#i want to bring him back and kill him again

[oh-theseus]

bloody stones

pairing: astarion x gn!reader, astarion x gn!tav summary: you nearly die and astarion still can't bring himself to be honest with you. word count: 4,018 a/n: first time trying to write for astarion (or just bg3 in general) & i'm not sure it came out how i wanted it to, BUT i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless <333 i kind of wrote this to be like a background for a future thing i think... but no promises bc i am anything if not inconsistent 😭

warnings: descriptions of blood & injury, canon typical violence, mentions of past abuse. lmk if i should add more!

You were fairly certain you had never been as close to death as you currently were. Even while trapped inside of the nautiloid ship, you had felt like you would make it out. Granted, that might have been because you thought Lae’zel was going to kill you if you died, but still. Even then, on a ship that was actively crashing from hundreds of miles in the sky, you’d thought you’d make it out.

That hope is nowhere to be found as Z’rell drives her ax into your lower leg. You have been injured in battle dozens of times but this is the first time your injury has ever made you fall to your knees within three seconds of receiving it. There is next to no pain at first, but then she pulls her ax from your leg, and it feels like… well, like your leg was just split open.

Blood gushes down your leg, and you can’t stand up again, but by the grace of one of the gods, you manage to block her next attack. Her ax meets the blade of your sword with a loud clang that you can hear over the sounds of other blades clashing and spells being conjured. Anger blazes in Z’rell’s eyes and she surges her weapon further with as much strength as she can muster. You met her with the same effort, but you’re losing so much blood so fast. You’re not nearly as strong as she is.

A noise that is somewhere between a cry and a grunt falls from your lips. But you are certain this is it. You’ll die here. In Moonrise Towers with a parasite wiggling within your skull. You’ll die in a blighted land and your friends will go on without you. If they survive, that is. You can feel your arms wobbling, about to give out. Her ax will come down on your neck and you’ll sit here choking on your own blood until you die. Maybe she’ll dig the Illithid parasite out of your skull and consume it just as your Dream Guardian had urged you to do so many times before. You doubt Z’rell would have qualms about it though - if fact, she might just keep you alive while she digs around in your skull. She seems like the type.

But then there’s an arrow embedded in Z’rell’s neck. And now she’s the one choking on her blood, her weapon faltering. You don’t have time to be grateful, not when she’s determined to make a killing blow and take you out with her. It takes all of your effort to roll out of the way, her ax bouncing off of the bloody stone floor where your head had just been seconds previous. Your head is spinning from the movement, and your leg feels like dead weight, but you manage to draw your dagger and shove it deep into the disciples stomach.

Z’rell falls to her knees. Then forward, onto her face. Dead. 

Hands are underneath your arms, dragging you away from the rest of the battle before you even have time to process that you aren’t dead. You have half a mind to kick and struggle, but when you try to push the hands off of your body you stop your fighting. You know these hands.

“Astarion,” you choke out, tilting your head upwards to see him above you, carefully dragging you behind a turned over table. You can feel a trail of blood being left by your leg; for a moment you wonder if Astarion had smelled your blood before he saw it.

“Don’t talk,” Astarion scolds, propping your back against the table. Blood is splattered on his face and armor, his bow slung across his body. Your eyes shift to his quiver where only three arrows remain. If you weren’t so busy trying not to pass out from blood loss, you might have told him you were right when you’d told him this morning he needed more arrows. But you can hardly convince yourself to breathe, let alone make a joke.

Astarion’s face is twisted into an expression you don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear before. There is determination there as he examines your wound, cursing beneath his breath. There’s concern too. But something else dances in his crimson eyes that makes you tilt your head to the side curiously. 

Fear.

Astarion is scared. 

“How bad?” you force out, leaning your head back against the overturned table. Your eyes lock on the ceiling of Moonrise. This had been a temple once. Briefly, as you fight to keep your eyes open, you decide that it might’ve even been beautiful.

“Not terrible,” Astarion lies. You know it’s a lie, and he knows you know that, too. You might’ve looked at him, tried to assure him you would be okay if you believed it. But you’re not quite sure that you do, so you keep your eyes on the ceiling, listening to the sounds of battle slowing down behind you.

Astarion stops talking after that. Your silence and sudden interest in the ceiling is enough to make Astarion certain his heart will start beating again just so it can race in fear. But his hands are quick in grabbing a healing potion from your belt and helping you get it down. They’re faster still as he shuffles through his discarded back for cloth to press to your wound. 

Blood quickly soaks the white cloth and Astarion’s hands, but the vampire doesn’t mind. He can’t be bothered to think about how potent your blood smells, how easy it would be to just take some for himself. He is certain that if you’d been bleeding out in front of him like this when you first met that he would’ve taken every last drop of blood that he could get. But right now… Astarion wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to puke at the sight of blood more.

Astarion isn’t sure he’s ever felt a panic quite like this before. Perhaps when he’d woken up in a coffin six feet underground. Maybe when he’d realized he was a slave to an evil vampire lord. But other than that? No, Astarion had never felt fear like this. Fear that clutches him by the throat, makes his hands start to tremble. Fear that won’t let him focus on the battle coming to end. Not even to see if his companions - his friends - had survived. All he knows is you, your blood coating his hands, and terror coursing through his entire being.

He’s so consumed by his fear that he doesn’t notice you’ve finally passed out. Nor does he hear Shadowheart approach until she’s shoving Astarion away from you, her hands immediately coming to rest above the gash in your leg. She starts to mutter the words of a healing spell and even Astarion can tell that she’s completely spent, that she’s using her last bit of magic and strength to coax your skin back together.

“Wake them up,” Shadowheart hisses, her eyes still locked on your leg. “Wake them up now, Astarion!”

The near crack in Shadowheart’s voice stirs Astarion from his fear driven stupor. His hands are on your face immediately, your name falling from his lips once, twice. His fingers find the pulsepoint at your neck, and Astarion doesn’t dare to move until he feels it. It’s faint, but it is there.

But your eyes are still closed, and no matter how hard Astarion tries, you will not wake up. You’re still breathing, but it’s hard and labored, and Astarion is certain that if he looks away from you for even a moment you will be gone for good. He didn’t know much, but Astarion did know that a world without you was not one he was willing to return to.

By the grace of… something, Shadowheart manages to mend the skin of your leg. She’s exhausted and can hardly stand by the time she’s finished, but she does it. You’re still out cold, and Astarion is not sure whether to start crying or to find something else to kill to distract himself.

“It’s the blood loss,” Wyll assures him quickly, hauling Shadowheart up from the ground with her arm over his shoulders. “They’ll live. But we need to move them. Now.”

The Blade of Frontiers does not waste another moment, leading Shadowheart across the main floor of Moonrise Towers, down into the basement. Astarion doesn’t hesitate to do the same with you, his blood coated hands holding you so, so carefully.

When you wake up, you’re pretty sure you’re dead. You didn’t know what you expected the afterlife to hold, but it certainly was not a stone floor and the smell of mildew. For a second you think that maybe you could be somewhere else (somewhere where you are not dead) but you can’t think very clearly right now. All you can feel is a distant throbbing in your head and a bone deep cold. Your leg… You could feel your leg. That was good, considering the last thing you could recall before passing out was taking Z’rell’s ax to your shin.

And Astarion. You remembered his familiar grip, pulling you to safety. You remembered his crimson eyes, the fear you’d seen in them. But that was it. You didn’t remember passing out or how light you had felt while blood seeped from your leg. For a moment, it troubles you that you can’t remember. But if this was truly your eternal resting place… maybe it was a good thing you couldn’t remember. You’re not sure that it's really something you’d enjoy dwelling on for the rest of eternity.

You’re not sure how long you lay there. You don’t move your body, and your eyes keep falling closed every once in a while. You feel lightheaded, yet impossibly heavy at the same time. All you can bring yourself to do is stare at the ceiling. Maybe there is a god here, because you’re gifted the memory of doing the very same thing before passing out the first time. And this ceiling looks remarkably similar to the one in Moonrise Towers.

That voice, too. The one you can hear in the distance - almost as if they are shouting for you from the other room. The voice is so similar to…

“Astarion?” You breathe out, your eyes finally shifting away from the ceiling. They fall instead to the person beside you. At first, they’re just a jumble of white curls and red eyes. But then your vision clears and so does your hearing. Astarion’s repeating your name, asking if you can hear him. All you can do is nod. At least you know you’re alive, though. Or at least, you’re pretty sure. Your brain is still foggy. The lingering effects of blood loss? Or perhaps one too many healing potions?

You somehow manage to force yourself into a sitting position. Astarion’s right hand splays against your lower back carefully, his left one hovering in front of your body to catch you if you fold in on yourself. When you straighten your back, the room spins so fast you’re certain that Gale’s cast a spell to make it do that. Your hands grip Astarion’s left arm to keep from falling over.

“Easy, easy,” Astarion says softly. You’re not certain of many things right now, but you are certain that you have never heard Astarion use that tone before. One so gentle, so soft. Even when he’d told you of Cazador and the scar that tainted his back. 

“I’m okay,” you reply after a moment. Your hands still grip his arm but neither of you seem to mind it. “I’m okay, promise.” The sentiment is just as much for yourself as it is for Astarion.

Astarion only hums in reply. His eyes are flickering over your face. Like he’s taking you in for the first time - or perhaps even the last. His hand on your back is a welcome weight and the feeling of his forearm under your fingertips keeps you grounded. This is real. You are here.

You are alive.

“Holy shit,” you curse. Your eyes widen and your breathing slowly begins to pick up. You’d been so close to dying, to bleeding out in a cursed land so far from home. You’d never thought you’d be one to care so much about something like this, but the fear that you could’ve died is gripping you by the throat, pinning you beneath its clutches. 

Astarion notices this. Of course he notices. He notices everything about you. The way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. How you shift your weight from foot to foot when unsure about something. How your hands flex when you’re growing frustrated. So of course he notices your breathing picking up, your grip on his arms becoming just slightly tighter.

“You’re okay, you’re okay. You need to breathe, love.” He says your name softly then, still in that foreign tone of his. The hand at your back comes up to cup your face, his thumb brushing across your cheekbone. “Breathe,” his voice is firmer now, one you’re used to from him. Maybe it’s that tone of his that compels you to listen. Maybe it’s his hand cradling your face like you might slip away as soon as he lets you go. Or maybe it’s the fact that his eyes are still swimming with that fear you’d seen before you lost consciousness.

It takes a few moments, but you manage to even out your breathing. Those invisible claws at your neck retract, fading into the shadows of the room. The basement of Moonrise Towers, you realize. That was why the ceiling looked similar to the one upstairs. 

Everything returns to you then. The battle, Ketheric, the ax, the amount of blood you’d lost. Astarion’s arrow in Z’rell’s neck.

“You killed her,” you say, as if Astarion had not killed dozens of other enemies during your travels. “Nice aim.”

Astarion visibly deflates as soon as the joke leaves your lips. Your lips quirk into the smallest of smiles despite yourself. But then Astarion retracts his hand from your face, and that small smile falls away slowly. Astarion pretends not to notice it. You pretend like you don’t either; your attention shifts to your right leg, studying the skin exposed by the large tear in your pants. You make a mental note to find new pants.

Your hand trembles slightly as you remove it from Astarion’s arm and bring it down on your leg. Gingerly, you pull the ruined fabric back more and take in where the wound should have been. Instead, your skin looks near perfect. There is a thin scar from where Shadowheart’s healing had knitted the skin together but that is the only indication that your flesh had been torn apart that very same day.

“For a woman who worshiped the Lady of Loss, Shadowheart was rather good at keeping me - us from losing you.”

Your eyes shift to Astarion’s at his slip. You try to not let your face fall when he pulls his arm from beneath your other hand. He leans back in the chair that matches the table you’re laid out on top of, crossing his arms and screwing his face into that expression you’ve grown to recognize as a mask. A flash of hurt floods through you. Selfishly, you wonder how much more you will need to do to prove yourself before Astarion finally, finally trusts you.

“Shadowheart is a good healer,” you say instead of what you want to say. You want to comment on him being scared. You want to point out that he had literally saved your life. You want to tell him that that is not something you just do for someone you’re looking at with sheer indifference. “I think you’re the only one who doubts her.” Your own tone has changed. Despite the hurt in your heart, your tone is sharp.

“I do not doubt her, my dear. I don’t trust her. There is a difference,” Astarion replies with a wave of his hand. You don’t like this game. You hate this game. Why must he insist on playing it?

