't necessarily trust you with a knife.

Michael doesn't mind the pain, his pain endurance is way too high for that. It's just that cutting him would be a dominant action. And Michael really doesn't want to give you dominance.

He'll let himself get cut if he can cut you.

Michael is all for period sex if that's your thing. Be careful though, he is not going to be soft just because you're sensitive.

Michael just thrives off of the fact that, not only are you shedding blood, you're very sensitive and you're in pain as well.

A pure sadist, this man.

Vincent Sinclair

Blood? Doesn't that involve you getting hurt?

Vincent is skeptical.

He really, really doesn't want you to get hurt.

It would turn you on?

Hm.

Let's test it first.

Vincent will be very slow and careful, stopping as soon as he thinks something's wrong.

You have to reassure him to get going quite a lot.

After he realizes what effect blood has on your body, he overthinks it again and then consents.

He's going to create a new and very special safe word for this, just in case he ever really hurts you.

He himself doesn't really mind getting cut, as long as it makes you happy. This man would do anything for your happiness.

To be quite honest, Vincent loves the marks you leave on him. He looks at them in the mirror the next morning, a bashful grin painting his handsome features. I am so soft for Vincent please.

Period sex? Are you sure you're not in pain during that?

Vincent isn't grossed out by body fluids, but he won't go down on you during your time of the month.

His problem with period sex is that you're already hurting and he doesn't want to cause further harm.

He's perfectly fine with just fingering you and receiving blowjob though he can do without those if you don't want to until you're off your period again.

Vincent would literally do anything for you and I'm not kidding.

Bo Sinclair

"Woah there sugar... didn't think you'd be into that."

He's a bit surprised in the beginning.

Period sex is a no for him, don't even bring it up. He'll probably vomit already at the word period.

Him cutting you is totally fine and he likes that if you're fine with it.

However him getting cut is not going to happen.

To make it up to you, he can fuck you after he just killed a victim.

He'll thrust into you, fresh dark-red splashes of blood painted on his face.

"Do you like that? Knowing that I fucking killed a guy and then immediately came in here to fuck the shit outta you? I bet'cha do sugar."

Lester Sinclair

B-..blood?

Lester is pretty concerned until you explain it a bit better.

After that he's still concerned.

Hmm, how about animal blood?

Lester just doesn't want to be in pain and he doesn't want to put you in pain.

If you're fine with non-human blood then he's very relieved, having been scared that you'll leave him.

Please reassure your feelings for him or he's going to worry for months now.

Baby Firefly

She's a bit astonished in the beginning. She just didn't expect that from you, out of all people.

But, being a part of the Firefly family, she's totally down for it!

She'll gladly pepper you in little cuts and then suck at them. Baby loves using her tongue on you anyway so it's a win-win situation.

She's also very open for period sex. After all, she's done worse than eat someone out during their time of the month.

Baby is the best at aftercare. She'll make you a hot bubble bath, clean the cuts and she got sparkly pink band-aids for the both of you!

Otis Driftwood

Did you just say blood? *drags you to his torture room*

Otis... is so down for this.

Can he.. like carve his name into your body?

Oh and can he take a picture of you?

Can he take a picture of you next to a corpse?

You just wanted to see him bloody, god damnit.

Period sex is not something he'd insist on doing but he'll never say no to fucking you.

Billy Loomis

You want to do what?

Billy has never heard of a blood kink before. It reminds him of his love for the red substance though.

The only difference is that he doesn't use real human blood.

It takes a lot of coaxing but after a while he might be okay with cutting you a little bit..

After seeing how much you enjoy it, he might let you cut him too.. but not too deep!

Billy would also really enjoy fucking you after coming home from a kill. He'd be drenched in blood, the red fluid clinging to his chest and slowly smearing onto your back.

He smirks as he spreads the red fluid on your perky nipples, watching you throw your head back and moan shamelessly.

Stu Macher

Sure, why not?

Stu is an incredibly adventurous person, even when it comes to sex.

