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ohproserpine · 3 months

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iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

#calm before the #before the :))#sephiewrites #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel x you #alastor x you #hazbin x you #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel vox

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amuromi · 4 months

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★ ₊ ⊹ ⋆˙ ┈ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ, 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 X ᶠ!ᴿᴱᴬᴰᴱᴿ

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 ┈ 9.8k

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ┈ NSFW! college!au, minor illness/sickness (heatstroke), semi-established relationship (poly), hurt-comfort, feelings of inadequacy, pet names (baby, baby girl, honey), fingering, oral (m & f!receiving), safe word (not used, just mentioned)

✦ ⋆˙ 𝐀!𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ┈ It’s kinda crazy that Gojo, Geto, and Shoko ended up in the same class because how did jujutsu tech manage to find two special grade sorcerers and a reversed curse technique user all at once. Being in their class would’ve been like Destiny’s Child except everyone but you is Beyoncé.

✮ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 & 𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓!! ✮

A bird swoops lazily overhead. A black dot silhouetted against the white flame of the sun burning overhead. Sheets of heat shimmer off the pavement, tracing out rippling waves in the humid air that wane only in the shade of the trees. Still, spears of sunlight pierce through the leaves, each wavering beam feeling hot as cigarette burns even in the small halo of shadows cast by the outstretched branches. A breeze meanders through the courtyard, doing little to stave off the midsummer heat. Like tossing a single cup of water on a blazing inferno, the reprieve from the heat is only momentary.

If the oppressive heat bothers Shoko, she doesn’t show it. Her face is veiled in a grayish haze as she takes a drag of her cigarette, sinuous threads of smoke curling through the sweltering air. Another breeze limps past with a bit more force, enough to knock the smoldering ash from the end of Shoko’s butt. It lands in her lap, eating a black hole through the cloth of her skirt before she can dust the mess away. A dot of pale skin beams through the deep blue fabric, too big to be salvaged. Shoko gives you an unamused glower when she catches the edge of your stifled laughter, tossing away the remnants of her cigarette to look closely at the damage. She brushes away the last bits of ash before clicking her tongue, sulking over the destruction of a recent purchase.

“Maybe if you hadn’t been smoking on campus…” you hum with just enough amusement to earn you another side-eyed glare. Despite the heat you lean in closer, until your shoulders are touching, so you can whisper in her ear. “Do you want me to buy you a new skirt, honey?”

Shoko matches your sardonic tone, eyes curved into half moons as she mockingly hums. “Fuck off.”

She smells like cigarettes and melon shampoo as another gust of muggy air wafts past, stirring up sparkling particles of pollen that cling to the sheen of sweat shining on your skin. Everything is sticky and overwhelming, but the world shrinks to something more manageable as you tilt your head back, eyes closed to the pinholes of sunlight twinkling through the treetops. Bursts of red play behind your eyelids, vision going bright and hazy when your eyes finally open.

“I’m assuming you’re done for the day?” Shoko asks, nodding to your abandoned weapon as she fishes in her pocket for another cigarette. Yaga-sensei had recently granted you stewardship over a cursed tool from Jujutsu Tech’s extensive armory with explicit instructions to practice before taking the bow on any field missions. Gaudy and ornamental as it is–clearly a show of some past sorcerer’s craftsmanship–the bow carries the ability to hit any target the wielder can imagine. It’s why Yaga-sensei entrusted the weapon to you to begin with. Your infallible memory makes you the perfect user of such a cursed tool. Given enough practice.

It’s been a strenuous task and the courtyard is littered with the fruits of your labor, arrows imbued with trace amounts of cursed energy strewn across the ground.

“It’s better to start small,” is all the advice Yaga-sensei had to give on the matter. Practice, as per his instructions, has been little more than standing in one spot while Shoko went around campus naming off landmarks and collecting the arrows as they hit their target. The torii gate near the dorms, the old well behind the cafeteria, the broken statue near the track field. Your phone battery is nearly depleted from how long she’s been going around the school grounds, giving you new targets through the speaker. The soreness in your arm had been expected given that the bow was sized to someone larger than you, making the draw strength something difficult to contend with on the first few shots. It’s simmered to something tolerable but that still leaves the mental strain it takes to perfectly visualize each location. It’s taxing on the mind, and the beginnings of a headache that could be attributed to heat exhaustion is starting to drum up behind your eyes.

When you don’t offer an answer Shoko brushes her fingers across your forehead, outwardly it seems like she might be brushing the stray hair from your forehead but you recognize the trained calculation behind the simple touch. She wipes your sweat on her ruined skirt and purses her lips. No verbal admonishment comes, but you can tell by her expression exactly what she’s thinking. Estimations of your temperature as it correlates to your current state surely running through her head, but she’s never been one to nag you into submission. Shoko is nothing if not a watchful entity. Simply standing idly while people make decisions, only giving input when asked. Which you haven’t because you can expect a barrage of “I told you so’s” for straining yourself to this point of exhaustion over simple practice. Not a mission, not even a precursor to an aptitude test. Just practice for the sake of honing your skills.

It’s that gnawing sense of perfectionism that has you standing despite Shoko’s skeptical glare. She won’t say it but the medical training in her is clearly showing on her face, frowning as she watches you collect your arrows. They’re still imbued with trace levels of your cursed energy but without the bow they’re only going as far as a normal arrow. The sun beats down on your back, singeing your skin even through the fabric of your shirt every time you stoop over to pick up another arrow. Shoko sighs, muttering something about “always so damn stubborn.”

“It wouldn’t kill you to take a break.” She says. More directly this time. Combat has never been Shoko’s strong suit. Her reversed cursed technique being far more suited to the walls of an infirmary than any active battle. Practice for her is suturing and sterilizing. Nothing like the grueling physical feats you’re expected to endure for the sake of honing your craft. But even still she’s one of the few marvels attending Jujutsu Tech because no one seems to have a stronger aptitude for reversed curse techniques than Shoko. It’s truly unfair that of your four-student class, you’re the least remarkable. It makes you want to work harder, twice as hard as anyone else, to prove you deserve your place here. So instead of slowing down and taking that recommended break, you roll your shoulders and force yourself to focus.

“I took a break.” You did. Because why else would you have been sitting around underneath a tree if not to take a break from the boiling heat that’s melting you down to a paste with the way you’re sweating. Your skin and brain feel like they’re about to liquify and evaporate. But you can’t relax. Even when you sat beside Shoko the feeling of peace was only momentary. The silence brought on by exhaustion only lasted until you gained a second wind strong enough to get you back on your feet, bow in hand despite the way your shooting arm is really starting to ache from the heavy draw weight. You had some experience with using a bow and arrow but it didn’t mean the strength needed to shoot such a massive weapon wasn’t laborious. Still, the dull throb in your arm gives you something to think about that isn’t them. The other two members of Yaga-sensei’s second year class.

Flashes of white and black cross your mind. Abstract, undefined. Not enough to draw your mind away from your next target: the dead tree in the far corner of the courtyard. Should you shoot facing away or try aiming upwards, towards the sky? An ordinary arrow would fly straight up, perhaps get snatched off course by the wind, but no matter the direction you shoot, an arrow shot from this bow will always hit its mark. You feel the cursed energy singing through your hand as you nock your arrow.

“That wasn’t a break. You sat down for two seconds.” Shoko rolls her eyes as she watches you draw the bow. “I know you said you’re fine, but–”

“I am!” You say too quickly. Shoko frowns at your insistence. “I just…” You struggle to come up with an explanation for your erratic behavior that doesn’t start and end with the anxiety burning like acid in your stomach. Stinging and simmering as it spreads through your nerves, leaving you with nothing to say in your defense. You hazard a shrug, hoping your indecision will mollify Shoko. It doesn’t and she levels you with an expectant tilt of her head.

“It’s stupid.” And it is. Because how can you explain that you feel like an imposter in a school with such a rigorous entrance exam? They wouldn’t have let you in if you weren’t worth the trouble of teaching and you know that, yet you still can’t shake the feelings of inadequacy. Not when you’re learning in the shadow of the two most promising sorcerers of the modern era. And it doesn’t help that in your bid to be more like them, you’ve gone and gotten yourself far too involved. What started out as you probably being a bit of a nuisance–always close, underfoot like a puppy–turned into them seeking out your company once you realized the desperation could be dialed back a bit. In trying to seem uninteresting after following them for so long, you made yourself easy to miss. Because, of course, they’d notice if the person always standing in their shadow up and disappeared.

Now, you’re tangled in a web of their making. A fly struggling beneath the watchful eyes of those spiders keeping you close. It feels suffocating, like chains tightening around you every moment you let yourself slip deeper into the oddity that is your relationship with the Special Grade sorcerers. Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru. Even thinking of their names has started to spike your pulse with anxiety. And “relationship” is too charitable a word for the arrangement you have with them, seeing as you’re little more than an accessory, something to be added and removed at a whim. A cage of your own making. It’s what you get for always trailing after them like their talents would pass through their air and cling to you, make you worth more than you are. Now you’re here. Always at an arm’s length. Never closer and never further, held firmly in a place they can always reach you regardless of your own conflicting feelings.

It had been fun at first, to know they wanted you in their lives, in their bed. Although, the newness of the physical arrangement wore off quickly. Now it feels like the tenuous bond has degraded beyond what it had been even when you were nothing more than a tenacious classmate. Before you’d been acquaintances, maybe even friends, but now it feels like you’re something less than even that. A person to pass in the halls and accompany on missions. It stings at your pride to know you only lasted a year. Chewed up and spit out now that your second year classes have reached the halfway mark, a break between semesters fast approaching.

“Can’t be that stupid if it’s bothering you,” Shoko says patiently, lighting up another cigarette. She takes a deep drag as she waits for you to shuffle through your thoughts, landing on the least offensive truth you can offer.

“I want to break up with Gojo and Geto.” It’s hard to break something that was built on shaky foundations to begin with, but it’s the best you can come up with without explaining the winding ins and outs of your strange situationship with the men in question. Because Shoko–hell, everyone–thinks the three of you are dating. Like a proper relationship. A happy crowd of three. Shoko blinks through the haze of smoke streaming from between her lips before nodding pensively.

“You can try.”

It’s something ominous, though Shoko looks a bit miffed about having to be the one to tell you. Like you should know better than to even consider something like that. The words settle like cold stones in your chest. Heavy and shivering despite the heat still bearing down through the clouds. She goes to sit back in the shade, pulling out her phone to text someone. You ignore the tap-tap-tapping of her keyboard in favor of pulling back your bow string again, aiming at a cloud passing overhead. The arrow shoots up, before winking out of sight with a faint glittering burst, like a flash of light off the edge of a blade. It lands in the trunk of the dead tree with a dull thud. And because you can and it’s something to cut through the cluttered thoughts, you keep shooting. Landing arrows around the courtyard because you’re too tired to go through the ordeal of hunting up every arrow if you go back to shooting them around campus.

“I think that’s enough for today.” A new voice rings through the courtyard, distinct enough to distract you. A face cropping up unbidden in your mind’s eye, thoughts of the people you’ve been spending your afternoon avoiding springing up like weeds in a garden. Blue eyes and dark bangs invade your thoughts and you lower the bow before you can send an arrow into someone’s head. If you lacked discipline, were more easily startled, you might’ve shot before your reflexes caught the mistake in your mental visualization. Gojo would be fine with his infinity but Geto has no such barriers protecting him from unforeseen projectiles. Red covers white and black as you imagine the arrow piercing through his skull.

“I’m fine.” It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Now that Geto is standing in front of you, your mind has turned to tangles once more. Your usually calm and collected thoughts knotting up on themselves. He and Gojo scramble your brain in a way no one should be able to, like a radio losing signal and turning to static. It makes you want to give up on the endeavor of loosening the mess with slow, careful consideration. Quicker to cut out the tangles and be done with it. White threads. Black threads. Snip them all and watch the tension unravel.

“You shouldn’t be practicing outside like this when it’s so hot. When’s the last time you took a break?”

“I took a break!” Shoko doesn’t offer support when you look to her to corroborate the half-truth. Instead the fledgling doctor shoves her phone in her bag and you realize the betrayal. It must’ve been Geto she was texting. Shoko isn’t the type to share anything she’s told in confidence, so there’s no worry that she mentioned anything you said to him, but she must’ve said something to raise a flag in his mind if he showed up so quickly. Shoko dusts the dirt from the back of her skirt before drifting past the two of you, murmuring about going home as she leaves you alone with your not-boyfriend.

For all her nonchalance, Shoko is quite perceptive. A trail of smoke follows after her as she retreats, effectively extracting herself from the equation before she becomes a factor in a fight. Because that’s all you and the boys seem to do anymore. Over nonsense. About you training too hard and them treating you like something that needs protection. Or perhaps it’s just you fighting. Spitting and clawing like a caged animal because that’s how they make you feel. Small and weak and trapped.

Even from a distance, Geto is overwhelming and it has your hackles raising before he says anything more.

“I took a break.” You bite out, hoping your attitude will ward him off. “Now let me practice.” Unfortunately, Geto won’t give you the satisfaction of being done with the conversation just because you’re feeling a bit angry.

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” There’s that edge of concern you’ve come to know so well. That softness in his voice that sounds almost patronizing, like you’re not aware of your own body’s limits. It makes you sink deeper into your irritation.

“Yeah,” you scoff, “because I’m some weak Grade One sorcerer.”

“I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth.” Quieter, to himself, he mutters about how you and Satoru are just alike, “so fucking stubborn.”

“If you overwork yourself you’ll get hurt. I’m just worried about you.” And there it is. He’s worried. Thinking about you in a way you’ve never had to think about them. As something weak and needing a watchful eye to keep them safe. Gojo and Geto are literally the strongest sorcerers of the new generation. No one has ever had to worry about them. And if they have–you have, though you’ll never admit it–it’s a wasted effort. They return from every mission almost completely unscathed. Only as ruffled as a few hairs out of place because Geto is lethal without having to manifest his collection of curses, and nothing can touch Gojo without his permission. The memories of him letting you go beyond that barrier of infinity crop up unbidden in your mind and it makes you fit another arrow on your bowstring. Burns are starting to form where the bow chafes at your fingers but you pull back the string again, deciding to shoot another arrow dead ahead with no other target in mind.

“Don’t worry about me.” The words sound empty even to your own ears. Because as much as you crave your own type of recognition, want to prove that you’re not the weakest–most useless–second year student, you like knowing that you have their attention. Something like if you can’t beat them, join them. You’ll never surpass Gojo or Geto’s abilities but you’ve still earned their approval in a way no one else has. Even if it’s all balanced on a precarious edge. So close but so far. They have each other, and then you. They could take it all away in a second and sometimes you wish they would. It would save you the ordeal of being seen as the bad guy for cutting ties with them when everyone knows how attached the three of you are. If you aren’t with Shoko you’re with them and seeing any of you alone is a rare occurrence. It’s something you’ll have to get used to because losing them might mean losing everyone. Shoko doesn’t seem to think it’s possible but what if you prove her wrong?

Another shot hits its target. What if you’re wrong?

Geto sighs, real loud like he has a right to be upset. Like his mind is anywhere near as hoarded yet empty as yours. The thought of leaving makes you feel light with released anxiety and heavy with the guilt of betrayal. All at once. Too many knots. Too many thoughts. The bow falls to the wayside as you press your hands to your head, trying to will away the pain stabbing behind your eyes. Headache–maybe heatstroke–made worse by all the stress Geto’s caused just by existing near you. You lean down, hands grabbing vaguely at the ground, smacking blindly across the pavement until you find your bow.

The sun is bleaching everything bright white and it’s hard to see even with your eyes squinted against the throbbing pain and stabbing light. The arrows are abandoned, far too many strewn about to be of concern at the moment. Right now, all you want to do is get away from Geto. Go somewhere where he isn’t and recollect your thoughts. Somewhere inside, with water and air conditioning. Your footsteps are staggered, legs feeling more like melting wax than anything solid beneath you.

Move, you try to say, go away. It’s a slurred groan but you shoulder past Geto anyway. Or, at least, you try to. Instead you bounce off of the solid planes of his body. It sends you stumbling in another direction, so quick that your vision begins to dip and swirl like looking through water. There’s the vague sound of something warped and panicked but mostly it sounds like you’re underwater. Everything is shimmering black and blue for a moment before even that fades to nothing.

It’s cold. Not a bitter kind of cold but something chilled and pleasant, made less frigid by a vague sort of warmth wrapped around you to stave off the biting edge of the water. Everything is tepid and dim as goosebumps prickle up your arms. The budding shivers are chased away by gentle hands soothing over your damp skin. It’s enough to shock you to full attention after lingering in the soft ether between sleep and wakefulness. Water sloshes around you, splashing over the side of the tub as you bolt upright, hands gripping the edge of the porcelain as you struggle to make sense of your surroundings. The last memories you have are steeped in searing heat and blinding light, pinched with pain as the sun leached away at you. The sun is gone now, replaced with the milky white light of the moon. It spills through the open window, highlighting the sharp edges of marble and chrome; the expensive appliances of a luxury apartment.

Hands tease at your waist, pulling softly to coax you back to where you’d been laying against their chest. You know Gojo just by touch. It’s a privilege few are afforded now that he’s developed a mastery of his infinity, yet here he is wrapping his arms over your stomach to keep you close to his chest. His heart beats steadily against your spine, a consistent metronome that clashes with the anxious skipping of your own pulse. The headache that had been pounding away at your skull like a hammer and chisel is gone, replaced with the sound of your blood rushing in your ear as each subtle touch of Gojo’s fingers tracing against your skin sends you reeling.