“Do you trust anyone, Astarion?”

If you were anyone else, Astarion would’ve had a quick retort. Or if you’d said it with anger in your voice. But you’re you and the question comes out with far less frustration than you had wanted it to. Instead, you sound sad. Hurt. And somehow, seeing you look like this is almost as bad as watching you bleed out. He predicts your next words before you say them, but he still winces at them all the same.

“Do you trust me?”

Your question hangs in the air between the two of you. Maybe it’s the lack of blood in your system that makes you say it. You never would have dared to ask something so vulnerable just a few feet from the rest of your companions normally. Maybe it’s the fact that you had almost died. Almost died with so many unsaid words swimming through your mind. Maybe that’s why you say it. Or maybe you’re just tired of not knowing what Astarion is truly thinking and feeling.

“You know I care for you,” Astarion replies after a moment. And you do know - how could you not when you’d seen his fear at the prospect of losing you with your own two eyes. How could you not know that he cared for you when he was so gentle every time he took your blood? How could you not know that he cared for you when he had sat beside you on sleepless nights? 

But that was not what your question was. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You intend to sound firm still. You fail, though, and you sound every bit as hurt and frustrated as you feel. “Why not?” Why didn’t he trust you? Or better, why did he not trust you enough? He trusted you enough to tell you about Cazador and what his former master had done to him. But he didn’t trust you enough to be honest about his emotions - especially his emotions towards you. Why? Why?

You watch as Astarion shifts in his seat. At first, you think he’s going to get up and walk away from you. Instead, he shifts forward, and his left hand finds yours. Your eyes fall to where your skin meets, they watch as Astarion holds your hand on top of his gently. His own attention is drawn to it, watching carefully as his other hand fidgets with your fingers.

“I thought you were going to die.”

His confession is soft, heartfelt. You might even be able to convince yourself he sounds like he might cry. But when he looks up to meet your eyes again, his crimson eyes are clear of tears. But there is pain there. Pain and torment and that fear. 

“I thought you were going to die and I would… And I would have to live with -” He gestures to himself with his hand that had been fidgeting with your fingers. “This.”

Your eyebrows knit together at his words, but you say nothing. You had long since learned that when Astarion was on the verge of opening up, it was best to let him get the words out on his own. Pressuring him had never gotten you anywhere. Well, except for right now. Every other time it had been entirely fruitless. 

“You have shown a kindness to me that I am unfamiliar with. With Cazador… His version of kindness was letting me eat instead of starving. But it always had a price. Always,” he can’t look at you anymore, instead looking intently at your hand in his. “Your kindness - I am learning - comes freely.”

“You are waiting for the other boot to drop,” You say, understanding what he is trying to tell you without directly saying it. When he nods, you swallow thickly. Words seem to fail you as you search desperately for the right thing to say. But there are no words that feel good enough.

Astarion also seems to be at a loss for words. Carefully, you place your hand not holding his under his chin and tilt his face upwards, so that your eyes meet once more. Your hand slides to cup his cheek, and your heart swells when you feel him press into your touch gently. 

“I am not him.”

Astarion’s eyes close at your words. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything except sit there for a long moment. So long that you think he isn’t going to reply. But then he turns his head, and he kisses the palm of your hand. Then where your hand meets your wrist. Then the inside of your wrist. As he places the third kiss to your skin, you let your hand fall away and watch as he picks it up with his free hand.

He doesn’t say it, but you know he understands. He knows you are not Cazador. And you don’t say it, but he knows you understand. You know he is trying. And neither of you say it, but both of you see those three words swimming in each other’s eyes. But you both know they’re there.

“Thank you,” you say after a long minute. “For not letting me die. Not that I expected you to, but…”

But you knew he wouldn’t have saved you a few weeks ago. 

“I mean it. Thank you.”

The fear in Astarion’s eyes finally melts away and that smirk of his falls onto his lips. But this was not his mask - no, this was his real joy. His real happiness at your not being dead and at being able to let a joke slip past his lips knowing you didn’t expect anything because of it.

“I can think of a few ways you could show that gratitude,” he says suggestively. A smile of your own spreads across your face, despite the color that floods it, too. Weakly, you shove his hands off of yours and roll your eyes at him. “You are welcome. I’ll save you a thousand times over if it means I get to see your smile once more.”

“Oh, don’t get soft on me now,” You say through your grin. But you’d like nothing more. A soft Astarion meant a healed one, a safe one. If that meant you were subjected to a few sappy lines here and there, you wouldn’t mind it.

“Hard to be soft with you around.”

“Astarion,” You hiss, realizing the joke you’ve walked yourself right into. For a second you debate getting off of the table and smacking him over the head, but when you shift your leg just slightly, that dizziness returns and has you gripping the edge of the table. 

Astarion is on his feet within a moment, noticing the change in you as soon as it happens. His hand has returned to your back, steadying you as the room starts to spin again. With your head a little clearer now, you recognize the feeling as similar to what you feel when Astarion drinks from you. With how strongly you’re feeling it… you don’t want to think about how much blood you must have lost.

“Rest. Please,” Astarion says in that soft voice again. And truly, who are you to deny him when he’s being so gentle? You let him coax you onto the table, onto the soft pile of fabrics you hadn’t realized had been under your head until just now. You want to stay conscious, to talk to Astarion more, but as soon as you’ve settled back down, you realize just how tired you are.

When you stir hours later, you’re tucked into your bedroll within your tent. And Astarion is sitting not far from you, reading. You don’t say anything as sleep overtakes you again, but you’re pretty certain you could get used to waking up to the sight of Astarion.

And Astarion’s pretty certain he wouldn’t mind it either.

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#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 x reader #bg3 x tav #x reader #gn!reader #shadowheart #wyll

[hazelfoureyes]

So a friend read the little gifts that I dropped for you, and her first question was: "They're in a hotel right? Aren't there other people???" You can thank her for this. Btw I'mma roll with the Smut Santa thing now ☄️❤️

"What the fuck is he doin' up there?" Angel mumbled under his breath as he climbed the steps of the hotel. "And why the FUCK am I bein' sent to shut him up? I'm a guest, not an employee in this dump!" He continued to grumble as he made his way closer to Alastor's room, but as he rounded the corner, he knew. Oh buddy, HE KNEW. There was no mistaking that familiar thumping noise of wood against drywall, and there CERTAINLY was no mistaking the cries of ecstasy that could be heard all the way at the end of the hall where Angel stood. "Huh... who knew he had it in him..." he said with a smirk as he reached for his phone, quickly looking for a way to record the sounds coming from his room. But that was before he noticed one of the other doors in the hall was cracked open. Quietly, Angel put his phone away and crept up on the cracked door, trying to figure out who might be listening in on something that had even him blushing like a school maiden.

"Ssshhut up before sssomeone hearsss you!" He heard from the other side, and instantly he knew - it was the drawn out S sound, and the hiss of his tongue darting out between his teeth that have Sir Pentious away. Angel clicked his tongue before he shoved the door open, knocking Pentious on his back and sending his notepad and pencil flying. "The fuck are you doin' in here, huh? Spyin' on the Radio Demon gettin' freaky?" Angel accused him, as if he wasn't just doing the same. "He's gonna kill ya when he- mmmhhh!" The spider demon started in on but Pentious, only to have his mouth covered and his arm nearly yanked out of its socket as Pentious pulled him into the room and cracked the door once again.

"Be quiet!" He hissed, one of his Eggbois bringing the notepad and pencil back to him. "Here ya go, boss!" The creature announced. Pentious hissed at him once again to shut up, and then returned to his spot by the door, scribbling something down as he listened to what was coming from Alastor's room. "I'm taking notesss for when I... for when..." Pentious started, suddenly becoming bashful as he attempted to explain himself. Angel stared at him, one set of arms crossed and the other placed on his hips as he waited for an explanation.

He knew, though. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Sir Pentious had a thing for Cherri Bomb. But Pentious - being the little prude that he was (everyone was a prude to Angel... well, except Alastor, now. He made it off that list.) - quickly covered up the confession he was about to let loose. "I'm writing down everything I hear, ssso I can ussse it againssst Alassstor the next time we do battle!" He covered, flashing a toothy grin at Angel before he went back to his notes. Poor thing thought he was so clever, it was adorable.

Unimpressed, Angeldust stared at Sir Pentious' back for a few moments, trying to decide if he wanted to call him on his bullshit, help the fucker out, or use THIS against HIM later on. But then he remebered: they're supposed to be trying to redeem themselves. That was the whole point of this crapfest they've all come to call home. With a groan, Angel approached the door and yanked it open, grabbing Sir Pentious on the way out.

"Look man, he's gonna kill us both if he finds out we heard any of this." Angel griped, fighting back the urge to shudder at the slimy feel of Pentious' skin. "If ya want pointers on how to impress Cherri, I'll help ya. Just burn that notebook and don't speak about this to anyone! Capische?" It took Pentious a few moments to respond, but ultimately he agreed, slowly following behind Angeldust as they walked down the steps, his Eggbois in tow.

"Hey boss, why does the tall red guy want Y/N to say his name so bad?"

"SHUT UP FRANK!"

You

you can write every character

so well

It’s…. Unfair and upsetting and very exciting

💦

not the wood and drywall

#hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #☄️❤️ #smutbox #smut santa

[ceilidho]

why is your brain so wrinkly i'm eating up your ideas and thoughts about the cod boys in the fallout universe.

just ghost being unapologetically unbothered in the wastelands, soap being a raider because he's a wild man that needs something to do, price as a CULT LEADER (i eat that up every time) and our poor vault dweller gaz i just UGH

Ghost just lives on his own, eats whatever he can, sells the remains of whatever happened upon his property in town, and then uses that extra income on RadAway. he's either full ghoul or just deformed and deteriorating, but in either case he still wears the mask, and in this 'verse the skull on it is real. a grisly little memento of someone who maybe got too close to killing him. he catches you wandering a bit too close to his property, dehydrated and hallucinating because you've been out on your own for too long and rather than killing you, he hogties you and drags you home. it gets lonely without a pet to call his own.

Soap is a scavenger/raider who's been travelling with the same band of raiders for several months. before that he was on his own for a spell and before that he was in a much larger group that dissolved due to in fighting (dissolved = bloodbath, very few made it out). when his group breaks into your vault and kills most of the people inside, he takes you as his own and guards you jealously, territorially. bites you in order to put his mark on you. he makes you bunk with him and gets vicious mad when you stray too far from him because it's not safe. it gets to a point where he's too paranoid to go on raids anymore because he can't trust you to be on your own and he also doesn't want you coming with them and getting hurt. tells the group he's leaving and goes to take you with him and when they refuse to let him take whats "theirs" (aka anything they took from the vaults), he snaps and kills all of them

Gaz is a vault dweller who volunteered to come to the surface after his community's vault door failed, forced to scour the wastelands and nearby towns for replacement parts. when he comes across you working as a freelance mechanic, extremely taciturn and hard to get to know, he can't help but bring you back with him when you help him acquire the parts that he's been looking for, convincing himself that kidnapping you is for the greater good. he'll be able to give you a proper life free of stress and scarcity back in the vault, and you'll be able to ensure that the door never, ever opens again.

Price is the overseer of a vault that over the years has gradually devolved into what most would consider a cult. it's only too bad that there's no one objective enough to label it as such. his vault is also part of a dual vault system similar to vaults 31/32/33, but the two vaults haven't had any communication in the last two hundred years, so the other vault has no idea what's become of Price's vault. it's only too bad that due to a catastrophic blight in your vault, you're the only survivor of a plague that wiped out your entire community, forcing you to enact the emergency protocol and contact the vault adjacent to yours. Price is quick to welcome you in with open arms, but you only start to feel a bit uncomfortable when the other inhabitants start making comments about how nice it'll be to have a new resident as they've been lacking members of "good breeding stock". you don't like the way Price hums in agreement when someone brings that up at the welcome feast.

[chatsukimi]

ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ: (cigarettes after sex geto x reader series, angst)

I missed you & I cried, but I said that I was alright & I know it’s been awhile since I needed a distraction.

Geto Suguru drips blood onto your doorstep. It's been six years since the incident and when he sees your face, tired from having been woken up in the middle of the night, his instinct still betrays him.

'Baby, can I come in?' Closing the gap, he opens up his posture as though you'd run back into his arms.

You cower away at the mass murderer. Why is he here? The familiar stranger deflates into almost a sorrowful expression, his eyes scrutinising the living room with such concentration. Pressed against the back of the couch, your hands curl into fists.