You trust him and he trusts you so where's the problem?

I don't think Stu would actively enjoy a blood kink but he's not going to say no since you asked him so nicely.

The pure facts that you're getting so aroused from a simple liquid is enough to make him turn feral anyway.

Who needs blood when you can have Y/N begging on her pretty, little knees for your cock?

Brahms Heelshire

"No."

"But-"

"I said no."

Yeah no, blood scares him.

It will need a lot of coaxing to even get him to try it.

I don't think he'd like it very much.

But Brahms will gladly kill the grocery-boy for you if you'd like to see him drenched in someone's blood.

Thomas Hewitt

Blood? Sweetheart, what if you get hurt?

He'll gently cradle your face in his big palms, searching for sincerity in your eyes.

Upon finding it, he'll nod and ask you to explain it to him again.

He'll try it for you. If you're going out of your way to ask this of him, he has to try it in his opinion.

He doesn't like the act of cutting to get either your or his blood and he'd rather have the blood to be his.

Tommy is a big, strong man. He can take a few small cuts.

But you're his tiny, sweet Y/N, he can't cut you?!

So yeah, to get him to cut you will be quite a quest.

As soon as he sees your reaction to blood, he blushes, desire clouding in his brown eyes.

Maybe this is a good idea after all.

He'd still have you or him covered in animal blood, rather than human blood.

Thomas doesn't care if you're on your period or not, but he'll immediately stop when you're in pain.

Just relax Y/N, he'll go get a towel and then he'll take care of his "little problem".

Josef

Blood? But why?

Okay, for you, he might try.

He enjoys it more than he originally thought.

Blood has an important meaning to him too and to see it spread all over your pretty body.. just does things to him.

Period sex is not his thing.

I don't even think he knows how periods work.

Amanda Young |TW SELF HARM|

Amanda has heard about blood kinks before and you can not change my mind.

She's down to try it if you both feel comfortable.

However, Amanda has had struggles with self-harm in her past and would therefore prefer you getting cut.

She just doesn't like willingly adding new scars to her collection.

There's something so arousing about you licking her bloody fingers clean, she can't help but press her thighs together.

Period sex?

She isn't the biggest fan of that idea but fingering you is not a problem to her.

She's kind of confused since her cramps are too painful to get aroused during her period.

Her aftercare is also very good. Amanda always has bandages and band-aids stacked away somewhere and she knows how to deal with the wounds she's left

#slashers x reader #slashers headcannons #michael myers x redaer #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #baby firefly x reader #otis driftwood x reader #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #josef x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #amanda young x reader

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dogwatch05 · 3 years

Text

Human: The Space Dog - Chapter 3

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This one has been quite the struggle to write and I don't know why. But I've finally got it out. I stayed up way too late to get this out, it's currently almost 1 in the morning. I might take a break from The Space Dog so I don't burn out on the story. Don't worry though, the story is not being abandoned. It's just being put on the back burner for a few weeks. While it is not my focus I will go back to writing the short stories but I'm going to stay on the one every two weeks schedule. Hope you like Chapter 3 and any feedback is welcome.

Hominid- Closely resembling a Human. Usually used to describe the Great Apes, both extinct and not extinct.

Humanoid- A creature that resembles a human figure such as goblins, elves, lesser apes, reptiloids, etc.

D'ral entered the laboratory thinking about the creature. He was caught slightly caught off guard by everyone rising to attention but quickly regained his composure. Putting them at ease, D'ral motioned Ventral to join him and moved to a quiet corner. Once Ventral was within range, D'ral started speaking. "I've been debating the creature's fate since our Beast Master told me he was not intelligent enough to understand simple commands. How soon do you think your team will be finished with it?" Ventral thought for a moment. "Well, we have Bio scans, Neuro scans, and blood samples. We are also finishing up with reaction tests and general checkups. So maybe a few days? Why?"