Lips find the tip of your ear, then the edge of your jaw before settling against your pulse fluttering in your throat. His silence is nearly as deafening as your racing heart. It’s so strange to find Gojo so quiet as he presses feather-light kisses into your skin. A damp hand presses into your forehead. There’s a faint hum and then a sigh before his slender fingers drift over your eyes. His lips are at your ear again, the feeling of his breath rushing over your skin making you shiver in his arms.

“Stop thinking.” His voice is unexpectedly harsh, like he’s angry with you, and it only makes you think harder. It’s obvious you’re in his apartment but the spaces in between point A and point B are blurred, a staccato rush of images flickering in and out of focus. You were at school and then suddenly you weren’t. Last you remember, you were with Geto. Near Geto. Trying to get away from him. And now you’re naked in a tub with Gojo, and he’s upset with you. He says it again, “Stop. Thinking.”

Because you value your sanity, or what little shred of it you have left, you really do try to calm your racing thoughts but it’s so hard with him so close. And he won’t let you go. His hand stays over your eyes, pinning your focus on him and him alone. His voice. His skin. His anger. Because no matter how much Gojo tries to mask his emotions with a veneer of humor it’s always painfully clear when he’s upset. At least to you. His voice gets lower and his smiles get tighter. Every word that comes off his tongue now is graveled with restraint and it only works to further scramble your mind. Makes you anxious at the unknown. The feeling of being caught in a web springs to life again as his fingertips dance over your stomach, slender fingers feeling like the legs of a spider tying you up in its web. It gets your breaths quickening until you can’t fill your lungs fast enough, heaving and gasping as you grab at the edge of the tub, trying to pull yourself away from him again.

Let go. Let go. Let. Go!

It’s a mantra marching through your head until he lets you free at last, so quickly that you go spilling over the side of the bathtub. The tiles are cold and unsympathetic and you yelp as your knees land hard against the marble. Gojo watches you, blue eyes almost glowing in the dimness of the moonlight. You scramble gracelessly to your feet, snatching up the first towel your hand touches as you rush to be away from him. Today was meant to be spent in seclusion. Away from Gojo. Away from Geto. Yet you’ve been pushed towards both of them like a compass leading you north because Geto is just beyond the bathroom door, on Gojo’s bed.

It’s brighter in the bedroom, lit by the bedside lamp as Geto looks up from his book. It’s set aside quickly in favor of moving towards you. With each step he takes you find yourself drifting towards the door. Your clothes are nowhere in sight and the towel you grabbed hardly offers enough coverage for you to flee back to your dorm in, but the alternative of staying here, with them, is wholly unappealing. Just the thought of spending another moment with them ties knots in your stomach.

Nervous. They make you so nervous. So anxious about every facet of your existence. They won’t say it but you can see it in the way they treat you like something left over. Something to dote on when they’re done focusing on each other. It was nice at the start because you could pretend you weren’t bothered, but now it’s all you see. A divided front. You. And them. With such an obvious split, it’s only fair that you should have the choice to break free completely. Screw what Shoko said. Of course, they’d let you go. They hardly have you to begin with. But all that bravery evaporates the second your back hits the wall, cornered under Geto’s watchful eyes.

“Back up,” you breathe, not daring to look him in the eyes. His hair is loose, sweeping over his shoulders to curtain your face as he leans his head against yours. All he says is, “no.”

“Please, back up, Geto.” He’s always preferred manners and you try to sound docile even as your voice starts to shake. You feel him shake his head. No, again.

“S’not my name.” His hands trace up your shoulders, thumbs brushing against your neck before hooking under your jaw to make you look at him. Slowly he asks, “What’s my name?”

“Suguru.” It’s something weak and scratchy as your throat tries to close around each syllable but he hums like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. The meager croak is echoed as Gojo emerges from the bathroom with Geto’s name on his tongue. There’s a dozen unspoken thoughts in that single word, all of which Geto seems to recognize in an instant.

“She’s fine, I got her. Always.” Geto says like you’re a dog that tried to bolt the moment the front door was left open. And despite how insistent you’d been earlier, and how easily Geto said it now, you’re not fine. Truly, you’re the farthest thing from it, and their hovering is making it worse. They usher you towards the bed and you’re perched on the edge as they crowd in around you.

There’s too much skin involved. With your clothes missing you’re left in a towel, clutching it to your chest to lessen even a modicum of the vulnerability you feel with both men staring down at you. Geto reaches to brush a strand of hair away from your face and you shrink back. His hand falls away but it only leaves space for Gojo to come closer.

“Stop touching me.” Gojo hums like he didn’t hear you even as his lips find the furrowed space between your brows, lined taut with tension beneath the softness of his mouth.

“Stop touching me!” Your voice is cracked and edged with hysteria but it works well enough to get them to give you even just a moment to think. Steadying breaths rattle in your chest as you try to pluck up the courage to look at them. Geto catches your eye first because he’s the easiest to look at. His face has always been more guarded, more neutral, than the telegraphing billboard that is Gojo and his big blue eyes. Your thoughts are already so scattered and looking at him will only make it worse. Geto tilts his head as if he’s weighing each thought in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” His tone is cold. Stripped of that usual affection drawl, Geto’s voice sounds almost angry. Somehow it’s everything and nothing that you wanted to hear. Anger will make this easier. If they’re frustrated and bitter it will be easier to cut ties. Still, hearing how detached he sounds makes something inside you crack.

“Let’s break up.” In all your imaginings there was anger. Shouting and fighting, though never begging. You couldn’t imagine you’d be worth the loss of even a shred of dignity to them. Why would they lower themselves to beg you to stay? But instead of anger, your words are met with laughter.

Quiet at first and then louder as Gojo nearly doubles over with how hard he’s laughing. As if you weren’t even worth the effort to get upset. He couldn’t even muster a single harsh word. Instead he’s laughing and the familiar sound is like salt over soil, withering your resolve. The heat of your desperation simmers to something cold and shriveled in the wake of his poorly stifled amusement.

“Stop it!” It’s small and petulant but he quiets down almost instantly, as if he hadn’t been giggling just a moment before. All the mirth drains from his face and turns to something blank and menacing, blue eyes flashing in the low light. You say his name hesitantly, suddenly unsure of yourself, and his eyes narrow.

“Try again.” He’s as insistent as Geto that you call him by his given name. You’re far too close to be playing at calling them by their surnames, as if they’re just passing acquaintances and not your supposed partners.

Softly, you say his name, “Satoru.”

“That’s right, baby. You know my name. Tell me again. Say my name.” He’s getting in close again, face so close to yours that you can’t see anything but him. Pure white hair, clear blue eyes. He’s smiling again. Something coy and teasing as he waits for you to say what he wants to hear. He hears it once then says, “Again.” And again and again as he leans in closer with each murmur of his name until his lips are sealed over yours and his name is only a breath shared between shallow kisses.

“You know my name, baby,”–he spares another kiss–“so call me by it. I’m not some random guy for you to be calling Gojo. Never have been. Never will be.” The latter declaration sounds almost threatening, and it reminds you that you just tried to sever this bond of familiarity between the three of you. Yet here he is telling you it will never be that easy. Why can’t it be? How entrenched are you in their lives that you can’t walk out just as quickly as you came? Time spent with them is sparing between missions. Today has been a seldom quiet moment to yourself between field work and neither of them had come to see you until Shoko went and planted that seed of doubt with Geto.

“We’re not together now,” you try to insist upon your previous request. “It would be strange to call you by your name. We hardly see each other. Wouldn’t people think it’s weird if I addressed you so casually?”

“You know that’s not true.” Geto says, thumb pressed against his brow. A habit of his that spells out his frustration as clearly as any words could.

“Majority rules.” Gojo teases. “You’re not leaving us so you better quit bringing it up before we think you’re serious.”

“I am serious!” You feel Gojo laughing at you more than you hear it. The steady rumbling in his chest as he pulls you to lay beside him on the rumpled sheets. He kisses the tip of your nose and chuffs out an amused “nah,” as if his words are enough to void your own.

“What’s your safeword, baby?” Geto asks from the foot of the bed. The suddenness prompts you to answer quickly, an ingrained instinct drawing the word “cloudy” off your tongue. Geto hums and touches your ankle. His fingers aren’t as delicate as Gojo’s. There’s more weight behind even the lightest touch as his fingertips find the jut of your bone before drifting higher, raising goosebumps on your exposed legs. He climbs onto the bed, hand lingering on your skin as he looks down at you.

“What’s wrong, baby? The truth this time.”

“I want to break up. That’s all.” It feels like a lie when you’re confronted with Geto’s piercing gaze. Gojo scoffs from his place nuzzled against the column of your neck, lips pressing hot kisses against your fluttering pulse.

Geto presses further. “Why?”

Why? As if you had to justify your desire for distance when it’s all they’ve been treating you with. A constant reminder that you’re different, separate. They’re doing it even now, minimizing your words to nothing even as you try desperately to get them to understand that you’re serious. It’s like they’re keeping you on a leash and you’re tugging at your lead, begging to be set free.

“It’ll be easier for all of us.”

“Easier, how?” Gojo asks as he traces over the shape of your collarbones above the cover of your towel.

“No one will have to pretend anymore.”

“Who’s pretending? ’Cause it sure as hell ain’t me.” Gojo snaps, arms cinching tighter around your waist.

“You been lying to us, baby, is that it?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “Our girl’s been playing with our feelings, huh, Suguru?”

“That’s what I’m hearing.” Geto agrees.

That’s not true. If anyone’s been lying, it’s them. Treating you so sweet when it’s plain to see the only people that matter to them is each other. They’ve always been together until you stumbled along, weak and starry-eyed. Wholly intent on earning your place in a group of such skilled sorcerers. They doted on you, taught you, loved you, but how truthful can a love borne of pity be. You’re a kicked puppy limping along behind them and it’s taken you this long to realize how truly pathetic you’ve been. Training makes a sorcerer, not trailing behind in a race you’ll never win. Chasing the backs of two people you can never hope to reach. It’s cruel of them to pretend you were ever someone worthy of being beside them. It was never going to be you and it makes you wonder how long they planned to let you live in this delusion.

“I’m not the one lying.” It’s quiet, barely the wisp of a sound, but they hear it. Gojo sits up quickly, pulling you with him so that he and Geto can pin you between them once more.

“So it’s us?” Gojo bites, voice grated with anger. “You think we’re lying about our feelings. You think we don’t love you?” It’s better that you can’t see him as he kneels behind you, chin hooked over your shoulder, but there’s nothing shielding you from Geto’s endlessly dark glare. His head tilts, bangs sweeping over his eyes as he stares down at you with a harsh set to his lips.

“Who said that, baby? Who told you we didn’t love you?” When you shake your head, Geto scoffs.

“Don’t tell me you made up that lie yourself.” Gojo grunts. “You got lost in that pretty little head of yours and decided we don’t love you anymore, is that it?” His hand is over your eyes again, turning the world dark. It’s something he’s always done, covering your eyes like putting a blanket over a cage. It forces your mind to quiet, to focus on less. A habit you assume he developed as an extension of his own.

He dampens his Six Eyes with blindfolds and tinted glasses, so of course he’d know exactly how to quiet your mind when it starts to race out of control. Your hands lift towards your face, uncertain if you want to move his hand or hold it closer. Your fingertips rest against his skin, not pushing, not pulling, but without your arms against your sides the towel slowly comes loose to pool around your waist. Warm hands are quick to chase away the chill of the room as Geto’s fingers brush against your ribs, Gojo’s free hand settling lower on your waist. They both move in closer until you’re locked between their bodies. Gojo at your back and Geto against your chest. The latter lifts your hips, pushing the towel aside completely as he pulls you into his lap. You can’t see him through Gojo’s hand, but you’re sure Geto is staring at you, gaze likely steeped in disappointment.

It reminds you of what Shoko had said, “You can try.” And this is your reward for the effort. Trying suggests a margin of error for failure, and you’ve failed spectacularly. Undressed and caught between the two of them, feeling their hands against your naked body as they try to convince you to stay.

“You’re wrong, pretty girl,” Gojo hums, cheek pressed up against your ear as he leans over your shoulder. His voice comes from all around you. Humming through your spine and over your shoulders as the soft timbre comes up from his chest and settles as a low draw in his throat. You hear it nearly echoing in your ear as his mouth ghosts over your skin. He’s so close, hand still guarding your eyes from seeing anything beyond his skin. He’s got you surrounded and it’s only made more overwhelming as Geto moves in closer until you can feel his breath against your lips. His face is different from Gojo’s as he nuzzles against you. The white haired man is made up of straighter edges–a slim jaw and sharp nose–to match the deceptive softness he presents to the world, like a blade hidden in a sleeve. Geto is comparatively more broad, all brute strength and heavy hands as he presses his nose against yours.

They’re being gentle. You can feel it in the way their muscles move beneath their skin, tensing and curling with controlled strength. They’re so strong and you feel like a feather caught between two rocks as they press against you, woefully inferior and easily brushed aside. Still they don’t allow you to float away. Both of them press close to keep you exactly where they want you. Lips find your skin. Warmth blooms across the curve of your shoulders and up the column of your neck as soft pecks graze your parted lips. There’s nothing heady or frenzied about this moment. It’s less feverish than you’re used to, yet there’s no absence of emotion because being between them has always been fraught with passion. A hand trails across your chest, settling over the steadying thrum of your heartbeat, and you realize belatedly that they’re going slow for your sake. Just a moment ago you’d been overwrought with panic and each of their glancing touches works to bleed the tension out of your body.

“Still with us?” Geto asks. He and Gojo always seem to move in tandem. Geto’s hand has only just started to tip your head up to meet his gaze when Gojo’s hand finally slips away from your eyes. You must say something in the affirmative because Geto hums, thumb brushing over your lips before he looks over your shoulder at Gojo. Something unspoken passes between them in the briefest glance and then you’re moving, getting dragged into Gojo’s chest as he sits up against the headboard with you between his legs. His towel has been brushed aside as well, leaving only Geto clothed. He evens the odds a fraction by pulling his shirt off, ruffling his hair so it falls messily around his face. Pretty.

Geto scoff, “Now you have something nice to say, baby?” You hadn’t meant to say it out loud but they both seem amused if not a bit mollified by the slip of your tongue.

“Our boy is pretty, isn’t he?” Gojo asks, shifting his hips until you can feel the length of his approval pressed against the small of your back. Wet and hot, leaking and throbbing against the base of your spine as his hands press against your stomach to pull you impossibly closer.

“Gentle.” Geto reminds him, eyes fixed on the way Gojo’s fingers are making impressions in the softness of your skin. Any harder and he’d start to leave bruises but Gojo knows better. Geto wouldn’t let him hold you hard enough to break and Gojo himself is far too aware of his own strength to ever lose control like that.

“M’always gentle,” he says against the nape of your neck, the sentiment nearly lost as his teeth scrape across the sensitive skin. A shiver skitters down your spine, skin dotted with goosebumps as his tongue soothes the faint sting his teeth left behind.

“I know you are,” Geto agrees, reaching past your shoulder to touch Gojo. The man nearly purrs, a soft chuckling noise vibrating against your skin as his tongue tastes where your pulse is rushing in your throat.

“We’re always gentle with you, aren’t we, baby girl?” Geto’s eyes are on you now. The pitiful little “yeah,” you manage to squeeze out around the lump in your throat hardly qualifies as an answer. But they are, and isn’t that the worst part? They’re so gentle with you like they know you’re too weak to handle them unbridled, like you’re wrapped in caution tape and stamped with stickers marking you as fragile. Weak. It’s embarrassing that even in their most vulnerable state they’re more than you could ever hope to handle.

“Our girl.” Gojo sighs. The strongest sorcerer of the new generation and yet his touch is so gentle it seems almost hesitant as one hand moves away from your waist to dip between your legs. He echoes the whimpering sound you make as the pads of his fingers brush against your clit, seemingly reveling in the way your body tenses as he traces gentle shapes against the sensitive bud. His touches are fleeting, teasing, hardly enough as he pants against your shoulder. Geto’s hands smooth up the inside of your thighs, thumbing against the muscles as he spreads your legs wider for Gojo to touch. His second hand comes away from your waist to join the first, teasing at your fluttering heat before sinking a singular finger inside. He groans louder than you do, mumbling against your dampening skin about “so wet, baby,” as he works his finger inside you, adding another and another as he stretches you out with each curling thrust of his fingers.

Geto seems content to watch, thumbing soft circles against the shaking muscles of your thighs as Gojo takes his time loosening you around his fingers.

“You’re making a mess, baby girl.” Geto teases. You can feel it. Gojo is frustratingly good at everything he does and this is no exception. He’s winding you up tight as he hooks his fingers against that spot inside you that has you keening and arching away from his chest. There’s the faint sound of a protest, a groaning “no!” as Gojo’s body follows yours, not letting you put any distance between you.

“Be nice,” Geto laughs, pushing against your sternum until your back is against Gojo’s chest once more. Once you’re settled his hand trails to your nipple, brushing against the pert bud before the heat of his mouth swallows your breast. His tongue laves over your skin, leaving a glossy wet trail across your chest as he nips and licks at your breasts. It’s all overwhelming. The heat of two bodies against yours, reflecting the warmth of your own. Sweat gathers where Gojo is panting against your neck, lashes tickling your cheek as he looks down as where Geto is leaving faint marks against your skin. Your hips shift, trying to shy away from the mounting pleasure but Geto’s hold on your thigh is unflinching and only works to push you further into Gojo’s lap. You can feel the latter grinding against you, cock drooling against your skin as he grinds against your ass.