'You're here to kill me, aren't you?' You stand up properly, letting his gaze crawl over your body. 'Do it. Make it quick.'

His voice cracks like a distant record, mumbling in the same foreign and pathetic register, '... was thinking about you...'

Oh, that makes all the difference, doesn't it? He decides he wants you again and you come rushing back to the monster.

Only, you would. It pains you that you've held those bloodied hands, that you used to tidy up his wet hair, admonishing him for not bringing an umbrella, that he's carved his touch into your very consciousness. That the lack of him haunts you still, echoed in the shock of your wide eyes. He fixes you with that stubborn stare; he knows you remember.

Once you gather your stampeding heart back into the cavity of a hollow chest, you have it in you to flinch at the barrage of cuts and scratches littering his body. They bend with his every breath.

Must hurt like a bitch, you think.

'I can leave,' he offers, an empty promise.

'No... it's OK.'

You think you see him soften. It's been years... then again, it's been years since you've seen him at all.

'Close the door. Let's get you fixed up.'

You lead him to the bathroom and sit him on a stool. He hangs his head. Studying the heavy bruises dotting his back, your fingers flutter over his skin, casting a fragile burst of reverse curse technique to mend the harm.

Rainwater dribbles quietly through the pipes.

Geto thinks of a time when he could've laughed in this instance with gritted teeth, tell you not to expend so much cursed energy on him when Shoko could, and you had to save your power for the mission tomorrow. But now all he can bank on is your weakness.

He hums as your hand accidentally brushes a wide gnash on his shoulder.

'Careful. Dunno if the curse is still there.'

You remain silent.

You have the right to be.

'Who did this to you?' You wince at the way it sounds.

Like you care.

His heart lights up at the foolish idea. It truly mirrors a dream. But this time, he can turn around and your face is right there. There.

It doesn't vanish, but it also doesn't fray into warmth.

He lets out a frustrated exhale. 'It doesn't matter.'

But it does.

'Who did you fight?' you question again.

'... a jujutsu sorcerer.'

Your leg hits a cabinet door. He forces himself to raise an eyebrow.

'And what... happened... to them?' You're drifting further from him every second.

He knows exactly what you mean, what you don't want to say aloud. Horror shifts over your face before he even speaks- it's too far gone.

'I killed him.'

See, he wants to think he has the right to feel hurt by what you do next.

Fuck. You stumble back against the sink. You close your eyes, your hand moving over your mouth to stop you from retching to the smell of blood. A sorcerer's blood. An innocent sorcerer.

Just weeks ago, he stayed up all night listening to you cry on the phone, figured that as long as he didn't speak, he wouldn't be infringing on the moral code he set for himself. The sounds of your quiet sobs still wrack his body.

He figured he was smarter at the start. During the first two-three years, at every mention of your name, he'd depart, loading onto his schedule a series of exorcisms and executions to crowd you out of his mind. He was smarter then.

Now, he simply stands there, still. He waits for you to calm yourself because he knows he has no right to do anything else.

He was yours before he was ever slave to the cause- and fuck, does that realisation destroy him. (that he ruined the first good thing in his life)

'How old...' you mutter, '... how old were they?'

One shot after another, yeah?

'Seventeen,' he murmurs, his voice still damn silky smooth.

'How could you...' you stutter out. 'How could you?'

He remains silent. You have to think for yourself, he knows. He couldn't guarantee anything if he merely disarms you with his touch.

Though it doesn't hurt to hope.

'Seventeen,' you repeat. 'I was only seventeen when you left.'

'... I...'

He finally steps forward, unable to abide by his inner rules anymore. He is losing you. A small rebellious voice in him screams, finally! This is what you deserve!

'Please.'

'Leave.'

You're trembling.

He wants to close the gap. To reassure you that everything will be OK. But if he moves further by an inch, you'll call the cops. You'll call the higher ups. You'll call Gojo. He knows you.

'No.'

'You killed a child.'

'... I know.'

He knows, don't you get it? Nothing will ever be the same.

'I'm scared.'

'I won't hurt you.'

'Won't you?'

He stops. You, the image of his sparkling adolescence, crumbling away. With every little exhale you take, he sees the line he's drawn six years ago transform into a cliffside, the rift extending into a canyon.

'Don't you know I want you?' He bows his head like a man in prayer before you.

Wet hair against your warm breath. Strong arms beside you, locking you on the bathroom counter. The bitter lips you still remember now purple in the cold.

'You're leading me on.'

'No...' Geto buries his head in the crook of your neck. '... no...'

'I don't want this,' you say. He keeps his hands on your waist. 'I don't want you.'

At that, he lets out a noise truly pathetic for the man you once knew. He looks up and his purple irises still retain their watercolour beauty from back then. He looks up and, in you, he sees a lifetime. He presses his lips against your jaw and the scene blurs.

His thumb reaches up to brush the tear away.

'I'm sorry,' Geto says. 'For you. I don't care about those... non-sorcerers, but let me take care of you one last time, yeah?'

His eyes ache with that pathetic hope. He knows the future as well as you do.

You murmur out your words in a blank haze. 'Friends. W'broke up already.'

But did you? He still remembers how he never made things concrete, in the letter he left for everyone. He never spelled out the words 'over' or 'broken up' or even 'goodbye', perhaps because he knew he'd find his way back to you... too far gone.

If one puts a stethoscope at his heart, he's sure they can hear it break.

He swallows, nodding. OK. Friends. He can do that.

Friends. He'll make it up to you, he vows to himself. That night, Geto Suguru helps you take off your slippers, getting into bed. He notices how you don't say anything as he pulls you closer, cradling you as he used to do.

Missyoumissyoumissyou.

He scrunches his eyes shut. He feels no matter how close you are to him, you're not close enough- he sees the chasm of curses between you, haunting his sleep. Each time he wakes, he takes a moment to relish in the soreness of his arms, with you in them, and presses a chaste kiss on your head.

Your touch is all he needs in the world full of nightmares.

In the morning, before he leaves, he takes a cold shower in your bathroom. He pumps some coconut scented shampoo into his palm, lathering it through his hair. Sunlight eases through the curtains in your room. He paces to your bedside and lets his hand reach for you, touch your cheek, warm. Alive.

All he needs.

Geto Suguru leaves your house in the sixth year of his defection. He swears he'll never return.

...

Because I want to do everything that you want me to To tell you the truth

I need to stay alive, so sad that I could die

It’s leading me on, every time we touch Leading me on, every time it hurts series

#geto angst #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk angst #geto x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #geto suguru x reader

[chiefdirector]

I love you, it's ruining my life | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

I love you, it's ruining my life

The first day was the easiest of all. His world has come crashing down around him and yet he was still standing amongst the rubble. Tim didn't know what was true anymore, the love of his life has disappeared right before his eyes and he was helpless to change that.

He spent the entirety of the first day on the streets of Los Angeles, he rookie by his side, searching for his wife but it was fruitless. He returned home alone.

The second day was worse. Just as he returned home by himself, he woke to an empty bed, her pillows still indented from the last time she had slept there. He didn't make the bed, instead he shoved the sickening feeling that had begun to grow back down and left for work.

The second day of searching for his wife turned up the same results as the first. She was a detective of the LAPD, and yet not a single officer could offer a lead as to where she had gone. She had been taken away with the wind, never to be seen again.

He didn't want to admit it but as the days and weeks passed by, Tim oculd feel his hopelessness return. He was a police Sargent, he knew the statistics on missing persons cases. And it wasn't like she was without her enemies, there was a never-ending list of people who would want to harm her. It was a risk of the job, but yet he never thought it would effect them.

All my mornings are Mondays stuck in an endless February I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary

Despite only a year passing, there was more evidence leading to declare her to be dead rather than another name on the missing-persons list. Tim thought that her funeral would have been the hardest day; watching the empty coffin be lowered into the ground damn near killed him too, but his heart kept beating. It was agonising but he kept on living, he couldn't stop living.

The worst day came only a few weeks later. The memory of the day was fleeting; hazed by the rush of emotions and the actions taken. One moment he was in Sargent Grey's office, and seemingly in the next, he was running through the woods watching her run towards him also.

They crashed together, his arms wrapping around his body, bringing her warmth closer to him. Not matter how close she was, she needed to be closer to him; he didn't want to be apart again, his heart wouldn't be able to take it.

I love you, it's ruining my life

He never wanted to feel that pain again. To love someone as much as he loved her could only leave one of them suffering. He knew that he wouldn't survive loving her and losing her again. He needed to protect himself this time.

He knew that despite everything that happened she wouldn't step back from danger, instead she would come up with a million and one reasons why he was being unreasonable. He had only one option, to make her believe something untrue.

So the worst day came around the following morning, as he sat her down at the breakfast table they had once spent their days laughing over.

"I can't do this anymore," He said, hating himself as the words come out, "I can't live like this, waiting for the call to find out you've been hurt - or worse. I've lived through it and it nearly killed me. I can't do it again."

Panic crossed her face, as she tried to process his words, "Tim, what do you mean?"

"I can't keep waiting for the worst to happen. I love you, and it's ruining my life."

And for a fortnight there, we were forever

-------

Masterlist

Tags: @rookietrek @kmc1989 @fluentmoviequoter

Let me know if you want to be added to my Tim Bradford/Rookie tag list

#tim bradford x reader #the rookie #tim bradford #tim bradford imagine #the rookie imagine #the rookie x reader #chiefdirector #taylor swift #the tortured poets department #fornight #post malone #fortnight taylor swift #ts11 #Spotify #songfic

[comradekatara]

what are kannas judgmental opinions on the gaang (+mai and ty lee?)

okay i’ve written before on how kanna feels about the gaang, but you specifically said judgmental which is a whole other question. bc I do think that kanna can be a massive cunt when she wants (or needs) to be :)

katara: she is gonna get their whole village killed, not because she inherently has a target on back, but because she insists on making one anyway. literally one day of quiet and she’d never ask for anything ever again. literally just one day where she sits inside and doesn’t yell and doesn’t run off somewhere and give kanna a heart attack. she’s too fucking old for this….. please katara. just go inside and do your chores, quietly. you are killing your grandmother. is that what you want, katara, huh??? to kill your grandmother? katara catches a cold one day and stays curled up in bed and doesn’t speak because she has a sore throat, and kanna just spends the whole day bringing her soup and katara is so cute and cuddly the whole time it’s literally the best day of her life.

sokka: exact opposite problem, which is that he’s too obedient and it kinda scares her. please fight back just a little. just take one day off. breaks are important! she was a rebellious child, so as much as katara exhausts her, she also understands her very well. she does not understand sokka at all. he literally does everything she would ever ask from him before she even has to ask (to the point that katara thinks he does nothing, because kanna never forces sokka into doing anything). she has no idea who raised him to be this obedient, because it certainly wasn’t her. he used to be funny and curious and full of life as a child, but now his miserable depressed aura saps the vibes out of every room. at least when she’s doing chores with katara they chit chat and make jokes, but with sokka, she doesn’t even want that boy in her house. absolute vibe killer.

aang: he’s a bad influence on katara. or maybe katara is a bad influence on him? either way they should know better than to go into a fire nation ship. say what you will about sokka’s wet miserable aura, but he simply would not do that. but he’s also really cute, so. it’s ok :)

toph: this girl clearly thinks that she is too good to visit the south pole and she has no idea why sokka speaks so highly of that rich snob. and the first time she meets her, toph isn’t even all that polite to her?? this kid is yet another delinquent bad influence on her grandkids. (she grows on her.)

suki: she has absolutely nothing bad to say about suki. next!

zuko: invaded her village + attacked sokka + grabbed her and shoved her rudely + kidnapped aang + stupid hair + pure evil. (once they are introduced properly after the war, though, zuko apologizes and he’s really sweet about it so she forgives him and basically just likes him from that point forward.)

mai: katara hates her but sokka loves her so she doesn’t know what to think. on one hand, katara is her favorite, but on the other hand, sokka exercises better judgment. she barely talks in her presence, so she genuinely has no clue. she kind of gives off scary vibes though. who can say.

ty lee: the most charming girl in the world, second only to suki. kanna has nothing bad to say about ty lee. in fact she once suggests to katara that she could stand to be more like ty lee, and katara throws a hissy fit. which is exactly the kind of behavior kanna was referring to. oh well.

appa: perfect creature. no notes.

momo: his green eyes are staring directly into her soul. for the love of god please get him some brown contacts.