D'ral nodded slowly to himself before answering. "My sister is a wildlife behavioral scientist and since the creature has no military use, High Command has given me permission to give him to my sister for further observation. Once your team is finished, he will be sent to her. She can send you her notes while she is observing the creature if you wish." D'ral added the last sentence hoping it would relieve any insult, but D'ral needn't have worried. Ventral looked excited at the prospect of having a behavioral scientist examining his pet project.

"Yes, absolutely. That's one thing we couldn't figure out how to test here. It's behaviorisms. We suspect it's too scared here to do anything other than what we can get it to do. And that's not much. When she receives him, I would like her to introduce solid vegetation and fruits to his diet. We've just been injecting the meat with a vegetation imitation compound to compensate for our lack to feed him with. D'ral stood shocked for a moment. "I honestly didn't expect this to go that well." D'ral laughed. "Well, notify me when you are finished with him." With that D'ral nodded at Ventral then to the rest of the room, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Diary,

I am a pet.

To be specific, I am a Space Dog.

What. The. Hell.

Captain had come into the laboratory and spoke to Science Man for quite some time before walking out looking satisfied while Science Man looked quite excited. He started humming about and the other scientists went into a flurry of activity. Then, Science Man speed over to me at an alarming rate, for them anyways, and started humming and, oddly enough, honking. I'll admit I was caught off guard by the honking. He was obviously trying to tell me something but I imagine he was only doing it in the way one would speak to a cat or a dog. Knowing full well that they cannot understand you but still telling them anyway. Well, the usual tests were conducted that day and much writing was done. I went to bed that night in a very confused state but certain that something had been decided.

The next morning I woke up to the scientists still working at the same pace they had been yesterday. I must have slept wrong because there was a crick in my neck and back. Well, naturally I stretched and cracked my back and neck. They uh...well they must have never heard someone crack their joints before. As soon as they heard the cracks, all work stopped and all eyes were on me. I just sat there perplexed. "Oh come on guys. Surely you've heard people crack their backs before?" I hoped that even if they couldn't understand me, my speaking would calm them. No. It didn't. Before I knew it they had me laying down and being scanned by what I can only assume was an X-ray machine. The results only perplexed them more than the sounds did. Obviously I hadn't broken anything so there was nothing to see on the x-ray. Confused but satisfied that I wasn't dying of a broken back, they went back to their work.

After that, Science Man came over and injected something into my arm. Now usually I would have complained or resisted, but at this point I knew they weren't trying to harm me and that it was easier to just let them do their thing. I started to feel drowsy, but not drowsy enough to sleep. Slowed reflexes maybe. I vaguely wondered why they were trying to sedate me, but instead of fighting it I laid down and closed my eyes. A few minutes later, I felt my self being moved so I cracked my eyes open just enough to see but not enough for them to notice my eyes open. Rolling my head slightly down and to the side, I watched as they rolled my bed-table down the corridors of the ship to what looked like a receiving bay. The scientists lounged around, apparently waiting for someone or something. Even Captain appeared.

After some more waiting, a small ship that, if I know my Star Trek correctly, looked like a shuttle entered the bay. The hatch opened and two adult and one child Fosh and a Humanoid but obviously not human exited the craft. The Humanoid had blatant differences from a human. One of which was being green. Kinda looked like the Green Goblin actually, pointy ears included. Goblin's face was more reptilian than the Green Goblins though. He didn't have a snout, but he was scaled and had slit pupils. Snake-ish. The fact that he was green and had pointy ears was what made me name him Goblin. Captain stepped forward and embraced the female Fosh and shook hands with the adult male Fosh. Turning to the young Fosh, he ruffled his head feathers before moving to the Goblin and shaking his hand as well. Captain held his taloned hand out behind him in my direction and led the group over to me. Slitting my eyes even further, I could barely see out of my eye lashes as they approached. Captain was doing what looked like introductions before showing me off. Science Man took over from here, pointing to different parts of me and humming like a mad man. Even Captain looked impressed.