“Fuck, baby,” Gojo’s whining now, in that same breathy way he does whenever he’s at the edge of cumming. “You close, baby, gonna cum for me?” His fingers work faster inside you, rubbing real nice against your clit as he babbles a mantra of “cum, baby, please, please, cum,” in your ear. You do because they don’t give you much of a choice with the way they’re hitting all your weak spots at once. Just one of them is enough to override your senses, but together they all but melt your brain until your thighs are shaking and you’re staining the sheets with how hard you’re cumming. Gojo doesn’t let up on your clit but he pulls his fingers out of you with an embarrassingly slick sound to fumble for his cock. Geto helps, lifting you higher so Gojo can slot his cock against your pussy. He leans forward like he’s trying to wrap himself around you, rutting feverishly against your wet heat and whining when he doesn’t end up inside you. Geto seems to take pity on him, brushing Gojo’s hand aside to stroke his flushed cock soaked with a mix of both of you.

“I got you, baby.” Geto hums, leaning over to kiss Gojo. With the way they’re meeting in the middle, just over your shoulder, you can hear every sound they make with frustrating clarity. Every little groan Gojo makes as Geto kisses him. It’s loud and sloppy and you feel spit dappling your shoulder when they pull apart, joining the sweat already beading on your skin.

Geto murmurs, “You too, baby girl,” before enveloping you in a kiss of your own. His tongue finds yours easily, coaxing you into a deeper kiss as he groans against your mouth. He kisses you like he’s trying to swallow you whole, to consume every part of you. It’s startling and grounding all at once. A kiss like that can’t be fake. It eases a bit of tension from your body and Geto feels it, humming against your mouth as he pulls away, a faint smile on his lips. He kisses you again only briefly before moving lower, dappling your skin in warm kisses before he settles on his stomach with his head between your legs. He gives Gojo’s cock a few more teasing strokes before wrapping his lips around his swollen length. Behind you, Gojo keens, wrapping his arms tight around you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. Geto’s eyes are on you as he swallows Gojo’s dick.

“Fuck,” Gojo shivers against your back. “Wish I could see him. Tell me what he looks like, baby. What does our boy look like between our legs?” It’s an odd request if only because Gojo can see so much. Yet here he is relying on your vision to tell him what he can’t see.

“S’pretty,” you tell him, “so pretty.”

“Yeah,” Gojo agrees instantly. “Yeah, our boy is so pretty. Fuck, Suguru!”

“He’s taking you so well.” Geto hums at the praise and Gojo whines behind you, hips jerking up. Geto’s hands settle on your thighs once more, gripping like he needs something to focus on while he’s taking Gojo’s cock to the hilt. You lay a shaking hand on his head, fingers carding through his soft hair, pulling it away from his face as he blinks up at you.

“So pretty, Suguru.” He pops off of Gojo’s dick at the sound of his name on your tongue, shifting forward until his lips are wrapped around your clit. Your hand tightens in his hair, unsure if you want to pull him away or guide him closer as the simmering sting of overstimulation slowly bleeds through your body. He decides for you, pulling away far too soon and dragging you up with him. You fall against his chest as he nods for Gojo to move. You’re laid out in the space he leaves as Geto shoves his pants down his thighs.

There’s a wet spot on the fabric from where his cock has been leaking in its confines, precum beading on the flushed head. Gojo is quick to clean up the mess, kissing the tip of Geto’s cock and taking him halfway down his throat. Geto groans, tossing his head back in a wave of glossy black hair as he takes Gojo’s mouth with a few short thrusts before pulling the blue eyed man off of him. He keeps his hand in Gojo’s hair, guiding him up to his knees to kiss him again. There’s a peek of tongue between their mouths and it has your thighs pressing together just watching them kneeling over you.

“Want you,” Geto breathes against Gojo’s lips, hardly parted from their kiss. “I don’t care how, jus’ want you.” An approving hum follows as Gojo lays himself on top of you, hips slotted against your.

“Lift up,” he murmurs, sliding a pillow under your hips as he grinds his throbbing cock against you. “Feels so good, baby.” He whines. When he leans in to kiss you, there’s desperation sparkling in his eyes. He’s kissing you hard enough to push your head back into the mattress, nipping and licking like he’s trying to pour everything he can into the press of your mouths. His body is pressed against yours in every way he can manage. Fingers threaded with yours as your hearts beat in feverish tandem, hips pressed flush as Gojo grinds against you. There’s the vague sound of a cap popping then a pitiful whine against your mouth as Geto’s hand finds Gojo’s hip, holding him still as he presses a lubed finger inside Gojo. He melts in an instant, squirming and whining as Geto keeps him steady with a hand on the small of his back. He takes his time with Gojo, letting him relax into the feeling and stalling when he whines about it being too much. By the time Geto is satisfied with how prepared Gojo is, the latter is stumbling over his words, babbling about “please, I want it, please, please!” with his hips caught between you and Geto. He can’t seem to decide exactly what he wants but Geto does it for him, leaning against his back as he strokes his dick.

“You want it?” Geto teases, nosing at the hollow behind Gojo’s ear. The white hair man nods, face drawn in desperation as he ruts into Geto’s fist. “What do you want, baby boy?” Geto asks as he drags the head of Gojo’s throbbing cock through your wet folds.

“Inside!” Gojo’s voice cracks with the volume of his desperation. Geto chuckles and kisses his shoulder.

“Whatever you want, baby.” He hums, guiding Gojo inside you. His shaking stills in an instant as he melts against you.

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. “It’s so warm inside. Squeezing me so tight, fuck!” His babbling only devolves further as Geto presses inside him, nearly incoherent as he writhes between your bodies. The strongest sorcerer reduced to a whimpering mess before you, because of you. There’s something reassuring about it as you brush Gojo’s damp hair away from his eyes, tasting the salt of his sweat as you kiss his forehead. He can barely return the affection, nuzzling against your cheek as Geto pulls back to start fucking him in earnest. Gojo finds his rhythm pinned between the two of you, rutting into you whenever Geto pulls away. His fingers are back on your clit, making a mess between your prone bodies as he tries to rush you towards the edge. He’s already shaking and whining, teetering on the edge of pleasure from all of Geto’s attention.

“Gonna cum, baby?” Geto huffs. There’s a nod and a litany of words spilling from Gojo’s lips that sound like “m’close,” as his hand grabs Geto’s thigh to pull him closer. Gojo grinds against his cock, fingers not letting up on your clit as he makes himself cum on Geto’s dick.

“Good boy.” Geto coos, hands soothing against Gojo’s waist as he shivers. He’s close, you can tell by the way his hips are stuttering, balls tightening as they smack against your skin. He cums hard, body going rigid as he spills inside you. Still, even when he’s finished he doesn’t stop moving his hips. Bright blue eyes stay locked on the frothy mess seeping out around his cock until Geto gets him to pull away. His cock is soft and flushed between his legs, strings of your shared arousal staining his skin as Geto lays him down beside you. Gojo is quick to cling, slinging an arm across your waist as his head settles against your shoulder like he can’t bear to part from you for even a moment. His hand seeks out yours, twining your fingers as Geto fills the space Gojo left inside you. He chuckles at the wet sound it makes as he sinks inside you, hair curtaining your face as he leans down to kiss you.

“Feel so good, baby girl. So fucking good. Can’t believe you wanted to take this away from us.” He groans as he sinks into your heat. Gojo had gotten you to the edge, wound you up near to snapping, and Geto doesn’t seem keen on giving you a moment to relax. His hips grind against yours with startling intensity, like he’s fucking all his anger into you.

“Tryin’ to leave us like we don’t fucking adore you. You don’t even realize how much we need you, do you?” He grits out. They need you? It sounds inconceivable, and yet here you are. In Gojo’s bed, with Geto losing himself inside you. Who else has been allowed to see them like this?

“You’re good, baby.” Gojo whispers. “So strong and so kind. We gotta be gentle with you, can’t let you get tarnished and jaded the way we have. Gotta keep our girl protected and happy for as long as we can.” He kisses your ear.

“We’ve seen so much,” Geto pants. “Can’t let you end up like us.” Somewhere in his soft groans there’s a promise, a vow to keep you away from the things they’ve seen. It makes something come loose in your chest, a tension unraveling at last as tears prick at the edge of your vision. It’s a sorcerer’s job to protect and they were protecting you. All this distance and turmoil you’ve been suffering because they want to protect you. Not because you’re weak but because they’re strong. You’ve heard whispers of the things that happened while they were in high school, things you’d never wish on your worst enemy. Gojo had died somewhere in their second year. Of course they want to keep you behind them, a wall between you and the cruelness of their world as Special Grades. Your vision swims with tears as you pull Geto into a kiss, mumbling out sniffling apologies.

“M’sorry, m’sorry! I just wanted you to take me seriously. It always feels like I’m an afterthought when it comes to missions.”

“Baby, you’re the only thought.” Gojo sighs. “You’re our soft place to land and we’d like to keep it that way. We like you soft. You can be strong all you want but when you’re with us, you gotta let us treat you nice, yeah?” You think you nod, babbling back an affirmative, but it’s hard to know as the head of Geto’s cock grinds against your sweet spot, his fingers rubbing over your messy clit. Gojo thumbs at your nipple and it’s the last bit you need to send you over the edge with a cracked shout.

“That’s right, baby, shit.” Geto groans as you clench around him. He presses in close, forehead against yours as he works himself to the edge. Each panting breath is shared between you as you rest the hand Gojo isn’t holding against the nape of his neck, nails scratching lightly in his hair.

“Please, wanna feel you. Please cum, Suguru,” you whisper against his lips. He returns the coaxing with a soft “fuck,” pressing his weight against you as he cums with a graveled grunt of your name. You feel the mess leaking down your thighs, a mix of Gojo and Geto dripping out of your cunt as Geto pulls away with a few fluttering kisses.

“Thank you,” he says between each press of your lips. “Thank you for trusting us.” Belatedly, you realize you had trusted them. Implicitly. Geto had even gone as far as reminding you that you had an out, asking for your safe word even when you could tell he didn’t want you walking away from them. Even in your anger and panic you’d trusted them to treat you carefully, and they had. Gojo is still pressing soft kisses into your skin as he clings to you. His leg has found the space Geto left between yours, hooked over your thigh to keep you from squirming away from his sweaty embrace.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” Geto says as he runs his hand up Gojo’s thigh. “We all need a bath and I’ve gotta feed you two.”

“M’not hungry.” Gojo grouses, burying his face further in your neck.

“Don’t be a brat.” Geto groans. “And we definitely need to get some fluids in this one.” He says, wiping the sweat from your brow. “She was already dehydrated. We shouldn’t have tired her out like this.”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, really meaning it this time, but Geto brushes you off.

“You probably feel fine but you’ll be complaining about a headache in an hour tops, so up you go. Shower, then food. You can whine about how mean I’m being once you’ve gotten something to drink.” Gojo grumbles something that sounds faintly like “I’ll hold you to that,” as he gathers you into his arms and carries you to the bathroom. They argue about who gets to wash you and what food to order, falling into the familiar rhythm of push and pull between them with you as the mediator, gently guiding their petty arguments with a soft laugh. It’s a comfortable place to be, just one step behind them.

#gojo ★#geto ★#gojo smut #geto smut #gojo x reader smut #geto x reader smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #jjk smut #★ mine!

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thegnomelord · 8 months

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PLEASEEEEE UR IDEA WITH MAGE M!READER AND MONSTER!COD MEN I'D LOVE THAT SO FICKING MUCH AND YES I AGREE THERE IS A LACK OF ALL THE VIOLENCE

Pov of how the world sees the reader Vs how TF141 reader :D. I'm in the middle of writing the first chapter of a fic with this idea, but guess who contracted TB like some coal miner 😞, me! So here's a sneak peak for the sort of vibe I'm going for while I'm trying to recover:

P.S: Ya'll are free to suggest/requests with this idea cause!

P.S.S: Check out bluegiragi who came up with this AU and give her some love!

Mages and Monsters

Mages are strange creatures.

In a world so full of monstrous hybrids and mythical creatures, mages sit on the proverbial line separating man from monster, stuck in both worlds without any hope of fitting in either one.

Because outwardly, they're average. No different from the billions of other humans. They're not born with the marks of monsterdom; they don't possess horns or leathery scales to shrug off small caliber bullets like dragons do, nor the claws and bone crushing jaws of werewolves, not feathered wings and razor sharp talons of harpies, nor the wraiths ghostly ability to become immaterial.

Outwardly, they're average. Ordinary. Mundane. Human...

Almost.

Because Price and Ghost are experienced enough to see the thing laying beneath the paper thin veneer of normality, are seasoned enough to quickly notice the one thing that puts an 'in' before a mage's 'human' description — Magic. Not the smoke and mirror kind magicians or charlatans use to swindle tourists out of money, but real magic.

The ancient kind, the capricious kind, slumbering like a beast inside the hollowed out cavern of a heart until it awakens with a terrible bloodlust. Each of them can attest to this; Price sports gnarled patched of scar tissue on the scaleless parts of his arm from ice burns, his draconic breath having saved him from frostbite that had devoured more than a few good men. Though Ghost doesn't show much skin, one can sometimes catch sight of branching fern patterns on his neck where lightning magic had shot through him. Gaz's back is peppered with hundreds of little cuts where a glass mage's summoned elegant ornaments had shattered into millions of shards, aiming to take out his wings.

And now Soap sports a mark of his own, his side tender red and blistered with a second degree burn. It could have been much worse, your flames were hot enough to melt steel, the only thing having kept him from an early cremation being the two solid concrete walls your magic had had to travel through to hit him and the enhanced regeneration of his thick hide.

But such power demands a cost — one paid in blood. For magic is as fickle and capricious as a rabid dog, just as eager to lunge for your throat as it will at the enemies, leaving lasting wounds for all to see; rough and calloused palms, skin blackened from blazing heat and freezing cold or marked with fern patterns of electricity, fingers stiff and marred with cuts from thorns and crystals and rock and glass, bone deep cuts where the liquid mana had burst out from the skin, leaving faintly glowing scars that never heal right.

All mages are born with this grievous gift, though one never knows whether it will present itself with a pitiful flicker of embers in a man's dying breath, or with a maelstrom of an infant's first hiccup. That's why most mages are sealed, by choice or force, a process which puts chains on the magic, making it and the mage docile.

But you are unsealed. And you flaunt that fact readily by melting the tail of their APC helicopter with one spell, not even waiting for them to crash before flooding the terrain with suffocating ash, the lenses of their gas masks already fogging up from the heat as they get out of the cloud of heavy sediment before it bursts to flames.

Sometimes the magic becomes unsatisfied with the weakness of the body, demanding more than just its pound of flesh and molding the body like clay to better suit it— Mage Marks, they're called — the subtle glow of magic in your eyes, the mana visibly pulsing inside your chest, the skin of your arms slipping away like wet paper before growing anew, this time mimicking the surface of magma, or the rocky barnacle encrusted reef, the gnarled bark of a tree, the crystalline inside of a geode, the ice spiked ground of tundra, or any other form that suits the magic in your veins.

The process is excruciating, the mana burrowing and gnawing on every nerve like a parasite that replaces what it eats with itself. But to you, that's an acceptable loss, because marked mages far surpass their unmarked fellows, your magic stronger and wilder, feral and viscous like the primordial force of nature.

So it becomes concerning when you're laying on the floor, captured, battered and bruised and calm.

Ghost had been waterboarding you for a while now, your body tied to a chair that had been tipped back so you were parallel with the ground. With water pooling around your head, your top half would have been soaked to the bone had your magic not been simmering in your veins, the magic suppression momentarily reducing the raging inferno in your chest to a meager flicker of flames.

They can't kill you, but limiting your magic for even a second is death in and of itself.

Your breathing is harsh as Ghost pulls away the cloth over your mouth, asking you a question as steam rises from your skin. Most would give in long before this point, but you just grin, eyes glowing with a burning glow, and make a comment about how good his arse looks from your viewpoint.

You manage only one small note of laughter, pitiful embers sparking at the corners of your lip, before Ghost drops the rag back over your face and begins anew.

Price watches all of this, sharp draconic eyes noting how the mana glows in your chest, pulsing like a second heart (assuming you had one to begin with), noticing how the water turns to steam a little faster when it splashes over your skin.

And Price knows.

You... You are going to be trouble.

#trinkets from the hoard #male reader #cod mw2 #modern warfare #john price #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #monster au #mage reader #violence #reader is not a good guy #reader is a feral gremlin #monster 141 au #captain john price #reader x cod mw #x reader #centerpieces of the hoard

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bethanythebogwitch · 1 month

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Plant native plants

What's up, northern hemisphere homies? Spring is coming and soon, many of you may be looking toward gardening. When you're deciding what to plant, I have two words for you to consider:

Native. Wildflowers.

There are huge benefits to planting native plants over store-bought plants.

Native plants are already adapted to the local soil. Lots of ornamental plants (especially lawn grass) pull nutrients out of the soil without giving anything back. Native plants are much better at supporting the nutrient cycle.