#manicpixiedreamkiller #asks #kanna #kanna&katara #kanna&sokka #the gaang and #if kanna could she would simply merge both her grandkids into one singular reasonably obedient and content child #but since she has no way of performing such a feat she simply has to resort to ‘listen to your brother’ and ‘be nice to your sister’ #which are not effective weapons whatsoever.

[starrclown]

I've see ALOT of LMK angst and I have nothing better to do (cause it's late at night) and I'm not working on my LMK apocalypse au right now sooo-

LMK ANGST HEADCANNONS

Triggerwarning for Violence, Blood, Suicidal thoughts, and other general upsetting topics.

(Feel free to leave yours below. Let's make these characters sad together!)

:D

Pigsy gets upset when people joke about Wukong being Mk's dad. It's insulting to him, the one that raises Mk since he was so little.

Wukong is someone that craves physically touch but also can't stand it. It stems from all the violence he's been apart of + the crown messed him up alot. He was SUPER uncomfortable with Mk touching him in the beginning. It has to be on his terms if you wanna touch him.

Macaque doesn't have a heart beat anymore.

Because of Macaque never coming back when Wukong needed him, Wukong had no trust that Macaque will come back if they have a argument. He assumes that Macaque is just gone and gets upset about it. Eventually Macaque comes back and realizes Wukong's upset but he doesn't bring it up cause he doesn't know how.

Redson doesn't really understand why his father doesn't seem to like him. He assumed that his dad would be overjoyed to see him again, not how he's acting now.

Mei had many breakdowns because of her grades and the pressure to be a spectacular student.

Pigsy got bullied alot in school for being a pig demon. It wasn't everyone, most people liked him, just a specific group of kids.

To add on to #7, Tang used to beat himself up over not being able to help Pigsy. He HATED seeing Pigsy getting bullied but he knew that if he tried to start a fight he would either get beat because he can't fight or get himself kicked out of school.

Mk gets nightmares of Wukong getting forced into the scroll. Sometimes he wonders what would of happened if Wukong never got out. He usually ends up crying.

The closest thing Sandy ever got to being violent is when one of his cats scared him and he accidently dropped Mo. He cried. Alot. (Mo was fine but he just hates his cats being hurt.)

Sandy still doesn't know Hunstman is dead. He just thinks that Huntsman was scared of him so he never came back. (Guess Hunstmans my favorite and he's dead and i hate it here god dammit.)

No one can say anything about Azure or Azure's death around Wukong because he will get upset. Macaque made a joke one time and Wukong lost his shit. He's still kinda shooken up about it.

Some of the baby monkies recognize Macaque as the one disguised as Wukong that ate the monkey and passed it around. Those monkies REFUSE to be around him. They get violent if they have to be around him.

Nezha wants to see Wukong, Redson, and the others more but his job is so demanding he barely gets to leave.

Wukong physically couldn't be around Tang for long periods of time when they first met. He got more comfortable with him over time but Tang reminded him to much of Tripitaka and he couldn't handle it.

Mei doesn't yell out of anger, like serious anger alot. When she finally yelled at Wukong because of the fire, all Wukong saw was Ao Lie screaming at him. (Stole that headcannon from a friend of mine. Thanks Ainnur you ruined my life.)

Mk brought up the fact that Wukong was willing to put the fire into himself and sacrifice himself, almost certainly killing himself in the process one time. Wukong kinda laughed and just said "Yeah, had to save the world bud. It's a shame Macaque messed up my plan, the world woulda been a little bit more peaceful if me AND Lady Bone Demon died." He wasn't even trying to admit suicidal feelings, he was just being honest. This scared the SHIT out of Mk because Wukong just admitted that he can and will kill himself if he feel he needs too.

Sandy often feels left out of the group and not as important but he doesn't wanna ruin everyone's fun so he stays quiet.

Bai he was ready to die when she was found by the Monkie Gang. She wasn't scared of death anymore.

Bai he was scared of Wukong when they first met face to face. Wukong apologized and explained himself. Over time she got a little more comfortable with him. She understands why he's apologizing but at that point she was so ready to die she didn't care who did it.

Redson wants to be around Sun Wukong again but he doesn't know how to start the relationship again. Same on Wukongs part but he's a bit more forward.

Macaque gets physical in fights fast. Partly cause his fights with Peng, Partly cause of his life before Wukong, Partly cause of Lady Bone Demon. If Macaque thinks a situation will get rough, he'll try to fight but if he thinks he'll lose he'll dip.

Princess Iron Fan unintentionally critiques Redsons's looks all the time. It messes with him alot so he's quite insecure.

Mei feels the need to always be upbeat and cheerful so Mk doesn't sink to far into depression. She can tell when he does this for her but she doesn't bring it up.

Pigsy's worst fear is that Mk won't come back home. The nightmares he's had of this is brutal.

I could make more but I'm sleeeeepppy. I'll make a part two one day though. Leave your own headcannons cause seeing other people break down these characters is so fun.

(How some people think Mk will be in season 5)

- ⭐️StarClown⭐️

#lmk #lmk headcanon #lmk mk #lmk mei #lmk redson #lmk sunwukong #lmk macaque #lmk shadowpeach #lmk sandy #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #lmk pif #lmk dbk #lmk nezha #lmk azure lion #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid mk #lego monkie kid mei #lego monkie kid sun wukong #lego monkie kid red son #lego monkie kid pigsy #lego monkie kid tang #lego monkie kid sandy #lego monkie kid princess iron fan #lego monkie kid demon bull king #lego monkie kid azure lion #lego monkie kid nezha #lmk sunburst duo #lego monkie kid sunburst duo #lmk bai he

[pit-and-the-pen]

I’ll Crawl Home to Her- Prologue

A/N: Prologue for a reader x Azriel fic I've started writing. The events from under the mountain are told from the readers' perspective. There is some dialogue from the actual book so all of that, and the characters of course, belong to Sarah J. Maas.

Quick Flip to Azriel's POV somewhere in the middle because I wanted to.

Warnings: Cannon Typical Violence.

Word Count: ~4k

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist for this series! I'm already working on the next part and have the rest of the series planned out!

Forty nine years. Forty nine years away from my court, from my friends. The only thing that has let me keep a semblance of my sanity was that I was here with my brother. Rhys. As selfish as it was, knowing he was here helped me from going out of my gods damned mind. 

I laid in the room I had been assigned, bandages wrapped around my chest covering the latest punishment from Amarantha for my backtalk. She had made some vile comment about Rhys and when apparently threatening to rip her tongue out and nail it to the wall had not been the right thing to say to her. Wincing as I rolled over onto my side, I would do it over again just to know that I got under her skin. There were very few ways to have any semblance of fun here and antagonizing that bitch, much to Rhys horror, was worth every cut and bruise I had received. 

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts. All I could do was weakly call out for them to come in, anyone that bothered to knock was most likely safe. I pushed myself up into a sitting position and was met with Rhys’ violet eyes staring at me. 

“I thought we talked about this.” He all but growled at me. I shrugged, biting down the pain that flashed through me. 

“You should see the other guy.” Trying and failing at keeping the shake out of my voice. That earned me his signature glare. 

“Try that again when you can sit up on your own.” He sighed, walking over to the edge of my bed. He put his head in his hands. “You can’t keep doing this. She’s going to kill you one day over some stupid comment.” I had never heard him this scared before. Guilt sunk like a stone in my heart.

“I’ll try to be better. It’s just so hard when I hear her talk about you like that,” I sighed heavily, regretting it at the ache in my lungs. “She can do whatever she wants to me. But you. At least I can pretend I can protect you from her.” We both know that was the furthest from the truth. If she didn’t have the tendency to call for Rhys longer when I spoke back, I would fight back more. But I refuse to allow my brother to suffer more because I can’t control my temper.

We both just sat in silence. I could feel my back desperately fighting to heal itself. It would still be a few days until it healed fully with the bits of my powers Amarantha had stolen. But anything felt better at this point and it was enough for me to finally let my shoulders sag. 

Rhys stayed until I started to doze off. The adrenaline had finally worn off and I felt the tiredness in my bones. He pressed a small kiss to the top of my head as I curled up in the middle of the bed. I let my eyes flutter closed and drifted off to dreams of anywhere but where I was. 

✦✦✦

A gasp left my lips as the attor dumped the poor girl onto the floor before the dais. Still wearing a thin nightgown she must have fallen asleep in. 

“Bring him in.” Amarantha called wicked delight practically dancing around in the throne room. I felt the faint pressure of Rhys’ hand against my arm as they dragged Tamlin into the room kicking and screaming. As soon as I felt it the touch was gone. 

When he was situated beside the red head, she asked, “Is this her?” Tamlin froze as he surveyed the shaking figure in front of him. His shouts died in his throat and he didn’t respond to her question. At the lack of an answer she repeated the question to my brother. 

“Yes.” 

That was all it took for Amarantha to lash out her powers. My ears rang as the girl in front of us started to scream. Rhys’ whole body went tense besides me. The all too familiar feeling of his power pulsed around us and I didn’t even what to think about the torture she was being put through. Rhys’ powers in his own hands could be deadly but in hers they became something far worse. 

I tried to hold back the bile that raised in my throat. Tamlin didn’t so much as flinch, keeping that firm mask but there was something. Just a small tick in his right eye that hit me like a ton of bricks. Whoever this female was, this wasn’t the girl Rhys had seen in the spring court. Anger surged through me. Of course, a random human life wouldn’t be enough to get a reaction out of the High Lord. I wasn’t entirely sure how he would have reacted if it even was her. Maybe I was expecting just a glint of those claws, itching to sink them into the soft flesh of Amarantha, but he stood fae still. The rise and fall of his chest was the only indication he was anything more than a statue. 

The hours dragged on. If this went on any longer I knew I was going to puke, I already knew the moment I moved again it would happen. Slowly, the screams started to ebb and I knew Amarantha was reaching the end of whatever fun she was pulling from this. With the lack of reaction from Tamlin, I knew she was growing bored. I released a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding the moment the girl, Clare, had finally stopped screaming. My head was pounding at the tension in my shoulders. And I could feel the slow healing wounds in my back roaring in pain. 

“You’re all dismissed.” Amarantha called plainly. I didn’t need to be told twice. It took all my restraint to not run from the throne room. I felt Rhys walk behind me, stopping ahead of me as I paused behind a pillar. He didn’t look at me as I rose, just handing me a handkerchief as I went to wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I muttered my small thanks as I took it from him. 

“Are you…” 

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” I groaned at him. I closed my eyes but quickly opened them when I realized that I could still see her sitting there on that dais, still smelling the coppery tang of her blood in the room. My stomach curled again but I swallowed the feeling down. 

“It’s over. Our one chance is gone.” Rhys said plainly. My eyes darted around at his bold words. It’s one thing to talk about this in private, in our minds where no one else could hear us. But in the halls, with everyone vying for the chance to earn Amarnatha’s favor. It was as good as a declaration of treason. He said nothing else as he started walking again and I was never so thankful to not hear my brother's voice 

✦✦✦

I had never felt horror like this in all my years under the mountain. My eyes grew to the size of saucers as I heard her speak those daming words, “I’ve come to claim Tamlin, High Lord of the Spring  Court.” 

My head snapped to Rhys, the horror frozen on his own face told me everything I needed to know. Panic surged through me. Selfishly not for the human in front of me but for my brother. She would not allow the action of lying to him to go unpunished. I reached out for his mind but he pushed me out so violently I almost gasped. 

My mind was racing so much that I missed most of the exchange that was happening in front of me. I caught bits and pieces but I couldn’t string together a coherent thought let alone try to follow along with Amarantha’s scheming. 

My heart was beating out of its chest as I caught up with the turn this conversation had taken. A riddle. You solve the riddle, and his curse will be broken. Instantaneously. I won’t even need to lift my finger and he’ll be free. 

I flinched when I heard her voice ring loud and clear in the room. “Give her a greeting worthy of my hall.” My hand went to hold back Rhys as we both heard the sickening crunch of bones echo in the silent room. 

✦✦✦

If I could have kissed Feyre on the mouth, I would have. As it was, I had to hold back the laughs that threatened to rack through my body as Amarantha stood stock- still in front of her. The bone Feyre had thrown at her feet sticking straight out of the ground. Pride racked through my chest because I knew if I was in her shoes I would have done the same thing. Except I wouldn’t have missed. Maybe if we managed to survive all of this, I would offer her training. I shook my head at the ridiculous thought. I knew that if she survived this, I would never see her again. I spoke into my brother's mind but he seemed far away when I risked a glance over to him. In perfect form, Feyre held Amarantha’s stare before she turned on her heel and walked out of the throne room. For the first time in a long time, I felt a kernel of hope. 