Once they were done with me, they fell into a short instance of casual chatter before wheeling me into the shuttle. Locking the wheels in place and putting a restraining strap over my chest and legs, the party settled themselves onto the craft and left the space ship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon receiving the creature, Montressa, D'ral's sister, her husband F'rangel, her son Torell, and her Hydroponics Master Cardond all strapped into their seats while F'rangel piloted them back to the IFE Creator. A short sub-light trip later and they were safely back on the ship. Torell was all but jumping with excitement while they unloaded their new charge. We must come up with a name for it thought Montressa. Cardond went back immediately to the hydroponics bay which F'rangel, Montressa, and Torell to deal with the new subject.

Montressa deftly undid the restraints. "Now Torell, I know you are excited to have him here, but you must remember to be careful around the creature. I've no doubt in your abilities, but he is still a wild animal we don't know anything about. Since you need the hours, he'll be your charge, but I will be supervising." Montressa said this sternly but kindly at the same time, in the way only mothers can. F'rangel wasn't so sure about that. "Are you sure that's wise? You know the state that they found the creature in. It could snap at any moment. I'm just not sure that I trust the creature around our son. That thing could be a cunning and vicious predator that didn't attack because it was vastly outnumbered. You never know about these things."

"Yes, I'm sure it is wise. I trained Torell myself and he is as competent, if not more, as most of my coworkers. As for it being responsible for the Tori ship, I highly doubt it. It's bone density might be dense but not that dense. Besides, if it was responsible for that, we'd all be dead right now." F'rangel stepped back in surprise. "What do you mean we'd all be dead right now!?" Montressa pointed at the creature's face. "He's been watching us this whole time and hasn't moved a muscle. If he took out three fully grown combat Komdos by himself, we'd be no challenge." F'rangel nodded in startled agreement, "Fine, but keep a close eye on it." Glancing back in a disturbed way, F'rangel quickly walked out of the room. "Alright Torell, after that praise and defense, you better do your best with this. Take him to his room and give him some food and water and get him settled." Torell nodded and excitedly rolled the bed into a room designed with the creature in mind.

After depositing him in the room, Torell ran to the kitchen and grabbed a slab of bovine meat and a bowl of water before returning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After docking, Goblin immediately strolled off to some unknown location leaving me with the three Fosh. Opening my eyes fully, I watched as they began chattering. The female Fosh was saying something to the young one and the adult male cut in sharply. Something he said obviously irritated the female because she snapped back quite quickly and pointed to me while still talking. The adult male looked panicked at me then said something in a subdued but final tone before quickly exiting the room. The female turned back to the child and chirped something as she left. I decided Momma would be a good name for her. The young one rolled me out of the room and into another one. He left, so I clumsily got off the table with my heavy limbs, only to manage to stumble into a heap on the floor right when he reentered. As if I wasn't humiliated enough, he quickly came over to me and guided me to a padded area of the floor as quickly as my limbs would allow.

Once he saw I was settled, he retrieved some meat and water and gave it to me. Satisfied that I was absorbed in my eating, he started making sounds. Several sounds in, he made something that sounded like an alarm and my head shot up in a reflexive movement to see where it was coming from. Glancing at him, I realized it was in fact him when he made the sound again. Sounder seemed like quite the fitting name for him. Sounder seemed quite pleased when I responded to the alarm sound and got up to input something into a wall screen. After a confirming ding, Sounder left, leaving me to eat in peace.

Not for long though, because he returned a short while later with a piece of fabric in his talons. Sounder approached me cautiously then lunged the fabric towards me, quickly attempting to put it around my neck. Well, attempt as he might, I wasn't letting him put that on me. And that's when it hit me.

I was his new pet.