They are low-maintenance. Because native plants are already adapted to your local conditions, they need much less care and maintenance. You can save time and money on fertilizers, pesticides, herbicides, and water.

Native plants support the local ecosystem. The plants have evolved alongside with animals, meaning they feed local insects, birds, and other animals. They also provide shelter for wildlife, attract pollinators, and boost the local animal populations.

They increase biodiversity. In my country, huge swaths of native land have been bulldozed and replaced with ecologically damaging farmland, lawns, and non-native ornamental plants. By planting natives you help restore the ecological balance and can get an idea of what the land used to look like. Planting natives on your property can spread the seeds to other locations through wind or animal dispersal.

They are sustainable. You can harvest seeds off of your natives and grow your garden, give them to other people, or scatter them in the wild.

They are diverse and unique. How many gardens are full of the same old standards like peonies, daffodils, and tulips? Native plants often look much more unique and interesting than the same old ornamentals. Here are some local species from my area that I think are much better looking than a lot of ornamental cultivars. (top to bottom: prairie blazing star, showy tick trefoil, Virginia bluebell, dutchman's britches, bottle gentian).

Do some research about which species are local to your area and see if your local garden stores have any native species. A lot of places will have naturalist groups who will sell native plants or their seeds or can point you to places you can get them. You may be able to harvest seeds directly off the plant if there are natural areas near you. However if you are harvesting natural plants, check local laws and see who owns the property. The general rule of thumb is that for abundant native species, you can safely harvest about half of the seeds without impacting the regrowth next year. For rarer species, you shouldn't take more than a quarter. If a lot of people are harvesting in the same area, they may be taking too much.

#plants #native plants #garden #gardening #ecology #biodiversity

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rustedhearts · 5 months

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home for christmas (boxer!steve harrington x fem!librarian reader)

summary: it's jane's first christmas!

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ the king of the ring (1997) ✶ christmas carols ✶ main masterlist

tags: dad!steve; fluff.

"i'll be home for christmas, you can plan on me. please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree."

— i'll be home for christmas, bing crosby

hawkins, indiana, december 1997

Home for the holidays.

It was all you wanted, at the end of the day. The Californian life—the hot blazing sun, the hustle-and-bustle of being an athlete's wife, the rush of paparazzi flash and glitz and glamor of a famous world—was growing exhaustive.

It was Jane's first Christmas, and a green Christmas tree in the window of a home surrounded by palm trees just seemed...wrong. You wanted a quiet, idyllic holiday in a familiar place with real snow. You wanted home.

And home you got.

"Honey, pass me that garland?" You craned over your shoulder to motion at Steve, who was sitting on the couch bouncing Jane on his lap.

He plucked the strand of silver tinsel garland from the coffee table and flung it your way, which you caught gracefully. Steve quickly went back to bouncing his leg up and down to keep Jane in a constant state of motion, lest she grow teary-eyed and send Steve into a panic. He still struggled to calm her down when she had her fits. He always thought it was because she hated him, but you knew better.

Steve was her entire world.

So, it was for Jane that he agreed to abandon California and come back home to Indiana for the holiday season. He wanted her to have the Christmas she deserved. The Christmas you had growing up, with family and snowfall and no paparazzi around to spy. The Christmas he always wanted.

You tried not to think about the flight back to California set for New Year's Day.

"Look, Janey, Charlie Brown," Steve cooed, pointing toward the television where the soft illustration of A Charlie Brown Christmas played.

Jane blinked her big, round eyes toward the tv screen. She had his eyes exactly: beautiful and wide and full of life. Her hair was starting to fill out a little more now, and you wondered whose she'd have when it started to grow. You wondered a lot these days—if she'd be tall like Steve, if she'd have his hot-headed temper or your cool stubbornness. If she'd have the athletic gene, or if she'd be more inclined to academics.

She had so much life ahead of her, and you couldn't wait to experience it with her.

"Does this look okay?" you asked, stepping back to inspect the tree.

The Indiana house was dusty when you arrived—over eleven months of neglect would do that to a place. You spent an entire day removing sheets and plastic coverings, vacuuming and scrubbing and Windex-ing, lighting candles to make it smell like home—until it finally felt like it was again. It was much smaller than your place back in California, but that's what you liked about it.

It reminded you of the life you once had with Steve all those years ago.

"Looks good, angel," Steve answered, fixing the elastic bow on Jane's head. "Need any help?"

You pursed your lips sideways, tipping your head this and that way to look for empty spots on the tree. At Steve's question, you turned and smiled.

"You want to help Janey put up her first ornament?"

Steve plucked Jane from his lap under her armpits, placing her carefully on his hip once standing. His arm protectively wrapped around her, another hand bracing her neck, Steve headed your way toward the tree. He stopped to kiss your cheek before taking the hand-painted ornament you bought from a local vendor just for Jane. “Baby’s 1st Christmas” sat in delicate gold lettering under a picture of Jane in a red plaid and white ruffled Christmas outfit.

“Is that you, Janey?” Steve held the ornament up toward Jane, who reached for it with chubby hands.

He quickly redirected, adjusting her on his hip. “Where do you want it, baby?”

You inspected the tree again, and pointed toward a branch in the front. “Right here in the front.”

Steve chuckled. “Well alright, but I was talkin’ to Janey, angel.”

Cheeks burning hot, you hid your face behind your hand and giggled. “Oh. Sorry—“

“Nah, nah, c’mere. I’m kidding, honey, gimme a kiss.”

Keeping Jane steady with both hands, ornament protected in steady fingers, Steve dipped down and pecked your mouth under your hand, chuckling at your bashfulness.

“Isn’t mommy pretty, Janey?” he asked your daughter, turning her to face you.

You grinned, cheeks sore with joy, and tickled her tummy. She squirmed and squealed, and the pair of you joined in on her laughter. It was moments like these that your heart ached with contentment.

Steve hoisted Jane a little higher, hovering her in front of the branch he hung her ornament on carefully. He kissed her cheek as he pointed to it.

“Look, Janey,” he whispered.

The moment Jane was born, his voice took on the softest coo. He only spoke to her in the lowest of octaves, gentle and slow. Like he was afraid of bursting her ears or some trance fatherhood seemed to put him through. He was always and entirely mesmerized by her presence. You had to admit yourself, it was a frail and special thing to have half of yourself in your hands. It was a bond that could never be replicated.

You slid against Steve’s side and placed your hand on Jane’s arm, rubbing your thumb soothingly into her onesie. Lowering your cheek on Steve’s shoulder, you sighed contentedly.

“I’m so happy to be home.”

Steve let his head touch down on yours. “Me, too.”

“Do you think I got her enough?”

“Darling, I think you got her a little too much. She’s only one.”

You sat amidst boxes and bags and half-wrapped presents on the floor in the living room, separated from Steve on the other side of a roll of wrapping paper. His job was sticking on color-coded bows and name tags, and scrawling a sloppy but perhaps more accurate “SANTA,” under sender.

“Well, it makes me feel better to spoil her,” you replied, carefully creasing pink paper around a toy that lit up and sang.

Steve reached toward the coffee table, taking hold of his mug of coffee he refilled a little bit ago. He’d been nursing coffees all day to combat a headache. He didn’t want anything, let alone himself, to get in the way of your day. You’d been anticipating your first Christmas as parents practically all year, and he wanted to be present for it. You once told him that you liked doing things for Jane together. Knowing Steve was your partner through all of it.

“Steve,” you sighed. “Where are your glasses?”

Steve set his coffee down again and swiped a sprinkled sugar cookie from the platter set out for Santa. He crunched out a bite and shrugged.

“Don’t need ‘em.”

“You’re squinting at the tv.”

He immediately turned away from the Christmas special on the television and huffed. “No ‘m not.”

Giggling, you finished taping down the paper on the gift and slid it Steve’s way. “Gold, please. That one’s from ‘mommy and daddy.’”

Steve plucked a gold bow from their bag and peeled off the backing, cookie going soggy between his teeth. He placed it in the center of the present and put the gift tag beside it like you showed him. The Sharpie squeaked open and filled the warm, vanilla-scented living room with pungent acetone.

When he was done, he pulled the rest of the cookie into his mouth and capped the marker. The present slid your way and was precariously placed under the tree moments later. Steve crawled over and slapped your ass as you leaned down like he’d done the past ten presents before—he just couldn’t help himself.

“Want some more coffee?” you asked, coming back to the makeshift gift-wrapping station on the rug. “Or cookies? I can make those snickerdoodle—“

“Baby, sit down,” Steve cooed. “I’m fine. You’re gonna stress yourself out.”

"Am not. I'm perfectly calm." You frowned, tucking your legs in when you settled down again.

You were wearing a flannel pajama set with heart-shaped buttons that Steve went crazy over for some reason. He said he loved seeing you ‘all cozy’ and adorable.

Steve had an old, faded Nike sweatshirt on and a pair of plaid pajama pants you bought him a few years ago. He smelled like laundry detergent and leftover pine soap. He washed his hair this morning, and now it was bouncy and gorgeous. He cut it short when Jane’s hands started to snatch at anything that came close enough. You loved the way it sharpened his jaw and freed up his eyes.

"Stop staring," he scolded playfully, reaching out to nudge your knee with a socked foot. "I have all these bows and no presents."

Cheeks burning, you grabbed the next present from the pile to wrap and looked down. "I wasn't staring."

"Sure."

"Whatever. Surprised you can even see me from over there," you sniped.

Steve's head tipped back with laughter. "Oh, angel, you're so cute."

Huffing, you glared up at him through your lashes and kicked his bow pile. "You were supposed to say I was naughty."

Steve's mouth quirked into a grin, and he dropped all bows and cookies and coffee in sight to press up on his knees and crawl close. "Ohh, I see. Well, then you're very naughty, honey."

He whispered his salacious words against your mouth, hands pressed on either side of your lap to crowd you in. You couldn't help the grin that broke out on your face, a certain giddiness sweeping in your chest. It was good to know that even after all these years—after all the infant throw-up and diaper blow-outs, and tantrums that had you crying at three a.m and shouting at Steve nonsensically in the aftermath—that you could still have moments like these.

The kiss was warm and languid, sweetened with sugar cookie crumb and hazelnut creamer Steve suddenly took a liking to last week. You bought it on a whim and he'd feel horrible if he didn't use it. It made his teeth ache a little, but if it meant you would chase his tongue the way you were right now, he'd put it in every damn drink he had.

"Maybe," Steve mused, pulling away from your lips to fit his head under your jaw and mouth at your throat. "I'll punish you for that later."

You giggled, squirming away from his hot breath tickling your flesh. "O-okay."

"Okay?" Steve grinned against your neck, kissing a pulse point aching for his attention.

"Okay, okay, okay! Don't distract me, Steven, we have to wrap."

You squirmed and kicked your feet and Steve relented amusedly. The pair of you went back to your respective tasks: tape whirring and clicking, wrapping paper crinkling, plastic bows and ribbons rustling. The soft, tinkling music of a claymation Christmas film soothed your thumping ache for Steve—which would have to wait until holiday duties were done.

Steve propped his elbow on the coffee table and bit one of the sharp edges off a red star cookie. He munched quietly as he watched you wrap with careful precision.

"You know," he said, suddenly much quieter, pondering. "I think...I always wanted this."

You pulled off a small piece of tape and pressed it down on the box in front of you. "Wanted what, baby?"

Steve's eyes snapped to your face at the endearment. His heart was in his throat.

"This. Playin' Santa...sneakin' around while she sleeps so she wakes up all excited. And I just keep thinkin'...I can't wait for when she's older and she's really surprised, and her face lights up and—I just never realized how bad I wanted this until...now, I guess."

Your hands stilled around the edges of shiny paper, eyes rounding on your husband's pink-cheeked face. You did your best to conceal the tears pooling at your lash line as you scrambled your way over to him. God damn those mom hormones that made you weepy.

"Oh, Steve," you sighed, climbing into his lap. His hands slid into the curves of your waist with ease. "I feel so lucky to be doing this with you. Making a home, raising our daughter...you make me the luckiest woman in the world, Steve Harrington."

He raised his hand to your cheek and brushed a strand of hair knocked astray behind your ear. His thumb stroked your cheek with care.

"Always been too good f' me, angel," he murmured. "But we made somethin' perfect together, didn't we? Our girl, she's...everything."

Fingers fiddling with the tail end of his hair at the nape of his neck, you nodded your agreement. "Yeah, we did."

Steve kissed your nose and then huffed. "What're you doin' t' me, baby? I'm goin' soft."

You popped a kiss on his cheek and grinned. "There's glitter on your shirt. You've been goin' soft for a while, handsome."

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x fem!reader #boxer!steve #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #dad!steve harrington

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aboxofcereales · 6 months

Text

I’m slowly working on a piece of paper about changes in Wyll’s character between early access and game release, but I don’t really know when I’m going to finish it, in the process I’m more and more fascinated by potential story of Wyll’s parentage and their own story. Although mostly this is purely headcanon, but may I suggest the following:

There are few things we learn about Wyll’s mother during the game.

After stumbling upon Arabella in Shadow-Cursed Lands, a following dialogue may happen: “You've talked about your father, but not your mother. Why's that?” “Because there's nothing to tell. She died when I was born. As a boy, my bond with father was too deep to miss the mother I never had. Now, well - I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about my mother. What life would've been like if she'd lived.”

During romance scene in Act 3, Wyll says: “My mother always said the Wilden Oak's acorns held just a touch of wishing magic.”

There are two weapons, belonging to Ulder Ravengard, which describe some details about Wyll’s parents - Duke Ravengard's Longsword (can be found on Ravengard himself) and Ravengard's Scourger (can be found at High Security Vault 5 in The Counting House): Longsword: “Cradling his newborn son awkwardly, the Duke's face pulled into a rictus of misery. His love Francesca smiled at him, briefly, and died. He stared at her until the boy cried, and he told the boy it would be all right, though he himself did not believe it.” Scourger: “Duke Ravengard's father was the sort of man who works with his hands, and communicates in grunts. In his heart his son vowed to do better. But when Wyll was born, Ravengard felt a strange gravity that drew him away from his son.”

To sum up, what we learn in-game is that Wyll’s mother was named Francesca, she died giving birth to Wyll, Ulder loved her and their son, and tried his best to raise Wyll well.

Ulder’s parenting style deserve its own piece, but I think its obvious that he cares for Wyll deeply, though often failed to show it, acted to strictly, to righteously. Ultimately, it fall down on Ulder character, the “Murder in Baldur’s Gate” describes him as following: “Blaze (Major) Ulder Ravengard is the incarnation of militarism. The only beauty he appreciates is precision, and the only quality he values is utility. He believes that personal ornamentation other than military insignia is a waste. A meticulous man, he forgets nothing and forgives less. Ravengard has never married and has no interest in domestic matters. Someone might consider him handsome, if not for his constant scowl and many scars.

Blaze Ravengard is Marshal Abdel Adrian’s right hand man. He is both the second Highest ranking officer in the flaming fist and the warden of Wyrm’s rock. Ravengard’s soliders do not love him. They do respect his leadership, however, and pay for it with their obedience, which is exactly how Ravengard prefers things.

Naturally stolid and terse, Ravengard is slow to speak and make decisions in any arena expect the battlefield. Once he decides on a course of action, Ravengard is relentless in it’s pursuit. He believes the Flaming Fist is the Gate’s backbone and the key to the city’s strength.

With the Death of Marshal Abdel Adrian Ravengard has risen to the Rank of Marshal of the Flaming Fists.”

What’s interesting, its noted that Ulder Ravengard was never married, and the longsword description calls Francesca Ulder’s love, not bride or wife. This more then likely mean that Wyll was born out of wedlock, as Wyll is about 16-17 during the death of Abdel Adrian.

When talking with Counseller Florrick, when Wyll is reveled to be Ravengard’s son, he says “The circumstance of my birth is no matter of pride for neither me nor my father.” This may refer to Wyll’s birth leading to his mother’s death or the fact that Wyll’s technically was born a bastard. In the latter case, Wyll’s mom might as well have been a worker at Sharess' Caress, with whom Ulder could have had a one night stand, but its specifically stated that Francesca was loved by Ulder, and of what I read about the Grabd Duke he seems to be the man who would marry her out of duty and responsibility of getting her pregnant. So there should be another reason behind it.

There’s this banter between Shadowheart and romanced-Wyll:

“Someone of your social stature, Wyll, are they typically allowed to pursue their heart whims as they like?” “I don't have to ask for permission if that's what you mean.” “Really? I'm surprised, I thought dowries, alliances and old blue blood feuds might have to be balanced against your desires.” “I'm my own man, Shadowheart, in this sense at least.”

Wyll’s a hopeless romantic, who wishes for a happily ever after with her one true love, and Ulder apparently never minded the potential social status, despite him and Wyll being a high-ranking member of society.

Of course, Ulder’s marital status and Wyll existing can be explained by the fact that Wyll being Grad Duke Ulder Ravengard’s son was a part of the character rewrite. It was datamined before that originally was supposed to be a great-grandson of Duke Eltan, the founder of the Flaming Fist and a Grand Duke of the city of Baldur's Gate in the 1300s DR. And the bits of this storyline are still presented in the game: Fist Art Cullagh with his original writ of duty, signed by Eltan himself, pre-final part of Wyll quest taking place in the Iron Throne, where Eltan nearly assassinated.