✦✦✦

Rhys had officially lost his damn mind. He must have. That was the only explanation for the sight currently in front of me. Feyre dressed in black glossimer, a dress that would have made me blush to wear. But it wasn’t the dress that held my attention, it was the swirling blue-black mark that now rested on her hand. A bargain. What had Rhys promised her in exchange for the position she was in currently. I started to walk over to my brother, having half a mind to pull him from the room by his ear and cursing him out for bringing her into this viper den before I saw her freeze in front of Tamlin. Much to credit, she didn’t let her chin dip once during Rhys’ and Amarantha’s exchange. I truly questioned both of their sanity before I heard Amarantha dismissing the two. I didn’t want to think how much this little stunt would cost Rhys in the long run. The pair slinked to the back of the room, everyone's eyes trailing over them. Watching to see what Rhys was up to. He handed her a goblet and after a few moments of what looked like a very heated discussion, Feyre downed the cup of faerie wine. 

Shit really hit the fan after her third glass. I watched the pink flood her cheeks and her eyes glass over. Rhys pulled her onto the dance floor and I decided I had enough. I walked out of the room. Refusing to watch her body move against my brothers. Realistically, I knew what state she had been in when she walked out of that last challenge. I knew what my brother had offered in return for her actions right now. And I knew from the way that the smirk didn’t reach his eyes that he was not enjoying himself at this moment. For whatever reason, he was protecting her from the consequences of healing her. 

Eventually, I heard the music from the night fading away and I knew that the party must be over. It would be another few hours before Rhys would slink into my room to lick his wounds. When he did show up, the berating words I had planned died in my throat. It could wait for later I decided as he sat down in the center of my bed. I never spoke first. I let him decompress as he needed to. Sometimes we would never say a single word and I was perfectly content to just let him sit in the room with me. I had long given up on reading books here. But he was sitting in my room, the sound of the crackling fire filling the quiet space. If  I closed my eyes hard enough, I could pretend we were both back in Velaris. The rest of our family loudly argued over some trivial joke. My mind wandered to what they were doing at this moment. 

✦✦✦ Azriel POV

Azriel still doesn’t know how he has lasted this long. Mor and Cassian sit with him, the silence that has lingered around the townhouse for the last 48 years sits even heavier today. Heavier because Mor had said Rhys’ name, had said your name. And he felt the hole in his chest stretch just a little further, ripping itself open again. He had long stopped trying to listen for the all too familiar voice in his head, a power you and your brother both shared. But he couldn’t help it as the pair next to him were talking once again about a plan to get the two of you back home. 

If he let himself think about it too much it was going to tear him apart. The terrified part of him that would spiral if he thought about how he might never get to hear your voice again. How he would never get to see Rhys smile. He longed for those stupid fights they would get into more than anything in the world right now. 

Azriel will never forgive himself for telling her where her brother was heading that day. What use was the spymaster when he couldn’t see that stoney determination on her face as she turned and walked away from the too?. He should have known from that one look what she was planning to do but he and Cas had both been called away later that day on separate missions. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to either of them. What hurt the most was the simple message he received later that day from Rhys. Don’t come after us, stay in Velaris. The reminder that if all of the inner circle left Velaris’ centuries-old protections would be lost was the only thing that kept any of them put. It didn’t stop the hope that there was a way out of this but as the years dragged on it was hard to think of new ways. 

As Azriel started to tune the now fighting pair around him out, he felt his shadows swirling around him. Letting the turmoil that was his mind show to his family. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Cassian placed a firm hand on his shoulder but knew better than to try to say any words of comfort, they had all been long spoken and neither of them believed them anymore. 

✦✦✦

Days passed, and every night Rhys would parade Feyre around the throne room for everyone to gawk at. And every night I would tuck away in the corner until I could sneak out early. 

The second challenge came and went. Feyre getting one step closer to breaking this curse. I kept the kernel of hope tight to my chest, refusing to truly accept it until it happened. Maybe not even then. I found myself dreaming more and more about life in Velaris once we got out from under the mountain. Hope wasn’t supposed to survive down here but in spite of myself, I trusted this human girl to be the thing to save all of us. It was an unfair burden to place on her shoulders. 

The night of the final task snuck up on all of us. Everyone was called to the throne room as usual but something was different. This was it. Feyre would either survive and it would all be over, or she would fail and it would be over anyways. Rhys and I had spent the night in silence, the only sound was me sobbing. I didn’t know whether it was out of fear or relief. 

Feyre was marched out, flanked on either side by attors. As if she would try to run now. 

“Two trials lie behind you,” Amarantha let her voice ring around the room. The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. “And only one more awaits. I wonder if it will be worse to fail now- when you were so close.” I tried to steady my ragged breaths. I caught eyes with Rhys and saw my own horror reflected in those violet eyes. 

“I love you. No matter what she says about it, no matter if it’s only with my insignificant human heart. Even when they burn my body. I’ll love you.” And from her words, I knew she meant it. Somehow this brave, selfless girl managed to fall in love with Tamlin. The cruel words I once screamed at him flickered into my mind. The person who ever truly loves you will be the most miserable person to ever exist. I meant it but looking at Feyre, I know that could never extend to her. Not after all of this, not if she managed to pull this off. 

Tamlin didn’t respond to her declaration of love and I realized how angry I was for this girl. He couldn’t break that mask enough to say it back to her. She was looking death square in the face for him and he didn’t have the decency to say a word back. 

Movement in the corner of the room caught my eye and my eyes went wide as three faeries with bags covering their heads were marched in. My stomach lurched when I saw that ash dagger brought in behind them. She was going to have to kill them. A life for a life. When I looked back at Feyre, she looked truly horrified. Horrified at Amarantha’s reminder that they were all innocent. 

Slow as a fae, Feyre took a step on shaking legs in front of the first figure. I saw the tremor in her hand as she reached for the dagger. Her skin turned a ghostly white as the hood was ripped off of the male in front of her. I closed my eyes, turning my head away. I couldn’t watch, couldn’t listen to the pleas of the male in front of Feyre nor the members of his court as they now recognized him. I heard a loud sob from Feyre and the sickening crunch of something cracking through bone and I knew she had done it. Tears ran down my face. I had killed people before but doing it in this setting, for this reason. I could only imagine how much this would cost her. 

I couldn’t turn to look for the second death. I only muttered along with the desperate prayer I heard her whisper. Let me fear no evil. Let me feel no pain. Let me enter eternity. The most sacred prayer to our people. I fought the urge to reach out with what little of my power was left in my body to turn her pain off. To take her mind away from the death that was looming right in front of her but I couldn’t reach out. It was like my power was stuck in my body. Coward. It screamed at me when I reached for it again. When I heard the splatter of blood, I knew it was too late. One more. 

The words that were spoken by Feyre were enough for me to snap my eyes open. “Not…Not fair.” She choked out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rhys blanche. I felt like my own air had been ripped from my lungs as she just stared at Tamlin. She paused over the ash dagger. Freezing. I could see the gears turning in her head as she tried to find any way out of this. The whole room seemed to be holding their breath as she stood silent and still. 

I heard Tamlin suck in a breath as Feyre went to reach for that last dagger. Her whispering “I love you” was enough to bring more tears to my eyes and I couldn’t find it in myself to look away as she plunged the ash weapon into the center of his chest. 

Tamlin cried out in pain and I heard the clatter of metal against the floor of the room. It was as if an earthquake cracked through the room. When I looked at the dagger, I saw the bent tip. A heart of stone. The words pulled themselves from some deep part of my mind. The final part of the curse that Amarantha wouldn’t have known about. Something even I had forgotten about until it was staring me in the face. Feyre must have figured it out.

“She won. Free them” I couldn’t stop the words as they tumbled out of my mouth. And my heart threatened to completely stop as she turned to face me.

“I’ll free them whenever I see fit.” 

Feyre seemed frozen to her spot when Amarantha turned back to her. You. I’m going to kill you. I didn’t stop the scream as I heard her bones crack. Time seemed to freeze around us as I was stuck, unable to look away and unable to move. I vaguely heard Rhys scream Feyre’s name over and over. Couldn’t process his movements as he went to collect the ash dagger and lunged at Amarantha himself. He went flying against the wall was what broke me from whatever had paralyzed me. I was over by his side before I even knew I was moving. I tensed my whole body, ready to protect Rhys with my life as she screeched at him, at Feyre. 

Feyre was dying. I could sense it in the air. Could feel her fading away. The world seemed to completely freeze as she whispered. Love. The answer to your riddle is love. Her final words before the sickening sound of her spine snapping filled the room. 

All hel broke loose in the throne room. The masks of spring court citizens fell to the ground and I felt my long- missing power flow back into my body. I stared down at my hands in disbelief. I could barely hear the cries of Amarantha as she pleaded for her life. I didn’t spare her another glance. She would be someone else's problem. I rushed over to the girls' side. Ignoring Lucien and the other High Lords that started to surround her. Each opened their palm to drop a small glittering substance onto Feyre. One by one, the high lords all repeated the action. Rhys placed a hand on my shoulder as he did the same. Tamlin was last. And we all held perfectly still as we stared down at the broken girl in front of us. When I looked up at Rhys the pain in his face was enough to make me start crying again. 

Feyre gasped as she sat up, blinking heavily. She looked down at her arms and I saw the realization crash over her face. High Fae. The points of her ears and slight shimmer of her skin would make it impossible to deny. That was all I needed to see. I pulled my brother into my arms and rushed us out of the room. I hugged my brother for the first time in as long as I could remember. I crushed him as tight as my arms would allow me. I sobbed as I realized what this meant for us. I reached out my powers. They practically purred as I was finally able to use them again. I reached into the minds of my family for the first time in almost fifty years. 

We’re coming home.

#azriel acotar #acotar #acomaf #acosf #acowar #rhysand #feyre archeron #cassian #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel #azriel angst #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #acotar x reader #sarah j maas

[danikamariewrites]

Hi! I’m in LOVE with your blog! Would you be able to write something with nessian x reader where the reader has just an awful no good day/week and maybe something small sets her off and they comfort her and calm her down? I have had a very bad week and I had a whole breakdown over dropping a pen lol and I wish they had been there to comfort me. Anyways, I hope you have an amazing day!!!

Just A Bad Day

Nessian x reader

a/n: They would be so sweet and caring, especially Cass my fav gentle giant☺️ also I’m so sorry this feels very boring/typical. I might take a break for a few days bc this slump is killing me.

warnings: slight angst

Slamming the front door an angry sigh escapes your lips. You head staright to your personal bedroom wanting space from your mates. If you saw anyone right now you might yell at them.

Not even bothering to take your boots off you flop on the bed face down. Grabbing your pillow you stuff your face into the feathery soft fabric letting out a blood curdling scream.

You screamed and screamed and screamed until there was no air left in your lungs. Until your throat burned. Throwing the pillow as hard as you could against the headboard you flop back down on the bed.

Why are people so difficult to deal with? Today made you never want to speak with the governors or the general public ever again. You don't know if you just weren't communicating properly or what. But everyone was stupid and deserves to have a bad day. Not you.

After an hour of laying in bed you decided your throat was tortured enough and that cold water was necessary. Making your way down the stairs Nesta and Cassian's mixed scents hit you. It didn't calm you or anger you. You felt nothing but the exhaustion slowly creeping into your bones.

Another sigh leaves your lips as you open the cup cabinet. Frowning, you realize the glass you want is on a higher than usual self. Not feeling like asking Cassian to get it for you you strech up on your tip toes, grasping at the edge of the shelf. As your mind wandered to Cassian's usual teasing remarks about your height you get angrier.

The glass was just out of reach. Just a hair's breadth away from your finger tip. Your nail finally catches on the glass, bringing it forward. You finally grasp it with between your fingers and pull it down.

The glass slips from between your pointer finger and thumb. Your other hand reacts thanks to your fae reflexes, landing safely in your palm. You turn on your heel a little too quickly, sending the glass flying out of your grasp. It hits the wall shattering far too loudly.

Your hands go to cover your ears instantly. Tears pricking your eyes. You try to tune out the muffled sounds of Cassian and Nesta’s worried voices followed by their footsteps. Your face quickly contorted in anger. Angry at yourself. At the fucking glass. At your mates.