To Be Continued

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #hfy #humans are deathworlders #DogWatch05

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 3 years

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Ok i got an monster tom x scientist reader au universe thing and no it does not take place in the red army base

Reader is a scientist and is asked to run some tests on a new specimen/monster they found, and when reader sees the specimen/monster they actually think it's kinda cute but then some other scientists shock him and even stick some needles in him and reader just feels bad for the specimen/monster at this point so nighttime rolls around and they hack into the cameras to shut them off and wear a mask so they won't get caught and go to the main room where the specimen/monster is they the reader introduces themselves to the monster the monster, thinking they're gonna hurt them, immediately backs off obviously scared and reader convinces the monster that they're not gonna hurt them and the monster shrinks as he's mostly human and says "your not gonna hurt me?" And they reassure him that they're not gonna hurt him and they sneak into the readers car and drives off the lab that the monster was in and reader asks what the "monsters" name is and says their name is "tom". Then reader makes a pit stop to a store real quick to get tom some clothes and then reader drives to they're home and introduces tom to their room and asks if they want some food/ take out or not an he says yes and they get some chinese food and watch some TV, after eating they both go to bed and reader suddenly finds themselves in Toms arms whimpering a little, and reader just kinda decides to pet his hair and rub his horns a little bit which make him purr then tom wraps his tail around reader and asks them to do it more and they do do that untill they notice that he's asleep then they both fall asleep.

Whew, I enjoyed writing this one ^^

Summary: Reader, a scientist, rescues Monster Tom from the lab that experimented on him and brings him home

...............

"Dr. [L/n], I'll let you oversee today's tests on TR-03."

"Alright, chief." You smiled awkwardly as your supervisor handed you the clipboard. It contained the subject's information: a one-eyed horned monster of an unknown species, though your colleagues have theorized it to be a demon. "What kind of tests are we running on it?"

"Resistance to electric shocks. There's evidence of uranium possibly circulating in its blood, so you'll be watching them extract samples as well."

As he explained, your smile gradually dropped as you looked over the information, seeing a ton of redacted information, including several incidents of the destruction it caused prior to its capture.

"So it's gonna be shocked and stuck with needles? Sounds painful."

"Its armor is thick, so it shouldn't feel a thing. Besides...I don't think you need to worry about whether it'll be painful for it." Your supervisor spoke in a rather condescending tone. "After all it's just an animal."

"I...yes, sir. I'll go oversee the tests right away." Not wanting to argue further, you just left his office and wandered through the building.

You were eager yet anxious to meet this monster.

Eventually you reached the area where the creature was being held, climbing up the stairs that led to the skybridge so you could look down into its holding chambers.

It was a massive dark purple creature, with two bright violet horns and a single black eye. Surprisingly it was allowed full movement, though judging from the many claw marks on the walls...it wouldn't surprise you if one day it was chained up to restrict such behavior.

You actually thought it was..kind of cute? It looked scary in pictures, but up-close it didn't seem as terrifying.

That only made you feel more pity for it as other scientists entered the chamber, clad in protective suits, with electric prongs and needles.

Almost immediately the monster seemed aware of what they were going to do, its eye widening as it stood on both feet and cowered in the corner. It growled in warning, only for a scientist to jab its leg with a prong in response, eliciting a roar of pain.

You physically flinched, feeling bad for the creature. But you took notes on its response to electric shocks.

Subject recognized equipment immediately, perceiving them as danger. Responded painfully to electricity.

Soon after being tortured, the monster seemed dazed, allowing another scientist in a hazmat suit to approach it and stick a needle into its hip. The vial of blood collected turned out to be red, with a glowing green aura.

As you took more notes, you heard a small whimper and looked down, seeing that the monster wasn't putting up a fight.

Instead it was...crying?

Sure enough, tears leaked from its eye as more of its blood was drawn, being electrocuted as some sick form of "sedation". It was hard to tell whether the people inside felt any sort of sympathy, but they just took their leave without saying a word to each other. Only a mere nod.

You didn't want to be here any longer than you needed to, so you finished your report and began heading back to your office.

Though you noticed the monster looking up at you, and you couldn't help but frown and murmur a simple:

"I'm sorry."

.............

After your shift was over, normally you'd go home for the night.

But on the ride home...you kept thinking of TR-03 and couldn't shake the images and sounds of its pain.