Currently, House Eltan, the descendants of Duke Eltan, is one of the noble patriar families. The Forgotten Realms wiki states that: “The family held partial financial ownership of the Flaming Fist mercenary company. At one point however, they were forced to sell their interest to help pay significant debts they had incurred.”. Which I believe corelates with what EA!Wyll spoke of his father (the man saw any shining bauble he liked and took it, and my hand were ever so stinky or smt along those line).

So, what if Wyll is still Elatn’s great-grandson through hid mother? What if somewhere along 1460s DR Francesca Eltan, a granddaughter of a once Grand Duke of the city and a member of patriar family, met Ulder Ravengard, a son of a poor blacksmith and a mercenary of The Flaming Fist, steadily ascending through its ranks? What if Franceesca taught the stern and disciplined Ulder to dance, read to him her favorite stories and poems under the Wilden Oak, made him on other things then duty and order? What is if their time together resulted in Francesca getting pregnant with Wyll? What her family did not approve of the union due to Ulder being merely a mercenary, who hailed from the Lower City, or they wished to marry her off to someone who could aid with the family’s financial problems? What if Francesca ran away, hoping that the birth of a grandchild could convince her family to attend their wedding afterwards? What if Wyll’s love of dancing and dreaming came from the mother he never knew?

#baldur's gate 3 #bg 3 #wyll ravengard #ulder ravengard #bg3 wyll #wyll bg3 #wyll #in my mind ea!Wyll and gr!Wyll are the same person #just one was take in by the Eltans #and another was raised by his father #I just wish the game provided more contents for Wyll #and Ulder for that matter #there is so much more the could’ve done #gods

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eternal-kosmo-ghoul · 5 months

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*°:⋆ₓₒ day 6. wax play

.｡❅*⋆⍋*∞*｡ “candle queen”

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — ❤︎ the scent of the candles just made this year extra cozy, maybe sodo has some tricks up his sleeve for how to make things cozier

pairing: sodo ghoul x afab!reader

a/n: i want sodo

cw: nsfw content. making out. wax play. bondage. tail fucking. sodo is a little shit.

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“fuck you turn me on, especially when you’re covered in all of that…” —❤︎

┅✦┅

a long day from running christmas errands really took out a piece of your soul.

slamming the doors shut with a relieved sigh, you dragged the many bags from your holiday haul. what a relief that was, you finally knocked out all of the important stuff on your list.

groaning from the fatigue of carrying so many items all at once, you dragged your body over to the living quarters where all the ghouls resided, standing in the middle of the halls with one bag in hand. the halls were decorated to fit the seasonal festivities of christmas. cute little decorated plushies filled the shelves, small pine trees with glossy and colorful ornaments hung up on each one. paper snowflakes strung up on the ceiling to simulate that crystallizing beauty of snow falling on the ground.

the sight of it was just gorgeous, and rather touching. it almost made you forget about your exhausting trip. however, there was a reason you went out on a chilly winter night.

a certain fire ghoul had requested you buy something specific for… “special reasons”, as he phrased it. you had no idea what the little scamp could possibly be thinking of doing with the items you got for him. but the way he spoke to you about it, it indicated something much more intimate.

“hello?” you called out, trying to coax out that devilishly handsome firecracker, the sound of your voice echoing off the church halls.

and speak of the devil himself, as you were about to turn around to exit the ghouls dorms, a pair of charred arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you into their chest. you looked down to see the recognizable brazen hands of sodo, who’s face was buried into the back of your shoulder, nuzzling into it affectionately.

“missed me that much?” you asked with an amused chuckle, and the little spitfire only let out a cute little ‘hmph’, before burying his face into your shoulder more.

“more than you can imagine.” sodo replied in a slightly hoarse voice, his breath hot against your delicate skin, making you shudder.

the fire ghoul took notice to this, and immediately started nipping his teeth at your skin, being careful to make sure his fangs didn’t pierce your flesh. you let out soft, quiet gasps at the feeling, and he grinned into the crook of your neck.

“did you get them?” he asked, fangs ghosting over the lobe of your ear. you let out a shaky sigh.

“yes.” you replied.

sodo let out a satisfied groan at that answer.

“good.” he practically growled into your skin. “let’s use them now.”

“now?”

“you know i’m an impatient ghoul, and my dick is already hard down here.”

it was true. you could feel sodo’s not-so-little friend poking you behind onto your ass. you snickered at this, and teasingly pushed your lower body against his clothed dick, making sodo groan with need and frustration.

“fuck.” he uttered out.

“wow, you’re really hard just from the sheer thought of what we’re about to do.” you teased, turning around to face him. “horny little ghoul.”

“shut up.” he spat back, but when he met your gaze, he couldn’t resist a cocky grin forming on his blazing features.

the two of you shared a look, before sodo leaned down to whisper into your ear. “let’s take this to my bedroom now, shall we?”

you nodded in agreement, feeling your excitement pool into the core of your stomach and between your legs.

“lets.”

—

“lay down on the bed for me, darling.”

an amused grin made its way to your face at the fire ghoul’s sudden command.

“so demanding… and we haven’t even done anything yet.”

“mmmh, shut up, come here.”

sodo let out a devious purr, his hot breath tickling your skin before he pulled you in for a fierce, searing kiss, his lips pressed against yours that screamed for lustful contact. the two of you giggled into the kiss and continued to make out like your lives depended on it. his lips tasted ashy, and with a hint of bitterness, like there was a light layer of brimstone on his lips, but his taste was addicting. sodo pushed you down onto the bed, crawling on top of you while his lips remained locked with yours.

sodo didn’t waste any time discarding your clothes. he was unraveling your naked body like an early christmas present, in which it felt like it was. he didn’t stop until both you and him were completely bare for the world to see.

his tattooed fingers gripped your wrists as he continued to make out with you, pushing his forked, ghoulish tongue into your mouth to intertwine with yours, creating lewd, sloppy sounds that had you both drooling and moaning.

“shit… you’re so fucking addicting.” sodo groaned, his tail reaching for something in the nightstand. he then pulled out what seemed to be red rope.

you just let out a lusty chuckle, eyes half lidded from the pleasure. “yeah, i know i’m hot shit”

sodo scoffed playfully at your arrogance.

“narcissist.”

“not my fault you’re so desperate to get into my pants.”

the spitfire only muttered a quick ‘shut up’ before bringing the rope to his hands, forcing your wrists upwards and tying your hands to the bed frame with swiftness and precision. the force of tightness binding your wrists together made you curse.

“fuck. that hurts.” you rasped out, voice hoarse from all of the kissing.

“that’s the point.” sodo snarled out quickly, licking his lips at the sight of your body completely bare and immovable, all for sodo to have fun with.

sodo’s hands greedily grasped at any bare flesh he could get his claws on, softly kneading the smooth skin underneath his palms. his demonic tail coiled over your leg, and the spade of it flicked teasingly against your aching clit, making you gasp.

“fuck!” you managed out, and sodo chuckled darkly above you.

“ah, there they are. that’s the naughty little pet i know.” sodo sung lustfully, before he grabbed another item.

it was the thing that you bought during your christmas errands— shea butter candles. sodo wanted to keep things extra cozy for the holiday season, and to of course stay close with his lover. so, he had an interesting, yet exciting idea on how to do that.

taking one of the candles, he straddled your legs and lit one of them with a flickering flame dancing on his fingertips, watching the wax slowly melt from the base. his tail was still teasing your sensitive folds, and sodo was reveling in how you were reacting. you were gasping and grunting, mostly from anticipation, and he was having such a power trip.

“now, let’s get started.”

the shea butter wax has this almost silky texture to it as it was melting from the top, and the fire only softly illuminated yours and sodo’s features in the dark, creating an atomosohere that screamed kinkiness and desire. the wax dripped onto your smooth skin, and sodo rolled the candle in the fingers to allow more of it to drip onto your body.

the feeling of the hot, almost scalding wax made your body jolt with both pleasure and pain, but the pain wasn’t actually harmful— only created a sense of excitement that electrified throughout your body.

as you let out airy and high pitched moans from Sodo pouring the wax all across your arms, legs, chest and torso, his tail stayed between your legs and teasing your soft, puffy cunt.

“s-sodo..” you moaned out, the burning hot wax making every other touch on your body ten times more sensitive, but it only fueled your arousal even more.

“that’s it…” sodo whispered into your ear, the spade of his tail finally entering your hole. you cried out at the feeling, and your legs twitched. the red rope binding your wrists kept them secure, and you squirmed around when sodo’s tail started to thrust in and out of your wet, needy walls. your pussy clenched around sodo’s tail refusing to let go.

“fuck you turn me on, especially when you’re covered in all of that…” sodo growled out, his lips attacking your neck briefly. his cock was hard and was leaking precum, which shimmered underneath the soft glow of the candle.

he kept the candle dripping all over your thighs, some of it even going between your inner thighs.

the heat radiating off of the wax only made you more wet, and sodo’s tail was brushing up against all of the right crevices and corners inside of you. you could feel an orgasm approaching soon.

“s-sodo… fuck! i-i’m gonna cum…!” you warned, wrists clanging against the bed frame and toes curling into the bedsheets from how good sodo was fucking you.

he let out a soft chuckled and pushed his tail deeper inside of you.

“then cum for me.” he encouraged teasingly, watching your face contort into one of pure bliss.

you screamed, and came hard, the sensitivity from the wax making your orgasm more intense. cum coated sodo’s tail, leaving a sticky, gooey trail of the viscous liquid as it dribbled out of your sensitive hole. your body was left shaking from the aftershocks, and it felt so, so damn good.

you panted heavily, and sodo grinned, snuffing out the candle and putting it aside, before brushing the hair out of your sweat-slicked forehead.

“that was hot.” he whispered. “both literally and figuratively.”

you laughed at his little joke, still tired from your climax. “you’re so corny.”

“yeah, i know i am.” sodo grinned.

his claws traced over the wax that stuck to your body, watching it harden and stay clamped onto your skin. sodo chuckled and untied the ribbon, before scooping you up and smiling affectionately at you.

“now let’s get this all cleaned up.”

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#holiday hoes event #ghost bc #ghost fanfiction #sodo x reader #sodo ghoul #sodomizer ghoul #dewdrop x reader #dewdrop ghoul #dewdrop smut #sodo smut #nameless ghoul x reader #smutty drabble #smutty fanfiction #christmas #holiday prompts #christmas prompts

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kinq-sleazee · 4 months

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The Detriment of Our Origin

Sukuna X Black Reader

MDNI (18+) | slight angst, slight religious undertones, implied obsession, sukuna has a big dick, sukuna covers reader’s mouth , idk what this is

Part 1

Forever was never the goal.

Two lost souls met on the outskirts of sanity. Desperate for something to hold on to. Something to ground them.

You just wanted to feel.

Anything.

Pain was fine because it kept you in the present. Stopped you from floating into the cold vast darkness of your own mind— that was a dangerous place to be alone.

He could give you pain.

He was pain.

He was born to take , break and consume.

Ryomen took, broke, and consumed you.

Your soul flaked off bit by bit with the subtlest of caresses.

Actions that would’ve caused butterflies and coy smiles from any other man manifested in blazing desire and yearning that left you wrung out in the spaces between life and death.

The supple velvet of his plush lips proceeded the keen edge of the teeth that sunk into your flesh.

Razor-like nails carved patterns into your body, ornamenting you with his marks for all to see.

Sukuna never gave you anything. Why should he ? He is a god. Your god. He took what he wanted. He took your pleasure. He stole your desire.

Each orgasms was forcefully extracted by the unmerciful roll of his hips against your core. Those punctuated thrusts that burrowed impossibly deep—so deep that your quaked and spasmed.

His hands were everywhere. On your breasts. In your hair. Over your mouth. Curled into the sheets. He was everywhere. He is everything.

Sukuna would lean back to watch where the two of you connected, loving the evidence of your arousal coating his cock like snow in a winter field. It made him want to fuck into you harder. Just to hear the carnal squelch of your soaked cunt. Poor hole weakly submitting to an intrusion that was much too big and much too rough.

His strokes were sinister.

Each thrust angled to attack that gummy spot that drew choked sobs and hoarse cries from your throat.

He loved you like this. An angel crying for the devil

#was in a mood #the inside of my mind is a mixture of darkness and unicorns #jjk angst #jjk smut #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x black reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna thirst #sukuna #sukuna angst #jjk x black reader #sukuna smut

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valkyriepirate · 1 year

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Newt Scamander x Reader One Shot- Christmas at Hogwarts

Summary: Christmas has come and the students at Hogwarts have returned to their homes for the break. All except you, a Seventh Year Muggleborn staying at Hogwarts for the holidays. It’s Christmas Eve and you’re feeling quite lonely- that is, until your friend Newt Scamander finds you in the dining hall by the fire. Soon you realize that Christmas may be far more magical than you’d hoped.

Warnings: Fluff overload. :)

Word count: 3.6k words

A/N: I know I’m posting this fic wayyy after Christmas, but it’s always Newt Scamander season in my heart and I couldn’t resist. ;D

#5- Christmas at Hogwarts

The fire was your only company in all of Hogwarts that night.

It blazed and crackled in the grate, warm and inviting as a dear friend. You scooted closer, shivering even underneath your thick coat. Your hands seemed incapable of warming up. No matter how close you held them to the fire, the warmth declined to accompany you for long. It was too painful a reminder of your family; like them, the heat pushed you away if you got too close, threatening to sear your skin. Yet too far and it felt like there was not a fire burning at all.

You swallowed your respite. It was Christmas Eve, and Hogwarts was decorated beautifully- golden tinsel strung along the window frames, evergreen wreaths with large acorns and red bows adorning the doors, and even an enormous pine tree set up in the corner, clothed in a myriad of twinkling lights and shining ornaments. But the décor was just another reminder of how alone you were. Everyone in your House had returned home to loving families and abundant gifts for Christmas- all except you.

You pulled your (Y/H) scarf tighter, rubbing your face with the soft cloth as you tried to thaw your freezing skin. You refused to let any tears fall. Yes, you were alone, but it was Christmas. There was solace in the good memories you had of years past, and no matter how desolate things seemed, you always felt that the magic in the air was stronger this time of year.

You had taken to drawing miniature snowmen in the fireplace cinders with your wand when you felt it: something small and warm brushing against your leg. Startled, you looked to the side but saw nothing. Then the same sensation rubbed against your other leg. As you turned, a furry little creature poked its head out from underneath your coat. It looked like a fluffy platypus, with a pink bill, pale feet, and tiny curved claws.

“Well hello, little fella,” you said, scooping the creature into your hands. It was incredibly soft. “Where did you come from?”

The creature purred as you stroked it tenderly, gazing up at you with shimmering black eyes. You laughed in delight as it scurried up your arm and snuggled between your scarf and your neck.

“Cold, are you?” You tucked in both ends of your scarf, creating a scooped blanket for the creature. “There. Is that better?”

It nuzzled into your neck and you laughed again as its fur tickled you. It was possible it escaped from one of the classrooms, but you didn’t feel the need to return it anywhere- at least, not for now. You felt the weight on your heart begin to lessen. Maybe you wouldn’t be so alone on Christmas Eve after all.

“Teddy?”

You craned your head around at the familiar voice. You hadn’t heard anyone enter the main hall- in fact, you had been sure you were the only one left in the whole building. As you wondered who it could be, a boy with a swath of ruddy hair emerged from the hall.

“Teddy? Don’t be a scoundrel. I better not catch you stealing any-” The boy stopped when he saw you. “Oh. (Y/N). I didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here either, Newt,” you said, a smile creeping up your face. The presence of your longtime friend was an even greater relief to your solemnity. “What are you doing here?”

He shifted, pulling at his bright yellow Hufflepuff scarf. “I-I came to find Teddy.”

“He’s with me,” you said, patting your scarf. “But I mean, why are you here- not at home with your family? It’s Christmas Eve.”

He didn’t speak for a long time. Eventually he said, “I... may have missed the last train.”

You gaped at him, a disbelieving laugh escaping your lips. “You missed the last train? How?”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes. It occurred to you that maybe he had been withheld from boarding for an unknown reason.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I guess it’s just nice not to be alone.” When he didn’t reply, you offered, “Want to sit with me?”

His eyebrows twitched up as if you’d given him an umbrella on a bleak rainy day. Newt was undoubtedly much different than the rest of your friends- he was so incredibly gentle and humble in a way that was rare to find in anyone else. He was always generous in his kindness, but the moment even the smallest kindness was offered him back, he was so unprepared that it almost made you want to laugh.

He came and sat down a little ways away from you. You patted the floor next to you, beckoning him closer. “Come here. You’ll feel the fire better.”

It was impossible to tell if the redness on his cheeks was a blush or the glow of the fire. Slowly, he scooted to sit next to you.

“He’s taken a liking to you,” he mumbled. “Teddy, I mean.”

“I think he’s taken more of a liking to my scarf. I can’t say I blame him.”

Newt smiled briefly, staring at the embers on the ground. “Nifflers may pride on materialism, but they know a pure heart when they see one.”

Something about the words warmed your insides. “Where did you find him anyway?” you asked.

“You could say he’s a family pet.”

“Oh. Your mother keeps magical creatures, right?”

“She breeds Hippogriffs,” said Newt. “Some of the other creatures are...adopted family members.”

You gazed contentedly into the fire. “That sounds nice.”

Newt stole a glance at you, playing with the rim of his cloak. “If I may ask... why are you here, (Y/N)?”