Your fingers tug at your hair in frustration. Your eyes are so clouded by tears you don’t even see Cassian in front of you. He gently takes your hands in his large ones. Slightly pressing his thumbs into your palms to lessen the death grip on the roots of your hair.

“Hey,” he coos, “what’s going on sweet pea?” You don’t look at him. Keeping your eyes down so you don’t break at the look of pity on their faces. Nesta hooks a finger under your chin, pulling your face up to look at them. The sad frowns on their lips broke you. The last thing you wanted to do today was upset or disappoint your mates.

Nesta took in a sharp breath at the projection of your feelings through the bond. “Oh, sweetheart. We’re not upset with you at all.” She wraps her arms tightly around your shoulders, swaying you gently. At Nesta’s loving embrace you break down. Sobs shaking your body.

Cassian smoothed your hair talking you through your tears. “I’m sorry.” You choked out repeatedly through your sobs. After hearing enough Cassian pulls you into his arms to carry you upstairs. Sitting you in his lap you continue to cry into his chest.

Nesta finally joins she has the glass of ice water you’ve been dying for. Just like Cassian taught her Nesta began massaging the pressure point on the back of your neck. She wanted to do everything to prevent your eventual headache.

When your tears finally stopped you took deep shaky breaths. They were coming too fast making the simple task difficult. Cassian laid you flat on the sheets to give you space. “Slow down, y/n. In for five and out for five.” He began to breathe with you until you finally calmed down. “Thank you,” you whisper.

You grabbed their hands so they can hold you up. Nesta hands you the water which you immediately gulp down. The cool liquid soothing your throat. Once it was empty Nesta took it from your hand. You lean into Cassian, resting your hand against his chest. Your fingers toy with the old fabric of his shirt to ground you.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Nesta coos. You shake your head mumbling, “Just a bad day.” “Do you want to talk about it?” You sniffle and shake your head. “No. That cry was good enough, honestly.” A short humorless laugh escapes your lips. Cassian kisses the top of your head letting out a small hum in answer. “Let’s get you some dinner and relax, yeah?” You nod again. Cassian lifts you again, carrying you downstairs.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar reader fic #acotar reader imagine #acotar imagine #Cassian acotar #cassian fanfic #cassian imagine #cassian #cassian x reader #cassian x you #Cassian x nesta x you #cassian acotar x you #cassian acotar x reader #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #nesta x reader #nesta x you #nesta archeron x you #nesta archeron x reader #nesta archeron acotar #poly!nessian #poly!nessian x reader #poly!nessian x you

[tomssexdoll]

HOI🖖👽 sooooOOOOOooo can you do a Tom kaulitz x fem! reader

Like were he says sumthing he didn’t mean like:example,he said something about ur past that’s a VERY touchy subject during an argument

Add fluff at the end pls🙏🙏🙏🥺

(IF UR NOT COMFORTABLE WITH THID ITS OK 👌🙂🙂🙂)

MK HOT STUFF GURLYS GOTTA GOOO😜😜😜😜 BOIIIIIIYUHHHH👋👋👋👋

hiii cutie ofc

I didn't mean it

PAIRINGS: Tom 2014 x Female reader CONTENT: ANGST + FLUFF SYPNOSIS: During an argument Tom brings up something really touchy from the past as an insult, you're heartbroken and hurt from his words, he instantly apologises and tries to make it up to you. A/N: AHHH WARNINGS: yelling, !!!!VERY GRAPHIC MENTIONS OF SUICIDE AND A SMALL MENTION OF RAPE!!!!!!!!

Me and Tom were yet again in an argument, I got upset at him because he's been neglecting me, staying out late, not even touching me or holding me, nothing.

I brought it up to him this morning and it just exploded into an argument, him being defensive as usual.

"I'm so sick of you being so fucking controlling y/n!" he grunted, storming up the stairs. I scoffed and followed him closely "don't walk away from me Tom! You always do this, always running away when confronted with the truth!" I yelled.

"Because you take things so seriously! I just wanted time alone is that so hard to ask for?" he sighed heavily.

I grunted, him clearly not getting the point, "it's not that I don't want you to have alone time it's just that you're basically avoiding me!" I followed him into the bedroom, he was trying to find something to do to disract himself.

"Listen to me!" I grabbed his arm and turned him to face me, my eyes staring deeply into his, rage washing over them. "There's nothing to talk about!" he pushed past me, going into the bathroom.

I kept on yelling at him, following him into it, he turned around, hand on the doorframe and yelled "no wonder why your friend killed himself, he couldn't fucking stand being around you and neither can I"

My heart shattered instantly, the memories of my best friend killing themselves, him being in my arms as he died.

LISTEN TO TV BY BILLIE EILISH PAST THIS POINT I SWEAR IT MAKES A HUGE DIFFERENCE

6 years ago my best friend Arnie died, he was a gentle soul. He was gay and was heavily bullied about it, drowned in the toilets, food thrown at him, followed home. Arnie had learned to have thick skin, not allowing that to get to him, he knew they were just miserable with their lives and I loved that about Arnie.

The last straw for Arnie was when he was raped at a house party in 2008, the last time I saw him happy was when we seperated, I was hooking up with a random boy and he wished me goodluck. When I finished and tried to find Arnie, he was sprawled across a bed, bleeding from his back side.

I rushed to his aid and discovered that he was raped. Arnie was different after that, didn't insult back, was super quiet, didn't hang out with me after school like we usualy did.

I tried to offer help but nothing worked. One day I went to his house, he wasn't answering my calls or texts and his parents were out of town for the week. I found it weird that the door was unlocked, I went inside and into his bedroom.

I wish I didn't see what he had done, everyday it replays in my mind. I have nightmares about it every few nights.

I walked into his bathroom, he was in the bathtub, wrists on the edge of the tub, cut so deeply. I stood there for a second, shocked, trying to take in what I saw. After 10 seconds I screamed, running to him and holding him tightly, examining his wounds. 7 deep cut wounds, he was bleeding so much, the bathroom tiles covered in them.

My knees smudged the blood around as I held him, sobbing uncontrollably. "No no no..arnie you're ok.." I whispered, stroking his hair gently. He looked at me briefly, the life draining from his eyes "i'm sorry...i love you.." he muttered before taking his last breath, dying in my arms.

I screamed for him, my vocal cords ready to burst. Some neighbours called the police from my screaming, they came in and rushed to the scene, practically ripping me off Arnie.

"No! No no no! He'll be ok!" I sobbed, trying to get back to him, "ARNIE!" I screamed, the female officer held me close, stroking my hair softly, "he's gone baby...i'm sorry.." she whispered softly, I looked up at her, a tear falling down her cheek.

I buried my face into her chest, her vest cold and hard on my face.

They carried his body out, I couldn't bare to look and just stood there frozen. Later on the police women gave me a note he wrote, it read:

Dear my beloved Y/N,

I'm so sorry you have to read this, I'm sorry for even doing this. I know it's stupid and I know i'm supposed to have thick skin but I can't do it anymore, after what he did to me I haven't been able to eat, sleep or do anything properly, it runs through my head all the time, that memory of what he did never leaves my memory. It's driving me crazy Y/N, I wanted to stay strong for you, I wanted us to grow up and see each other get married, have kids, go through breakups together, live our 20s to the fullest, party like theres no tomorrow but I can't do it anymore. I wanted to be your best friend forever, be friends until we die, but I guess my fate is early. You know I love you more than life itself, you showed me it's ok to be me. You helped and guided me through everything but it's time for me to go, I love you and I'll be watching over you. Keep being your weird self and never forget me

Your soulmate, Arnie.

My heart was shattered into a million pieces, I still have that note to this day, I can't leave the house without it near me.

I got a tattoo of the last line, in his handwriting, 'your soulmate, arnie'. (inspired by evieskiess book my one and only <3)

BACK TO PRESENT:

My eyes widened, heart breaking into a million pieces, the heartbreak from that night coming back. My body went stiff, frozen in place. Unable to say anything.

Toms face instantly softened, he rushed towards me and started to apologise profusely, "oh honey no..i'm so sorry, I was just mad and I wasn't thinking straight, you know I didn't mean it", I looked at him, a stray tear falling down my cheek.

"Don't touch me.." I whispered softly, pushing him off me and walking to the bed, sitting on it. I bursted out into tears, sobbing uncontrollably, the tears unable to stop. All the pain I had tried to forget coming back.

He rushed to my side and held me tightly, "no baby..I'm so sorry, I'm so so so sorry" his voice thick with emotion, I could tell he was telling the truth but I was just so shocked, so hurt by his harsh words.

"Why.." my voice broke slightly "why would you say such a thing.." I choked out a sob, covered my mouth with my hands, they were trembling violently.

"I don't know..it was an in the moment thing, I didn't mean it at all, I'm so sorry baby I will do anything to make it up to you I swear, I love you with all my heart" he started to cry, tears falling down his cheeks as he buried his face in my shoulder.

My heart ached at him crying, I really wanted to forgive him but my heart just couldn't. I stood up and sighed, "I'm sleeping on the couch.." he nodded, standing up and brushing stray hairs from my face, kissing my forehead softly.

"I love you baby..." he whispered before letting me go, I turned my head to look at him and sighed "i love you too.." before walking off to the living room.

I sat on the couch, staring into nothing, my heart heavy and my eyes red. I rolled up my sleeve and stared at the tattoo, grazing a finger over it. I grabbed the note from my pocket and held it against my chest, laying back onto the couch, slowly falling asleep.

A few hours later I was woken up by soft arms wrapping around my waist, holding me close. I turned around, placing the note in my pocket and looking up at Tom.

"I know you didn't mean it baby..but I'm still hurt" I mumbled, he nodded slowly "I know baby..I know..i'm so sorry" he rested his chin on my head, stroking my hair softly just like the female officer did. I felt comforted, safe in his arms, again, just like I felt with the female officer.

"Do you want to go back to bed schatz?" he said softly, I sniffled and nodded, getting up and holding his hand, walking towards our shared bedroom. I grabbed one of his shirts and put it on, slipping into bed.

He smiled softly and slipped behind me, pulling me closer and wrapping his strong arms around my frame, keeping me warm and safe. "I'll make it up to you..I swear" he sighed, kissing the top of my head lightly.

"I'll be home more, I'll take you to band practices, I'll take you out with me, I'll do anything for you baby, I'm sorry I neglected you, treated you so badly.." his voice shaky "I love you, you're my world, my beautiful wife, my light. I'll do anything it takes to change, anything at all" I slowly turned around again, looking up at him, looking into his eyes for any sign of deceit, but all that presented was sincerity. Pure honesty. His eyes soft and gentle, willing to do anything for me.

I tucked a stray stand behind his ear, kissing him softly. "I love you..thankyou for that.." I smiled softly.

"I've always wondered though, why do you always keep his note with you?" he tilted his head, genuinely curious. I chuckled softly, "I don't know, it's the only thing I have left of him, something to remember him by" I frowned, tears welling up in my eyes again, "it's a reminder to me that he loved me and to keep going without him" Tom winced at my pain, stroking my hair gently and nodding.

"I understand..I'll keep it safe for you always" he kissed me softly, I smiled "thankyou baby.." I muttered before falling asleep in his arms.

E/N: I sobbed so hard while writing this no joke

tags: @itsmealaiah @tomscumdump @tomkaulitzloverr @tomscumdoll @syylss @ge-billsgf @miyukafujii @charliesgoodboy @20doozers @ballhair @bkaulitzlover

#tom kaulitz #bill kaulitz #tokiohotel #gustav schäfer #georg listing #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x you #tom kaulitz x y/n #tom kaulitz angst #tom kaulitz fluff #ilovetomkaulitzhessobaeiwanthimtofuckmerightnow #ilovetomkaulitzmybfomg #i love him #i love tommy #i love tom #tom kaulitz tokio hotel #sad fic #tw depressing stuff #kaulitz twins #cw

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 6 Posting Thursday April 25

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage. 

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly. 

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock. 

You might have hit the man on the back of the head. 

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him. 

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face. 

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.” 

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap,  hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles. 

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours,  still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.” 

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse. 

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.” 

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it. 

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag. 

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking,  you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help. 

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly. 

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic. 

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course. 

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest. 

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with. 

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would. 

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.” 

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry. 

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all? 

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?” 

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance. 

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught. 

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you. 

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though? 

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic. 

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind. 

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.” 

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.” 

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper. 

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy. 

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest. 

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention. 

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.” 

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing. 

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure. 

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin. 

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else. 

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock. 