The way it responded to just seeing the prongs, and the way it looked at you as though it was begging for help, seemed far too human for it to be just a mindless animal.

Of course, you never questioned the secrets this lab kept--not wanting to be fired. But they seemed to be hiding a lot of stuff about this specimen, never speaking about its origins or even what it was capable of.

You may have only seen it for the first time today, but you wanted to know more about it. And you had a feeling that you won't get the answers you wanted by asking around.

Oh no..you were going to free it in order to find out the truth.

Not just to satisfy your own curiosity, but also because...the way it was being treated was far too cruel. To the point where it was crying.

You couldn't stand for this unethical treatment any longer. You had to do something..and be smart about it lest you got killed or worse.

After making a quick stop at a store, you found a mask and changed your clothes, completely disguising yourself. Then you got back in your car and returned to the lab, parking it somewhere far away so that you can sneak inside.

Fortunately you had security access in case any of the specimen breached their chambers. Thanks to your hacking skills you were able to disable every security camera you could find, putting them all on timers so they'd turn on later in the morning. You didn't want to rouse any suspicion.

That was the easy part.

The most important and difficult task lied ahead.

...........

As soon as you entered the monster's chamber, it woke up and grumbled with annoyance. Clearly it didn't like its rest being disturbed.

Though upon seeing you and the mask you wore, it tilted its head. "Grrrah..?"

"Shhh, it's okay." You whispered, removing the mask so it could see your face. While you were awestruck to actually see it up close and personal, you knew you had to keep calm.

But that might've been a mistake as it seemed to recognize you--the one who was watching it earlier today. It immediately backed into a corner, terrified as its chest began heaving with anxiety.

You couldn't blame it for its reaction, though your gently put your hands up and hushed it. "Please don't panic. I'm not here to hurt you. I wanna get you out of here."

"Hrrgrah?"

"Mhm." Smiling, you just pretended you could understand it. "I don't like how they treat you here. They call you an animal but..I know you're more than that."

The monster calmed down a little, before glancing up to the opposite corner. He made a noise of confusion upon seeing that the security camera's annoying red light wasn't blinking.

"I shut that off so nobody can hear or see us."

"H...ack..?"

You blinked, surprised that it could speak some English, but the fact it wasn't cowering like before was a sign it was trusting you. "Yep, I hacked the whole security complex. Now's our chance to escape, but..ah shit."

Suddenly, it never occurred to you: your mission was focused on getting to the monster, but you never considered how you'll get out with the monster.

"Damn..I'm not sure how we'll sneak you out without...." However, you trailed off as you saw it changing into a smaller form.

But it wasn't just shrinking, it was actually turning partially human.

How curious, nobody told you about that. Maybe that was part of the redacted information.

The monster turned out to be a human male, who still retained his horns, tail, and dark scales and fur, which covered his body. His brown hair was messy and spiky, and interestingly enough he had two black eyes.

He didn't have any clothes, obviously, so you took off your coat and put it around him. "So you're human, huh?"

"Your stupid friends' experiments wouldn't let me turn back for a while..." He grumbled in a slight British accent. "You sure you're not gonna hurt me?"

Understandably he got defensive, knowing you were working for the people who tortured him. But you shook your head. "No, I won't. I'm quitting this shithole and I'll take you with me." You took his hand reassuringly, noting that it was still clawed.

He gave you the tiniest of smiles in return. "Heh, glad we're both in agreement."

Soon you both quickly made your escape, luckily not running into any trouble. Your car was still parked right where you left it, so you got in and drove off.

You definitely won't miss working for that lab.

The roads were mostly empty at this time of night, so you were able to breathe easy knowing nobody's gonna chase you. Now seemed to be the best time to talk with the monster.

"So uh..do you have a name?" You spoke up. "I know they call you TR-03 but it doesn't feel right to call you that anymore."

"Tom." He answered as he looked out the window. "My name's Tom Ridges."

'Huh, that explains his code name.'