It was your turn to run short of words. The truth was that you were a Muggleborn and your family vehemently disapproved of magic. Some of the professors at Hogwarts had hexed them for years into believing that you went to a boarding school like any other, but last year the truth got out. Your family ordered you to stop attending Hogwarts. When you refused, they said you could stay- so long as you didn’t return home.

You still loved your family and missed them dearly. But you couldn’t deny the magic in your veins. You couldn’t leave Hogwarts behind, not when it had been your second home for so long. Not when it meant saying goodbye to the friends you had made.

Instead of saying any of this, you gave Newt an encouraging smile and said, “I couldn’t make it home for the holidays.”

A comfortable silence passed between you two, broken only by the crack and snap of the logs in the fire. In that moment it seemed you had bonded in a way you never had before. There was something about being alone together on a holiday when you were meant to be with everyone that united your shivering hearts. You thought that if it had to be anyone here with you tonight on Christmas Eve, you were glad it was Newt Scamander.

“(Y/N)?” said Newt after a while.

“Yes?”

He seemed to be treading carefully. “How would you like to come to Hogsmeade with me?”

You blinked at him before breaking into a grin. “Do you really mean it?”

“Well, only if it’s something you’d like to do-”

You laid an excited hand on his knee. “That sounds wonderful. What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”

Newt appeared so startled by your touch that he sat frozen in place as you jumped up and bounded down the hall. You stopped at the doors and turned back to face him. “Come on Newt, don’t be a slowpoke,” you said, a teasing tone sliding into your voice. Teddy the Niffler chittered in agreement.

Blushing deeper, Newt pushed to his feet and followed you down the hall. “Don’t you turn against me now, Teddy.”

If it could have been possible for a Niffler to snicker, he would have. You laughed at the two of them. “Race you to the front gates!”

Newt didn’t have time to reply before you took off. Smiling to himself, he ran after you, the sounds of laughter and clicking soles on stone floors filling the lonely castle with a beautiful kind of music.

******

The snow had been falling heavily since morning and was settled so thickly across the cobblestone pathway that you felt like you were walking on cotton candy. You were still panting and flushed with heat from your sprint throughout the castle, and the frigid air blowing your hair away from your face was more welcoming in that moment than any fire could have been. Your breaths came out like transparent white clouds as you turned around and triumphantly pumped your fists in the air. “I win!”

Newt, panting just as hard and clutching his side, nodded fervently. You wanted to giggle again at the sight of him- one pant leg rolled a bit higher than the other, his scarf tossed askew around his shoulders, his cloak hanging crookedly around his body. You had to resist an urge to ruffle his already messy hair, which was quickly becoming powdered white with snow.

You peeked inside your scarf to check on the Niffler. “You alright in there, little buddy?”

The creature’s eyes were wide with exhilaration. He gave you a sweet kiss on the chin and you laughed as its ticklish fur caressed your skin.

“He’d prefer to be carried all day if you let him,” Newt said, crunching across the snow to you. “Though I’d be careful. He tends to steal shiny things.”

“This little guy, a thief?” you scratched his soft belly. “That couldn’t be.”

“Have you lost anything?”

You playfully bumped him with your elbow. “Got nothing to lose. Come on, we’d better go before they douse the lanterns.”

The snow proved as deep and noncompliant as it looked from afar as you and Newt treaded along the path. Each of your steps sank down until the snow was nearly to your knees, making every few steps quite arduous work. Newt came up with the brilliant idea to magic the both of you a pair of snowshoes, and from then on the going was far easier.

The two of you were chatting about your semesters, your midterm exams, and your plans after Hogwarts when you reached the hilltop that led down into Hogsmeade village. It looked like a Christmas town, with slanted rooftops layered with snow, light gray smoke trailing from chimneys, and sparkling green-and-red lights along the storefronts. You even spotted a few decorated Christmas trees in windows and in front of squat buildings.

By then the cold had seeped back into your bones and left you shivering to your core. Newt, dressed similar to you, was clenching his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Nothing in the world seemed more appealing right then than to huddle up in one of the Hogsmeade pubs next to a fireplace, preferably with a cup of something hot. But an idea had crept into your mind.

“What’s that?” you gasped.

Newt furrowed his brow, searching the scene below. “What?”

“That, down there.”

“The village?”

“No, to the left of it.”

You stepped backward as he stepped forward to see. “The forest?”

“Next to the forest.”

“I’m not sure I understand-”

Newt was cut off as a huge, crude snowball hit him clean in the back with a splat! He jumped, whirling around questioningly, one hand already on his wand. Then he saw your impish grin.

“Does this mean war?” he asked rather timidly.

You scooped up more snow and rolled it into a ball. “This means war.”

Newt dove as you aimed the next snowball at him. He gathered one and took aim at you, though his force was poor. The snowball came just short of your feet.

“Afraid to hit a girl, Scamander?” you teased. “I’m sure Teddy could throw harder than that.”

“I’m only afraid it wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me,” he said as another of your artillery smacked him on the shoulder.

“This should be an easy win then!”

The two of you ran down the hill, peppering each other with snowballs, dodging and rolling in the snow, the sound of your laughter sweetening the lonely night air. The ice was numbing your fingers and your sides were aching with exertion, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t had this kind of fun in a long time.

You darted to a nearby tree to restock when a cluster of snow larger than your head exploded upon the side of your face. You looked up, mouth open, and stared in disbelief at the Hufflepuff.

“Sorry!” Newt said quickly, eyes wide. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-I didn’t realize-”

He was cut off as you whipped out your wand and, grinning from ear to ear, lifted a mountain of snow into the air above his head. With a flick you let it drop, effectively drowning him from head to toe in a small avalanche.

He burst from the little mountain, sputtering and shaking snow out of his eyes. “You cheated,” he gasped. “Magic.”

“Whoever said there were any rules?”

You granted him a moment to pull himself out of the snow and get back on his feet. He gave you a playfully hesitant look. In the next moment, his wand was in his hand and a fleet of snowballs were soaring towards you.

You retaliated to match, sending torrents to meet him and diverting his attacks. He’d finally begun to give the competition you were looking for.

You slipped as he used magic to shift the snow beneath your feet, seeing that he was rolling a snowball large enough to cloak the forest. While he was distracted, you caused a ball to hit him in the back of the head, impeding his focus. In one fell swoop, you made a gust of wind knock him to his knees and destroyed the giant snowball before it could approach you. You waved your wand vivaciously and tiny snowballs about the size of chocolate frogs ambushed him from all sides.

Newt struggled beneath the attack, but he was unable to gather his wits in the firefight. At last he shouted, “You win! You win! I surrender!”

With a swish the ambush ceased. You strode toward him, tossing your scarf over your shoulder in victory. “I win for the second time tonight, Scamander. You’re off your game.”

Newt looked like he was trying not to smile. “Consider it Christmas spirit. I’m feeling gracious.”

You reached out and dusted some of the snow from his hair. “Perhaps. Or perhaps that’s just an excuse.”

“Perhaps.” His voice turned quiet. You were suddenly aware of how close you two were.

“Well, as the winner, I should get some kind of prize, don’t you think?” you said.

He’d been staring at the ground, avoiding prolonged eye contact as he usually did, but now his gaze snapped up to meet yours. “Yes. I suppose so.”

Your heart had begun to thump erratically and you weren’t exactly sure why. It cut through your puckish bravado, stilling your thoughts and making them run wild all at once. He was close enough that you could smell the comforting scent of the fire sunk into his cloak and see the remains of snow still stuck to his eyelashes.

Newt wasn’t looking at your eyes anymore. He was looking at your lips.

He’s my friend, you thought. He had been for years. But if he was simply that, why were you suddenly feeling this way?

Your head leaned closer to him ever so infinitesimally. His did the same, as if compelled by some external power. Perhaps it was the magic in the air or even the spirit of Christmas, but you didn’t allow yourself to think about what you did next.

You took him by the scarf and kissed him.

You felt a flicker of surprise go through his body, and if you were being honest, you were surprised too. But in the next moment his stiffness melted away and he sank deeper into the kiss. One of his hands came up to cup your face ever so delicately as if you were a dream made of snow that would swirl away in an instant.

It seemed that you two stood there for hours, yet once you pulled away it felt that less than seconds had passed. You and Newt appeared to be locked in place by each other’s gaze, breaths coming short in little white clouds. He was blushing so profoundly that his cheeks were almost as red as his hair. He took a shaky breath and leaned forward again, and you could sense the insatiable desire that had now awoken within him, how one kiss seemed to open doors to a million thoughts and longings the both of you had stored so deeply within that you hadn’t ever acknowledged it.

Your lips had barely met for the second time when something furry barged its way in front of your face. Both you and Newt stumbled back, startled. Then you erupted into laughter.

“A jealous one, are you?” you snatched Teddy from where he’d run atop your head and poked him in the side. He warbled indignantly.

Chuckling, you looked back up at Newt. A grin was plastered on his face that was so broad you truly believed it had the capacity to light a shooting star.

You stepped closer to him and set Teddy on his shoulder, wrapping the Niffler up in Newt’s scarf. Your fingers lingered on his chest for a moment before you turned your eyes to the ground, feeling heat sweep your cheeks.

“That was a pretty good reward,” you said bashfully.

“You should win more often,” mumbled Newt. You two would have probably stood there smiling at the ground like idiots for the rest of the night if Teddy hadn’t released a chirp of impatience.

“He must be cold,” Newt bundled the Niffler underneath his cloak.

“To the village?” you suggested.

“To the village,” he agreed.

You two set off on the path you’d been on before, and even though it had to be nearly midnight by now, the moon and stars seemed to shine brighter, and the Christmas lights decorating Hogsmeade Village twinkled with greater joy. As you walked, you felt Newt’s hand brush yours. You slid your fingers into his and the connection sent pleasant shivers up your arm.

You came upon a homely pub with a sign out front that read THREE BROOMSTICKS INN. Newt held the door open for you and the delicious scent of peppermint eggnog and baked frosted pastries wafted out to the street.

Despite how quiet the street had been, the pub was bursting with customers, all huddled in groups or pairs, all sipping some heavenly hot beverage that warmed your stomach by its very smell. Deep-bellied laughter echoed off the wooden beams of the arched roof. A cozy fire crackled in the great hearth.

You ordered two hot butterbeers and sat on the floor in front of the fire. Newt sat next to you, and as soon as he did Teddy scampered out of his scarf and into your lap.

“Traitor,” Newt whispered, but his voice was so innocent it made you grin.

The butterbeers came round and you wanted to bathe yourself in its warmth. As the two of you took blessedly long sips, you sighed and rested your head on Newt’s shoulder. Earlier tonight, you had been sitting and staring at a similar fire, thinking about how you’d be alone on Christmas Eve. And while all your friends and house mates would be surrounded by family tomorrow morning, opening their gifts, you knew that you had gotten the best gift of all.

“Thank you, Newt,” you murmured.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For being you,” you said. “For being here when no one else was.”

He was quiet for a long time. Eventually he said, “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

“Merry Christmas, Newt.”

The two of you sat by the fire so long that you had nearly drifted to sleep on his shoulder. The other customers were singing carols and clinking glasses, and in that moment, you wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

The next thing you knew, Newt was gently nudging you awake. You looked up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, at a bundled, slim young man with a head of dark hair covered by a winter hat. Perhaps you were just incredibly sleepy, but he had a striking resemblance to Newt.

He knelt to get on your level. “What am I going to do with you, Newt?” He ruffled Newt’s hair. “Missed the train? Really?”

Newt just smiled. “You came back for me?”

“I can’t very well leave you here for Christmas, can I?” The young man turned his eyes to you. “I’m Theseus. Newt’s brother.”

“(Y/N),” you said.

Theseus looked between you and Newt, a sly grin creeping up his face. “Would you like to come with us?” he asked.

“Come with you? Where?”

“Home,” Theseus said simply.

You glanced at Newt. He was staring at your lips again. He looked up to meet your eyes. “Please,” he said quietly.

You thought you might melt into a frosty puddle right there on the floor. “I would love that. Very much.”

“Alright then.” Theseus offered you a hand and pulled you to your feet. He patted his brother’s shoulder. “Left in Hogwarts on Christmas. Just like my brother. Shall we?”

You slung your arm around Newt’s. “We shall.”

Masterlist

#newt scamander x reader #newt scamander x reader one shot #newt scamander x reader fluff #newt scamander christmas #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawft #newt scamander fluff #reader insert #theseus scamander

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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 5 months

Text

Naughty List

Pairing: JoeQuinnXReader

Summary: You've been feeling down this holiday season but Santa has the perfect idea to lift your spirits. Have you been a good girl or a naughty one?

You walked into the house after a long day in retail, ready to kick off your shoes, sit on your couch with your boyfriend, and enjoy a glass of wine. You usually loved working this time of year. Christmas had always been a source of joy. You embraced the chaos but this Christmas season had been rough.

Work had been insane with far too many unpleasant shoppers. You were used to a few here and there but it seemed as if everyone was in a hateful mood lately. They yelled about long lines like they weren't aware it was the busiest shopping season. They cursed at you when something was out of stock like you were the one manufacturing the damn televisions and radios they wanted. On top of that, your grandma had a stroke last month and you'd been spending a lot of your down time trying to help out your mom and dad. You were run down, exhausted, and running on fumes You were more than ready for a long winter's nap.

You dropped your purse, turning, and paused, taking in the apartment around you. Festive lights were strung all around the ceiling, twinkling in hues of red, blue, green, and yellow. Two stockings were attached to the hooks you usually used for your keys. Someone had clearly written your name on one and Joseph on another with gold glitter glue. Your Christmas tree sat against the wall, beautifully decorated with all your favorite ornaments. Tears sprang to your eyes as you took in the sight before you. You hadn't had time to decorate for Christmas with everything else going on and that had just added to your melancholy feeling this holiday season. Nothing was more depressing than coming home to a space bare of any Christmas joy during what was supposed to be the happiest time of the year.

Your favorite person in the world poked his head around the corner, giving you one of his little pouty smiles, that dimple you just loved to sink your tongue into appearing on his cheek. On his head sat a bright red Santa hat, the little fluffy white ball hanging just over his forehead.

"What did you do?" you asked with a grin.

"Well," Joseph began, slowly walking towards you, his hands folded behind his back, "I know that things have been a bit tough for you lately. You've been so busy with work and your grandma and I knew you were feeling a bit sad that you hadn't had time to decorate. You're usually so happy, downright jolly, at Christmas time and I have not seen you even smile in days. So I wanted to do something to brighten your spirits. Did it work?"

"What do you think?" you replied, bridging the gap between you, sliding your hands around his waist, the brightest smile ever on your face.

"It looks like my mission was quite successful," he answered softly. One of his hands slid up your arm and shoulder to cup the back of your neck. His other hand moved around to settle on the small of your back.

"Very successful," you whispered softly, your legs going weak as his lips found yours, gentle and sweet at first, and then more insistent. His tongue danced along the crease in your lips, slipping past to meet with your own. You moaned softly, trying to press yourself closer to him because there was never such a thing as close enough when it came to Joseph.

Joseph pulled his lips from yours, backed up, and you groaned with disappointment. People said that everything fizzled out eventually in a relationship. You wouldn't be as frantic about each other, sex would die down, you just would become comfortable. Well, that was not the case with you. It had been three years and nothing was dying down and there was absolutely no fizzle. The raging inferno that was your desire for him continued to blaze hot, threatening to burn the world in the process.

He smirked, strolling over to sit on the couch. Leaning back, he spread his legs open wide and desire flooded through you. Why was it so fucking sexy when he manspread? It should be obnoxious. He gazed up at you, that fuzzy ball hanging in front of his forehead, as he patted his lap.

"Sit on Santa's lap, darling and tell him if you've been a very good girl this year," he said, a devilish smile playing on his lips that made you feel like you were coming apart at the seams.

You walked slowly, swaying your hips as you went, thinking two could play at this game. If he wanted to tease then you could tease him right back. All thoughts of being tired vanished, your body suddenly quite energized ad you settled yourself in his lap. Joseph wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you against him.

"Come on, love, tell Santa what you want for Christmas," Joseph urged, his fingers sliding up and down your arm, sending shivers racing along your spine.

"I think I have exactly what I want right now," you responded, kissing the side of his mouth, "you."

Joseph tilted his head, tutting softly. "Oh, now that won't do. That's not very specific, darling. You have to tell Santa exactly what you want if you hope to get it."

Oh, it was going to be that kind of night. Your stomach tightened in anticipation, heat rushing between your legs. You ran your hand under his shirt, over the downy hair that sat above the button on his pants, feeling his muscles tense under your fingers.

"I want..." you whispered, leaning in close to his ear, "you to make me cum so hard that I see stars." You nip at his earlobe, enjoying the hiss that slips from between his teeth. "I want your mouth everywhere on my body." Your hand slid down over his pants, palming his erection and he growled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. "I want to feel every inch of you." You twisted your body, draping your legs on either side of him, straddling his lap and began slowly rocking your hips. You whimpered at the feel of his erection pressing against right where you needed him. "I want you to fuck me so hard that I can't move when it's over."

"Fuck..." he murmured softly, placing kisses over your jaw, one hand coming up to grip your hair, tugging on it gently, exposing your neck to his famished lips. "And have you been a nice girl or a naughty girl this year?"

"Oh, I have been so, so naughty, Santa," you breathed, your breath catching as you continued to press against him, sliding your hips feverishly back and forth.