Diamond are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes. 

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?” 

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed. 

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob? 

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing? 

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse. 

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer? 

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.  

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate. 

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?” 

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet. 

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman. 

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment. 

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer. 

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.  

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.” 

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home. 

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily. 

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along. 

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!” 

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips. 

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

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@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor smut #alastor x you

[livefastdriveyoung]

Author is writing a think piece, this is an OPINION. Author is not stating facts, merely making some observations, please do not take this as fact. Narrative is in storytelling and sounds confident but it is an opinion. AUTHOR HAS NO INSIDE KNOWLEDGE. THIS IS NOT FACT. If author speculates, it is not on purpose, it is just meant to be a thought piece.

Yeah ok let's talk about Nico Rosberg:

Here's how I view it. One of your best friends from childhood isn't like you. He's black in a sport that doesn't give space to anyone that's not White European, he doesn't come from money, he's in fact struggling to even travel to competitions, and he's good.

He's so good that you and your world champion father are so sure he will be in F1. You get there first but that next season he's in McLaren and he's second.

Then he's first.

You're thrilled for him. He's your best friend. He's talking about how he wants to change the world, and even then you know he doesn't just mean racing, he means the world.

Then in 2013, you're together. Michael Schumacher is gone, and you're first driver and you know Lewis and you could change the world. Sebastian wins, again, but the future feels bright.

In 2014, the car is competitive. No, it's a winner. You know you're capable, it's in your blood. You know Lewis is capable, he's done it before.

Then, Jules crashes. Everyone holds each other a little tighter. Lewis wins, but there is less jealousy and more knowing that it can be done.

Then, Lewis wins again. The team orders are killing you. You know you're capable, but Lewis is better. That's what everyone tells you. He's better, he's faster, and this boy that you have known your whole career, this man who is your closest friend, is also the scale by which you are measured.

And you snap. You have to win. It is in your blood. 2016 is vicious. The world watches as you both throw hats and towels and words in different tongues. Lewis doesn't back down, but in the end, it is not enough.

You win. And then you walk away. You have the title, have lost the friendship, and you have changed.

"we're not friends" is the quote that follows you for years. He runs away when you go for an interview. He doesn't say your name. You don't either.

"Are you a better driver than you were in 2016?" "yes. and teammate." Live and in stereo right in your face.

Something changes after that. You live in the same building, and you sometimes ride the elevator together, but the awkwardness is not there, not like it was. He is kind to your children, the ones who would have called him Uncle Lewis. He sends them Christmas gifts.

You heal your heart and your friendship. You see that even at 40 and seven world championships, the boy you knew still has to prove himself. He still fights every day to change the world. Except now that he's got the platform, people are far harsher than they used to be. Every initiative is met with backlash, every comment taken out of context.

So you resolve to talk about him. You talk about his skill and his talent. You talk about how Ferrari is lucky, how Lewis had always wanted to wear red, who didn't? You talk about how he still drives like he's hungry, hunting, and you don't stop.

Because more than anything, you remember that little kid who no one talked to because he didn't look like everyone else. And the people with the same platform as you still continue to try and isolate him, bring him down, halt change in its footsteps.

Lewis wants to change the world. So do you. You have looked at the environment, the women who want to race, and children like Lewis who had to fight to get anywhere. So you talk and you talk and you talk, because advocacy can be subtle, it can be through talking about how someone is so talented, how they deserve everything they have. It can be about how age doesn't preclude you from talent. It can be about how women in sport are going to be the future. You say it out loud, because you can.

Love is a difficult master, but it is with you always. You love the sport, you love your family, you love your friends and the things you have done together.

Wouldn't you rise to the defense of someone you love and respect?

Author is writing a think piece, this is an OPINION. Author is not stating facts, merely making some observations, please do not take this as fact. Narrative is in storytelling and sounds confident but it is an opinion. AUTHOR HAS NO INSIDE KNOWLEDGE. THIS IS NOT FACT. If author speculates, it is not on purpose, it is just meant to be a thought piece.

#nico rosberg #lewis hamilton #f1 #mercedes amg f1 #brocedes #china gp 2024 #chinese gp 2024 #ellethoughts #this is an opinion #please don't sue me #thanks #I am just thinking about things #no facts #not fact focused #obviously the championship years are facts

[fastrainbowdas]

Hi hello I saw you didn't want to reach the tag limit on that reblog but I would very much like to hear your full character analysis on dsaf Jack

!!!

HIIIIII THANK YOU FOR ASKING <333333333

ok um. so.

The biggest thing abt Jack's personality is his apathy. He doesn't really care about anything other than his own amusement (and one other thing but I'll get into that later)

Yes, he agrees to help Fredbear (but what was he supposed to do? Just die?) but he doesn't actually Care about the dead kids. It's why he agrees to kill w Dave so easily! In fact, all Dave has to do to persuade him is to tell him how it would benefit Jack and Jack never argues that it's wrong. (I don't think he doesn't know that - he simply doesn't care)

He also... doesn't really care about his siblings either. He says he does, sure, but he doesn't, really. He has no problems killing them on evil routes (and while technically it is only Legacy Jack that does this, it still applies to Regular Jack and I'll explain why in a bit)

Here is where we get into differences between Regular and Legacy; Legacy actually cares about his siblings' deaths (insane, I know). Yeah, that is different from caring about them bcs. as stated before. He kills them in cold blood. lmfao

But he also gets Pissed when Dave flaunts around Dee's scarf and says it's his "most prized souvenir" to the point where he rips his fucking head off. So clearly Legacy cares that his siblings were murdered.

But Regular never ??? does anything ??????? to imply he gives a fuck ??????????? Like sure he says he cares but like. idk considering he knows Who his siblings are now and he has no problem lying to and/or killing them. I'd say he doesn't really care.

Anyway to get to the other thing Jack cares about - Dave! There's no arguing on this, Dave is the only person Jack couldn't bring himself to lie to in the good ending of dsaf 3 and directdoggo has confirmed that that entire monologue was just Jack going around saying "I love you". And we can tell Legacy also cares about Dave, since in dsaf 3, you only solidify the evil path with the line "Dave... I missed you." Which is really fuckin weird to say if you don't care about the person you're saying this to and only want to kill people again? And it's not like Jack can't do it by himself, not to mention Legacy could've easily just. Said he wants to murder again, there's no reason for him to lie about missing Dave. He wouldn't gain anything from lying and Dave was desperate enough to the point where he absolutely would've taken "ok fine lets kill again" more or less the same.

And before anyone tries telling me that Legacy is possessed by Henry or whatever the fuck. That's just misinterpretation of the text. Please go back and rewatch the evil ending, Henry literally STATES he cannot directly control Jack, just talk to him.

SO ALL THIS TO SAY. Both Regular and Legacy Jack care about Dave.

And- that's kind of weird, isn't it? Why is caring about Dave like. More or less the only thing they have in common? Why Dave specifically? What's so special about him?

Well I've given it some thought and. Simply put - nothing. There is nothing special about Dave. What is special is the circumstances in which their relationship formed and developed.

Dave is the only person Jack has gotten to know after he became soulless. Not only that, but they've hung out repeatedly (both the child murder and vegas) so it makes sense Jack would care about him, no?

As for why he doesn't care about anyone he got to know before dying. The most accurate way I can think to phrase it is that losing his soul reset all his feelings.

Anyway. To the part that fucks w me the most.

The similarities between BlackJack and Legacy Jack.

This should Not be a section that I need to make. What the fuck is this. If anything they should be polar opposites, no? BlackJack is literally this guy's soul and they very much clash at the end of the dsaf 2 pure evil ending so what the fuck am i talking about

And I could mention the whole. killing in cold blood thing. But honestly, even Regular Jack does it? If you go w Dave but don't go for the pure evil ending, Jack is still a murderer and all.

So for actual things BlackJack and Legacy have in common that Regular Jack doesn't. The first one that comes to mind is absolutely the enormous ego. (BlackJack thought he could deal with Henry all on his own (which is like. fucking insane. when you actually get to the fight you realize all of blackjack's attacks are fucking useless lmfao) and Legacy LITERALLY LOOKED GOD IN THE EYE AND SAID "I AM GOD". THATS ALMOST KINDA SICK. WHAT THE FUCK DUDE) And because of said ego, they also treat everyone else as inferior!! So that's fun. (BlackJack's entire monologue about how everyone in your party is a monstrosity and he'll show Henry what he's created and if he doesn't feel bad abt it he'll kill him!! And Legacy straight up calling Peter his prey in that one scene)

The last thing is that they're... kind of the only versions of Jack that actually care about their siblings' deaths? Like I said earlier, Regular doesn't give a fuck and both BlackJack and Legacy make it very clear that they're upset about it.

I really like what my friend said on this matter - that BlackJack and Legacy are coping with their tragedy in a similar way, while Regular Jack is coping differently. For BlackJack and Legacy, revenge seems to be a big thing, so it's not really a shocker that the more they care, the more cruel and violent they are. Simply put, caring serves as motivation for doing terrible things.

Um. I am very passionate about Legacy Jack.

Moving on from him though. Regular Jack is really interesting too.

Bcs he doesnt really. change between the different endings. Really, the only difference in Him Specifically between whether he saves the kids or not is just. Does he regard the promise he was forced to make as more important? or does he not give a shit and only think of his own amusement?

Frankly considering that he murders children for kicks and that BlackJack is implied to have been. Very Brutal when killing Henry. It really makes me wonder about what Jack was like before he died (or Alive Jack as I call him).

To me, Alive Jack is the biggest mystery regarding Jack because it's so hard to say what behaviors of all other versions of Jack are a result of Jack's tragedy and what are simply What he's Like. I'd love to say more on this topic but there simply isn't anything to say, all we can do is speculate.

Anyway yeah!! I think that's everything!! I didn't expect it to be so long lmao rip

Thanks for readinggggggggggg :]

#dsaf #dayshift at freddy's #jack kennedy #jack dsaf #dsaf jack #jack kennedy dsaf #dsaf jack kennedy #this has been done since fuckin january #but i never posted it #all bcs i wanted to add a section abt the parallels between henry and jack #but i was lazy as fuckkkkkkkkkk #and only today did i realize that. i dont have to do that #teehee!!

[takeachillpillshawty]

No, some people do shit on Vil. I like to think there's a spectrum when it comes to Vil haters and Vil lovers.

Vil haters will demonize Vil and call him racist because he 'hates' Epel's accent, when that's not even true! He hates how crude and inappropriate he talks to others, you forget that Rook speaks French in some of his dialogues? Vil doesn't even bat an eye making the whole Vil is racist thing completely ridiculous and meaningless.

'Vil is abuse towards Epel!' Epel literally tried to pick a fight first and y'all are mad he actually got hurt? What did you want Vil to do? Stand there and take it? You all make jokes about Riddle getting his shit rocked by Ace because he was a little shit, but mad at Vil for doing the same to Epel? Vil doesn't go out of his way to abuse Epel, the fuck?! And I'm not saying that Epel is a terrible person nor a saint, we can have characters who are both flawed and still like them.

I see Vil as the type of mom you think is an asshole but when you get older you realize she was trying he best to raise you when you were a difficult child. I do agree that Vil has flaws that he needs to work on, the thing some people can't comprehend is that Vil will admit that he's wrong. Vil isn't self centered or some snobby rich dude, he strives to be a better person for himself and others that includes admitting he's wrong and bettering himself. He wants everyone in his dorm to be a better version of themselves and in one of his birthday cards it stated that while in his club he learned more about what goes on behind the scenes of movies because of his club member's help.

Vil, who is an actor appreciated the help of his fellow club mates for teaching him more about what goes on behind his profession. And I can't fully go in more dept because I'm an English twst user, and unfortunately some of the dialogue is either wrongfully translated or censored because Disney can't handle the queer themes of his character despite most of their Disney villains being QUEER CODED due to the Haze code back in the day. I'm seeing that people love to bring up the 'him trying to kill Neige' situation with his overblot, and I have to admit... Mans was genuinely tweaking, not gonna lie.... But you have to understand that Vil literally spent his life perfecting his acting skills despite his villainous roles he's given. He still held his head high despite it all, only for Neige to step in and steal that role of the hero. How would it feel to spend years at something that gave you an identity, the only thing that you're good at only to be out shined by a person who never felt the struggle of requiring that talent. I'm not saying Vil had every right to do what he did, but damn I understand why he did it.