"I'm [y/n]." After noticing a nearby plaza, you saw a clothing store and decided to make a quick stop there. Tom seemed to be confused, and a bit worried when you left him in the car all alone, though you reassured him you were just buying some clothes for him.

He waited, trying to keep himself out-of-view in case any strangers got too nosy. But before long you were back, opening the driver's side as you peered in and sighed with relief, seeing him halfway out of the chair.

"Jeez, you scared me..thought somebody got you." You sighed, shaking your head.

"S-Sorry, not trying to get any unwanted attention. It's the last thing I need.." He sat upright, though he was surprised when you handed him a bag. Inside was a blue hoodie, boxers, and gray sweatpants. "Oh, cool."

'That's all he has to say?' His reaction was a bit underwhelming. 'Then again..maybe he hasn't processed that he's never going back to that hell chamber yet.'

You just shut the door and waited for him to get dressed, and when he tapped on the window you got back into the car. He definitely looked more comfortable now.

After giving him a smile, you continued on your way home, feeling glad that you rescued him from that place. You had no idea if he had any place to go, granted you don't recall seeing any information on his address nor any relationships.

So he'll stay with you.

...........

"Luckily I got a spare room. Excuse the mess." You chuckled as you showed Tom the extra room in your house, turning on the light. "You can stay here for as long as you'd like."

He nodded as he looked around, before feeling his stomach grumble. In embarrassment he put a hand over it, glancing at you. "Sorry..the food they had was shitty, I'm sure you knew."

"Yeah...you want takeout?" You took out your phone. "I don't feel like cooking tonight so I was gonna order some anyway."

"Sounds good."

"Alrighty, I'll call in the order. We can go watch TV while we wait."

Once more Tom nodded, following you into the living room space where you both sat down on the sofa. He sighed and leaned back, turning on the TV while you ordered some Chinese food.

This situation felt so...comforting and familiar..

For a moment he gazed at you, seeing you look through the menu.

He knew he wasn't the only prisoner back in that lab. So he couldn't understand why you'd choose him, of everyone you could've helped, but...he considered himself lucky.

For once he felt like he could let his guard down a little.

Some time later the food arrived to your house, and you both ate it while watching various TV programs. You asked Tom a bit more about his home life, though he didn't have much to talk about.

Whether he didn't want to say anything or forgot it thanks to the experiments was a mystery, but you wouldn't pry. You'll get your answers sooner or later, though not tonight.

Tonight you both deserved a good rest.

Afterwards you headed off to your own room, letting him know that he can knock on your door if he ever needed anything.

You got into your pajamas and crawled into bed, yawning.

It had definitely been an eventful day. You were eager to sleep in, knowing that you won't ever go back to your boring (and unethical) job.

But just as you had turned off the lights and dozed off, you heard your door creak open. With a slightly annoyed sigh, you sat up and turned on the lamp beside you, before seeing it was Tom.

"Tom? Your room is..."

Though you fell silent when you heard him...whimper? His eyes were white, indicating he was in some kind of distress.

But he crawled onto your bed, practically situating himself in your arms while making sure he didn't jab you with his horns. You were perplexed by his actions, though you finally realized..

He was just scared.

You held him in your arms, rubbing his horns soothingly and petting his hair, murmuring promises that he was safe. In response he nuzzled up to you, tail wrapping around your body as you both laid down.

You only stopped for a moment as he started purring, which made you chuckle softly. "Purring, huh? That's new."

"Can you keep doing that?" He grumbled, closing his eyes. "It was nice till you stopped."

"O-Oh right, sorry." You continued the previous motions, deciding to hum a small song as well to help him sleep.

Eventually you stopped once he dozed off completely, and your cheeks felt warm upon seeing how adorable he looked. 'And to think I was afraid of this guy?' You mused, before turning off the lamp light.

Soon enough you fell asleep as well.

If this is how Tom expressed his thanks...you'll take it.

#clanask #anonymous #eddsworld x reader #ew tom x reader #monster tom x reader #scientist reader

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