"Mmm...well, you know what happens to naughty girls, don't you?"

Joseph grabbed your waist, stilling your body so you could no longer enjoy the friction that was relieving the tension building in your core. You tried to move your hips again but his hands were like iron, keeping you frozen. You whined and he chuckled, enjoying his little game. The man loved to tease you, to drive you to the brink of desperation before giving you what you craved.

"Naughty girls have to get punished before they get their present, darling," he rumbled. "Now, lay across Santa's lap and lift that little skirt up for me."

You were so turned on right now. Jesus, you loved it when he took charge. You slid off him and then bent forward, laying across his lap. His fingertips grazed the skin along the back of your calf. Obeying his commands, you lifted your skirt, exposing your bare ass to him. As he realized you were wearing nothing underneath, you heard him inhale a shuddery breath.

"Oh, you are a naughty girl," he hummed, his hand softly running over your bare ass before you felt the sting of his hand coming down hard on your ass cheek.

You whimpered softly as his fingers slid down, through your slick. Your hips bucked, your body craving him. Joseph chuckled again, the sound deep and amused as one finger slipped in between your folds, teasing your clit with slow circles. You wriggled your hips, desperate to get him to apply more pressure but his hand instantly disappeared and another hard slap came, causing you to cry out.

"Naughty girls don't get what they want. Remember? You have to show you can be a good girl before Santa gives you your present."

"I am so sorry Santa," you replied, your voice ragged, feeling like you were going to come undone if he didn't touch you soon. But you would play his game because you needed it. You needed the release only he could give you. "How can I be a good girl?"

Joseph slapped your ass again and the sting brought both tears to your eyes and raging desire between your thighs. He grabbed onto your hair, yanking you up to your knees, roughly pressing his lips to yours. Your teeth clashed, tongues tangled, his lips bruising your own with hard pressure as he showed you exactly who was in charge tonight.

"You want to know how to show me you're a good girl? Show me how good that pretty little mouth can suck my cock."

Releasing your hair, he leaned back on the couch, spreading his legs open. You crawled in between them, on your knees, working to unbuckle his belt and slide it loose. You undid the button on his slacks and he lifted his hips so you could pull them down, along with his boxers. The full glorious length of him greeted you and you could feel the dampness between your legs growing at the thought of bringing him pleasure.

Wrapping your fingers around him, you pumped your hand up and down the length of his shaft before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock. You were rewarded with a groan from above you that you could feel in your core. Flicking your tongue out, you teased around the slit and then slid your tongue slowly down along the vein running underneath.

"That's it...that's my good girl," he groaned, his head resting against the back of the couch, eyes closed. "Such a good girl, darling, taking all of Santa's cock. Yeah, take it in all the way. Want to tickle the back of your throat, sweet girl."

Shit, you loved turning him on. You could almost get off just from listening to the sounds he made, the praise he lavished on you when you were making him feel good. You wrapped your mouth around him, taking the entire length of him into your mouth, allowing it to hit the back of your throat.

"Fuck, yes," Joseph growled, his hand gripping your hair again, pushing himself as far into your throat as you can handle until you gag. "Just like that, love."

You released him from your mouth for a moment, continuing to work him with your hand. Your other hand came up to cup his balls, relishing the softness of the skin there as you rolled them around gently before tugging them downward and he grunted harshly, growling out your name.

Joseph grabbed your shoulders and lifted you up from the floor, throwing you down on the couch. His eyes darkened with the desire he was feeling. He was the one in charge but you took pleasure in the fact that you had managed to undo his composure. You knew he wanted to take you right there but he was struggling to regain the upper hand.

"You are such a good fucking girl," he whispered. "Such a talented little mouth doing exactly what Santa asked. I think you've earned a little present."

He grabbed the front of your shirt, tugging at it with his hands until the buttons snapped off. For a second you were annoyed. It was a work shirt and you only had so many but then his mouth was on your breast, his tongue lavishing your nipple and all ability to think fled your brain. His lips pressed warm, wet kisses along the curve of your breast, down in the valley between them, before reaching the other one. He took that nipple into his mouth, sucking gently before sinking his teeth in.

"Fuck!" you screamed, gripping his hair in your hands and you heard him chuckle.

"My girl likes it rough, doesn't she?" he asked as his fingers pinched your other nipple, twisting it just enough that the pain was so goddamn sweet. "I didn't hear your answer."

"Yes...yes...I love it rough," you choked out, gasping in shallow breaths. His tongue was moving south now, sliding along your stomach, pausing to dip into your belly button, causing your toes to curl, your fingers to grasp at nothing.

Joseph knelt on the couch between your legs and lifted your skirt, tilting his head to the side as he gazed down at you. His fingers trailed up and down the insides of your thighs, close but just never quite close enough to finally touch where you so desperately needed him. You whimpered, rocking your hips forward, needing him to finally quell this unbearable need.

He lifted your foot, bringing it to his mouth, pressing kisses along the arch, your ankle, your calf, your knee. Jesus, you were going to implode if he didn't relieve some of this pressure soon. HIs lips moved along your inner thigh but darted over your center, moving to the other thigh. You whined softly and he laughed, the sound a deep rumble in his chest.

"My girl sounds upset. What's wrong, darling?" he questioned innocently.

"Please..." you begged. "Please Joseph."

"Please what?"

"Please touch me," you pleaded, bucking your hips again, desperate for him to use his fingers or tongue on you. Anything as long as he was finally giving your pussy some attention.

"What would you like me to touch you with?" he teased, a smirk playing across his lips as his eyes gleamed mischievously.

"I want you to taste me," you moaned.

"Mmm...that's my favorite choice too," he agreed, diving between your thighs.

The minute his tongue ran along your folds, you groaned loudly in relief, your eyes rolling back into your head as you arched into him. HIs tongue flicked over your clit and then circled it. You rolled your hips toward him, yearning to get as close to his face, to that sweet tongue, as possible.

"Jesus, this right here is my favorite place to be," he moaned against you and you shuddered at the vibrations that rolled from his lips through you.

His tongue slid along your folds, slipping inside of you. He slid it in and out of you before flicking his tongue over your clit again. You saw nothing but white, your breathing growing labored as your chest heaved up and down. Two of his thick fingers slid into you, scissoring open, stretching you.

"Fuck Joseph!" you screamed, your hands gripping his hair as if it would keep you from sinking, pressing his face firmly against you. You could die happy right now, with this beautiful man buried between your legs.

He twisted his fingers, so skilled at knowing exactly how to hit your pleasure button exactly the way you needed it. Fuck, it was so damn good. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on it gently and your whole body began to tremble.

"Oh shit! Don't stop baby. I'm so close..." you gasped.

"That's right. Come for me, darling."

You screamed his name as your body violently shook, your orgasm feeling like it would rip you straight down the center. But what a way to go. He never stopped, continuing to touch you as you writhed through it. The violent tremors subsides to gentle aftershocks as you gasped softly, your head falling back.

Joseph trailed kisses up your body and you whimpered at the feel of his lips against your skin. Your senses were heightened, every nerve ending flayed open, from the intense release you had just experienced and every single kiss was sending shockwaves of overwhelming pleasure through you.

"Such a good girl," he praised. "Let's see if you can keep following the rules. Shall we? Turn around."

Your body felt like jello but you somehow managed to rise to your knees, turning so your back was to him. He pulled you against him, pressing himself against you, his hands running over your breasts, your stomach, your thighs and just like that, you could feel your desire building again.

Joseph's hand pressed against your back, pushing you forward until your cheek was pressed against the cool leather of the couch cushion. Gripping his cock in his hand, he teased you as he ran it along your folds, rubbing the tip over your clit. He slid just the tip of himself inside of you before pulling back out. You growled in protest, needing him to fill you, to finally give you what you'd been wanting since he'd poked his head around the corner in that fucking hat.

"Remember the rules, darling. You have tell me what you want," he commanded.

"Please baby. Joe, please. I need you to fuck me. Need it so bad, baby."

"That's my girl," he groaned, slamming into you with such force that your whole body rocked forward. You screamed with relief at the feel of him inside you.

His name fell from your lips over and over, a consistent moan, as he pumped into you hard and fast, the sound of your bodies slamming together filling the empty room. He grabbed your hair, yanking you up to him, pressing his chest against your back, not an inch of space between your bodies. Lifting your hips, you bring them down again, matching his frantic rhythm. His hands slide over your hips and then up along your waist before cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples.

"Tell me how much you love getting fucked," he whispered.

"I love when you fuck me, Joseph," you groaned, head rocking back against his shoulder. "I love the feel of your cock inside of me. Fuck baby, nothing feels better than you."

One of his hands slid down the front of your body your body, finding your clit once again and you bit down on your lip so hard you could taste blood. His finger circled your clit, his other hand torturing your nipple. When his mouth found your neck, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh there, it was too much.

"Oh fuck!" you screamed, gasping for precious air as forceful quakes took over. You hit your peak again, feeling as if you would float right up and out of your body.

"Yes baby...that's it...you feel so blood good, darling. Your pussy is so good," he snarled against your skin. "Oh fuck!"

His warmth filled you, painting your walls, as he hit his peak as well. You could feel him shudder against you, his arms wrapping around you, keeping you pressed tightly against him as he placed gentle kisses along your shoulder.

"Jesus, I fucking love you," he whispered.

"I love you too," you breathed, meaning it more than you could ever possibly express.

"Merry Christmas, my love," Joseph said softly, his finger lifting your chin, lips molding sweetly against yours.

"Merry Christmas baby."

#joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn fluff #joe quinn edit #joe quinn smut #joe quinn #joseph quinn smut #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn stranger things #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn #smut #fluff and smut #christmas smut #holiday season #christmas fanfic #merry christmas

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professorpski · 10 months

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“Soon the knitter herself will visualize a thousand of other ways in which a motif can be used, and so fave at her disposal an exhaustible variety of fabrics. Thick fabrics or thin fabrics, patterned fabrics or plain fabrics, those blazing in colour or decorated with beads, she can make fabric imitated fur (Looped Knitting), Lace, Picot, Filet, or Crochet, and even cloque and woven fabric, by a mere change of technique. Every ornament known to dressmaking can be imitated, even hemstitching and buttons!”

When Mary Thomas wrote this in 1945 in Mary Thomas’s Book of Knitting Patterns when dressmaking was the most common craft women learned. Circular knitting, which she called seamless knitting, was viewed as peasant knitting, interesting historically, but not something most women likely to do. So, comparing knitting to dressmaking was a compliment. In fact, sewing pieces of knitted fabric was taken for granted and Thomas offered the same garment block or garment schematic that we see in dressmaking in the section explaining how to plan an entirely original sweater.

Similarly, Thomas urged her the reader to imagine new ways of patterning a knitted fabric through her choice of stitches. Every section of the book suggests how variations might be introduced to the stitches she explains. She valued the experimentation and imagination which created the stitches she taught and clearly saw yet more to be invented.

You can find this and other Thomas books at Dover Publications: https://store.doverpublications.com/0486228185.html

#knittingbooks #knitting #knittinginstruction #marythomas #making #makers #dresshistory #costumehistory #fashionhistory #dressmaking #vintageknitting #vintagefashion #vintagedressmaking

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bestnoncannonship · 4 months

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HELLO NAUGHTY FANDOM FRIENDS ITS FERAL CHRISTMAS TREE TIME!!!

You've seen the Good Omens Tree:

You've seen the Merlin Tree:

This year we have the

SHERLOCK HOLMES TREE!

Merry Christmas Everyone! Is this not the perfect Christmas tree for Christmas with your queerplatonic life partner in your strange little house? I think it is. Now our favorite interpretation of Sherlock Holmes is the Granada with Jeremy Brett. So it's his visage and that of his longtime Watson, Edward Hardwicke, who top the tree this year.....with miniature festive versions of their top hat and bowler hat:

Some of the Ornaments are just things that come up often in Holmes's world. Like Holmes's Violin, a Train, a Magnifying Glass, Various Vials of Science and Tobacco Ash, Smoking Pipes, and Watson's Revolver.

Others are references to certain cases; The Severed Ear from "The Cardboard Box", Mary's Pearls and Poison Darts from "Sign of the Four", the French Gold from "The Red Headed League", an Orange with Five Pips from "The Five Orange Pips", the Triangulated Tree from "The Muskgrave Ritual", the Big Dog from "Hound of the Baskervilles", the Noose from "The Resident Patient", the Bicyle from "The Solitary Cyclist", "Silver Blaze"'s horseshoe, A "Blue Carbuncle", Irene Adler's Sovereign from "A Scandal in Bohemia", and a garland of Dancing Men from "The Dancing Men" that spells out the Lyrics to "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen".

I've also included the crest of Mycroft's Diogennes Club with their mascot (a plucked chicken) and their motto (Shut up ...but in Latin), and a skull....because it seemed appropriate.

And of course......there are plenty of copies of the magazine where Watson immortalized their adventures together:

Merry Christmas!

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doctorroseprompts · 6 months

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Ficmas 2023 is nearly upon us, friends!

If you're new, 31 Days of Ficmas is our annual December theme. It's based on the fanfic advent calendars from days of yore, when authors would write a fic a day based on a holiday or winter themed word.

As with most of our prompts, you are free to use them however you like. You can use the list to write one or more larger projects ahead of time, write a fic a day like the traditionalists, use the words out of order... We simply provide the list and then sit back and enjoy the fic you create.

(There might be some weekly or even daily prompt posts based on the words coming in December. There could possibly an image prompt every here or there over the course of the month as well.)

Feel free to use these for any fandom, but we will only be reblogging fics that are Doctor x Rose.

Without further ado, we present the 7th Annual 31 Days of Ficmas list!

1. Shopping 2. Family 3. Ice Skating 4. Ugly Jumper/Sweater 5. Cheer 6. Cocoa 7. Gifts 8. Lights 9. Biscuits/Cookies 10. Pine 11. Stocking 12. Candy Cane 13. Silver and Gold 14. Season 15. Candles 16. Shiver 17. Traditions 18. Gingerbread 19. All I Want… 20. Wrapping Paper 21. Ornament 22. Blaze 23. Festivus/Friendmas 24. Santa and/or Elves 25. Jolly 26. Unity 27. Love 28. Scarf 29. Snowball 30. Hope 31. Twinkle

Have fun, and Happy Ficmas!

We start reblogging on December 1st. To make sure we see them, don't forget to mention us @doctorroseprompts in your fics and use the tag #31 Days of Ficmas

#doctor x rose #timepetals #31 days of ficmas #31 days of ficmas 2023 #doctor who #prompt list #holiday prompts #prompts

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theflashdriver · 1 month

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Gintsugi

Heavy heels clicked across the tiled floor, marking the passing of each quarter second. Blaze the cat could usually maintain a relatively aloof façade, only breaking from it under the most dire of circumstances or when pushed to her absolute limit. Yet, all through this morning, afternoon, and evening, a certain aggravated frown had fused itself into to her muzzle. Today had been one of the, if not the, most draining day of the princess’ life. She had been locked inside the great hall from sunrise to sunset, answering questions, signing papers, and listening to her advisors. Yesterday had been difficult, almost impossibly difficult, but something about today’s monotonous crawl had dragged out that pain and made it far more insufferable. There had been questions about restructuring, expanding the royal guard, assigning watches, public appearances, and reconstruction, the likes of which she’d surely still be dealing with for weeks if not months to come.

As her glare glanced one of the castle’s many maids, Blaze watched her shrink back and bow her head. Though she felt an immediate upwelling of guilt, the princess couldn’t bring herself to stop. With every second that past, she knew she would further regret being away from her desired destination; as she began to scale the stairs, she found her pace had only further increased. She knew this path well but not out of practice, only because she had wandered this trail so often in her mind. Even as she finally walked it, the feline found herself dissociating from her surroundings and lost among her thoughts.

Yesterday replayed in her mind, the attack had come without warning. From the sea just south of Southern Island, as the sun set and they day came to its end, a titan milled from metal had emerged from the sea. The warning bells began to ring only after the first of its tentacles had burst from the ocean, soon followed by a gaping maw filled with saw blades. Whether its limbs numbered in the hundreds or the thousands Blaze could not recall but an endless hail of them had jettisoned from its body and rained down as a concentrated missile strike on the palace grounds. Blaze could visualise the moment so clearly, hearing the initial explosion as rocket after rocket rose from the ocean. She had stood, stunned, as they arced through the air and towards the palace she had just left.

A second intruder to her world hadn’t been so blindsided and, what’s more, he had been in a position to act. She’d watched a tiny cyan speck ensnare the explosives, preventing them from breaching the palace, and heard him call out… something, something she couldn’t recall but it had brought her back to her senses. She’d took off like a shot, racing to secure the Sol emeralds. Just as she’d laid hands on them, just as she thought they’d be safe, an explosion shook her to her very soul.

As she reached the landing, seeing the long stretching hallway of visitor guest rooms, Blaze could still visualise what had happened. She’d emerged from the basement expecting to find the castle in ruins only to see it was untouched, hardly an ornament out of place and nary a window broken. She’d rushed outside, emeralds prepared and fists aflame, only to find him on her doorstep. Crumpled, smouldering, unmoving; barely recognisable. The fit of rage she’d fallen into, emeralds sparking and clashing into her being, had been more than enough to see off Eggman Nega and his cruel device... but it had been too little too late. While the day was saved, it had come at a cost.