Now onto Vil lovers, like I said it a spectrum. We have the Vil lovers who like myself can see his flaws and can agree that Vil has some issues but can see that he's a good person despite it all....then we have the Vil fans who hate and demonize Neige.

I can't understand why we can't have both, you also know you can like both characters without putting down or demonizing one over the other. I think that Neige is another version of Kalim honestly and I think he's a really sweet guy, but come on... You guys are just making stuff up to excuse Vil almost killing him which again I say, we can admit Vil was fucked for that but blaming something on Neige that he didn't even know happened is crazy. It's not Neige's fault that Vil hates him but the circumstances in their lives that put them to where they are now. Neige didn't ask to be famous, hell he didn't asked to be an actor he needed the money to have a better living situation for himself and his friends.

This has now become a Vil rant and I don't care, I love this man so much.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland shitpost #twst rant #twst vil #vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit

[aughtpunk]

So in the comments of "Primum Non Nocere" someone asked what would have happened if Shaun didn't get sick. I answered briefly, but I really felt like getting lost in the weeds of this idea for a bit. Because there's just so many possibilities, you know?

To start, Shaun would have ran. Shaun had been running his entire life. He doesn't know how to do anything else when faced with such potential danger. Shaun would run, leaving the safety of the Grand Temple and everyone within behind. It's from there our possibilities begin to branch off.

It's possible that, with time, Shaun would calm down and reflect on what he learned and the life of his twin. Maybe it would take weeks, months, years, decades, but with time and distance he could begin to understand what Jacob had gone through. Perhaps as more and more lambs come back to life and return to the world Shaun would slowly believe that--despite their evil actions in the past that--Jacob is now fighting for a peaceful, better future. Perhaps then Shaun would return to the Grand Temple. Older, yes, but more mature and understanding and willing to rebuild his relationship with Jacob.

or maybe

Or maybe Shaun never returns to the Grand Temple. He instead spends his life in hiding, too scared to return to the only family he's ever really known. Maybe he starts a family of his own. Maybe he spends his years alone. When he eventually passes he's not too shocked to find himself alive again in front of Jacob and Narinder. Would he run again? Or would the weight of a life alone make him more eager to forgive?

or maybe

Or maybe once he's alone Shaun would find it so easy, so painfully easy, to convince himself that the God of Death isn't his twin. That Jacob died kneeling in front of the Bishops over two hundred years ago. This thing, this monster known as the God of Death is not Jacob. Maybe it's just the Red Crown using his body as a puppet. Maybe it's a demon, or some other sort of monster that had taken Jacob's form. Because there's no way Jacob, his Jacob, would ever do those horrible things. No, this must be something else. It must be. Whatever it was it had to be stopped or Jacob's soul would never be able to rest.

Shaun couldn't do it alone. But The God of Death and their followers have plenty of enemies. How easy it would be to join those ranks. To rise up thanks to his knowledge of The Lamb's weaknesses and fears. Shaun wouldn't think twice about leading these troops into battle. He would show no mercy to those within the Grand Temple, nor would he hesitate to take on the thing that wore Jacob's flesh himself.

Shaun would lose, of course. Dead before he even knew what happened. Jacob wouldn't want to do it but they'd have no choice. It was the only way to end this. The only way.

And Jacob would bring him back, of course. Apologizing the whole time. Begging their twin to hear them out, to listen, to stop this senseless violence.

Shaun would run again. He'd come back more powerful. He'd fight Jacob. He'd die. Jacob would bring him back. He'd run again. An endless cycle fueled by rage and denial.

or maybe

Years pass. Decades. Centuries. Jacob still hasn't felt Shaun's second death after all of this time. But they're not shocked at all.

Because, you see, on the night Shaun left someone also stole the translated text about how to create a crown.

There are rumors of a new cult in the air. This one lead by a God of Justice. A lamb.

Jacob could easily crush the new cult, but they don't. They can't. All they can do is wait until the day The God of Justice decides to make Jacob pay for all of their past sins. Even if it meant killing The God of Death themselves.

And frankly? Jacob may let him.

***

In all of these possibilities, these strange and twisted branches, Kallamar will sometimes look and his old chess set and feel an odd lump in his throat. It made no sense, really. He'd only known The Lamb's twin for a few short days. Yet there was still a part that missed him. He'd then go back to whatever he was doing before and forget all about it.

Still. It was a shame he never got that rematch.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl lamb #cotl shaun #cotl kallamar #I spent way too long on this #whoops #Primum Non Nocere

[sukuna-dees-nuts]

rizzless sukuna pt 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

at long last!!! it's here, im back!

---

It’s been about two weeks since Sukuna had his date with Megumi. His mood is the best it’s been in awhile; the change is enough for his parents to notice. When they try questioning him about it, he brushes them off with an easily crafted lie. He’s not quite ready to tell them that he’s possibly dating his younger brother’s best friend (who they almost consider their own son at this point).

Sukuna isn’t ashamed or anything. He knows that his parents wouldn’t give a flying fuck if he told them he isn't straight, but he also didn't think it necessary to tell them anything. Who cares? It isn’t anyone’s business but his own. They’ll figure it out when Sukuna brings Megumi as his date to dinner or something. The idea alone gives him butterflies and he scowls at himself. 

He and Megumi have been texting back and forth nearly nonstop since their date. Well, nonstop in the sense that he talks to Megumi more than anyone else, which only happens to be his brother and Maki. Sukuna has never been one to hold a conversation (which was obvious during their date), but there’s something about Megumi that makes Sukuna want to talk. He wants the conversation to keep going. Every time it drops, he finds himself picking it back up again, usually with a movie related question.

Megumi still questions the fact that Sukuna says that he is not a movie buff simply due to the amount of movies that the older boy has seen. The more Megumi mentions it, the more Sukuna starts to believe it himself and he curses his younger brother’s effect on him, not that he’d ever admit it to Megumi or Yuuji. 

At the moment, the two of them are arguing over who is better: The Joker or Loki. 

Raisin Boy: Idk I think that Joker could outmatch Loki

Sukuna's jaw drops and his thumbs furiously tap away at the screen, not listening to whatever Yuuji is saying to him. He's in the middle of an important argument!

’There's no way. Loki has Joker beat 100 times over! He’s taken punches from Thor and The Hulk,  and he has magic. There's nothing the Joker could do to Loki!’

He huffs and drops his phone onto his leg, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for Megumi's reply. 

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Yuuji asks, briefly glancing at his brother before looking back to the screen so that he can dodge an attack. 

Sukuna shakes his head and scoffs, “Your shitty gaming skills. You still haven't beaten this boss?” 

The younger boy grunts. He stays quiet for a moment as he concentrates before he replies, “His spinning maneuver that he does always catches me off guard.”

Another beat of silence stretches between them and Sukuna momentarily forgets about his little argument with Megumi as he watches Yuuji rolling around on the screen. He manages a few hits on the boss character before ultimately meeting his doom when he goes into his spin attack and kills Yuuji’s character immediately.

Yuuji huffs and slumps back against the couch in defeat. “See what I mean?”

“Gimme that,” Sukuna grumbles. Reaching over, he snatches the controller out of his brother’s hands. He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees (his ‘boss fighting position’ as Yuuji has appropriately named it). 

The only sounds in the living room are the sound of Sukuna’s fingers rapidly hitting buttons on the controller and Yuuji’s gasps in surprise. He sits up with wide eyes as he watches Sukuna effortlessly fight this boss character that Yuuji has been struggling with for about a week now. Of course, leave it to Sukuna to pick up on Yuuji’s slack. 

When Sukuna’s phone dings, his concentration goes out the window and he glances down at his phone to see who the message is from. A bad decision on Sukuna’s part because within that same second, his character dies from a large attach from the boss, leaving Yuuji’s character defeated once again. 

“Wh—Sukuna!” Yuuji groans. “You almost had it!”

Sukuna shrugs and tosses the controller back to his brother. He picks up his phone with a shrug, unlocking it to read Megumi’s message. “Sucks.”

Yuuji stares at his older brother for a long moment, taking in the expression on his face. There isn’t a smile per se, but he notices the way Sukuna’s features seem to relax when he reads the message he just got. It makes Yuuji raise an eyebrow in intrigue. Who could he be talking to that would earn just barely a hint of a smile from Sukuna?

He leans over, trying to peer at Sukuna’s screen, curiosity getting the better of him. “Who are you talking to?” Yuuji asks. 

The older boy’s trance is broken at the sound of Yuuji’s voice and whatever “smile” was on his face falls immediately and he narrows his eyebrows at his brother. “What?” he asks, instinctively leaning away from Yuuji. 

“You never just lose a boss battle because someone texted you. Who is it?” Yuuji asks again, a shit-eating grin on his face and he leans even closer to try and get another look at Sukuna’s phone. 

Sukuna scoffs and shoves Yuuji away roughly. “None of your damn business.”

“Well it has to be someone!”

“Yeah, I’m asking the adoption agency if they’ll take you back if we still have the receipt.”

“I wasn’t even adopted!”

Sukuna raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that? I’m hot and you’re…” He pauses, his eyes quickly glancing over his brother and grimaces, “eugh.”

Yuuji’s jaw drops. “What do you mean eugh? We look the same! We have the same face!” 

Sukuna slowly turns his attention back to his phone, turning his body so that Yuuji can’t peek at his screen. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.”

With a shake of his head, Yuuji kicks his brother in the leg and goes back to playing his game, grumbling under his breath. 

Focusing back to his phone, the older boy goes back to replying to Megumi. He types out a message only to backspace and try again. This happens 3 or 4 times which seems to be enough to concern Megumi because another message pops up.

Raisin boy: I'm just pulling your leg 😂 I agree that Loki is far better than Joker

Sukuna’s jaw drops as he stares at the message. Another one pops in.

Raisin boy: As your brother likes to say… Got em

Unable to keep himself from chuckling, Sukuna shakes his head and his mouth cracks a smile. “Oh my God.”

Yuuji glances over, his attention caught by the sound of his brother laughing. “Okay, seriously, who are you messaging?”

“Shut up,” is Sukuna’s reply.

Raisin boy: And you say that you’re not a movie buff

Biting his lip, Sukuna mulls over what he wants to say next. Since they’re on the topic of movies, he wants to ask Megumi to come over when his family isn’t home so they can actually watch The Exorcist and The Conjuring together as they’ve had planned.

He kicks Yuuji in the leg. “Do you still have plans with your friend Johnny or whatever on Thursday?”

Yuuji makes a face. “... you mean Junpei?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

The younger boy slowly nods his head. “Uh yeah, why—”

“'K, thanks.” 

Sukuna begins typing out his message, asking Megumi if he’s busy on Thursday afternoon. He hopes whatever higher being is out there watching that the other boy isn’t busy. It’s almost disgusting to Sukuna how much he wants to spend time with Megumi. Sukuna doesn’t even want to spend this much time with his own friends. Or friend, in this case. Maki doesn’t mind, of course. She has her own life and isn’t reliant on Sukuna for socialization. 

“Who are you bringing over?!” Yuuji exclaims, dropping the controller to turn his full body in Sukuna’s direction. “That’s the only explanation!”

Sukuna scoffs. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I would!” 

The next thing Sukuna knows, Yuuji lunges at him. He tries to grab the phone out of Sukuna’s hands but his grip is strong, the two of them playing tug-of-war with it. Yuuji tries twisting his body so that his back is facing Sukuna, pinning the older boy’s arms under his armpit to give him better leverage when attempting to pry the device out of Sukuna’s fingers. 

“Yuuji, you brat! Let go!” Sukuna grunts.

“You first!” 

Sukuna makes the decision to let go with one hand so that he can tickle Yuuji’s side, in hopes of making his brother lose his grip. It works, but not in the way that he had hoped. The phone slips free of Sukuna’s fingers and Yuuji’s jerky movements are enough to send it falling and sliding acros the hardwood floor. 

Naturally, Yuuji dives for it first, scrambling along the ground to grab it. He cheers in victory and flops down on his back, holding the phone above his face as he reads the name on the screen. Sukuna is quick to jump to his feet as he snatches the phone out of his brother’s hands. However, the damage is already done, judging by the confused look on his face.

Yuuji sits up, yelling after his brother's retreating figure. “Who the hell is Raisin boy?!"

#jjk #sukuna #sukufushi #yuji #rizzless sukuna #credit to nessieartss for yujis line at the end because we had a great conversation with that #echo writes #im realizing that megumi is a little like ooc in this with how invested he is with sukuna #but let me have this one dorky series alright #also sukuna is kinda ooc but im working on it