Blaze found herself on the threshold, her forehead practically against the door. She couldn’t bring herself to reach for the doorknob. The guardian hadn't been allowed to see him yesterday, doctors and surgeons had rushed back and forth from his room all through the night, but she’d been told partway through the morning’s first meeting that his condition had much improved. Unfortunately however, that fact had come coupled with some more negative news.

Certain medical practices, common to this world, could not be safely used on him; they had taken blood and were running tests, trying to determine what could be done to help him. He came from a totally different world, let alone a time without medicine, he could have had a negative or allergic reaction to any number of this world’s standard medical treatments. They’d cared for him as best they could but all they could really do was bandage him, monitor him and wait for his body to heal. Even his blood was thought to be abnormal, due to the psychokinetic energy that ran through him. Blaze couldn’t help but expect the worst.

Swallowing hard, she dared to rap against the wood. The silence that hang in the act's wake was deafening.

Finally, she forced her hand upon the doorknob. She couldn’t feel what should have been cold brass in her hand, heat was flagging from her frame and pouring into it. Her emotions were building beyond what was manageable, beyond what was acceptable. This wasn’t safe, not for her and certainly not for him. When her emotions got the better of her, control was lost- her powers would escape her form without her say and run rampant throughout her surroundings. If she went inside she had to be calm, otherwise he’d only-

“Good evening, your majesty,” A familiar voice spun the feline on her heel.

"Good evening, Gardon," The cat greeted the guardsman.

The older koala, dressed in blue, had evidently followed her up the stairs; she'd been too lost in her worries to notice. He plainly had something in his satchel, be it to deliver to her or the hedgehog within. Regardless, the immediate formality of his poise and tone brought sickness to her stomach. She had wanted to meet with Silver alone, without the barrier of ceremonious trappings.

"I presume you've come to visit our guest?" He enquired, surely knowing the answer.

"Yes, I wanted to ensure his recovery is going smoothly," She half lied.

"That's very kind of you, your highness," A small smile crept across his fuzzy muzzle, "I'm certain that he will appreciate your visit."

The stiffness of his frame was different from his usual overly formal manner, the cat could read on his face that he was perturbed. Between that and Silver not coming to the door, something was clearly wrong. Why had the guard even travelled up here?

"Is there something on your mind?" The ruler asked, cutting straight to the point.

"Forgive me for prying," He bowed once again, "But, prior to his unannounced appearance, I hadn't heard of this Silver the hedgehog, yet he plainly sacrificed life and limb to defend the kingdom. Has he visited prior?"

Gardon wasn't verbalising the full scope of his intrigue, but Blaze knew him well enough to read between the lines. In reality, the elder was asking if the hedgehog was another threat to the kingdom, if Silver was being kept close because he was a danger to her people. Did others think his appearance signified a further threat?

"He has not, but I know him," She answered, "He however does not know me."

"Ah, so you had only heard of him before his arrival here," Gardon thought aloud, "That-

"No, we are acquainted, I am simply far more familiar with him than he is with me," She cut him off, "It is a complicated matter."

"It certainly sounds to be," The koala paused for a moment, perhaps expecting more of an explanation, but Blaze offered none.

Instead, she asked, "Has he eaten anything?"

"A small amount this afternoon, we offered more but he claimed to be full quite quickly... he is a rather gaunt fellow," That much would have been made all the more of obvious by the shearing of his fur to treat his wounds, "You instructed that we should keep him here rather than transfer him to a hospital. Are you certain that was wise?"

"If they cannot offer him any further treatments, then I can see no reason why he shouldn't be here," She much too quickly responded.

"Oh, yes, of course," The harshness of her tone had plainly rattled him, "I only asked because of how unusual the situation is," He was starting to ramble, "After all, as you answered, he is a relative stranger to this world. It is unusual that he is staying here..."

"What are you implying?" She felt her brows furrow.

"N-Nothing, Princess Blaze," He averted his gaze, "I am simply explaining that, due to your busy schedule, and the straightforwardness of your initial orders, there is confusion amongst the staff as to why he is being kept here. There are questions as to whether he is a captive, thought to be partially responsible for the attack on the palace. Some think you have been rather..." He was scrambling for words, "Uncommunicative regarding your intentions for him."

A sigh escaped Blaze's lips. Between the combat yesterday, the public interfacing that had followed, this morning's meetings, and the time he'd spent in treatment- she knew she had been both blunt and short with people. There hadn't been time for true explanations, it was no wonder that her staff were confused. Had she been taking out her frustrations on them?

"I'm sorry, Gardon," She apologised, "He is a guest, not a captive... but I have no idea why he appeared here or for how long he intends to stay. His arrival is in and of itself an anomaly," Again, she leaned into formality, "My intention would be to hold him here until he has fully recovered, though I have my doubts that he will agree to such."

"If you know him as well as you think you do, don't you stand a chance of convincing him to stay?" Gardon asked.

"I intend to try," Though she knew she would be unsuccessful.

"Well, regardless, there is no need to apologise your highness, there was simply some confusion and concern," Gardon seemed to squirm where he stood, "Especially regarding that right arm of his."

"Right arm?" Blaze questioned.

"I was visiting to deliver this," From a his satchel, he revealed an overlarge golden bangle, "The pieces of it were recovered from across the palace grounds, I had it reconstructed... though I am uncertain if its function will have been restored. Regarding that arm, there were some difficulties..." The elder shrank under Blaze's stare, he was avoiding explaining, "There was an incident this afternoon."

Concern again overflowed, "What kind of incident?"

"He seemed to lose control of the uncuffed arm while his bandages were being changed," Gardon grimaced, "No one was hurt, but you'll find the room in a rather dysfunctional state. I've taken the lead communicating with him, most of the staff are rather intimidated."

Blaze's gaze drifted back to the door before returning to the golden band in Gardon's hand. She had never seen him without those cuffs, even when he'd been young and they'd been overlarge on him. The cat had no idea how they functioned, and hearing what he'd done without one of them flared her anxiety.

"I will return this to him," Blaze took the trinket, "Thank you."

"You are very welcome, your..." The guardsman seemed to catch himself this time, "Blaze," Despite that, he still gave a small bow, "I hope his recovery will bring you some comfort."

With no more than that the koala moved along, walking the hallway before descending the stairs and out of view. Again Blaze found herself alone outside of his door, would he have heard all they had discussed? Was he even in a state to have heard their conversation? She should have been comforting him, not conspiring behind his back.

Straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath, the pyrokinetic tried to muster her professionalism. Blaze didn't give herself time to overthink, slipping into the room without another attempt at knocking. She pinned her back against the door to shut it the moment she was inside, both hands behind her. Her blood ran cold as she took in the space.

The room's floral wallpaper was gashed, it looked to have rolled off as if torn by the claws of some gigantic beast. Everything right of the bed was in complete disarray; where once a vanity and desk were stood, now lay a pile of rubble and an indentation into the wall it had been crushed against. The carpet was fanned up and clearly some of the floorboards had come with it; twisting to form the likeness of a gnarled hand and revealing the plumbing beneath.

He was sat on the far side of his bed, parallel to the balcony window across the room's centre. Light was shining from him; psionic power, the likes of which would only typically glow from him in the midst of combat, almost blinding to look at. The energy was bleeding through the bandages that covered his body, displaying markings-

"Oh, it's you," A bandage covered his right eye, the dressings over his wounds left little for the cat to imagine, "Hello."

Silver's arm stole her attention, the right limb he'd apparently lost control of. The symbol that usually sat on the palm of his hands had distorted and stretched; cyan light now traced all the way up the limb as multiple strands, now more of those circular sigils marked his elbow and shoulder but the colour didn't end there. From his shoulder further lines, jagged and rough, stretched up his neck to mark the right of his face. The extensions faded as they neared his quills but Blaze swore she could see a circle faintly flickering at the centre of his forehead.

"Good evening," She greeted, quickly feeling the need to explain herself, "I knocked but you didn't answer."

"I was distracted," He turned away again, "The moon's nice tonight."

He was lying, but the cat still had no idea how much he'd heard of her conversation with Gardon. His fur had been shorn short, even his quills were reduced from their usual branches to mere twigs. Blaze's heart ached at the sight of him, not just damage but demoralised. Feeling her muscles tense as anxiety swelled, the cat slipped closer, arriving by his bedside.

"How are you feeling?" She managed to ask.

"I've been worse," He shrugged, "How about you?"

He was hurt, how could he stand to ask? "I've been worse too..."

The view from his window wasn't anything special, it didn't overlook an especially grand section of the royal garden, but her timing had been just right to centre the full moon within the peak of the glass. Despite its shortened state, his fur reflected the moonlight in a manner that only added to the otherworldly glow that filled the room. She'd never had a chance to see him awash in the glow of moonlight. Only the red of flames.

Her chest ached and heart pounded, she could see in her minds eye all she would have loved to do. To re-bandage him as she had so often before, to wrap her arms around him, and to promise that she would protect him. Now these would be surprise acts from a stranger; likely unwanted by a more self-sufficient hedgehog.

"They told me that you beat Eggman Nega's machine," His gaze was still locked on the window, "Do you know what happened to him?"

"He had some sort of emergency escape advice, a form of crude teleportation," The cat answered, "Once I destroyed his machine, he vanished in a flash of green."

"He probably went back to mess up my world," Silver grumbled, "I don't even know why I'm here, I've already caused you far too much trouble."

"Nonsense," She huffed, "You injured yourself saving the palace, you've done the opposite of causing trouble."

"You don't think Eggman Nega followed me here?" He shot back, "I made a mistake, I fell through time, he must have followed..."

"Based on the design of his machine, I doubt that was the case. He always intended to strike here," Blaze quickly countered, "It was just a fortunate coincidence that you arrived at the same time."

"Maybe..." Her words were falling on deaf ears, "Still, I know what I did to this room..."

His optimism was at an all time low, things were surely dire in his timeline. Whether it was conflict with Eggman Nega or an apocalypse induced by failures in the world's past, the Silver she'd known had certainly struggled but never fallen to the kind of despair that this one was presently wrestling. She'd seen him hurt, but he'd always longed to jump to his feet and keep fighting for what was right. Perhaps keeping him here to heal wouldn't be so difficult after all...

Why did she long for him to be so foolhardy? Did she want him to hurt himself, just so that she knew that her partner was still in there? Was his state of self-sacrifice not proof enough of that?

Blaze started to reach out, just to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but she thought better of it before her fingers could meet with bandage and fur. This was not her Silver, he did not know of her shared past. To him she was an ally but a quiet and distant one, just as she was to everyone else. She didn't know how he'd respond to comfort, let alone her sympathy. Besides, if she let that wall down then what more would follow? Even visiting him in the night like this had been foolish.

Her gaze drifted past him, landing on the bedside table. A platter of sandwiches still sat uneaten. Had that been his lunch? Had they not brought him dinner? Regardless...

"You need to eat more," She lowered herself to sit at the foot of the bed, "It's clearly affecting your head."

"I'm not hungry," He refused, "I feel... strange."

His bluntness irked her more than it should; Blaze felt her teeth grit. Were this her Silver, she would have called him naive and made him eat. The hedgehog would have complained but he would have seen it was for his own good, understood and trusted her guidance as she would his. But, again, this was not her Silver.

She didn't know what to do with herself, let alone him. This hedgehog had plainly been hardened by a time spent struggling alone; he had not learned to rely on others in his moments of weakness. He didn't seem comfortable with showing weakness at all in fact...

"I've never seen your arm like that," The cat professed, "Does it hurt?"

"No, it doesn't," He turned to her, "But it's more than just my arm."

He reached up and shifted the bandaging over his eye, revealing what lay beneath. Rather than the bright yellow iris she had anticipated, the hedgehog's eye was glowing with psychic intensity. One of the lines stretching from the mark on his palm had cut up over his cheek and through the pupil.

"Can you see through that?" The cat asked.

"Barely..." He replaced the binding, "My whole body feels so sluggish, but my psychokinesis is surging. Just keeping it under control is making me nauseous. I can't eat, I can't sleep..." His stare fell to his lap, "I'm going to be a burden if Eggman Nega returns."

He was wallowing in his self pity, this truly wasn't the psychic she'd known. Her Silver was far from immune to his emotions, but his response to them had so rarely been to cower. He would rush forward, headstrong; she would have to wrestle him to sit still and act rationally. He may have at times thought himself a burden, but his response would never have been to admit it. He would have struck out even harder, been even more self sacrificing!

As his eyes flickered back to her, she quickly turned her gaze to the window. The hedgehog had once compared her to the sunlight they'd sought, but he had been that very light to her. She had not held hope that life could improve before she'd met him, every day had been a joyless struggle. Would this Silver be like the moon? He was colder, but did he reflect the light of that prior hedgehog, no matter how many times more weakly? Was his soul still within this new mind and body?

The cuff Gardon had given her no longer looked like the others on his person. The koala was right when he said there had been issues with its restoration; vein like lines of silver filled what had surely once been cracks in the golden metal. It held together as one solid piece, but it was neither whole nor smooth to the touch. Even ignoring that the cuff's initial crafting was a mystery, its restoration had plainly been a struggle.

Blaze glanced to him again, finding he had returned to sullenly staring into the moonlight. Again the princess looked to his arm, she was certain it hurt more than he was letting on. She had seen him lose control of his power before, how rage could turn what was would be a gentle psychic grasp into crushing force. If that same energy was flaring uncontrollably within him, then the cat could imagine how it felt. The least she could do was try to help him, she owed that much to the hedgehog she'd known.

A flinch pushed her back as she touched his arm, feeling the psychokinetic surge that was pulsing through his body. Her second grasp carried her purpose, she would not let go of him no matter how it hurt. She would gladly suffer any pain if it meant that Silver could finally rest properly after all the good he had done.

Surprised creased his muzzle, "What are you do-

"Give me your hand," The cat insisted, "Now."

He didn't resist, but his expression remained perturbed. His fingers were thinner than she recalled; was this a result of psychic energy draining him, or the world he came from? Regardless, Blaze pushed on.

She wasn't even certain what she was doing, the cat went off of pure instinct. It was a little difficult to squeeze the cuff over his hand, it always had seemed to fit so perfectly around his wrist, but with a shove and a tug the jewellery found its way back to its proper place. Almost immediately light filled the dark band in the golden cuff, cyan energy immediately flared and the wristlet solidified itself into place.

Blaze interlocked her fingers with his, still feeling the psychic static continue to buzz through her bones. Hard callouses were obvious to feel, as were the bones of his knuckles, these things were at least familiar to her. She watched with baited breath as his cuff grew brighter; as it did, the lines stretching up his arm thinned slighter and slighter. Where silver had been used to fill the cracks of gold in the cuff, the cyan light was sparking like wild electricity- would that impurity prevent his recovery? Would the cuff break again?

The cat clenched her teeth and held him tighter, she felt his body spasm. The light was fading from both him and her surroundings, only amplified on the metal armlet. Finally, when the limb was too bright to look at directly, she turned away from his arm and up to him. The lines hadn't fully faded, but they had been greatly reduced.

Gently the princess reached up with her free hand, pushing back the bandage that obscured his eye. There was a hint of cyan, a tiny speck in the depths of his pupil, but otherwise the glow had fully left his face. There was no flickering symbol on his forehead, no lines down his cheek. The cuff wasn't containing the spread of psychic energy as successfully as it had before, symbols still stretched as far as his bicep, but he immediately looked so much less alien. So much more familiar.

"How's that?" She asked without thinking.

"Better," His gaze fell to his wristlet only to squint at the brightness, "I think."

Her eyes searched his expression for warmth but still found only confusion and shock. Was he surprised that the cuff had been restored or that it had partially cured his affliction? Was he simply puzzled why she was still holding his hand? She should have been able to read his expression, she used to be able to read him like a book.

He didn't understand why she was doing this for him. This Silver had never known her; did he have any companions? Did he know the kindness of others? Did he act out of his own kindness or a hardened sense of what was right and wrong? It was her fault he was like this; she had left him for a good cause, but she had abandoned him. She was responsible for what he had become. No wonder she was keeping him so close, this was penance.

The cat released his hand, pulled away from his forehead and rose to stand. He didn't know her. She didn't know him. His body and mind were plainly different; it had been foolish to pretend that his soul would differ.

"Please excuse me, I have further duties to attend this evening," Blaze announced, "If you require anything, do not hesitate to ask. You are a guest here."

Despite pushing away she lingered for a moment longer, staring at him from the middle of the room before making for the exit. She had needed him; when the feline had been but a kitten she had been painfully nihilistic, not illogically given the world that she had found herself living through. Silver had helped her, his naive drive to restore their broken world had inspired her to work toward the same and want more than life had dealt them. Now he needed her, it was her turn to mend him, and yet she hadn't the strength to do any more for him. It was only as she reached the door that his voice again reached her ears.

"Blaze?" She looked back to him, still sat on the bed, "Thank you."

Without so much as a goodbye, the princess shut the door behind herself. The weight didn't leave her shoulders, if anything it redoubled. Across this second lifetime she had always been pressured; to hold herself to royal standards of etiquette, to defend her kingdom, and to protect the Sol Emeralds. The weights she'd carried had been countless, and yet... they had never been personal like this. She'd always tried to deflect, to isolate her dutiful self from the true thing. That wasn't an option with him.

Blaze slumped against the door, eventually sliding to sit on the carpeted floor. She couldn't bear to open that door again. Not until he was able to open it for himself.

#silvaze #blaze the cat #silver the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic rush #silverxblaze

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